Items related to The Dead Man's Wife (Detective Coletti Mystery...
[Audiobook CD Library Edition in vinyl case.]
She's a cop turned defense lawyer; her husband a research scientist. She lives in a half-million-dollar home. Yet on this night, Andrea Wilson -- a woman who seemingly has everything -- awakens to a living nightmare. Her husband Paul is dead, she's covered in his blood, and the police are banging on her door. Andrea doesn't remember what happened, but she knows how it looks. With just a split second to make a choice, Andrea decides to run, and in doing so risks everything in an attempt to clear her name.
Enter Detective Mike Coletti. He and Andrea shared a relationship once; now all they share is the chase. As Andrea races to prove her innocence and Coletti struggles to track her down, each uncovers clues about the mystery of Paul's death, and along the way, Andrea finds the answer to the biggest question of all: is her husband actually still alive?
[*Produced by Buck 50 Productions]
She's a cop turned defense lawyer; her husband a research scientist. She lives in a half-million-dollar home. Yet on this night, Andrea Wilson -- a woman who seemingly has everything -- awakens to a living nightmare. Her husband Paul is dead, she's covered in his blood, and the police are banging on her door. Andrea doesn't remember what happened, but she knows how it looks. With just a split second to make a choice, Andrea decides to run, and in doing so risks everything in an attempt to clear her name.
Enter Detective Mike Coletti. He and Andrea shared a relationship once; now all they share is the chase. As Andrea races to prove her innocence and Coletti struggles to track her down, each uncovers clues about the mystery of Paul's death, and along the way, Andrea finds the answer to the biggest question of all: is her husband actually still alive?
[*Produced by Buck 50 Productions]
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
SOLOMON JONES is the Essence bestselling author of the critically acclaimed novels Payback, C.R.E.A.M., The Bridge, Ride or Die, and Pipe Dream, as well as the short-story collection Keeping Up with the Jones. He is a columnist for the Philadelphia Daily News and a spoken-word artist. He teaches creative writing at Temple University and is currently at work on his next novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
CHAPTER 1
On Friday, December 4, 2009, the Criminal Justice Center was abuzz with activity. Prospective jurors were herded through metal detectors. Defendants were brought in from prisons. Cops waited to testify in cases they barely remembered, and public defenders spoke poorly for the impoverished.
The whole thing moved like a carefully orchestrated dance, with each step perfectly choreographed and the outcome always the same. But upstairs in Courtroom 3B, Andrea Wilson argued passionately for her client, because Andrea danced to her own drumbeat.
Like a veteran actress whose theater was the courtroom, she carefully studied the set. She saw floors that were covered with cheap carpeting and hard wooden spectator benches. The judge was nestled between the flag of Pennsylvania and America’s stars and stripes. The defendant was a poor man whose struggles she knew, because drugs had killed people she loved. That’s why she was so concerned about her client. He looked like a man who’d already been convicted.
Three days into his trial, Tim Green sat at the defense table in his orange prison jumpsuit, as if he were waiting to go back to his cell. In truth, Tim was right to be pessimistic. He had almost no chance of acquittal. That didn’t stop Andrea from fighting, though, and from using her every attribute to do so.
With raven black hair and honey-colored eyes, Andrea was a well-preserved forty-three. Some thought of her as half black. Others said she was half Italian, but everyone was certain that Andrea was all woman.
Her lithe physique was accented by taut calves peering out from a fitted skirt, and as she paced the floor in a plunging silk blouse that fluttered when she moved, she was energy itself, beautiful and powerful at the same time.
“So let’s go over this again,” Andrea said, a smirk playing on her lips as she questioned the witness. “Is it your contention that Officer Harris was shot by a masked gunman about twenty feet from where you were standing?”
“That’s right,” said the witness, a Dominican woman who was thirty-five and trying desperately not to look it. “He was as far away from me then as he is right now when he shot him the first time,” she added while glaring at the young man at the defense table. “He was much closer when he shot him again.”
“So you can identify the defendant as the shooter despite the fact that he was wearing a mask?”
The witness sighed impatiently. “The mask only covered the top half of his face. He’d been in the bar before so he was pretty easy to recognize.”
“What were you doing in the bar?” Andrea asked. “Were you drinking?”
“No, I was the barmaid. I was serving drinks and taking orders from the customers.”
“Taking orders,” Andrea repeated with a glance at the witness’s skimpy outfit. “What exactly could they order you to do?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted. “She’s harassing the witness.”
“Your honor, I’m simply trying to establish the bar’s atmosphere and the conditions under which Ms. Reyes worked. That goes to her ability to see what was going on in the bar.”
