by J. A. Jance
“You say you were getting good returns,” Hank said, “so what kind of money are we talking about?”
“Twelve percent, maybe,” Bob answered.
“No, I meant how much did you put in?”
Bob sighed before he answered. While he’d been sitting there all that time, he’d been mentally adding it up. “One point two million dollars,” he said. “Give or take.”
Hank whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes,” Bob agreed ruefully. “Yes, it is.”
“Okay, so you saw this disturbing piece on the news,” Hank continued. “Then what happened?”
“I wanted to talk to Dan about it—to hear straight from the horse’s mouth about what was really going on. I figured he owed me that much, anyway. I tried calling all his numbers, including the office number down in Phoenix, but that one had already been disconnected, and he didn’t answer any of the others. That’s when I decided to go to his house instead, not the one down in Paradise Valley, but the one up here.”
“You just stopped by, even though there was no answer at his residence?”
“It’s easy to not answer a phone,” Bob said, “especially if it’s someone I don’t want to talk to. When someone shows up on your doorstep, that’s a lot harder to ignore.”
“What was the purpose of your visit?” Hank asked.
“Like I said, I wanted to find out what was really going on,” Bob answered. “I wanted to ask Dan Frazier face-to-face and eyeball to eyeball exactly what had happened to our money and find out where the hell it went, even though I already knew it was no use—that the money was probably long gone. I still wanted to hear what he had to say about it in his own words.”
“You drove there right after the news broadcast?”
Bob nodded.
“What time was that?”
“I was watching a station with local morning news—probably the local Fox affiliate. I think that newscast ends somewhere around nine. I left a little while before it was over, so it must have been around nine or so.”
“You drove straight there—to the Fraziers’ place?”
“Yes.”
“It takes what, twenty minutes or so to get from your residence to theirs?”
“About that, I suppose,” Bob agreed.
“You say you left your house about nine, but the call didn’t come in until 9:52, almost an hour later. Did you stop off somewhere along the way?”
“No stops,” Bob said. “I drove straight there.”
“What took you so long, then?” Hank asked. “Was there highway construction along the way or traffic congestion, maybe?”
“No, nothing like that. When I got there—to his street, I mean—I stopped a couple of houses away for a while to think about what I was going to say, trying to figure out if I was going to talk to the guy or just walk up and bust him in the chops.”
“So you were angry?”
“Damn straight—was angry and still am. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Angry enough to kill him?”
Bob looked at Hank and shook his head sadly. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
The detective ducked his head and cleared his throat before he asked the next question. “When you arrived at the house, did you see any other vehicles nearby?”
Bob thought about that for a moment before he answered. “I believe there was a landscape truck parked across the street at the next house up from Dan’s—a crew cab white Ford F-150. A nice enough truck, recent but not brand-new and not a Platinum model, either. I’m not sure how landscape guys can afford new trucks like that, but they do.”
“You’re sure it was a landscape truck?”
“Of course. It was loaded with all kinds of gear—a mower, trash cans, rakes, shovels, the whole nine yards.”
“Did you see anyone outside working?”
“Nope,” Bob answered. “They could have been out back.”
“Did you see anyone in the yard at the Fraziers’ house?”
“No. The only thing that struck me as odd was the fact that when I finally drove up to the house, the gate at the bottom of the driveway was wide open. Maybe a landscaping crew or delivery guy left it open, but Dan would have raised hell about that. Once Dan scored that Mustang of his, he kept the driveway locked up tight. He and Millie both had remotes, of course, but visitors had to be buzzed in or use the code on the keypad. As I drove through it, I remember wondering why it was open.”
“So you’re familiar with that gate? You’ve seen it before and know how it operates?”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the gate,” Bob said. “I was Dan’s client, but we were also friends. I’ve been to his house on numerous occasions.”
“Recently?”
“The last time I was there was a couple of months ago, just after he brought the Mustang back from Scottsdale.”
“Did you go inside the house that day?”
“Nope, we stayed in the garage so he could show me his baby.”
“But you’ve been in the Frazier house before.”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Back to this morning, then. What happened next?”
“Like I said, I sat there for a while trying to figure out what I was going to say to the low-down cheat. Then, just as I parked at the top of the driveway, one of the garage doors rolled open. Both cars were there—Dan’s Mustang and Millie’s Volvo—and I expected one or the other of them to shift into reverse, back out of the garage, and maybe slam into me, but nothing happened.
“At first, I didn’t see anyone in either of the cars. Finally, I got out of my Bronco. I heard someone call for help, so I walked into the garage. That’s when I realized that the Mustang was running—idling—but I still couldn’t see anyone sitting inside, at least not at first. It wasn’t until I was right next to the open driver’s window that I spotted Dan. He was seated behind the steering wheel, but he had slumped over at an angle onto the passenger seat so his head wasn’t visible from the rear of the car. His face was pretty beat up. Then I saw the blood on his shirt. At first I thought he’d been shot, but he told me it was a knife—that he’d been stabbed. And he said there’d been more than one assailant. Two at least. He said they’d used knives. Plural.”
