by C. M. Sutter
The voices and footsteps got closer, then Lutz and a balding, middle-aged man wearing an unzipped jacket over a blue Oxford shirt and khakis entered the conference room. I stood, and Lutz introduced me as his lead homicide detective.
Our conference room served many purposes, and because all events and communications inside its four walls were recorded, the room could be used to question people, too, without them feeling they were being interrogated. Lutz offered Mr. Blass a chair then walked around to my side of the table and sat next to me.
The sooner we found the killers, who were still at large in both cases, the better. We didn’t have time to tiptoe around and worry about being polite or avoiding hurt feelings. Lutz gave me the floor, so I opened the folder and began.
“Mr. Blass, how was your marriage?”
He shrugged. “As good as any ordinary couple that’s been married for twenty-two years, I guess.”
“Must have had arguments now and then.”
He pulled a tissue from the box and blew his nose. “Sure, who hasn’t?”
“Were either of you stepping outside the marital bedroom?”
“That question is insulting, Detective McCord. My wife was just murdered for God’s sake!”
“And we need to find her killer as soon as possible. We don’t tiptoe around murder, sir, so, I’ll ask again, any affairs now or in the past? Twenty-two years is a long time to be faithful.”
He twisted the cap off one of the water bottles and took a deep gulp. “Yeah, fine. I did have a few affairs years back. Is that what you want to hear, stories of unfaithful husbands? I confessed them to Jill, and she forgave me.”
“When was your last one?”
His shoulders slumped. “Three years ago.”
“Three? Hell, that’s pretty recent if you ask me. Growing tired of the same face and routine every day?”
“It was a moment of weakness that I’m not proud of.”
Lutz cut in. “How long did that affair last?”
“Only a year.”
I smirked. “You sound as if it being a year justifies it. So, were you getting another itch that needed scratching?”
“How dare you! I’m not answering that question.”
“Did you have life insurance on Jill? You may as well tell us because we’ll find out, anyway.”
“Of course I did, and I have my own policy too.”
“What company was it with, and how much was hers for?”
“Mutual Family Life and for two hundred thousand dollars.”
I wrote that down along with the fact that his latest affair had ended only two years prior—unless he was lying. It could be ongoing for all we knew.
“Seems like a large policy for a wife who only works part-time.”
“Whatever.”
A knock sounded on the door, and I excused myself. I placed the wastebasket next to Mr. Blass’s chair before I stepped out.
Henry stood in the hallway and waited until I’d closed the door to speak. In a quiet voice, so he wouldn’t be heard from the other side of the door, he asked, “Should we pull his financials?”
“Definitely, and check on the life insurance they have through Mutual Family Life. The husband says Jill had a two-hundred-thousand-dollar policy. According to him, he’s had several affairs. Maybe he was being pressured to get a divorce by a girlfriend and he thought murder was the less expensive route to go. No alimony to pay or assets to divide.”
“Got it. We’ll start working on that right away.”
I reentered the room and took my seat. Mr. Blass began fidgeting.
“Something wrong?”
“No. Where is my wife?”
“Downstairs in the medical examiner’s office, and you’ll make the ID in a bit. Do you own any weapons, Mr. Blass?”
“A couple of deer-hunting rifles and a shotgun.”
“How about knives? Like the Bowie style with fixed blades?”
“No.”
“Did you kill your wife, Mitch?”
“Of course not. I was at home watching football last night.”
“Was anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Mr. Blass, did you pay somebody to kill your wife?”
“No. You need to focus on finding out who murdered Jill because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
I locked eyes with him until he finally looked away. “That’s exactly what we intend to do.”
Chapter 19
We questioned Mitch Blass for the next hour. By the time we were done, I had filled both sides of that paper I’d brought along, yet I was sure that wouldn’t be his only interview. We had no evidence against him, but he was just sketchy enough for us to want to dig into his life a little deeper. Most spouses were the first to be checked out, anyway, especially when they admitted to numerous affairs over the years.
It was eleven o’clock when I escorted him to our lower level, where the medical examiner’s office and autopsy room viewing area were located. There was no denying that Jill was Mitch’s wife, but the official ID had to be documented in Don’s report.
The blinds were raised, and through teary eyes, Mitch made a positive ID. As with all family members who went through the identification process, I felt bad for him, but I couldn’t let those feelings keep me from doing my job. For all I knew, I could be standing next to Jill’s killer.
I left Mr. Blass with Don and returned to our floor. Frank and I would meet Steve at Charlotte’s apartment on Forestville Avenue in forty-five minutes. We had to find out if the two murders were aimed at the women specifically or were just random acts, and we also needed to know if there was a connection between Charlotte and Jill. According to Mitch Blass, Jill’s only friends were from the bookstore and MaxMart. She didn’t have family in Chicago, and her son and daughter were both away at college in other states. I would find out from Steve if Charlotte had ever mentioned the name Jill Blass to him and if she’d ever frequented Reader’s Nook bookstore.
