Chapter 43
The Eight of Swords indicates you are feeling trapped and there’s no way out.
DANNY
Juliet opened the door with a robe wrapped around her. We obviously woke her, which was part of the plan. Her voice was soft, as was her expression. “May I help you?”
“Abigail Stewart?”
The panic in her eyes was fleeting. She covered it well.
Her face hardened and in a raspy voice she said, “I’m sorry, you have the wrong house.” Juliet moved to close the door.
Biz blocked the door from closing. She pulled out her badge. “Detectives Bizzell and Chan. Atlanta PD. May we come in and ask you a few questions, ma’am?”
“What’s this about?”
“May I get your name, ma’am?”
“Maureen. I said there is no one here by the name of Abigail.” She pushed harder on the door. Biz’s steel toed boot didn’t budge.
I spoke up. “As Detective Bizzell said, we just have a few questions in connection with a murder that took place a few months ago.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no murder.”
“I understand. I’m sure we can get this cleared up if you’ll just answer a few routine questions. It should just take a minute or two. May we come in?”
Juliet stepped back. She sighed heavily and gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
She sat in a recliner chair facing the sofa and lit up a cigarette. The ashtray on the table next to the recliner was overflowing with cigarette butts.
Juliet coughed. It sounded like she had smoked for years.
“I told you those things would kill you.”
“Shut up, Darryl.”
Biz and I didn’t dare look at each other. One of us would have laughed out loud and the other would have quickly followed suit.
“So, Maureen, you don’t know Abigail Stewart?”
Juliet shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette. She lit another one.
“How about Juliet Morrison?”
Juliet went into a coughing fit that wouldn’t stop. Biz went into the adjoining kitchen and got a glass of water.
Juliet drained the glass, dropped her cigarette into it, and lit another.
With the cigarette in her mouth dropping ash on her clothing and the chair she mumbled, “Nope, never heard of her.”
Biz and I stood up. “Thank you, ma’am, for answering our questions.” I propelled Juliet toward the door while Biz pocketed the glass with Juliet’s fingerprints on it.
“Sorry to bother you. Thanks for your cooperation.”
Biz called a friend in the Marietta PD and asked him to keep a unit parked on the street near Juliet’s house for the next few days.
On the way back to the precinct we dropped the glass and cigarette butt at the lab and put a rush on the results.