been during my visit earlier that day. Now instead of the busy hum of an office at work, there were only small clusters of employees speaking in hushed tones around their cubicles.
No one seemed to notice me as I reached the door to Gwen’s office and stepped inside. Unfortunately, several people were in there, all of whom looked up as I came in. I recognized Detective Keegan, the man who had interviewed me earlier. He was standing next to a tall, familiar-looking man and a woman I hadn’t seen before.
“So anyway,” the woman was saying, “about three hours and I should have some preliminaries.”
She was holding an opened-topped box that was filled with lunch-sized paper bags—evidence, no doubt. Carefully carrying the box, she headed out the door, the other man holding it open for her.
“I’ll catch a ride with Michelle,” he said to Detective Keegan. “See you back at the station.”
The two of them left, and Keegan turned to me inquisitively.
“Can I help you?” he asked, squinting his eyes as he studied me. “Oh, you changed clothes. Sorry I didn’t recognize you right off.”
“I couldn’t stand that stiff suit any longer,” I said, smiling. “I don’t mind dressing up, but sometimes I get a bit claustrophobic.”
He didn’t laugh but merely raised one eyebrow and continued to look at me.
“I was just wondering if the crime scene has been released.”
“Just finished,” he said. “I think I’m the last one here. Is there something you need?”
“No,” I answered lightly. “I just wanted to take a look around.”
I could tell he wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then lowered my voice.
“I’ve been…retained,” I said, “to look into Mr. Smythe’s death.”
“Retained?”
“As an investigator.”
“When I questioned you earlier, you said you were an attorney and that you worked for a foundation.”
“That’s correct. But I’m also a licensed PI. My boss seems to think I might be of some use around here now that Mr. Smythe’s death has definitely been classified as a homicide.”
Detective Keegan didn’t look very pleased.
“You’re licensed in Pennsylvania?” he asked.
“Maryland,” I said. “But I’m working here with the Perskie Detective Agency. I can give you the number of Duane Perskie, if you need to verify it.”
He waited a beat, studying my face.
“No, I know Duane,” he said. Then, with a final nod, he picked up his jacket from the back of Gwen’s chair, slipped it over his shoulders, and headed for the door.
Once he was gone, I turned and went into Wendell’s office. I didn’t blame Detective Keegan for his wary attitude, and I wished there was some way I could assure him that I knew what I was doing, that I was fully aware of the principles of chain of evidence and the like. In time, I supposed, he would see that I wasn’t some incompetent Nancy Drew wanna-be, but a finely trained and meticulous detective. I smiled as I thought of Eli Gold, the man who had taught me everything I knew about investigations. Though he was now retired and living in Florida, he would always be very much a part of my life. Sometimes it almost seemed as if Eli were still looking over my shoulder, interpreting the facts and calmly explaining what I should do next.
Welcome back to the scene of the crime, I thought now as I walked around Wendell’s desk and looked down at the floor where his body had lain, dead, this very morning. The police had left a bit ofa mess behind with fingerprint dust on walls and furniture and vivid white chalk marks on the dark blue carpeting. It looked as if they had been very thorough—as one would expect in a high-profile case of a wealthy man such as this.
Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to find. I thought of Eli’s “crime scene checklist”—the 30 things I was supposed to try to ascertain right up front, beginning at the scene of the crime. Eli had made me
No one seemed to notice me as I reached the door to Gwen’s office and stepped inside. Unfortunately, several people were in there, all of whom looked up as I came in. I recognized Detective Keegan, the man who had interviewed me earlier. He was standing next to a tall, familiar-looking man and a woman I hadn’t seen before.
“So anyway,” the woman was saying, “about three hours and I should have some preliminaries.”
She was holding an opened-topped box that was filled with lunch-sized paper bags—evidence, no doubt. Carefully carrying the box, she headed out the door, the other man holding it open for her.
“I’ll catch a ride with Michelle,” he said to Detective Keegan. “See you back at the station.”
The two of them left, and Keegan turned to me inquisitively.
“Can I help you?” he asked, squinting his eyes as he studied me. “Oh, you changed clothes. Sorry I didn’t recognize you right off.”
“I couldn’t stand that stiff suit any longer,” I said, smiling. “I don’t mind dressing up, but sometimes I get a bit claustrophobic.”
He didn’t laugh but merely raised one eyebrow and continued to look at me.
“I was just wondering if the crime scene has been released.”
“Just finished,” he said. “I think I’m the last one here. Is there something you need?”
“No,” I answered lightly. “I just wanted to take a look around.”
I could tell he wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then lowered my voice.
“I’ve been…retained,” I said, “to look into Mr. Smythe’s death.”
“Retained?”
“As an investigator.”
“When I questioned you earlier, you said you were an attorney and that you worked for a foundation.”
“That’s correct. But I’m also a licensed PI. My boss seems to think I might be of some use around here now that Mr. Smythe’s death has definitely been classified as a homicide.”
Detective Keegan didn’t look very pleased.
“You’re licensed in Pennsylvania?” he asked.
“Maryland,” I said. “But I’m working here with the Perskie Detective Agency. I can give you the number of Duane Perskie, if you need to verify it.”
He waited a beat, studying my face.
“No, I know Duane,” he said. Then, with a final nod, he picked up his jacket from the back of Gwen’s chair, slipped it over his shoulders, and headed for the door.
Once he was gone, I turned and went into Wendell’s office. I didn’t blame Detective Keegan for his wary attitude, and I wished there was some way I could assure him that I knew what I was doing, that I was fully aware of the principles of chain of evidence and the like. In time, I supposed, he would see that I wasn’t some incompetent Nancy Drew wanna-be, but a finely trained and meticulous detective. I smiled as I thought of Eli Gold, the man who had taught me everything I knew about investigations. Though he was now retired and living in Florida, he would always be very much a part of my life. Sometimes it almost seemed as if Eli were still looking over my shoulder, interpreting the facts and calmly explaining what I should do next.
Welcome back to the scene of the crime, I thought now as I walked around Wendell’s desk and looked down at the floor where his body had lain, dead, this very morning. The police had left a bit ofa mess behind with fingerprint dust on walls and furniture and vivid white chalk marks on the dark blue carpeting. It looked as if they had been very thorough—as one would expect in a high-profile case of a wealthy man such as this.
Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to find. I thought of Eli’s “crime scene checklist”—the 30 things I was supposed to try to ascertain right up front, beginning at the scene of the crime. Eli had made me
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