Blood Contest

by P. K. Abbot

  “Do you have a lead yet on the murder weapon, Billy?”

  “The most likely candidate is the FN Five-seveN. That is a semi automatic pistol, developed by the Belgian company FN Herstal. The weapon and the ammunition were developed at the request of NATO during the First Gulf War. The original configuration of the weapon is in restricted distribution. It is used by NATO armed forces, war contractors, civilian police departments, and by the United States Secret Service.”

  “Still a large group.”

  “Yeah, but it gets worse. This weapon has also been stolen quite often over the years. Anyone who is willing to pay the price could have this weapon today. It’s a large field of potential suspects.”

  Mueller just shook his head.

  “There were a few other positive developments for us as well. We recovered the slug which lodged in that tree across the street. Hopefully forensics will be able to match it to the casing and confirm it as the bullet used in the killing. Forensics is also using lasers and the angle of entry into the tree to determine the spot from which the shot was fired and to approximate the height of the shooter. Since the sun had melted the snow and ice on the sidewalk this afternoon, we were not able to get a print of the shooter’s shoe. We were fortunate in one respect, however. That large spruce tree threw a deep shadow across the street and kept the ice intact in this one location. We were able to take a cast of the vehicle’s tire print there.”

  “So you may be able to identify the vehicle?”

  “That is a possibility. Any other questions, Pete?”

  “Burton said that you would have my assignment?”

  “Yes. Are you ready to talk with two little girls about how their daddy was murdered?”

  Chapter 4

  Pete Mueller waited for 5-year old Isabel Jamieson and her mother in Trey’s study on the first floor of their home. Mueller was sitting behind Trey’s desk. He wanted to get a feel for Trey’s life.

  Mueller’s eye went immediately to a recent photograph of the family on the desk. They were all suntanned, wearing polo shirts and shorts in various tropical shades, and standing in bright sunlight in front of turquoise waters somewhere.

  Trey and Susan were in the center of the photo. He was grinning and had his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. In height she came only to his shoulder, and she had placed her hand against his chest to brace herself. She was looking at his face and smiling broadly. They seemed very much in love with each other.

  Their older daughter, Elizabeth, was standing on a large piece of coral on the other side of her father so that her head nearly reached his shoulder. Elizabeth had her father’s kind green eyes. She was clowning in the photo, leaning over the far side of the coral and holding her father’s hand to keep her balance.

  The younger daughter, Isabel, stood on the other side of her mother. She came up to Susan’s hip in height and had hooked her arm around Susan’s thigh to draw herself close to her mother.

  Mueller had picked up and was examining a rock that was being used as a paperweight on the desk. It was painted in tempera paints with a stick man and a stick girl holding hands under a bright blue sky and a bright yellow sun. The word “DADDY” was painted on it, but the “DY” was smeared. Mueller was turning the stone over in his hand when Susan Stafford Jamieson entered the room with her younger daughter, Isabel.

  Mrs. Jamieson was still dressed festively in a red, cashmere cardigan with an emerald and ruby Christmas brooch, but her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and her face was drawn. She gave Mueller a weak but courageous smile and remarked, “Trey loved that rock. Elizabeth was five when she painted it for him for Father’s Day. Isabel was only three then. She wanted to taste it before Elizabeth gave it to their father. That is why the paint is licked off in parts. I am sure that is one reason why Trey loved that rock so much.” She smiled to herself and stroked Isabel’s hair.

  “I’m sorry for intruding, Mrs. Jamieson,” Mueller said, “I simply wanted to get a feel for Trey’s life. That is why I am sitting at Trey’s desk.”

  “There is no need to apologize, Sergeant. You should do whatever you need to do.”

  She was watching Mueller looking at Isabel. Isabel Jamieson had been crying and was hugging her mother’s thigh when she had walked into the room with her. Isabel was still wearing her brown felt reindeer antlers. The bells tinkled as Isabel shuffled along the floor.

  “Izzie will not take off her reindeer antlers,” Susan said. ”Her daddy gave them to her last night.”

  Susan smiled again at Mueller. She sat in a chair across the desk from Mueller, and she pulled Isabel into her lap.

  “Mrs. Jamieson, I am Detective Sergeant Mueller. I would like to express my condolences to you on the loss of your husband today, and I want to assure you that the New Jersey State Police will do everything possible to apprehend your husband’s killer or killers.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “I know this is an impossibly difficult time for you, but I need to ask you and Isabel a few questions. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course, Sergeant.”

  “Mrs. Jamieson, do you know of anyone who would have a reason to harm your husband?”

  “No. No, no, no.” She shook her head as she answered. She folded her arms across her chest and clenched each sleeve of her cardigan tightly with her fists as she talked. “Trey was very likable. He had the ability to talk to anyone and to make that person feel liked.” Her voice cracked here. “People loved him. All the people I know loved him.”

  Mueller did not answer. In the silence, she closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. Mueller could see tears welling in the corners of her eyes. After a few moments, she spoke to him again.

  “Trey was very unlike his father. Although he was intelligent and industrious, Trey was neither egotistical nor overly ambitious. He created friends, not enemies. I cannot understand why someone would choose to kill him,” she sobbed.

