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“I knew it,” she said, fumbling with a huge set of keys at Chast’s door. “Every time my husband goes on jury duty something like this happens.”
“You hear anything out of the ordinary in the building last night, Ms. Hambrecht?” I said.
“Not a thing,” she said, finally spilling the keys into my hands. “Here. I’m useless. You try.”
The second key I tried worked. Doyle and I looked at each other nervously as I swung the door open into the dead-silent apartment.
Dear God, I prayed silently. Please let Chast not be here.
“Could you wait out here, Ms. Hambrecht?” I said.
“With pleasure,” she said.
“Hey, Naomi? Hello? Naomi, it’s Detective Mike Bennett and Jimmy Doyle. You in here? You OK?” I said as we entered the apartment.
We passed by a galley kitchen and a sunken living room. Doyle and I exchanged a concerned glance when we spotted the closed back bedroom door.
I turned the door’s paint-flecked glass knob and pushed it open.
Naomi was sitting slumped over at a cluttered home office armoire. Immediately, we could see her open eyes, the blood splatter among the pencils and notebooks, her chunky black service Glock on the carpet between her feet.
Officer Naomi Chast was gone.
“No,” Doyle said, groaning as he started to walk over to her. “C’mon! This isn’t right. How is this possible?”
I grabbed his shoulder and pointed him toward the door.
“Go call it in, Doyle,” I said. “Call it in.”
CHAPTER 29
AS WE WAITED FOR the local precinct detective to arrive, I went over to Naomi and knelt beside her.
“Mike, what are you doing, man? Aren’t we supposed to let the precinct DTs handle this? I can’t stand seeing her like that. I feel like it’s somehow my fault.”
“Doyle, get over here,” I said as I peered into Naomi’s face.
“No, man. I don’t want to,” Doyle said.
“Now,” I said.
“What?” he said as he finally arrived behind me.
“Look, her front tooth there. It’s chipped.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And here, look at her left hand. Her nails are neat and polished, but on her right hand, there are three broken fingernails.”
“What are you saying?”
I suddenly snapped my fingers as I glanced in the closet and under the bed.
“Doyle, listen. This is important. Where did Naomi wear her service weapon? On her right or left hip?” I said as I looked over the contents of her desk.
Doyle closed his eyes.
“Left,” he said.
