Rock & Roll Homicide by R J McDonnell Page B

refocused I saw Kelly holding a miniature blue baseball bat and realized she had spanked me on the butt. “I think you had better drive home,” I said as I cradled my head and eased myself into the passenger seat.

Chapter 7
    On Thursday morning we slept in until 9:30 AM and Kelly was extra attentive, perceiving that our relationship had gone to the next level with the meeting of my parents. She made crab omelets and asked a lot of questions about what my mom was like at various stages of my development.
    I found a parking spot two blocks from my office and checked my watch just before walking through the door. It was 11:33 AM. As I entered Duffy Investigations, the first thing I saw was a file cabinet lying sideways on the carpet. I pulled my gun and stepped into the reception area. My heart sank. Lying on the floor was Jeannine with a gag in her mouth and her hands and feet tied together. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist and my first thought was that she had been raped.
    When she heard the door open, she let out a muffled scream. She had her back to me and probably thought the perpetrators had returned. When she realized it was me, she started to cry. I removed the gag, untied her and held her as she hyperventilated and went into a panic attack. I found her prescription for Xanex in her purse and gave her a double dose. After about five minutes she was calm enough to talk. In the meantime I called the police.
    “I look awful! I know I look awful!” she exclaimed between gasps.
    “Tell me what happened,” I said.
    “Two men in black ski masks came in right after 9:00. They pointed guns at me and asked who else was here,” she gasped. “I think I said, ‘nobody’ but I’m not sure. Then they tied me up, put a gag in my mouth and searched the office. They took both of our computers.”
    “Did they hurt you or do anything to you?” I asked as I prepared myself for the worst.
    “Yes! It was horrible!” she screamed and again started to cry.
    In as calm a voice as I could muster, I said, “If you’ll tell me what they did I can help you when the police get here.”
    After stammering a couple of times she said, “The big one grabbed me by the arm and smudged my blouse. I tried to struggle, but the little one pulled my hair by my French braid and said if I didn’t shut up he was going to tie the braid around my neck and hang me from the ceiling fan.” Her hands began to shake.
    “Then what happened?” I asked.
    “They tied me up and threw me on the carpet,” she stammered.
    “Did they do anything else to hurt you?” I asked. She nodded and her chin quivered uncontrollably. “What?” I asked.
    “They broke my nail!” she blurted out as she held up her middle finger, flipping me off. I sat with her and waited for the police. I guess her skirt hiked up as she struggled to get free.
    A squad car arrived about ten minutes after I called, and the officers made sure we didn’t touch anything until the place could be dusted for prints. We learned from Jeannine that the perps wore gloves, so the cops let me walk around to see if anything else was missing besides the computers. About a half-hour later Walter Shamansky made his entrance. He spoke with the patrolmen, then made his way into my inner office where he found me looking at a group of files thrown across the floor. He said, “You really ought to consider hiring a cleaning service. The slovenly look doesn’t cut it in La Jolla.”
    “This was the work of the Russians. I’m sure,” I said.
    “How do you know?” he asked.
    “They took everything relating to the case, including all of Cory’s photographs. Nothing else appears to be missing,” I said. “Any chance of getting a search warrant for Cerise’s office?” I asked.
    “I think the chances are pretty slim that they’d bring everything back to the office. If we get a warrant now and come up with nothing, it will be three times as tough to get another one on this case,” he