Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (read out loud books txt) 📖

“Yes?”

We showed her our badges and I made the introductions. She sighed and seemed to sag.

“Look, is this going to take long? I am really busy.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take, Mrs. Thorndike…”

“Petersen. I married again. And it’s Ms.”

“Ms. Petersen. We only have a few questions, but we would appreciate it if we could come in.”

She sighed again, with a little less irritation than the first time, and stepped aside. “I’m sorry. Come in.”

The apartment wasn’t big. There was an open plan living room and dining room, with a kitchen separated by a pine bar. Most of the far wall was taken up by a large, plate glass window that overlooked the gardens on West 104th. The furniture looked like IKEA. A door beside the kitchen led to a short passage where I guessed there was a toilet and a bedroom. She gestured us to a sofa and sat on the edge of an armchair. She didn’t make herself comfortable.

“I honestly doubt there is anything I can add to what I told the detectives when it happened.” She shrugged. “It’s almost ten years ago. Since then I have remarried and started a whole new life. This really is not very welcome.”

I nodded and made a face like sympathy. “But you understand, Ms. Petersen, we can’t just let people get away with murder because our investigations are unwelcome to the victims’ ex-spouses.”

She looked embarrassed. “Of course.” She sighed for the third time and spread her hands. “What would you like to know?”

Dehan came straight out with it. “Where were you when David was killed?”

She took a deep breath, held it, and puffed out her cheeks. She gazed at the rain-spattered window for a moment, at the heavy clouds, and then blew out and shook her head. It was elaborate, but it looked genuine. “It was ten years ago, Detective. I don’t honestly know. Besides, from what I recall, they didn’t know exactly when he was killed. Wasn’t there a window of twenty-four hours or something?” She kind of winced. “I think I spent the evening with friends. They must have asked me at the time. Whatever I told them then holds true today.”

I nodded. “Sure. When did you first realize that David was having an affair?”

Her face went hard. It may have been ten years but the anger was still fresh.

“I was informed by the investigating detectives that he had been shacked up with some tart when they came to interview me. That was the same day they found him, in the afternoon.”

Dehan was watching her carefully. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Again the long stare at the heavy, gray sky. She bit her lip and gave her head a couple of small shakes. “It’s so hard to be precise. Even at the time…” She frowned at Dehan. It looked to me as though she was searching for some kind of female sympathy. “He’d be gone for weeks on end sometimes. I got used to it, the way you get used to an ache. At first it hurts, then it’s annoying, and finally you just forget it’s there.”

I smiled like I understood. “Can you give us a rough idea?”

“It must have been a couple of weeks at least. We had this…” She made a face that was eloquent of everything along the bitterness, resentment, disappointment spectrum. “Arrangement, for what it was worth. He would often disappear for several weeks when he was investigating a story. He was a good journalist… He was a low-down piece of shit! But he was also a good journalist, very dedicated and very thorough. But we agreed that we would meet at least one day at the weekend during the periods that he was away…”

Dehan interrupted.

“So, excuse me, Ms. Petersen, when he was away, did he not tell you where he was going?”

“No! Good heavens no! He didn’t even tell me what he was investigating. He was extremely secretive about his work. I didn’t even get to see his articles until they were published.”

I said, “Please go on.”

She took a moment, like she was examining her memories and finding them wanting. “The first couple of weeks he’d come home on the Sunday and we’d do something. Then he would start calling instead, with some excuse. Then he wouldn’t even call. In the end, I stopped keeping the weekends free because I knew he wouldn’t show. I’d go out to dinner with friends, or to a show, visit my parents…” She shrugged.

Dehan said, “Your parents in…?”

“Miami.”

I smiled at her and glanced out the window. “That’s one alibi I wouldn’t mind checking up on right now.”

She smiled back. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Ms. Petersen, is there anybody you can think of who might be able to give us a line on what he was investigating?”

“Like I said, he was very secretive about his work. The only person I can think of would be Bob, his editor on the Telegraph. I am guessing he had to tell him something, or they wouldn’t have approved his expenses.” Her face suddenly contracted with bitterness. “I don’t know what he told his whore.”

I studied the anger on her face. Ten years on and there was still rage and bitterness there. I wondered if it was enough to drive her to kill. I sucked my teeth and glanced at Dehan. She shook her head and I stood.

“Ms. Petersen, thank you for your time. We’ll try not to disturb you again. If you think of anything…” I handed her my card. “Please give us a call. Have a good day.”

Outside, the rain had eased to a drizzle, but the water cascading from the awnings and