The detective pulled out his note pad and flipped to a page. “About midnight last night, Grant Humphreys, a kid who lives two doors down, smelled smoke. When he came out into the hallway to investigate, he saw the door was wide open and there was a fire blazing on the floor of the living room. Humphreys said it looked like a stack of notebooks and a pile of printer paper. He grabbed a blanket off the couch and started slapping the fire, screaming for help.”
“Didn’t Humphreys think it was odd no one in the apartment helped him out?”
Frisco chuckled. “I don’t think he gave anything much thought except putting out the fire. Turns out, Humphreys has some priors for possession of marijuana. He was scared shitless the whole place would go up in flames, spread down to his apartment and he’d lose his latest crop growing in his bathroom under heat lamps. It was only after the flames were out that Humphreys went to investigate the bedrooms and found our vics.”
“Well, thank God he called 911. He could have been more concerned about getting caught with another batch of weed than saving their lives.”
“Yeah, good thing for Rick Wilson. Talk about one lucky bastard. I saw Dr. Goodman after the operation. John said the kid might actually pull through.” Frisco frowned. “The other two vics ran out of luck, however. The roommate…” Frisco paused to consult his notes again, “Uh, Kyle Marshall, and the young woman, Anna Wroblewski, were found naked in the other bedroom. Evidently they were in the heat of the moment and didn’t hear the killer come in. Both vics were shot in the head. The EMTs said both were DOA.”
“I’m assuming you’ve ruled out a double murder-suicide scenario, with our surviving vic being the jealous type.”
“He was shot in the back of the head. Ain’t no way that was a suicide shot.”
“Tom said you were leaning towards the fracking documentary as possible motive. Why not just a simple burglary gone bad? This place is a wreck.”
“Ah, but it seems a little extreme to set a fire to cover up a burglary. Also, the medical examiner found very little gunshot residue around the wounds, even though the shots were clearly up-close and personal. So I’m thinking the killer used a silencer…”
Jo finished his thought, “…because most of the gunshot residue would be caught up in the silencer.”
Frisco nodded. “Not only that, but no one heard the shots. There were several neighbors home last night and no one heard a damned thing. So, what kind of burglar uses a silencer? Looks to me like the shooter planned the murders and then hunted around to find something and/or to destroy it.”
Jo rubbed her jaw for a moment, deep in thought. “If the killer simply wanted to steal whatever he was looking for, why wouldn’t he wait until no one was home? Not a lot of security in this building that I could see when I walked in. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out a college kid’s class schedule and pick an opportune time to sneak in.”
“Assuming it was the documentary information he or she was after, then just destroying it wouldn’t be enough.” Frisco tapped his forehead. “The information would also be up here, in Wilson’s head.”
She thought about Frisco’s theory. It sounded plausible, but she wasn’t totally convinced. “Tell me why you think it has to do with Wilson’s documentary and not something his roommate was into.”
“We’re checking into all possibilities, obviously. My new co-worker, Riley Simmons, is following up with the roommate’s family and acquaintances and we’ll compare notes.” Frisco waved his hand around the bedroom. “But, here’s the deal. This is Wilson’s bedroom. Take a look around. This place is trashed. Big time. It was his laptop that was smashed. I found a scrap of the burned notebooks out in the living room. Wilson’s name was on the scrap.”
He showed Jo the piece of the notebook he had placed in a clear evidence bag. As she examined it, he continued, “If you go into the other bedroom, you’ll see not much is disturbed.” The detective smirked. “Well, except for the mess you’d find in any college guy’s bedroom.”
“I guess we weren’t lucky enough to find finger prints, witnesses seeing the killer walk in…anything like that?”
“The crime scene techies were in here earlier, combing the place for clues, so maybe they’ll have something for us later. They found tons of prints, but I’m not holding my breath. If the killer was smart enough to use a silencer, then he or she was smart enough to wear gloves. The cops have canvassed the neighbors. So far, no one saw the killer enter or leave the building.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“Let’s you and I focus on the documentary angle and let Riley work her side of the case. We need to find someone who knew more about that damned documentary. I called up Wilson’s mother and tracked down the name of the professor who advised him on the project. Maybe he can help us, or another student. I’m thinking it might be a good idea to get our hands on a copy.”
Jo’s mind was already cataloging all the avenues to search. “We have a lot of work to do.”
Frisco smirked. “Yeah, sounds like job security to me.”
***
The sky was a brilliant blue by the time Jo and Frisco stepped outside. Jo was grateful her earlier queasiness had faded and she inhaled deeply, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh, crisp air. The fall colors were past peak, but a few stubborn leaves clung to the branches, flickering in the light breeze. The leaves on the ground crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward their vehicles.
Frisco turned and waved a hand at the apartment building. “You know, even after being a cop for all these years, I still find it hard to believe there were multiple homicides in there when it’s so beautiful out here.”
Jo nodded and lifted her face toward the sun, knowing in another month or so, she’d be raising her face to snowflakes. “Hard to believe there is any kind of violence in the world on a day like today.”
The detective sighed. “Well, guess we’d best get back to it.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Got the name and address of Wilson’s professor at the university right here. Let’s start there.”