“Rephrase the question,” the judge said.
“Ms. Reyes, what exactly were you serving at the bar?”
“Drinks and buffalo wings,” the witness said, her eyes flashing angrily. “That’s all. There wasn’t anything else on the menu.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Andrea mumbled.
The judge shot a disapproving glance in Andrea’s direction. “Ms. Wilson, I’m not going to warn you again.”
“I apologize, your honor, but if it pleases the court I do have one more question. Ms. Reyes, you testified that there was nothing else for sale in the bar, but are you aware that the bar’s been cited five times in the past year for prostitution, and several barmaids were involved?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted. “Ms. Reyes has no arrest record, and neither she nor the bar is on trial here!”
“Well maybe they should be!” Andrea retorted.
“And maybe you should know where to draw the line!” the prosecutor yelled.
“I draw it at the truth!”
“Order!” The judge banged his gavel as the people in the gallery murmured loudly. “I will have order in this court, or I swear I’ll lock both of you up for contempt.”
Andrea apologized profusely, knowing that her comments would remain in the jurors’ minds. Memory was funny that way. It retained whatever it wanted, and disregarded whatever it didn’t.
Andrea knew that creating memories could produce doubt. Doubt, after all, was at the core of her job, and she did her job better than most.
When the lunch recess arrived, Andrea pushed her way through the crush of media who were there to cover the trial of yet another accused cop killer. As she uttered “No comment” to the questions they hurled at her, Prosecutor Derrick Bell followed her through the crowd, catching up as the cameras rolled.
“What the hell was that in there?” he asked when he was close enough for her to hear.
“It’s called practicing law,” Andrea said, rushing toward the elevator and pushing the down button.
“Practicing law is one thing,” he said through clenched teeth. “Putting a cop killer back on the streets is another.”
“My client pleaded not guilty. Until a jury says different, he’s not a cop killer.”
As she spoke, the digital cameras recorded every syllable, and cops who were gathered in the hallway grew quiet. They all wanted to see what the assistant D.A. would say to the defense lawyer they all loved to hate.
Andrea saw the cameras and the eyes that were trained on them. Derrick Bell did, too. That’s why he got even louder.
“You’re an ex-cop, Andrea. I don’t see how you can defend this guy. But I’m gonna make sure he pays for what he did!”
Andrea almost responded, but decided against it. Instead she stared him down as they stood eye to eye. His hair was thick and curly, and his brown eyes shone brightly against his olive skin. He reminded Andrea of a detective she’d dated twenty years before. She hated that about him.
“I’m gonna get this,” she said, boarding the elevator when it arrived. “Do us both a favor and wait for the next one.”
He yelled something as the elevator doors closed, but Andrea couldn’t hear him. No matter. She’d hear plenty from him later. She knew she didn’t have long to get to her destination.
Exiting the Criminal Justice Center, she walked down Thirteenth Street to Market, her mind racing and her stomach churning as she anticipated her next appointment.
Meetings like this weren’t the reason she’d left the police department all those years ago to become a criminal defense lawyer. She’d left to make a difference in other people’s lives. Instead, she was making a mess of her own.
Andrea couldn’t stop herself, though. As badly as she wanted to turn around and go back, she was too close now. Her heart fluttered as she thought about all that could go wrong. Her mouth watered as she anticipated what would go right.
Like a woman possessed, she walked through the glass doors of the Loews hotel. She waited for one minute before she made her way to the elevators. As she got off on the fifth floor, a light in the hallway reflected against the diamonds in her wedding ring, creating a brilliant flash of blue.
“That’s really pretty,” said a smiling maid who was walking by with a linen cart.
Andrea smiled self-consciously as the flutter in her heart became a full-blown thump. Perhaps he could hear that thump as she stood outside room 513, because he opened the door before she had a chance to knock.
“Hey, Andrea,” Derrick Bell said, with that same aggressive posture he’d portrayed outside the courtroom.
“Hi,” she said softly, and looked away with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
They’d been careful to give the impression that they hated each other. The argument outside the courtroom was part of that. In truth, the act wasn’t difficult. The tension that made them feel like enemies was the same force that drew them together. This was the third time she’d come to him during the trial.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Derrick asked with a knowing grin.
She looked him in the eye and smirked. “What would Karen think?”
“I’ll make you a deal. Leave my wife out of this, and I’ll leave your husband out.”
Andrea stood there for a moment, knowing that this was wrong. It almost felt like someone was watching her, and that made it even more exciting.
