IF I FAIL Page 29

  “You’re right. Chief Beau Taylor, Sergeant Louie Romanelli, my partner.” They each shook Beau’s hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Louie. What do I owe this unexpected pleasure to, Connecticut?”

  “It’s nice to finally meet you too, Chief,” Louie said.

  “Things came down quickly today. A couple of hours ago we got the DNA samples back. They match both Mr. and Mrs. Adams—hair fibers from him—skin cells, saliva, and sweat from her. We’d like you to interview them again with us, since you have such a great rapport with Lola. We’d also like to interview the restaurant manager, and re-check Adams’ alibi.”

  “Why didn’t you call? I could have checked all that out for you,” Beau asked, watching Jake carefully.

  “To be honest, I wanted to get here and interview them myself. I always like the element of surprise. If you went to speak with them again, they might have taken off. I didn’t want to chance it, Beau.”

  “You don’t trust me, Connecticut?” Beau asked, staring directly into Jake’s eyes.

  “I do, Beau. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s not adding up. How would you have handled it?”

  “Probably the same way.” He smiled at Jake. “Let me contact my officers. I have one watching the house and another one watching the restaurant.”

  “Can we just surprise them, also?” Jake asked.

  “We can, if you tell me why.”

  “Jeff Adams is good with electronics. I don’t know if they have any listening devices in their home. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Okay, let’s take a ride. We’ll take my car, leave your rental here. The house is about six miles from here, the restaurant four miles. We’ll hit the house first, so you have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Adams…”

  Jake interrupted. “She really left an impression on you, Beau?”

  “She did. In Desert Storm, I didn’t take as much fire as I did from her. I’ve met some mean, wild women in my day, but this one takes the cake. She’s the queen of mean.”

  “Do we need a cup?” Louie joked.

  Beau started laughing so hard, he almost choked. “Good one, Louie. I don’t think it would hurt to wear one around her. I can tell you her husband has no balls left.”

  “Really?” Louie asked.

  “Yep, really. She runs the show.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The three of them pulled up alongside an unmarked car. Beau got out of the car, walked over to the unmarked to speak with his officer. He came back, climbed in the driver’s seat.

  “Officer Hatcher said Mrs. Adams never left her home this morning. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, are you ready to arrest her if it warrants it?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, you have your warrants in order, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  They all got out of the car, approached the front door. Taylor rang the bell. Mrs. Lola Adams answered. In Jake’s opinion, she couldn’t be more than twenty eight. Her hair was streaked with blonde over black, her eyes were heavily made up. She wore short shorts, and a tube top that barely contained her breasts, along with high-heeled sandals. Jake’s first thought, as she opened the front door—cheap with a capital C.

  “What do you want?” She spoke to Beau.

  “Mrs. Adams, may we come in?” Beau said.

  “Why?”

  “These officers have some questions for you.”

  “Who are they?” Jake and Louie stood silently next to the chief.

  Beau ignored her question, asked, “Can we come in, Mrs. Adams?”

  “And if I say no, what will you do?”

  “I’ll handcuff you right here in the street, so your neighbors can see. After that, I call for a patrol car. I’ll make sure he has his lights and sirens on to. We wouldn’t want anyone to miss the show. So, any neighbor who missed the handcuffing will see you placed in the patrol car. Am I clear?” All kidding aside, Beau stared Lola down. Jake thought it a great stare. It even put the fear of God in him.

  “Oh, come in. This is getting ridiculous. I’m going to call the lawyer again, so just sit down and don’t touch anything.” She started walking toward the kitchen in the back of the house, muttering, “I had an easier life when the bitch was alive.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Adams, did you say something?” Beau smiled at Jake.

  She yelled from the kitchen, “No.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Beau said, turning toward Jake again. “Didn’t I tell you? Delicate creature.”

  Jake stifled a laugh because Lola Adams had just returned to the room.

  Louie said to her, “Mrs. Adams, is your lawyer coming?”

  “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Excellent, I’m glad he’s available.”

  “He’s always available to me,” she said.

  All three exchanged a look, not bothering to acknowledge her comment. They sat around silently, waiting on the lawyer. Lola didn’t offer them anything, not even a glass of water.

  Finally, Jake asked, “Is your husband home?”

  “No, he’s working. Does he need to be here?”

  “No, we just want to speak with you.”

  “And you are?” she asked.

  “When your lawyer gets here, we’ll tell you.” Jake smiled. Two can play this game.

  It took the lawyer thirty minutes to get there, not ten. Jake could tell Lola wasn’t happy with him. She showed him no mercy. She immediately dragged him off to the kitchen. They heard her giving him a piece of her mind.

  Lola and her attorney re-entered the living room after five minutes of yelling at each other in the kitchen, taking seats; the introductions began.

  Beau greeted the lawyer by his first name. After all, it was a small town.

  “Hey, Wayne.”

  “Hey, Beau.” A small man, Wayne Ford stood five-four, weighing in at a hundred-sixty pounds. At forty, he wore his salt and pepper hair cut close to his scalp.