Frank and I arrived at Charlotte’s home at twelve fifteen, and Steve’s SUV was already parked at the curb. I pointed at his vehicle.
“Come on. It looks like Steve is already inside.”
We took the stairs to the second floor and knocked on unit number five, then Steve called out to come in.
“Hey, buddy.” I gave him an embrace and avoided asking the standard questions about how he was doing. I already knew the answer.
“I’ve been looking around to see if I’d find anything that would lead me to believe somebody had it out for Mom, but I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
“Have a seat, and let’s talk. We’ll look around later since we’re trained to spot unusual things.”
Steve moaned and took a seat on the recliner. He stared at the chair then patted the arms. “This was Mom’s favorite spot to relax in and watch TV. I have no idea what to do with her stuff.”
“She must have a will, right?”
“Yeah, and our attorney has a copy of it.”
“Then you’ll have to contact him, and I’ll walk you through anything you need help with.”
He looked at me with swollen red eyes. “This is harder than I ever imagined it would be.”
“And the manner of death has a lot to do with that, buddy. Charlotte died for absolutely no reason. She was a happy, healthy woman and full of life. That type of senseless death is far tougher to deal with. We need to ask more questions about your mom’s life and lifestyle. It could help find the killer. After that, we’ll start going through things and hopefully find a lead.”
Steve nodded. He was clearly ready to begin.
Frank pulled his notepad and a pen from his pocket.
“First off, has your mom ever mentioned a woman named Jill Blass? Maybe as a friend, a patient at the dental office, or somebody she knew even slightly?”
Steve rubbed his chin. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Mom didn’t have a large group of friends, but the ones she had were dear to her. I’d remem
ber the name, but it might be something you’d want to ask Rachel. She would know more than me about Mom’s recent friends.”
“Sure, and she never mentioned problems at work?”
“Nope. She loved her job and never complained about the staff either.”
“Okay. Any lifestyle changes recently?”
“Only that she and Rachel went on a cruise six months ago. First time she ever did that. Mom gained a lot of weight after Dad died. Stress-related, I guess. She ate to fill the emptiness. Over the last year, she made a vow to lose that extra weight because of the upcoming cruise. She said she was embarrassed to wear a bathing suit.”
I hadn’t seen Charlotte since Milton’s funeral two years back, so I wasn’t aware of the weight gain. “Uh-huh. So then what?”
“So she went on the Keto diet, lost thirty pounds, and joined a gym. She was so proud of herself.”
“I bet she was. What gym did she join?”
Steve shook his head. “I’m not even sure if she mentioned it to me by name, but it was about nine months ago or so.”
Frank spoke up. “Not a problem. We’ll find out. There could be monthly withdrawals from her checking account. We just need your permission to go through her financials.”
“Her checkbook is probably in the top desk drawer.”
I continued on. “You were the only person listed as a beneficiary for everything, right?”
Steve raked his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, I hope so. Mom was pretty savvy and wouldn’t fall for any cons.”
“And she didn’t have a boyfriend, right?”
“Not that she ever mentioned. I doubt if she’d hide anything from me, Jesse.”
“Just covering all the bases. We aren’t suggesting anything.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. So nobody new that’s been getting close to her?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“And other than the gym, what did Charlotte do in her free time?”
“She and I hung out once or twice a week. She’d have coffee Saturday and Sunday mornings with Janice down the hall. Rachel and Mom shopped together and went out to dinner a lot, and she liked to watch TV and read in bed. Honestly, that’s about it other than work, but she had a full life.”
“Okay, we can work with that. Did your mom keep a personal journal?”
Steve scratched his cheek. “That, I don’t know, but if she did, you’d find it here.”
“Sure. You want to stick around while we go through things?”
“Nah, I trust you’ll be thorough. It’s too painful to be here. Maybe it’ll be better in time, but right now, I need to go talk to my attorney and start on the funeral arrangements.” Steve grabbed a tissue from the dispenser on the counter and blew his nose. “I have the key, so just lock up when you leave.”
“I’ll be in touch, buddy, and don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”
After another embrace, I watched as Steve walked out.
“That’s got to be tough,” Frank said.
“Yep, that’s one of the toughest things a person has to go through.” I walked into Charlotte’s office and looked around. A built-in wall unit was filled with hardcover novels, and family photographs lined the shelves. I sighed. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter 20
We located Charlotte’s checkbook right where Steve said it would be—in the top drawer of the desk. Frank sat down and began paging through the register.
“Here we go. It looks like she paid for a year-long membership to Fitness Fanatic nine months ago just like Steve said. Cost her four hundred bucks for a year.”
I frowned. “That seems expensive, and it doesn’t sound like she went there daily. We’ll have to check it out. Anything else noteworthy?”
Frank shrugged. “Still looking.”
I opened the file cabinet behind the desk and found a folder with a tab that read Life insurance. I took a seat on the leather barrel chair that faced the desk and paged through the document. The declaration page listed Steve as her only beneficiary, and according to the date on the policy, it had been rewritten two years ago, after Milton’s passing.
