Split Second
Page 60
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Sherlock pulled the sketch of Bruce Comafield out of her briefcase. “Ms. Darlene, is this the guy?”
Coop sucked in his breath but kept quiet as Ms. Darlene looked down and did a double take. “Yeah, that’s him. What is he, a stockbroker?”
“Actually, he’s an assistant to a very important man. Ms. Darlene, do you remember the blonde leaving Enrico’s?”
“No, sorry. When I checked on the table a couple minutes later, she and the guy were both gone.”
Bonnie said, “I saw her go out the front door to catch Genny, but the guy? I guess he could have gone out the emergency door, but there’s a god-awful racket if anyone uses it.”
Big Ed nodded to Ms. Darlene. “Mom’s right, the guy couldn’t have gone out the emergency door out back; everyone would have had their hands over their ears.” Big Ed walked across the bar to a door with a red light over the lintel, next to the signs for the men’s and women’s rooms. He was shaking his head when he walked back to them. “The main alarm wire’s been cut clean through. It had to be your guy who did that. Right, Mom? Otherwise, you’d have seen him.”
Ms. Darlene’s eyes shone with excitement. “Sure, he cut the wire, then it’s a clean shot out the door into the alley. Do you think he hooked up with Monica and Genny? Maybe helped her kill Genny Connelly?” She turned on her son. “Eduardo, you always turn off the alarm when you come in. Didn’t you realize it was off this morning? What happened?”
Big Ed suddenly looked like he was twelve years old. “Ah, Ma, I just flipped the switch, didn’t really look at it.”
Ms. Darlene smacked him on the arm.
CHAPTER 33
As soon as they stepped outside Enrico’s to walk back to the First Precinct, Sherlock gave Coop a huge smile and pulled out the sketch. “You remember him, don’t you, Coop? His name is Bruce Comafield.”
He studied it again, and said, “When you showed it to Ms. Darlene, I tell you, Sherlock, I couldn’t believe it. You got this out of Thomas?”
She nodded.
“When you think about it, it’s not so surprising Mr. Lansford’s aide would know his stepdaughter. So he and Kirsten—do you think they’re both involved in this killing spree?”
“No clue, but we’re going to find out.”
“So, he went out the back? Where did he go? Did he meet up with Kirsten, before or after she’d killed Genny Connelly?”
“Good questions. I could give Thomas Hurley a big kiss, but he might put me in one of his poems.”
When they faced Captain Slaughter, at his request, ten minutes later, he said immediately, “Detective Alba here tells me you got Daniel Gibbs to do a sketch, supposedly of a guy sitting with Kirsten Bolger.”
Detective Alba said, “We could have gotten that sketch, too, if Hurley had told us about the guy.”
Captain Slaughter waved her away and looked down at the sketch Sherlock laid on his desktop.
Detective Alba jerked her head toward Sherlock. “She says she recognizes him, sir.”
Captain Slaughter raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow.
Sherlock handed him the sketch. “If you would make a copy of the sketch and fax it to the homicide divisions in San Francisco, Chicago, Cleveland, and Philadelphia, I’d appreciate it. Then we’ll check it out. If it’s really the guy we think it is, you’ll know it right away.” Captain Slaughter handed off the sketch.
Detective Henry Norris said, “At least we know for sure it isn’t a sketch of Kirsten Bolger’s daddy; we can all give thanks for that.”
“Amen to that,” Sherlock said, and smiled at Norris. “Thank you for your assistance. Please send all your ideas and further interviews to us. We certainly appreciate it.”
“Yes, indeed,” Captain Slaughter said. “You’re smiling, Agent Sherlock. You’ve got something up your sleeve?” He handed the sketch back to her and she gently laid it flat in her briefcase.
She patted his arm. “Yes, sir, I believe I do.”
“You should tell us who you think this guy is,” Detective Alba called after them. “I told you, we’ve got a right to know.”
“Once we’re certain,” Sherlock said again, and finger-waved her good-bye, never looking back. She felt rather small about it, but Detective Alba was a pain. She’d been tempted for a moment to tell her they’d have gotten the same information at Enrico’s Bar—if they’d thought to ask. She’d give Captain Slaughter a heads-up when she got back to Washington.