“Come here,” Derrick said, and pulled her inside.
That’s when Andrea gave in. She wanted him in spite of all she had to lose. She craved him because her life was too safe. She needed him because she felt trapped in her marriage, but even as she clung to Derrick and savored the moment, Andrea felt no peace.
She knew she was trying to get back something she’d lost twenty years before, when another man with the same rough manner had fulfilled her need for danger. As Derrick’s hands touched her, Andrea found herself wishing that this was twenty years ago, and that Derrick was Mike Coletti.
* * *
It was one in the afternoon, and Coletti had spent most of the day just like he’d spent the past twenty years—alone. Of course, twenty years ago, things were different. Back then, he had his job to fulfill him, and for a time, he had a woman to do the same.
Now he was fifty-eight years old, and on most days his work...
On Friday, December 4, 2009, the Criminal Justice Center was abuzz with activity. Prospective jurors were herded through metal detectors. Defendants were brought in from prisons. Cops waited to testify in cases they barely remembered, and public defenders spoke poorly for the impoverished.
The whole thing moved like a carefully orchestrated dance, with each step perfectly choreographed and the outcome always the same. But upstairs in Courtroom 3B, Andrea Wilson argued passionately for her client, because Andrea danced to her own drumbeat.
Like a veteran actress whose theater was the courtroom, she carefully studied the set. She saw floors that were covered with cheap carpeting and hard wooden spectator benches. The judge was nestled between the flag of Pennsylvania and America’s stars and stripes. The defendant was a poor man whose struggles she knew, because drugs had killed people she loved. That’s why she was so concerned about her client. He looked like a man who’d already been convicted.
Three days into his trial, Tim Green sat at the defense table in his orange prison jumpsuit, as if he were waiting to go back to his cell. In truth, Tim was right to be pessimistic. He had almost no chance of acquittal. That didn’t stop Andrea from fighting, though, and from using her every attribute to do so.
With raven black hair and honey-colored eyes, Andrea was a well-preserved forty-three. Some thought of her as half black. Others said she was half Italian, but everyone was certain that Andrea was all woman.
Her lithe physique was accented by taut calves peering out from a fitted skirt, and as she paced the floor in a plunging silk blouse that fluttered when she moved, she was energy itself, beautiful and powerful at the same time.
“So let’s go over this again,” Andrea said, a smirk playing on her lips as she questioned the witness. “Is it your contention that Officer Harris was shot by a masked gunman about twenty feet from where you were standing?”
“That’s right,” said the witness, a Dominican woman who was thirty-five and trying desperately not to look it. “He was as far away from me then as he is right now when he shot him the first time,” she added while glaring at the young man at the defense table. “He was much closer when he shot him again.”
“So you can identify the defendant as the shooter despite the fact that he was wearing a mask?”
The witness sighed impatiently. “The mask only covered the top half of his face. He’d been in the bar before so he was pretty easy to recognize.”
“What were you doing in the bar?” Andrea asked. “Were you drinking?”
“No, I was the barmaid. I was serving drinks and taking orders from the customers.”
“Taking orders,” Andrea repeated with a glance at the witness’s skimpy outfit. “What exactly could they order you to do?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted. “She’s harassing the witness.”
“Your honor, I’m simply trying to establish the bar’s atmosphere and the conditions under which Ms. Reyes worked. That goes to her ability to see what was going on in the bar.”
“Rephrase the question,” the judge said.
“Ms. Reyes, what exactly were you serving at the bar?”
“Drinks and buffalo wings,” the witness said, her eyes flashing angrily. “That’s all. There wasn’t anything else on the menu.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Andrea mumbled.
The judge shot a disapproving glance in Andrea’s direction. “Ms. Wilson, I’m not going to warn you again.”
“I apologize, your honor, but if it pleases the court I do have one more question. Ms. Reyes, you testified that there was nothing else for sale in the bar, but are you aware that the bar’s been cited five times in the past year for prostitution, and several barmaids were involved?”
“Objection!” the prosecutor shouted. “Ms. Reyes has no arrest record, and neither she nor the bar is on trial here!”
“Well maybe they should be!” Andrea retorted.
“And maybe you should know where to draw the line!” the prosecutor yelled.
“I draw it at the truth!”
“Order!” The judge banged his gavel as the people in the gallery murmured loudly. “I will have order in this court, or I swear I’ll lock both of you up for contempt.”
Andrea apologized profusely, knowing that her comments would remain in the jurors’ minds. Memory was funny that way. It retained whatever it wanted, and disregarded whatever it didn’t.