He indicated his vehicle. “Why don’t I drive and you navigate. I’m still finding my way around.”
Once they were in the car, he fished out a slip of paper with the information from his pocket and handed it to Jo. She glanced at the address and commented, “Looks like a Crocus Hill address. Pricey real estate.”
They arrived at Professor Michael Mazlo’s house several minutes later. Frisco pulled in front along the curb and put the car in park. Jo looked toward the mammoth red brick house, with an impeccably manicured front lawn.
Frisco voiced her thoughts when he remarked, “Looks like the professor does okay for himself.”
Jo waited for Frisco to join her on the front stoop and then rang the doorbell. An elegantly dressed woman answered almost immediately, as if she had been waiting all day for them to arrive at her door.
Her voice was low and slightly husky as she raised an eyebrow. “May I help you?”
Jo held up her badge. “My name is Special Agent Schwann with the FBI and this is Detective Frisco, with the St. Paul PD. We’re here to speak to Professor Michael Mazlo.”
The woman arched her eyebrow. “My name is Candace Mazlo. May I ask why you’d like to see my husband?”
Frisco said, “We’re here to ask about one of his students. Is he around?”
The woman looked them both up and down for a moment. As if deciding something, she finally stepped aside to let them into the spacious foyer. “Of course. Let me get him for you.”
They waited while the professor’s wife disappeared into a room off to the right. A few moments later, a slight, be-speckled man she presumed to be Michael Mazlo entered the foyer without his wife. He appeared to be in his early fifties and his salt-and-pepper hair touched the collar of the green tartan plaid shirt he was wearing.
He squinted at them through artsy eyeglasses. “May I help you?”
Frisco said, “Are you Michael Mazlo … Professo
r Mazlo?”
“Yes, well, I’m an adjunct professor, but yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”
Jo raised an eyebrow. A house in this neighborhood meant that either Mazlo had quite a lucrative job outside his meager adjunct professor salary, or he came from money. She tucked away the thought for the moment. After the introductions were made once again, Jo said, “We’re here to speak to you about one of your students. Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”
Mazlo’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Of course, of course. Please, follow me.” He led them across the black-and-white marble tiled floor of the foyer into a wood-paneled library. After they had settled into stiff red leather chairs in front of a massive desk, Mazlo began, “So, I’m curious. What kind of trouble could a student of mine be in to warrant the attention of the FBI?”
Frisco cleared his throat. He sidestepped the question and asked one of his own. “We understand you are currently advising Rick Wilson on a special project.”
A frown line formed between the adjunct professor’s eyes. “Um, yes.”
The detective said, “And what sort of classes do you teach at the U?”
“Business. Look, what does that have to do with…”
Jo asked the next question before he could finish. “Is it common for business students to create documentaries?”
She noticed a red flush creep up the neck of the professor. “Yes…I mean, no. He recently switched his major from business to environmental sciences. Rick was a student in one of my international marketing classes a few semesters ago. We hit it off, so when he asked me to be the advisor on a project, I agreed.”
Frisco said, “That special project wouldn’t happen to be a documentary on fracking, would it?”
Michael Mazlo’s eyes widened slightly. “Now how would you know that? Seriously, I’d like to know what this is all about before I say anything else. Is Rick in some kind of trouble, because….”
Jo interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Professor, I’m afraid we have some bad news. Rick Wilson was shot yesterday.”
Mazlo turned pale. “Wha…What do you mean, shot? Is he dead? Oh, no…..”
Jo said, “As of now, he’s in critical condition. The doctors are doing everything they can for him, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”
The adjunct professor’s color was returning to his face and he swiped a hand across his eyes. “What can I do to help?”
Jo turned to Frisco. He said, “We’re hoping you can give us some information about his project.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But wait, you don’t think the documentary has anything to do with his shooting, do you? Couldn’t it have been just a random thing?”
“We haven’t ruled anything out yet. I’m not at liberty to go into a lot of detail about the crime scene, but it appeared as if someone intentionally tried to destroy some paperwork and computer files.”
Michael Mazlo clapped his hand to his mouth. “Jesus Christ! You mean you think someone tried to kill him for his work on the documentary? Well, then it would have to be the Frackers. Those bastards! Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they were involved.”
Frisco glanced at Jo. His look said, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He turned to Mazlo. “What makes you say that?”
The professor leapt up from his desk chair and began to pace, his arms flailing about. “They threatened to sue Rick, me, the U…anyone they could think of. Got a couple of injunctions to bring filming to a standstill. Of course, they couldn’t stop people from talking. But they just kept coming after us.” He tugged on his earlobe. “Shit.”
Frisco raised his eyebrow. “Professor, we’ll need a list of the individuals and/or companies involved.”
“I can do you one better.” He walked back to his desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Here, you’re welcome to it all. It’s a copy of the legal filings. Rick was scared out of his wits when he saw his name at the top of the filing. I can’t say as I blame him, but my lawyer has been helping us out with the legalities.”
Jo read the name of the company at the top of the document. It read, “Wellborne Industries”. After flipping through a few sheets, she came across the management team, with the CEO’s name in bold lettering, “Jonathon Wellborne”.
