Ground Zero, page 3
part #1 of Zero Hour Series
It took Sawyer ten minutes to learn her name and relationship to the deceased because sobs and intermittent keening wails interrupted her words or made them incomprehensible. Sawyer considered himself a good judge of character, and Putz’s agent, Shirley Hanover, wasn’t faking her despair. It was obvious she was in no condition to drive to the police station, so either he could drive her or Sawyer could ask an officer to do it. The look in Locke’s eyes said he expected Sawyer to pawn the sobbing woman off on a uniform, but Sawyer gently escorted the woman to the Dodge Charger he’d selected from the motor pool after discovering Locke had already left for the crime scene.
Shirley Hanover’s tears turned into loud hiccups and sniffling that lasted for the duration of the drive. Sawyer offered her an opportunity to use the restroom to tidy up as soon as they reached the station.
“No, thank you, Detective,” she said. “I appreciate your kindness.” Shirley’s voice only wobbled slightly, so Sawyer thought it would be safe to proceed and escorted her to the interview room.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Sawyer gently asked her. He knew damn well Locke was on the other side of the two-way mirror observing his interactions with Putz’s agent. “Coffee, perhaps.” Sawyer knew from experience the hot beverage had a soothing effect on people, and the sweetness from the sugar and cream helped to counterbalance the side effects of shock. She shook her head.
Shirley Hanover looked to be in her mid-fifties, but it was hard to tell because shock and grief had a way of aging a person. Her gray curls remained neatly styled, but her sobbing had taken a brutal toll on her makeup. Shirley’s mascara had smeared beneath her eyes, and watery, black streaks slid down her face; her lipstick had smeared beyond her lip liner, giving her a Joker-like appearance; and her natural skin was showing through where she’d rubbed big patches of her foundation away. Her floral-print blouse had come untucked from her A-line beige skirt on one side. Putz’s agent was a big mess—emotionally and physically. He thought it best to start the interview before another wave of grief rose up and delayed their conversation.
“Ms. Hanover—”
“Mrs. Hanover. I’m proud to claim my husband’s name.”
“Pardon me, ma’am. Mrs. Hanover, you indicated to Officer Andrews that you know who killed Mr. Putzinski.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone. I just talked to Roland yesterday evening before he recorded his podcast episode. He sounded like his usual self—happy.” Sawyer deserved an award for not reacting to her statement. How could anyone filled with so much hatred toward other people ever be described as happy?
“Did you talk to Mr. Putzinski often, Mrs. Hanover?”
“Yes, nearly every day. I’m all Roland has—had—left in the world. As you can imagine, someone as bold and honest as Roland didn’t have very many friends. I was honored to have him in my life.”
Sawyer clenched his fists beneath the desk. Breathe in. Hold. Release. “He doesn’t have any living relatives? No next of kin?”
“None who are speaking to him. Were speaking to him,” Mrs. Hanover amended then burst into a fresh round of tears.
Sawyer pushed the tissue box closer to her then focused on his breathing rather than his growing impatience.
Mrs. Hanover wept into a crumpled tissue for a few more minutes then sniffed loudly before wiping her eyes with a fresh tissue. “I’m sorry, Detective. Roland’s murder has been the biggest shock of my life. I’m reeling over here.”
“I understand, Mrs. Hanover. Take all the time you need.”
“And let his killer get away?” she asked irritably. “No, sir. I need to pull myself together so I can help you bring this…miscreant to justice.”
“Why don’t we start off with your conversation with Mr. Putzinski and go from there? You’re most likely the last person who spoke to him before he died.”
“Roland was irate because he’d just found out from Melody’s lawyer she’d decided to reject his settlement offer.”
“Who is Melody, and what settlement had she declined?”
“Melody Putzinski—well, Jameson. She refused to take Roland’s name after they got married.” Gee, I wonder why? “She is Roland’s estranged wife.”
“And his next of kin,” Sawyer said.
