A City Of Dread: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 7 Read online

  “And, the beat goes on,” I said as I pulled into visitor parking and killed the engine.

  “At least we know Cole is in our general vicinity. That’s helpful.”

  “Somewhat. A guy with his skills is slippery. He could be in our back seat and we probably wouldn’t know it.” I was about to check the time on my cell phone when Sarah reached out and grabbed it.

  “I just thought of something,” she said and began scrolling the screen. “We have no idea what Posner looks like. How are we going to know it’s him when the cruiser gets back?”

  “Good point.”

  We sat in silence for a minute as Sarah did our due diligence looking for a recent photo of our latest suspect. No sooner had I closed my eyes to try and grab a quick nap when I heard her say, “There you are, you abusive jerk.”

  I leaned over to take a look. “Yep. He obviously never went in to have his beak set after Kramer broke it. She must have been a leftie. I can see the telltale hook most scrapper’s noses end up having from being involved in too many fights.”

  “Serves him right for putting his hands on her,” Sarah said. “Too bad she hadn’t followed up with a knee to the groin as an encore.”

  “This might be him, now,” I said as I watched a York Beach police cruiser pull in and drive around to the rear of the building.

  “Guess we should go in and let someone know we’re here, huh?”

  “Yep. Boys in blue are doing us a favor. Best not keep them waiting.”

  We made our way inside and checked in with the duty officer, who told us to take a seat, and that Officer Simpson would be out to get us in a few minutes.

  Sarah sat down beside me and began massaging my neck. “Is there anything in particular that we want to ask Posner, aside from the obvious questions?”

  “Guess that’s going to depend on whether or not he can provide a watertight alibi for Tuesday night at ten past ten.” I let go a sigh. “At this point we don’t even know if he has a rap sheet.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, the banter between the cops bring me back to old law enforcement days in Boston. A small part of me missed it, but I knew I was better off with my present situation.

  An officer stepped out into the waiting area, staring at a scrap of paper clipped to the file he was holding. “Mr. Peterson? Ms. Woods?”

  “Present,” I said as we stood up, wondering if he’d get the joke.

  He didn’t, but at least it earned a chuckle from Sarah.

  “I’m Officer Simpson. Come on back,” he said and held the door for us. “Our observation room is the first door on the right. Go ahead in and we’ll discuss where we’re at, concerning Mr. Posner.”

  I motioned for Sarah to go ahead and the three of us filed into the small space. I noticed Posner on the other side of the glass, looking none too happy. “He give you a hard time?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Simpson said. “They always do. When you ask a man with no criminal record to come down to the station out of the blue, the response is never favorable.”

  “What’s in the file?” Sarah asked.

  “A copy of his State of Maine driver’s license.”

  “May I?” she asked and held out her hand.

  Simpson handed the paperwork over without comment.

  “You might want to jot this down,” Sarah said to me as she pointed out Posner’s height.

  “Five foot, eleven. Certainly doesn’t rule him out,” I said.

  Simpson pulled his notebook out. “My chief spoke with Bridgeport’s chief a short while ago. I’ve been instructed to ask you what, exactly, we’re hoping to extract from Mr. Posner.”

  I gave Simpson the pertinent dates and times for Posner’s altercation with Kramer, Posner’s threat---as told to Steve, owner of the Lobster Shack---and Kramer’s abduction from Jonesey’s gym.

  “Got it,” Simpson said a few seconds after jotting down and reviewing the talking points. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “No priors,” Sarah said as we looked through the glass at Posner and watched Simpson enter the interrogation room. “That’s a bit of a surprise.”

  “He’s only in his early thirties,” I said as I adjusted the volume level for the conversation that was now taking place between the men. “Give him time.”

  “First off, Mr. Posner, where were you this last Tuesday evening, July twelfth, around ten in the evening?”

  “Fishing,” he replied. “Stripers were running.”

  “Where, exactly,” Officer Simpson asked.

  “Piscataqua River.”

  “Alone, or with---”

  “I was with my buddy, Jeff Aho.”

  “I’ll need Mr. Aho’s contact information.”

  Posner pulled out his cell. After a few seconds he placed it on the table in front of Simpson. “His cell number.”

  “Thank you,” Simpson said as he wrote. “How late were you two gentlemen Striper fishing on the Piscataqua River?”

  “We got done right around ten o’clock.”

  “Did the two of you leave together?”

  “Look, am I being charged with a crime? I came down here without giving you a hard time, but I’m not real impressed with where this is going.”

  Without a word, Simpson stood up and left Posner sitting there. A few seconds later the officer reentered the viewing room. “I don’t know how long this guy’s going to cooperate. You might want to give this Jeff Aho individual a call to find out if he can corroborate Posner’s claims. I’ll wait if you want to try him, now. We’ll let Mr. Posner stew for a couple minutes.”

  I took out my phone and dialed. “Straight to voicemail,” I said. I ended the call and tried again; same result.

  “Well. Let’s play a little hardball with our guest,” Simpson said as he turned to leave.

  Posner appeared agitated as Simpson returned and remained standing. “Mr. Posner, did you follow through on your threat to do Robbie Kramer harm?”

