First Murder

by Fred Limberg

  Sometimes Ray felt like they were piling on, and this one was just getting started.

  “Was your wife having an affair, Mr. Fredrickson?” Scott pursed his lips, gazed off to a bare spot on the wall for a long minute.

  “No.” It came out as a simple statement of fact.

  “Are you?” Scott’s head swiveled toward Ray. Even reddened his eyes were brilliant blue.

  “No.” There was no evasion to the question there.

  Carol took a turn. “Were you and your wife having any financial difficulties?”

  Fredrickson turned to her. “No. We’re not rich, detective, but there are not any financial issues. Dee has…had access to all of the accounts. All of the accounts are in both names. No.”

  “Could someone have been blackmailing her and you wouldn’t have necessarily known?”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Extortion of some kind. Blackmail.”

  “For what?” Scott looked completely lost.

  “An affair? Compromising photos? Drug use? Maybe you’ve done something? You’re in investments, right? You bent some rules and she was covering for you?” Both detectives noticed that this was making Fredrickson uncomfortable. There was a change in his posture. He sat a little straighter. His eyes narrowed. Was it anger? Guilt?

  “My wife and I shared an extremely satisfying sex life. We are…were more in love now than when we married. There was no affair. I’d have known. As for my business, if you’ll sign a confidentiality agreement I’ll open my books for you.”

  “We don’t need to sign anything, Mr. Fredrickson. This is a murder investigation. We can get subpoenas, warrants, anything we need if we feel the investigation takes us there.” Carol was pissed and it showed. Ray caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head, waving her off.

  Scott continued, unfazed. “It will be easier, faster, and more complete. That’s the only reason I mention it. I have a responsibility to my clients. It’s privileged information, Detective. I have nothing to hide, but I have responsibilities.”

  “We appreciate that, Mr. Fredrickson.” Ray said

  “As for our personal records, credit cards and debit card statements, I’ll hand those over anytime. There’s nothing there that will point to any blackmail payments. Let’s move on, shall we?” Ray blinked. Here was who would usually be the prime suspect in effect taunting him to take his next punch.

  “Tell me about your daughter.”

  “Helene. Thoreson’s her last name now. Husband Brad. Baby girl, Anna. They live in Madison. Deanna’s mother lives there too. We see them as often as we can, which isn’t often enough. They’re en route now. They were camping over the weekend. Deanna’s mother finally got hold of them. She went out to the park to get them, as a matter of fact.”

  “Any friction there?” Ray meant between the daughter and the grandparent.

  Scott sighed. “No. We haven’t been able to talk Dee’s mother into moving to the Cities so far, and Helene and Brad live there as much to keep an eye on her as any other reason. If there’s any friction, Detective, it’s because they couldn’t be closer.”

  “How about the son? I’m sorry, your son.”

  “They were best friends.” Fredrickson shrugged. “It’s the only way to describe it. They had some difficulties when Scotty was in high school. Pretty normal stuff. He tested limits. She pointed out where they were. You see, what you don’t know about Deanna is that she has…had this incredible capacity to love people and help them. It was tough on her sometimes, like when one of her friends was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was Dee’s force of will that kept the woman going through the ordeal.”

  “You keep mentioning her friends.”

  “The ‘Go Girls’. It’s what they call the group.” Fredrickson got up and retrieved a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “I knew you’d want to know about them so I wrote down all the names and addresses for you. Phone numbers too.”

  “The ‘Go Girls’?” Ray scanned the handwritten list.

  “Karen Hewes was Deanna’s best friend, has been since college. Her husband and I are friends, too. Gary and I go hunting a couple of times a year, right? So the girls decided they’d take some trips. Let’s see, the last few years they’ve gone to Vegas, Laughlin, LA, and one time to Mexico, Ixtapa. They went to Florida one time too. Rented a car and drove to Key West from Miami.”

  “Gambling?”

  “Nothing high stakes, although Lakisha, I’m sure you’ll talk to her soon—Lakisha entered one of those tournaments once. Texas Hold ’Em, right? And she won the damn thing.”

  “She ever mention any trouble from the trips? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I think that was the point—for them to do something out of the ordinary. To try new foods. Drink a bit.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Not Deanna. A couple of them I wouldn’t put it past.”

  “Which ones?” Carol was so quick with the question it set Fredrickson back.

  “I’m not talking opium dens here. I’m just thinking they might smoke a little pot or something.”

  “Or something?”

  “Maybe some coke. I really can’t say. Karen likes to have a good time and Gary’s, well, he’s um…protective. That’s what I’m trying to say. And Roxie, that’s Roxie Kennebrew, she’ll let herself get over-served now and again.”