“Their divorce was almost final, but Miss Greedy, Slutty Pants decided Roland’s generous settlement wasn’t enough for her, even though she was only entitled to what she entered the marriage with.” Mrs. Hanover snorted. “Roland should’ve repossessed her fake tits.” Sawyer raised his brow at her unladylike remark and venomous tone. “He paid for her cheek implants, tummy tuck, Brazilian butt lift, collagen lips, and even her hair and eyelash extensions. Nothing about the woman is real, including her feelings for my friend.” Sawyer felt it was possible some agents felt this passionately about their clients, but Mrs. Hanover’s reactions felt more…personal.
“So, Mr. Putzinski was upset Melody Jameson had rejected the settlement offer at the last minute…” Sawyer said, leading Mrs. Hanover back on topic.
“Yes, even though the prenuptial agreement protected Roland’s assets, he offered her two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He was still in love with her.”
Bullshit. There was no way in hell Roland Putzinski offered money he wasn’t obligated to pay. It was hush money, and Melody Jameson had decided her dirt was worth more money. Sawyer decided to continue with the line of questioning to find more answers, and possibly a motive to kill.
“Mr. Putzinski’s feelings weren’t returned? There was no hope for a reconciliation?”
“She never loved Roland. She only wanted him for his money. Her affection for him only lasted until he lost nearly everything in that frivolous lawsuit. Don’t we have freedom of speech rights any longer?”
Sawyer’s eye twitched from the restraint he imposed on himself. He could debate with her all day long that freedom of speech didn’t also mean free from consequences, but he had a homicide to solve. The last thing he wanted was Mrs. Hanover going public with claims that the SPD wasn’t taking the case seriously.
“So, the couple was happily married until the lawsuit put a strain on their marriage. Were there any other problems. Infidelity?”
“Roland would never cheat on her. She was his entire world.”
“What about Melody?”
“Not that I could prove, but I told Roland she spent way too much time with her yoga instructor if you know what I mean.”
“Was their split acrimonious? Are you aware of any threats they made to one another?” Mrs. Hanover shook her head. “Did Mr. Putzinski tell you about any threats he’d received lately or any arguments he had with anyone aside from his wife?” She snorted. “Mrs. Hanover?”
“Roland received threatening emails and letters every day. He was never once intimidated or frightened by them. He seemed to thrive on them.” You don’t say. “He read his favorite ones during a segment each week in his podcast. It was called Wimpy Whiners.” Mrs. Hanover smiled fondly. “My Roland had a wonderful sense of humor.” It took everything he had not to respond, and even though he’d only worked with Locke briefly, he sensed his partner was laughing his ass off on the other side of the mirror.
“Mrs. Hanover, you don’t by chance know if Roland kept the correspondence from his Wimpy Whiners, do you?”
“He sure did. He keeps them in a filing cabinet in the office until the drawer gets too full, then he transfers them to his storage unit. He stored the emails on a file in his computer, but I have access to it as part of my admin permissions.”
Sawyer felt his right brow lift. “He has a storage unit just for his hate mail?”
“No, silly,” Mrs. Hanover said, “he stores furniture and other personal belongings there too. He had to downsize after the lawsuit, and rather than let Melody have any of the furniture that wouldn’t fit in his new home, he rented a storage unit and held on to it. Clever, right?”
Sawyer ignored the question and pushed forward. “Do you happen to have a key to his storage unit?”
“Of course. My name is also on the lease. Even though I think it’s a waste of your time and resources since Melody is obviously the killer, I’ll grant you permission to search and remove anything from the premises you think is pertinent to the case. You won’t need to bother getting a search warrant.”
“That’s very helpful, and the police department really appreciates it.” Mrs. Hanover sat straighter in her chair. She either enjoyed the praise or liked that the department was now indebted to her. “Can you tell me who has access to Mr. Putzinski’s website?”
“Just Roland and me. I’m listed as an administrator on his domain. What can I help you with?”