  “Threat? What threat? I never said I was going to do anything to that wench.”

  “Interesting word choice, in light of the fact it’s included in the threat you made. ‘How’s that little wench you got working for you? Hope you’ve had your fill, because she might not be around much longer.’ Do you remember saying that a month ago?”

  “Ah, I get it. You’ve been talking to that jerk who owns the Lobster Barn down in Bridgeport. That guy can bite me.”

  “So you admit to threatening to do Ms. Kramer harm?”

  “Look, I’d been drinking that night. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just wanted to rattle that dickhead’s cage a little. He banned me from his place, you know. Forever. That was one of my favorite joints.”

  “It’s my understanding Ms. Kramer broke your nose. I’d want revenge, too.”

  Posner let go a laugh then got a mean look on his face. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do. I watch enough cop shows to understand all the tricks you boys in blue use to get people to talk. I could have pulled a lawyer in. I didn’t. Besides, what I said to that guy is hardly a threat.” He paused for a beat. “Look, I read the papers. I know all the details about that lousy bartender’s death. You think I’d be sitting here like this if I knocked her off? Come on, man.”

  It was Simpson’s turn to laugh. “That’s exactly what I’d say if I wanted the police to think I was innocent.”

  Posner let go a sigh and with a calm demeanor said, “Look. You want to sit here all day and ask me questions? Go for it. You want to charge me? Charge me. I didn’t do it, and we both know it.”

  Simpson left Posner sitting there once again and came in to speak with us a second time. “What do you think?”

  I looked at Sarah and she shook her head. “I’m not feeling it. I don’t think he’s our guy.”

  “Can’t say I’m convinced, one way or the other,” I said as I pulled out my cell phone. “Mind taking a picture of the sole of his shoe? Also, I’d like you to ask him what size he wears.”

 
“No problem,” Simpson said. “Are we all set with him after that?”

  Sarah looked at me and shrugged. “Like I said, not feeling as though he’s our killer.”

  I looked at Simpson and nodded. “Yep. You can cut him loose.”

  Chapter 16

  We left York Beach Police Department with a photograph of a size 12 shoe and not much else. “Posner’s response to Officer Simpson telling him not to leave the area was a new one,” I said.

  “The stripers are still running. I ain’t going nowhere,” Sarah said, lowering her voice for effect as she mocked Posner. “All kidding aside, let’s try his fishing buddy’s number again before Posner has a chance to contact the guy and clue him in.”

  “Good idea,” I said. I dialed the number and handed my phone to Sarah. “I drive. You call.”

  A few seconds later Sarah was engaged in conversation with Jeff Aho.

  I didn’t think much of it until their jovial conversation hit the five minute mark. We were nearly half way home when Sarah finally handed my phone over. “Almost sounded like you two were old fishing buddies,” I said.

  “Oh, my goodness, that guy was hilarious,” Sarah responded. “He said we should definitely have arrested Posner.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, for being a lousy fisherman,” Sarah said and began laughing. “All kidding aside, Aho confirmed that the two of them were together Tuesday night, and that Posner came in for a beer when they got back to Aho’s house. Aho’s wife and kids were there, too.”

  “Sounds like your instincts about Posner not being our guy were right on the money,” I said.

  “Guess so. I would rather have been wrong, though. I’m really worried whoever did this is going to kill again.”

  “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx us.”

  “Think we should head back to The Shallows and see if we can have a chat with more of the owners? It could be another week until we have the opportunity again. The manager’s busy schedule isn’t about to work in our favor.”

  “You’re right. Let’s do it. Hopefully, we’ll catch---man, this phone hasn’t stopped ringing since we jumped on this case two days ago. James again,” I said as I answered. “Hey, Detective.”

  “How long before you’re done in York?” he asked.

  “On our way back to Bridgeport now. Not looking as if Posner’s involved. His alibi’s solid.”

  “Huh,” James responded and paused for a beat. “Guess I’m not too surprised. Listen, I sat down with the chief and brought him up to speed on Jackson Cole’s whereabouts. He said he can’t sign-off on any request for a formal manhunt without any concrete evidence tying this guy to the murders. The budget just won’t allow it.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  “It does. Fortunately, the search warrant for Kramer’s domicile just came through. I was thinking you might want to be involved in the search.”

  “You should go,” Sarah said before I had a chance to respond. “Drop me off at The Shallows. I’ll conduct some more interviews there while you go meet James.”

  “Divide and conquer,” I said. “Good call.”

  “I’m on my way over to Kramer’s place now, Carter,” James said. “Meet you there?”

  “Yep. Be there in twenty.”

  * * *

  James spoke as he approached my car, his voice drowned out by the throngs of kids laughing and screaming as they battled the heat at the water park next door. “Sorry. Couldn’t hear you over the roar.”

  “I had a chance to invest in that place when it was still in the planning stages,” James said. “I didn’t do it. Now, I’m kicking myself.”

  “What would you do with all that money, anyway?” I said as I slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Drink,” he said as we walked toward the apartment building.

  “You do that now.”

  “Yeah, but not the good stuff. I’d immediately switch from five week old to thirty-five year old scotch.”

