CHAPTER 6 - Rita

CHAPTER 6RitaTHE FERRISES SIT SIDE BY SIDE ON A GRAY SECTIONAL. MRS. FERRIS IS tall, with long straight blond hair, makeup perfect, glamorous even on a Sunday when her friend’s husband has been murdered. Calvin Ferris is also tall, dark-haired, and wears scholarly-looking glasses, a handsome man but in a studious, serious way. They don’t look like they ought to be together, like someone got their wires crossed on a dating app.She’s crying softly into a clump of tissues, while he pats her back and looks utterly confused as if he’d just heard aliens had landed at Fenway.Chase and I sit across from them. I pull out my notebook. Chase, as usual, is taking notes on his phone, which even after months together, I find strange. Most of the younger cops use their phones for this purpose now. But for me, I like the heft of my notebook, the relative permanence of it, and it allows me to make sketches.“Mr. Ferris, you and Dr. Bradley are friends?” I ask.“Yes.”“Anything bothering him lately?”He shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so.”Mrs. Ferris leans forward. “Do you think one of his patients did it? When we left last night, everything was fine!” she half yells at us.“Could be,” I say. “You have any reason to believe it was one of his patients?”She retreats into the couch. “No. Jay doesn’t discuss his work with us.”Mr. Ferris nods in agreement. “But it could be, right?”Two little boys skid into the room in their stocking feet. I don’t know much about kids, but these two must be twins, carbon copies. Mrs. Ferris jumps up.“Did you finish your lunch?” She herds them back into the kitchen. “You can each have one brownie. Come on.”When they leave the room, Mr. Ferris drops his head in his hands. “Jay was my friend,” he says dejectedly, working his fingers through his thick hair. He glances up and meets my eyes. “How’s Molly? Is she okay?”“Doing as well as can be expected,” I say.His phone rings, and he reaches into his pocket and shuts it off. When Mrs. Ferris returns, we have them walk us through the previous evening, and it jibes with what Dr. Westmore and her husband told us. Everyone was having a good time. Nothing out of the ordinary. They all left before midnight. No one had been out in the office.Chase and I head back to the station. I want to check in with Dr. Gaines and the tech guys. See what they’ve come up with.My office is freezing cold. For some reason, Sundays are particularly cold at the station, as though law enforcement stops on the weekend. Chase is out in the squad room at his desk, and I sit and spread out my notes.We still need to talk to the Pearsons. Neither of them has answered their phones, so I left messages. But I’m assuming they’ll have the same story—everyone was having a good time, no sign of trouble.My phone vibrates and rings on my blotter. It’s the ME returning my call. She has nothing pertinent to add to the investigation at this point. The autopsy’s scheduled for tomorrow morning, ten a.m., if I want to be there. I glance out my open door. Maybe I’ll see if Chase wants to go. I’ve seen enough people cut up over the years, and my time’s better spent elsewhere. We’ll see.By five p.m., I’m ready to close up for the day. Tomorrow will be busy.* * *Inside my apartment, I push up the thermostat, stick my feet into my slippers, and search the fridge for leftovers. I’m settled on the couch with a deli container of potato salad and a glass of cabernet when there’s a knock on my door.Shit. I’m tired and really don’t feel like talking to anyone.“Rita?” He calls through the door. “It’s Collin. You home?”He knows I’m home. My van is parked in its usual spot right out front. That’s okay, I don’t mind him. Collin and I’ve gotten close in the three years he’s lived in the apartment above mine. He’s the son I never had, he says, and he’s not half wrong.“Come on in. You want a glass?” I ask as he comes through the door. I tip my head in the direction of the wine bottle on the counter.“No, I’m good. Thanks.” He’s wearing a navy-blue sweater and skinny jeans.“What’s up?” I ask as we flop on the couch.“I was watching the news and heard about that man who was murdered.”“Uh huh.”“They showed a picture of his wife, and I recognized her.” His eyes are wide, and a light smattering of freckles make him look younger than his twenty-nine years.“Yeah?”He leans forward, runs his hand through his bangs, pushes them back into his thick dark hair. “I think she’s the lady who came into the café Saturday. André did a birthday cake for a Dr. Bradley, and I put together finger foods. That’s them, right?”Their names have been released, so I can confirm that to Collin. “Yes. You or André talk to her when she picked up everything?”“I did. André wasn’t there. I helped her put the order in the back of her Mercedes.” Collin claps a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe it, Rita. Just think, André made that man’s last birthday cake. Can you imagine? What would it be like if you were celebrating your birthday and you knew it was your last, the end.”“I don’t think he had any idea, Collin.”I swallow a sip of wine, glance out the darkening window. Life can be cruel, as the cliché goes. Sometimes people do know. My brother Jimmy, along with our brother Danny, was my closest playmate growing up. Jimmy died of leukemia when he was eleven. And even as young as he was, he knew it was a death sentence back then. His last Christmas, he gave us each a gift, something of his to remember him by. I still have the Dick Tracy comic book he gave me. I try to stifle a sigh.Collin raises his palms. “It’s just so eerie.” He often asks me about my work, but this is the first time since he and André moved into the building that he’s had any contact with anyone I was investigating. He draws a deep breath. “She seemed like a nice woman. She told me to put the stuff in the trunk so her husband wouldn’t see the cake. She wanted it to be a surprise.”“Did you talk to him at all?”“No. He was just sitting in the car.”“She say anything other than the usual, ‘Gee, nice job on the cake, how much do I owe you?’ ”“No.” He shakes his head. Then his gaze catches mine. “Will I have to go down to the police station and give a statement?”I smile and sip my wine. “I don’t think so, hon. But I’ll let you know.”