Detective Dennis Conti managed to get Christmas Day off, for the second year in a row, but there was a catch. He was assigned to be on call that day. He couldn’t be certain he’d be able to completely relax.

 Working as a lead homicide detective for the Essex County, New Jersey prosecutor, he knew he might be called, but he was hopeful. He worked out of the same downtown, Newark office as all homicide detectives did, but his territory was in the western suburbs of the city. Towns like Montclair, Verona, Caldwell and Claremont didn’t experience nearly the number of homicides that happened in Newark.

 Conti was looking forward to the holiday more than usual. He’d spent the previous Christmas sitting alone in his condo. He and his wife, Karen had separated in April of that year. While they were on friendly terms, she had insisted she needed her space, even during the holidays. Their children, young adults, were unhappy about it, but Conti made it clear that their mother’s wishes were to be respected.

 This year, some twenty-one months after their separation, Karen invited him to spend the day at their home in Claremont and have dinner with the kids after the presents were opened.

 At three o’clock on Christmas Eve, Conti’s partner Detective Shanese Davis got to the office, carrying a small cooler. “You know what I have in here?” she asked, taking a quick look around the station house to make sure no one was within earshot.

 Conti looked up from a case he’d just cleared and said, “Homemade eggnog and cranberry nut-bread?”

 “Good memory, Dennis. This year’s batch is better than last years.” Shanese was an excellent cook. She loved to bake too.

 “Open it up before the Captain comes around to wish us all a Merry Christmas. He always leaves early on the day before a holiday,” Conti said.

 “You mean he hasn’t made the rounds yet?” 

 But Captain Palmeri wasn’t sitting in his office. Instead, he was looking for something on one of the other detective’s desks two cubicles away. “I heard that,” he said. He stood and walked over to Conti’s desk which butted up against Shanese’s. “Break out that eggnog, Shanese.”

 “I spiked it a little Captain,” Shanese said.

 “I hope so,” he said.

 The three of them toasted the holiday. “We had a good year, at least in you two did,” he said. They had solved 92% of the homicides they investigated, a very high percentage. “Let’s hope it’s quiet for the next thirty-six hours, so we can all enjoy the day tomorrow.”

 Conti lifted his plastic cup and took a long swallow. “You really did it, Shanese. Your eggnog really is better than last year.” He took another drink. “How do you make this stuff?”

 “I use raw eggs,” she said.

 “Oh boy,” the Captain mumbled. He took another sip. “Well, the bourbon should kill the Salmonella.” He paused and repeated, “I hope it stays quiet, Dennis. See everyone Wednesday morning.”

 As soon as Davis and Conti were alone, she pulled out a gift-wrapped box and handed it to him. “Merry Christmas.”

 He smiled and reached into his desk, pulling out a wrapped package, obviously a book. “Another year, Shanese. I was thinking this morning how in two years I’ll be able to retire.”

 “But you won’t,” she said.

 At quarter to four, Shanese filled her briefcase and scooped up the cookbook Conti had given her. “I really love it, Dennis. Have fun tomorrow with Karen and the kids. I’m going to pick up Austin and get over to my mother’s.” Austin was her nine-year-old son.

 “Have a great day and say hello to Austin for me,” Conti said. He pulled out a large box from under his desk. “This is for Austin.”

 “You’re so sweet to think of him. I didn’t get anything for your kids, sorry.”

 “I’d shoot you if you did. My kids are adults, remember? Anyway, I hope he likes it. I got him a drone.”

 “He’ll love it, if I can get it away from my ex,” she said. “Austin’s father is supposed to be an adult too. He turns 40 tomorrow, in fact, Christmas Day.”

 “He joining you for dinner at your mother’s?”

 “Bite your tongue, detective. If George shows up at my mother’s you will be working a homicide on Christmas.” She kissed Conti’s cheek and left.

 

 A half an hour later Conti started to pack up, full of anticipation about the next day. Then, his phone rang and somehow, even before he picked up, he knew. He got to the crime scene in just under 40 minutes, not bad considering all the traffic. Holiday shoppers making one last run. It was an insurance agency in a strip mall in Verona, one town over from Claremont. A woman had been found dead, apparently struck in the head by a blunt object. The crime scene team was busy checking for fingerprints, going through the trash, and taking blood samples.

 Sergeant Tom McNellis stood in the vestibule and filled Conti in on what they’d found. ““Her purse and wallet are missing. Looks like a robbery.”

 “Where’s her car?” Conti asked, as he ran his left hand through his coal black hair.

