Love 'Em or Leave 'Em Dead

by Bubany, Midge;

  “I doubt it. She often worked late.”

  “I have a feeling you saw her more often than you’ve indicated.”

  “Maybe a couple more times,” he admitted.

  “Was she planning to tell your wife?”

  “Absolutely not. Why would she?”

  “To break you two up. Then she could have you all to herself.”

  He shook his head. “No, it was just sex.”

  “Did Sonya threaten to tell Patrice?”

  “No.”

  “Did you kill her to shut her up?”

  His face turned sour. “No, of course not.”

  Even though I hammered him with variations of the same questions, he maintained he’d been at home with Patrice all Thursday night. She could exonerate him, but he would likely pay a steep price.

  I THEN CALLED HAWLEY’S Veterinary Clinic in Robbinsdale to verify Grady’s claim he was working all night Thursday. A woman named Bev said he normally worked the night shift on weekends, but sometimes the kids traded shifts. I could hear keys clicking. A few seconds later, she said, “He worked Thursday the eleventh from eleven to seven, but didn’t work Friday or Saturday nights, and he didn’t pick up any shifts that week.”

  “What about the sixteenth?”

  “Just a second . . . no.”

  “Are you aware that his girlfriend’s grandmother died on the eleventh, and his girlfriend’s mother was shot to death on the sixteenth? His girlfriend was also wounded.”

  “The Kenwood shootings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my word. No, I didn’t know. Thank you for telling me.” “What do you know about Grady?”

  “Not a lot—he’s here when I’m not—but we hired him because he was a pleasant young man and is studying to be a veterinarian.”

  “Is he a good employee?”

  “Yes, I have no complaints.”

  “Well, thank you for the information,” I said.

  Next, I called the manager at Rainbow to find out if he had worked on the twelfth or the sixteenth. He transferred me to the personnel director, who said Grady quit last September because of his heavy course load at the university.

  “How long did he work for you?”

  “Over two years.”

  “And was he a good employee?”

  “He’s a nice kid and did his job, stocked shelves. It’s not exactly quantum physics.”

  Martha Gill called, and I almost let it go into messaging. “Did Grady’s grandparents tell you he wasn’t in any activities or sports?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I spoke with personnel from South High School, which he attended. He played high school soccer all four years. His coach said he was an A student and one of his better players, never missed a practice or game, but he never showed up for the awards banquet at the end of the season. He knew Grady’s parents were incarcerated, but didn’t think his classmates did.”

  “Could be.”

  “His coach said he was closest to Ben Smith and Tom Obermeyer. They both said they had limited contact since high school. Ben said Grady was a great guy but very private. He also mentioned Grady dated Bailey Caldwell his senior year, a young woman who went to Breck. So, I stopped by the Caldwells’ Edina home on Kellogg. It’s one of those grand old brick mansions built in the thirties. Anyway, Mrs. Caldwell gave me Bailey’s number, so I got hold of her in Boulder. He told her his grandparents raised him because his parents were killed in a car accident. She said she never met the grandparents because they didn’t like him to bring friends home. She said he was possessive; he didn’t like her having other friends that were boys. She only dated him about nine months because he was already talking marriage and having kids, and she wasn’t ready for a serious relationship.”

  “So perhaps dating wealthy girls is a pattern. Did the mother have an opinion of Grady?”

  “She was relieved when Bailey ended the relationship. She said he was a nice boy but was always at their home, which bugged her.”

  “Have you checked Russell Bennett’s phone records?”

  “Yes, with his permission. I don’t see anything that implicates him in either of our murders and, because of the divorce, I don’t see how these deaths profit him.”

  “I suppose he could try to obtain conservatorship of Zabrina’s finances.”

  “That’s true. Look, I’m late to a team meeting.”

  “I’ll let you go. Thanks for calling.”

  “No worries”.

