The Deadly Caress

Chapter 8

Detective Melvin Hart, or Mel as he liked to be called, only his mother called him Melvin now, switched off the mike in his early model dark-blue Buick as he continued driving. He couldn't stand listening to the broken dispatches for more than a few minutes at a time. Police news interrupted his train of thought, especially when he was on a case.

     Jean Campbell's death had all the makings of something that could be big. The little research he'd done this morning had told him the Campbell woman was loaded and the major stockholder in a multi-national company, Campbell-Beare Pharmaceuticals. There were people out there who would kill for a lot less.

     A speeding Jaguar shot out from a side street and careened in the path of his car. He slammed on the brakes, and skidded to a halt with only inches to spare.

     Holy baloney. Where did some people learn to drive? Who did they pay to get a license?

     The car swerved past Hart to the other side of the road. Mel caught a glimpse of the man's black hair through the partly-down tinted window. The car disappeared around the bend before Mel caught any more than a fleeting glance at the license plate.

     Definitely not the sort of crazy driver you would expect in this neighborhood. But he guessed that money couldn't buy you brains.

     He rubbed his forehead as if he'd bumped it, but he knew he hadn't. A reflex action from the accident he'd had twelve months ago in his classic Ford Galaxie. His head had slammed against the steering wheel then and the result had been concussion. He moved off cautiously.

     A few minutes later, he arrived at the gates to the Campbell residence. After showing his badge to a duty officer at the gate, Hart drove past a hedge in spring bloom—a sea of purples, pinks—to the two-story mansion.

     A sergeant and an officer stood talking beside a patrol car.

     Hart eased his bulk out of his Buick and lumbered against the wind towards them.

     They exchanged greetings. Hart pushed back his wavy brown hair from his forehead.

     "You're the new guy that transferred from San Francisco. Settled in okay?" Sergeant Gabotsky said.

     "Don't you remember me? I headed the case on the Master's Company warehouse fire. I've been here eight months now."

     "That was you? Anyhow, you're still considered new to these parts," Gabotsky said.

     "What's the story?" Hart asked.

     "No signs of forced entry. Security cameras everywhere. No one gets in or our without the security company knowing. And there were no uninvited guests today or yesterday."

     "Where's the body?"

     The officer, who had been silent until now, said, "Upstairs bathroom."

     The sergeant filled him in on who had been home.

     Hart searched his jacket pockets for some gum. It kept him thinking. As he pulled it out, a movie ticket fluttered to the ground; he picked up the keepsake from some movie he'd seen before he'd moved from San Francisco. He popped the gum in his mouth.

     "Something else," the sergeant said. "The lawyer said he called the deceased yesterday. When they'd finished talking about this new will he'd drawn up for her he was almost sure that when she'd hung up there was a second click on the line, like someone else had been listening."