Author: Catherine Maiorisi
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/catherine-maiorisi/page,16,537229-the_blood_runs_cold.html
Ndep stripped off her gloves. “Estimated TOD was somewhere between nine last night and four this morning, and cause was almost certainly the small-caliber gunshot to the cerebellum resulting in instant death. But as you know, the autopsy might provide more definitive information.”
Ndep followed the body out and the CSU team streamed in.
The lead technician, Lou Bullard, moved next to Corelli, watching his team get to work. “Anything in particular you want, Corelli?”
“Yes. Our guy was set up for two,” she pointed to the plates, “but there’s only one wineglass. Keep an eye out for the second or see if you can determine whether one is missing.”
Bullard made a note. “Gotcha.”
Corelli left Ron and Greene observing the forensics team and went upstairs with Parker to Nickerson’s office, not on the second floor in a small bedroom, as she had thought, but up another flight to the third floor which was one large room. The deep wine-red carpet that covered the space was plush, bouncy to walk on. The computers, printers, faxes, and related equipment seemed to be working, and the only sounds were the underlying hum of the equipment and the occasional whirring of printers and faxes turning on, followed by the whisper of paper moving through the mechanisms and dropping into baskets. The four computers, each on its own small table in the center of the room, faced the windows, which framed several trees. The huge desk, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, was cluttered but appeared organized. A tiny stand held a stack of business cards, his. Spencer Nickerson III, Chairman, Nickerson, Wentworth Financial Software. His date book, one of those two-pages-for-each-day books that really busy people use, lay in the center of the desk open to today, a pen in the crease. Books lined the three inside walls. In one corner a small conference table with four chairs held stacks of computer printouts. In another, a small sofa and an easy chair faced a home theater system with a huge flat-screen TV, a stereo, a DVD player and some other not-so-easily-identified electronic equipment. All in all, a well-equipped and comfortable place to work.
No appointments last night, according to the entries in the date book. Something at eight tonight. Somebody would have to go through the papers here, but nothing but the date book was of immediate interest. They went downstairs.
“Do we have anything?” Corelli asked the forensics people moving around the living room and kitchen.
Bullard answered. “Looks like a glass is missing. There are ten in the closet and one in the living room. Most likely he had twelve. Might be nothing. Might mean the killer took his glass with him.”
“Thanks. Ron, get the door-to-door canvass going. Parker and I are going over to Nickerson’s office. Hopefully, someone will be in on a Saturday. We’ll be back.”
Corelli’s cell phone rang as they pulled up in front of the office building that housed Nickerson’s office. She made a face and grumbled as she searched her bag. “Remember the good old days when we didn’t have cell phones, when we could get some work done without being interrupted every five minutes?” She glanced at the screen then took the call. “What’s up, Watkins?”
She listened. “I’ll be right there. Be polite. Ask him to wait outside. Stay with him but keep everything going.”
She flipped the phone closed. “Drive back to Nickerson’s house. My favorite captain is there claiming the case for his precinct. He must see some glory to be grabbed.”
“Captain Benson?” Parker asked as she pulled away from the curb.
“The very one. We’re on his territory but the cases are linked so I’m claiming it.”
Ten minutes later, Parker pulled over to the curb. “What a madhouse. This is as close as I can get.”
They got out of the car and surveyed the street scene. Parker moved off to the side to get a better view, then came back. “The sidewalk is lined with police on both sides. We’ll have to walk the gauntlet to get to the door.”
Corelli shrugged. “So what else is new?” She should have expected something like this. Benson wanted to humiliate her. Though he wasn’t involved with Righteous Partners, most of the dirty cops worked out of his house and the scandal made him look bad. Either he was a sloppy manager who didn’t know what was going on under his nose or he turned a blind eye to criminal activity.
Parker eyed Corelli. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Benson is playing to the media. Looks like every car in the district is here with lights flashing, and every TV station in the metropolitan area is recording the action.”
Parker raised her voice. “I asked if it bothers you.”
“If it bothers you, Parker, stay here. No need for you to deal with this.”
Parker put her hand on her holster. “You don’t go anywhere without me.”
“Suit yourself.”
Corelli took a deep breath, put on her sunglasses and plastered a smile on her face. Always show the bastards your strength, never fear or weakness. “Let’s do it then.”
As they strode toward Nickerson’s house, someone yelled her name and the police lineup shifted, so that she and Parker would only see their backs. A couple of reporters called out to her but as they linked arms and entered the gauntlet, the only sounds were the whirring of the TV cameras and the soft rumble of the TV people explaining the famous blue wall for their viewers. At least this group from her old precinct didn’t get too violent or say really gross things. Was it because many of them were friends or colleagues with whom she’d worked closely? Or hadn’t they gotten the instruction manual on ostracizing? She touched Parker’s arm. “See, piece of cake. Thanks.”
Parker nodded.
Then they were up the front steps. Watkins opened the door and they joined him and Benson in the vestibule. Corelli offered a bright smile. “Captain Benson. Great welcoming committee. Made me feel right at home. How can I help you?”