  I sat for a few minutes watching the clock as I thought about Tamika and her missing firearm. She hadn’t slipped. Someone hit her and stole her gun. I looked at my watch and decided it wasn’t too early to call Anton Frank.

  “Cal, thanks for stopping by last night. I know how busy you are.”

  “No problem. How’s Tamika?”

  “Her symptoms aren’t getting any worse, and they tell me that’s a good sign.”

  “Is she remembering anything about what happened?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be discharged?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  I ended the call because a text came in from Shannon.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “My doctor just called. The biopsy confirmed I have invasive ductal carcinoma. I won’t know the stage until after surgery. The MRI showed two more lesions so he did biopsies, but they were negative. I also had a bone scan yesterday, and if it’s negative, he says a lumpectomy is a good option. Do you think that’s what I should do?”

  “I know nothing about this. Whatever you think.”

  “I guess I have to go with what the doctor says.”

  “I would.”

  “My surgery is scheduled for December 30.”

  “Then you’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “I kind of wanted to get it over with. Get this cancer out of my body.”

  “I understand.”

  A wail in the background. “Uh-oh, I gotta go. Lucy’s crying.”

  I then texted her saying if the kids were too much for her with all that’s going on, she should let me know.

  I WENT DOWN TO THE SQUAD ROOM to check my mail slot. There was a subpoena from Crow Wing County to testify on Tuesday in Hawk’s trial. My childhood friend Michael Hawkinson had been kidnapped and held against his will for three weeks while his captors waited for a check to arrive after forcing him to cash out his investment accounts. When one of his captors got careless, Hawk took advantage and grabbed the gun and shot him. Unfortunately for his brother, Paul, when his involvement became clear to Hawk, he chased and gunned him down as well.

  In the time Hawk was missing, I thought he was dead and was shocked when he showed up at my door. But he lied to me, saying his captor was sympathetic and had set him free—nothing about Paul’s involvement. Later at a party I threw, he got drunk and passed out. When putting him to bed, he mumbled he’d killed his brother. When I questioned him about it the next day, he admitted what had occurred. I had to take him in, and Crow Wing County arrested him for second-degree murder but he was charged with voluntary manslaughter.

  Although I did what I had to do, I was conflicted and not looking forward to testifying against a lifelong friend—or facing his parents, who blamed me for their son’s legal problems. He hadn’t made contact in the months he’d been out on bail, which I was grateful for. What a fricking mess—just like Waldo D. Clinton’s affair with his wife’s dead friend. Jesus Christ.

  I walked across the hall and added Patrice and Waldo D. Clinton to the list of players in Sonya’s life.

  DALLAS TEXTED ME AND ASKED if she could bring Chinese take-out for dinner. Her pending divorce hovered between us like an overfilled balloon ready to burst. When she and her dog, Willie, a border collie/golden retriever mix she’d bought from the pound in Brainerd last summer, walked into the house, the dogs took off for parts unknown. I took the bag from her and put it on the counter. I turned, crossed my arms, leaned
on the counter, and said, “We need to talk.”

  “About the divorce?” she said as she took off her coat and hung it on the hook.

  “Yes, about the divorce. I understand your desire not to let Vince win. The law says you should get half the property, so stop pussyfooting around and get a court date. You should have done it a long time ago. He’s an ass, Dallas.”

  “I called my attorney this morning. He’s filed the case.” “Oh . . . well . . . good.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all about it. I won’t keep things from you again.”

  “It’s not good for a relationship.”

  “I know. And I’m starving. Can we eat?”

  We filled plates, Dallas found a testosterone-filled Mark Wahlberg movie called Pain & Gain, and we ate in front of the television, which we rarely did. The dogs finally calmed down and lay together in front of the fireplace.

  As I stabbed a broccoli spear with my fork, she touched my arm.

  “You’re quiet tonight. Are we good, or is there something else bothering you?”

  “Work.” I took a deep breath. I had to tell someone. “DNA tests proved David Clinton was boinking Sonya Donovan.” She gasped. “You’re kidding.” “Unfortunately not.”

