Final Exam: A Legal Thriller Read Free Page B

minutes of your time if you don’t mind.”   He paused and then added, “You are Sylvia Greenfield?”
    Eyeing him suspiciously, she approached him until she could see his badge and identification.   She looked slowly from the picture on his ID to his face and back again, confirming that he really was who he said he was.   Finally she looked him in the eye and said, “Yes, I am.   Chicago Police Department?   What’s this about?”  
    “Ma’am, I think it would be better if we talked about this inside,” Nelson said putting his credentials back in his pocket.  
    Not appearing to like this idea, but sensing that she had no real alternative, Sylvia Greenfield turned and said, “Of course, follow me.”   Nelson followed her across a flagstone patio and up three steps to the back door.   They entered into the kitchen.   To the left was the working area of the kitchen - black granite countertops flecked with gray, immaculate white cabinets, stainless steel appliances and a large island in the center of the room.   To the right was a generous eating area, which housed a rectangular kitchen table in dark wood surrounded by four Windsor-backed chairs.   Across from the table stood a built-in desk and small, cushioned chair.   Everything seemed to be neatly stored away in its respective cubbyhole.   A white cordless telephone hung on the wall.   A brown leather address book, a clean white pad of paper and ballpoint pen lay neatly on top of the desk.   The room smelled of fresh coffee and waxed hardwood floors.   It could have come right out of Good Housekeeping magazine.  
    The woman took off a brown leather car coat and hung it in a closet opposite a set of stairs that went down to the basement.   Nelson watched her closely.   She was a fairly tall woman, about five-foot-seven, slim and very attractive, even without smiling.   She had medium-length blondish hair, somewhat reminiscent of the Jackie Kennedy style of the mid-1960’s .   She wore a dark brown turtleneck, tan-colored tweed pants and brown suede slip-on shoes.   She closed the closet door and turned back to him.   “Now, what can I do for you, Detective?”  
    All business, Nelson thought.   Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.   She was indeed a very attractive woman, probably in her late-forties or early-fifties, and she carried herself with a sense of authority.   He took a deep breath and exhaled, never losing eye contact with her.   “It might be better if we sat down, Ma’am.”  
    Suddenly, concern crossed her features.   “What?   What do you mean?   Why are you here?   Did something happen to my girls?”  
    “No, no Ma’am.   It’s not about your daughters.   As far as I know, they’re both fine.   Please Ma’am.   Please come over and sit down,” he said gesturing to the kitchen table.   He unzipped his coat, slowly pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.   After a moment, she reluctantly joined him, moving slowly across the kitchen and pulling out the chair next to his before sitting down, her hands in her lap.  
    “It’s about your husband,” Nelson began.
    “What about my husband, Detective? What’s happened?”  
    She looked directly at him.   After a moment, he continued in a soft, calm voice.   “I’m sorry to inform you, Ma’am, but your husband, I mean ex-husband, Daniel Greenfield, was found dead earlier this morning.”   She took a deep breath, looked down at her hands, but said nothing.   “He was found in his office at the law school by another professor.   I’m sorry to have to come here like this and give you this kind of news, Mrs. Greenfield, but I didn’t want you hearing in some other way.   I didn’t want your daughters finding out in some other way that their father was dead.   I wanted to make sure that you had the opportunity to give them that news yourself at the time and in the way that you thought was most appropriate.”  
    Sylvia