by Jim Riley
“Hey. How’d it go?”
“Good question. Cold bitch, man.”
“Like how?”
“Well, she did show some emotion when I told her that her old man met with the grim reaper. But there was something about … more what she didn’t say than what she did.”
I’d been in his shoes before, trying to put into words something that was not necessarily articulable. “She have an alibi?”
“Yes. But it swings both ways.”
“How’s that?”
“She was on a plane when the hubby stopped breathing. But the reason she was on a plane is that she was on her way home from up there. Seems they got into an argument and she left.”
“Argument, huh? About what?” I was smelling blood.
“Get this. Oh, by the way, I had to lean on her a little and I would classify her as not being law-enforcement friendly anymore, although she didn’t use the ‘L’ word. But anyway, I got her to admit she’s having an affair and the hubby found out.”
Jackpot. “She kill him?” I was both asking him if he got anything close to a confession, and what his thoughts were.
“Probably. But … ”
“But?”
“Something just not quite … ” he was searching for the right word, so I let him and waited. “I can’t put it into words. I’m just not sure.”
“She offer up anyone else as the doer?”
“Well, he was a lawyer so only probably every other person who knows him.”
“That you talking or her?”
“Me. She only mentioned that he was involved with a case that was drawing some heat. I’ll look into it for you.”
“Okay. Hey, thanks. I owe you one. You ski?”
“I have once or twice. Why?”
“I’ll try and get the trial scheduled for the winter so you can get some skiing done while you’re up here testifying.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Oh, the Disorderly thing was at some protest-type bullshit.”
“What about?”
“Not sure.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Any time.”
I made some notes based on what Detective Bell was telling me, and he said he’d type his report up and get it to me asap. I knew there would be more in his report than what he told me on the phone but I hadn’t expected him to take his time filling me in on every detail. He had emailed me a few pieces of information though, like where the Gittlesons had been staying. Apparently they owned a second home in Logan County. Who didn’t among the rich and famous?
One of the larger mistakes a detective can make in a murder investigation, or any investigation for that matter, is to jump to conclusions too early. It causes tunnel vision and you lose your objectivity to look at clues in their truest light. What happens is that person will end up making the pieces fit, even if they don’t. But I knew in my gut this woman did it. I just didn’t know how it transpired or who all was involved yet.
It was almost 3:30 before Randy got back from the autopsy. It had been uneventful for the most part, except now we knew that our victim had contracted Herpes, of the sexually transmitted kind, at some point. Interesting. Maybe that’s how he found out about boyfriend. His wife brought a present home to him. The kind that just keeps on giving. Hell, now there’s a clue for you when your wife gives you a venereal disease. Other than that, he had been a healthy, white, slightly-past-middle-aged male. The doctor had sent the vic’s blood for a toxicology screen, and we would know in a few days if he had any drugs or alcohol on-board his system.
Kelly had checked in by phone from her office and told me she didn’t have anything to report. She said she would be back at 5:00 for the afternoon briefing. We were coming to the end of our second day, and although I was optimistic about the eventual outcome of the case, I also knew we were probably not going to solve it quickly either. This was going to be one of those that was slowly pieced together until it all made sense. That is, unless we stumbled across a piece of amazing information. It could happen.
I had been right and the day ended without us putting the puzzle together. Toby hadn’t made it to the briefing, and I figured I would fill him in on the phone later. I still hadn’t talked to Stalone about the case and that was fine with me. After the briefing we kicked around the idea that the wife may be involved. I was careful not to push the idea too hard. I didn’t want Randy or Kelly getting too focused on it, and even cautioned them about that.
That night I had a good dinner with Tish. It had been her day off and she cooked. She liked cooking and I like eating. We made a good pair. After dinner I filled her in on the case. I almost always brought the good stuff home and talked to her about it. She enjoyed it and it was like her own personal version of Cold Case Files.
“You think the wife did it?”
“Don’t know yet. But I sure want to lean that way.”
“Why?” It was a legitimate question, although a novice one.
“Random acts of violence are not that common. Usually when someone is killed, it involves someone they had a relationship with. Relationships that are worth killing over are usually pretty close ones. Like family. Or in this case, a cheating spouse. The only other reasons are usually about money or revenge.”
“What about a business problem? You said he was a lawyer. Maybe an unhappy client?”
“We’re exploring that too. We’ll end up digging into his business problems, find out if he had any enemies. Bell said he was involved in some case that was causing some kind of problems, but we don’t know much about it yet.”
“Bell and Dell. You guys make a good team.”
“Very funny.”
I dreamed about the case that night. Nothing unusual there. I solved it in my dream and it made so much sense I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it already. I woke up and assumed I didn’t have to pursue the avenue I had dreamed about since Saddam Hussein wasn’t a suspect and didn’t have any ties to the victim that I was aware of. Not to mention he was dead himself.
