Free The Divine Appointment by Jerome Teel Page B

“This investigation couldn’t have come together any better.”
    “I like what I’m seeing,” Dodson said.
    Captain Montague looked up and waved the trio of officers in.
    “I’ll talk to you about it later,” Dodson heard Captain Montague say into the telephone as they entered. “Bureaucrats,” he muttered as he slammed the phone down and fell into the chair behind his desk. He locked his hands behind his balding head and looked up at Sergeant Crossley and the two detectives who had gathered at the front of his desk.
    “I hope you’ve got something on the Caldwell murder. I’m getting a lot of heat from the mayor’s office.”
    “How ’bout a suspect?” Brantley asked.
    “Now we’re getting somewhere. Give me the details.”
    Dodson took the lead. “It seems she was seeing a married man. A doctor from Brentwood. Sergeant Crossley matched a print from the scene with one on file for the good doctor with the Department of Safety.”
    Brantley handed Captain Montague the fingerprint report.
    He scanned it and handed it back to Brantley. “Looks like you’ve got opportunity sewn up.”
    “It gets better,” Dodson added. “Dr. Stephenson found skin tissue under her fingernail. Brantley and I noticed a bandage on Dr. Grissom’s cheek. My bet is that the DNA matches.”
    “Sounds like he’s our guy,” concluded Captain Montague. “Go bring him in.”

    The Proctor residence, Washington DC
    Hazel Johnson placed a cup of fresh coffee before Evelyn Proctor as she sat at the breakfast table of the Georgetown area brownstone she shared with her husband, Senator Proctor. Although Evelyn was rarely beaming with happiness, Hazel noticed that recently she appeared more sullen than usual. She was still dressed in her nightgown and robe, which was usually never worn outside her bedroom. Her salt-and-pepper hair was unkempt, and for the first time that Hazel could remember, Evelyn wasn’t wearing any makeup.
    Hazel wasn’t certain as to what had caused this recent bout of depression that appeared to have reached a new valley this morning. It might have been the gray skies and May rain that pelted against the dining-room window, or it might have been something more disturbing. But whatever it was, it caused Evelyn not to speak as Hazel served her, and that was most unusual. Today Evelyn appeared to barely notice her presence in the room.
    Hazel hesitated briefly at the swinging door leading from the dining room to the kitchen and glanced back at Evelyn, who remained virtually motionless at the end of the table.
    “Mrs. Proctor doesn’t look good this morning,” Hazel told her husband, Albert, after the door that separated the kitchen from the dining room was safely closed. Although Senator Proctor and Evelyn rarely graced the kitchen with their presences, it, like the entire house, contained all the trappings befitting one of Washington’s elite families. Only the best would do for the Senate majority leader and his wife.
    “That’s none of your business, Hazel,” Albert reminded her. His voice was scratchy and hoarse. He was standing with his back to Hazel, near the stove, preparing breakfast for Senator and Mrs. Proctor. A cigarette smoldered in an ashtray nearby. “You stay out of that. You’ve got a job to do, and that’s all.”
    “I know, Albert, but it kills my soul to see her suffer. She knows he’s cheating on her, and it’s eating away at her. I don’t know how much more of this she can take. She’s been depressed like this since she came back from Nashville Friday morning.”
    Albert and Hazel had been employees of the Proctors for over ten years. They had first served the Proctors in their Nashville home, then had moved to Washington DC at the insistence of Evelyn five years ago. The Proctors were rarely in Nashville, Evelyn explained, and she needed their help in Washington. The Washington domestic staff was inadequate to handle the demands of the Senate majority leader and his wife.