His partner glanced down at it and read it without touching the paper.
“Well, here it goes. Let the games begin,” McDonald responded.
“Hum.” Dunne carefully picked up the CD and placed it into the hard drive of his computer, then pressed play. The voice of an unknown man filled the room. He and McDonald listened in on the conversation playing.
“So, what happened then?” The unidentified man spoke.
“Last night, as I gave him a sponge bath,” said a feminine voice. “He told me that he had named me as the sole beneficiary of everything. I could hardly believe it. I’ve only known him two months.”
“How advanced is the cancer?” The man asked.
“It’s in the late stages. His pancreas, or so the doctors said. Plus, he’s a diabetic. He won’t last long at all. I feel sorry for him sometimes, the pain he’s in.” The female’s voice was familiar—Chelsea.
“Don’t get soft on him now. It’s a surprise, but hey, once he’s gone, it’s just me and you, babe,” the man replied. “We’ll leave London, set up somewhere else. Sell a couple of his properties too. We’ll be loaded.”
“Hmmm,” Chelsea’s voice softened. “I could do with some sun.”
The recording cut off.
Dunne raised his eyebrows at the hard drive. “The female voice obviously belonged to Chelsea.” He rubbed his face. “But the male is an unknown suspect.”
McDonald got to his feet and headed over to the coffee maker. He pulled out two cups.
“We need to call Lance in as soon as possible,” McDonald said, then filled the cups with the lukewarm black liquid.
Dunne chuckled. “I see your tune has changed, partner. I’m on it.”
He then turned his attention back to his screen. “Let’s just hope it’s him in the recording, and not some other poor idiot Chelsea was seeing.” Dunne tapped in Lance’s full name into the police database.
McDonald made his way over to Dunne’s desk, coffee in hand. “Cool. The wife also,” he said, then placed one cup in front of Dunne. “We need to check in with her.”
Dunne stopped typing and looked up from the screen. “Yeah, agreed.”
“Where’s her file? I’ll go over it again in my office.” McDonald gulped down his coffee.
Dunne nodded to his filing cabinet. “Over there, top draw.”
McDonald strode over, pulled open the stiff drawer, heavy with the London Metropolitan’s unsolved crimes under Dunne’s watch. He shifted through until he got to Tony Patel, behind it was a file on Manisha Patel.
“Got it.”
He headed back to Dunne, who was busy typing on his computer, drained the last of the bitter coffee, and then headed toward the door.
“Let me know what you find. I’ll be in my office,” McDonald called over a shoulder.
“No problem,” Dunne responded without moving his eyes from his screen.
“Lance,” he said out loud, “is a new piece of the puzzle. Let’s see where he fits.”
Dunne’s mind moved back to the investigation, deeper into the case to when Tony Patel first turned up dead on the common. He and McDonald had left no stone unturned. With no weapon, or incriminating evidence—just growing suspicions over Tony’s wife and mistress—they had to put the case to bed. It was clear that Tony had made an informed decision to change his will, sadly to his wife and children’s determinant. Both women had played the convincing, grieving partner of Tony’s well—too well in fact.
Minimising his screen, he opened up the case file and notes he had typed up from the investigation. The forensics’ picture of Tony’s dead body popped up. It was gruesome to view—the body battered beyond recognition.
He closed out the electronic file and focused on the notes, reading one then the other, over and over again.
“If there’s a resolution to this case in all this mess, I’m damn sure gonna find it, this time.”
10
Gut Feelings
Detective McDonald
McDonald strode over to office the secretaries shared. He knocked on the door then entered.
“Ladies, the packages that were delivered to Detective Dunne today, they weren’t by special delivery, right?”
“That’s right, just normal mail,” Shelly responded.”
McDonald scanned over the office space the four ladies shared. Shelly’s co-workers were busy with their earphones on typing at what seemed like a million miles an hour to him. Thinking of his one-finger typing, his lip tugged upward, but he stemmed the smile.
“Okay, keep an eye out for anymore,” he said, watching Jennifer’s fingers glide over her keyboard.
“Will do, Detective.” Shelly returned her attention back to her typing.
“Carry on, then, Ladies.” McDonald turned to leave.
“Detective,” Shelly called out, “I know I’m just a messenger, but in all honesty, I’ve been a secretary here for years. Nothing like this has ever happened before on a case.”
“Don’t worry, Shelly. It’s all under control, okay?”
Shelly nodded, lowered her lashes back to her keyboard, then continued with her typing.
McDonald watched her for a moment, unable to understand why she as so concerned. “Hey, Shelly, what are you so nervous about? You can’t seriously be worried over what you’ve seen on those shows?”
Shelly looked up, she remained mute. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say something.
Ring.
Ring.
“I better get that.” She reached for the phone.
McDonald rolled his eyes. “Yeap,” he muttered under his breath, then closed the door behind him.
Annoyance chewed at him. The sender probably knew full well, there’d be no way to trace who sent the notes if they were sent by normal post and deposited in any one of London’s millions of street mailboxes.
He headed back to Dunne’s office, rapped on the door, then entered. His partner was still focused on his computer screen.
“I’ll send the envelopes and notes off to forensics.” McDonald approached his partner’s desk. “Let’s see if any prints or DNA can be lifted from them. They were sent via normal mail.”
“Hmmm, hardly a surprise, Josh.” Dunne briefly paused his computer research, then put on a pair of gloves. “Give me a sec.” He removed the CD from the drive, slid it back into the envelope with both
