Sherwood’s call caught me just as I was coming back from a late-afternoon jog along the shore.
His tone sounded peremptory. “I have a few things . . .”
I sat down on a bench near my hotel. “I’m listening.”
“I got some word back on your brother’s old girlfriend. Her full name was Sherry Ann Frazier. She did live in Michigan. In a town called Redmond. On the Upper Peninsula.”
“Michigan.” Charlie was right!
“Apparently, she was killed eight days ago. Her body was found in her home by her daughter when she arrived for a visit. She ran a small bakery in town and was separated from her husband. She lived out in the boonies by herself so no one caught a glimpse of anything suspicious. Nor was there any knowledge of anyone who would want to do her harm.”
“So they don’t even know if it was committed by a man or a woman?” I asked, wondering if Susan Pollack had done it or someone else.
“No.” Sherwood exhaled. “They don’t. But something did come up you might find interesting.”
“Okay . . .”
“I asked a Detective Douglas up there if there were any distinguishing signatures that might fit into our own case profiles. Like with Zorn or Greenway or Evan, if you know what I mean.”
I said, “You’re talking eyes, I assume, right?”
He didn’t respond right away, but his silence suggested I was on the mark. “At first he had no clue what I might be talking about. Then, ten minutes later, he called back. It seems the coroner there had found something worth mentioning.”
My heart rate picked back up. “And what was that?”
“The victim was wearing a single contact lens. In her right eye.”
“Only her right eye?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what sounded so strange about that. The woman was beaten and repeatedly stabbed. She’d probably fought for her life. The other lens could’ve fallen out at any time.
“That’s right,” Sherwood said. “Just the right. But that’s not what was interesting . . . According to everyone there, Sherry Ann Frazier didn’t wear contact lenses. They even checked with a doctor in town. Her vision was fine. She didn’t even wear glasses . . .”
My heart came to a stop. One lens. An eye! Watch! “Jesus, Sherwood, you know what this means . . . ?”
“Before you tell me what I already know, doc, I asked another detective up in Jenner to check in on Susan Pollack for me.” The gravity began to deepen in his voice. “Just to make sure she was still there.”
“And was she?”
“No. The gate was up blocking the driveway. A couple of days’ worth of mail and newspapers was in the mailbox.”
“You know why, Sherwood, don’t you?” My blood began to rush like rapids. “Because she’s here! She’s here, and she’s not alone. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know that, doc,” Sherwood said resignedly. “Look, I worked it out with a few friends to keep a heads-up out there for her car. I can’t have her arrested—you understand that, right? So far we can’t prove she’s done anything wrong. But I can damn well have her brought in. And let her know that we’re onto her.”
“Thanks. And what about Charlie and Gabby, Sherwood?” They were exposed. I felt a drumming of alarm.
He sighed. “Don’t worry about them. I have a car watching their apartment. Twenty-four/seven. I’m actually handling the late shift on that. I’m heading home now.”
“Okay, thanks, Sherwood. Thanks.”
“One last thing . . . ,” the detective said, and took a long pause. “You know those chickens Susan Pollack was raising behind the house?”
“Yeah,” I replied, wondering why he would bring them up. “Her buddies . . .”
“The detective I sent up there said he found them. Apparently they’re all dead. Throats cut. You know what that means, don’t you, doc?”
“Yeah.” I felt a shiver travel through me. “I know what it means.”
It meant whatever Susan Pollack was planning, she wasn’t planning on going back there again.