Coldwater Confession by James A. Ross

Author:James A. Ross [Ross, James A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Suspense, Traditional British, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781685121099
Publisher: Level Best Books
Published: 2022-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Andrew Ryan’s ex-wife, Karen, lived alone in a two-bedroom apartment in Coldwater Commons, a subsidized housing project on the back side of East Hill. Most of Joe’s domestic violence calls came from the Commons, as did many individuals who came to the attention of the Sheriff’s Department for other reasons. He parked his pickup truck where he could see the front entrance to the building and where anyone looking out of an apartment window could see him. The truck was not as instantly recognizable as the Coldwater patrol car, but it was known widely enough. Lowering the window, he listened to the cacophony of crying babies, screaming couples, and high-volume television, while he watched the building to see who fled on general principle.

No one came through the front door, though two vehicles rolled silently out the side of the lot as he locked the truck and made his way up to Karen Ryan’s third-floor apartment. The walls of Coldwater Commons displayed no graffiti, and the hallways did not smell like piss. Remembering the one time he had visited Tommy in Manhattan, Joe wondered if Coldwater’s sporadically employed were a better class of people than the city breed. Or since there were fewer of them with more space, maybe they had less need to mark their territory.

A tall middle-aged woman answered the door wearing men’s pants and a partially open shirt buttoned tight over large breasts and belly. Her rounded shoulders and dark, stringy hair capped the bloated body of a boozer, or someone on heavy-duty medication. Joe held up his badge. “I know who you are,” she said. He started to explain the reason for his visit and she cut him short. “I know why you’re here, too.”

“May I come in?” he asked.

“No.”

Joe put his hand on the door. Karen Ryan swung her foot behind it. Pressing steadily, he quickly made it clear that the price of poor hospitality was going to be the top of her toe. “Leave it open,” he said. “If there’s anyone inside, get rid of him.”

“I’m alone, handsome.”

Joe stepped into a darkened room, crowded with more furniture than it was designed to hold and where every flat surface was covered with yellowing newspapers, old magazines, and unopened mail. The wall that separated the apartment from its neighbor was covered floor to ceiling with shelves filled with books and photographs. While not entirely unknown in the Commons, books were not a standard decorative feature. An entire wall of them was unheard of.

“Let’s sit,” he suggested. Karen settled herself in a faux leather recliner facing a flat-screen television and a shelf jammed with framed photographs. A plastic liter bottle of Coca-Cola sat on a table next to the chair, and an open bag of Oreos lay on the floor beside it. Joe lifted a pile of newspapers from a wooden stool and brought the stool over to face Karen Ryan. “Let’s start with the basics. Name, age, occupation.”

“You know my name,” she said. “I’ll be forty-eight next month.

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