Chapter 7
As it turned out, James Freidman lived in the good side of town. He wasn’t listed in the phone book, but a quick call to Cameron let me know exactly where he lived, which was some high-rise condo overlooking the Mississippi River in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. The short drive took almost forty-five minutes because of rush-hour traffic, and parking took me another half hour. By the end of the drive, I reaffirmed my belief that one-ways mixed with inner city driving were about as appealing as a cheap tequila and ex-lax cocktail. The closest I could park was five city blocks away, which was probably just as well, since it gave me ample time to cool down before I got to the building.
The outside of the high-rise condominium wasn’t especially ornate, though it was fairly clean. In general, all parts of the Twin Cities are ugly this time of year. Throughout the entire winter, snowplows drop sand and salt across every road to melt the snow and give the ice friction. The salt washes away. The sand, however, builds up, mixes with the scattered bits of snow alongside the curbs, and in general gives the entire city a grimy sort of cover. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the roads and sidewalks of this building, on the other hand, were free of that particular menace.
Entering through the front door, the lobby shared the same sort of cleanliness as the outside. While the maroon carpet was a bit dated, and the overall layout had a sort of seventies feel to it, as a whole the place came off as friendly and secure in an otherwise bustling city.
However, that safety comes at a cost. That cost, being a professional-looking security guard, who eyed me like I was some sort of unsavory, private detective wannabee the moment I pushed open the door. I reminded myself an old lesson; often, all it takes is a confident demeanor to get through these situations. Without giving him a glance, I stepped proudly forward, but this guy apparently took his job too seriously. He held out a hand and said, “Guest’s need to sign at the front.”
“I’ll just be here a minute.”
He didn’t budge. Nor did his impatient stare.
“Alright,” I turned to the desk and recalled James’ room number. According to Cameron, James had a job with irregular hours. He wasn’t specific about James’ occupation, and if I had to guess, I think it was because Cameron didn’t actually know.
“You’re visiting Mr. Freidman?” the guard asked.
I nodded, trying to look casual.
“Mr. Freidman doesn’t want me to let visitors up there.”
“Sir, it’s important.”
He eyed me for a few seconds, and I tried my best to look like a decent guy. I had a slightly more honest face than the usual Joe. Or, at least, I had in the past, back before my life had taken a downward turn toward unemployment.
The security guard simply sighed and said, “If you want, I can let you call him.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, hiding the fact that I was annoyed by this unexpected hitch in my plan. I’d been hoping to tromp my way up to his room to beat down the door. Calling ahead would surely diminish the drama. Yet still, I didn’t have much of a choice.
I listened for four rings before he picked up.
“Yeah, what?” he said pointedly.
“Is this James Freidman?”
“Who’s this?” He had a thug accent – nothing I could place for certain, except that he sounded like he’d fit right in with the old time mafia.
“I have a few questions to ask you regarding Emmitt Cane. Let me up.”
“You a cop?” he said, faster this time.
“My name is Thomas Amberose.”
“You that guy,” he said with thuglike splendor. “The one Lance hired. Sure. Thirteenth floor.”
“Thanks.”
Lance hired me? Wow. That was news to me. I gave the phone back to the guard, who traded a few words with it before allowing me past him. One fake signature and a couple minutes later, I stood before James’ door.
A slight beat of anxious excitement fell into my step. Even as a guardian, I’d never been given the chance to apprehend a murderer.
The moment I approached his door, it opened to reveal the man who matched the voice perfectly.
Bearing the size and stature of a silverback gorilla, James Freidman’s boxy figure fit in the tall, rectangular frame of the door perfectly. Bulky muscles surrounded his sides neckless head. Wearing a pressed pair of jeans and a beer-stained, sleeveless T, the extent all his days at the gym were clear. The man was short for the devil – only an inch or two taller than me.
It didn’t take long to notice that today wasn’t one of his better days. Untended whiskers poked out the sides of his head. While his goatee appeared perfectly trimmed and cared for, the weeds around it weren’t. He’d recently fancied himself the hobo look, or his life recently fell to pieces; judging from the mixed scent of alcohol emitting from him, I had a guess as to which.
