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“I think so.” Kathy squinted, trying to bring back memories. “I think she knew a boy who knew him…something like that.”
“Do you remember the boy’s name?”
“No.” Mack waved his hand in the air. “We kept out of Adrian-na’s business.”
Kathy said, “His name was Aaron Otis.”
“How did you remember that?”
“I just do.”
Mack shook his head. “She’s a whiz with names.”
“That’s very good,” Decker said. “Aaron Otis. Did you ever meet him?”
“I had to have met him once because I recall he was tall with sandy hair…unless I’m getting things confused.” She looked down. “That’s certainly possible.”
“That’s helpful,” Decker said. “How about the names of Adri-anna’s other friends?”
“You can start with Sela Graydon and Crystal Larabee. The three of them were a tight little group.”
“Did either of them become nurses?”
“Heavens no,” Mack said. “I think Crystal wanted to be an actress. At twenty-nine, it ain’t gonna happen. What is she? Like a bartender?”
“She’s a main hostess at Garage.”
“Yeah, waiting to be discovered.”
“Be kind, Mack.” Kathy regarded Decker. “Garage is the newest Helmet Grass restaurant. It’s downtown…right near the New Otani.”
“Got it. What about Sela Graydon? What does she do?”
“She’s a lawyer,” Mack told him. “She was always the smart one of the three.”
“Do both women live in town?”
“Yes,” Kathy said. “I’ll get you their phone numbers.”
“Do you know anything about Mandy Kowalski?”
“Just that Adrianna met her in nursing school,” Mack said. “She seemed nice enough.”
“She used to help Adrianna study, especially when finals rolled around. The first time they happened, Adrianna freaked out. I couldn’t help her. I don’t know the first thing about the nervous system or the circulatory system, but after studying with Mandy, she not only pulled through, she did well. She even got a couple of A’s in some of the classes.”
The tears came flowing down Kathy’s cheek.
“She was so…proud!”
Decker gave her another Kleenex and watched the woman sob. There wasn’t a state-of-the-art dam in the entire world that could hold back that torrent.
“THERE’S NOT MUCH to come down for.” Marge was just outside in the parking lot of St. Tim’s because the reception for her cell was better. “The car’s being processed and we’re just about done with our preliminary interviewing. We spoke to a few of her coworkers. Also, we talked to a woman named Mandy Kowalski. She and Adrianna went to nursing school together, but they don’t work on the same floor.”
“Yeah, Mandy’s name came up when I interviewed the mom,” Decker told her. “She thought that Mandy might have set Adrianna up with Garth.”
“Hmm. Mandy neglected to mention that. She did say that Garth came on to her.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “Triangle anyone?”
“Could be,” Marge said. “I’ll see if I can sort the relationships out. We’ve also got an appointment to interview Adrianna’s supervising nurse tomorrow. She was well liked, did her job, but several people remarked that she liked to party.”
“That’s consistent with the picture I got from her parents.”
“Her parents told you she liked to party?”
“Mostly her father did. He described her—and not kindly—as a party girl.”
“Unusual for him to admit that under the circumstances.”
“I have a feeling that he’s been miffed at her for a long time.”
“But she’s dead, Rabbi. For him to even hint at hostility…that’s weird.”
“People cope in all sorts of different ways. Maybe he figures if he can be mad at her, she’s really not dead. Anyway, there’s another sister in the family—Beatrice Blanc. She needs to be interviewed separately.”
“I’ll do it.”
“There are also two best friends of hers from high school: Sela Graydon and Crystal Larabee.” Decker spelled the names and gave Marge the phone numbers. “Lastly, we need to find out the name of the homeowner’s oldest son.”
“Did that. Trent Grossman. He’s twenty-six. He lives in Boston with his wife and was at a party last night. So he’s out of the picture. The two younger Grossman boys were home last night, according to the parents. For verification, they sent e-mails, IMs, and were on Facebook. I haven’t dug deeper, but I will if you want me to.”
“How old are they? Like fifteen and thirteen?”
“Yep.”
“Put them down at the bottom for now. Let’s go back to Adri-anna’s peers—Crystal and Sela. Set up interviews with them because…okay…here’s the deal.”
Decker flipped through his notes.
“Adrianna called Sela Graydon this morning right when she got off of work. Find out what that was all about. Adrianna also made another call, but we don’t know the identity of that number. Each time I’ve called it, the mailbox is full. It’s a cell, so our backward directories aren’t going to work. We may need a warrant to find out who the number belongs to. Hunt around and see if you can find out if the number belongs to one of her friends.”
“Will do.” Marge asked him, “Any luck with the canvassing of the area?”
“I haven’t heard anything so far. How about we meet up later in the evening and compare notes?”
“Sounds like a plan. Talk to you later.”
Marge hung up her cell and started to dial Sela Graydon’s number, when a crime-scene tech started walking her way. The woman came up to Marge’s stomach. Maybe a little bit higher than her stomach, but she was definitely less than five feet. She was young and Asian and as delicate as a spiderweb, except she had a smoker’s voice. Her name was Rebel Hung.
