“Getting to it. Why?”
“Take a look at April twentieth. She called a number listed to a Gregory Bouchard in Sacramento, California.”
Frost scanned down the log until he found the right date. “I see it. It was fifty-five seconds long. Not much of a conversation. Who is this Bouchard guy?”
“Let’s find out.” She picked up her desk phone and dialed the number. It rang three times and was answered by a man’s breezy “Hello?”
Jane put it on speakerphone so Frost could listen in. “I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston PD. Am I speaking to Gregory Bouchard?”
A beat of silence, then a cautious “Yeah, that’s me. What’s this about?”
“We’re investigating the death of a woman named Sofia Suarez. According to her phone records, she called your number on April twentieth. Can you tell us anything about that call?”
There was a long pause. “Did you say Sofia’s dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened? Was there an accident?”
“I’m afraid not. This is a homicide investigation.”
“Oh god. Katie’s going to freak out.”
“Katie?”
“My wife. She’s the one Sofia was trying to reach.”
“Did they manage to talk?”
“No, Katie was away on a work trip when Sofia left the voicemail. Katie tried calling back when she got home, but they never connected.”
“May I speak to your wife?”
“She’s not home. She works as a traveling nurse for Nat Geo tours. You know, keeping the rich folks alive and well. I’ll check her itinerary, but I think right now they’re somewhere in the South Pacific.”
“What about the voicemail Sofia left on your phone? Do you still have the recording?”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s been erased.”
“Do you know what her message was?”
“Um, sort of. I heard it when Katie played it back and…” Over the phone, Jane heard him take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of shaken up about this. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered.”
“Her voicemail, Mr. Bouchard?”
“Yeah. I think it was just about catching up on their old days in the ICU.”
“They worked together? Your wife and Sofia?”
“It was fifteen, twenty years ago, at a hospital up in Maine. Then I got this job in California and we moved here. We went to Sofia’s wedding in Boston, but that was years ago.”
“Do you know why she called your wife?”
“I have no idea. Maybe for old times’ sake?” A pause. “What does this have to do with her being murdered?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’m just following up on every lead. Please have your wife call me if she has any information.” Jane hung up and looked at Frost. “Well, that was a dead end.”
“Or maybe it has something to do with these other calls,” said Frost. “They’re all to area code 207. Maine.”
“Where Sofia and Bouchard’s wife once worked together.”
“She called a really weird list of places. Gas and Go in Augusta. Bangor High School. Buffalo Wings Restaurant in South Portland. Eastern Maine Medical Center. Is there a connection between all these numbers?”
Jane picked up her desk phone again. “There’s only one way to find out. I’ll try the first one.”
As Frost swiveled around to his own phone, Jane dialed the Augusta number. After only two rings, a woman answered briskly: “Gas and Go.” It was the no-nonsense voice of someone who has more immediate business to attend to.
“I’m Detective Rizzoli, Boston PD. We’re investigating the death of a woman named Sofia Suarez. According to her phone records, she called Gas and Go on Monday, April twenty-first, at ten a.m. Did you happen to speak with her?”
“Monday? Yeah, I’m probably the person who answered the phone that day. I don’t remember talking to a customer by that name.”
“And she would have been calling from Boston.”
“I don’t know why anyone would call us from Boston. Unless she was trying to sell us something, because we get a ton of those calls. Maybe she dialed the wrong number?”
“You’re sure you don’t remember talking to her?”
“Sorry, no. We also sell lottery and bus tickets and we get a lot of people calling about those. And April twenty-first, that’s like a month ago. Whatever she called about, it wasn’t anything that stuck with me.”