with careful pauses.
“Good one,” Mallory said.
The compliment must have given the officer some confidence because he blurted his next comment. “Maybe he didn’t have much of a childhood.”
“Yes, exactly.” Mallory wandered over to a window that looked out on the convention floor. She checked her watch. It had been almost eight hours since the body was discovered. “Jacobson, what can you tell me about the guy based on the type of books he read?”
Jacobson scanned the bookshelf and then the volumes scattered across the floor. “Big on self-improvement. Turns everything into math.”
Mallory cocked her head. “What?”
“Seven secrets of this, five ways to get rich quick. Improve your life in three minutes a day. Six unhealthy habits of mediocre people.”
The officer grinned. Jacobson was in good form this morning.
“Got a lot of books about Ted Turner, Donald Trump, Sam Walton, and Bugsy Siegel, the guy who had a vision for Vegas. Empire builders.” Jacobson rose to her feet and continued to inventory the shelves. “No fiction. No poetry. No books about art and architecture. The guy wanted to improve every part of his life but one.”
Mallory shook her head.
Jacobson stood back. “Lots of how to make your business better, but nothing on how to make your relationships work.” The younger detective placed her hands on her slender hips. “My shelves at home are filled with how to make your marriage better and get along with your kids and neighbors books.”
The revelation that Jacobson read books on relationship improvement surprised Mallory. Jacobson’s life seemed so perfect, two kids and a supportive husband. Mallory had two failed marriages under her belt and a daughter who called on Mother’s Day and made a guest appearance at Christmas.
Mallory stalked toward the desk. “Walk around, people; tell me if the room reveals anything else about this guy.”
“There’s nothing showy about the place.” The officer stopped beside a stack of magazines. “The guy is on every regional magazine he can get his face on. Total publicity hound. You would expect his place to be more ostentatious.”
Ostentatious? The officer must have read his word-of-the-day calendar this morning. He disappeared into the bedroom.
Mallory turned a half circle. “We surround ourselves with what feels comfortable. Plain and simple felt comfortable to Dustin in private.”
“Look what I found.” The policeman emerged holding a Bible. “It was in his nightstand drawer.”
Jacobson stepped toward him. “Does it look like he read it every night?”
“The pages are crisp. I thought it was interesting because there’s a photo of a lady and a kid.” He paused on the inside cover. “There’s a dedication dated four years ago.” He angled the Bible to read. “‘Dear Dustin, hope this helps you find your way home. Love, Gloria.’” The officer handed the Bible to Mallory.
The photograph had to be of Gloria and Xabier. It was old. She’d been told that Xabier Knight was twenty-three. The boy in this picture was maybe ten. “My guess. If he wasn’t reading it, he kept it close because it was a gift from his first wife.” She flipped through it and saw yellow. A single highlighted verse in 1 Timothy 6. “‘Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.’”
Mallory set the Bible on the desk where disheveled stacks of paper collected. She picked up the Day-Timer. Interestingly, Dustin’s last appointment was at ten-thirty at night with someone named Edward Mastive. He had penciled in a Victoria Stone for ten o’clock and the word speech for nine-thirty. Dustin’s body had been found around eleven. She handed the planner to Jacobson. “We need to find out who Edward Mastive is. He may have been the last one to see Dustin alive. Track down this Victoria Stone too.”
Jacobson recorded the names in her notebook.
A single piece of paper tacked to the small bulletin board
“Good one,” Mallory said.
The compliment must have given the officer some confidence because he blurted his next comment. “Maybe he didn’t have much of a childhood.”
“Yes, exactly.” Mallory wandered over to a window that looked out on the convention floor. She checked her watch. It had been almost eight hours since the body was discovered. “Jacobson, what can you tell me about the guy based on the type of books he read?”
Jacobson scanned the bookshelf and then the volumes scattered across the floor. “Big on self-improvement. Turns everything into math.”
Mallory cocked her head. “What?”
“Seven secrets of this, five ways to get rich quick. Improve your life in three minutes a day. Six unhealthy habits of mediocre people.”
The officer grinned. Jacobson was in good form this morning.
“Got a lot of books about Ted Turner, Donald Trump, Sam Walton, and Bugsy Siegel, the guy who had a vision for Vegas. Empire builders.” Jacobson rose to her feet and continued to inventory the shelves. “No fiction. No poetry. No books about art and architecture. The guy wanted to improve every part of his life but one.”
Mallory shook her head.
Jacobson stood back. “Lots of how to make your business better, but nothing on how to make your relationships work.” The younger detective placed her hands on her slender hips. “My shelves at home are filled with how to make your marriage better and get along with your kids and neighbors books.”
The revelation that Jacobson read books on relationship improvement surprised Mallory. Jacobson’s life seemed so perfect, two kids and a supportive husband. Mallory had two failed marriages under her belt and a daughter who called on Mother’s Day and made a guest appearance at Christmas.
Mallory stalked toward the desk. “Walk around, people; tell me if the room reveals anything else about this guy.”
“There’s nothing showy about the place.” The officer stopped beside a stack of magazines. “The guy is on every regional magazine he can get his face on. Total publicity hound. You would expect his place to be more ostentatious.”
Ostentatious? The officer must have read his word-of-the-day calendar this morning. He disappeared into the bedroom.
Mallory turned a half circle. “We surround ourselves with what feels comfortable. Plain and simple felt comfortable to Dustin in private.”
“Look what I found.” The policeman emerged holding a Bible. “It was in his nightstand drawer.”
Jacobson stepped toward him. “Does it look like he read it every night?”
“The pages are crisp. I thought it was interesting because there’s a photo of a lady and a kid.” He paused on the inside cover. “There’s a dedication dated four years ago.” He angled the Bible to read. “‘Dear Dustin, hope this helps you find your way home. Love, Gloria.’” The officer handed the Bible to Mallory.
The photograph had to be of Gloria and Xabier. It was old. She’d been told that Xabier Knight was twenty-three. The boy in this picture was maybe ten. “My guess. If he wasn’t reading it, he kept it close because it was a gift from his first wife.” She flipped through it and saw yellow. A single highlighted verse in 1 Timothy 6. “‘Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.’”
Mallory set the Bible on the desk where disheveled stacks of paper collected. She picked up the Day-Timer. Interestingly, Dustin’s last appointment was at ten-thirty at night with someone named Edward Mastive. He had penciled in a Victoria Stone for ten o’clock and the word speech for nine-thirty. Dustin’s body had been found around eleven. She handed the planner to Jacobson. “We need to find out who Edward Mastive is. He may have been the last one to see Dustin alive. Track down this Victoria Stone too.”
Jacobson recorded the names in her notebook.
A single piece of paper tacked to the small bulletin board
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