Jesus. That couldn’t be right. Six husbands?
The rest of the folder was filled with Stan’s notes, ramblings, and vaguely pieced together facts to make his narrative that she was a black widow. From what I could see, she’d had a tough first marriage and possibly a poor upbringing and had escaped by marrying to get out of a bad situation. I didn’t see any issue there, but the fact she had married so often and her husbands have all died in suspicious circumstances, and the fact that she changes her name so much, it’s concerning. I put the folder down and turned my computer on. The email icon blinked at me and I groaned when I opened it.
Damn it.
When was the last time I emptied this damn thing? I worked through and archived everything in my inbox from the last month and kept everything from the last few days. Sal had already documented what she’d gotten from the house in the database. I pulled it open and took note of the regular things on the docket, but when I saw the picture of a diamond ring and wedding ring, I hesitated on the next arrow. Why would she leave her rings behind?
I took notes as I looked through the photos and opened up my search bar. I looked through her criminal record as Maura Benoit-Clayton.
Nothing.
I started to type in her other aliases and found generic certificates of marriage and insurances from her husbands’ deaths but that was it. Nothing criminal.
I found her immigration record from when she came to the States, but there was just nothing screaming out that she was someone to be wary of. How did she become a person of interest in Stan’s twisted little research? How did he know her?
Stan had once been a respected member of the reporters who covered crime in the city, until we started down a dark and dangerous path of sex slavery rings around the wealthy. I’d warned him off, there’s not a damn thing one reporter was going to do about a problem the entire police force had been trying to fix for decades, but he was stubborn.
Just like I had been.
But he knew to stick with his gut instinct, just like I did. I had to give credence to what he was saying. I couldn’t blow it off, because I knew, somehow, I knew in these crazed ramblings, there was a fact I could unravel and discover a criminal in action.
There had to be a piece I was missing and that drove me wild.
I dialed Stan’s number.
“Stan here.”
“Stan, it’s Detective Kane Garrick.”
“Did you look through the folder yet?”
“Yeah, I’ve taken another look, but I don’t see anything suspicious.”
“Are you looking through it properly?” he asked, frustration mounting in his voice. “Have you seen the last page?”
I sighed, flipping through handwritten notes and then the last page had me almost dropping my phone. Inside was a photo of a wall of photos, maps, and pins all over a large wall full of what appeared to be a crime board but it was men. Stan’s notes depicted that it was a photo from inside one of her properties, after he’d broken in to take evidence. She was hunting.
My heart sank.
Shewasa black widow.
Chapter Two
Maurelle
“Thank you, officer.”
I gave him my widest smile and leaned against the door of the house I’d had him drive me to. He was a youngish sort of man, with bags under his eyes. I wondered if he got enough sleep. There was something about him that had me on edge, but I put it down to him being a cop. The sooner I got away from him, the better. I had things to do and people to meet.
“I’m a detective,” he corrected. He was annoyed and I had to fight not to smile at his arrogance.
“My apologies,” I said. “I’ve not had much interaction with police, and am unaware of ranks.”
“It’s fine,” he replied, but I could see he was annoyed by it. He was potentially a newly promoted detective and had something to prove.
“Would you like to come in and have something to drink?”
“No,” he replied, quickly. “I have to get back. Stay here, though, we may need to come and talk to you.”
