Free Cold Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page A

off. The door was locked, but the chain was off.”
    “That’s a little slim,” Hank said.
    “Not to me it’s not,” Annie said. “We know how afraid she
had been the last few days. She didn’t even want to leave the house. The back
door, leading from the kitchen to the back yard, had a manual lock on it, as
well as the regular lock. Both were secured. And yet, the front door was not so
secure. That doesn’t make sense to me, considering Mrs. Macy’s state of mind,
and the fact she always kept that door chained.”
    “OK, that’s a good point,” Hank said. “But she could have
just forgotten to chain it.”
    Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
    Jake said, “I was wondering why she would sit in the chair.
It just seems to me if she was going to kill herself, she would more than
likely lie down on the couch.” He shrugged. “It just makes sense to me.”
    Hank nodded dubiously. “Perhaps, but I don’t know how much
weight I would give to that assumption.”
    Annie looked at Hank, “From a woman’s point of view,” Annie
said, “that makes a bit of sense. Woman commit suicide differently than men.
They never shoot themselves, and rarely hang themselves. They do things nice
and neatly. Jake may have a point there. I think she would have taken the
pills, and then lie down on the couch or perhaps in bed.”
    Hank squinted, looking thoughtful, and nodded slowly.
    “And I have a problem with the coffee,” Annie said.
    Hank raised his cup. “Mine’s ok,” he said, taking another
gulp.
    Annie laughed. “Not that coffee.”
    Hank cocked his head.
    Annie continued, “The coffee at Macy’s. There was a pot of
coffee in their kitchen, in the coffeemaker. It was turned off, but it smelled
fresh.”
    “So?”
    “I looked at it carefully. There appeared to be two cups
missing. Philip said his wife rarely drank coffee, and yet there were two cups gone.”
    “So you think the killer made some coffee and drank it?”
Jake asked.
    “No, but maybe Mrs. Macy made a cup of coffee for him, or
her.”
    Jake frowned. “So that means she knew who he was, let him
in, they drank coffee together and then...”
    “And then he killed her, and left,” Annie said.
    Hank looked at her. “Makes sense,” he said, “but don’t
forget the alcohol. The tox screen showed a high level of alcohol in her
system. When and how did that get there?”
    “Maybe before the killer came, or perhaps she was drinking
while he was there,” Annie replied.
    Hank shrugged. “So, how did he get the pills into her
system?”
    “In the coffee,” Jake suggested.
    “Maybe.”
    “Granted,” Annie said, “all of these things out of place don’t
mean a lot individually, but taken all together, it makes me suspect something
happened we can’t prove. At least, not yet.”
    “My big problem is with the note,” Hank said, “or lack
thereof.” He guzzled the rest of his coffee and pushed the cup away.
    “What about it?” Jake asked.
    “Suicide victims almost always leave a note. Occasionally
they don’t, but with a suicide note the person who is committing suicide has
the last word, explaining why they felt they had to end their life, and to
bring closure to others, especially their loved ones, so there’s no guilt. And
usually there’s someone they want to forgive, and someone or something they
want to blame.”
    “Knowing what we do about Abigail Macy, I’m sure she wouldn’t
want her husband to feel at blame,” said Jake. “I have to agree with you Hank,
it seems out of character for her.”
    “But again, it’s nothing conclusive. Certainly not enough to
reopen her file.”
    Annie said, “Maybe not, but it’s enough for us.”
    “Annie and I are planning to see her psychiatrist this
morning, Dr. Boris Hoffman,” Jake said and shrugged. “Maybe he can tell us
something we don’t know.”
    “We talked to him before, regarding Mrs. Macy’s report she
had seen a murder,” Hank said. “At that time, he stated