“No marital trouble between them?”
Jenkins shook her head again. “They were madly in love. I’ve never seen two people more committed to each other. Ask anyone who knows them.”
So, what they had here was the perfect couple with the perfect life. Unfortunately, half of that equation was dead—murdered. Murder rarely slipped so quietly into such a perfect life. Somewhere amid all the perfection was a flaw, a chink . . . some sort of rub.
“What about Mr. Abbott’s work?” Kerri asked.
The magnitude of entries Falco had found in his Google search on the drive here pointed overwhelmingly to the software thing. Apparently, Abbott’s programs for smartphones and other devices had put him on the map more than a decade ago. His last known financial worth listed him as one of the wealthiest men in the world. If Kerri had to hazard a guess, his power and assets would be where the trouble reared its ugly head. All too often that kind of ugliness followed a target to his home.
“No problems,” the housekeeper repeated. “He traveled a lot, but there was never any mention of problems. Never. You must believe me,” she urged, her voice resolute. “These are the last people on earth you expect to be hurt, much less murdered.”
“What about close friends?” Kerri flipped to a new page in her notepad. “Were there any friends they socialized with more often than others? Relatives who visited on a regular basis besides Ms. Rollins?”
“They had many friends.” Jenkins lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “His parents visited once in a while. Most of the time Ben and Sela would go to their house for family dinners. Otherwise, there are no other living relatives.”
“Ms. Jenkins, as difficult as the task will be, it would be very helpful if you could go through the house and tell us to the best of your knowledge if anything is missing.”
She nodded. “I can do that. Whatever I can do to help.”
The rest of the questions garnered Kerri more of the same. Everyone adored the Abbotts. They were an admired and respected couple.
Except by the someone who had wanted one or both dead.
And no matter that the wife wasn’t here—Kerri knew in her gut that unless she was involved in the murders on some level, she was dead or soon would be.
Kerri rendezvoused with the ME, Jeffrey Moore, who agreed with the theory that the husband had been killed with a single shot, probably a .22-caliber handgun, to the head while sleeping. The mother-in-law’s death had been decidedly more violent since the intruder had apparently awakened her. The ME estimated time of death at between four and seven that morning, but since the security system had been disarmed at five, he suggested they go with five to seven for now.
Unless the shooter was in the house when the security system was armed the night before and then waited all night to do the deed. Of course, there was always the chance he was waiting for something. The go-ahead, a completed business transaction. Or just the courage to do what needed to be done.
Before leaving the Abbott home, Kerri caught up with the housekeeper on her tour through the house with Matthews and asked once more if anyone—besides the mother-in-law—had stayed overnight with the Abbots recently. Out-of-town guests who had stayed a few days. Anyone at all.
Jenkins considered the question for a bit before saying the Abbotts rarely had overnight company. When they did, it was generally business associates from California, but no one in the past several months. Christmas, she believed, was the last time anyone had stayed overnight.
It was conceivable that a visitor had found the code to the security system during a previous stay. Or the code had been leaked by a member of the household staff or someone who worked for the security company. Kerri asked Jenkins to make a list of friends with whom the Abbotts associated at their home, as well as any employees who visited or worked at the house and all members of the household staff.
Her next stop would be the notification of Abbott’s parents—her least favorite duty. But it was necessary, and often pertinent details could be gleaned in those minutes before the devastating news was revealed. After that unpleasant task, the victim’s workplace, Abbott Options, was next on the agenda.
Back on the street a couple more cruisers had arrived, and the officers were keeping the media vehicles at bay. Two—no, three—local channels had already appeared. The fourth news van Kerri didn’t recognize. She slid behind the wheel and started the Wagoneer.
Falco dropped into the passenger seat and closed his door. “He’s the one who created the software that actually works in preventing cell phones from operating when a user is driving.”
Kerri reached for the gearshift. “A company that’s created and marketed such advanced and intensely popular technology has probably made plenty of enemies.”
“Don’t you know it,” Falco granted. “It’s dog eat dog, Devlin.”
Before she pulled away from the curb, her cell vibrated. She braked rather than moving out onto the street so she could check the screen.
Amelia.
She smiled. Just over two weeks ago her niece, the new high school graduate, had started full time as an intern at York, Hammond & Goldman, Birmingham’s top law firm. In the fall she was heading off to Princeton on a full scholarship. Kerri still didn’t think her sister had recovered from the shock that her beautiful daughter didn’t want to pursue dance as her mother had hoped. Nope. Amelia loved the law, and she wanted to use it to help others. The girl was always protesting something or working to support some cause. She’d actually started at York, Hammond & Goldman one afternoon a week after school back in January, and already she was acting more like a lawyer than a teenager.
Amelia reminded Kerri far too much of herself at that age.
Recently Tori had gone out of her way to be nothing like her mother. Kerri wondered why her own daughter suddenly believed she was the enemy in all things. Adolescence was proving far harder than Kerri had anticipated, particularly since the divorce. She desperately needed to find a way to bridge this abrupt gap between her and Tori.
She opened the text from her niece. Don’t forget to order the cake for mom and dad’s anniversary! Love you!
Oh hell. Kerri had forgotten about the cake. There was still plenty of time since the party wasn’t until a week from Saturday. But she couldn’t let it slip her mind again.
Doing that now!
Kerri hit send and tossed her phone onto the seat. She decided to drop by the bakery before going to her next stop. Otherwise she would absolutely forget again.
“You know, Devlin,” Falco said. “You could take care of things like that with a simple phone call if you’d just let me drive.”
“Reading my texts?” She rolled away from the Abbott home and shot her new partner a dubious glance.
She ignored the shouts from reporters and the panning of cameras as they rolled past the media blockade.
“What else am I going to do?”
She thought about it for a moment. He was right. She could save some time. “Got your pad and pen handy?”
He reached into his pocket. “What am I doing? Making a list?”
“Yes. Ten people. White cake with white buttercream frosting. Happy Anniversary, Diana and Robby. The words should be in yellow—that’s my sister’s favorite color. I need to pick it up before noon on Saturday the sixteenth. It’s Dreamcakes over on Oxmoor Road. I’m sure you can find the number.”