  Mueller pushed a box of tissues across the desk to her. Then he asked her another question. “But he worked for a large investment bank, didn’t he? Is it possible that an angry or disgruntled investor may have wanted to harm him?”

  She closed her eyes again and answered him in a shaky voice. “Trey had very little contact with the investors, Sergeant. He was involved more with academics and science than with marketing or sales. He mostly designed financial algorithms. When he did meet with investors, it was in a social setting, such as a dinner or a Broadway show. Most of them wanted to talk about Jamie. They were not interested in Trey.”

  “If a financial motive is unlikely, Mrs. Jamieson, is it possible that there may have been a personal reason to harm him? Perhaps a former acquaintance or neighbor?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Trey was very active in the community and in our church. Everybody loved him. He was a family man.” Her voice cracked again, but she pushed through. “He loved our girls and was devoted to all three of us. He was a wonderful husband and father. He stayed in New York for business only one night each week. And when he was away, he usually brought the girls a little present – like Izzie’s reindeer antlers.”

  Susan took one of the tissues to wipe her eyes and nose.

  Mueller now turned his attention to Izzie. He smiled at her and gently touched her arm.

  “I am so sorry, Izzie, about what happened to your daddy today. I am going to find whoever did this to him, and I am going to lock that person up. Do you think you can help me do that by telling me what happened today?”

  Izzie nodded her head as a tear fall on her mother’s lap.

  “Thank you, Sweetheart,” Mueller said. “Did you see who shot your daddy?”

  Izzie shook her head no. Then she said, “But a pretty lady got out of a big black car and walked by me and Lizzie. When our new puppy started to cry, we turned around to see why Olaf was crying. We saw daddy lying in the snow.”

  “Izzie, did you hear a gunshot?” Mueller asked.

  Sh
e shook her head no again.

  “Did you see anyone else on the street?”

  “Just the lady.”

  “And what did the lady look like?”

  “She was very pretty,” Izzie said. “She had pretty red lips, and she was going to a nice party.”

  “What makes you say that she was going to a party?” Mueller asked.

  “She was carrying a sparkly present.”

  “But she didn’t go into any of the houses on your street. She just got back into the car?”

  Izzie nodded yes to this question.

  “Izzie, can you tell me how tall the lady was? Was she as tall as your mother? Or was she shorter or taller?”

  “The lady was tall. She was taller than daddy.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Mueller noticed that Izzie’s bottom lip was starting to tremble and that her eyes were welling up with tears. He realized that he had gone about as far as he could in questioning the 5-year old.

  Mueller now turned to Isabel’s mother and called her name, but Susan did not respond. She was just staring into the distance, perhaps thinking of a happier day.

  “Mrs. Jamieson,” Mueller said more forcefully.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Sergeant,” she replied. “I don’t know what I am thinking anymore.”

  “I am sure that this day has been overwhelming for both you and Isabel. I have no more questions for you two at this time, but I would like to have each of the girls sit with one of our sketch artists so that we can have a more accurate description of the woman who passed them on the street.”

  “Of course. That will be fine,” she replied softly.

  “Thank you. Would it be alright for me to speak with Elizabeth now?”

  “Of course, Detective. I will ask Elizabeth to come in.” She smiled weakly at him again, lifted Isabel into her arms, and then walked quietly out of the room.

  Within a few minutes, seven year old Elizabeth Jamieson came into the room with their puppy. Elizabeth sat in the chair opposite Mueller. She scooped up the puppy into her lap and stared directly into Mueller’s eyes. Her kind, green eyes in the photograph had turned hard and flinty as she sat across from Mueller.

  “You are going to catch these people, right?” she asked Mueller.

  “With your help.”

  “Good. Then let’s do it.”

  Mueller smiled at her. “I am Detective Sergeant Pete Mueller, Elizabeth. I am very sorry about your father.”

  “Thanks. But you should call me Lizzie. I like that better. Daddy always called us Lizzie and Izzie. Mama hated those names, but she’s been calling us Lizzie and Izzie all afternoon because of Daddy.”

  “Thank you, Lizzie,” Mueller said. “If you would like, you may call me Pete. That is what my friends call me, and I hope that we will be friends.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need your help to find whoever killed your father today and to punish those people. Would you help me by telling me what happened today?”

  “Sure. Izzie and I were walking to Izzie’s friend’s house to show her Olaf, our new puppy. Daddy was coming with us, but Izzie and I were running. We were very far ahead of Daddy. Then a lady got out of the car at the corner and started walking toward us and daddy. She seemed nice. She smiled at Izzie and Olaf when she walked past us. In a minute or two, Olaf started whimpering and looked back toward Daddy. When I turned around, I saw Daddy lying on the snow and the lady getting back into the car.”

  “Do you know what kind of car it was?”

  “It was a Mercedes. It had the same emblem as Mama’s car, but it was bigger, and it was black.”

  “Thank you. That was very helpful. Now, did you actually hear the gunshot?”

  “No. I did not hear any noise, but I think that Olaf must have. He started crying. That’s when we turned around and saw Daddy on the ground.”

