Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [75]
u need 2 b more discreet, people r talking.
Myra had also texted Saul Hinton to tell him that her cartoons were ready for the latest monthly edition of the B and W Tattler: that was four days before the incident. The rest of the texts dealt with Myra and her friends talking about school, about tests, about coffee dates, about stuff that seemed like kid talk.
Marge picked up the phone. Her first call was to Udonis Gelb. She answered on the third ring. “Hi, Udonis, it’s Sergeant Marge Dunn.”
“Hello, Sergeant. What’s going on?”
“I’m looking over Myra’s calls. I was wondering if you could help me out on a number. It’s currently disconnected but maybe you would recognize it.” She read off the digits.
Udonis said, “I don’t know the number.”
“It’s okay. I can find it out. Also, do you know Myra’s code to get into her voice mail?”
“Last four digits of my cell phone number.”
Marge thought she misheard. “Her cell phone number?”
“No, my cell number.” Udonis gave her the digits.
“Thank you,” Marge answered. “Do you mind if I listen to her voice mail?”
“Fine with me.”
“Thank you very much. I’ll let you know if I do find something. You take care of yourself.” After Udonis Gelb disconnected the line, Marge looked up Wendy Hesse’s mobile in her little black book. The call went directly to voice mail. “Hi, Wendy. Sergeant Marge Dunn here. I was wondering what Gregory’s cell-phone number was. If you could call me back, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”
Then she called Myra Gelb’s voice mail and entered the code. With pencil poised to paper, she waited. Instead, she heard the same formal lady say: you have no new messages and no saved messages. For further options press 1.
Marge hung up, placed the phone on her desk, and folded her arms across her chest.
How likely would it be that a sixteen-year-old girl with tons of texts had no voice messages in her mailbox . . . not even one saved message?
Had Myra erased her messages as her final act of checking out or had someone else erased them for her? And how likely would it be that someone would crack the code of her mother’s digits—unless she gave them the number under duress.
u need 2 b more discreet, people r talking.
Duress was always a frightening possibility.
The girl’s hair preceded her. Long thick locks of red waves fell past Heddy Kramer’s shoulders and back, swallowing up her tiny frame like a matador’s cape. She had small features, brown eyes, and a pointy chin. Her mother, Georgette, was a little taller and had short red hair. Marge met them in the lobby and settled them in one of the interview rooms. She poured them each a glass of water. “I can get you coffee or a soda if you prefer.”
“Water’s fine.” Heddy’s voice tinkled.
“I would love a cup of coffee,” Georgette said.
“Then I’ll be right back.” Marge left and signaled to Oliver. “They’re in room 3. The mother wants a cup of coffee. Can I get you one, Scotty?”
“Did I tell you I loved you this morning?”
“Are you coming in with me?”
“I’m jammed. Deck wants to be there. Knock on his door. You can fill me in later.”
A minute later, Decker and Marge returned with the coffees. Marge said, “This is Mrs. Kramer—”
“Georgette,” the mother said.
“This is Georgette and her daughter, Heddy,” Marge said. “Lieutenant Decker specifically asked to sit in. Thanks so much for making the time to come down.”
Decker sat down. “This has to be a difficult time for you, Heddy.” The girl’s eyes watered. “You were good friends with Myra?”
“Yes.”
Georgette added, “They’ve known each other since fourth grade.”
“Mom, I can answer for myself,” Heddy said.
“I’m just saying . . .” Georgette said back and decided to sip her coffee.
“Since fourth grade is a long time.” Decker pulled out his notepad. “I understand that Myra was suffering from depression.”
Heddy nodded. “Especially since her dad died. She was real close to her dad.”
“That