Safe Room
Safe Room
by Lanier Thomas
“Are you sure nobody followed us?” asked the woman. She was slender, very fit, with billows of black hair, wearing ripped jeans and a tight white top that revealed much and hid little. It was already a quarter past midnight and the night was as black as the woman’s hair. The air was steamy heavy with nightly humidity as if someone had left the hot shower running in the bathroom. As late as it was in this isolated part of the city, nobody was moving along the road at the end of the drive that made its way through the dark trees.
“We were careful. We always are,” said the man, turning on the lights in the living room of the old farm house. Detective Lieutenant Malcolm Bragg was a long time detective with the police department. He had been involved with witness protection, many times before. He had a hand in designing this safe house, in fact. “You go into that safe room and close the door. Only you and I have the master combination to that door and it otherwise changes everytime the door is opened. The only time it will be opened is when your meals are served. No one can get in. There is no window and the walls are ceramic lined and bullet proof. Once in there, no one can get to you.”
Bragg was a slender man, but those who had resisted him knew that he was steel underneath the clothing. His body had been honed by years of Judo and Hapkido studies. He looked like nothing special, until one looked into his golden hazel eyes, which were like a hunting tiger’s. Many had tested him to their sorrow. His dark blond hair was cut short in a business cut and his gray suit was impeccable. He looked like a successful business man, rather than a cop, in fact.
Detective Sandi Dickson closed the door behind her as Miranda entered. Dickson paused long enough before closing the door to say, “You need anything, just call us. Milk? Okay. Just a sec.” The safe room Miranda Soledad had entered had a television, a queen sized bed, a leather armchair, and a bathroom. There was no internet access. The poor shut in place and Dickson tested it to make sure.
She went into the kitchen and got a glass of milk, and put it on a tray and passed by the others with the glass of milk, going down the hall as Detective Sergeant Davidson was speaking to Bragg. “Bragg, this one is hot. How’re you gonna keep them from finding her. Department’s like a sieve.
“Are you saying we have a problem with corruption?” Bragg asked sarcastically. “I agree, so only you three and your relief know where she is. They don’t know until they get in their car and I call them. You two teams will change off every twelve hours. Anybody else shows up, shoot ‘em. Well, better not do that. Arrest them and hold them for me in the garage. Don’t let anybody into the house, not even the commissioner himself. Got it? Your relief will be Holder, Franklin, and Barger. The safe room’s code changes everytime the door is opened, so you will need your apps to know how to open the door. Only I and Miss Soledad have the master code.”
After Bragg left, Det. Sandi Dickson asked, “You sure she’s worth all this? We could be home, sleeping in our own beds, instead of skulking around at midnight taking care of a prisoner.” Dickson was slightly too thick through the body and too hard in the face to be pretty. She was minimally attractive, but would never be beautiful. Her brown hair had blonde highlights and was cut over her ears in the fashion Princess Diana had made popular.
“She’s worth it. She’s got evidence enough to put Richie Jimenez away forever, and his lieutenants, too,” said Det. Mike Bullard. Bullard had blond hair that was always slightly over his ears and needed combing. This was on purpose, of course. He always wore blue jeans and polo shirts or t-shirts. Today, he had on a faded dark blue polo shirt.
“Alright, let’s settle down for the night. One sleeps two hours, the other two stay awake and we rotate. Breakfast is at eight. We cook, here. That way, no outsiders know where we are,” said Davidson. “Our relief comes at noon and not a moment before. We know all of them.”
The house was on the edge of the city in a wooded lot that used to be a farm. The city had annexed Blue Hills Road and its surrounding fields and woods. Why that had been done nobody understood. The growth was in the opposite direction at the moment. On the outside, the house was an old mid 1940’s white frame farm house with a small covered front porch that had a gable and three steps leading up. It was large enough for two or three men to stand side by side, but not more than that. The house was far from new and looked it. There was an old detached garage to the left side and slightly to the rear, made in the same style as the house.
On the inside, the house was vastly different. The entire inside had been renovated. A high tech security and surveillance system was installed when the rooms were gutted and renovated. A high tech safe room was built where the largest two bedrooms had been. There were two more bedrooms in the house, a living room, and a kitchen-dining room combination room. There were sensors and cameras outside of the house, in the trees, and along the drive. The simple barbed wire fence, like those found around many farm houses, was electrified with enough voltage to discourage anyone from crossing it. Everything had been done to keep those in the house as safe as possible. The house had a large yard, of about an acre, with no trees or shrubs. There were screening trees around the yard all the way to the road. The trees at the back thinned out enough that one could see through them across a half a mile of farm field to the nearest residence. The security light was on, shining down from the pole in the yard, holding back the darkness with its soft peach strength.
