Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder

by Marilyn Rausch

  Tanya Reynolds Freemont stood at one end of the room, in front of a large mahogany desk. She was more petite than Jo expected. Having seen her in various campaign ads for the state representative, Jo expected her to be youthful and commanding. In person, Mrs. Freemont looked frail and depleted. Of course, intense sorrow will diminish anyone. Jo felt a surge of compassion for her and wondered if anyone could fake this look of utter grief.

  Flanking the widow were two men, both dressed in expensive suits. Looks like she’s already lawyered up. That made it easier for Jo to begin her questions.

  Mrs. Freemont stepped forward to greet them, holding out a well-manicured hand. A diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet slid down her thin arm and glistened in the sunlight coming through the high windows. “I’m Mrs. Freemont.” She waved a hand toward the two men on either side of her and said, “These are my attorneys, Theo Stanford and George Wilcox. They’ve been most kind in assisting me since I received the news. Thank you for your attention to my husband’s murder …”

  The widow swallowed hard and tears began filling her eyes. Theo Stanford offered her a tissue and patted her on the shoulder.

  Jo squared her shoulders and said, “Mrs. Freemont, please let me begin by offering our sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you so much,” Tanya Freemont said as she delicately dabbed her eyes.

  Wilcox stepped forward and said, “Can’t all this wait? This is a very bad time for the family. There are a lot of details to take care of.”

  Ignoring the attorney, Jo looked pointedly at the widow and said, “Mrs. Freemont, please. Why don’t we have a seat on the sofa, where you’ll be more comfortable. We have several items to cover with you and I promise we’ll be as brief as possible.”

  Stanford puffed up his chest and said, “What kind of items?”

  Frisco jutted out his jaw and said, “Investigation items.”

  Mrs. Freemont put a restraining hand on Stanford’s arm and shook her head. She turned to Jo and said, “Of course. Agent Schwann, is it? Anything to help you discover what happened to my husband.” She briefly faced each of her attorneys and said, “It’s all right, I can handle this myself. I will speak with the two of you in the morning.”

  Both men blinked a few times. Wilcox finally sputtered, “Mrs. Freemont. I must insist we stay. Someone needs to protect your rights. As your attorneys, it’s imperative we be present during this interrogation.”

  Tanya Freemont smirked and said, “I highly doubt I am going to be put under a hot spotlight. I have nothing to hide.”

  Inside, Jo cheered. It was always easier to ask questions when a witness or potential suspect was alone.

  After a few more protests, Wilcox sighed and said, “As you wish. However, we will adjourn to the next room, in case you should change your mind.”

  “Thank you, George. You’ve been most kind in all of this.”

  After the attorneys departed, Mrs. Freemont motioned to the couch and said, “Please be seated.”

  Once they were settled, Jo began. “Do you know if your husband had any enemies? Recent threats, perhaps?”

  Tanya frowned. “I’d be hard-pressed to find any person holding a political office who hasn’t acquired some opposition along the way. Public office isn’t all about doing what’s popular. It’s about doing what’s right.”

  Frisco shifted a few times, looking uncomfortable in the stiff-backed chair across from the sofa and said, “Are you saying your husband had received threats?”

  “Yes, Detective. He did. Although, I’m sure he kept me in the dark about most of them so I wouldn’t worry. However, I’m not naïve.”

  “Who would have detailed knowledge of these threats?” Frisco asked.

  “His head of staff, Kim Clark. I can provide you with her phone number.”

  Jo was curious about Tanya Freemont’s composure. She knew bereavement appeared in different forms and this woman was probably trained at an early age to be unflappable. But Jo wanted to throw her off her game a bit, so she said, “Can you tell us about your personal lives?”

  “What would you like to know?” Tanya said flashing her brilliant blue eyes at Jo.

  “For starters, how long have you been married?”