“To begin with, Detective, you can move your investigative team out of my crime scene and then you can turn over any information you’ve gathered so far to the detectives from the one-eight. Am I wrong or is Mr. Nickerson outside of the oh-eight’s jurisdiction?”
“With all due respect, Captain, our prime witness in the del Balzo murder discovered the body and it appears to be the same killer. I’m sorry you troubled yourself to come here, but I believe Mr. Nickerson belongs to us.”
“As usual, you’re out of bounds, Corelli. You can’t pick and choose your cases.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain. But, if you don’t mind, sir, we have work to do. I’ll bet headquarters will be impressed that the one-eight has nothing better to do than put on a show for the media.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then looked at Parker and Watkins, and closed it. “This isn’t over, Corelli. Not everybody thinks you should have free run of the department.”
She watched him walk down the steps and speak to one of the officers. As his car pulled out, the gauntlet collapsed and his officers drifted away.
“This means trouble. Finish up as quickly as you can, Watkins. But first, Parker and I are going to need help getting back to our car.”
“Take my car, it’s not blocked in. Give me your keys. I’ll catch up and exchange later.”
Parker put her hand out. “You trust me with the BMW?”
“I hear you’re a pretty good driver.”
“Yes, I am.”
Corelli stepped between them. “You should be honored. That car is Watkins’s honey.” As they walked out, Corelli elbowed Parker. “I don’t know which is worse, walking the gauntlet or running from the press, but now we get to dash down the steps to escape the reporters. What a fun day.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saturday – 12:30 p.m.
“Nickerson Wentworth Financial Software, may I help you?” The young man at the reception desk spoke into the telephone but his focus went to Corelli and Parker as they stepped out of the elevator. He waved them to the nearby comfortable-looking chairs and continued to deal with the call. “Josh isn’t available. Would
you like his voice mail?”
Unlike the reception area of the law office they’d visited yesterday, this office projected calm and competence and telegraphed success without being ostentatious. Corelli and Parker ignored the invitation to sit.
The receptionist ended the call. “Sorry.” He glanced at his computer and frowned. “Do you have an appointment?”
“We’d like to see Mr. or Ms. Wentworth.” Corelli displayed her shield and ID.
He glanced at the shield, then back at her. “What is this in reference to?”
“It’s personal.” No way would Corelli discuss this with anyone but Nickerson’s partner.
The receptionist picked up the telephone but seemed to think better of it. “Please have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” He slid a card into the slot next to the door behind him and walked through.
Thirty seconds later the door opened and the receptionist popped his head out. “She’ll see you now.”
Wentworth stood at one of the two massive cherry wood desks that faced each other in front of the windows, talking on the telephone. She signaled one minute with a finger, then hung up. She shook their hands. “I’m Hillary Wentworth. Let’s sit.” She walked them over to the sofa and chairs. “I just telephoned home and my nanny said my children and my husband are fine. So what’s this about?” She examined the cards Corelli and Parker handed her. “Detectives?”
As agreed on the way over, Parker took the lead. “Do you always work Saturdays?”
“We have a huge project with penalties for not meeting deadlines, so for the next couple of months, we’ll all be working weekends.”
“And Mr. Nickerson?”
“He often works from home but it’s quieter here for me. What’s this about?”
Parker ignored the question. “You and Mr. Nickerson are partners?”
“We created the software and we own the business together. Why? Is there a problem?” Wentworth’s voice betrayed her annoyance.
“What happens if one of you dies?”
“I’d like to know what’s going on.” She looked from one to the other of them and getting no answer sighed. “We have an insurance policy that pays an amount based on a predetermined formula into the estate of the one who dies, in effect, buying the business for the surviving partner.” Her eyes widened. She leaned forward, a note of panic in her voice. “Has something happened to Spence?”
Parker relented. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you Mr. Nickerson was found dead at home this morning.”
Wentworth paled and gripped the arms of her chair. “Oh, my God, Spence.” She covered her face then with an anguished cry, doubled over sobbing.
Parker tensed as the woman’s pain flooded the room. This was the hardest part of their job by far and it wasn’t something Corelli could teach. Each detective performed a balancing act on a precarious personal tightrope, a struggle between being sympathetic and being sucked into the emotional whirlpool of the bereaved. Parker, like every cop, would learn by doing.
“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wentworth.” Parker’s voice was sympathetic but her body language gave away her discomfort. Her gaze settled over Wentworth’s shoulder, her hands clasped and unclasped and her leg shook.
Corelli cleared her throat. As a former assistant district attorney Parker should be able to control her emotions and present a composed face, even in uncomfortable situations. Parker glanced at Corelli, then took several deep breaths. With her body relaxed, Parker put her hand on Wentworth’s shoulder, a comforting gesture, and when she looked up, handed the grieving woman a tissue from the box on the coffee table.
Satisfied that Parker was no longer in the grip of her emotions, Corelli left the room and returned with a cup of water. Wentworth waved it away but Corelli placed it on the table in front of her.