“You’re aware Mr. Putzinski was killed while recording his podcast, correct?” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, but she held herself together and only nodded. It had to be a horrible experience for her, so he wanted to tread lightly. “Whoever uploaded the file is my number one suspect. Will you help me look at his domain activity without me having to obtain a warrant?”
“Anything you need, Detective.”
“Do you know how an unauthorized user might have accessed Mr. Putzinski’s domain?”
“He kept a cheat sheet tucked under his keyboard and stored them in his Notes app on his phone. Anyone familiar with his habits, say a wife, would know where to find his username and passwords.”
“Okay.” At least they weren’t dealing with high-tech hackers who could easily hide their footprints inside The Putz’s account. “Will you write down what I need to access the domain?”
“Absolutely.”
Sawyer slid a notepad across the table to her, and she wrote down the website, her login credentials, and the steps to navigate the system. He would provide the information to the cyber department to see if they could trace the IP address and pinpoint their suspect.
Mrs. Hanover pulled her phone out of her purse. “I have all the legal documents showing I’m authorized to grant you access to the storage unit and Roland’s website on the Big Daddy domain site.” Sawyer had to mask the chuckle that slipped out with a fake cough. From his brief glimpse of Putz’s porn collection, he was a big fan of daddy kink.
“I hope you’re not getting sick, Detective. Summer colds are the worst.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It was just a slight tickle. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“The file with the hateful emails is a little bit more challenging due to the volume, so I’ll download it to a flash drive and send it over by a courier this afternoon. I have the documents proving my legal authority stored on my Google Drive, and I can access them through an app. I’ll include written consent for search and seizure. What’s your email address, Detective?”
That was a good question. Luckily, Chief Rigby had handed him a box of business cards the department had printed for him as soon as he accepted the position. Sawyer removed one from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
Mrs. Hanover quietly tapped away on her phone for a few minutes. “There. Sent. Do you want to check your phone to make sure you have everything you need?”
“I just transferred over from the sheriff’s department,” he confessed. “I haven’t made it to the IT department to pick up my phone yet. I’m still getting things set up.”
“I appreciate you rushing to Roland’s crime scene, Detective. It shows how much you care. You just give me a call if I need to resend the documents or if you have any other questions for me.”
“Will do. Are you ready to pick up your car?”
“You don’t have to drive me, Detective Key. I’ll have my husband pick me up so you can get settled.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Hanover. I will have an officer drive you back over to your car if your husband isn’t available.”
By this time, Sawyer had escorted the woman out of the interview room and down the hallway near the glass-walled area referred to as the bullpen where the detectives from MCU worked their cases. Mrs. Hanover was texting as she walked, presumably to arrange for a ride, so Sawyer slowed his stride to keep pace with her.
“There we go,” Mrs. Hanover said, sliding her phone back in her purse. “Carl will be here in about fifteen minutes to pick me up. I’ll just—” Mrs. Hanover sucked in a sharp breath and jerked to a sudden stop. “It’s your lucky day, Detective. There’s your killer.”
Assuming Roland’s widow had arrived, Sawyer looked over toward reception and was shocked to see the model from the tacky “real men” poster standing inside the station returning Mrs. Hanover’s hateful glare with one of her own.
Oh fuck! Sawyer didn’t have to be a psychic to know whatever happened next would be bad. Before he had a chance to stop Mrs. Hanover, she propelled herself in Melody Jameson’s direction, moving faster than Sawyer thought her age and high heels would allow. Fuck!
Unfortunately for Sawyer, and any other innocent bystander, Melody had launched herself toward Mrs. Hanover at the same time. The two women met in the middle, their hands flying up to tangle in one another’s hair.
“You faithless slut,” Mrs. Hanover screamed. “I’m going to yank these extensions out of your hair.” With her free hand, Mrs. Hanover swung her designer handbag and clocked Melody on the side of her head with a loud thump. “How about I bludgeon you to death and see how you like it?”
Sawyer reached Mrs. Hanover before she could take another swing at the same time as Locke appeared out of thin air to pull Melody Jameson out of harm’s way.