I had been working on my list of things to do with the case since getting to the office at daylight. The Saddam Hussein dream had woken me up, and although I was still pretty sure that even though it made perfect sense in my dream, it wasn’t going to work out, but it had gotten me to thinking. Or maybe more appropriately, second-guessing. I had assured myself I wouldn’t focus on the wife to the exclusion of other clues, but I think I had. I was going back over what I knew and trying to broaden my perspective. But the harder I tried, the more I came back to the wife. She definitely had the motive and knew where they were going to be and when. Who else would follow him up here just to kill him?
I had tasked Randy with writing the search warrant affidavit for the case. The common practice, at least mine, was to write a boiler-plate affidavit and use it on all search warrants, court orders, and hopefully, an arrest warrant. I only added to it if I needed to as new information came in. That way when the defense attorney fought with me over the jots and tittles in court, I only had one affidavit to defend. Damned defense attorneys.
One of the first places we’d serve a warrant was the house Mr. and Mrs. Gittleson owned and stayed at while they were up here. The District Judge signed the warrant and I asked him to have it sealed for two weeks. I figured if I didn’t have anything by then, I could ask him for more time. Hopefully, I’d have it solved by then. Always the optimist.
I love visiting a victim’s home. Even though this wasn’t the scene of the crime, a person’s home tells so much about them. And since the little missus was a suspect, maybe it would tell something about her, too. I had brought both Randy and Kelly with me. It was a two-story, six-bedroom home in High Rock Estates. A very nice home, I might add, but then all of the homes in that subdivision were.
Subdivisions in the mountains, by the way, are slightly different than ones in the city. When a normal person thinks of a subdivision, they usually think of cookie-cutter homes stacked next to each other. In the mountains,
a developer will take the side of a mountain and break it into different-sized lots. The roads will half the time still be dirt, but the homes will vary from $250,000 to $2,500,000 depending on the development. In this case, we were standing in about a million-dollar home. Not too shabby.
Kelly and I took the upstairs, which consisted of the great room/dining room, kitchen, master bedroom, another bedroom, and an office. Randy was taking the downstairs, which was just a living room, four guest bedrooms, and baths.
I started with the master bedroom. It was nicely furnished but not overstated. The furniture was expensive, but there was just enough of it to make the room not look empty. I looked through the drawers first. Nothing special. Mr. Gittleson wore boxers and not briefs. Three pairs of clean ones in the drawer. That matched the number of clean socks as well. I guess he was planning on being here three more days. Jeans, Dockers, and Polos, and a couple sweaters. Hiking boots, a pair of Sorels, and a pair of loafers. I assumed the loafers were for around the house and maybe what he wore on the plane. I found his Rolex watch in the top drawer of the dresser underneath his boxers. I guess he didn’t want to lose it on the slope, or maybe he didn’t care what time it was. No, a man like him never didn’t know what time it was. He must have had another to wear when he was skiing; I’d have to check the autopsy report. I saw some dirty underwear and socks scattered in a corner on the other side of the bed. The bed was slept in and unmade, but not destroyed like I do to one.
I went into the bathroom and started looking in his shaving kit. All the normal toiletries. Things to shave, brush, and smell good with. I picked up a medicine bottle. I don’t think I’ve ever looked in a shaving kit and not found some kind of medicine. Everyone is on something. I noticed he was on a high cholesterol medicine. I knew because I was on the same thing. I opened the top and poured some out in my hand. About halfway down, I saw several blue pills mixed in with the white ones. I kept pouring until I got to one and recognized them immediately. Viagra. I counted four more in the bottle. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it was worth noting. Mainly, why had he hidden them in another bottle of pills? Maybe he was getting something on the side, or maybe he just didn’t want the wife to know he only flew at half-mast without some help. Nothing else jumped out at me except the blue, slimy glob of toothpaste in the sink basin. He obviously hadn’t washed the sink out after he brushed.
The next place I checked is the normal place that folks hide things, which is under the corner of their mattress. You’d be surprised what all I’ve found there over the years of doing searches. This bed yielded nothing, though. I walked around the room and studied it for a few minutes. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just looking. There seemed to be something missing, but I couldn’t place it. It wouldn’t have been anything specific since I’d never been in the house before; just somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a feeling I was missing something.
I finished in the master bedroom and bath. The only other thing I had found of interest was that there were three dirty towels hanging on the towel bars, and not two. That could be easily explained, but again it was worth noting. I also noticed, though, that the toilet seat was down. Maybe he had not used this toilet since his wife left. Maybe his last visit to the room had been to take a dump. Maybe he was like me and couldn’t hit anything but the floor when he was half asleep in the middle of the night, so he sat. Maybe.
After I finished the master bedroom, I went to check on Randy downstairs. The bottom floor, which was again nicely but sparsely furnished, didn’t looked lived-in at all. Randy was almost done with the entire floor, so I went back up. We knew from Mrs. Gittleson what day they had arrived and were scheduled to leave. That information was matching everything we were finding, including the clean socks and underwear. Considering they had been living in the house for three days prior to Mrs. Gittleson’s departure and Mr. Gittleson’s, well, departure, the entire house barely looked lived in. I stopped in the kitchen. There was nothing on the countertops or table. There was no garbage in the can or any can liner for that matter. They undoubtedly ate out every night. The only thing noteworthy in the refrigerator was an open bottle of Gavi white wine. It was almost empty, but there weren’t even any dirty glasses in the sink and the dishwasher was empty. I started looking through the cabinets and Kelly walked into the kitchen.
