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Before Another Dies

Page 7

by Alton L. Gansky


  “He’s doing well. Adjusting.” Floyd and his father could not be more different. Pastor Lenny was an outdoor man, as his tan testified. A surfer, he spent his high school days on the beaches of California looking for that perfect ride. After graduation, he learned that surfing doesn’t pay well, and he took to driving trucks. “To be outside,” he once told me. Someplace along the line his thoughts shifted from the waves to the Maker of the waves. At the age of twenty-five, he went to college then on to seminary. He started Ocean Hills Church the week after they handed him his master of divinity degree. That was twenty years ago.

  “I appreciate you giving him the job, Maddy. He still lacks focus. I was hoping some consistent oversight by someone like you might help him settle on a track.”

  “Would it have helped you at his age?”

  He erupted into laughter. “No, it most certainly wouldn’t. I needed time to be me before I could become what I was intended to be. That’s why I’m so patient with Floyd. He’s battling genetics.”

  “That may be his greatest asset.”

  Pastor Lenny shook his head. “His greatest asset is the Lord. At least he has that settled.”

  “He’ll find his direction. He told me yesterday morning that he might enjoy being a police officer.”

  Lenny made a sour face. “Officer Floyd Grecian,” he mumbled. “I just don’t see it. Still, I think he can be great at whatever he chooses. I just wish he’d choose it.” He paused and looked up at the council bench. “Do you like it up there?”

  I admitted that I did. “It’s hard to describe. The job is hard, frustrating, carries less glamour than most think, and gives more bruises than caresses. Still, I love it. The position makes me feel . . .”

  “Complete?”

  “That’s a good word for it. Complete. I feel like I belong.”

  “Do you feel like you’ll belong in congress?” Somehow the good pastor had changed the subject from himself and his son to me, and I hadn’t seen it coming.

  “That’s an unknown. I think so. To be honest, I feel a little guilty. The people elected me to this position. I’m the first full-time mayor, and now I’m running for a higher office.”

  “I have a question. Why do you call congress a higher office?”

  I shrugged. “That’s just the way it’s done. Everyone speaks of politicians running for higher office.”

  “Are you saying that being a congresswoman is more important than being mayor?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s probably more prestigious.”

  “Is that important?” he asked.

  I looked at him and weighed my answer. “I’m not sure. Are you saying that I’m running for the wrong reasons?”

  “Not at all. I don’t know what your reasons are. I’m just curious. As mayor you serve a group of people within city boundaries. As a congresswoman you’ll be doing the same thing. Some of the issues will certainly affect those outside the district and maybe even the whole country, but in the end, you’re a person serving other people. There’s no higher or lower in that.”

  That started my brain churning, and I appreciated it. A few moments thinking of something else was a welcome break. “I’m not sure the distinction would make a difference in the campaign.”

  “It wouldn’t, but it might make a difference in you. Don’t sell yourself or this office you hold short. Anything done for God, anything done for others, is important, which, if I understand my son correctly, is why I’m here. I was very sorry to hear about your friend’s tragedy. How can I help?”

  The heaviness that had been threatening to squeeze the breath out of me returned. I filled him in on Fritzy, the phone call, my visit, and the reason I wanted to meet with him. “I promised Fritzy that I would help with the arrangements. Would you be willing to do the funeral?”

  “Yes,” he said immediately.

  “I don’t know her spiritual state or that of her husband. I feel guilty admitting that.”

  “Guilt is a useless emotion. It’s good for alerting us to a problem but nothing more. It’s like a fire alarm that goes off. Once we know of the danger, the alarm is doing nothing more than making noise. I’ll be happy to do the service. Give me her phone number and address. I’ll make an appointment to visit her. Has she chosen a funeral home to work with?”

  “I doubt it,” I said.

  “There are several good ones in the city. I’ll make a recommendation. You’ll need to call her before I do. Tell her who I am, and that I’ll be calling. Lawyers have a reputation for chasing ambulances. I don’t want to be accused of chasing hearses.”

  I chortled and told him I’d make the call.

  “Now, how are you doing?”

  “Me? I’m fine. Why?” I squirmed in my seat.

  “Why? Let’s see. Floyd told me you discovered a murder victim yesterday, and this morning you get a call about the murder of a friend’s husband. Considering the experiences you’ve endured in the past, well, I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

  “I’m fine, Pastor,” I said. “Some old hurts have been reopened but that’s to be expected. Right now, I’m hurting more for Fritzy than for myself.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I like about you, Maddy—your heart. If you need to talk, just give me a call. We’ll have coffee or something. Of course, you’ll have to pay.”

  “I’d be happy to pay.”

  He studied me for a second and then, apparently convinced that I wasn’t going to melt into a blob of broken woman, he said, “Let’s have a word of prayer.”

  He took my hand and bowed his head. I closed my eyes and did the same. It still felt strange to me. The prayer was short and to the point.

  When I raised my head, I said, “Thank you.” I noticed his eyes shift from me to something behind me. I turned.

  Tess Lawrence and Jon Adler were standing just inside the chamber at the same door Pastor Lenny passed through a few minutes before.