“I didn’t kill anyone, you jealous old hag,” she sobbed into Locke’s broad chest.
“I know you killed Roland. The police will know it too,” the older woman screamed, forcing Sawyer to tighten his grip on Mrs. Hanover’s biceps to keep her from charging Melody Jameson again. “If you didn’t kill him, then you hired your yoga instructor slash lover to kill him for you.”
Melody stiffened and pulled free from Locke’s embrace. “Jacque wasn’t my lover, you imbecile; Roland was the one fucking another man. I didn’t kill Roland, but maybe you got tired of waiting for him to return your affection. He knew you were in love with him, and he used it against you then laughed at how gullible you were, how easily you did his bidding.”
Mrs. Hanover’s fingers bent to form claws, and she started to lunge toward Melody but wasn’t able to pull free from Sawyer’s hold. “Liar! Roland would never engage in such sinful behavior.” Sawyer noticed Mrs. Hanover dodged the second bomb Melody dropped on her, but maybe she was still reeling from the first allegation.
“Except I have proof,” Melody said, pulling a file folder out of her sage green Michael Kors tote bag and holding it up for everyone to see. The smile she aimed at Mrs. Hanover was pure evil, and Melody Jameson wasn’t smart enough to know she was brandishing her motive for everyone to see.
Mrs. Hanover began to weep and wail, her words incoherent, sounding like a person who’d had her world turned upside down. Sawyer wasn’t impervious to Mrs. Hanover’s comment about homosexuality being a sin; he was just able to compartmentalize her remarks to focus on the job.
“Ma’am, maybe you should come with me,” Locke said to Melody Jameson, his deep voice pulling her focus away from Mrs. Hanover so Sawyer could safely escort her away from her nemesis before things escalated.
“Of course, Detective,” she said in a baby-soft voice reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe while eyeing Locke up and down. It was impossible for anyone to miss the blatant way she pushed her chest out. From Locke’s height advantage, there was no doubt in Sawyer’s mind his partner had one hell of a view of her rounded mounds jutting above the low-cut top and the valley between them.
Locke tore his eyes away from Melody’s bosom and met Sawyer’s gaze. An impish smile tilted the corner of his mouth, and for reasons he didn’t want to consider, Sawyer’s stomach pitched.
“Right this way,” Locke said, gesturing for Melody to follow him down the hallway toward the interview rooms.
“Thank you so much, sugar,” she simpered. Just walking beside the sexy man wasn’t enough for the blonde bombshell though. She slid her dainty hand around his bicep like she couldn’t possibly make the long trek down the hallway without his manliness to support her.
“I hate that slut,” Mrs. Hanover said. “She’ll probably be blowing him the second the door closes to the room.”
“Mrs. Hanover,” Sawyer said, shocked by the older woman’s language. “Detective Locke is a decorated detective in our police department. He would never engage in such deplorable behavior.”
“My apologies, Detective. I don’t mean to impugn his honor, but men can’t seem to resist women like Melody,” Mrs. Hanover said, sounding like a bitter woman who’d competed for a man’s affection and lost him to the younger woman. “I recognized the gleam in her eyes when she looked at Detective Locke. You make my words; she’ll be spreading her legs for him before this investigation is over, especially if it delays her inevitable arrest.”
Not if I can help it. The unwanted thought came out of nowhere, catching Sawyer off guard.
Completely unaware of the strife she created inside him, Mrs. Hanover continued her tirade. “She won’t care if she destroys his career either. The woman destroys anyone she touches. I don’t care what’s in her folder; she’ll never convince me Roland consented to have sex with another man. If she has photos, they’re doctored. If she has testimony, it’s coerced. Most likely while she was giving the accuser a hand job under the table.”
“Shirley!”
Mrs. Hanover jerked her head up and looked at an older man walking quickly to her. “Carl,” she wailed and threw herself into his arms.
“Mrs. Hanover, please feel free to call the number on my card if you think of anything else important to the case. Sometimes a detail feels small, but it turns out to be a critical piece of evidence in solving the case.”