“I’ll sleep first. I’m beat. Wake me in two hours,” said Dickson, and with that, she went into one of the bedrooms and stretched out on the bed and was soon asleep.
The night crawled by on hands and knees, but finally the sun came up. Bleary eyed from watching television and monitoring the video screens, Dickson told Bullard, “I’m making coffee. Ask Miranda if she wants any.”
“You ask her. I’m going outside to check the perimeter,” Bullard said. “Almost time to awaken Sleeping Beauty, too. Maybe wake him when you check on her.”
Dickson finished putting coffee in the filter and pouring water into the reservoir. She turned on the coffee maker and walked down the short hall and tapped on the safe room door. “Miranda, coffee’s on.” Then, she rapped on the bedroom door where Davidson was napping.
Davidson came into the kitchen, bleary eyed and looking like he didn’t nap, but they knew he did because they heard him snoring. When the coffee was done, he poured himself a cup and one for Dickson, and then one for Miranda. Dickson picked up the cup, sugar, cream, and a spoon, placing them on a tray and went to the safe room. After knocking, she keyed in the code and opened the door. She didn’t go all the way into the room, but set the tray on the little table just inside the door and closed it.
“Must be nice to be able to sleep all day. She’s still in bed,” Dickson said.
“Tell me what you want for breakfast. I’ve got eggs, toast, cereal, pancakes, and what not,” said Bullard.
“I’ll cook us some eggs and pancakes,” said Dickson, getting the pans out of the cabinet.
“Oh no you don’t! We’ve had your scorched delights, already. You wash the dishes. I’ll fix breakfast,” said Bullard. “Marc, go see what her highness wants to eat.”
Marc Davidson walked down the short hall and knocked on the door. He got no answer. He went back into the kitchen and said, “She’s still out. Probably sleep till noon.”
“Well, take this tray and set it inside the door on the table and quietly leave,” Dickson said.
Davidson took the tray and keyed in the new code, opened the door and set the tray on the table. Glancing over, he could see Miranda was covered up and still asleep, so he quietly left without saying anything.
The three cops ate and cleaned up, keeping an eye on the monitors that showed various views in the house and around the property. “I’ll go out and walk the fence,” Davidson said.
“Why? I did that while you were still sleeping,” Bullard said.
“Cause I’m bored,” Davidson said and walked outside.
“I’m gonna feed the birds this leftover toast,” said Dickson, and walked out of the back door and began tossing pieces of bread as she tore them off.
***
Promptly at noon, a car drove into the longish driveway and pulled up to the house. “Our relief is here,” Bullard called out.
“Man, I thought the night would never end,” said Dickson.
Detectives Dan Holder, Beth Franklin, and Rob Barger came inside, greeting everyone. “All quiet? Miranda up, yet?” asked Beth Franklin.
“Not a peep from her,” said Bullard.
“I had better wake her. It is time for lunch and we may get a call to take her in for another interview,” said Franklin. “She should’ve been up already.” She walked down the short hallway and knocked on the safe room door. “Miss Soledad? Hello? It’s already noon. It’s time to get up.” She came back into the living room and said. “That’s odd. There’s no answer. What’s the code? Let me have the code.” She went back down the hall and keyed in the code and opened the door. Then she yelled, “Get Bragg!” She came running out of the room and hit the panic button that would summon him. In a couple of seconds the telephone rang and she snatched it. “She’s dead. Looks like a self inflicted gunshot to the temple.”
***
In fifteen minutes Lt. Bragg came racing up the driveway and as his car slammed to a halt, he jumped out and ran into the house. He raced down the hallway to the safe room. Upon entering the code, he opened the door. Miranda Soledad was still in bed, facing the wall away from the door, covers up to her ears, black hair spilling all around her pillow. As he got closer, he could see she had a neat round hole in her right temple. Her hair was a little bloody around her temple. Her eyes were wide open in the surprise of death.
Coming out of the room, he said, “Nobody leaves. No phone calls. I know you’re tired. I’ll call the crime scene unit. How did she get a gun in here?”
