“Mrs. Lyons, you’re saying that Mr. Russo’s was the only major robbery in the community?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And his girlfriend?”
“Poor thing, his girlfriend broke up with him right before. They had a rather public argument, and she left crying.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, gosh, I’m not sure. A week or two before Kenny was murdered. I called her to tell her, and she was heartbroken. I thought there was something special between them. But she couldn’t come to the funeral. She had taken a job out of state. That’s what the fight was about, apparently. She wanted him to move with her, and Kenny, he was happy with us old folks. He was only fifty-three, but he was an old soul.”
“Do you have her name? Contact information?”
“In my address book. Just a minute.”
Several minutes later, Mrs. Lyons came on the phone. “Hannah.”
“Hannah what?”
“I don’t have her last name, but here’s the number.”
After Mrs. Lyons recited the digits, Megan said, “That’s a New York exchange.”
“She’s from New York, and she went back. It was her cell phone-I hear you can keep the same number no matter where you move. Isn’t that amazing?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Hannah had moved here to be with her parents, who were getting on in years and needed some help. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing? I know so many people who have children too busy to even visit, let alone help with grocery shopping and transportation. I can’t drive anymore because of my eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan said as she finished writing down information. “Your eyes?”
“I’m blind. Well, not blind as a bat, but I can’t see more than two feet in front of me even with my glasses. So you can understand why I would love to have some help, but I never was able to have children. Though some of my friends have several children and none of their kids help out-”
“Mrs. Lyons, I really appreciate your time and information. I may call you again, if that’s okay.”
“Yes, of course, anytime. Please.”
“One more thing, how long was Mr. Russo involved with Hannah?”
“Several months. They met at a community mixer.”
“How old is she, would you say?”
“Young. Forty, forty-five.”
“I thought you had to be fifty to live there?”
“Yes, but she was taking care of her parents-didn’t I say that? I’m sure I did.”
“Are her parents still there?”
“Oh no, when Hannah left for her new job, they went to a nursing home. They were in their eighties, I think Bernard was close to ninety. He had a pretty good head, but didn’t say much of anything. Millie had advanced Alzheimer’s. Couldn’t remember anything, bless her heart. I don’t blame Hannah for moving on. Bernard never made much money working for the county, though they had a nice retirement. I think Hannah was struggling to make sure their bills were paid. Before Millie was diagnosed, she’d bought thousands of dollars of stuff she didn’t need off that shopping channel. Finally, Bernard cut up the credit cards. At least, that’s what I
“Do you have the name of the home?” “Sunny Day Adult Living. It’s one of the nicer places in Orlando. If any of those places are nice.” “And their last name?” “Rubin. Bernard and Millie Rubin.” “Was that their daughter’s last name as well?” “I suppose so. I honestly don’t know.” “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Lyons.” “We’re here,” Officer Dodge said after Megan hung up. “Ready?”
“One minute. Let me make a quick call.” Megan dialed the number Mrs. Lyons gave her for Hannah, Ken Russo’s ex-girlfriend. Her head was abuzz with questions, namely did Hannah know if Russo had been threatened or seemed distracted prior to their breakup. Megan was shocked when Mrs. Lyons told her the community was a private, gated development. Only one major theft, with a murder attached, and the police weren’t suspicious of a more personal motive?
An automated voice mail system picked up and Megan debated leaving a message. When the beep sounded, she said, “Hello, my name is Megan Elliott and I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I spoke with someone who said you used to date a Mr. Kenneth Russo in Orlando, Florida, who was murdered in a robbery last year. I’m following up on the case and have a couple questions, and would appreciate a call back.”
Next she called information for the Sunny Day Adult Living Center in Orlando and asked for the administrator. Unfortunately, being five in the afternoon on the East Coast, he had already left. “This is an FBI investigation that may relate to one of your residents,” Megan told the manager who answered the phone. “If you would please give me the administrator’s home or cell phone number, I would appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry, that’s against protocol, but I’ll be happy to contact him if you can tell me what this is regarding.”
“The daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Rubin may have information that will help in a criminal investigation, and I’m looking for a current phone number and address.”
“I’ll have Dr. Boswell get back to you, Ms. Elliott.”
Megan gave her contact information and hung up, frustrated. Two potential leads-two good solid leads- on hold while she waited.
“Let’s go,” she said to Officer Dodge.
The two women exited the patrol car and walked up the short stone path to the quaint Victorian house in downtown SLO. Megan hoped Hans hadn’t sent her on a wild-goose chase.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The bartender at the hotel bar had been less than helpful, Jack thought. While they had a vague description of the woman, the bartender sat with a police artist for an hour and nothing came of it. If they needed a description of her breasts, no problem. The artist told a frustrated Hans that sometimes it took a few hours, but she wasn’t confident that the bartender would remember enough detail to render an accurate picture.
Still, the meeting confirmed one fact: General Hackett had gone to the bar as was his custom when he arrived on the third Thursday of the month, ordered a drink, and then bought a drink for the lady in the red dress. The bartender also confirmed that the lady had invited Hackett to her table, where they engaged in conversation and another round of drinks for forty-five minutes, before leaving together. Hackett had a habit of meeting with pretty, fortysomething blondes each month.
Approximately fifteen minutes later-about the length of time it would take for a leisurely stroll from the bar to the beachfront cabins, reports of gunshots came into the reservation desk and the police station. Security was dispatched, but no one was at the cabin for nearly five minutes after the reported gunshot, largely because the security guards had all been at the main hotel, and had been uncertain where the shots came from-whether on the resort grounds or the beach itself.
Five minutes had been more than enough time for Rosemont’s murderous partner to slip away.
“A woman,” Jack said almost to himself as he and Hans walked back to the small conference room that the hotel had set aside for law enforcement.
“Excuse me?”
“Rosemont’s partner is a woman.”
“Don’t leap to conclusions. She could have-” Jack raised his eyebrow and Hans stopped. “You’re right. There is no other explanation.”
“Someone led Hackett to that room. The bartender said it was a mutual flirtation.”
“But why the elaborate plan?” Hans asked. “They were practically in public. Though the cabins are more private, they couldn’t be sure that someone walking by wouldn’t have heard the shot. And they would also have had to know Hackett’s schedule.”
“Hackett had a routine,” Jack said. “The third Thursday of every month.”