  She stared at me, the wheels turning as she realized the ramifications.

  “And now he’s a suspect in her murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “What does Patrice say?”

  “I don’t think she knows yet. A sinister part of me even wonders if she knew and killed Sonya herself, or if she and David were in cahoots. And I’m suspicious of Zabrina’s boyfriend, Grady. She’s pregnant and he’s pushing to marry her.”

  “And if they marry, he’ll be very rich.” She pointed a chopstick at me.

  I pointed my fork back at her. “But he was working the night of Sonya’s murder. However, it is possible he could make the two-hour drive to Birch County, kill Sonya, and get back to his job before seven a.m. But he isn’t a particularly muscular kid, so I doubt he could have carried her deadweight up those stairs by himself. He would have needed an accomplice, as would Patrice. But Waldo is a big guy.”

  “Waldo?”

  “Patrice’s husband’s real name is Waldo David.”

  “I’d go by David, too.”

  “Maybe Sonya was threatening to expose their affair. Even if Patrice agrees he was home, he could have snuck out of the house while she was sleeping.”

  “Why would he shoot the daughter and granddaughter?”

  “He wouldn’t. Okay, I have to look at who profits from both killings. Only the boyfriend does—if he marries Zabrina.”

  “But he wouldn’t shoot his girlfriend. I bet the murders aren’t related. The Minneapolis shootings could be random, a gang initiation or something?”

  “Shit. Why can’t it be easy?”

  “I know something that is.”

  “What?”

  “Me. Let’s finish our dinner and dabble in a little dessert.”

  I put down my fork. “I’m full.”

  She put down her chopsticks. “Me too.”

  I scooped her up in my arms and carried her up the stairs to my bed, where I set her down.

  “You did not just test your theory to see if David Clinton could manage to carry Sonya all the way upstairs, did you?” Yep. “No, of course not. I’m being romantic.”

  She raised a brow, smiled with her amazing aquamarine eyes, and kissed me, causing something of mine to raise down below.

  24

  Sunday, December 21

  SUNDAY MORNING AFTER BREAKFAST, Dallas and Willie left for home, and I went directly to my office and worked on my reports. Patrice had sent me an email message at midnight.

  “The memorial service is Tuesday at two o’clock,” it said. “I’ll be back Wednesday. I’ve talked Zabrina into staying with me in Prairie Falls until the start of the second semester.

  Nothing about Waldo’s infidelity or Zabrina’s pregnancy dilemma, not that I cared one way or another what the girl did. I just found it interesting. I called David Clinton and left a message saying he should tell his wife today—or I would.

  AT FOUR O’CLOCK, I WENT down to the gym, jogged on the treadmill for an hour, lifted weights, then on my way home, stopped and bought steaks. After dinner, Dallas and I took Bullet and Willie out for a short walk, then Dallas turned on some Lifetime movie oozing estrogen. I fell asleep, woke up when the movie was over, then we went upstairs to bed.

  “How did the movie end? Did they get a divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  She snuggled into me and after I kissed her, she said, “I originally didn’t sign the divorce papers because I couldn’t let Vince bully me into letting him have everything.”

  “I get it.”

  We kissed again, then I removed the T-shirt she was wearing. I kissed my way down to her nipples.

  “He expected me to give in.”

  My fingers traced a line from her belly button downward.

  “Ohh, that feels good,” she said.

  “Don’t you dare say his name again tonight.”

  “Whose name?”

  Monday, December 22

  AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, I woke drenched in sweat. I dreamed Patrice and David had killed Sonya and Justine so they could gain control of the Donovan fortune. It seemed so realistic I lay there for several minutes trying to calm down. I eventually got up and went downstairs. Bullet and Willie followed, hoping to score an early breakfast. Both dogs lay by their respective bowls for a half hour. Willie gave up his food watch first and jumped up on the couch by my feet while I watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off on Netflix. Bullet eventually got jealous, came over and nudged my hand. As I ran my hand over his thick coat, I said, “Things were a lot simpler for us when we were single, Bullet, and I was still on patrol duty.”