It took forty-five minutes for CSU to show up and they began processing the scene. Dr. Leuenberger came, himself because of the sensitivity of the case. “Doc, make sure to go over that door, thoroughly. That is the only way in or out, so far as I know,” Bragg said.
“We will. Got the recordings, also. A three and a half million dollar safe house ruined in one night. You might not be able to use this one, again. The Mayor is going to go ballistic when he finds out! Everyone will know where it is,” said Leuenberger.
“That’s just great. As if my morning wasn’t going bad enough, already. Well, I need to finish getting statements. We are keeping this close, as you can imagine. I would appreciate your department not saying a word about this, not even to other cops. Too many mouths, you know,” said Bragg.
It took a couple of hours to interview everyone. The three relief cops were done with quickly. On the scene Leuenberger had placed the time of death somewhere between midnight and two in the morning and those detectives weren’t around. Surveillance so far seemed to show no one entered the property from outside.
When he had finished, he called the three who had been on duty over night, “Alright, CSU confirms it happened on your watch. So far, there’s no evidence of anyone else being here. The three of you don’t leave town. I’ll have you all assigned to desk or phone duty until we clear this up. I have your reports, so get some sleep. I don’t have to tell you what this means.”
The three grumbled, a lot, then went home to get some sleep.
***
“Okay Doc, what have you got? Just a suicide? Why did you call me down here so hush-hush?” asked Bragg.
“I’ll give it to you straight. That J-Frame Smith and Wesson revolver was chambered in .32 Harrington and Richardson Magnum,” said Leuenberger.
“Yeah, I know. It was written on the barrel,” said Bragg. “One shot fired of six. The rounds were some of those Glaser Safety Slugs that fragment upon impact. Must have been a mess inside of her head.”
“More than a mess. Those things fragment, the jackets separate and there’s lots of little shot, like in a shotgun. They don’t penetrate deeply and they don’t over penetrate. That’s why there was no exit wound and little bleeding. Inside was a different story. Her brain was hamburger. Death would have been instantaneous. But that’s not why I called you,” Leuenberger said.
“I don’t think I’m going to like what you are going to tell me,” said Bragg.
“No, I don’t think so. The bullet jacket didn’t completely fragment. I found the base and a bit more upon autopsy. It was a .32 caliber, but it was from a .32 ACP. More specially, there was enough rifling marks for me to tell you the gun used was most likely a Beretta Tomcat 3032,” Leuenberger told him.
Bragg didn’t look well. “You mean, someone else shot her and the only three people with her were my detectives. If I were a drinkin’ man that information would be worth downing at least a fifth of bourbon. Well, thanks for making my day, my month, even. Seriously, thanks for staying up all night and getting this done. I owe you. Doc, this is serious. Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. We’ve looked at the surveillance videos and electronic data, but haven’t found anything. No unusual log ins on the door. No one on the property that wasn’t supposed to be there. Be great if you’d give us a hand. Sorry for ruining your day. I’m going home and going to bed. My assistant will help you if you need anything, today. We are playing this one close to the vest. Nobody knows, but you and my team,” Leuenberger said.
“Doc, send someone fresh over there and go over that room and door, again, if you would. New eyes. Somehow, someone got in that room and that door is the only way that I know of. Was it hacked? How did the killer get inside? No one actually went into the room and no one heard a shot,” said Bragg.
***
Bragg went back to his office and called in detectives Dan Holder, Beth Franklin, and Rob Barger. He didn’t know whether to be angry, grieved, or what. What he was, was sick to his stomach. One of his own hand picked team had murdered Miranda Soledad, and had done so right in front of all of them. What’s more, that person or persons managed to defeat the high tech, multi million dollar security system, somehow.
When the three entered his office and sat down, Bragg said. “Okay, here it is straight. Detective Sergeant Marc Davidson, Detectives Mike Bullard and Sandi Dickson are to be arrested on suspicion of murder as soon as you leave this room. Go get them. Keep it quiet. It will get out, but let’s not make a big deal out of it. One or more of those three murdered Miss Soledad and that brings me up to the next point.”
“What? We’ve known them for years! Surely, you aren’t serious! On what evidence? That was a suicide, plain and simple. I saw it with my own eyes,” said Beth Franklin.