 “That white Volvo is probably hers. Two Freedom Insurance manuals on the front seat,” McNellis said. “We haven’t found any car keys.”

 A patrolman stepped out of the office carrying a baseball bat in his gloved hands. The bat, a Mickey Mantle model, looked clean. The lab would have to tell them if there was any residue of hair or blood on it.

 “I think we found the murder weapon, Sarge. It was hidden above the ceiling tiles.”

 “Show me,” Conti said.

 His first thought was that maybe he could close this case quickly. If the murderer thought he could hide the murder weapon by putting it above the ceiling, he probably wasn’t very bright. No doubt he’d made other mistakes too. The thought bothered him, though. He knew he’d be busy now, probably turning his time with Karen and the kids into a pop-in visit.   

 Technically, Conti had a normal work schedule, but it was frequently disrupted by homicides that had to be worked. Karen’s primary reason for asking for the separation was simple. She said she couldn’t handle it anymore; the abruptly cancelled plans, the disruption of birthday, anniversary and holiday dinners. That plus the irregular hours he was forced to keep had finally worn her down. She needed a break, she said. He dreaded breaking this news to her. Over the past couple of months, they’d been seeing each other, meeting for lunch once a week and once, even for dinner.

 The officer led him into the office where the woman’s body was found. Photographs had already been taken and a crime scene tech was still examining the body.

 “Who is she and who found her?” Conti asked.

 “Her name was Pamela Perez. She was an auditor for the home office. Janitor found her.”

 “Make sure he doesn’t leave.”

The officer nodded. “About the bat, I found it right up there over the desk. The guy probably stood on it so he could reach the ceiling” the officer said.

 “What made you look up there?” Conti asked.

 “One of the tiles wasn’t sitting quite right. Not bad, huh?”

 Conti smiled. “Good work officer. Did you check the top of the desk for any footprints before you stood on the desk?”

 “How do you know I stood on the desk, detective?” Conti waited, looking at the officer. “Yeah, I checked. Nothing. My guess is the guy took his shoes off first.”

 Sergeant McNellis walked in. “Mrs. Perez was 39, married to a Tom Perez. She lived in Jersey City. Employed by Freedom Insurance Company. I just got off the phone with her supervisor. He says Mrs. Perez found some questionable things about the way this agency is run.”

 “Such as?” Conti asked.

 The sergeant shrugged. “Some fraudulent activity, he said.”

 Conti wrote the supervisor’s name, Charlie Cook along with the man’s phone number in his notebook. He took a slow tour of the office with his eyes. The suite was large enough to hold two 10x10 offices with doors. There was a desk near the center of the room, presumably for an administrative assistant who could also serve as a receptionist. A small, round, conference table sat to the left of the desk. There was no sign of a struggle, which suggested the victim knew her assailant. The woman’s body had been found just outside the office door that belonged to the agency’s owner, James Quilty.

 “You guys got in touch with Quilty, right?” Conti asked. He glanced at his watch and noticed it was almost six o’clock already.

 “On his way here,” McNellis said.

 The crime scene tech, who had been kneeling over the body stood. “Dennis, come over here and take a look. This lady’s been dead three, maybe four hours now.”

 Conti knew the technician well. They’d worked together enough that they were on a first name basis. “What do we have Nicki?” The tech, a woman in her early forties, wore no makeup, ever.

 “There’s no marks on her. I checked her arms, her hands and her neck. No defensive wounds. She never saw it coming. Looking at her head wound, I’d say it probably was the bat, but the ME will have to confirm it.”

Conti had McNellis get the janitor, who found Mrs. Perez. He told the man to have a seat at the conference table. The short, wiry man was clearly shaken by what he’d seen. He said he arrived early because he knew the office would close early for the holiday. He denied hearing or seeing anything unusual, except that the door to the suite was unlocked. “There’s two locks. I always do the one in the doorknob first, then the deadbolt. But it opened as soon as I turned the key on the first one. The deadbolt wasn’t locked.”

 By the time James Quilty arrived, the body had been taken to the morgue. It quickly became obvious that he was quite shaken. “Oh my, this is terrible,” he said. “Patty wasn’t even supposed to be here today.”

 “Why was she here?” Conti asked. Sergeant McNellis stood listening.

 “We had a little Christmas party around eleven. There are only five of us, counting two sales reps, a customer service manager and Brianna, my admin,” he said. “Patty showed up around nine and said she had to see me about some corporate business.”

 “What did you talk about?”

