Chapter 14 – Witness
Late Morning, Thursday, February 19th
Annemarie Beatty lived off of Lexington, close to the Brighton Presbyterian Church. It took us less than 10 minutes to get to her and most of that time was eaten up trying to get my county truck out of squad maintenance. I often swore that they picked the oddest times to decide to schedule oil changes and such.
Beatty was older than I expected she’d be; significantly older. She was gray haired and bespectacled but also well dressed in a pretty blouse and slacks with hose on to match the pants and shoes that complimented the belt she wore. “Annemarie Beatty?” I asked her, when she answered the door.
“Yes.”
I tried not to let my dismay show at the possibility that this was just another crackpot who called in with a half-baked th