  He looked at me, licked my hand, then jumped up next to Willie, even though there was no room. I moved my feet to the coffee table. Yeah, we both had friends we loved now, even if mine was not legally divorced.

  At 5:00 a.m., I went to the department to work out in the department gym. As I ran on the treadmill, my dream about Patrice and David commanded my thoughts. I ran through the logic of a sheriff and her husband killing for Sonya’s money.

  “Nah,” I said to myself, as I went to the weights.

  If Grady married this girl, he’d be set for life—and he was a bit of a liar, and ashamed of his family, his station in life.

  Feeling guilty for buying more cinnamon rolls from the Sportsman than Eleanor’s, I stopped to buy a dozen from her bakery, then went home. Dallas had left a note on the counter saying, “I love you. My divorce will be finalized before we know it.”

  I showered and changed into my uniform, grabbed the rolls, and dropped them off at the squad room.

  AT 8:00 A.M., I WAS at my desk when Patrice called.

  “David drove down yesterday afternoon. He told me you brought him in for questioning and why.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Right now I’m so furious I can’t see straight.” She began to cry.

  “Did you suspect anything?”

  “Not a thing. That stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” She sniffed. “This is going to go public, isn’t it?”

  “Are you sure he was home with you all Thursday night? Could he have snuck out in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m a light sleeper. Every time he gets up to pee, I wake up.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing you need to say. Anyway, Tamika’s being released today, and she’ll be out for at least two weeks.”

  “I have more information about Grady. He dated a wealthy girl named Bailey Caldwell a year ago, who he was talking marriage to. Unusual for a boy his age to be thinking that way—most just want to get laid.”

  “That would apply to males of any age, evidently.”

  “Okay . . . anyway, he never introduced her to his gran
dparents, either—and he told her his parents were dead. I think he never introduced her because his lies would have been exposed. Bailey also said he was possessive. Do you see any of that with him now?”

  “I haven’t noticed, but I’ll surely watch now. Cal, he was at work in Minneapolis. How can you think he had something to do with this?”

  “It’s physically possibly for him to have left work, done the deed, and returned to Robbinsdale before the next shift.”

  “Wouldn’t they have noticed if he hadn’t done his work?”

  “He could have hustled at the last minute. If he does marry Zabrina, he’ll be instantly wealthy.”

  “What a mess. If she won’t have an abortion, then I’m going to push for adoption—she’s too young to raise a child or get married.”

  “On that we agree.”

  “How can she even know what she wants? Grady’s her first boyfriend. Justine had worried about Zabrina going off to college and getting swept off her feet.”

  “She seems immature to me. Did Justine like Grady?”

  “She adored him, but she was concerned about their different backgrounds.”

  “How will your kids like Zabrina living with you?”

  “Gina and Zabrina are friends of a sort. They keep in touch through Facebook. Lane’s twenty-one and has never liked her, so he’ll ignore her as usual.”

  “How did they take the news that Waldo moved out?”

  “You’re getting a kick out of calling him Waldo, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “To answer your question, I haven’t told them about ‘Waldo’ yet. I’m waiting until they get home on break.”

  “Seems like a good idea.”

  “Cal, if you’re convinced Grady had something to do with the killings, why don’t you drive down to Minneapolis today and see what you can dig up on him.”

  “I have to testify in Brainerd tomorrow, so it’d be a quick trip, but maybe I will. I need to check something out.”

  I then called Hawley’s Veterinarian Clinic and told them I was investigating an incident in the area and asked if they had security cameras that might have caught any suspicious activity in their parking lot or street in front of their clinic between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and 6:30 a.m. on December eleventh and twelfth. The receptionist said I should speak to Ed Lindgren, the owner of the strip mall. Ed said he would check his video feed and get back to me.