Voice Mail Murder by Patricia Rockwell Read Free Book Online Page B

the more we know about them, the more likely it’ll be that we’ll be able to track them down.”
    Pamela looked down at the square plastic case in her hands. The black disk inside was labeled “Voice Mail Murder.” Wonderful, she thought. Already, the crime had a label and it involved voices—her specialty. Of course, she could listen to the voices and determine a variety of information about the speakers. She couldn’t, however, determine which speaker—if any of them—was the murderer. She told this to Shoop.
    “All right, Detective,” she huffed. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to you, didn’t you? Particularly as this case involves a victim from Grace. I guess I feel a sense of obligation to help you in any way I can and—if as you say—this recording of the Coach’s voice mail is now your primary lead, I guess I’ll have to give it a try.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Barnes,” replied Shoop, standing and pulling his overcoat around his body. She rose to see him out. “But, Dr. Barnes,” he added, as he turned back to her at the door. “Be careful. This is a murder investigation. Someone killed this man—possibly one of the women speaking on his voice mail—likely one of the women speaking on his voice mail. Don’t go doing anything foolish as you have done in the past—if you remember.”
    “Don’t worry, Detective,” she said, nodding. “I have every intention of staying very safe this time.”
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    After her only afternoon class on Friday, she rushed back to her office in hopes of finding some time to listen to the CD Shoop had left. Luckily for her, Friday afternoon typically meant the start of the weekend and students and faculty began heading off campus shortly after their last class. She expected that a student or two might show up for her afternoon office hours, but she usually was able to accomplish a lot of work on Friday afternoons, when Blake Hall was most often abandoned.
    Now she sat at her desk alone and slid the metal disk into her hard drive. Leaning back in her desk chair, she clicked on her audio player and hit the “Enter” button. A woman’s voice spoke:
    “Hi, I’m really excited to see you. I’m here, just like you said. Can you come over?”
    The sound of a mechanical click announced the end of the recorded message. She waited a few seconds and soon another message began:
    “I forgot. Room 228.”
    The same click announced the end of this even shorter message which again was followed by a few seconds of mechanical pausing. The next message sounded:
    “Hello. I’ve arrived and I have on a very short, silk, black teddy—nothing else. Would you like to see for yourself? Why don’t you. I’m behind Door 360. See you soon.“ The speaker made a kissing sound and the message ended with the click. The next message played:
    “I’m running late. Maybe a half hour? I’ll call.”
    The next was even briefer:
    “I’m here. 402.”
    Click. Pause. Next message.
    “I’m here, honey bunch. I have something new to show you. I’m in Room 117. Hurry! Hurry!” The clicking sound verified the end of this message and after the short pause, Pamela heard:
    “Second floor. 211. Take the outside stairs.”
    She heard the clicking sound, but no further messages played. She could see why the detective was frustrated with these messages. None of them provided any clues as to the identities of the speakers. The only concrete information was the different room numbers. She assumed that the police had backtracked and had checked out previous guests at the Shady Lane Motel to see who had stayed in these various rooms. But unfortunately, to Pamela, tracking down different women who had registered anonymously at the motel in these different rooms seemed a daunting and probably ultimately unrewarding task.
    There did appear to be seven messages. It would be fairly simple, she thought, to determine if there were seven separate speakers, if all the