“You realize you just ate breakfast,” Rachel said, nodding at Serrano’s plate. “That was breakfast food. It’s 8:00 p.m. When do you eat dessert, seven in the morning?”
Serrano ignored the comment. He took out his cell phone and placed it on the table between them. He opened to a file marked “911 call—Albertson,” put the phone on speaker, and pressed play. A robotic voice began talking.
“This message is for Detective Serrano of the Ashby PD. It’s regarding the body found at the Albertson Bridge last night. He needs to know this was not a suicide. I know the victim’s identity has not been released to the press, but it was Constance Wright. Constance Wright was murdered. And I can prove it. Keep listening and I’ll explain. Please forward this entire recording to Detective Serrano.
“Based on where Constance Wright’s body was found at the base of the Albertson Bridge, it is a mathematical impossibility that her death was self-inflicted.
“The pedestrian walkway on the Albertson Bridge is 152 feet from the water based on current sea levels—or in this case, the iced-over river. From that height, in a free fall from the walkway, a body would reach the ground in somewhere between 5.5 and 5.6 seconds, increasing in velocity as it descended and then hitting the surface of the ice at a speed of approximately 122.8 miles per hour.
“At the approximate time of death, which I cannot know with absolute certainty without a thorough medical examination, the wind was coming from the northeast at around 11 miles per hour. Not insignificant.
“Per video and photographs from the crime scene, Wright’s body was found 18 feet from the bridge. If the height of the bridge is the y-axis and the distance of the body from the bridge the x-axis, then the total distance the body traveled was just over 153 feet.
“Given that the body was found on the western side of the bridge, 18 feet from the base of the bridge, and the wind was blowing northeast to southwest at 11 miles per hour, it is a mathematical impossibility that the body landed in its final resting spot of its own accord. To do so, the victim would have had to take a literal running start prior to jumping. The pedestrian walkway on the Albertson Bridge is uniformly 3 feet across, not nearly enough space to get any sort of momentum, which would be needed to reach a distance of 18 feet from the base and leaping into 11-mile-per-hour wind.
“There is only one way a body from that height could have reached that distance on the x-axis in that wind: momentum. And the only way that momentum could have been achieved is by force.
“In short, Constance Wright was thrown from the walkway on the Albertson Bridge. I am confident that your medical examiners will come to the same conclusion.
“Godspeed, Detective.”
The call ended. Serrano put the phone back in his pocket. Rachel sat there. Then she took a sip of coffee. Then another.
“Siri definitely doesn’t do that on my phone,” Rachel said.
“That’s you on the tape, isn’t it, Ms. Marin?” Serrano replied.
“I’ve been told I have a deep voice, but still—”
“Ms. Marin.”
Rachel finished her coffee and pushed the mug aside. “Least you can do is buy me a beer. If I get home, and I’m not even slightly tipsy, my sitter will think the date was a bust. Which it was. But I digress. How did you find me?”
“We get to ask the questions,” Serrano said. “Why did you say the victim was Constance Wright?”
“Because it is,” Rachel replied. “Neither of you have refuted that. And looking at your faces, I know it’s true.”
“The victim’s identity has not been released to the public.”
“I’m not ‘the public.’”
“Ms. Marin, the victim’s family has not yet been notified. If anything was to leak—”
“Don’t worry; I’m not saying a word to anyone. I could have called the press, but I called you. As for how I know it’s Constance Wright, let’s just say it was something of a personal nature.”
“All right, Ms. Marin,” Tally said, “911 traced the call to a pay phone outside a strip mall near Peoria. Obviously voice recognition was out due to your Mr. Roboto impression. So we took a ride out there.”
“There were no usable fingerprints on the phone,” Serrano said. “Not surprising. Middle of winter, people wear gloves. But we did find trace residue from a disinfectant cloth, as though someone had wiped the phone down before and after using it. We also found several fibers matted to the disinfectant. Wool, dyed beige. Can I see your gloves, Ms. Marin?”
Rachel didn’t move.
“That call came in at 7:42 this morning,” Serrano said. “Mr. Chow’s restaurant next door to that pay phone was closed. No luck finding any witnesses there. But the Cash Money next door was open. The security camera inside the door, unfortunately, only had an obstructed view of the pay phone.”
“But we did speak to the owner,” Tally continued. “A Mr. Gunther Downs, who told us he shooed away a group of teenagers who were skateboarding outside right around the time the call came in to 911. Mr. Downs told us the kids were recording themselves doing stunts and that the same kids have been there every morning the last few weeks. In fact, they’re there so often he knew their names.”
Serrano said, “We cross-checked those names with addresses in the vicinity—these kids would be home for winter break, and they’re all skateboarding or walking home, not driving—and found the amateur director who’d been videotaping the stunts. Lucky for us, he still had all the videos on his cell phone. Even luckier for us, for two whole seconds, the camera caught somebody using the pay phone. You can’t see their face, but he or she is wearing thick beige gloves. The recording also picked up unobstructed views of several cars in the parking lot. We ran all the plates, and only one was registered to a resident of Ashby.”
Serrano cocked his finger at Rachel and pulled an imaginary trigger.
“We went to your house,” Tally said. “A young woman named Liesl Schilling said you were on a date and told us where we could find you.”
“We can also subpoena the GPS tracking on your phone,” Serrano said, “and place you at that strip mall at the time the call was made. But I don’t think that’s necessary. At least not right now.”
Rachel offered a faint golf clap. “Solid police work, Detectives. Unfortunately now my sitter definitely knows tonight’s date was a bust.”
“Our apologies if we ruined your evening with Prince Charming,” Tally said.
“More like Prince Charmin,” Rachel said. “Get it?”
Neither detective laughed.
“Man, cops are a tough crowd. Anyway, you saved me two hours of my life I would never get back. Now, let’s assume for a second that is me on the tape. Why am I here? Calling 911 isn’t a crime.”
“No, it’s not,” Serrano said. “And if you don’t want to be here, we can bring you right back to Prince Charmin.”
“No!” Rachel said, grabbing Serrano’s wrist. He glared at her. She removed it. “I just want to help. I know Constance Wright’s death wasn’t a suicide. I know it. Like you know your own face. I’m positive.”