  “Do they always look that unhappy?” Pastor Lenny asked.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  chapter 11

  That was sweet,” Tess said. Sarcasm is sarcasm no matter how pleasantly it is said. I chose not to respond. I brushed past the two and entered the corridor that led from the council chambers to my office. To my dismay, they followed.

  “Some might think the council chamber is an inappropriate place to have prayer.” It was Jon.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jon. Anyone who has attended council meetings knows that we often begin the meeting with a guest minister leading in prayer. It’s a very old tradition. You’ve seen it scores of times. It began with Ben Franklin.”

  “Still the issue of separation of church and state—”

  “Don’t go there, Jon. If I want to hear talk like that, I’ll join the ACLU.” I stepped up my pace. The air in the hall was getting thick. “All I did was have a brief, personal prayer with my pastor. If you have a problem with that, then . . . you have a problem—period.” I stopped outside the outer door to my office. “What did you want?”

  “The police are asking a lot of questions about your murder victim,” Tess said. “We should talk about how to control the press on the matter.”

  “He was not my murder victim, Tess. He is the responsibility of the police. All I did was drive to work and make a phone call.”

  “Still, everyone knows you’re the one who found him,” Tess persisted.

  “If one of the maintenance crew found the body, would you be dogging his heels?”

  “If you haven’t noticed,” Jon piped in, “you’re not on the maintenance crew. You’re the mayor.”

  “Yeah, Jon, that occurred to me. As far as controlling the media, it can’t be done. The media does what the media does. I’ve already spoken to Doug Turner—”

  “You called Doug Turner?” Tess was aghast.

  “No, I didn’t call him; he came to me.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth.
Read the paper when it comes out.” I crossed the threshold into my office and stopped short. Tess and John almost collided with me. I turned on them. “I have work to do. I’m sure you understand.” I turned again, nodded at Floyd as he stood behind his desk—he always stood when I entered the room—and marched into my private office. I hoped Jon and Tess would retreat to their underground boroughs.

  “Mayor . . .” Floyd began.

  I longed for a few moments alone, but I was destined to keep on longing. Judson West sat in front of my desk reading the Register.

  “Detective West is here to see you,” Floyd said.

  “I see that, Floyd.” I said thanks and closed the door behind me.

  Unlike Floyd, West didn’t rise. He just folded the paper and set it on the empty seat to his right. I plopped down in my chair and rubbed my eyes. I should have felt some apprehension at seeing West, but instead I felt a measure of comfort. I always felt good in his presence. He was a comfortable man; comfortable with himself and with his surroundings.

  People act strangely around me. As mayor, they either voted for me, against me, or not at all; in some cases, as with city employees, I’m their boss; in other cases, I’m the city scapegoat. With West, I always felt that I was just me.

  “I don’t know how you put up with those two,” West said.

  “You heard?”

  He nodded. “I admire your control. Strength under pressure. It suits you.”

  “It’s not a very comfortable fit today,” I admitted. “Do you get people like that in the police department? What do you do with them?”

  “We shoot them and drop their bodies just beyond territorial waters.” He kept a straight face.

  “Is that just for sworn officers of the law or does it extend to elected officials?”

  “We’re always looking for ways to branch out.” He smiled and straight white teeth became visible. He looked good. His dark hair was just the right length, and his eyes shone with rested confidence. “I’ve been interviewing everyone in city hall as part of the investigation. I saved you for last.”

  “You’re personally interviewing everyone in the building?”

  “I have a couple of senior officers helping. I get to interview the big, important people. I’ve talked to everyone on the council, and now I’m down to you.”

  “I told you everything I know yesterday. There’s nothing more I can add.”

  “I know, but I want to cover all the bases.” He paused. “I also wanted to see how you were holding up. I understand Mrs. Fritz and you are close.”

  “We don’t pal around. She mothered me, and I returned the favor. It’s a good relationship. My heart breaks for her.” It was my turn to pause. “She said you were very kind to her. Thank you.”

  “Some people deserve an extra measure of kindness. She struck me as one of those. How’s she holding up?”

  “Better than I would have guessed, but she has her moments. The emotional roller-coaster ride has started. After the funeral the ups and downs will even out some.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Do they ever go away—the ups and downs, I mean?”

  “No.” The answer came quickly. “Most days the peaks and valleys are not as extreme. Other days, they’re as bad as they can get. You just learn to deal with them.”

  His eyes softened, and he drew his lips into a line. “I’m always on the other side. I used to think I had the hard job making the call, visiting the family to ask questions they don’t want to answer. While it’s no picnic, close friends and family do the real work. They shoulder the real burden.”

  I was starting to feel the rising pressure of sadness again. It was time to change the subject. “Have you learned anything?”

  “I had the medical examiner do a preliminary evaluation on Mr. Lopez. He confirmed that someone broke Lopez’s neck, and that it was most likely the cause of death. I say most likely because the ME hasn’t done the full autopsy.”

  “It seems a horrible way to die.”