“The hell you want?” he said, his eyes simultaneously unfocused and aggressive.
I briefly forgot why I came. Then, I remembered that it entailed threatening him into a confession, so I considered a new reason for coming. Finally, I recalled that I had magic on my side. Perhaps that fact made me react a bit too rebelliously.
“You kill Emmitt Cane?”
He may have had oodles of muscle in his figure, but I didn’t get the impression that his brain was as fit, especially now.
“No,” he said, surprising me with his spectacular answer. “Anything else?” he said, in my stammered silence.
“Where were you the night he died?”
He shook his head, which was actually quite a feat considering it was surrounded on either side by a thick mound of bulk. He turned and shuffled back inside, kicking a pair of elephantine shoes away from the door. I took that as a, ‘come on in,’ and followed.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Can you prove it?” I asked.
“Cops can.” He took a large swallow before continuing. “They locked me into detox and arrested me for,” he looked up and squinted as if to remember, “being drunk and disorderly. That enough for you?”
“Drunk and disorderly...” I looked around the room, not yet convinced. Sure, it was the perfect alibi, assuming it checked out with the police. However, this whole situation seemed a bit too perfectly theatrical.
The gargantuan heaved himself down onto the leather sofa, reaching for the nearest beer can as he did. Shaking it, he set it down, annoyed before doing it to the one next to it. It sloshed slightly, so he downed the contents.
“Can’t cast when drunk,” he added.
I tried to make my stare more intense, hoping to convey a demand for a better explanation. Apparently it worked.
“Yeah, I’m a mage. Legal and documented member of the Imperium.” He slapped his beer down, missing the coaster by mere millimeters. “I knew you’d be here eventually. Rather than fight it, I figured I’d just get it all out there so you can eliminate me as a suspect. Yes – I know how to summon the ghost. Yes, I argued with Emmitt Cane a day before the murder. No, I didn’t do it.”
“Alright. Any idea who did?”
“Not a goddamned clue.”
“Tell me about Emmitt. Were you close?” I asked.
“He was my step-brother, but you know that. Nah, hardly knew the guy. I stole a car when I was nineteen. His dad cut me off after that. I spent a few years in jail, and when I got out, Emmitt introduced me to Lance. I’ve been working for him ever since. Emmitt’s eight years older than I am, and went to all those preppy schools as a kid. Barely saw him growing up. Now that dad is sick, we needed to decide how to split up his assets.”
“That’s not easy,” I commented
He grunted amusement. “It is where I was concerned. Thirty grand. Pocket change for the CEO of Cane Industries. He donated more to charity last month. Nah, I’m not after the old man’s money. I always knew what I’d get in the end. I’m lucky to get a penny, since I’m the first wife’s kid. Still, thirty grand’s a nice bonus. It was
nice enough to make me shout out a bit when he threatens to take it away.”
“Shout out?”
“Yeah. Yell. Hint at a threat of something more. Add mean phrases. Or Else. You’d better. You’ll regret it if you don’t. That sort of thing. The thirty grand is what we argued about, but I didn’t kill my brother.”
“Usually when people threaten, they follow through,” I said.
“Yeah, and I did. Emmitt’s got top of the line security equipment, but that don’t mean shit against a mage. Take a look into the Cane Industries parking garage at around ten-o-clock, day before the murder. I crushed his car to juice. Next day I activated the sprinklers in his office. Seemed fair, ‘cause he cut me out of the will, but all I did was, you know, prank shit. Stuff that cost him time, money, and embarrassment. It’s on camera, but he couldn’t go to cops. Imperium doesn’t give a shit about what I cast so long as no one sees, so I gets away with it. As far as the inheritance goes, I’d look to the other brother. He’s the one that profits most. Daniel gets everything, and from what I hear, a job as interim CEO until the Board finds a permanent guy.”
I nodded, thinking. “And you still get nothing?”
“Nah. I get my thirty grand.”
“Because Emmitt died?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
“No. Because the old man’s will says I only get my thirty grand if I divorce my wife before he kicks it. Kelly Freidman ran off last Wednesday. Only trace I found of her was a divorce certificate. Signed and dated. Offered me everything except the contents of her personal bank account.”