“The life insurance policy is in order, and the attorney has the will.” I returned to the file cabinet and flipped through the folders. Most contained the paper statements of her monthly bills, nothing that would raise a red flag. “If she kept a journal and we find it, it should reveal everything that’s been going on in her life.”
“If she had a journal, why hide it? She lived alone.”
Frank’s comment made sense, but what made sense to us didn’t necessarily make sense to other people. Charlotte might have been embarrassed to have a journal lying around on the off chance that Steve or a friend could pick it up and begin reading her private entries.
“Look for an address book too. Damn it.”
Frank turned. “What?”
“I didn’t ask Steve if he knew Charlotte’s computer log-in. We’ll take the laptop with us, and then I’ll call him from the station.”
Frank and I searched every square inch of Charlotte’s home and didn’t find a journal. Her address book contained names of distant relatives as well as crossed-out and replaced addresses of people who had moved multiple times.
“This address book looks like it’s thirty years old,” Frank said.
“It could be, and chances are, most of those people’s addresses are there so she can send Christmas cards to them. I’ll make sure Steve goes through it, and he can tell us who everyone is. Let’s go. If we need to come back, I’ll get the key from Steve. Let’s head over to Fitness Fanatic and have a talk with the staff.”
The gym was an easy ten-minute drive, and once inside, Frank and I walked to the reception counter opposite the building’s entrance. To our left stood bar tables, newspaper and magazine racks, and a glass-front refrigerator filled with protein and energy drinks. To our right sat row after row of treadmills, stationary bikes, and elliptical machines. Behind them was the weight lifting area, which was walled with mirrors.
Two women sat behind the counter and wore friendly smiles, which I assumed were in hopes of selling a few more memberships. Every gym had sales quotas.
Their bubbles seemed to burst when we showed them our badges and introduced ourselves, and from Frank’s already muscle-bound body, I wouldn’t have expected them to think they were about to make a sale.
“We’re here to speak to someone about one of your members.”
“Um, in regards to what?” asked the blonde wearing a name tag that read Tiffany.
“Let me rephrase that. We need to speak to someone who interacts with the members, possibly a personal fitness instructor.”
“Sure, and the member’s name? I’d have to see if that person was set up with an instructor.”
I gave her Charlotte’s name, and she typed it into the computer.
“Here we go. Mrs. Sanders was working with Kev.” Her face lit up. “Everyone loves him, and he’s one of our best personal fitness instructors. Apparently, Mrs. Sanders paid extra when she bought her membership to have twenty sessions with an instructor—two a month. It looks like she’s used thirteen of them so far.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but that isn’t important. What we need is to speak to Kev, and does he have a full name?”
Her face blushed bright red. “Sorry. His name is Kevin Richardson. It looks like he’s going through a routine with a member right now, but he’ll be done in ten minutes. If you’d like to have a seat at a bar table, we have plenty of newspapers and magazines to look through. I’ll page him as soon as his session is over.”
I thanked her, and we took our seats. Tipping my wrist, I checked the time as I reached for the daily newspaper—1:32. I’d check back with her at 1:42 if I didn’t hear her page Kevin.
A two-inch-long article about Charlotte’s death caught my eye. It told how a drive-by shooter had taken the life of a sixty-one-year-old woman and said the police d
idn’t have leads or anyone in custody. No eyewitness accounts had brought the shooter to justice.
Give us a minute, jeez. It’s only been thirty-six hours, and the eyewitnesses weren’t exactly reliable.
I folded the newspaper, jammed it back in the rack, and pulled out a health-and-fitness magazine. By the time I’d flipped to page four, I heard Tiffany’s voice over the loudspeaker, telling Kev he had guests at the reception counter. Frank and I crossed the room and waited for Kevin Richardson to show up.
Moments later, a well-built man around thirty approached the counter. He had a towel draped over his shoulders and an ID hanging from a lanyard. “Hey, Tiff, where are my guests?”
I took it that the employees at that gym went by abbreviated names.
She tipped her chin in our direction, and he gave us the once-over, his brow raised—we obviously weren’t the type of guests he was expecting.
“Can I help you?”
“Maybe.” I held out my badge. “We need about ten minutes of your time—in private. I glanced at the overly interested women behind the counter. They quickly went back to tapping computer keys.
“Um, yeah, okay.” He pointed at the bar table farthest away from members and staff. “How about that one?”
“It’ll work,” I said. We took seats across from Kevin, and Frank led with the questions while I pulled out my notepad.
“We’re here about Charlotte Sanders.”
“Charlotte? Sure, what about her?”
His question told us he hadn’t heard about her death.
Frank continued. “She’s been killed.”
We weren’t about to go into details, and if Kevin was truly interested, he could pick up that newspaper and read about her death on his own time.
“Wow. So what can I do for you?”
Apparently, he wasn’t concerned about her manner of death after all.
Frank went on. “We hear you were her personal trainer.”
“That’s right—twice a month, which isn’t a lot, but she had lost some weight and wanted to tone up. We were doing a little cardio but with most of the focus on light weight training.”