Free Fall

61

We follow David Rosen as he drives home to Tuna Street.

On the ride, Ceepak advises Mrs. Rence, our dispatcher, to pull the cops keeping an eye on Christine Lemonopolous and Michael Rosen off their assignments.

“However,” he adds, “we need to continue the twenty-four-hour surveillance detail outside 315 Tuna Street. David and Judith Rosen’s home.”

“Will do,” says Mrs. Rence over the radio.

“Can you put me through to Chief Rossi?”

Ceepak and the Chief hammer out the details needed to get the legal paperwork moving through the system-warrants that will allow us to toss the headquarters of Sinclair Enterprises and confiscate all their hard drives.

It’s a little after two in the afternoon when we reach the Rosen residence on Tuna Street.

Santucci and his partner Cath Hoffner see us pull into the driveway behind David’s vehicle. The two uniforms emerge from their patrol car, most likely to find out what’s up. As David climbs out of his Subaru, he sees the two officers out in the street, adjusting their gun belts.

“Why have those two police officers been parked there all day?” he asks.

“It’s part of our new neighborhood watch program,” I crack. “Every day, we pick one house in a neighborhood and watch it. Today is your lucky day.”

“What? You think I’m some kind of flight risk?”

“Are you?” asks Ceepak.

“Of course not. I didn’t do anything, why would I run away?”

“Look,” I say. “We know Michael and your wife backed you into a corner. That Michael told you …”

He ignores me. Turns to Ceepak. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“Then get off of my property.”

“Technically, sir, this is not your property. You are a renter and therefore …”

“Come back when you have an arrest warrant.”

“Yes, sir. We will. We’ll also come back when we have a search warrant.”

“You’re going to search my home, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Several times,” I add. “If we have to.”

David storms around the side of the house and makes his way to that back staircase.

Ceepak waits until he hears David’s footfalls climbing the steps. Then we stroll into the street to have a word with Santucci and Hoffner.

“Sal?” says Ceepak.

“Sir?”

“We have reason to believe that Mr. David Rosen murdered his father.”

“I thought it was the wife,” says Cath Hoffner, his partner. “She’s such a witch, you know?”

I nod. Surprisingly, so does Ceepak.

“Currently,” he adds, “the husband, David Rosen is our primary suspect in what might have been a conspiracy to commit murder. However, we need to gather more evidence. Right now, everything we have is solid but highly circumstantial. We need to find a more direct link.”

“Don’t worry,” says Santucci. “While you guys are digging up your direct links and whatnot, Hoffner and me won’t let the guy out of our sight.”

“Appreciate it. We’re working up a twenty-four/seven duty detail that should have your relief out here by nineteen hundred hours.”

“Cool. You think the Chief could maybe send somebody out with sandwiches for us so we don’t have to desert our post? Maybe a couple cold drinks?”

“We’ll make it happen,” says Ceepak.

I’m about to reach for my radio and put in the food and drink request when my cell phone starts chirping.

Ceepak nods his permission for me to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Danny?” It’s Becca. “Sorry to bother you at work …”

“What’s up?”

“Well, right after the cop car you guys had staking out my parking lot pulled away, Christine took off.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Yeah. Down to Roxbury Drive. Isn’t that where this whole mess got started?”

Becca’s right.

102 Roxbury Drive is Shona Oppenheimer’s address.