Interesting. Emmitt died on Thursday, meaning Kelly Freidman ran off a day prior. I made a note to myself, thinking that may be somehow significant.
“Your wife ran?” I asked. “Just like that?”
James nodded.
“Why?”
“Don’t know. We had our problems, but things were going well.”
“Did you look for her?”
He made a drawn out, psh sound. “That bitch wanted to get gone, she could be anywhere. Lance got a few people looking around, but no one with a genuine interest. I’d sooner find the Virgin Mary, so I didn’t waste my time.”
“So what did you do?”
“Same thing I did after my first wife left me. I found a bar, a bottle of whiskey and a bunch of punks willing to offer me a good fight.” With a sleazy grin, and accompanying nod he said, “After I did that, it took five cops to hold me down.”
I kept staring, trying not to reveal any fear or encouragement on my face. I realized that the man’s angry expression was glued on, rather than one he’d brought out to scare me. Even in the comfort of his own home, belly full of beer, he looked enraged.
Ms. Freidman ran away. In my book, that made her as likely a suspect as anyone.
Even as the rookie-gumshoe I was, I still knew that the person who runs is often the guilty one.
I took a quick scan of the room, not expecting to find any obvious clues, but searching nonetheless. I wasn’t a huge fan of TV, but that didn’t stop me from being envious of the five-foot wide wonder mounted to the wall. The half-dozen devices beneath it made it all the better. Along the wall sat a door to a balcony, which had a superb view of the river. His apartment was high enough to block out the majority of the bustling.
Yet I got an odd sort of Zen about the place. The living room had a yin-yang clash of order and chaos. On one hand, I noted that everything was alphabetized – the two bookcases, and the Blu-Ray collection. The entertainment center looked fit to model for a magazine. The chaos factor came from the half-crushed beer cans thrown about. One even dripped down onto the white, leather sofa. It made me wonder how big of a pain he was on his wife, who’d probably cleaned up after him.
“You think your wife is capable of summoning the ghost?”
“Kelly?” he said, glaring aggressively. “Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I kept my spells a secret for years, but eventually she found my stuff and figured out I’m a Mage. I gave her the basic run-around – it’s in my bloodline. Made it more believable, since my brothers can cast.”
Typical Imperium Protocol: if you are discovered doing magic, the first thing you’re to let slip is that it’s a divine inheritance, available only to worthy bloodlines and passed on from parents to child. There was enough fiction out there to support the ‘fact,’ and most people don’t question it. While not a perfect defense, it’s often all that’s needed to prevent a questioner from blooming into a full-fledged mage. There were people who lived their entire lives in the presence of Mages, oblivious to the fact that they could easily join them.
If I told someone that they could perform magic, than they could too, assuming they accept my word as a divine truth. It’s one thing for someone to claim to believe in magic, but even people who’ve had multiple viewings often have a flicker of doubt. Plus, believing in magic and believing you, personally, are able to bend all the nicely laid out rules of the universe – those are two completely different things.
“Your brothers cast?” I asked, deciding to ignore the fact that he seemed to forget they didn’t share blood.
“Why you think I told you to check out Daniel?” the man said. “So far as I know, there’s only you, my family, and the Guardians that can cast around here.”
“Did Daniel and Emmitt get along? What can you tell me about their relationship?”
“Same thing you could tell me. Nothin.’ Daniel was like Emmitt growing up. The Canes shipped him off to those private academies the day he learned to talk. He came back for a few weeks here and there. The two of them always seemed to get along well enough, but I think Emmitt was the Alpha of the two. Personally, I always thought there was something missing in Ol’ Danny.”
“Something missing?”
“Daniel must have failed a half-dozen classes until his parents got him a personal tutor. Mom says he got unique needs. I say he’s a moron.”
I nodded, my opinions on the case suddenly shifting. I’d have to check on his facts, but if James spoke the truth, then I’d come to accuse the wrong man. James’ means was gone, assuming he actually had drunk himself into detox. The motive lessened, since the electronics in this room alone cost more than thirty grand. I didn’t get the impression he’d risk his standing with the Imperium over this.