 “We went over some accounts. There’s been some confusion about them not being properly on the books, but it was a misunderstanding.”

 “What time did you and Mrs. Perez finish?” Conti asked.

 “Right around eleven. I invited her to stay for the party and she accepted because she and Brianna used to work together.”

 “What time did you leave the office, Mr. Quilty?”

 “I left at 1:45. I was the last to leave except for Brianna and Patty.”

 “Are you wearing the same clothes you wore to the office today, Mr. Quilty?”

 “What? Oh, yes I am.”

 Conti wrote all this down. “Do you own a baseball bat, Mr. Quilty?

 “Yes, two of them, actually. I keep one here in the office. Why?”

 “The Mickey Mantle one?”

 “Yes!  Why do you ask?”

 “Can you show me where you keep it?”

“Sure.” He stood up and led Conti to his office. “It’s right here by the door.” He actually reached for it before it registered that it was gone.

 “It was right here. Where is it?” He looked around his office.

 “We have it, Mr. Quilty. It’s very possible that your bat was the murder weapon.”

 Conti let it register with Quilty before he returned to the so-called confusion about certain accounts. Quilty explained that a few of his clients preferred to pay cash or write checks to him personally. All of the transactions were recorded properly in his books, he insisted. “The problem is I’ve been a little lax in getting the paperwork into the home office.” He paused. “It’s not uncommon, detective.”

 When Conti asked how much money was involved, Quilty became evasive, saying he didn’t really know. “It’s Christmas Eve, detective. Can’t we pick this up on Wednesday, the day after Christmas?”

 Conti knew, of course, that Quilty’s prints would be on the bat. Based on what he already knew, he felt confident he had probable cause to arrest the man. But something held him back. Quilty had what Conti would describe as a priestly affect about him. He seemed like a mild man, not the type prone to fits of rage.

 But he also knew Quilty was probably in a tough spot, likely to be prosecuted for fraud. He probably wouldn’t go to prison, but he’d be fined, lose his license, his business and his reputation. And, he’d no doubt have to make restitution, maybe thousands of dollars’ worth. Conti supposed it was possible that in a moment of rage, Quilty could have murdered Patricia Perez. Still, there was the missing purse. He had his doubts. 

 “I’ll need contact information for all of your employees,” he said. Quilty provided him with a list and Conti told him to wait for him while he stepped into the vestibule. He called Brianna Barnhill first. The woman answered, sounding a bit subdued in spite of the holiday. Conti explained, without offering details, that Patricia Perez was dead.

 “Oh no, that’s horrible. And on Christmas Eve. How could something like this happen?”

 “I have a few questions Ms. Barnhill,” Conti said. The woman confirmed that Quilty had left the office when he said he did and that she and Mrs. Perez were alone in the office.

 “What time did you leave?” he asked.

 “About 2:15 or so. I left Patty in the office alone.”

 “Why, if I may ask?”

 “She said her husband promised to meet her at Del Greco’s, that Italian restaurant that everyone raves about.” Brianna Barnhill was crying now. “I can’t believe it.”

“Did Mrs. Perez mention any issues involving Mr. Quilty and client records?”

 “No, she didn’t. Not that I recall, anyway.”

 “You sure about that?”

 “Considering what you’re telling me, I’m not sure about anything, I’m afraid.”

 Conti walked back into the office and called Sergeant McNellis out into the hall. “What do you think, Tom?’

 “I think this guy Quilty’s good for it. You off tomorrow?”

 “I’m on call.”

 “I can take him in if you want. I’ll read him his rights and take him to county lockup.”

 Conti thought about it for a moment. Something about the case really bothered him. “Let him go, but let’s keep an eye on him. I don’t think he’s the type to run, though.”

 “You going to see the husband?” McNellis asked.

 Conti nodded.

 “Merry Christmas, detective”

 

 Conti got the address of Tom Perez and drove to Jersey City. It was almost eight o’clock. He was tired now, but he knew it was important to get as much information as possible as early as possible in a homicide investigation. While he was driving to the Perez residence, he placed a call to Patricia’s supervisor. Charlie Cook sounded distraught. “All I can tell you, Detective Conti is that Patricia has been monitoring James Quilty for about three months. The man has been playing games with us. He writes up a life or homeowner policy renewal, sends in the first month’s premium and then, after he’s collected his commission, the policy lapses.”

 Doesn’t the customer get notified that the policy lapsed?”

 “Good question, but the agent actually pays the first month’s premium himself. The customer already said they weren’t renewing. Getting a termination notice doesn’t seem unusual to them,” Cook said.    

