Loving Time by Leslie Glass Read Free Book Online Page A

mover’s boxes. In the dining area were a round café-style table and two wicker café chairs. The only thing on the table was a bowl of wrapped Halloween candy, the kind you passed out to trick-or-treaters. The bowl was about a quarter full.
    It looked as if Cowles had only recently moved in, and he and a friend had just finished dinner. April took it in instantly and would not forget her first impression. Out the windows she could see the back of the museum and the leafless trees in the park. Mike had stopped at the bedroom door. The total stillness of his attitude, the stiffness of his back told her the man they were looking for was in there.
    “Looks like a suicide,” he said softly, going in.
    April followed him to the door, then stopped as Mike had so that she, too, could form an impression. They worked the same way. Later, they would ask each other the same questions, shake the answers around like a dog with a sock, follow the same thoughts to their conclusions. But for now they just looked.
    Raymond Cowles lay on one side of his queen-size bed, the side with the bedside table next to it. He was lying on the rumpled beige sheets, wearing suede loafers without socks, faded jeans, and a blue shirt buttoned only halfway. He was onhis back, his arms at his sides. He was beautifully dressed and looked like an actor in a movie.
    The way the room appeared only half-lived in, with no reading light by the bed, no clothes on the floor, no paraphernalia of a life scattered about, it almost seemed as if someone could shout “Action” and Raymond Cowles the actor would get up to finish the scene.
    Raymond Cowles the man wasn’t getting up, though. He’d finished his last action when he put the plastic bag over his head and taped it with masking tape around his neck. His life had gone with the air in the bag. He was the color of putty.
    “Oh, God.
No!
” Lorna Cowles had finally made it into the apartment. Her fist flew to her mouth, and she screamed, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Take it off! Quick, take it off.”
    April took her arm. “Come on, let’s—”
    “Take it off,” she screamed. “Don’t let him—”
    “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do.” April guided her out of the room.
    “Is he—?” Suddenly Lorna wanted to go back.
    “He died hours ago. Long time ago.” April led her into the kitchen. Here Raymond had taken an interest. Pots hung from a pot rack. Rows of glass jars filled with beans and dried pasta, a shelf of spices. A bowl of fruit, ripe. Two used cloth napkins and matching placemats lay on the counter along with some crumbs and an empty bottle of wine. White wine, a California chardonnay.
    “Oh, my
God
.” Lorna Cowles was horrified, stunned. The fist went to her mouth again. “He cooked for someone.”
    Apparently he had. April found a clean glass in the cupboard, filled it with water, and handed it to Lorna.
    Lorna took a sip, then turned and vomited in the sink.
    April swallowed. This was the way it happened. Mike hit the redial on the phone to find out if the deceased had called anyone before he died. Then he went into the victim’s bathroom looking for the sedatives Cowles would have needed totake to get drowsy enough not to fight asphyxiation, and she was in the kitchen with the vomiting wife.
    When the vomiting wife was finished, April handed her paper towels and some ice water.
    “Oh, God … Who would do something like that to him?” Lorna slumped against the counter. “Who would do that?”
    “What makes you think someone else did it?” April murmured.
    “Well,
he
wouldn’t. Ray wouldn’t do such a thing. He believed in God. He believed in eternal Heaven and Hell. He would
not
have done this to himself.” Lorna fixed her light blue eyes on April. “Don’t even consider suicide. I’m sure it wasn’t. Please, don’t cover it up like that. Find out who did it.”
    “Sure,” April said. Of course they would investigate. It was their job to investigate. But it