  “Lizzie, did you see anyone else on the street or in one of the houses along the street?”

  “No. We only saw the lady who had walked past us. She is the one who shot my father.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When we turned around and saw daddy on the ground, she had just walked past him and was getting back into the black car. It had to be her.”

  “How about describing the lady then, Lizzie?”

  “She was wearing a really expensive looking fur coat and hat, and she was carrying a beautifully wrapped Christmas present. But it is hard to describe her. She was wearing a large pair of very dark sunglasses that hid her eyes and even her eyebrows.”

  “Let’s start with how tall the lady was then. Izzie told me that the lady was very tall, taller than your father.”

  “To Izzie, everyone is really tall,” she laughed. “Izzie is wrong. The lady was shorter than Daddy. She was about as tall as Mama.”

  Just then the puppy bounded off Lizzie’s lap and charged the door, barking and growling as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

  A distinguished looking man pushed the door slightly ajar and peaked into the room. Mueller recognized the man as Governor Jamieson.

  “Pop-Pop!” Lizzie yelled as she ran to him. She scooped up Olaf from the floor and said, “Pop-Pop, this is Olaf, our new puppy. I am sorry that he is barking at you. He doesn’t know you yet.”

  When Lizzie stretched to kiss her Pop-Pop, the dog did the same, coaxing a little laugh from the governor with his kisses.

  Governor Jamieson looked at Mueller and said, “I am sorry to interrupt you, Sergeant, but I wonder if I might have a word with you and your partner.”

  Mueller could see Ryan standing past the governor’s shoulder.

  “Certainly, Sir,” Mueller said. “I have just finished interviewing Elizabeth. What can I do for you, Sir?”

  “I wonder if I might have a private word outside?” he said.

  Governor Jamieson signaled Ryan and Mueller to follow him. They walked through the front door, and stopped on the path near the front gate.

  The Governor was squinting at Mueller’s name tag when he began, “Sergeant Mueller, I have been telling Sergeant Ryan here that I am concerned. I am concerned that you boys may not be able to find Trey’s killer before the case becomes political. Given Trey’s relation to me, it is only a matter of time before the case becomes very political. Once that happens, you will find that your investigation will become a quagmire of interference and obstruction. The Feds will likely attempt to pull it away from you and into their jurisdiction. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “No, Sir,” they answered.

  “That is why it is so important for you to do everything you can now to find Trey’s killer quickly. If you encounter any obstacle to your investigation, I want you boys to call me personally for help. I want you to solve this case quickly – the sooner the better. I want whoever did this to my boy to be caught and punished.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is there anything that you need now that I can help with?” the Governor asked.

  Mueller replied, “Sir, I need to discover if there are any people at Trey’s work who may want to harm him. When I asked Mrs. Jamieson about it, she did not seem to have any specific information. Sir, perhaps you would know whom I should contact about his work?”

  “Oh, I’m not surprised,” the governor said. “Susan doesn’t know very much about Trey’s work — in fact, I am sure that I know more people at Trey’s bank than even Trey knew. I will call the bank’s president at his home tonight for you. By tomorrow, I should have a list of the accounts and people that you will want to contact, along with their contact information.”

  “That will be very helpful, Sir.”

  The governor paused for a moment and stared at the ground. When he raised his head again, Ryan and Mueller saw there were tears in his eyes.

  “I am sure you will find that Trey’s killer is not connected to the bank. I am sure that Trey was killed because of me, because of his connection to me. I have a long list of powerful enemies.
There are people who hate me and want revenge. There are people who fear me and want to keep me from the presidency. That’s why I want you to solve this case quickly – the sooner the better. I want the bastards who did this to my boy to be caught and punished.”

  “We will get it done, Sir.”

  “Good. I imagine that you will need to talk to me as well?”

  “You are correct, Sir,” Ryan replied.

  “I started this day very early in New Hampshire. Do you suppose that you could conduct your interview tomorrow morning in my office? I should be able to have the list of financial contacts for you at that time as well.”

  “That will be fine, Sir,” Ryan replied.

  “Good. Is there anything else that you two need to do here tonight?”

  “We need to ask Mrs. Jamieson, Susan, to formally identify Trey’s body.”

  “God, no,” the governor said. “I don’t want to see her do that after everything she’s been through today. I should be able to do that, shouldn’t I, Sergeants?”

  “That will be acceptable, Sir.”

  “Let’s do it then. Let’s finish this.”

  The governor and the two sergeants walked through the gate and crossed the street.

  When they got to the tarp, Ryan lifted a corner so that Governor Jamieson could see Trey’s face. He recognized his own green eyes staring back at him from Trey’s face. Governor Jamieson started breathing rapidly now.

  “Oh, God, that’s him – that’s Trey,” the governor moaned.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Mueller said. Ryan gently placed the tarp over Trey’s face again and signaled the medical examiner’s crew to remove Trey Jamieson’s body.

  The governor’s skin became suddenly pale and clammy. He quickly turned and ran to the middle of the street. There he bent over and retched, splashing vomit onto his shoes.