The Medical Examiner eyed him steadily. “Not much else to check a woman
for down there in that particular situation, is there?”
Frank stared at the man for a long moment. This information merely added
to his already increasing temple throbber. He shook his head. The
balloon theory again.
Push one side in and it bulges out somewhere else. He scribbled down
some notes, his eyebrows bunched together, the coffee sipped
unconsciously.
The Medical Examiner looked him over. This was not an easy one, but so
far, the detective had punched all the right buttons, asked good
questions. He was puzzled, but then that was a big part of the process.
The good ones never solved them all. But then they also didn’t remain
puzzled forever. Eventually, if you were lucky and diligent, maybe more
of some on one case than bn another, you would break it open, and the
pieces would come tumbling into place. The Medical Examiner hoped this
was one of those cases. Right now, it didn’t look all that good.
“She was pretty drunk when she bought it.” Frank was examining the
toxicology report.
“Point two-one. I haven’t personally seen that number since my college
frat days.”
Frank smiled. “Well I’m wondering where she got that point two-one.”
“Plenty of booze in a place like that.”
“Yeah, except there were no dirty glasses, no open botties, and no
discards in the trash.”
“So, maybe she got drunk somewhere else.”
“So how’d she get home?”
The Medical Examiner thought for a moment, rubbed the sleep from his
eyes. “Drove. I’ve seen people with higher percentages behind the
wheel.”
“You mean in the autopsy room, don’t you” Frank continued: “The problem
with that theory is that none of the cars in the garage had been driven
from the time the household left for the Caribbean.”
“How do you know that? An engine isn’t going to be warm after three
days.”
Frank perused the pages of his notebook, found what he wanted and slid
it around to his friend.
“Sullivan has a full-time chauffeur. Old guy named Bernie Kopeti. Knows
his cars, anal as a tax lawyer, and he keeps meticulous records on
Sullivan’s fleet of automobiles. Has the mileage for every one of them
in a log book, updated daily, if you can believe it. At my request he
checked the odometer on each of the cars in the garage, which presumably
were the only ones the wife would have access to, and in fact were the
only cars in the garage at the time of the discovery of the body. On top
of that Kopeti confirmed that no vehicles were missing. There was no
additional mileage on any of them. They hadn’t been driven since
everyone cleared out for the Caribbean. Christine Sullivan didn’t drive
home in one of those cars. So how did she get horneT)
“Cab?”
Frank shook his head. “We’ve talked to every cab company that operates
out here. No fare was dropped off at the, Sullivan address on that
night. It’d be pretty hard to forget the place, wouldn’t you think?”
“Unless maybe the cabbie whacked her, and isn’t talking. Y9
“You’re saying she invited a cabbie into her house?”
“I’m saying she was drunk and probably didn’t know what the hell she was
doing.”
“That doesn’t jibe with the fact that the alarm system was tampered
with, or that there was a rope dangling outside her window. Or that
we’re probably talking about two perps. I’ve never seen a cab driven by
two cabbies.”
A thought struck Frank and he scribbled in his notebook.
He was certain Christine Sullivan had been driven home by someone she
knew. Since that person or persons had not come forward, Frank thought
he had a pretty good idea why they hadn’t. And exiting out the window
via a rope instead of the way they’d entered–4hrough the front
door-meant that something had caused the killers to rush. The most
obvious reason was the private security patrol, but the security guard
on duty that night had not reported anything out of the ordinary. The
perps didn’t know that, however. The mere sight of the patrol car might
have prompted such a hasty exit.