Jo flipped through more of the document before setting it back on the desktop. “Seems like a big fuss for a little documentary project.”
Mazlo smirked. “Yeah, well, they’ve had many people questioning their tactics. From what I heard, they’ve sent these filings out - like scattershot - to anyone who got a little too nosey.” The smile abruptly disappeared from his face, as if he suddenly remembered why Jo and Frisco were here to see him.
He lowered his head. “I swear, I never thought they’d physically harm anyone.”
Jo patted his shoulder. “We still don’t know who did this and why.” She changed the subject when he gave a brief nod. “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of his documentary, do you? It might shed some light on whatever he’d discovered so far. It appears anything he might have had at the apartment was either destroyed or it disappeared.”
“No. Rick was pretty cagey about his research. He didn’t want me to see it until he was ready with the final product.”
Frisco said, “Was he working with anyone else on this project? Another student, maybe?”
The professor frowned. “I’m not quite sure. Rick didn’t mention anyone else to me.” He shrugged “Could be wrong, though.”
Jo and Frisco rose to leave. Jo grabbed the stack of injunction documents the professor had left on the desk for her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flyer, with the picture of a fresh-faced, attractive young woman on it.
Curious, she tilted her head and began to read the flyer. It was an announcement for a vigil for a student who had recently disappeared from the University of Minnesota’s Minneapolis campus. Jo remembered reading about the case in the local papers.
Mazlo pointed to the flyer. “Shame about Claire. Wandered away from a party one night and never returned to her dorm room.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what those parents are going through. She was a smart, beautiful young woman.”
Frisco said, “So you knew her?”
“Yes, she was in my intro to marketing class last fall.” He pointed to the flyer. “I plan on going to the vigil tonight; it’s the least I can do. I sure hope they find her.”
Jo felt a stab of pity for the man. He obviously cared about his pupils. Jo said, “So sorry to bring you more bad news about another one of your students.”
“Thank you, Agent Schwann. I appreciate that.”
Jo turned to Frisco. “Do you have any more questions for the professor?”
The detective said, “Nope, guess that’s it for now.” Jo packed up the copy of the injunction and Michael Mazlo escorted them to the front door.
Glancing around the spacious foyer, Jo remembered a final question on her mind. “You have a beautiful home, Professor Mazlo. What do you do for a living?”
Mazlo’s smile was self-deprecating. ”Is that your polite way of asking how an adjunct professor can afford a house like this?”
Jo smiled. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I’m in the import/export business, mostly native art.”
He paused, and tilted his head, studying Jo for a moment. “You’re wondering why a successful business person would bother teaching classes. Well, at the risk of sounding pompous, I’ve been very fortunate in my career. However, I had help along the way. Teaching business classes to young people is my way of giving back. It brings me immense satisfaction and I like to think it keeps me young in the process.”
Satisfied, Jo handed Mazlo one of her business cards. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
The adjunct professor stared down at the card for a moment. “Will they let me see Rick? At the hospital, I mean.”
Jo said, “That’s not up to us, but I’m sure you could talk
to Mr. Wilson’s mother about it.”
His eyes were closed when he said, “It was just supposed to be a college credit project, for God’s sake.”
Frisco said, “Yeah, well, it looks like someone took it a little more seriously.”
Chapter Nine
Turners Bend
Late September
CHIP READ OVER THE CHAPTER of Head Shot he had written the previous day. He was pleased. He opened a new file for the next chapter, placed his fingers on the keyboard and…nothing. He stared at the blank screen. Writer’s block, the frustrating but common ailment suffered by most writers at some time. He got up and fixed himself a piece of toast with crunchy peanut butter and blueberry jam, fresh from his friend Mabel’s kitchen. Still nothing.
The house was empty and so quiet he could hear the clicking of the wall clock and the humming of the refrigerator. Not a damn word was coming to him. Callie, his calico, jumped onto his lap and proceeded to curl up on the keyboard. It was Chip’s cue to quit for the day.
It was a one of those lovely, late September mornings with bright sunshine, a China blue sky and a light breeze. Just like the day he had written about in his last chapter. The leaves on the maples were just starting to turn orange. The apple tree was laden with ripe fruit, so heavy the branches almost reached the ground. Chip grabbed a grocery bag and went to the side yard to Jane’s Wealthy apple tree. He plucked an apple, rubbed it on his shirt and took a bite; a little juice ran down his chin. He filled the bag half full with bright red apples and folded down the top.
The apples were perfect for desserts and would make a nice gift for Bernice, the waitress at the Cinnamon Bun Café, who was on a kick of experimenting with new bakery delights. He grabbed the keys to his Ford from the house and headed for the driveway. Runt, his golden retriever mix, beat him to the car, sat by the door wagging his tail and barking. Chip sent him back to the yard, the dog’s tail drooping. His animals had ruined his previous vehicle and he was determined to keep this new one pristine. That was until he watched Runt’s dejection, called him back and opened the back door. Runt raced across the yard and took a flying leap into the back seat. Nothing like a happy dog, Chip said to himself.
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder Page 5