And opportunity? Well, he still had the ability to kill Emmitt, I supposed. If James could summon the ghost, it wouldn’t really matter where he happened to be at the time of the casting. Jail is as good a place as any for a spell like that, especially if he faked his condition.
Still, I found myself in support of the ‘James is innocent’ notion. He’s a monster of a man, but even monsters grieve sometimes. More importantly, he’d given me two more possible suspects. Daniel, who got everything in the inheritance, and a temporary job as a CEO. And Mr. Freidman’s wife, Kelly Freidman, who ran.
“Any other questions, Mister Investigator?” James asked.
I pressed my lips together, glad I’d gotten this far with him. “The ghost – you said know how to summon it.”
“Yeah. I got a lake house up by Square Lake. Gregory Scythe,” He said proudly as I forced my face stone still. Apparently he hadn’t been contacted yet. “The ghost is an urban legend. Back in the seventies, some guy caught his daughter sleeping around. Goes on a rampage. Legend goes, their tempers fly and they kill each other. Boyfriend stabs the father, who chokes the kid to death.
“Anyway, some unmarried couple buys the place a few years later. The day they move in, the new owner dies. The guy probably fell off a railing or something. I don’t know the truth. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that people believed the old bastard haunts the place and killed from beyond the grave, so that’s the story.”
“Everybody believes in the ghost, so all it needs is a reason to exist. The people do the heavy lifting. All I need to do is tell the ghost what to do. Mostly, I use it to protect my cabin f
rom intruders, but I never used it to kill nobody. Funny thing about the ghost – the locals got it all wrong. The old bastard took a knife to the gut, but he’s still alive. He’s in the slammer for murder. That’s how I came across the myth. Greg – that’s his name – he read about his ghosts killing people in the newspaper. Laughs every time he reads it. Probably still has a copy of the paper pinned up in his cell.
“Anyway, I taught the trick to Emmitt Cane a few years back – hell, maybe he botched the spell. It goes after guys, so if a girl was over when he summoned it, it could have done him in. Emmitt never could cast as good as me.”
I shook my head and said, “Emmitt didn’t have any visitors.”
He shrugged massively and said, “Well, not my problem how he died. I’m sure you’ll figure things out. We done here?”
“One more thing. Where does Lance Ruben fit into this?”
At that, James bit his lip. “He don’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” he said bluntly.
Most people wouldn’t consider pressing him further, but my instincts told me there had to be something more he wasn’t explaining. “But you know who Lance Ruben is?”
“I do jobs for him. You know – bodyguard work.”
Among other, less tasteful things, I presumed. “And Mr. Ruben’s connection to Emmitt Cane?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said with childlike defiance. “It’s not relevant to the case.”
I found it useful when I just gave him that determined stare last time. I met his eyes and stared hard.
Success! Eventually, he tilted his head from side to side, annoyed. “They got some kind of deal. Lance offers Emmitt services from time to time, and the Canes pay a bundle of cash. Nothing illegal, but...” he lifted his hands, palm up. I knew what he meant and believed him.
The Venir could easily piss off the rest of the Imperium while following their every law. One of the Imperium’s Ten Commands was to report any extra-dimensional activity. Another Command is to make every attempt to prevent knowledge about magic from spreading. There was a thin line between those two laws, in which Lance could potentially offer information he’d learned in another dimension without actually telling anyone where it came from. While perfectly legal, the Imperium hates him for it.
Plus, it explains how Cane Industries might have grown so fast in the past decade, despite heavy competition.
I got up to leave.
“If Lance wanted Emmitt Cane dead, he’d disappear. No body. No evidence. And for god sakes, the killing wouldn’t show up on camera. Whoever did this was an amateur. Got themselves caught using a weapon not many know how to use. I’m surprised the killer’s still alive.”
I had to admit – James had a point. I never did suspect him, but I knew he was somehow tangled up in the murder. As Lara would put it, Mr. Ruben’s probability as suspect dropped.
As I turned, I realized that this would be a good time to give him a card with my name and number on it. “If you remember anything else, let me know.” I really had to get some of those made. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yeah, see you around.”
Modern Pantheon: Ghost Page 8