“You saw what you were supposed to see. That revolver had been fired, probably the day before. However, the gun that killed her was not a revolver. It was a Beretta 3032, most likely. If the bullet jacket had fragmented the way it was supposed to do we would have never known,” He let that sink in, watching the emotions from doubt and disbelief change to sickness and anger as they processed that bombshell. “One or more of them defeated our security. That should not have been possible. I want that house, and especially that room gone over with a fine toothed comb. I want the surveillance, inside and outside gone over pixel by pixel. And we can start with questioning those three. Any one of them we can eliminate with be helpful, so look at that.”
***
The questioning began that same day. All three had been awakened and arrested at their homes and all of them denied any involvement in a murder. They said there had to be another explanation. Dickson said that Bullard was the only one out of sight for any time. They looked into Bullard, carefully. They questioned him and got a time line for his entire stay and a moment by moment schedule of movements. It became fairly obvious, but not completely obvious, that Bullard had not been anywhere near the safe room. He was outside checking the perimeter before breakfast and had no contact, at all, with Miranda Soledad. Video and electronic surveillance, enhanced by A.I., confirmed that fact. He was released, but was forbidden to work on the case against his partners. He was assigned to other cases in another department until this case was cleared up. To satisfy the other department’s curiosity, Bragg let it out that it was a crucial procedural exercise.
That left Marc Davidson and Sandi Dickson. No evidence was found implicating either of the two suspects and that was frustrating. Bragg took his team and forensics back out to the house. “CSU didn’t find anything, but there is something. As someone once gave the old cliche, there is no such thing as a perfect crime, only imperfect investigations. Go over it all, again. Think: If I were going to commit this crime, how would I do it?””
The team Bragg had assembled went over the yard and the house, again. “Go out beyond the fence. Form a line breast to breast out to four hundred yards to be sure, and walk the entire property. There has to be a gun, somewhere around here. No one had it on them and it isn’t in the house. Where is it?” he told the men outside. In fifteen minutes of slow searching, a uniformed officer called over his cellphone. They didn’t use the radio because it was easily monitored. “I got it!” called out officer Milton Earley. Some of the searchers walked over to where he was and he set a bright orange cone on the ground. CSU took pictures and picked up the pistol and put it in an evidence bag. The Beretta 3032 in .32 ACP was flat dark earth in color. It had a silencer in the same color on the muzzle. He brought it back to Bragg. The safety was engaged and the magazine was missing. He sent the pistol back to the forensics lab, hoping this would give him the break he needed. They were right about the gun, it seemed. Now, how did they get into the room and who was it?
CSU Harper called him on his cellphone and he quickly went inside of the house and to the safe room. “This door locks automatically when closed. Bolts shoot into the doorframe. As you know, there is no key and the A.I. changes the code everytime the door is opened. So, I asked myself, “How would I do this?” My first thought was the computer was hacked. That doesn’t seem to be the case, so then how? See this little latch sticking out? Everything else is activated by that. When it is pushed in and then slides into the notch on the door frame when it pops out. That activates the bolts. I got to thinking, “What if it couldn’t activate?” So, I checked and in one edge of the steel plate on the door where the latch retreats, I found adhesive. Someone used tape to hold it in place so the door could not lock. This latch is too strong for something like duct tape. However, there are metal tapes that are more than strong enough. I think we know how the room was breached. I’ll know the kind of tape and maker when I get this sample back to the laboratory. It was a low tech job.”
Going back into the living room, Bragg found Detectives Holder and Barger going through the video footage. “Here, I’ve got something for you to look for, now. That gun had to get into those woods and no one carried it there, as far as we can tell. That means, someone likely threw it, hard. Barger, you are smaller than Holder. Get that baton from my bag. No, the lighter one. Yes, that’s the one. It is about the size and weight of that pistol with the silencer. We know where the pistol was found, let’s go outside and see if you can throw it far enough to hit that cone.”
They walked outside and Bragg said, that cone is to the left of that big pine tree. It is a pretty good distance. Do you think you can throw it that far?”
“That’s a pretty good distance. I’ll give it my best college try,” said Barger.
“Holder, walk out there and stand next to that cone and watch where this baton lands. Take these two officers with you,” Bragg said. When they had climbed over the now disconnected electric fence and stood next to the cone, Bragg said, “Try and hit him.”
Barger stepped as if he were a baseball pitcher and threw the baton, hard! It landed a full thirty feet short. A uniformed officer ran and brought the baton back and Bragg said, “Harder. You hit him and dinner is on me.”