 “How much could he make off of one month’s premium?” Conti asked.

 “Well, Freedom Insurance pays a full year’s commission up front when it’s a policy renewal. Now don’t misunderstand me, all of our agents occasionally have a situation where a policy lapses soon after renewal, but lately, Quilty, who’s been good for us for a long time, well, it’s happened well outside the norm.”

 “He mentioned that the problem was nothing more than a bit of confusion over clients who pay their premiums in cash or write him a personal check.”

 “He said that?” Cook asked. “Maybe Patty saw that too. Some agents do that sort of thing, but thankfully not many.”

 “So, he was pocketing the money?” Conti asked.

 “I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet, considering what else we know.”

 

 When he arrived at the Perez home it looked like almost every light was on in the house. The driveway was filled with cars and SUVs. Conti managed to find a space on the street five houses down from the Perez residence. There were people standing on the front porch. A man met him as he reached the top step. “Police, right?”

 Conti identified himself and asked for Tom Perez.

 “He’s here, man, but he ain’t in any shape to talk to nobody right now.”

 “What is your name,” Conti asked, his voice deliberately brusque.

 “Danny Perez, I’m Tom’s brother.”

 “Well, Danny, it’s important that I speak with your brother. We have a suspect, but your brother might be able to help us close this case sooner rather than later.”

 “Not tonight.” Two more men came up to where Conti was standing. The three men were all holding beer bottles.

 “Guys, let me make this easy for you. It’s Christmas Eve. I’d rather be home with my family, but I have a job to do. Please don’t make a bad situation worse. I can have all the help I need at Mr. Perez’s door in about ten minutes. And you three could wind up spending Christmas as a guest of Hudson County.” He paused for a moment. “What’s it gonna be, gentlemen?”

 Danny stepped aside and said, “Go ahead, but I’m telling you he’s out of it.”

 Conti walked into the house, which was filled with friends, relatives and neighbors. He found Tom Perez sitting in his dining room, a bottle of rum nearby. The man was indeed out of it, drunk. He introduced himself anyway. “You find the son of a bitch who did this?” Perez asked.

 “We may have, Mr. Perez.”

 Perez tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. Conti shook his head and said to the people sitting at the table, “Who can help me with some background information?”

 “I’m Tom’s sister, Imelda. What do you want to know?”

 Conti learned that the Perez’s didn’t have any children. They’d been married eight years, second marriages for both of them. Mr. Perez worked at Liberty International Airport in Newark, as a TSA supervisor. He had taken the day off.

 “When did he learn of his wife’s death?” Conti asked.

 “About 4:30, I think. He was at Del Greco’s waiting for her,” Imelda said.

 “Would you say their marriage was a happy one?”

 Imelda glanced around the table at the others. “Sure, they were happy. Had fights just like all married couples do.”

 Another woman, who identified herself as Mrs. Perez’s sister, spoke up. “Lately they were having a tough time.”  She spoke her words softly.

 Imelda gave her sister-in-law a look. “What are you talking about, Paula?” She turned back to Conti. “Don’t listen to her, they were fine, detective.”

 Conti collected contact information from Tom Perez’s brother, sister and sister-in-law. He instructed them to inform Mr. Perez that he would be back in the morning. “Sober him up,” he said. “This is important,” he said. “One last question, do you know if this is what he was wearing at the restaurant?”

 “I met him here as soon as he got home. He called me from the restaurant, so yes, he’s wearing the same outfit.”

 Before he left, he took a picture of Perez in his white undershirt. He had taken off his light gold, colored shirt and draped it on the back of his chair. He lifted the shirt and looked at it. There was no sign of blood on either the shirt or his pants. Likewise, his shoes were clean. He also looked inside Perez’s car, including the trunk. Nothing remarkable there.  

 

 Detective Conti woke up before daylight on Christmas morning. He had been hopeful that Karen would invite him to spend the night with her on Christmas Eve, but she didn’t offer that. He took a quick shower and got dressed. The presents he had for his family had been wrapped weeks ago. He was expected at Karen’s at 8:30.

He knew he should have called Karen the night before to let her know he’d have to leave after they opened gifts and had breakfast. Christmas morning or not, he had to interview Tom Perez and at a minimum validate the man’s whereabouts on Christmas Eve. Most likely, the guy had a solid alibi. It was likely that James Quilty had murdered Patricia Perez. But Conti knew he had to cover his bases.  

