First Murder (16 page)

“I spent the day writing. I’m a writer you know.” No, he didn’t know that. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a recluse when I’m working on a book.”

“What do you write? I don’t spend much time in bookstores.”

“Erotica. I write about sex, Rayford.” Ray’s mind blanked for a beat. It wasn’t until he heard her laughing again that it rebooted.
Erotica?

“I’m sorry,” she said, getting her voice under control. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was teasing.”

“Well, someone has to write it I suppose.”

“Good comeback. I’m sorry. Actually, I write mysteries and you wouldn’t have seen my name in the bookstores because I publish under a psuedonym.”

“Apology accepted. I’ll tell you, you got me with that one though.”

“Good. I meant to.”

Ray made himself stay on task. “I just had a thought. Do you write on a computer?”

“Of course.”

“I think the problem’s solved.” Ray caught himself smiling. “Your entries will have a time stamp on them. Were you working early?”

“Monday? I think I sat down about seven. I’d been puzzling over a scene and had some thoughts during the night. That happens often.”

“I’ll need to see the computer, have you open some files for me.”

“Tonight?”

“It’s after ten, Lakisha. A little late?”

He heard disappointment in her voice. “Hmm…I suppose.”

“I’ll be by in a day or two. The data isn’t going anywhere.”

“Okay.”

“Another question. Does Scott Fredrickson manage any of your husband’s money?”

“No. What an intriguing thought, though.” She paused, playing with the scene in her mind. “The husband is doing something with the funds, what…money laundering or something? An investment goes terribly bad, thousands disappear. And the wife is killed as a warning or revenge. Complicated.”

“Thinking of a plot twist for your latest book?” Ray was enjoying the conversation but in the back of his mind he was worried. A mystery writer’s imagination could skew his own thinking if he listened too hard, or shared too much. He’d have to be careful with what he said around her.

“Always. I have to tell you, Rayford, I’ve been thinking very hard about Deanna’s murder, trying to envision what could be behind it. I’ve been imagining scenarios involving our friends and have tried to think what could possibly have happened. Have you met all the others yet?”

“All but Karen Hewes.”

“After you meet Karen call me. Come see my computer and we’ll talk. You need to meet them all first.” This was a change from her earlier attitude. Ray wondered if she would share more information about the ‘Go Girls’. Tony had thought she might.

“Can time stamps on a computer be altered?” she asked.

“Don’t mess with the computer, Lakisha.”

“I won’t, not until after you’ve checked it out. A woman needs a strong alibi from time to time.”

“You’re thinking about a plot twist now, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” She laughed softly and said good night. Not goodbye…good night.

“Don’t mess with the computer.”

D
e Luca wondered if being exhausted at the start of every day was a detective’s lot in life. Tuesday started at a hung-over four in the morning with the discovery of Deanna Fredrickson’s body. After putting twelve hours in on the case, Wednesday had fallen apart with the late visit to Sue Ellen’s. The escalating threat implied by the bullet outside her door galvanizing her protectors. She was hustled off to a hotel with three guards in tow. Finally home, Tony had tried to sleep but there were too many things banging around in his head. What little shut-eye he got was shallow and filled with questions and worry and the ghost of Deanna Fredrickson.

Tony wasn’t happy with Ray Bankston. Ray had decided to wait until afternoon to get the team together to compare notes. He could have
not
slept for at least another hour. A seven o’clock meeting required a six o’clock alarm. Between yawns Tony was working on his interview transcriptions when Carol Offord came into the squad room. She was wearing a navy blue business suit and looked rested and scrubbed and fresh. She said ‘hi’ much too cheerfully in his opinion.

“You should try one of those energy drinks,” she offered. Tony had tried them and every time had caromed off walls, ceilings and other people. He’d stick with coffee, even though the squad room brew was worse than Mae’s percolated poison.

“You should…” Tony caught himself. He strangled the suggestion in his throat. No sense making an enemy before 7:30. “Never mind.” He went back to his reports.

Carol stood at his desk looking down at him. “Did you clear the kid, the roommate? Ray and I worked more of the friends yesterday.”

“I finally talked to him. I’m not clearing him though. Not yet.”

She frowned. “No alibi?”

“It’s weak. I’m not sure. I’ll talk it over with Ray.”