For a moment Bob stopped speaking, thinking about the bloom of blood spreading across Dan’s shirt and pants and leaking out between the dying man’s fingers as he tried to hold back the tide. Sitting in the interview room Bob could almost see the blood again and smell it, too.
“Go on,” Detective Sotomeyer urged, drawing Bob out of his momentary reverie.
“Okay,” Bob said. “Let’s see. The convertible top was open and the driver’s window was down. At that point, although Dan was badly injured, at least he was still alive. I called 911 right away, then I reached inside the Mustang, thinking that if I helped him apply pressure to the wound, Dan might last long enough for the ambulance to arrive. That’s when he asked me to go check on Millie.”
“He was conscious when you got there? He spoke to you?”
Bob nodded.
“Did he tell you anything about who had done it—who was responsible?”
Bob shook his head. “Just that there were more than one of them. He begged me to go check on Millie, so that’s what I did.”
“While the perpetrators were still inside the house?” Hank asked.
“I never gave that a moment’s thought,” Bob answered. “I left Dan right where he was. I went in through the garage door that leads through the laundry room into the kitchen, and that’s where I found Millie—on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, lying facedown in a pool of blood.”
Once again, Bob paused to collect himself before continuing.
“Just looking at the blood, I figured Millie was already a goner. I was about to leave her where she was and go back to the garage to help Dan, when she moved a little—this tiny shudder you could barely see. I was amazed. With all that blood it didn’t seem possible tha
t she was still alive. I hurried over to see if I could do anything to help. In the process I slipped in the blood and fell. I landed right on top of the poor woman.” He paused again and put his hand over his eyes as if to shut out the memory.
“You’re saying that’s how Mille’s blood got on your clothing—when you fell on her?”
“Then, and later, too, when I was trying to get up. I slipped and fell again. The blood was so damned slick it was like skating on ice.”
“But she was still alive when you fell on her?”
Bob nodded. “Barely,” he said.
“Did she say anything to you about who her assailant was?”
“I asked, but she didn’t tell me. All she said was that Dan was a good man and that I should tell him she loved him. Those were her last words. ‘Tell him I love him.’ A moment later she was gone.”
“What happened then?”
“Since I couldn’t do anything more for her, I went to help Dan, but there was blood all over the tile in the kitchen. That’s when I fell the second time. I ended up having to grab hold of the counter just to pull myself up. By the time I got back to the garage, Dan was dead, too. Somehow or other through all that, I had stayed connected to the 911 operator. I told her then that I was sure they were both dead. That’s about the time the first patrol car arrived on the scene.”
“Dan didn’t give you any hints about who was responsible, either?”
“I already told you, all he said was for me to check on Millie.”
“Is there a chance that this is a case of murder/suicide?”
Bob thought about that for a moment before he answered. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. Dan said he was trying to get help—that’s why he was in the car. The problem is the Mustang’s a stick shift. He somehow got the thing started, but I think he was hurt too badly to be able to operate the pedals and the gearshift.”
“But why go for help?” Hank asked. “Why not pick up the phone and dial 911? As badly injured as he was, wouldn’t that have been a lot easier than attempting to operate a standard transmission?”
“I have no idea why he didn’t call,” Bob said. “Maybe he was so badly hurt that he couldn’t think straight.”
“What happened next?”
“Like I said, I was still on the line with the 911 operator when the first patrol car showed up. Two cops got out. I was covered in blood, so naturally they assumed I was responsible. I can hardly blame them for that. They took everything—my phone, my wallet, and my knife. Then they handcuffed me and locked me in the back of their patrol car. That’s where I was when the fire truck and aid cars arrived. I sat there burning up for damned near forever before they finally brought me here. They took photos and swabbed my hands, then they had me strip off my bloody clothes. That’s how come I’m dressed like this,” he added, gesturing toward the jumpsuit. “They said they needed my clothes as evidence, so I had to change. Then they brought me to the interview room and left me here.”
For what felt like hours on end, Bob thought, but he didn’t say that aloud.
“You had a weapon with you when you came to the house?”
“A weapon?” Bob asked. “I had my pocket knife with me—my Swiss army knife is all, and it’s more of a tool than a knife. You can check it until hell freezes over. There’s nobody’s blood on it, except maybe a little of mine on occasion.”
“You already told me you hold Dan responsible for losing a big chunk of your retirement money,” Hank ventured. “Do you know of anyone else who might have a grudge against him or Millie and want to hurt them?”
“Edie and I sure as hell aren’t the only ones who lost money on this deal,” Bob said, “not by a long shot. I’m guessing there are a whole bunch of people from around here who are in the same boat. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else is just as pissed as I am.”
“I doubt many people lost more than a million bucks, though,” Hank interjected. “That many dollars sound like a lot of reasons to be pissed off. I’ve seen cases where murders happened over far less money than that. The problem is, of all Dan’s customers, you’re the only one who showed up at the crime scene with blood all over your clothing.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Bob demanded. “I did not kill Dan Frazier. I didn’t kill Millie, either. I tried to help them. I went to their place with one purpose and one purpose only—to ask Dan face-to-face what the hell was going on and what had they done with my money. The only reason I went inside the house was to help Millie, and that was because Dan specifically asked me to check on her. Check on the 911 tape. You might even hear her voice.”
