Part 16 (2/2)
”I won't need it.” Victoria's eyes narrowed. ”So now what? You're going to the police station? You're investigating my father's alleged murder? You're buying into Abby's craziness?”
”I'm going to see what I can find out in the hope it will shed some light on where Abby is. I'm not investigating any murder, I'm looking for your sister. Good-bye now, and please call me if Abby calls you.” Jill started to walk to the door, but Brian caught her by the arm.
”I'm Brian Pendle, and I don't believe we've met.” His blue eyes flashed behind his gla.s.ses, and his grip on her forearm felt oddly firm.
Jill pulled her arm away. ”I'm Jill-”
”Oh, I know who you are.” Brian's tone was calm and controlled. ”Let me break it down for you, Dr. Farrow. Victoria's been through h.e.l.l since her Dad's death. It's hard enough for her to deal with that and her sister, while she's in law school. I don't know what your agenda is, but you need to step off.”
Jill felt taken aback. ”I don't have an agenda, except helping Abby.”
”Nevertheless, you don't belong. I'm an attorney, and if you keep this up, calling Victoria at odd hours and taking property that is part of her father's estate, I'll file for a restraining order against you.”
Jill bit her tongue. ”Good-bye, now,” she said, going to the door. She wasn't afraid of restraining orders anymore. She was afraid that something had happened to Abby.
Not even a lawyer could stop a mother.
Chapter Twenty-four.
”I'm Jill Farrow, I'm wondering if you could help me,” she said to the affable detective sitting at the front desk. She'd never been inside a real squad room before, and it looked distinctly less photogenic than on network TV. Two detectives worked on outdated computers at old gray desks stacked high with files and papers, and the sun struggled through dirty windows on one wall, barely illuminating a panel of mismatched file cabinets and a cork bulletin board cluttered with Wanted posters, official memos, wrinkled cartoons, and an old March Madness office pool.
”Yes, hi, I'm Detective Pitkowski.” The detective extended a hammy hand over a half-eaten Egg Mcm.u.f.fin, which filled the air with the aroma of steamed sausage. He was in his fifties, completely bald, with an unusually b.u.mpy head and steely gla.s.ses that perched atop a bulbous nose. ”What can I do for you?”
”It's about my former stepdaughter, Abby Skyler. She's nineteen, and she didn't come home last night. I'm worried it has something to do with her father, William Skyler, who was found dead in their home on Acorn Street, last Tuesday.”
”Skyler? I know that case.” Detective Pitkowski nodded, pus.h.i.+ng up his gla.s.ses from the bridge. ”It wasn't a homicide.”
”Abby thinks it was. Were you the detective on the case?”
”No. And you are-”
”His ex-wife.”
”Is this a joke?” Detective Pitkowski chuckled, and his pot belly jiggled, straining the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt, above his belt. He had on a striped tie with his white, short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, and an old-school tie clip. ”I got an ex who'd throw a party if I kicked the bucket.”
Jill managed a smile. ”No, it's not a joke. I'm trying to find Abby. Can I talk to the detective who worked on the case? Do you know who it was?”
”Detective Reed, but he's not in, and he couldn't meet with you, anyway. You're not immediate family.”
”But I was.”
”You're not now. Sorry.”
Jill felt momentarily stumped. ”My problem is that Abby has been gone all night, and she was raising questions about her father's death, so I'm worried that something bad happened to her.”
”Like what?” Detective Pitkowski asked, c.o.c.king his s.h.i.+ny head.
”Worst case scenario, some form of foul play.” Jill shuddered at the very notion. ”She thought there was something fishy about the prescription painkillers that killed her father, and it turns out that they were gotten via a forged script, and the guy who filled the script was in disguise.”
”Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Detective Pitkowski put up his hand. ”Let me ask you something. How did you find this out?”
”I went to the pharmacy and checked. Also, I think there's been a black SUV following her lately, and maybe even me. The license plate starts with a T.”
Detective Pitkowski frowned. ”How do you know it's following you?”
”I saw it, twice.” Jill saw his expression change to skepticism. ”What do you advise I do, if she's missing?”
”She's not a missing person after only one night.”
”I would agree with you, if not for whatever happened to her father. She lives with him, and if he was murdered, maybe she saw something or knows something, or the killer thinks she does, and that's why she's gone.”
”You're speculating wildly here.” Detective Pitkowski eyed her. ”Tell you what, when she comes home, and I bet she will, have her come in. Detective Reed will sit down with her, talk to her, and answer any questions she has. You can come with her, if you like.”
”Let me ask you this. Detective Reed took her father's cell phone, wallet, and the pills. Would he give them back to her?”
”The phone and wallet, yes.”
”Would he show her your file, your investigation of her father's death, if she had questions about whether it was really a murder?”
Detective Pitkowski shook his head. ”No, not even immediate family sees our files. It has crime scene photos and the like. We show that to no one.”
”If she got a lawyer, could he see it? Or if she hired a private investigator?”
”No. No charges were filed, so it should never come to light.”
Jill took a flyer. ”Do you happen to know if Detective Reed spoke with any of my ex-husband's business a.s.sociates about the case? There's a man in New York named Neil Straub whom he should call. I have Straub's address.”
”Hold up, I suggest we do it this way.” Detective Pitkowski slid a ballpoint from a Phillies mug on the desk. ”Give me all the information you have, and I can pa.s.s it on to Detective Reed. The prescription, the SUV, the whole kit and caboodle. He'll look into it.”
”Will he get back to me?”
”Only if he has a question, he will. Otherwise, he's not gonna discuss this case with you. If the daughter calls, he'll discuss it with her.”
”Okay, thanks.” Jill told him the story, and Detective Pitkowski listened in a professional way, taking notes and asking questions. It took about twenty minutes, and when she was finished, she hurried from the police station, checking her watch on the fly. She'd make it back just in time to see Megan swim.
She hustled to the car, chirped it open, hopped in, and started the engine, but couldn't stop worrying about Abby. Jill remembered what she'd said to her, only last night.
There's me, Abby. You always have me.
<script>