Wentworth dabbed at her tears. “What happened?”
“Just a few more questions,” Parker said. “When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday. He often worked at home but yesterday he was here. We’re bidding on some new business and we worked on the proposal together.” She dabbed at the tears running down her face. “Sorry for being so weepy. I’m having a hard time taking this in.”
Corelli met Parker’s gaze over the woman’s bent head, signaling she would take over. “Mrs. Wentworth,” Corelli said, touching her shoulder. “Mr. Nickerson was murdered and we need your help.”
“Murdered?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. Spence told me Nardo was murdered. Is somebody killing gays, some crazy serial killer?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Did Mr. Nickerson mention any plans for last night?”
Wentworth sniffled. “Actually, he did. He was crying about Nardo. Then he remembered a funny story about something they did and we laughed. He was laughing when he left. He said he had a hot date.”
Corelli jumped on the possibility of a name. Friend or lover, it didn’t matter. “Did he tell you the name of his date or where they were meeting?”
“No. He hasn’t dated much in the last few years so he knew I was curious but he liked to tease me so he promised to share all the lurid details next time we saw each other. His words.”
“Were Spencer and Nardo lovers?”
“Just good friends. Spence’s lover died about four years ago. He’d started dating again this year, but he hadn’t found anyone. Nobody measured up, if you know what I mean.”
I do know. But it’s not that nobody measures up to Marnie. It’s that I haven’t even thought about it. Until now. Nickerson waited four years to start dating. It’s been less than two years for me and I’m thinking about it. Does that make me unfaithful? How long is long enough?
Corelli looked up. She’d drifted off and Parker and Wentworth were staring at her. “What about his other friends?”
“My husband and I haven’t socialized much since the triplets were born three years ago, but I’ve met some of Spencer’s friends at parties. He had lots of friends, but other than Nardo, I haven’t seen much of them. There’s Nelson, Bill, Abby, and Andy, but I’m drawing a blank on last names.” She stared into space. “And, Meg. She’s a well-known painter.”
Neither del Balzo nor Nickerson were closeted, so why were they having trouble getting the names of their friends. Corelli opened her mouth to ask another question but Wentworth held up a hand to stop her.
Wentworth spoke to Parker who had started taking notes. “Kate Burke, the new speaker of the City Council is—was—a friend too. Maybe she can give you some last names.”
Burke’s name kept coming up. It looked like she couldn’t avoid bringing the politician into the investigation. “Did Spencer keep an appointment book in the office?”
“Our calendars are on the computer and can be updated here or from home.”
“We’d like to see Mr. Nickerson’s appointments for the last few weeks.”
“We can take a quick look, and then I’ll ask Henry to print out dates as far back as you want and messenger it to you. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good.”
She walked them over to her desk. “Pull a couple of chairs over. Where do you want to start?”
“Yesterday, then back a week or two.”
She pressed a few keys. “We were together here all day yesterday. But there are three entries for last night, call K, just a note, no time, lama at eight thirty, Bill at eight. Spencer and his friend Bill had a standing appointment to go to the theater every other week. Henry probably has both numbers.”
She buzzed Henry. He thought K could be Kate or a Ken, Spencer’s friends, but he didn’t recognize the other name. He had Bill’s office, home, and cell numbers. She instructed him to write them down and bring them in. While they waited, she scanned several previous weeks, but there didn’t seem to be anything other than business meetings, conference calls, theater with Bill, and occasional meals with his parents and, based on his use of first names, friends.
Henry knocked, entered briskly, then
slowed as he took in Hillary’s tear-stained face.
“Is something wrong, Hil?” His voice was gentle.
Hillary burst into tears again, covered her face with her hands, and rocked back and forth.
Henry looked from Corelli to Parker. “What’s—”
Corelli answered. “Mr. Nickerson has been murdered.”
Henry paled. “Oh, my god.” He reached out to steady himself on the conference table. He looked like he might throw up.
She needed to wrap this up. “Henry, unless you have information about who Mr. Nickerson was meeting last night, we’d like to finish up with Ms. Wentworth now. Someone will be here later to talk to you and the rest of the staff.”
“He didn’t confide any details. I only know what’s in his calendar.” He turned toward the door.
“Wait.” Hillary stopped him. “Please don’t mention this to anyone. I’d like to let the staff know all at one time. Can you do that for me?”
He nodded again and left.
They did a quick check of Spencer’s desk but everything on or in it was business related.
Hillary looked like she was fading fast.
“Just a few more questions,” Corelli said. “Where were you last night?”
“Interviewing private schools for the triplets. Between six and ten my husband and I visited three schools and then dragged ourselves out for a drink and a late dinner.” She frowned, then seemed to gasp for air. “Spencer and I have been friends since we were babies. Our families are close. We started at the same nursery school the same day and were together right through college. We developed this business together and we’ve been very successful. I loved him like a brother. I would…” She sniffed. “I would hurt myself before I hurt him.”