“Try it out on me. I’ve got some time.” Tony didn’t want to. She came across way too perky and helpful. It made him suspicious. Then again, he reasoned, maybe it’s just fatigue and foul mood and worries about Sue Ellen.
Ah, what the hell
.

“He says he spent the night at a girlfriend’s. She confirms him being there Sunday night but doesn’t have a strong sense of Monday morning arriving on time.”

“Flaky?”

“More like nasty. Pot smoke in the air, a quart of Kharkov vodka, neat, and she forgot her undies.”

Carol flashed a thin humorless smile. “How exciting for you.”

“Uh…no. But I don’t think she was lying about Sunday night.”

“But not Monday?” Tony shook his head.

“It’s Monday morning that matters.”

Tony glanced at his notes. “He had a class at 9:00. Said he was there. It’s on my list for today. If he was in class at 9:00 he’d have had to hustle either from the woman’s apartment or from the Fredrickson house to make it outside the TOD. He doesn’t have a car, according to the roommates. It could clear him in my mind.”

“I’d buy that.”

Tony decided that Carol wasn’t picking on him. It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten some rest. Ray came from the lieutenant’s office and greeted his way down the row of desks. He looked good too, in his tan suit and white shirt and tie. Tony’s sport coat showed hangar marks on the shoulders and his jeans had one day on them for sure. Tony caught Ray’s critical look and held up is hands in surrender.

“I’ll fit right in at the U, boss. I’m still working on Stuckey.”

“I wanted you with me on the Hewes’ woman this morning. Didn’t I tell you that last night?”

“Nope.”

“You look like hell, son.”

Carol went through a fast slide show of expressions during the exchange. When Ray said he wanted Tony with him she wilted. She wanted to go on the interview. Then when Ray told Tony he looked like hell, she blossomed, perked back up and turned her sunny face toward the boss.

“You got a sweater or something somewhere?” Ray asked.

“At home?”

Tony, resigned to being a victim of his wardrobe, guessed now that he’d just have to do the reports and go to the U and check out Stuckey’s class. No working with Ray, but maybe get a chance to hit a department store later. Penney’s has some nice stuff, he thought. Surely it wouldn’t be another twelve hour day.

“Well, come on.” Ray was shaking his head. “Carol, what I’d like you to do is pull everything we’ve got together for later. You write the best synopses of anyone in the department. I really ought to get you to work up something for training.” Ray’s praise fell on disappointed ears.

“Ted and Vang might get pulled. There was a suspicious death in St. Anthony Park this morning.”

“That could leave us short-handed,” Carol warned.

Ray, already walking toward the door called out over his shoulder, “We’ve still got ’em for now and, truth be told, we haven’t got a lot of doors to knock on right now. Let’s see how the day plays out.”

As they headed out Tony turned at the door, caught Carol’s eye, and winked at her. She gave him the finger. Revenge lurked in the tight smile on her face.

the Hewes’ didn’t live far from the Fedrickson’s house, but it was enough for a walk to be impractical; maybe twenty blocks. The neighborhood was similar with older homes, many of them brick or stucco and well cared for. the Hewes’ home had no driveway, none of the houses on the street did. The garages were in back, fronting an alley. It was a two story structure with a steeply pitched roof and dormer windows. It was easily the nicest house on the block.

Karen Hewes answered the door. She dressed in black denim jeans and a cream colored turtleneck sweater. She reminded Tony of Deanna Fredrickson and Roxie Kennebrew right away. He knew they were all near the same age, mid 40’s, but like the other ‘Go Girls’ it was easy to misplace a decade looking at her. She had short ash blond hair styled to frame her face. Her skin was smooth and well made up, a hint of blush on her cheeks, and her eyes weren’t red rimmed and tortured like the other women’s had been. But then, she’d had a couple of days to pull herself together.

And like the other ‘Go Girls’ she was trim and fit. She didn’t have an hourglass figure, Tony noted, but she didn’t miss it by much. Her jeans were snug over ample hips. Tony thought she looked kind of busty even with the bulky sweater on. He guessed she went 5’8” or so and saw she was in her socks.

While Ray was making introductions Tony took a moment to observe her. He didn’t see the confidence in her that he’d sensed in the other women. It wasn’t furtiveness exactly, but she seemed hesitant, almost subservient. He saw her look back over her shoulder twice, like she was nervous, like there was someone watching her.