“Okay, then,” Hank said, closing his notebook and ending the interview. “I guess that’s all for right now.”
“Does that mean I can go home?”
Hank shook his head. “Soon,” he said, “but I believe someone else wants to talk to you first.”
“If I could just call my wife . . .”
“Sorry, Mr. Larson,” Hank said. “That’s just not possible at the moment.”
Hank stood up, collected his note pad, and left the interview room. The lock clicked home as he shut the door, leaving Bob Larson trapped inside. Once again he was alone in the room—alone, frustrated, and needing to pee. Again. Damn that Flomax anyway!
13
While Julia prepared the coffee, Haley pulled out her phone and scrolled through her recent calls. She wanted to be the one who told her employees what was going on. Even though Haley didn’t have all the details about what had happened across the street, she wanted to be the one to deliver the bad news to her girls, even though, in a politically correct world, she wasn’t supposed to call them “girls.”
Since Carmen Rios’s number was the last one on the list, she was the first one Haley called. “I’m transcribing messages as fast as I can,” Carmen told her. “Over a hundred so far, and the mailbox fills up again within a matter of minutes. But is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That Mr. and Mrs. Frazier are dead?”
Haley sighed. That meant she was already too late in delivering the news. This was a small town after all. Rumors were obviously flying thick and fast.
“What are you hearing?” she asked.
“That they’re dead,” Carmen answered. “I also heard that someone has been taken into custody. What’s going to happen now, Ms. Jackson? Will we still be in business when all this is over?”
“I hope so,” Haley said. “With OFM out of business the investment side is gone, but we’ll still have the insurance lines.”
“But what if the clients go away?” Carmen objected. “I can tell from the messages that people are upset. You should hear what they’re saying on the phone. Some of the messages are really ugly. They’re saying Dan was a crook, and we’re all crooks, too.”
“Try not to take the messages personally,” Haley advised. “When things settle down, we’ll do what we can to mend fences.”
As Haley finished the call with Carmen, Julia returned with a mug of coffee. “Will you be taking over the business?” she asked.
Haley nodded. “I hope so,” she said. “That was the intention, at least, but with everything that’s happened . . .”
“I’ll leave you alone,” Julia said. “You sit right here, make yourself at home, and do whatever calling you need to do.”
Taking Julia at her word, Haley spent the next forty-five minutes making one difficult phone call after another, letting her other employees in on what had happened. Walking each of the stunned women through their shock and disbelief was no easy task. Only when she was finished with the last of the girls did Haley dial her grandmother’s number, but it turned out Gram was already totally up to speed.
“I heard,” Carol Hotchkiss said. “I called down to the pharmacy to check on a prescription, and Sylvia told me about it. I didn’t want to bother you because I was sure you were busy, but how are you holding up? Are you okay?”
The question made Hale
y falter slightly. “I think so,” she said. “I’m coping. It’s a lot to take in. I’ve just been calling the girls from the office to give them the news.”
“That’s got to be tough,” Gram said, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice. “Come home when you can. I’ve thawed out that mac and cheese casserole you made last week. Once you’re here, we’ll have a nice supper, just the two of us.”
Another piece of normalcy. “Thank you, Gram,” Haley said. “That sounds perfect.”
Finished with her calls, Haley stood up and looked across the street as a final patrol car eased out of Dan and Millie’s driveway. Putting the vehicle in park, the officer exited his vehicle and manually pulled the gate shut. Then, after stringing a strip of crime scene tape from one side of the gate to the other, he returned to the patrol car and drove away.
The utter finality symbolized by that tape hit Haley hard. Managing to stave off a new set of tears, she went looking for Julia, who was in the kitchen starting to make dinner. “The last of the cops just left,” Haley said, “and I should probably be going, too. If you’re too busy to take me, I can probably get someone to come pick me up.”
“You’re sure you don’t want dinner?”
“No, thanks. It’s sweet of you to offer, but I live with my grandmother. I need to get home to make dinner for her.”
“All right, then,” Julia said. “And of course I’ll take you. After all, I brought you here. I wouldn’t think of your having to ask someone else for a ride back.”
The drive from downtown Sedona to the office in the Village of Oak Creek was mostly done in silence. Haley was too strung out to make idle chitchat, and Julia seemed to understand and respect that.
As they neared the office, Haley feared the parking lot would still be as jammed with cars and people as it had been when she’d arrived there hours earlier. Instead, the lot was virtually deserted. Her own car, a humble years-old Honda, looking lost and forlorn, was parked three rows back from the front entrance in an otherwise empty row. The SEC truck was gone. The door that had been propped open for loading earlier that morning was now shut and locked. What took Haley’s breath away was the mass of flowers that completely covered the sidewalk and banked up against the front door.