Coop sucked in his breath but kept quiet as Ms. Darlene looked down and did a double take. “Yeah, that’s him. What is he, a stockbroker?”
“Actually, he’s an assistant to a very important man. Ms. Darlene, do you remember the blonde leaving Enrico’s?”
“No, sorry. When I checked on the table a couple minutes later, she and the guy were both gone.”
Bonnie said, “I saw her go out the front door to catch Genny, but the guy? I guess he could have gone out the emergency door, but there’s a god-awful racket if anyone uses it.”
Big Ed nodded to Ms. Darlene. “Mom’s right, the guy couldn’t have gone out the emergency door out back; everyone would have had their hands over their ears.” Big Ed walked across the bar to a door with a red light over the lintel, next to the signs for the men’s and women’s rooms. He was shaking his head when he walked back to them. “The main alarm wire’s been cut clean through. It had to be your guy who did that. Right, Mom? Otherwise, you’d have seen him.”
Ms. Darlene’s eyes shone with excitement. “Sure, he cut the wire, then it’s a clean shot out the door into the alley. Do you think he hooked up with Monica and Genny? Maybe helped her kill Genny Connelly?” She turned on her son. “Eduardo, you always turn off the alarm when you come in. Didn’t you realize it was off this morning? What happened?”
Big Ed suddenly looked like he was twelve years old. “Ah, Ma, I just flipped the switch, didn’t really look at it.”
Ms. Darlene smacked him on the arm.
CHAPTER 33
As soon as they stepped outside Enrico’s to walk back to the First Precinct, Sherlock gave Coop a huge smile and pulled out the sketch. “You remember him, don’t you, Coop? His name is Bruce Comafield.”
He studied it again, and said, “When you showed it to Ms. Darlene, I tell you, Sherlock, I couldn’t believe it. You got this out of Thomas?”
She nodded.
“When you think about it, it’s not so surprising Mr. Lansford’s aide would know his stepdaughter. So he and Kirsten—do you think they’re both involved in this killing spree?”
“No clue, but we’re going to find out.”
“So, he went out the back? Where did he go? Did he meet up with Kirsten, before or after she’d killed Genny Connelly?”
“Good questions. I could give Thomas Hurley a big kiss, but he might put me in one of his poems.”
When they faced Captain Slaughter, at his request, ten minutes later, he said immediately, “Detective Alba here tells me you got Daniel Gibbs to do a sketch, supposedly of a guy sitting with Kirsten Bolger.”
Detective Alba said, “We could have gotten that sketch, too, if Hurley had told us about the guy.”
Captain Slaughter waved her away and looked down at the sketch Sherlock laid on his desktop.
Detective Alba jerked her head toward Sherlock. “She says she recognizes him, sir.”
Captain Slaughter raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow.
Sherlock handed him the sketch. “If you would make a copy of the sketch and fax it to the homicide divisions in San Francisco, Chicago, Cleveland, and Philadelphia, I’d appreciate it. Then we’ll check it out. If it’s really the guy we think it is, you’ll know it right away.” Captain Slaughter handed off the sketch.
Detective Henry Norris said, “At least we know for sure it isn’t a sketch of Kirsten Bolger’s daddy; we can all give thanks for that.”
“Amen to that,” Sherlock said, and smiled at Norris. “Thank you for your assistance. Please send all your ideas and further interviews to us. We certainly appreciate it.”
“Yes, indeed,” Captain Slaughter said. “You’re smiling, Agent Sherlock. You’ve got something up your sleeve?” He handed the sketch back to her and she gently laid it flat in her briefcase.
She patted his arm. “Yes, sir, I believe I do.”
“You should tell us who you think this guy is,” Detective Alba called after them. “I told you, we’ve got a right to know.”
“Once we’re certain,” Sherlock said again, and finger-waved her good-bye, never looking back. She felt rather small about it, but Detective Alba was a pain. She’d been tempted for a moment to tell her they’d have gotten the same information at Enrico’s Bar—if they’d thought to ask. She’d give Captain Slaughter a heads-up when she got back to Washington.
