Page 13 of Letting Go
Holy shit, she’s beautiful.
Vivian Stone is a classic beauty—kind of reminds me of a movie star from the 1940s. There isn’t much else about the wife in the notes, which seems odd to me. I add it to my list of things to ask the Chicago detectives when I call them.
“Hey Christine, could you coordinate a call with the detectives in Chicago on the Stone case for me as soon as they are available, please? There’s a list of things I want to talk to them about,” I call out to my assistant sitting just outside of my office. She tells me she will get right on it and I thank her as I take a sip from my third cup of coffee this morning. My new assistant Christine has been a lifesaver since moving to Nashville. She helped make my move as seamless as possible and she has pointed me in all the right directions whenever I need something in my new city, from the best restaurants to doggy daycares. Christine and her fiancé are getting married at the end of the year and at this rate, I’m going to have to get her a very nice wedding gift for making my life easier.
“Agent Walker, I have Detective Johnson on line two. His partner is out today but he said he can answer whatever questions you may have about the Stone case,” Christine tells me as she appears in my doorway. She gets things done so quickly; I’ve never had an assistant help my life run sosmoothly.
“Thanks Christine.” She nods, pulling my office door shut as I pick up the phone. “Detective Johnson? This is Special Agent Henry Walker Bennett with the FBI. Thanks for taking my call so quickly,” I greet the detective and know he has already talked to other agents about this case, but he hasn’t talked to me about it yet.
“Sure thing, anything for our fed friends, right?” Detective Johnson replies.
“I appreciate it. I’m looking through your notes regarding the murder of Dr. Trent Stone.”
“Yeah, that was an odd one. As I’m sure you know, we see our fair share of murders in the city but a doctor getting taken out by a sniper on the street? That was a first for me.” Detective Johnson huffs on the phone. “Honestly, it’s a frustrating case for us. The guy was a squeaky-clean heart surgeon and someone kills him? We can’t figure out a motive to lead us to any suspects, other than maybe his affair, but that hasn’t led us anywhere.”
“It says in your notes that his mistress was also married. Could her husband have been involved in the murder? I can’t imagine any man would be thrilled if they find out their wife is sleeping with someone else,” I ask.
“We looked into Dr. Bishop’s husband as a potential suspect and from what we can gather between our investigation and our friends over at Boston PD, he isn’t our guy. Dr. Bianca Bishop and her husband Dr. David Bishop were both cheating on each other, but only the husband was aware they were both stepping out on their marriage. My sources in Boston said the husband has multiple current affairs with at least three women in Boston. I got the impression he didn’t really care if his wife was sleeping with someone else, as long as they stayed married for appearances and all that, if you know what I mean,” Detective Johnson implies.
“But even though she was cheating as well, Bianca didn’t know about her husband’s affairs?” I ask.
“Prior to Dr. Stone’s death, I don’t believe so, but after gossip about the confrontation at the funeral spread like wildfire, David decided he no longer needed to hide his indiscretions.”
“What confrontation? I didn’t see anything about one in your notes.”
“I was trying to look out for the widow and didn’t think it was necessary to officially have it anywhere, especially when I didn’t witness it, but Mrs. Stone allegedly slapped Dr. Bianca Bishop at Dr. Stone’s memorial service but no charges were ever filed in that incident.” The widow slapped the mistress? It sounds like they should have served popcorn at the funeral. “However, I did have an arrest alert pop up for Dr. Bianca Bishop on charges of misdemeanor assault,” Detective Johnson says.
“She was arrested at the funeral?”
“No, this was six weeks after the funeral. Dr. Bianca Bishop was arrested in Boston after an altercation between her and one of her husband’s mistresses one evening during a hospital fundraiser.”
“Hmm. Interesting. You mentioned in your notes you don’t believe that Dr. Stone’s wife knew about the affair prior to her husband’s death.” I want to know what he didn’t put in the report about the wife and why.
“No, I really don’t think she knew. Mary and Joseph, that woman was devastated, Agent Bennett. They have a little girl too. Did you see in my notes the murder occurred on the daughter’s fourth birthday? The same damn day. No little girl should have her birthday ruined by her father’s murder.” Johnson curses under his breath.
I pull up a photo of Dr. Stone with his wife and daughter from the Christmas before his death. With arms wrapped around each other and the little girl perched on his hip, they appear to bethe picture-perfect family. The daughter’s vibrant, toothy smile reminds me of my youngest niece. “Yeah, that’s really terrible for that little girl. She and her mama deserve justice for everything they’ve been put through. Speaking of her mama, there’s not much in your notes about her though, is there anything you left out or maybe didn’t realize until after you submitted your notes?”
“She was a grief-stricken young lady who also seemed very pissed off when the affair was exposed. She found out about the affair just after her husband was pronounced dead from text messages on his cell phone, can you believe that? My heart really broke for Mrs. Stone. Whenever we interviewed her, she seemed to be shell-shocked and totally blindsided by the affair. Her friends and work colleagues all spoke very highly of her, and we didn’t see any obvious motivation for her to be involved. There was no indication she knew anything about the affair until after her husband’s death, and we couldn’t find any other motive for her.”
“Did you or your partner do any follow-up interviews with the wife since the initial investigation?” I ask.
“Well, we can’t just stop by to see her in person anymore. Mrs. Stone moved back to her family’s hometown in Tennessee around mid-April. From what I gathered, she wasn’t doing so well after her husband’s death, and I think she needed support from her family.” It’s not uncommon for widows with children to need family and friends but a big move is slightly out of the ordinary so soon after a murder. Maybe she really was just shocked and lost, or maybe she is a really good actress and knows more than she let on.
“Where in Tennessee did she move to?” I ask.
“Her hometown of Forrest Falls, some small town just over an hour west of Nashville,” he answers. What are the odds of that? It looks like I’ll get to follow up with Mrs. Stone in person easier than I expected.
Detective Johnson continues, “I haven’t had a chance to update the case file notes yet outside of my handwritten ones in my street file, but Mrs. Stone just called us the other day. This is another peculiar thing though, Agent Bennett. She was sent some weird poem at her sister’s place in Tennessee referencing her husband’s death. We had the local sheriff pick it up and they’re running it for prints. We’re waiting to hear back from them to see if anything matches in any of the databases.”
Bingo. I knew there was going to be a loose thread to pull on in this case. “Tell me more about this poem.”
Chapter seven
Vivian
Pulling up to park across the street from Java Jive, I slide my tablet in my handbag as I get out of my white Cadillac XT6. I sold our pair of black Mercedes-Benz SUVs back to the dealership before I left Chicago. Trent always insisted we drove only black Mercedes. He grew up with a single mother who had to work two jobs to keep a roof over their head, so driving a nice black Mercedes became a status symbol to him as a young boy. I knew it was important to him so I never pushed back on his demands.
Shortly after we arrived in Tennessee, my brother Ryan took me to the dealership our family goes to in Nashville to get a new SUV. I wanted to pick something new, different, and definitely not black. The mid-size SUV is perfect for me and Eloise, and I love seeing the Tennessee license plates as a daily reminder that I’m home.