  “Oh, so what it costs to buy a full bottle of what you drink now would only cover half a shot of the primo juice.”

  “Something like that,” James said as he held the door open for me. “It’s not like I’d quit this dream day job of mine, or anything.”

  “Of course not,” I said with a smile.

  James stopped at the first door we came to. “Don’t let me shove this warrant down this guy’s throat, okay?”

  “Who lives---oh, is this where the guy who oversees this luxury establishment lives? Wait, what did you call him? Oh, yeah, the cranky old goat with an attitude.”

  “One, and the same,” James replied as the door swung open before us.

  “You again, huh,” the scruffy grouch said, snatching the search warrant out of James’s hands then hobbling over to where his tattered house slippers lay.

  James gave me a wink then said, “You made me go through all the trouble to get a search warrant, and now you’re not even going to look at it?”

  “You think this is the first time one of you hot-shot cops come rolling in here with one of them? I don’t need to look at it.”

  “Suit yourself,” James said.

  The man pulled the master key hanging around his neck up out of his worn-out t-shirt. “How long this going to take?”

  “Could be five minutes. Could be five hours.”

  The man grumbled some unrecognizable gibberish under his breath in response to James’s answer and trudged past us toward the elevator.

  I looked at James and pinched my nose, the man’s personal hygiene less than stellar.

  “What floor we heading to?” James asked.

  “Number two. Just like this crappy errand you got me doing right now,” the man replied, not missing a beat.

  “Meet you up there. We’re taking the stairs.”

  “Whatever,” he snarled and disappeared behind the sliding steel doors.

  “That’s me in another ten years,” James said as we entered the stairwell and hoofed it up to the second story.

  “That guy? Aiming kind of high, aren’t you?”

  James chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

  Our escort was making his way down the hall as we entered the long corridor on the second floor. “You two are on your own, once I let you in. I’m not about to waste my morning watching this sideshow of yours unfold. Let me know when you’re done so I can lock it back up.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” James said.

  The man unlocked the deadbolt, swung the door wide, and left us to our work. I was impressed with how neat and tidy Kramer had kept the place, surprised by how homey it was, considering the address.

  “You got gloves?” James asked as he put his own on.

  I dangled a pair in the air. “You can stick my gold star right on my forehead.”

  James walked over toward a card table that looked to have been used by Kramer as a makeshift desk. There was a collection of mail sorted into piles, some opened, some not. He began leafing through the stacks while I took a quick stroll through the one bedroom unit.

  I popped into the small bathroom and opened the vanity drawers. Nothing but the usual stuff. The medicine cabinet was the same, sparsely filled by anyone’s standards.

  I ventured into the bedroom. Bed was made. A half dozen pairs of footwear were arranged neatly against the wall. Atop the dresser stood several bottles of perfume, some hair styling appliances, and a small jewelry box. I took a peek inside, along with the four dresser drawers beneath. All the contents seemed ordinary.

  I stepped over to the closet and pulled the door open. There were less articles of clothing hanging inside than I’d ever seen in a female’s wardrobe.

  I got the impression this woman had led a simple, frugal life.

  I turned, got down on one knee, and checked under the bed. Nothing there.

  I went back out to the living area, and saw James going through the kitchen drawers. “Anything?”

  “Wish I could say there was.”
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  “Sure would be nice to find her phone,” I said.

  “I’ve got to believe Kramer’s killer made sure any important personal effects got incinerated in that car fire,” James responded.

  “What about her mailbox?”

  “Great minds think alike, Carter. I was just wondering how the resident curmudgeon is going to respond when we interrupt his routine to help us out with that.”

  “I’m sure he’ll bend over backwards to oblige. He just seems like that kind of guy.”

  James smiled and shook his head. “Anything to make our job more difficult. I’ve seen enough in here. Ready to head down?”

  “Yep. I hope Sarah’s having better luck over at The Shallows than we are, here.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against her,” James said as we entered the stairwell. “She’s pulled many a rabbit out of a hat on past cases.”

  As we descended the stairs I heard what sounded like a pitch man touting the benefits of some product, infomercial style.

  James entered the first floor hallway ahead of me, the sound much louder now. He turned, pointed toward the curmudgeon’s door---which was now wide open---and shrugged.

  The resident grouch spied us from his spot in front of the television and pointed toward an end table standing just inside his doorway. “The girl’s mail is right there. I figured you were going to hit me up for it, anyway. They always do.”

  James stepped inside, grabbed the substantial stack, and gave the man a simple wave goodbye.

  “Imagine that,” I said as we left the building.

  James raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Let’s, uh … we’ll sit in the cruiser and sort through this pile. Too hot out here in the direct sunlight.”

  “Good call. I can’t hear myself think over the sound of all the little darlings screaming next door.”

  We climbed inside and James handed me half the collection of bills, junk mail, and the like. We got busy sorting. “Amazing how quickly this crap accumulates. Kramer’s only been gone for three days, now.”

  “Ten pieces of advertising for every one delivery that matters,” I said to James. It was then I noticed he was scrutinizing one piece of mail in particular.