Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [story read aloud .txt] 📗

A small frown for a small worry. Her hair was not so much tied up in a bun as tied up out of the way. Her cardigan, the same blue as her eyes, was somehow more noticeable than her pearls. Her shoes, like her skirt, were sensible. She did something with her mouth that, had she ever given it life, might have become a smile.

“Detectives,” she said, as though she were considering the word.

We showed her our badges and Dehan spoke. “Mrs. Magnusson, I am Detective Carmen Dehan and this is my partner, Detective John Stone.”

Before she could continue, Helena gave her head a small shake. “You said on the telephone you wanted to talk about Jack…”

There was the faintest hint of an accent: a softening of the ‘t’s and ‘d’s, a narrowing of the vowels. I wondered if she was Norwegian or Danish. She gestured at the chairs. “Please, do sit down. Have you found something?”

We sat, and she sat almost perched on the edge of the sofa, with her knees together and her ankles to one side, her hands folded on her lap. Dehan shook her head.

“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Magnusson. My partner heads up a cold cases unit at the 43rd Precinct. We periodically review cases that stalled for one reason or another, and we are having a look at your husband’s case. I know it’s distressing, but we were hoping you could talk us through it.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave a little sigh through her nose. “There is so little to tell. I was teaching at Underhill Community Center.” She glanced at us, as though realizing suddenly the statement needed an explanation. “So many people, not just young, but mainly older people, in boroughs like the Bronx, never have the opportunity, you know, to express themselves artistically.” Her eyes drifted. “Most have nothing to say of any value, but sometimes, you know…” She looked at me and smiled. “Not often, you meet somebody with talent. After the class, my publisher was organizing a party at the Chadwick & Holstein offices in Manhattan; we were launching the new book. 2014, let me see…” Again her eyes drifted away, as though she were looking at hidden images within the wall. “The Many Colors of Snow. My husband was going to pick me up to take me there, but he called, um, one o’clock, about, and said he must come later. He was always so busy at work. So, I took my car. I was always a little early to the class, to prepare, and the young man came to my class…”

“Young man?”

“From UPS, I think. He gives me the box, asks me to sign for it, and leaves. I was of course very curious to see what…”

She seemed to freeze. Her gaze shifted to the rug and she blinked several times in rapid succession. It was the only sign that she was feeling any kind of emotion. After a moment, she swallowed and said, “You know, it is such a long time since I have spoken about it. You would think… But, in any case, I had not ordered anything, I was not expecting anything, so naturally I was curious. So I opened the box and inside was a cool box, like for a picnic. I took it out, more curious now, and I opened the cool box.”

Again she stopped, looked away and bit her lip. She gave her head a small shake. “He was on his back, as though he was lying down. I have seen him like this more times than I can count, in the morning and in the evening. And he was staring right at me. He looked serious, a little surprised. Very…” She frowned at Dehan and ran her fingertips softly over her own cheek. “Very pale, because he had no blood in him. Of course he could not see me. I am told that I screamed, but I don’t remember. I remember, the next thing, that I was in a chair, there were a lot of people, and somebody was giving me water from one of those disgusting plastic glasses. I didn’t drink it. I could not drink it from such a plastic glass.”

She took a deep breath and looked back at Dehan. “The police came, a doctor came and some paramedics. They wanted me to go to hospital, or at least go home. But that is not the way we do things.”

I smiled. “We?”

She met my smile with one of her own that was a little distant. “In my family. My father was a very strong man. He taught me that we see first to our duties, and we express our emotions later, in private.”

“So you went to the book launch?”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Dehan scratched her head and left a few stray hairs standing slightly on end. “Mrs. Magnusson, when was the last time you actually saw your husband?”

“At breakfast. We are both early risers, well, he was an early riser, and we always breakfasted together at six. Then he went to work and I went to my office. I work, naturally, from home.”

I asked, “And the next communication you had with him?”

“At one o’clock, when he called to say he could not collect me from the community center.”

“That would be his lunch time?”

She looked a little surprised. “I imagine so, Detective Stone. Is that important?”

“I don’t know. What did you do after you received the phone call?”

“I had lunch with some friends who were visiting from Boston, some fellow lecturers.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a second. “One of them was a friend. The others were friends of his. The details are in the original statement I gave the police at the time.”

“Did you go directly?”

She didn’t answer for a moment and seemed to be remembering. “Yes,” she said at