  “Jake, Louie, this is Wayne Ford, Attorney at Law. Wayne, this is Lieutenant Jake Carrington and Sergeant Louie Romanelli of the Wilkesbury, Connecticut Police Department.” Beau finished the introductions, watching Lola’s reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

  “What the fuck? Why are you here in Florida?” she demanded, springing from the couch she sat on.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest in the murder of Chelsea Adams,” Jake said.

  “What are you, assholes? I didn’t kill anyone,” she said. “Wayne, can they do this to me?”

  “Sit down, Lola. Lieutenant, can I have the warrant?” Jake handed him a copy. Wayne took his time reviewing it. “It’s in order, Lola,” he said, after ten minutes.

  It didn’t get past Jake—Lola and her attorney seemed quite intimate with each other.

  “Florida doesn’t have to give me up. Right, Wayne?”

  “We have reciprocal agreements with Connecticut, Mrs. Adams. They did their homework. All their paperwork is in order for your transfer to their custody. We’re going to take you to the station. There they’ll process you and proceed to question you further.” Chief Taylor answered instead of Wayne. “You can fight extradition, but I don’t recommend it.”

  Beau answered a knock at the front door, letting in his officer, a female officer he’d requested for transporting the prisoner. Jake’s respect for Beau grew as he did more business with him.

  Beau gave his officer her instructions, explaining she needed to stay with the prisoner until their return. He also let the attorney know he had about an hour with his client before they got back to the station.

  They headed to the restaurant to pick up Jeff Adams for questioning. Evidence on him was thin, a single hair. The evidence against Lola was solid; her plane tickets, her hotel bill for the weekend in April, the statement from her friend, her DNA from the sweat and saliva she left behind. They sent Jeff Adams to the station in a patrol car, while they questioned his manager again
.

  Under questioning, he didn’t change his story. Jeff Adams worked the whole weekend. The manager saw him there personally, so no one punched him in and no one punched him out. His time card proved he got paid for the whole weekend.

  “I’d offer you our security tapes, but we reuse them every thirty days. If you’d asked sooner…” He shrugged his shoulder. “It wouldn’t have been a problem. I’ve been the manager here for six years, Beau. I wouldn’t lie for an employee. They come and they go. Jeff Adams is one of the more reliable. Can you keep me in the loop? Let me know if I have to replace him.”

  “Thanks, Brian. He’s just being questioned at this time. I’ll let you know.”

  They questioned Jeff Adams first. He didn’t want a lawyer. He stressed he worked all weekend.

  “Jeff, can you tell me how your hair fibers were discovered in a car in Connecticut? The car we found Chelsea in?” Jake asked.

  “That’s impossible. I worked that weekend here in Florida. I haven’t seen…I mean…I hadn’t seen Chelsea since I moved here.” Sweat poured down Adams’ face. He wiped his face so much he needed to rub his hands on his pant legs every few minutes to handle the receipts.

  “Do you always sweat this much, Jeff?” Louie asked.

  Jake loved working with Louie. They had a natural rhythm together. Jake felt Beau’s stare, looked up and smiled at him, continuing to lean against the wall.

  “I do down here. The humidity just kills me,” he said, wiping his hands again.

  “We’re indoors, Jeff, and the air conditioning is on,” Louie pressed.

  The room filled with silence. Jake pushed off the wall where he stood next to Beau, asked, “What do you know about Chelsea’s death, Jeff?”

  “I don’t know anything. How could I? Again, I’ll tell you, I worked here all weekend.”

  “You keep repeating yourself, Jeff. You sent Lola to Connecticut to do the deed, while you stayed here to cover yourself?” Jake pushed.

  He jumped out of his seat. “What, are you crazy? I’d never hurt Chelsea. She’s great. I mean…” Louie walked behind Jeff, pushed him into the chair.

  “If she’s so great, why’d you divorce her?” Jake asked.

  “I’m an ass, that’s why,” Adams whispered.

  “Excuse me?” Jake said.

  “I said, I’m an ass,” he answered loudly. “Life got too comfortable, boredom set in. This young thing came on to me at work. Well, it just got out of hand. The next thing I know, I’m getting a divorce, and Chelsea and I are in the fight of our lives. I didn’t know she possessed that kind of spunk. She really gave it to me. She took everything.”

  Changing tactics, Louie asked, “Do you think one of the kids killed her for the money?”

  He jumped up again, going after Louie. “Don’t you dare say anything about my kids—they loved their mother. They’d never hurt her.” He was breathing hard when he finished, face bright red, his sweating increased. Jake and Beau grabbed him by the arms when he jumped up, pushed him back in his seat.

  “Do you have a heart condition, Jeff?” Jake asked, ignoring Jeff’s outburst.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “No reason. You stated Lola visited her friend in Miami on April sixteenth for the whole weekend.” Jake looked at Adams, figured they’d have to call in the paramedics soon.

  “She said she went to Miami to visit her friend.”

  “And you believed her?” Louie asked.

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?” he said indignantly.

  Jake dropped the airline tickets, the hotel bill, and the charge slips on the table.

  Adams picked them up, started reading them. He read one, put it down, and picked up another one, read it, until he read them all. He looked up at Jake, back down at the receipts, a couple of time before he focused on Jake’s face.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious, Jeff. Lola went to Connecticut on the weekend of the sixteenth. She lied to you. You’re going to sit there and tell me you didn’t know? Come on, no one’s that stupid,” Jake finished.