  “It would have been thirty-eight years next month.” She clasped her hands in her lap and said, “Look, let’s just get through these uncomfortable questions, shall we? My husband and I have not always enjoyed the smoothest relationship. Early on in our marriage, Lee worked for my father. They rarely saw eye to eye, and Lee traveled away on business a fair amount while I stayed home raising the children.”

  She grimaced and then continued. “And yes, I know what you are thinking. There were times when Lee wasn’t the best husband.”

  Mrs. Freemont stopped and dabbed her eyes again, but it seemed to Jo that the woman was using her tissue as a prop to collect her thoughts. Jo looked over at Frisco, who watched the widow very closely, his face betraying nothing.

  Tanya continued, “We went to a marriage counselor. This was, let me see, I guess about twenty-five years ago, around the same time Lee entered politics. Ever since then, we’ve had a marriage that’s been the envy of our friends. Lee is …”

  Her chin quivered and she took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing, “was a good father and a good husband. I don’t know how we will go on without him. But that’s what he would have wanted.”

  Frisco scribbled down some notes and said, “Mrs. Freemont, could you please tell us where you were the last several days?”

  The widow directed her gaze to the detective and raised an eyebrow. “Am I under suspicion?”

  “Just covering all bases, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Up until my husband’s disappearance, I was traveling extensively throughout the state, campaigning on his behalf. I came home immediately when I received word that he was missing. You can corroborate my story with our pilot and the rest of my staff.”

  Jo stood up. “Mrs. Freemont, thank you for your time. I will follow-up with Mr. Freemont’s head of staff, as you suggested. We will let you know if we discover anything new. Again, you have our sincere condolences.” Frisco followed her lead.

  Tanya Freemont rose. “Let me know if there is anything else you need, Agent Schwann. Please find my husband’s killer. ”

  * * *

  As soon as they were back out on the driveway, Frisco said, “Wanna grab a pizza at Red’s Savoy? Wife’s out of town with the kids visiting her sister up north.”

  Jo pulled back the sleeve of her jacket and peeked at her watch. She thought about her promise to call John, but really was in no hurry to have that conversation. Besides, she realized she hadn’t eaten since grabbing a banana and yogurt on the way out the door that morning. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m starving.”

  Frisco drove through the downtown area, and pulled into the chain-link enclosed parking lot of Red’s. Once inside, it took a minute for Jo’s eyes to adjust to the dimly lit restaurant and the stale scent of old cigarette smoke which clung to the upholstery of the booths.

  Jo said, “Only been in town a few months and you’ve already found one of St. Paul’s institutions. I’m impressed.”

  Frisco loosened his tie and replied, “Doesn’t take long to discover the cops’ favorite hangouts.”

  A waitress who looked like she had been with Red’s since the day it opened in 1965 came to their table. She was tall and wiry, with frizzy hair teased within an inch of its life. Evidently not much on small talk, she dove right in. “What’ll ya have?”

  After they gave their order, they enjoyed a pitcher of beer while they waited for the food.

  “So, Frisco, how do you like the Cities so far?”

  “Not bad. Can’t say I like all the friggin’ traffic and the house prices compared to Duluth, but I gotta say, it’s working out okay so far. The guys on the force know their stuff. I mostly just keep my head down and do my thing. I am still getting used to the flow here. Never was one for that poli
tical BS at the station.”

  Frisco took a swig of beer and then fidgeted with the drink coaster. After a few moments, he continued, “Anyway, we’re all getting used to life in a big city. And my wife loves her new job.”

  Jo heard a melancholy note in his voice. “So, you relocated here for her work. What does she do?” Jo questioned.

  “Katie’s the head ER nurse at United Hospital. It was an offer she couldn’t turn down.”

  Jo watched Frisco, who continued to study his beer glass. She thought about the problems she and John were having because their careers were located in different parts of the country. “Must’ve been a tough decision, just the same,” she said.

  “Yeah, well. Whatcha gonna do? She got a big bump in salary and was fed up with her old boss. It was the right decision for her.”

  Jo tilted her head, staring into Frisco’s eyes. “But maybe not for you?” she quietly said.