 And, truth be told, something about the case really bothered him. His cell phone rang. It was Shanese, probably wanting to wish him a Merry Christmas. She was not only a good partner, she was a good friend too in spite of the sixteen-year difference in their ages.

 “Merry Christmas Dennis.”

 “Same to you Shanese.” He checked his watch, almost seven. “Austin get you up early?”

 “He did. I heard you caught a case yesterday afternoon.”

 “Yeah, Patricia Perez.”

 “Corbo told me it looks like the guy who ran the agency did it. Should be an easy close. You talk to the husband yet?” Corbo was a desk sergeant who Shanese dated occasionally.

 “I tried, but when I got there, he was too hammered to get anything out of him. I’m going back to Jersey City to talk to him after breakfast with the kids.”

 “Oh, Dennis, that’s not a good idea right now, considering your situation with Karen. I’ll go out there and see him.”

 “Absolutely not,” Conti said. “You should spend the day with Austin and your mom. She needs your help in the kitchen too.”

 “Dennis, let’s be real here for just a moment. First of all, who do you think taught me to cook? My mother heard you say she needed my help and we’d both get a good whipping. I can handle an interview with a distraught man, partner.”

 “I know that, but it isn’t right. I’m on call.”

 “Trust me. I intend to get full restitution for my sacrifice, you can count on it. Go be with your family. Very important right now,” she said. Conti was quiet. He knew she was right about his situation with Karen, but it was an unwritten rule among the detectives that when you were on call, you took care of business, no exceptions.

 “I’ll tell you what,” Shanese said, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with this guy. If it means more legwork has to be done today, it’s yours, okay?”     “Okay.”

 “Good, now, anything I need to know before I go out there?”   

 “Yeah, I want you to take a uniform out there with you, nonnegotiable, Shanese.”

 “So, you’re not sure about the insurance man?”

 “Corbo tell you they found a baseball bat hidden above the ceiling tiles?”

 “Nope.”

 “If the insurance man clocked Mrs. Perez with his Mickey Mantle bat, why would he hide it in the ceiling instead of taking it with him and dumping it somewhere?”

 “Was it autographed?” Shanese asked.

 Conti laughed. “Thanks partner. Call me when you get finished with Perez. We need to know where he was all day yesterday.”

 While Shanese was interviewing Tom Perez, the Conti family had a sumptuous breakfast. The mood was especially festive because Karen and Dennis, if not actually reconciled, were obviously enjoying each other’s company. Their daughter Angela’s fiancé, Stephen was there too. They were to be married in July. Their son Ryan had recently broken up with his girlfriend, but he was at ease, having ended the relationship when the girl objected to his decision to enter the police academy.

 Moments after they finished exchanging gifts, Conti’s phone rang. “I have to take this. It’s Shanese. This won’t take long.”

 Shanese told him that Mr. Perez was hungover and only marginally cooperative. “I’m glad I took a uniform with me. This guy’s a handful,” she said. 

 “So even sober, he’s not a lot of fun. Where was he yesterday?”

 “Well, he told me he had the day off yesterday and said he was home alone all morning. Around three o’clock he made his way to Del Greco’s where he waited for his wife. The Verona police called him while he was sitting in the restaurant.”

 “What was he doing from noon until three?”

 Detective Davis checked her notes. “He said he took a nap from around noon until two. Then he drove to the restaurant.”

 Conti looked into the dining room and saw they were clearing the table. “How did he describe his marriage?”

“Good marriage. A few arguments now and then, but otherwise, they were very happy.”

 “Thanks, Shanese. Tomorrow we’ll check his cell phone records. I want to talk to his sister in law too. I got the impression last night that she thought the marriage was troubled.”

 The Conti family settled in for a long, peaceful afternoon and evening together. Conti helped his wife Karen as they prepared their traditional Italian Christmas dinner; an antipasto, a pasta dish and turkey and trimmings, with the courses spread out throughout the day. Stephen’s parents stopped by for dessert. Conti did his best to concentrate on the festivities. He was doing well, in fact, until he got another call, just before 8:00 p.m. this time from Captain Palmeri.

 “Dennis, I have some bad news. James Quilty was found dead in his garage around 5:30 this afternoon. Sorry, but you need to get over there.” The Captain gave Conti the address.  

 “Karen, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?”

 She walked in carrying an empty pie dish. “Another call?”

 “I’m afraid so. It’s been a great day, everything was perfect, for me, at least.”

 “So, you’re leaving? She put the dish on the counter. “I just have one question. How long before you retire?”