“We’re just about done with what we can do here.” Rebel snapped off her latex gloves. “I called the truck. We’ll tow it to the lab and give it a thorough going-over.”
“Doesn’t look like this is a crime scene,” Marge said.
“I agree,” Rebel said. “Who knows if she even made it to her car?”
“Footprints?”
“We’ve got some partials. We’ve got lots of latent fingerprints. Maybe something will pop.”
“Hope so.”
“What about the actual crime scene?” Rebel asked. “Where you found her dangling.”
“It’s a crime scene, but we’re not sure if it’s the murder scene. If she was killed there, she didn’t seem to put up a struggle. The coroner’s investigators haven’t found bullet or stab wounds—but she could have been poisoned or sedated before she was hanged. We’ll do a tox on her.”
“Sexually assaulted?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but we’ll know more once the autopsy’s done.”
Rebel pursed her lips. “Hanging’s a weird way to commit murder.”
“Yeah, someone strung her up for dramatic effect.”
“Very dramatic…like in serial killer dramatic.”
“Yes, indeed, we certainly haven’t ruled that one out.”
CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_178fe7b6-5306-5668-82f0-99d6865e55ac)
AS THE FRESHIES set up the chairs, Hannah took Gabe over to the choir director. Mrs. Kent was an energetic, stout woman with a bowl cut of black hair and glasses dangling from a chain.
“This is Gabe,” Hannah said. “He plays the piano.”
Slipping her glasses over her nose, Mrs. Kent looked the boy up and down. “What year are you in?”
“Sophomore, but I’m just visiting.”
“Visiting?” Mrs. Kent let her glasses drop onto her chest. “For how long?”
“Unknown,” Hannah said. “Maybe a day or two. I thought if he could play ‘My Heart Will Go On’ instead of you playing, you can concentrate on the vocals. Although it’ll probably take a lot more than that to keep us on key.”
“That’s very cynical coming from the choir president.” She stared at Gabe. “Do you know the song?”
“I can fake it pretty close. It’s in E, right?”
“Yes, it’s in E. Can you read music?”
“Sheet music is even better,” Gabe said.
“It’s on the piano.” Mrs. Kent told him. “Decker, help the kids set up.”
Gabe found a small spinet sitting in a corner, but turned to face the stage. It was a Gulbransen, and while it wasn’t exactly the German Steinway, the mark was serviceable. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and then touched the ivory keys from middle C to two octaves above using his right-hand fingers. With his left fingers, he went from middle C to two octaves below. Then he played the accidental keys. The sound was about as expected from a small-bodied piano. Its tuning was true, although not all the notes were perfect. It would bother him. Anything that wasn’t musically perfect bothered him, but he had learned how to live with it. He rarely attended any live rock concerts other than thrash metal, where sound was bent and warped anyway, so who cared about pitch. Pop singers were the worst. Pro Tools notwithstanding, there were very few singers who hit the notes all the time.
He glanced at the music. It needed range. No doubt the choir would massacre it as Hannah predicted. He liked Hannah. She was friendly but low-key. She made conversation but steered away from anything personal. She had self-confidence without being arrogant.
There were twenty-three kids in the choir, lined up on the risers. As soon as the teacher started talking to them, he zoned out. Around five minutes later, Gabe realized that she was talking to him.
“Pardon?”
Mrs. Kent heaved a dramatic sigh. “I asked if you thought you could play the piece.”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah, sure.” Gabe smiled. “It’s not Rachmaninoff.”
Mrs. Kent eyed him. “You must be related to Hannah. You have the same sense of humor.”
Gabe smiled again but said nothing.
“We can start whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“Then start.”
Gabe stifled a laugh. When he began the introduction, he saw the choir teacher’s eyes go wide. It was stupid that she was shocked. Why would he say he could play if he couldn’t? It was a motor skill—impossible to fake.
As rightly predicted by Hannah, the choir was awful; the off-key factor was especially prevalent in the soprano section. It was excruciatingly painful to his ear. Midway through the piece, he stopped playing. The teacher cut off the choir and asked him what was wrong.
“I don’t mean to be cheeky, but it’s a little high for your voices. Would you like me to take it down to E-flat? Or maybe down a full note to D. I don’t like turning songs in sharp keys into songs in flat keys. But that’s just me.”
Mrs. Kent stared at him. “You can do that?” Without waiting, she said, “I know. It’s not Rachmaninoff. Okay, give us a starting note.”
Gabe gave them a D and they ran through the number again. It was still terrible, but at least the sopranos weren’t straining as much. When Mrs. Kent called for a five-minute break, Hannah went over to the piano. “We’ve got another hour or so. Sorry it gets out so late.”
“I’m not going anywhere. If your dad had something to tell me, he’d call me, right?”
“Yeah, he would. I’m sorry.”
Gabe shrugged.
Hannah said, “Your playing is truly amazing.”
Gabe laughed. “Any moron who has training could play this.”
“Nah, I don’t believe that.”