  Frisco looked away. He drained his glass and reached for the pitcher. “Oh, I don’t know. Plenty of crimes in the big cities, as you know.” After refilling his glass, he set the pitcher down and said, “It is what it is.”

  She helped herself to a refill and changed the subject. “So, what did you think of the widow?”

  “Seems like the type of woman who never forgets her public face … you know? Always making sure she says and does the right thing at the right time. I’m sure it was the way she was raised in that big, fancy house.” he said with a shrug and continued. “But, my gut tells me she didn’t do it.”

  “I agree. Obviously, we’ll check out her alibi. Still, she doesn’t strike me as a vengeful wife. If he was cheating on her, she could have easily divorced him, and cut the purse strings. I’ll bet those attorneys made sure the family money was well protected with an iron-clad pre-nup. What are your other impressions about the case so far?”

  “Well, the state representative damn sure wasn’t murdered in the spot where we found him. Tomorrow, I’ll run through the backgrounds of all the people with access to the Capitol.”

  “Including the construction workers, right?”

  Frisco took a swig of beer and said, “Yup. Actually thought I’d start with them. After all, they come and go at odd times. And the guards wouldn’t think much about seeing them around. Anyone with a hardhat, work boots, and a rolled up set of blueprints could probably just stroll on in there …”

  “Certainly plausible. Any thoughts on the building security?”

  “I took the kids on a tour of the Capitol back when we first moved to town. Practically no security at the front doors, just a guard at the desk, along with the tour guides. No metal detectors or anything. I remembered thinking at the time how easy it would be for a terrorist to stroll in and start shooting.”

  Jo raised her eyebrow and said, “You mean they don’t have armed security guards patrolling the building?”

  “I’m told they beef up the Capitol safety measures when legislature is in session or any big shot is in town. And of course, they have security cameras all over the place, but if someone looked like they belonged, who would look at them twice?”

  “And we didn’t get lucky enough to have security footage of the conference room where the body was found?”

  “Nah. The conference room itself is not monitored, and the cameras outside the door were disconnected during the renovations.”

  Jo played with her glass, thinking about their next steps. “So, we’ll need to check into anyone with motive. The usual suspects, such as his wife, and any business associates who might have a grudge. But with Freemont’s politics, we will need to cast a wider net.”

  The detective nodded and said, “Yeah, you mean like political opponents and anyone else who had beef with his opinions. The guy was anti-global warming, anti-gay marriage, anti-tax hikes for the wealthy … yikes, we’re going to need a really big net to land this fish.”

  Just then, the waitress returned to their table. “Here ya go, nice and cheesy, just the way you ordered it.” She plunked the heavy tray down on the table between them, and the tantalizing scent of sausage and peppers made Jo’s mouth water. She slid a couple of squares onto Frisco’s plate, and then helped herself.

  Frisco spoke between bites, “Dripping with grease. Now, I ask you, is there any other way to enjoy pizza?”

  Jo bit down on a corner piece and felt the hot cheese singe the roof of her mouth. Just the way she liked it; her taste buds were in heaven. “Not to my knowledge,” she said taking another bite.

  They munched in silence for a while, pausing only to add another couple of slices to their plates before they resumed talking about the case.

  Jo took another drink of beer to wash down the pizza and then wiped her lips clean on a napkin. “You have to wonder why he was shot in the mouth, though. Think something he said pissed off the wrong person?”

  “Oh yeah. That was the message, all right. Of course, there are a lot of people who wish the politicians would all just shut up. Our boy just chose an extreme way to do it.”

  “So, you think it was a male perp?”

  Frisco reached over to top off her beer glass, and then poured some into his own. “Just going with the stats; most shotgun homicides are committed by men.”

  “True, but then again, did you take a look at the smudge mark on the victim’s shirt? If that was a footprint, it was awfully small for a guy.”