 Conti shrugged, kissed her and left. As he drove to James Quilty’s home in West Caldwell, he spent his time thinking about his day. This Christmas had been his best in years. He was angry about the way the day ended, but then it dawned on him that what happened was just part of his work. If he’d become a surgeon instead, called upon to perform emergency surgery, would Karen have asked him when he was going to retire? Would she make an issue of his long and occasionally, irregular hours?  She had a right to live the life she wanted to live, but so did he. She could either accept his choice or move on. The thought hurt his heart, but it also freed him from the angst he’d been feeling for eighteen months now. That the ball was in Karen’s court, not his, comforted him at the moment at least.   Before he even had the chance to walk into the garage, a uniformed officer handed him a note that Quilty’s distraught wife identified as his handwriting. The note was short. “I ruined my life to feed my habit. I can’t bear to face my family, or put them through this. My life insurance policies will take care of the people I love.”

 The apparent cause of death was hanging. Quilty had hung himself with a thick rope that had been tied to an exposed beam in his garage. The note held little warmth and there was no mention of Mrs. Perez. Yet, Conti had seen cases where people who had murdered someone, killed themselves later without acknowledging their crime. In cases like this, he believed, killers simply couldn’t acknowledge what they had been capable of. Of course, in the Perez case, he still wasn’t certain that Quilty was the murderer.

 Mrs. Irene Quilty was composed for a woman who had found her husband’s body just two hours ago. “Were you aware that your husband was having some problems at work?” Conti asked.

 The woman nodded. “He had financial problems in spite of his success running his agency. He liked to gamble.”

 “Do you know what debts he was talking about?”

 Mrs. Quilty, who was sitting at her kitchen table, stood up and walked over to her Christmas tree. She pulled the plug, letting the miniature white lights fade to darkness. “What kind of man does this on Christmas? Did he hate me, detective?”

 “He must have been very troubled to do a thing like this,” Conti said. “I can’t imagine he was thinking clearly.”  He wrote something down in his notebook. “What can you tell me about his debts?”

 “I don’t know really. I can only assume they were gambling debts.”

 “What type of gambling did your husband do?”

 Mrs. Quilty reached for a tray of homemade cookies that sat in the center of the table and, absentmindedly, pushed it toward Conti. “Have some please.”

 He picked up a cookie and waited.

 “James gambled on sports mostly, but he liked craps and roulette too. He went to Atlantic City a lot.”

 “Did he have a bookie?”

 “For the games, baseball, football and sometimes, basketball, he did.”

 “Do you know who his bookie was?”

 Mrs. Quilty tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I only know his first name, or nickname, Tubby.”

 “Do you happen to have a phone number for him?” Conti asked.

 “No, but it must be on my husband’s cellphone.”

“Of course, thank you Mrs. Quilty.” He paused a moment. “What did your husband say about the woman who was murdered in his office yesterday?”

 Mrs. Quilty stood and went to the sink. She poured water into a kettle and placed it on the stove. “I’m going to have some tea. You’re welcome to join me.”

 “No, thank you. About Mrs. Perez?”

 “He didn’t tell me why he had to go back to the office yesterday, but when he got home, he told me what happened. He said it looked like someone broke in to rob the place and she was killed.” 

 “Forgive me for asking, but did you believe him?”

 “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

 Conti thought about what to say next. Sooner or later, the woman would learn the truth about her husband’s theft of insurance premiums. He saw nothing to be gained by telling her now that her husband’s gambling problems may have been just the tip of the iceberg. After all, the man might have been a murderer too. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Quilty.”  

 Driving back to Claremont, Conti decided to call Karen. “Everybody go home?” he asked.

 “Ryan is still here. Angela and Stephen left right after you did. They went with his parents to see Stephen’s grandfather at Sunnyside Farm.” Sunnyside Farm was a nursing home.

 “A bit late to make a nursing home visit.”

 “The man has Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t remember them. They just felt they should pay their respects.”

 “Too late for coffee?” Conti asked.

 “No, come on over. Ryan and I were just about to have some more cookies.”

 “You sure?”

 “Well, it isn’t going to be a sleepover, but I’m sure Ryan is interested in the case you’re working.”

 

 The next morning, Conti woke up with a headache. He’d had too much to drink the night before and probably shouldn’t have driven himself home. As soon as he got cleaned up, he put coffee on and went outside to check his car. It wasn’t parked exactly straight, there were no apparent dents or scrapes.