Andrea knew that creating memories could produce doubt. Doubt, after all, was at the core of her job, and she did her job better than most.
When the lunch recess arrived, Andrea pushed her way through the crush of media who were there to cover the trial of yet another accused cop killer. As she uttered “No comment” to the questions they hurled at her, Prosecutor Derrick Bell followed her through the crowd, catching up as the cameras rolled.
“What the hell was that in there?” he asked when he was close enough for her to hear.
“It’s called practicing law,” Andrea said, rushing toward the elevator and pushing the down button.
“Practicing law is one thing,” he said through clenched teeth. “Putting a cop killer back on the streets is another.”
“My client pleaded not guilty. Until a jury says different, he’s not a cop killer.”
As she spoke, the digital cameras recorded every syllable, and cops who were gathered in the hallway grew quiet. They all wanted to see what the assistant D.A. would say to the defense lawyer they all loved to hate.
Andrea saw the cameras and the eyes that were trained on them. Derrick Bell did, too. That’s why he got even louder.
“You’re an ex-cop, Andrea. I don’t see how you can defend this guy. But I’m gonna make sure he pays for what he did!”
Andrea almost responded, but decided against it. Instead she stared him down as they stood eye to eye. His hair was thick and curly, and his brown eyes shone brightly against his olive skin. He reminded Andrea of a detective she’d dated twenty years before. She hated that about him.
“I’m gonna get this,” she said, boarding the elevator when it arrived. “Do us both a favor and wait for the next one.”
He yelled something as the elevator doors closed, but Andrea couldn’t hear him. No matter. She’d hear plenty from him later. She knew she didn’t have long to get to her destination.
Exiting the Criminal Justice Center, she walked down Thirteenth Street to Market, her mind racing and her stomach churning as she anticipated her next appointment.
Meetings like this weren’t the reason she’d left the police department all those years ago to become a criminal defense lawyer. She’d left to make a difference in other people’s lives. Instead, she was making a mess of her own.
Andrea couldn’t stop herself, though. As badly as she wanted to turn around and go back, she was too close now. Her heart fluttered as she thought about all that could go wrong. Her mouth watered as she anticipated what would go right.
Like a woman possessed, she walked through the glass doors of the Loews hotel. She waited for one minute before she made her way to the elevators. As she got off on the fifth floor, a light in the hallway reflected against the diamonds in her wedding ring, creating a brilliant flash of blue.
“That’s really pretty,” said a smiling maid who was walking by with a linen cart.
Andrea smiled self-consciously as the flutter in her heart became a full-blown thump. Perhaps he could hear that thump as she stood outside room 513, because he opened the door before she had a chance to knock.
“Hey, Andrea,” Derrick Bell said, with that same aggressive posture he’d portrayed outside the courtroom.
“Hi,” she said softly, and looked away with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
They’d been careful to give the impression that they hated each other. The argument outside the courtroom was part of that. In truth, the act wasn’t difficult. The tension that made them feel like enemies was the same force that drew them together. This was the third time she’d come to him during the trial.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Derrick asked with a knowing grin.
She looked him in the eye and smirked. “What would Karen think?”
“I’ll make you a deal. Leave my wife out of this, and I’ll leave your husband out.”
Andrea stood there for a moment, knowing that this was wrong. It almost felt like someone was watching her, and that made it even more exciting.
“Come here,” Derrick said, and pulled her inside.
That’s when Andrea gave in. She wanted him in spite of all she had to lose. She craved him because her life was too safe. She needed him because she felt trapped in her marriage, but even as she clung to Derrick and savored the moment, Andrea felt no peace.
She knew she was trying to get back something she’d lost twenty years before, when another man with the same rough manner had fulfilled her need for danger. As Derrick’s hands touched her, Andrea found herself wishing that this was twenty years ago, and that Derrick was Mike Coletti.
* * *
It was one in the afternoon, and Coletti had spent most of the day just like he’d spent the past twenty years—alone. Of course, twenty years ago, things were different. Back then, he had his job to fulfill him, and for a time, he had a woman to do the same.
Now he was fifty-eight years old, and on most days his work...
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherBlackstone Audio, Inc. and Buck 50 Productions, LLC
- Publication date2012
- ISBN 10 1455164240
- ISBN 13 9781455164240
- BindingAudio CD
- Rating
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The Dead Man's Wife (Detective Coletti Mystery #3)(Library Edition) (Coletti Novels)
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Blackstone Audio, Inc. and Buck 50 Productions, LLC, UNITED STATES
(2012)
ISBN 10: 1455164240
ISBN 13: 9781455164240
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