There was.

Gary Hewes, a rangy six-and-a-half footer with salt and pepper hair and a breezy confident attitude inserted himself in the conversation in the doorway, all handshakes and howdy-do. He was dressed in trousers and a crisp white ironed shirt and tie—a suit, save for the jacket. He herded everyone through an immaculate living room to a kitchen that had seen extensive renovation. Gary noticed Tony’s admiring look.

“Did most of it myself. I’m a contractor.” Gary grinned. “Cherry cabs and Corian tops, did all that myself. It’s got the Viking range, the big one, and the biggest goddamn refrigerator I could find.” Tony was impressed. It was good work. To his right an archway revealed a slice of an elegantly appointed formal dining room.

“That was the old kitchen space. I moved a wall or two. The whole first floor has been re-done.”

Karen poured coffee for everyone and they settled around an antique oak table in the breakfast area.

Ray regained charge of the conversation and said, “I just have a few questions for right now.”

“Oh, we know all about it. We’ve talked to the others, to Scott and Ken.” Ray had been talking to Karen. Gary answered for her.

“The questions I have are for Mrs. Hewes,” Ray said evenly, his half-smile on now.

“You go right on ahead and ask away,” Gary said. Green as he was Tony could see it coming. Ray turned back toward the woman.

“We need to know where you were Sunday night and Monday morning.”

“She was here at home. We had supper about seven and watched some TV,” Gary said.

Ray looked toward Gary, still smiling. “Mr. Hewes, I need to talk to your wife. I’ll have some questions for you later.” Gary nodded as if he understood what Ray was saying.

“Now, Mrs. Hewes…”

“Oh, you can call her Karen. That’s her name.” Gary hadn’t gotten it. Ray’s smile faded.

“Mr. Hewes, I’m going to ask you to leave the room. I need to talk to your wife right now. We’ll talk to you later.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have to leave the room. This is my house.”

Ray sighed and looked over at Tony. “Then I guess we’ll have to do this interview at
my
house, Mr. Hewes. That would be at headquarters, over on Seventh Street.”

“What are you saying?” The good humor and politeness gone from Hewes’ voice made Tony tense slightly. Gary Hewes was big and solid. Tony didn’t doubt he could handle him but it wouldn’t be fun.

“I’m saying that if you give us some privacy here and let me interview your wife we can save a trip downtown. This is much more pleasant and the coffee is really outstanding, isn’t it Tony?” De Luca nodded, keeping his eyes on Gary, who was smoldering now. “Go upstairs or outside or wherever you want. I have some questions for your wife. I can ask them here or at headquarters.”

Gary wouldn’t let go. “What if she wants a lawyer?”

“That’s her right. It’s your right, too, when it’s your turn. It’s not your turn now, Mr. Hewes.”

“She wants a lawyer.”

“Fine.” Ray turned to Tony. “Detective de Luca, will you please go to the car and call for a black and white…”

“Stop it!” Karen was glaring at her husband but talking to Ray. “I don’t want a lawyer. I don’t want to go to the police station.”

“But honey…”

“Gary, it’s okay. Go downstairs. Let us talk.”

“But…”

Tony caught the pleading tone in Karen’s voice when she told her husband to leave, to let her do what she had to without his imprint. He suspected that this was not the norm in the Hewes’ household.

“Please?”

Tony knew the hateful look Gary Hewes gave them when he left the room was his way of saving face; of hiding his misplaced embarrassment over having his wife tell him what to do. He felt sorry for him. Not because he was being banished to the basement like a misbehaving child, but because he sensed the man didn’t realize that he was wrong and probably wouldn’t learn better anytime soon, if ever.

“I’m sorry about that,” Karen said. Her cheeks were bright red.

“We’ll be as brief as possible. Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer, Mrs. Hewes?”

“Please, call me Karen. No. What on earth would I need a lawyer for?” The tension was slowly draining from the room. Karen refilled their cups and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“Monday morning?”

“Monday. Gary was up and out early. He had a 6:30 meeting so I know I was up at 5:30 to get his breakfast for him and get him out the door.”

“What did you do then, Karen?” To Tony it was like watching a levee break. First a small rivulet breaches it, just a trickle. Then as more of the dam washes away the trickle becomes a stream and the stream becomes a river and finally the river becomes a torrent.