 On his way to the station, he considered the Perez case. At the moment there were two suspects, one of them, the man with an apparent motive, was also dead. Mrs. Perez’s husband couldn’t be ruled out yet, but Conti had a feeling his alibi would check out. Maybe the case wasn’t complicated after all. Quilty lost his cool, crushed the woman’s skull in a fit of panic and perhaps rage. Then, he hung himself when he realized what he’d done; that committing a murder only compounded his problems. It would be tempting to let it go at that.

 But for some reason, he didn’t like it. He was still bothered by the fact that the baseball bat had been hidden in such an obvious place. Too, when the lab finished checking the clothes Quilty wore while he was in the office that day, Conti was sure they’d find no trace evidence of Mrs. Perez’s blood. He had looked at them when he was at the Quilty home.

 He spent most of the day doing paperwork, wrapping up a case they’d solved in a matter of hours two days before Christmas. At lunch time he stopped by Del Greco’s and confirmed Tom Perez’s story. When he showed them the photo, the hostess and the server both remembered him. Conti spent the better part of the afternoon chatting with a couple of detectives who covered other parts of the county. He was waiting for the lab report, on the Perez case, but he wasn’t hopeful. They were missing something. What it was he didn’t know. He went back over his notes several times, still unable to find anything that might be helpful.

 The following morning, he got to the station a bit late and found Shanese sitting at her desk, which was covered in paperwork. “We get reports back from the lab?” He asked.

 “Uh-huh, but not much to get excited about.”  

 “Something?”      

 “Yeah. The bat was wiped clean. No prints, not even Quilty’s, but there was trace evidence of blood, Mrs. Perez’s.”

 Conti sat down and thought about it. “Not likely Quilty would have wiped the bat clean and then take the trouble of hiding it above the block ceiling. He wouldn’t have seen any need. Not likely he’d worry about trace evidence.”

 “What if somebody else wiped the bat, trying to protect him?” Shanese asked.

 “Somebody walks in on him after he kills Mrs. Perez and helps him clean up?”

 Shanese nodded. “Do you know who Brianna Barnhill is?”

The name rang a bell with Conti. He picked up his notes and searched for her name. “Right, she works for Quilty at the insurance agency.”

 “What’s her job?”   

 Conti reviewed his notes again. “She’s his admin person, why?”

 “Quilty was her boss?” Shanese asked.

 “Yeah.”

 Shanese picked up Quilty’s telephone records and ran through the calls between Brianna Barnhill and James Quilty. “At least 900 cell phone calls, probably more, in the last six months between them. That can’t be all business, Dennis.”

 Conti stood and walked over to the coffee pot. He filled his cup and brought the pot over to refill Shanese’s cup. “An affair?”

 “Either that or she was selling the hell out of homeowner’s policies. How do you want to play it?”

 “Did we ask for his text messages?”

 Shanese rummaged through a stack of papers, pulled out the text report and handed it to him. He read ten of them and smiled. “Whenever I think of you, I get all hot and stuff,” he said.

 “Sorry Dennis, I can’t say I ever think of you, but if I did, hot and what did you say?”

 “Stuff.”

 Shanese laughed. “Right, stuff wouldn’t immediately come to mind.”  

 “Want to visit Brianna Barnhill this morning?”

 Conti placed a call to the woman, expressing his condolences over the death of Mr. Quilty. “He was a good man,” she said in response.

 “Yes, my partner and I, Detective Davis, would like to speak with you. We think we know what happened but before we close out the case, we think you might be able to help us put the lid on it. Apparently, your boss was in a jam.”

 “Well, I didn’t have access to his financial records or anything like that, so I don’t think I can help you.”

“I understand, Ms. Barnhill. I’m going to put you on hold for just a second. Be right back.” He asked Shanese to get a patrol car out to the Barnhill residence right away. “Ms. Barnhill, are you still there?’

 “Yes.”

 “May I have your address, please, Ms. Barnhill? Detective Davis and I won’t take too much of your time.”

 Brianna Barnhill, her voice shaky, gave her address to the detective. The detectives headed for her apartment. “You figure her for an accessory after the fact?” Shanese asked.

 

Twenty minutes later, when they were on their way to see Barnhill, a call came in from a squad car. “The Barnhill woman just threw a suitcase in her trunk. She’s pulling away now. Want us to stop her?”

 “Yeah, we’ll be there in ten minutes,” Conti said.

 When they arrived at the apartment complex where Brianna Barnhill lived, she was leaning against her car, arms crossed. Conti instructed the patrolmen to wait in the patrol car and escorted Barnhill to her apartment. They sat in her kitchen with Brianna on one side of the table and the detectives on the other. 