  Frisco shrugged. “Maybe the autopsy will give us some additional direction.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  They finished their pizza in companionable silence. Frisco pushed back from the table. “Man, I’m stuffed. Probably won’t sleep a wink tonight with such a heavy gut, but it was so worth it.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Jo said thinking how she probably wouldn’t sleep well and it had nothing to do with eating too much pizza.

  As if reading her mind, Frisco tilted his head and said, “So, have you heard from Dr. Goodman lately?”

  Jo could feel the heat rise up in her face. “No, I haven’t. Our, um, schedules haven’t exactly meshed lately.”

  Frisco’s voice was gentle. “Gotta be tough, with you running after the bad guys here and him taking care of patients back East. Good man though.”

  “Yes, yes he is.” Jo glanced down at her watch. “Frisco, do you mind if we head back to my car? I’ve got a call to make.”

  “Let me grab the check and I’ll have you back in no time.”

  Chapter Nine

  Turners Bend

  September

  When writing his last chapter, Chip had surfed the Internet looking for a St. Paul pizza place. One link led to another until he came upon a write-up about the Savoy. It seemed like the perfect place for Frisco and Jo to eat. Writing about pizza dripping with melted cheese made him hungry. He checked his freezer … no pizza, only a tray of shriveled up ice cubes and a gallon of crystalized chocolate ice cream. He looked in his cupboard and was trying to decide between Spaghettios and Spam, wondering what had ever possessed him to buy either of them. The phone rang. It was Sharon, the police dispatcher, speaking in a hushed voice.

  “Chip, you might want to come into town to see the media circus and your old FBI friend, Agent Masterson. The shit is going to hit the fan as far as I can tell.”

  * * *

  When Chip arrived at the police station, Chief Fredrickson was seated at his desk across from FBI Agent Angela Masterson, who was in the process of berating him. The chief’s uniform shirt, straining at the buttons, was wet under the arms. He ran his hand across his face and over the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. Still apparently shaken by the discovery of a body and frazzled by the national and state media, who had rolled into town with satellite dishes on top of their vans, Chip thought the chief looked like a damp dishrag. Agent Masterson, on the other hand, was as cool and icy as an outhouse in January.

  Chip hesitated to remain in the office, but since Masterson did not acknowledge his presence, he quietly took a seat near the d
oor.

  Few people intimidated Chip as much as Angela Masterson. She was a trim, black woman who, despite her petite size, exuded power. She packed a gun, and he was sure she had no qualms about using it.

  He had first encountered her earlier in the year when the FBI came to Turners Bend, along with half a dozen other federal agencies, to investigate a criminal case.

  “Chief, it’s beyond my imagination how a quiet little burg in the middle of Iowa can be such a hub for crime,” said Masterson. “Again, you have totally mismanaged this case. Now I am going to clean up your mess and leave you to your own devices. I would not be here at all if the Tracy Trent case had not been mentioned. Whatever led you to that conclusion?”

  She did not wait for a response nor did she seem to expect one. “I can tell you this, I’ve looked at the coroner’s preliminary report and your corpse is not Tracy Trent. Due to a previous injury not publicly known, we can easily tell when a victim is not the Trent woman.”

  Masterson stood and paced back and forth in front of the chief. “This is no longer a federal case and it’s back in your jurisdiction” she said. “Now you and I are going out to inform the press, and I am getting out of this place faster than a speeding bullet, and believe me, I know my ballistics.”

  The chief stood, put on his jacket and cap and followed the FBI agent to the steps of the City Hall, where a bank of microphones had been set up for the press conference. Chip followed and joined the group of reporters as Masterson approached the microphones to address the eager crowd.

  “I am FBI Special Agent Masterson. I can tell you, based on firm evidence from the coroner’s report, that the remains uncovered three days ago in the Bijou Theater here in Turners Bend, Iowa, are not that of Tracy Trent, the missing radio announcer from Iowa City. We will continue to investigate her disappearance, as we have for the past five years, but the local authorities are now handling this case. Police Chief Fredrickson will brief you further. Thank you.”