  “I don’t know of many good ways,” West said. “The thing about breaking someone’s neck is that it is an intimate act. If it’s premeditated, the murderer has to plan on laying his hands on the victim and committing an act of violence. A gun allows distance. Most stabbings are done in the heat of the moment. Poisoning allows for distance in space and time. One has to be really angry or really nuts to kill with his bare hands.”

  “Are you sure it’s a he?”

  “As sure as I can be without the autopsy reports. The bruising on Lopez’s jaw indicates a large hand and wide fingers. It also takes a good bit of strength to snap a neck. Even the way this one was done.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It looks professional. It doesn’t look like something done in rage.”

  “Professional? There are professional neck breakers?”

  “Some military personnel learn how to kill with their bare hands.” He paused as if considering that thought. “I visited with the Lopez family. They’re estranged. His wife, Julia, hasn’t seen her former husband for two years. The address on the license was from when they were still married. She kicked him out. Said he was getting too weird for her and the children.”

  I was interested in the details, but other questions were insisting on being voiced. “Fritzy told me that you thought her husband had been murdered.”

  “That’s one reason I’m telling you all this, Mayor. Mr. Fritz was murdered in the same fashion as Mr. Lopez. We found him sitting in the pilot’s seat—a Cessna Caravan. Apparently he had been working on the plane when he was killed.”

  I didn’t know what a Cessna Caravan was, but my mind still created a picture of a lifeless Jim Fritz sitting behind the controls of a plane. “It’s horrible; horrible and ironic.”

  “How is it ironic?”

  “Just yesterday I told a reporter that we average only two murders a year in Santa Rita, and now we have two in a row.”

  “Two in a row and probably done by the same man.” He worked his lips a little, then added, “The connections bother me. One murder takes place in front of city hall; the other happens to the husband of a city hall employee.”

  That had occurred to me but I had pressed it to the back of my mind—too many things competing for my brain cells. “You’re saying that I should be careful.”

  “Yes, and that you should be observant. For all we know, it may be a city employee.”

  I started to object, but caught myself. Madness could strike anyone in any profession; just because they worked for my city didn’t make them saints. “I assume you’re doing some kind of background checks.”

  “I’ve asked the city manager to review employee files. We’re looking for someone who might have received specialized military training.”

  “But a nonmilitary person could have done this.”

  “That’s true, but we look where we can and take whatever clues we find. You know me, I like to be thorough.”

  I did know him. I had been on the receiving end of his thoroughness last year. “You’ll keep me posted?”

  “As much as I can.” He stood. I joined him.

  “I’m helping Fritzy with the arrangements. When will . . . I mean, will the . . .” So much for being the great communicator.

  “I’ve asked the coroner to light a fire under his medical examiners. Since this may be a serial killing, I want things pushed to the forefront. Mr. Fritz’s body should be available for burial by the end of the week. I don’t think you can pull together a funeral much sooner than that.”

  I walked him to the door and opened it. To my relief, Tess and Jon were gone. Floyd, however, was still standing behind his desk. He held the business end of the phone in his hand. I shot him a quizzical glance.

  “It’s a Betty somebody, and she wants to talk to you. She said it’s urgent.”

  “I need a few minutes to myself, Floyd. Take a message and . . . Who did you say it was?”

  “All I got was the first name.”


  “Betty.” I said the name out loud. It hit me—the perfume lady. Fritzy’s neighbor. I stepped to Floyd’s desk and reached for the phone. “This is Mayor Glenn.”

  “Oh, Mayor, I’m so glad I reached you. It’s Judith.” She stopped and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “What about Fritzy, Betty?”

  “I just went in the bathroom. I had to . . . you know—”

  “What has happened?”

  “She’s gone. I came out of the bathroom and she was gone. And she took her purse . . . and I looked for her car and it’s gone, too.”

  chapter 12

  Where would she go?” West asked. We were in his city-issued Ford sedan. It was four years old, and if it were Chief Webb sitting behind the wheel instead of West, I’d be hearing about unreasonable budget constraints. It was a small thing but worthy of note.

  “How should I know?” I snapped. I took a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days. I don’t know where she would go.”

  “Family nearby? Friends?”

  “She has no family. I’m sure she has friends, but I don’t know who they are any more than I know who your friends are.”

  “Okay,” he said, his eyes fixed ahead. “For now I’m headed to her house. Maybe she just took a drive around the block. How well do you know this Betty person?”

  “I don’t. She lives next door to Fritzy. Fritzy seemed comfortable with her. Why?”

  “Did she strike you as someone who might panic over nothing? I mean, if Mrs. Fritz is watering her tomatoes in the backyard, would Betty think to look?”

  “I don’t know her, but my first impression was that she is a sweet little old lady who isn’t fully aware of all that goes on around her.”

  “So this could be nothing.”

  “We still have to check it out.”

  “That’s what we’re doing.”

  The police radio in West’s car came to life. The first thing West did before leaving my office was to call dispatch and ask that a patrol car be sent to Fritzy’s house. The officer was already there, and the news wasn’t good. He had searched the property and drove around the neighborhood but there was no sign of Fritzy. West radioed his thanks.

 

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