  “Obviously, I am,” he stated; then started hyperventilating.

  Beau called for the medics. Jake recorded the end of the interview, stating the interview would be completed after a medical evaluation of the suspect.

  *

  They each grabbed a can of soda out of the machine while they waited for the medics to transport Adams.

  “Well, that was fun. What do you think Lola will think when we tell her Jeff’s been rushed to the hospital?” Beau asked, finishing his soda, tossing it into the trash can.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go ask her,” Jake said, smiling.

  “I have a feeling she’s not going to be too concerned,” Louie said.

  “Oh, Louie, you have such a negative outlook on people,” Jake joked.

  “Yeah, years of dealing with the earth’s scum,” he replied.

  “I hear ya,” Beau said.

  They walked into the interview room holding Lola and her attorney. Wayne Ford stood immediately, questioning them. “Why have you made us wait this long? What’s going on?”

  Beau nodded to the officer on the door, dismissing her, and turned back to the lawyer.

  “Wayne, we had a medical emergency and took care of it first.” He addressed Lola Adams.

  “Mrs. Adams, your husband had some kind of an attack while being interviewed, so we called the paramedics and he’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “That’s why you kept me waiting?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see…so you interviewed him first?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

  “Yes,” Beau purposely kept his answer to one word.

  “So, what did he tell you?”

  “That’s not how this works, Mrs. Adams,” Jake answered. Beau went back to leaning on the wall. She asked no more questions about her husband.

  “We’ll ask the questions, you answer them.”

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  “We return you to lock up, until such time as we transport you to Connecticut,” Jake stated, staring her down.

  “Ask your questions.” Her facial expressions reminded Jake of her mother.

  “You were in Connecticut the weekend of April sixteenth. Did you kill Chelsea Adams?”

  “No.”

  “No, you were not in Connecticut or no, you didn’t kill Chelsea Adams?”

  “No to both questions.”

  Jake handed her the receipts for the airline ticket, her charge cards, and the hotel. He watched the shock cross her face.

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “Mrs. Adams, we’re not playing games here. A woman lost her life because someone thought they had the right to take it. Now, I’ll ask again, were you in Connecticut on the sixteenth of April and did you kill Chelsea Adams?”

  “Yes, I visited a friend in Connecticut. Why would I kill Jeff’s ex?”

  “I don’t know. Why would you?”

  “No reason.”

  “What did you do in Connecticut?”

  “I visited a friend,” she said, acting bored. Jake watched her take control of her emotions.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Who said it’s a woman?” She played him, or tried. Jake didn’t buy it.

  “Okay, who’s your friend, Lola?” Jake asked.

  “Katy Bonita.”

  “You spent the whole weekend with her?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Jake handed her the hotel bill again, she and her attorney looked at it. Putting their heads together, they whispered to each other. Finally, Lola answered.

  “I stayed in a hotel on Friday night, because I got in late; then stayed at Katy’s on Saturday night.”

  “What did you do on Friday night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you go out?”

  “I
went down to the hotel bar for a little while.”

  “No, you didn’t. We questioned the bartenders, showed your picture around. No one remembers seeing you,” Louie said.

  “I can’t help it if I’m not memorable.” She shook her head.

  “Come on Lola, I expected better from you. I’m disappointed,” Jake said.

  “Really, you think you know me?”

  “I know your type,” Louie baited her.

  “Yeah, what type is that?”

  “‘The world owes me’ type.” Louie smiled.

  “What do you know, you bastard. My father drank to shut out my hard-ass of a mother, and ignored me. So don’t tell me you know me, got it?” Spitting mad, she stared Louie down.

  They didn’t get much more from her. They decided not to spend the night in Florida. Beau arranged for a female officer to accompany them to Connecticut. They arranged transportation to the airport. Thanked Beau for his hospitality. Beau would question Jeff Adams again, and pinpoint his movements over that weekend, as soon as the doctors released him from the hospital.

  Touching down in Hartford at eleven p.m., both physically and mentally exhausted after twelve hours on the road, Jake saw no rest in their near future. They still needed to deliver the prisoner to the station and process the paperwork. Jake picked his car up from the short term lot, drove to the station, turned custody of Lola Adams over to the duty officer, and headed to his office. After another hour of processing the paperwork, he told Louie to call it quits for the night.

  On their way out, Jake asked, “Do you think it’ll stick?”

  “I hope so. Our evidence is solid. She’s no Cavilla. She won’t confess.”

  “No, she won’t. Do you think her husband knew?”

  “It was hard to read him.”

  “It was.” Jake turned toward his car.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  When Jake got home, he fell into his bed, and passed out without undressing. He never listened to his messages until morning. He got up around six, showered, went into the kitchen, and started cooking his breakfast. The coffee brewed while he cooked his eggs. Turning from the stove to reach for the pepper, he noticed the flashing light on his answering machine. He hit play. He’d just turned back to the stove to flip the eggs, when he tensed up. Mia’s voice filled the kitchen.