Free The Woman Who Stopped Traffic by Daniel Pembrey Page B

how the lead investment banker advising the company that Malovich had worked for could belly-up to a crime scene like this – and, why said banker had brought her there?
    Silverman moved to the edge of the area, stopping just short of the tape. A uniformed cop was reading out an odd inventory list: “slatted wooden futon bed with mattress and sheets, assorted toiletries including two containers of Lorazepam sleeping pills, a Linksys-Cisco wireless router still in its box … and in the kitchenette, twenty four bottles of Crystal Geyser mineral water, eight unopened boxes of Cracklin’ Oat Bran and a half-eaten beef jerky. It’s like the guy’d barely moved in.”
    The man listening turned. He was heavy set, wearing comfortable jeans and a plaid shirt sporting a prominent yoke. She noted a finely knotted leather belt seeming too thin to encompass his mass. He had the look of a small-town sheriff, missing only a sweat-stained Stetson. His eyes met Ben’s, then Natalie’s. Otherwise his face was immobile. Perhaps in his fifties, he shouted quiet authority.
    “This is Natalie Chevalier. She’s assuming Yuri Malovich’s role at the company. Natalie, this is Detective Pulver of the Sunnyvale Police Department.”
    She was rather stunned by this introduction, feeling growing anger and confusion. “Pleased to meet you, Detective.”
    “You can call me Bill. Welcome to 12A Garden Court, Natalie. Would you excuse me a moment? It looks like a couple of reporters have shown up,” and his steady gait took him over to the street exit blocked by the Crown Vic.
    “Ben, I am not taking over Malovich’s role at the company! Now what the hell are we doing here?” she hissed. “ What is going on ?”
    “My dad was a homicide cop in San Jose, recently retired. He plays in a golf tournament with a lotta these guys still serving in the force.”
    “He golfs with this guy Pulver.”
    “No, but he golfs with a guy who fishes with Pulver.”
    “ And ?”
    “So Dad gets the scuttlebutt. You find a dead senior executive of what may be the highest profile company in the Valley, its gonna draw attention –”
    Pulver was back. “I guess the press already cottoned on to who this guy is. Was.”
    He said to Ben: “So your old man ain’t goin’ quietly. Gotta keep his nose in.”
    “You know it.”
    “Well, can’t begrudge him that. I’d kill for his solved rate. And you’re a hotshot banker up in the city? Not following in your father’s footsteps, then.”
    “Not directly. As I said on the phone, my bank works pretty closely with Clamor. It would be great to get a sense of what we’re up against here.”
    Natalie felt Pulver draw back a little, his gaze lift to the screen of eucalyptus bushes behind them. “Short commute for the guy,” he said to himself. “Less than five minutes by car, and the same by that shortcut there on foot.” He nodded ahead.
    “Yeah,” Ben turned back to him, having followed his gaze. “From my brief meetings with Malovich, he seemed to travel light through this world. Physically, that is.”
    Ben allowed a beat.
    “Mind sharing a bit of what went on here, detective?”
    “Well, I guess your old man knows anyway.” Pulver looked at Natalie. “I’ll share what I can.” He wadded up some gum. “The deceased hung from a hook drilled into the two-by-fours of his ceiling. The construction of those units was so flimsy that after a few hours, the ceiling fell in, awakening the upstairs neighbors.” Pulver’s jaw sank down into the gum. “The arriving officer checked the body, and even a cursory glance told him all was not well. Burn marks on the neck.”
    “Taser? Stun gun?”
    “Wouldn’t be the first.’
    Silverman said to Natalie: “It’s a popular way to disguise homicide as suicide. Believe it or not, a crime writer came up with a story like this involving a stun gun, causing copycat cases. Life imitates art, you could say.”
    Natalie asked them which book.
    “I never read