“I already looked in there.” It wasn’t a challenge, just a statement.
“Yeah. I’m looking for wine glasses.”
“Over here.” She opened a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. “You thirsty?”
“No.” It deserved a chuckle and I obliged.
I looked in the cabinet. It had a full complement of wine glasses all in a row.
“What?” Kelly asked me.
“I don’t know. Wine bottle’s almost empty but no dirty glasses. Hell, no dirty anything. No trash to speak of.”
“Maybe they cleaned up.”
“Who? Him or her?”
“Either. Why?”
“They got in a fight and she walked out. You think she cleaned before she left him? Yeah, that’ll show him, right?” I laughed.
“So maybe he did it.”
“Nope.”
“How you so sure?”
“He’s a pig. Clothes are strewn on the floor, and he left a big glob of toothpaste in the sink.”
“Typical man.”
I wondered where that statement came from but didn’t ask.
“So maybe they have a cleaning service.”
“That cleans everything but the master bedroom?”
“Maybe it was cleaned before they fought. Maybe he didn’t drink any after she left.”
“Now you’re thinking. But you need to find out when he bought that bottle of Gavi.”
“How am I going to find that out?”
“Stop by Bottle Liquor in the square on your way home.”
“How do you know that’s where he got it?”
“They’re the only store that sells Gavi.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. The gaining of that kind of knowledge almost killed me in my previous life.” I’m not sure she got what was I was saying, but she didn’t pursue it any further.
I did one last walk through the house before we left. I still got the feeling we were missing something right in front of us. We left a receipt for the few things we were taking—all of his personal clothes and belongings and the bed linens. I didn’t know what purpose those were going to serve, but that’s why I took them. I didn’t know if they were going to be important. They were.
By the time I got back to the office, I had a few calls on my voicemail. The first one I returned was to Bell. He didn’t leave any message except that I needed to call him, so I did.
“This is Detective Bell.” I guess all cops answer the phone alike.
“Hey, this is Moffat. What’cha got for me?”
“The missus is bumping uglies with a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed stud about half her age. He drives a blue Ford Escort, but I don’t know the plate.”
“What kind of self-respecting gigolo drives an old, blue Ford Escort?”
“Hey, times are hard in Texas.”
“What else?”
“I asked her about her protégé and she lawyered up. I figured that was coming.”
“Yeah, I was too. Thanks. Anything else?”
“The project your vic was working on had something to do with a museum that was being built and an injunction on building it. I guess it was a real pissing contest.”
“What kind of museum? I mean, who bitches over a museum?”
“Don’t know yet. I’ve been focusing on the young man. I’ve got a possible lead.”
“Okay. Hey, thanks. The chits are steadily stacking up.”
“No problem.”
So she’s fooling around and has lawyered up. Not looking good for the wife, I told myself. All I have to do now is find out she had just taken out a large insur
ance policy on him.
After Randy got through booking in the evidence we collected at the house, I had him get another warrant signed for the victim’s credit card records, cell phone records, and bank records. All the usuals. I didn’t know what we were going to find, but we had to look. It was expected and it was possible it may give us something. If nothing else, it was one more thing to cross off the list. I was also working on a list of questions for Mrs. Gittleson. I knew that I would have to go through her attorney now that she had retained one, but that didn’t mean he was not going to let me talk to her. Only that he probably wouldn’t.
Kelly made it back to my office about thirty minutes after I had, with good news and bad news. The clerk at Bottle Liquor recognized the photo of our victim as having come in to buy some alcohol, but he didn’t remember what he bought or when he bought it. He had also told her to tell me hello and long time no see.
Chapter Twelve
“Hathcock, Moen, and Thatcher”
“Mr. Moen please.”
“May I tell him who is calling?”
“Detective Moffat with the Eaglenest Police Department in Colorado.” I looked at my notes while I waited, which turned out to be several minutes. I’ve always wondered if all attorneys made you wait even when they didn’t have to.
“This is William Moen. How can I help you?”
He knew how he was going to help me. You didn’t take a rich client who was going to be a murder suspect and not know who was going to be calling you about it.
“This is Detective Moffat with the Eaglenest Police Department in Colorado. I’m investigating the death of Mr. Gittleson. I understand Mrs. Gittleson has retained you, and I wanted to call and ask you about interviewing her.”
“It appears you’ve already interviewed her a couple of times.” He was sparring but it didn’t seem personal. I could deal with that.
“Well, actually a detective from your area spoke to her at my request, but it appears they didn’t hit it off. He sounds like he can be a little obnoxious.” Under the bus for the cause, Bell. Sorry.