by A. P. Eisen
“Or girls, such as the case may be.” Paul buttoned his sport jacket. “First, we have to tell her that her husband’s dead.”
Rob grimaced. “Yeah. Not a part of the job I like at all.”
Paul pressed the bell and heard the soft chimes play inside. When the door opened, the housekeeper’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Is Mrs. Ulrich expecting you?”
Informing the family of a victim’s death was the worst part of Paul’s job. Never one to easily show his emotions, when having to comfort husbands, wives, and sometimes children, he often found he had no idea what to say. What did you say to someone when the one they loved had been taken from them violently?
He remembered when the military came to his parents’ house to inform them of Harley’s death. They had called before, and though his mother hadn’t wanted to believe it and held out hope it was for a different reason, Paul had known. Once he became a police officer and was tasked with the job, he tried to maintain the same stoic yet comforting presence.
“No. Is she home?”
“Yes, but—”
In no mood for overprotective, well-meaning people, Paul put on his authoritative voice and he and Rob showed their IDs. “Please inform her we are here on official business and must speak to her.”
The housekeeper’s face turned white, and she opened the door to them at last. “P-please come inside and follow me.”
The house was every bit as beautiful as Paul remembered, but the rooms they passed were empty of furniture and knickknacks, the rugs were rolled up, and the paintings had been taken down. “Are the Ulriches moving?”
“No, sir. Mrs. Ulrich is redecorating.”
She led them to the same cheerful sun-room as the last time they were there. Her thin, gloved hands twisted before her. “Have a seat, and I’ll tell Mrs. Ulrich you’re here.”
They chose to remain standing and didn’t have long to wait before they heard the rapid clicking of heels against the polished wooden floors. The housekeeper walked right behind her but remained in the hall, hovering. Paul tensed for the scene to come.
Catherine Ulrich swept into the room. She was tall and slim, her hair was up and braided into a knot on top of her head, and she was elegantly dressed in a gray sweater, black jeans, and a pair of high-heeled black boots. Those same magnificent diamonds he recalled flashed at her neck, fingers, and ears.
“I’m not sure what this is about, the two of you barging in here, scaring my poor Josie half to death with talk of ‘official business.’ ” Her eyes flashed, and that chilly demeanor heated. “You could’ve had the decency to call first. Did someone run a stop sign or hit something? I’ll pay the fine, just let me know what it is.”
“Mrs. Ulrich, please sit down.”
“Sit down?” Her lips pursed in a frown. “I don’t understand.”
“Please.” Paul pointed to the sofa while Rob stood silently by.
“No. I prefer to stand, thank you.” That steely armor he remembered from before in place, Mrs. Ulrich locked eyes with him. “Now, tell me what you have to say.”
“Mrs. Ulrich, do you know where your husband is right now?”
She cocked her head. “My husband? He went running in the park like he does almost every weekend. As a matter of fact, he should’ve been back by now.” She frowned and checked her gold watch.
Damn. He hated this part of the job.
“We’re sorry to inform you that your husband, Dr. Dean Ulrich, was found dead in the park this morning. An autopsy is being performed to determine the cause of death.”
Her body went rigid. Face filled with horror, Catherine Ulrich began to shake, her eyes filling with tears. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them at first. No.
Paul could make out the movement.
“No,” she whispered. “Nooooo, it isn’t true. He was just here. No, no, no.”
Paul made a move toward her, but the housekeeper flew into the room and took her in her arms. “Oh, Catherine. How terrible.”
Was it odd for a housekeeper to call her employer by their first name? Paul had no clue, but maybe she’d been with the family for years.
“Josie? I can’t believe it. How could this happen?” She turned a wide-eyed, tear-stained face to them. “How…what happened? Was he hit by a car? Did he have a heart attack? Tell me.” She held on to the housekeeper.
Rob stepped in. “We won’t know all the details until the autopsy, but what we can say is, he was found in the park, off the trail.”
“He loved the park. He went running there whenever he could. He tried to get Chase to go with him so they could bond.”
“Is he still at Thornwood Prep?” Paul asked, recalling the first time he’d questioned the Ulriches about their family. He pulled out his notepad and started writing.
The housekeeper walked Catherine Ulrich over to the sofa, and this time, at the woman’s urging, she did sit, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she were in pain. The housekeeper sat by her side, her eyes focused solely on Catherine.
“Yes, but he’s home—oh, my God. I have to tell him. How am I going to do that?” Tears streamed from her eyes.
“Were they close?”
Catherine’s shoulders shook as she sobbed, and the housekeeper made soothing noises until she pulled herself together. “They were as close as any father and son. Dean was devoted to Chase. Gave him anything he wanted.”
All of which told him a whole lot of nothing, Paul mused as he took notes. It could mean they had a loving relationship or that he was a spoiled brat.
“Can you tell me about this morning? What your husband did—if you know, of course,” Paul asked gently.
She wiped tears from her eyes. “Dean got up early, around five. He had breakfast and went out. Chase and I had breakfast at around eight or so, and then he went to his room, said he was going to listen to some music before meeting friends.”