Barger really put his hips into the throw, giving it everything he had. The baton sailed past Holder and landed fifteen feet behind him.
“Great job! Dinner is on me! That is a long way. Let’s measure it, but I’d guess a hundred yards to the pistol and a bit more to your impact.”
***
“Three hundred forty-nine feet and six inches from the back corner of the house to the pistol. The baton landed at three hundred sixty-three feet and nine inches. Those are college baseball field lengths. Barger, you play ball?” asked Bragg.
“Yes, sir. When I was in high school and one year of college. I played left field. Good to know I’ve still got my arm,” Barger said.
“Out in left field. Makes sense,” cracked Franklin. Barger threw a paper clip at her, laughing.
“Boss, whoever made that throw probably has played baseball. Most people would likely not be able to throw that far, and with something shaped like that baton or pistol, and with the weight, it would have been a real strain without practice,” Barger said.
“Or maybe boomerang?” wondered Bragg.
“That pistol was so far out of our search area we might not have found it if you hadn’t been insistent,” Franklin said. “Likely, whichever one it was had planned to go back and find it and get rid of it, at some point.”
“Those are my thoughts, exactly. You guys are spooky,” said Bragg.
“No, you are so simple minded it was easy to tell,” said Holder. The rest laughed. They were making progress and their spirits were picking up.
***
Watching the video from the back of the house and the side of the house facing where the pistol landed, over and over, was exhausting. Then, a young officer with sharp eyes was walking behind Franklin as she watched for the umpteenth time, said, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Franklin asked.
“Back up a bit, if you don’t mind. Yeah, that’s good. Okay go forward very slowly,” Officer Warden said. “There! That right there. What is that? That blur is too big to be a bug.”
“I thought it was a moth close to the camera when I saw it. Good eye, Warden. Sit down. Let’s look at this pixel by pixel. I could use a fresh pair of eyes,” said Franklin. After a half an hour, they had a pixel that vaguely resembled a silenced pistol or a stick, but it looked more like a pistol. It was spinning fast as it arced away from the camera. The camera didn’t catch the origin, but only after it was crossing the yard twenty feet from the house.
“I think there’s a blind spot,” said Warden.
“I think you’re right. Come on. Let’s go check it out,” said Franklin. She stuck her head in Bragg’s door. Boss, Warden, here, spotted something. We are going to check it out.”
Driving out to the house, they pulled up in the yard. They let themselves in the house and went to the monitors. “Okay, this should be the one for the back and this should be the one for the side. Call me on your cellphone and then walk out back and let’s see,” said Franklin. “Take those small evidence cones.”
Officer Rick Warden walked outside and crossed the back of the house. As he got closer to the edge of the house, he disappeared from the monitor. “Okay, I can’t see you. Mark it. Now, walk around the corner.” Again, he did not show up on the monitor for five feet. When he reappeared, “Franklin said, “I can see you. Back up. More. Stop. Put a cone. I can just see you. Now, wait on me. She made a copy of the videos and then went out back. Together, they measured the distances. Six feet on the back and five feet on the side were not covered. They were so close it seemed as if the entire premises were covered. Someone had moved the cameras very slightly who knew where they were located.
***
“Alright, what do we know? Barger?” asked Bragg.
“Someone with a good arm, probably played baseball in college, threw that gun into the woods,” said Barger.
“Someone who knew where the cameras were located moved them just enough to give them the freedom of throwing the gun away, unseen,” said Franklin.
“Someone likely planned to go back and retrieve the pistol, but was hindered by us in some fashion. I think likely it was because of being arrested or it might have been our constant searching,” said Holder.
“And, someone used metal tape on the safe room door to keep it from locking and removed it when the murder was committed. The tape is from 3M and is a type of metal tape used to hold metal conduits in place. It is very strong. it was only a small piece, we think,” said Bragg, “and quickly and easily removed and either wadded up and tossed down a toilet or stuck to something we haven’t found. I have a team in full hazmat suits and respirators opening the septic tank to filter out what’s in it as we speak. If it’s there, we’ll find it. We’ve already checked the pipes.”
“Boss, both Davidson and Bullard played baseball in college and Davidson was a quarterback in high school, as well,” said Barger.
***
“So? What if I played baseball in college? What’s that got to do with the price of eggs in China?” Davidson exclaimed. They were sitting in the interrogation room. It was bare gray walls, bare gray table and chairs and a gray mirrored glass in one wall. A camera in the corner captured everything.
