Free Deadly Web by Michael Omer Page B

happened?”
    “Well, I dropped by at about five-fifteen to make sure that she would be eating in the dining room. Sometimes Frank took her out to eat, and we need to know how many meals to prepare. He was in her room.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Talking to her.”
    “What did he say?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t listen.”
    “Okay.”
    “Then, at about six, he escorted her to the community room, where they played cards for about half an hour. They probably took a walk outside before, like they usually did, but I can’t say for sure.”
    “And then what?”
    “He said goodbye and left.”
    “Did he escort his sister back to her room?”
    “No, it was time for dinner. She went to the dining room, on her own.”
    “Was that usual?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did Frank fight with anyone, have any confrontations, or take any strange phone calls while he was here?”
    “Not at all. He is… was a very peaceful man.”
    Jacob recalled the nasty Twitter accounts Mitchell had shown him before they left the station, and tried to connect that to the man they were talking about. “Did his sister behave unusually in any way while he was here?”
    “No.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Hobart.”
    “You’re welcome. I hope you catch whoever did this.” She hung up.
    Jacob handed the phone back to Mrs. Pendergast. “Mrs. Pendergast,” he said. “Did Frank or his sister have any problems with anyone? Perhaps a family member?”
    “No. I can’t imagine he would. He was an amazing person. So very kind.”
    “Can you give us a list of the visitors his sister has had in the past year?”
    “Well… No. Not unless you have a search warrant. Those records are confidential. But I wouldn’t bother.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because no one except Frank visited her.”
    “We need to talk to his sister,” Jacob said.
    “Of course,” Mrs. Pendergast sighed. “But I’ll be there the entire time. And you won’t say a word until I explain everything. This is very delicate, Detective.”
    “Informing about death always is, Mrs. Pendergast,” Jacob said.
    “Yes. I expect so. Nevertheless, you will let me explain.”
    Jacob nodded. She led them through several passages to a long hallway lined with doors. She approached one of the doors and knocked.
    “Melinda?” she said. “Can we please come in?”
    The door opened. A woman Jacob recognized from some of the pictures on Frank’s Instagram page stood in the doorway. Her hair was chestnut brown, and her nose was a bit wide, making it a prominent feature on her face. Her eyes, large and hazlenut, fluttered around, scanning the visitors then lowering to her hands.
    “We can talk in the hallway,” she said. “There is no reason to come in.”
    “Melinda,” Mrs. Pendergast said in a soft tone. “These gentlemen need to tell you something. And it is something that should be told in your room.”
    “Why?”
    “Because that’s how it’s done.”
    “Okay. You can come in,” Melinda said. “Don’t touch the pictures. Please,” she added a second later, as though as an afterthought.
    They entered her room. It was simple, but tasteful. There was a double bed, the sheets folded neatly on top. A blue couch stood against the wall on the right, exactly opposite a bookcase on the other side of the room. There was a small doorway to what appeared to be a bathroom. There were five pictures on the wall, all of them depicting famous modern buildings. Jacob identified the Sydney Opera House and One World Trade Center. Melinda walked a few feet inside, and turned around. Her eyes wandered and Jacob realized she was looking at each of the pictures in turn. Finally, her stare focused on Mrs. Pendergast.
    “Melinda,” Mrs. Pendergast said. “Something happened to Frank. Something bad.”
    “What happened?” Melinda asked. As far as Jacob could tell, she didn’t sound worried or agitated. Was Mrs. Pendergast overly protective of Melinda?
    “He was killed last night,” Mrs. Pendergast said. “He