 “Where were you going, Ms. Barnhill?” Conti asked.

 “My sister’s house to spend a few days and celebrate the New Year.”

 “Do you recall my saying we wanted to talk to you?” Conti asked.

 “You didn’t tell me you were coming over now. I thought you meant after the holidays.”

 “Well, I guess I should have been more specific. Now that we’re here, though, lets go over a few things.” 

 “I couldn’t help noticing your Christmas tree, Brianna. It’s beautiful,” Shanese said.

 “Thank you.” Barnhill stood and walked into the living room so she could light the tree. Her movements seemed robotic to Conti. The woman returned to the kitchen and said, “I can’t imagine how I can help you. What do you want to know?”

 “Conti nodded, studying his notes for a moment. “What was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Quilty?”

 “He was my boss.”

He opened a folder then and pulled out the pages with the printout of texts between the couple. He looked at Barnhill and said, “We have copies of texts between you and Quilty.” He deliberately dropped the Mister.

 “I have no idea of what you’re talking about detective.”

 Conti started reading. “Whenever I think of you, I get…” He stopped reading when he felt the kick Shanese gave him under the table.

 “Brianna, we aren’t here to embarrass you,” Detective Davis said. “Listen, this will be a lot easier and faster, I’m sure, if you’d just be straight with us.”

 Brianna Barnhill reached for a tissue as tears started flowing down her cheeks. “I loved Jimmy with all my heart. I can’t believe he’s gone.” She took a deep breath. “Do you think he killed himself because of what he did to Patricia?”

Davis started to say something, but Conti touched her arm and broke in. “What do you think happened to Patricia?”

 Barnhill’s face froze. “I don’t know. I just assumed Jimmy killed her.”

 “Why? I mean he left the office after you did and then you left your friend, Mrs. Perez in the office alone.”

 “He could have come back to the office,” Barnhill said, her voice barely above a whisper. The detectives sat in silence then, waiting. “Maybe she was robbed or something?”   

 “Why would Quilty want to harm Mrs. Perez?” Davis asked.

 “He wouldn’t,” Barnhill said.

 “What did you mean when you said ‘because of what he did to Patricia?’” Conti asked.

 “I don’t know.”

 “Were you aware that Quilty was under investigation by the company and that Mrs. Perez was there on Christmas Eve to explain the situation to him?” Conti asked.

Barnhill was extremely nervous now. She just shook her head no in response.

 “So, you didn’t know?” Davis asked.

 “Not until Patricia told me after everyone had left. She was trying to give me a heads up, that I would need to find another job soon.” 

 “Did she know about your relationship with Quilty?” Conti asked.

 “No, nobody knew.”

 “She tell you how much trouble Quilty was in?”

 Brianna Barnhill stopped crying. She stood and walked over to the trash can and threw her used-up tissues in. She grew angry. “I tried to reason with her. I got her to come to Jim’s office so I could show her she was wrong. I had access to his records, I said. But she told me she had a pile of evidence that no records could refute. Then, I promised to pay back every penny Jimmy took, but she wouldn’t listen. She laughed and started to walk out of his office. That’s when I grabbed the bat.”

Conti looked at Davis. Shortly after the interview started, they had both grasped the possibility, if not the likelihood, that Barnhill was the murderer. Still, they were both momentarily surprised. “So, you hit her with the bat. How many times? Conti asked.

 Barnhill started sobbing now. “Once. It made the most horrible sound. I can’t get it out of my head.” 

 

 On the drive back to the station, after they watched officers place Brianna Barnhill into the back seat of the patrol car, Shanese said, “Barnhill’s last question, just before we took her out to the patrol car.”

 “You mean was she responsible for Quilty’s suicide?”

 “Yeah,” Shanese said, “do you think we should have told her he was heavily in debt from gambling losses?”   

 “Who knows? Maybe she’d feel even worse. I mean killing Mrs. Perez was already pointless.”

 “True.”

 “You know something, Shanese?”

 “No, what?”

 “The Godfather was right. Never tell anyone anything they don’t have to know. Mrs. Perez, if she doesn’t tell Brianna about Quilty, she’s alive today.”

 Shanese let out a sigh. “I hate that movie, Dennis. And that isn’t what the Don said.”

 “What did he say then?”

 “Never tell anyone outside the family what you’re thinking.”

 “Mine’s better.”

 Shanese looked out the window. A light snow was coming down. “I prefer, grief is the price we pay for love.”

 “Who said that?” Conti asked.

 “Queen Elizabeth and every other woman who loved a foolish man.”