“Because, whoever made that throw had to have a good arm,” said Bragg.
“A lot of people can throw that far. Why try to pin this on me? Boss, you know me,” said Davidson.
“You also were a quarterback in high school. You’ve got the arm. And, a college baseball field is four hundred yards from home plate to the centerfield wall. A good player can throw that, or nearly so, and it is less than that to where we found the gun,” said Bragg.
“I didn’t do it. I was never at a place to make that throw,” said Davidson.
“You could have done it when you walked the perimeter,” said Bragg.
“I know you know better. I was on camera the entire time. What is this?” demanded Davidson.
“Someone made a throw from the house into the woods and that someone had to have a sports trained arm, like baseball. Only you and Bullard played baseball in college. It had to be one of you and I know Bullard is in the clear. Why did you do it?” Bragg demanded to know.
“Boss, you know I didn’t do it. Besides, Bullard and I aren’t the only ones who played ball. Dickson played softball in the YMCA league through college. She played right field. Haven’t you noticed all of her trophies. We were all at her house just three weeks ago for a cookout. Surely you noticed them?” Davidson told him.
Bragg came out of the interrogation room and told Holder, “I’m as sure as I can be that he didn’t do it. That leaves Dickson. Dig into her. Find out if there is anything there. Why would she, if she did, commit a murder for Jimenez? Oh, and is there any time that the video shows her in the back of the house on that side? Do any videos show her in that safe room?”
“I can answer those last two,” said Franklin. Her eyes were puffy from not enough sleep and looking at the videos for so long. She rubbed her eyes and then continued. “She was at the door of the safe room twice right after you all arrived. She carried a tray of what looks like milk to the room and set it on the table just inside, or that’s what it appears to be. It was hard to see with her body blocking the video at that point. She went back with coffee, later. As to being out back, I think…yes, look. She went out back after breakfast and started feeding bread to the birds. See? Just for a second she’s off the camera and then back on, still feeding the birds.”
“Get over to her house and get those clothes and get them tested again, for GSR. Tell the lab not to just test the sleeves, but everything everywhere,” Bragg told her. “Now we’re shaping up.”
***
“Why? That’s all I want to know. We have you on video and we know how. I want to know why you did it?” Bragg told her.
“I didn’t…” Dickson started to say, but was cut off when Bragg raised his hand.
“I know you did. I can prove it,” and Bragg laid out the case against her.
“They have my mother! My mother! She’s supposed to be in England visiting her aunt. I had to!” wailed Dickson.
“Is this your phone?” Bragg asked mildly.
“You know it is,” she snapped.
“Is this the picture you were sent?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s it. They have someone in England following her and I was told they could get to her anytime they wanted,” she said.
“Sandi, this is a picture from your mother’s Facebook page. They don’t have her. They just copied a photo your mother posted and you fell for it like any rookie,” he told her. “You aren’t on Facebook. If you were, you’d know this picture.”
“Facebook?” she asked.
“Yes, Facebook. Your mother has posted a lot of pictures of herself and your great aunt…on Facebook.” He was tired. He wanted this over. “Okay. When did you kill Miss Soledad?”
“Facebook…While you were there and everything was busy and noisy the first time I was at the door. I took her some milk right after and sipped the milk like she’d drank part of it and closed the door. I never went all the way into the room,” she admitted.
“The gun?” he asked gently.
“Jimenez gave it to me, himself. Both of them, actually. The Beretta was fixed so that the safety locked the slide but the trigger could still be pulled and the gun fired. It was a single shot and the slide didn’t move so there was no slide noise. I carried it under the tray, holding it in place with the same hand. When I shot her I barely heard it, myself, with TV on,” she said. “She was propped up in bed with the comforter pulled up. I shot her and she just rolled over.”
“The log shows the door wasn’t opened, again. How did you do that,” Bragg asked.
“I know you already know. I put a piece of silver metal tape on the trigger latch and took it off when I shot her. That way, there was no record of anyone entering. I beat this system with simple, low tech. This multi-million dollar wonder and I was able to defeat it easily. I had planned to return for the pistol, but you having constant searches kept me from doing it.”
“So, all the rest was an act? You went about business as usual, even taking food to a dead woman, a woman dead for hours?” he asked. “Sandi, that’s about the coldest thing I’ve ever heard.”
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