Paul appealed to Rob with his eyes to ask the next question, figuring that as a father, he’d know better how to speak to a mother about her child. Rob picked up his cue and sat down across from Catherine Ulrich. “We know this is a shock to you and your family, Mrs. Ulrich, but do you think you could see if Chase is upstairs?”
Her head whipped up. “What? You want to speak to my child when he doesn’t even know his father is dead?”
“Dad’s dead? What the fuck are you talking about?”
A lanky teenager, medium height, with a sulky mouth and horrified, wide-set brown eyes, stood in the doorway. His curly hair was held back off his face with a white terrycloth headband, and he held a tennis racket in his hand.
“Chase…I just found out…” Catherine began weakly.
Paul watched the dynamic unfold between the two.
The racket dropped to the floor, clattering loudly. Wild-eyed, he glanced around the room, his face sickly white. “H-how? What happened? Who killed him?”
Paul thought it interesting that Chase assumed his father was killed and that it wasn’t an accident.
“We don’t know yet, Chase. That’s what we’re going to find out.” Rob’s attempt at calming the upset teenager didn’t work too well.
“Who the hell are you two?”
“I’m Detective Paul Monroe, and this is my partner, Detective Rob Gormley. We’re investigating your father’s death. We were about to explain to your mother that we have to wait for the official cause of death before we can rule it a homicide.”
Chase flung himself into a chair and began to chew on his thumb while his leg bounced up and down at a rapid-fire rate. His hands trembled.
“When did you see your father last?”
“Last night at dinner.”
“Did you have plans together this weekend?”
Chase snorted. “No. Why would we? Me and my friends were gonna hang out and go see a movie.”
“Play tennis?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, I called my friend to see if he wanted to play. He’s coming by soon. Guess I bette
r cancel.”
Catherine remained seated, still shivering and rocking back and forth, the housekeeper protectively at her side, rubbing her shoulders. “I can’t believe it. How could he be dead?”
“It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” The crooning voice of her housekeeper seemed to calm her down, and after a few minutes, Catherine drew herself together.
“Thank you, Josie. You’ve been a lifesaver as usual. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll always be here to take care of you and the family. Would you like some tea?”
“That would be nice. Gentlemen, would you like a cup?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Ulrich.”
The housekeeper left them.
Mrs. Ulrich reached out to touch her son, but he pulled away from her as if she were poison. Her fingers curled into a shaking fist, but her face remained unperturbed.
“Chase, don’t you want to call your friends and cancel your plans? I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He left without uttering another word, and Catherine sighed deeply.
“You didn’t have the chance to finish answering my question earlier, Mrs. Ulrich, but were your son and his father close?”
“They were best friends. Dean doted on him. He even let Chase pick out whatever car he wanted for his last birthday. Chase loved his father.”
I’ll bet he did, Paul mused. For his nineteenth birthday, all his parents could afford was a nice dinner for the four of them at an Italian restaurant chain. Paul’s car was almost as old as Chase.
And yet something seemed off about the whole family dynamic. Why did Chase pull away from his mother when she tried to comfort him? Plus, the boy didn’t seem too broken up about his father’s death. Was something else going on?
All questions Paul wrote down. He and Rob would be searching for answers over the coming days of the investigation.
“Mrs. Ulrich, is it okay if we ask you a couple more questions?”
Her usual icy-calm bearing restored, she expelled a breath. “Yes. Of course.”
“Were you aware of any problems your husband had professionally or personally?”
“No. Everyone loved Dean. He was a wonderful doctor and a loving and devoted father and husband.”
She buried her face in her hands, giving Paul a chance to glance at Rob, who gave him a massive eye roll. Did she forget they knew her husband had been cheating on her with a man for a year? And in Paul’s opinion, Dean Ulrich had been—if not in love with Jerry—at least emotionally attached to him. Paul wondered if Ulrich had remained faithful to his wife since then or if there were any extracurricular activities he’d enjoyed, and he made a note to check Ulrich’s computer.
“I’m sorry to ask you this question now, but how was your marriage with Dr. Ulrich?”
The housekeeper entered the room with the tea tray and set it down with a firm thump, causing the china to rattle.
“Easy, Josie, please.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid we’re out of your usual tea. With all the packing and unpacking, I didn’t have time yet to go shopping.”
“Oh, who cares about that now. Dean’s dead. He’s dead.” She drew in a breath. “To answer you, Detective, my marriage was fine. Our bond is—was strong.”
“No lawsuits or complaints at his practice?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but you’ll have to talk to the hospital, I guess.”
Paul took notes rapidly.
“Can you give us the names of the people he worked with at his practice, please?” Rob asked. “And can you tell us his daily schedule? When he left for work, what he did in the evenings?”
Before answering, she took a sip of tea and cradled the cup in her hand, as if for warmth. “He’d get up early, go running on the treadmill, then leave for the hospital. If he was operating, he’d be at the hospital by seven a.m. If not, by nine. He’d stop by the gym to work out before coming home for dinner, around six thirty-seven. That’s his Monday through Friday schedule. The weekends, of course, were family time, and he’d go running in the park.”
“He still went to Flex?”
