No, she didn’t date. It shattered her when he came home and announced he was leaving her. It came right out of the blue.”
“Do you keep in touch with him, Seth?” Louie asked.
“Yes, more than my sister does. She’s angry. I mean full-blast angry with him. She won’t even acknowledge his new wife. I dated the woman in high school.”
It takes all kinds. Jake looked around at the lovely home, wondering why someone would decide to leave his family. He wrote in his notebook. Trouble? Look into Chelsea’s marriage.
Seth continued, “Well, she thought she’d hit pay dirt with him. I fixed her. I got my mother the best divorce lawyer around. He stripped Dad with the alimony, including half his pensions and 401k’s. If Lola wants any money, she’ll have to work for it.”
Jake saw it hit Seth again. His mother was gone. He wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked as he’d done back at his office.
All this time, Jacobson hadn’t said anything. Jake turned to him. “Do you have any questions, counselor?”
“No, you’ve covered everything. When will you get the cause of death?”
“Not until the autopsy’s finished,” Louie answered.
“If you need to speak with them again, please give me a call.”
“Will do. Cara, Seth, we’d like to have a look at your mother’s room,” Jake said.
“I don’t want anyone pawing through her things. It’s bad enough someone murdered her, now this?” Cara spewed.
Chapter 3
It killed Jake to watched Cara fight through his request. She looked at Jacobson. Ron reached over and patted her knee. “He has to, Cara, to help catch her murderer,” Ron said.
“I need to lie down. I’m not watching you rifle through her things. She’d be mortified.” Cara turned to leave the room, then spun back to Jake. “Make sure, Lieutenant, you catch the bastard who did this to our mother.”
Seth chased after Cara, leaving them alone with Jacobson. “Are you staying, Ron?” Jake asked.
“Yes.”
Jake stood outside the door of Chelsea’s bedroom to get an impression of the woman while Louie went out to their car to grab the evidence kits and gloves. As soon as Louie came back they started their search. A neat woman with good quality clothes in muted colors, shoes, and furniture, nothing flashy for Chelsea. Not an overabundance of anything. It looked as if she lived within her means. All of Chelsea’s jewelry was fourteen-karat gold. Everything in the room was precise, organized to an inch of its life. Clothes were color coordinated in both the closet and the drawers. He hadn’t expected to get much and they didn’t.
The top drawer held her functional underwear. Jake discovered the sexy lingerie in the second drawer. He couldn’t tell if they were new or old. She took care of everything she owned. Her bathroom, free of clutter, was shined to a gloss. In her closet, her shoes were lined up under matching outfits. A high-end-looking fabric covered the bed without all the fuss of throw pillows. It told Jake a lot about Chelsea.
Chelsea Adams was a practical, confident, organized woman, who wasn’t afraid to show her feminine side. But who was she showing it to?
He didn’t get into details too much with the kids. They weren’t up to it. After the search, they headed over to Chelsea’s office.
* * * *
A social worker for the state, Chelsea had worked in an office on Thomaston Avenue in a long, gray concrete, unimaginative office building. The structure was divided in half. The unemployment office was situated on one side, social services occupied the other. Leaving the sunshine outside, he and Louie walked into the gray SS office. The receptionist didn’t bother to look up. She pointed to a sign-in sheet as she continued to talk into the phone. On principle, Jake didn’t sign in. He held his shield under her nose until she acknowledged him.
“What can I do for you, Officer?” she asked, after a couple of moments.
“That’s Lieutenant. I need to speak with Mrs. Adams’s supervisor.” Instead of calling the supervisor, the woman got up, walked to the back of the room, and disappeared around a gray partition.
“You sure got used to ‘Lieutenant’ fast.” Louie elbowed him.
“You bet,” Jake said.
The rest of his comment was cut off by a small man of about five-four with a rounded pot belly in, of all things, a gray suit. He looked as if he’d swallowed a basketball. His gray hair kept to the color scheme, or lack of it, and he was sporting a comb-over. It always amused Jake what people did for vanity.
“Lieutenant, I’m Angelo Torres, Chelsea’s supervisor. Please follow me to my office. It’s a terrible tragedy. We heard a little while ago she’d been found.”
He led the way through a maze of cubicles to an office the size of a postage stamp. The tight, small space told Jake Angelo’s status in the department—a low-level manager.
“How did you hear?” Jake asked.
“Her daughter called here to speak with Sara, who then told all of us. Please have a seat,” Angelo offered.
“Did Chelsea work for you, Mr. Torres?” Jake sat and jumped right in with his questions.
“Yes. I distribute the work load. I oversee everyone’s files, including Chelsea’s. If an employee has a problem or issue they can’t resolve, it’s handed over to me.”
“Did Chelsea routinely have problems?” Louie asked.
“No, her clients respected her and she was fair to everyone, no bias. Never ran out of patience, like some do. She didn’t make people feel uncomfortable or embarrassed for being here either. Chelsea had compassion for her clients. We’ll miss her,” Angelo concluded in a monotone voice.
“Did she ever have a client who wasn’t satisfied? Or felt they deserved more than what was offered?” Louie asked.
“Once, about two years ago, a man who was denied benefits. He wouldn’t leave her alone. In her best interest, we had her file a complaint with the police. After she filed, he didn’t bother her anymore. His intimidation didn’t work. Chelsea was a tough nut,” Angelo said.
“Anything else? Any other information about Chelsea you might have that would help us catch whoever did this to her, Angelo?” Jake used his first name, hoping for some personal input on Chelsea, but got none.
“No, Chelsea didn’t date anyone from the department. She did her job. I wish I had more workers like her. My life would be easier.”
“Okay, thanks. We’re going to need to interview her coworkers. Is there a place we can do the interviews in private? Here in your office or in a conference room?”
“Why don’t I show you to the break room? I’ll get you a list of employees who worked with Chelsea,” Angelo said.
* * * *
He
