Voice Mail Murder by Patricia Rockwell Read Free Book Online

attention.
    Pamela looked up and gulped. “Oh dear,” she choked, setting her thermos lid on the end table by her sofa. “Lt. Shoop.”
    “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,” the man said, ambling a few steps into the office.
    “Yes,” said Pamela, blinking rapidly and standing to greet her guest, slipping awkwardly into her shoes beside the sofa. “It’s been—what? Easily a year, hasn’t it?”
    “More,” concluded Shoop. “All that rigmarole about the disc jockey. Quite a lot going on.”
    “Yes,” she agreed. “Exciting, but it was rewarding. We helped that young woman in a very difficult time.”
    “You did, Dr. Barnes,” said the detective. “And we probably never thanked you properly. That is, the Reardon Police Department probably never thanked you . . .”
    “Please,” she countered, “Detective, it was gratifying to help you solve that case and bring that scoundrel to justice.”
    “Yes,” he agreed, “I see we see it the same way. I figured you’d see it . . .”
    “Detective,” she edged towards her desk as she continued to glare into his piercing eyes, “Why are you here? I take it this isn’t just a social call or some belated recognition of my efforts from the Reardon Police.” She leaned against the back of her desk and tipped her head to the side, expectantly.
    “Oh, Dr. Barnes,” said Shoop, shrugging, his eyes now glancing around the small office as if to avoid eye contact. “You are always so perceptive. That’s what I like about you. That, and your constant willingness to jump in and do your civic duty—when that civic duty calls.” He wandered into the small office, looking around.
    “What civic duty?”
    “I’m sure you’re aware of this rather high profile murder case we’re investigating. The one that concerns your football coach.”
    “He’s not my coach,” said Pamela, cringing, and sitting at her desk. Shoop wandered back to the door, and shut it behind him. He poised himself on the edge of Joan’s straight back chair by the door and smiled knowingly at her.
    “Oh, no, you don’t!” she blurted. “There’s no way I can get involved in this murder investigation. I’ve heard nothing about the murder being recorded. That would be the only way you’d come asking for my help. I mean, I heard his body was discovered in a motel room. Don’t tell me there’s a recording of the murder?”
    “No, nothing quite so helpful as that,” sighed the man.
    “Then what? You wouldn’t be knocking on my door asking me for assistance unless you had some sort of recording of the murder . . .”
    “Not the actual murder . . .”
    “Then what?” she demanded.
    “Here’s the story, Dr. Barnes,” he said, arms held wide in a gesture of disclosure. “We’ve got virtually nothing to go on in this case. The coach was found murdered in a motel room yesterday. He had no enemies, it seems. Heck, he had tons of friends—he was the winningest coach this college has ever seen. Everybody loved him—students, faculty, staff. Doesn’t appear that anyone had any motivation to kill him—or know of anyone with a motivation to kill him. He was a saint.” Shoop was rattling off the Publicity Department’s party line if she ever heard it.
    “Somebody obviously didn’t think so,” she offered.
    “No, somebody didn’t,” he agreed. “We just don’t know who that somebody is. “
    “What about the motel?” she asked. “Why was he there? Did you question the motel staff?”
    “That’s one of the problems,” he said, sheepishly. “The room wasn’t registered to him.
    “Who was it registered to? Seems that would be your primary suspect.”
    “Yeah,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, the room was registered to a woman—who paid cash. No record of her, and the clerk who signed her in remembers virtually nothing about her.”
    “Are they allowed to register people like that in motels?”
    “No, but it happens. And it happened here. Whether the