The gym where he met Jerry and began an affair with him was obviously a sore point, as she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “He did. And I have no issue with it.”
Which, from her reaction, seemed like a lie. If she didn’t have an issue, why mention it?
“We’ll check everything out. Thank you for all the information.”
He and Rob left their seats, and Paul didn’t miss the relieved expression not only on Catherine Ulrich’s face, but that of their housekeeper as well.
“Hold on a sec,” Rob murmured. “One more thing. Your son is nineteen, correct?”
“Yes? What about him?” She twisted her long, smooth fingers together. “Chase had nothing to do with anything.”
“Shouldn’t he have graduated by now?”
Her lips thinned, and she snarled, “He had some issues and needed to repeat a year. Does it help you with your investigation to know that?”
“What types of issues, ma’am?” Paul held her gaze steadily.
She waited a full minute before answering. “Drugs. Opiates. Chase became addicted to them. But he’s fine now. We got him into treatment right away.”
No surprise. Like many other places around the country, Thornwood Park wasn’t immune to the scourge of drugs.
“Dean felt so guilty and did everything in his power to help Chase.”
Paul stopped taking notes. “Why did your husband feel guilty?”
“Because Chase found Dean’s old pain pills from his surgery and decided to try them when he sprained his wrist playing tennis. Pretty soon he was hooked. We caught him one night going through Dean’s bag. Dean suspected Chase had been stealing his prescription forms, and they got into a terrible fight.”
Despite his anger, Paul felt sympathy for her as a mother trying to help her child. Not for her son. That punk was headed for trouble.
“So after that, he went into treatment?”
“No.” She sank down on the sofa again, fumbling on the tray for a napkin to blot her eyes. “He ran away and went missing for a month. We got a call one night to come find him. We went to the address, a place in East Thornwood, and found him slumped outside on the ground.”
East Thornwood was a rough part of town, where most of the city’s crime took place. It was a known hangout for drug dealers and prostitutes. He and Rob, unfortunately, were too familiar with the area.
“That’s not a place you’d want your child to hang around.”
“No. Dean rushed over there and brought him to the hospital. He told Chase if he didn’t get treatment, he was out of the house and our lives.”
No second chances with Dr. Ulrich, but then again, it was hard to give a drug addict a second chance when they were already planning their third and fourth.
“So he did.”
“Yes.” She raised red eyes to meet Paul’s. “And he’s been good ever since. We’ve gotten nothing but positive reports.”
“Glad to hear. We’ll need to talk to him another day.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it and shook her head. “If you must. But I know Chase had nothing to do with Dean’s death.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ulrich. Could we have Dr. Ulrich’s personal and professional computers? Laptops as well as desktops. Detective Gormley will give you a receipt, of course.”
She murmured to the housekeeper, who hurried out and returned a few minutes later with the laptop, a top-of-the-line MacBook.
“This was all he used at home.”
Rob filled out the paperwork, and after noting the model, he handed the receipt to Mrs. Ulrich, who barely glanced at it before crushing it in her hand. Paul took possession of the laptop.
“We’re going to turn this over to our computer forensics team immediately. Once again, we’re very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch.”
; Paul and Rob walked outside and climbed into the car, but Rob didn’t start the engine. He lowered the windows and let out a gusty sigh. “Well, damn. That was a lot to handle.”
“Sure as hell was. What’s your take?”
Rob chewed on the end of the earpiece of his sunglasses. “That is one freaking complicated family. But funny enough, I don’t think the wife did it.”
“No? How come?” Family members were always the most likely suspects, and despite her assurances during their investigation last time that she had no issue with her husband’s affair, Catherine Ulrich certainly had the motive and the means. But did she have the opportunity? They would dig everything up in their investigation.
“She’d do anything for him.”
Paul added, “The son definitely had a reason to hate his father, especially if he’s on drugs again.”
“You think he is?”
“I don’t like thinking so, but his muddy complexion, wild eyes, and overall agitation all point to it.” Paul stretched out his legs, wondering for a brief moment what Cliff was doing. It didn’t look like he’d be home anytime soon. “We should head to the precinct to drop off the computer and see what Forensics has come up with so far. Check his phone, his calendar, make some calls to his staff. “Let’s start getting a handle on who Dr. Dean Ulrich really was.”
“Aside from being a rich son of a bitch, yeah.” Rob started the car.
“And look where it got him. Dead with his head bashed in.”
“Good perspective there, Paulie.”
* * *
The Thornwood Park Third Precinct was relatively quiet for a late Saturday afternoon, which led Paul to believe Forensics would have had the time to get some information for them.
Rob went to get them both coffee while Paul put in a call to Manny.
“Bulldog, I’m surprised you waited so long. You’re slacking, my man.”
“You’re a riot, Manny. What do you have for me, or have you been napping all afternoon?”
“In my dreams. Listen, we got the guy’s phone records and his calendar. I sent them to you and Rob. We’ve sent out fingernail clippings, hair, and blood samples to the lab. Got whatever prints we found on his phone and his car, and we’ll run them through the database. That was a pretty wicked smash job on that Porsche. Almost made me wanna cry.”