Jeffries. A moment later another woman picks up the phone.
“George Jeffries’ line, this is Nancy,” the woman says smoothly.
“I’m trying to reach George Jeffries,” I reply.
“I’m sorry, he’s not in at the moment, would you like to leave a message?”
“When can I reach him?” I press.
“Are you a friend of Mr. Jeffries?” the woman asks.
“We’ve met,” I reply truthfully.
“Well, I’m sorry to say that Mr. Jeffries is…deceased,” the woman says after a few seconds of consideration. Then I hear her falter over the phone. “I’m very sorry but we just found out about this and everyone here is in shock.”
“No, I apologize,” I offer. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Perhaps you can help me, though. I sent a package by courier over to your group last week and it was received at 6:30pm on Wednesday night. I’m trying to track it and couldn’t read the signature. Could it have been George who signed for it?”
“Let me check his calendar...” the woman says, and I hear computer keys clicking. “Ah yes, I remember. We were finalizing a deal that evening and Mr. Jeffries was in the office all night. He actually didn’t leave until late the next afternoon. I’d be surprised if he signed for a courier delivery, though. I stayed late that night as well and that’s what he has – I mean, had me for.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say and hang up before she can ask me any questions. Then I call Veronica.
She’s clearly angry with me until I explain that I didn’t return her calls because I’ve spent a night in jail. Then she apologizes, sounding both horrified and remorseful. She tells me that she left a message for the Sheriff before we met, but she was too embarrassed to tell me when I dismissed her concerns. She wanted to find out what time Mel killed herself to see if the 9-1-1 call came before or after. Sheriff Peterson called her back just after I had called her from my car last night, and dragged the entire story out of her. In no uncertain terms he ordered her to meet him at 7am this morning, then had her take him through all the things she showed me. Then he promised to investigate and asked her to hold off speaking to her editors for a couple of days. He didn’t tell her anything about George’s death, which she is shocked to hear about from me. I relay the Sheriff’s ultimatum.
“Well thank God you know Sheriff Peterson personally,” she says, “because he’s right about the magistrate system in this state. It’s a mess – it’s been written up in the New York Times. Who knows what would have happened to you if you got caught up in all that?”
“I’m still in it. I can’t ask you not to write a story about this. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“My job is writing feature stories for a suburban newspaper, not speculating about murders! Even if I wanted to, do you have any idea what it would take to get a story like this printed? You don’t want to know. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
“I don’t think so. We’ve still got two problems,” I say, sighing.
“Which are?”
“I was able to listen to the recording of the 9-1-1 call last Wednesday night from Mel’s apartment. It wasn’t George’s voice. The speaker was Russian or maybe Ukrainian. After I heard the recording, I called George’s bank. I talked to his assistant. It turns out that George was at work all night on Wednesday. He was there finalizing some deal until mid-day on Thursday, in fact. He couldn’t have killed Mel.”
I slow the GTO, checking for traffic in the rearview mirror. Then I pull quickly across two lanes, exiting the Thruway at the last minute. “That’s the first problem,” I say to Veronica as I bring the GTO to a halt in front of the traffic light at the end of the exit ramp.
“What’s the second problem?” she asks.
“When he was interrogating me this morning, Buddy Peterson was hiding something. He was lying to me.”
“How do you know
“George Jeffries’ line, this is Nancy,” the woman says smoothly.
“I’m trying to reach George Jeffries,” I reply.
“I’m sorry, he’s not in at the moment, would you like to leave a message?”
“When can I reach him?” I press.
“Are you a friend of Mr. Jeffries?” the woman asks.
“We’ve met,” I reply truthfully.
“Well, I’m sorry to say that Mr. Jeffries is…deceased,” the woman says after a few seconds of consideration. Then I hear her falter over the phone. “I’m very sorry but we just found out about this and everyone here is in shock.”
“No, I apologize,” I offer. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Perhaps you can help me, though. I sent a package by courier over to your group last week and it was received at 6:30pm on Wednesday night. I’m trying to track it and couldn’t read the signature. Could it have been George who signed for it?”
“Let me check his calendar...” the woman says, and I hear computer keys clicking. “Ah yes, I remember. We were finalizing a deal that evening and Mr. Jeffries was in the office all night. He actually didn’t leave until late the next afternoon. I’d be surprised if he signed for a courier delivery, though. I stayed late that night as well and that’s what he has – I mean, had me for.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say and hang up before she can ask me any questions. Then I call Veronica.
She’s clearly angry with me until I explain that I didn’t return her calls because I’ve spent a night in jail. Then she apologizes, sounding both horrified and remorseful. She tells me that she left a message for the Sheriff before we met, but she was too embarrassed to tell me when I dismissed her concerns. She wanted to find out what time Mel killed herself to see if the 9-1-1 call came before or after. Sheriff Peterson called her back just after I had called her from my car last night, and dragged the entire story out of her. In no uncertain terms he ordered her to meet him at 7am this morning, then had her take him through all the things she showed me. Then he promised to investigate and asked her to hold off speaking to her editors for a couple of days. He didn’t tell her anything about George’s death, which she is shocked to hear about from me. I relay the Sheriff’s ultimatum.
“Well thank God you know Sheriff Peterson personally,” she says, “because he’s right about the magistrate system in this state. It’s a mess – it’s been written up in the New York Times. Who knows what would have happened to you if you got caught up in all that?”
“I’m still in it. I can’t ask you not to write a story about this. That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“My job is writing feature stories for a suburban newspaper, not speculating about murders! Even if I wanted to, do you have any idea what it would take to get a story like this printed? You don’t want to know. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
“I don’t think so. We’ve still got two problems,” I say, sighing.
“Which are?”
“I was able to listen to the recording of the 9-1-1 call last Wednesday night from Mel’s apartment. It wasn’t George’s voice. The speaker was Russian or maybe Ukrainian. After I heard the recording, I called George’s bank. I talked to his assistant. It turns out that George was at work all night on Wednesday. He was there finalizing some deal until mid-day on Thursday, in fact. He couldn’t have killed Mel.”
I slow the GTO, checking for traffic in the rearview mirror. Then I pull quickly across two lanes, exiting the Thruway at the last minute. “That’s the first problem,” I say to Veronica as I bring the GTO to a halt in front of the traffic light at the end of the exit ramp.
“What’s the second problem?” she asks.
“When he was interrogating me this morning, Buddy Peterson was hiding something. He was lying to me.”
“How do you know
Similar Books