  “We’ll be talking to them.”

  “I also wrote down who I could remember from the hospital and the gym, she did the gym thing a couple of times a week, and the food bank. I tried to remember as many as I could. Her address book is at the house, on the table by the phone. It might have more people in there.” Ray knew that the address book was in a storage box in the evidence locker by now, not at the house, but he didn’t mention it.

  “What else can I tell you, detectives?”

  “Any neighborhood issues? You get along with all your neighbors?”

  “I travel a lot. You know that, right? I know Mae next door pretty well, and her husband Bud before he died. That must have been about three years ago. Other than that I’m afraid I didn’t really know any of them other than to wave.”

  “Cleaning service? Did your wife have any people she used regularly, assistants, whatever?” Ray looked over toward Carol. He was pleased she had brought that up. He’d considered domestic servants, too. Fredrickson’s answer ended that line of thought.

  “Not in Deanna’s house. She picked it out, decorated it, cleaned it, cherished it. We have a pool guy in the summer, and a neighbor’s kid does the lawn, but that’s it.”

  Carol and Fredrickson went back and forth for a few more minutes. Ray turned into himself a bit and tuned them out.

  Something in the back of his brain told him to focus in on the girlfriends. He wanted to know more about the ‘Go Girls’, and right now. The green blinking alarm light. A coffee cup in the sink. Gals out on the town. Ray studied the list in his hand and looked over toward Carol and Scott.

  “May I call my son now?” Fredrickson appeared even more drained than when the detectives had arrived. His shoulders sagged more. His hands lay slack in his lap. Ray turned fully toward Carol, catching her eye as she looked up from her note pad. She gave a small shrug. She had nothing more.

  “Of course,” Ray replied. “We’ll just step out again for a minute.”

  Once outside Carol had a cigarette fired in record time and looked out over the parking lot, arms crossed, her foot tapped a steady rapid beat on the cold concrete floor.

  “I want to meet these women.”

  Ray had the list in hand, again studying it. “So do I Carol. I might take de Luca with me on some of them.”

  “Ray, I’ve got more experience. You know that,” she protested.

  “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I’m thinking you and Pao, with your vast experience, can cover her work, the gym, and the charities better than Tony.”

  “Sometimes women open up more to women.”

  “I know th
at. Sometimes they feel threatened, too. True?”

  She knew he was right. “Your call, Ray.”

  He checked his watch. “Let’s wrap up here for now. I want to see what Tony learned from the son. You track down Pao and start on the hospital and so on. I think the autopsy is scheduled soon too. We’ll stay in touch.” She dropped the cigarette, ground the butt with her heel, nodded, and took the list from Ray to copy the contact information once they were back inside.

  “He’s on his way. He was talking to one of your detectives.” Fredrickson was standing, his hands in his pockets. He looked lost.

  “You met him this morning. De Luca.”

  “I guess.”

  “We’re done for now. We’ll want to stay in touch, Mr. Fredrickson.”

  “The house?”

  “I’ll let you know. It’s a crime scene. We need to control access right now.” Ray left unsaid that they might want to search further into some nooks and crannies uninterrupted.

  “I need…I guess I need to make some arrangements. Her body…”

  “Don’t worry about that right now, sir,” Carol replied too quickly. “It won’t be released until after the autopsy, and we may need to keep it available even after that, in case something comes up and they need to go back in.” A moan escaped Scott Fredrickson’s mouth, oozed from his soul, low and sad and pained. He melted down, back onto the rumpled bed, an arm laid across his eyes and wept.

  Ray lowered his head and shook it slowly. Carol could have said a dozen other things. Television showed too much of the grisly parts of their work. They waited patiently, respectfully, while the man on the bed regained some control. Ray figured he was nowhere near cried out.

  After a long minute he mumbled a question through the hands now covering his face. “Do you have to?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ray answered softly. “We do.”

  “Well then…” Fredrickson took a deep breath and sat up and dragged a sleeve across his wet red eyes.

  “I’ll call you later.” Ray said softly. He stepped over and laid what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Scott’s shoulder.

  “I’m frightened, Detective Bankston. Frightened.” Ray said nothing, just looked in the man’s eyes and waited for him to go on.

  “Somebody she knew, maybe someone we both know, they killed Deanna, and I don’t have any idea who or why. I’m frightened.”

  Ray gripped the man’s shoulder firmly. “That’s what we’re all working on. I’ll call later.”

  Chapter 7

  Tony went back to headquarters, parked himself at what he guessed was his new desk, and started making phone calls. Scotty Fredrickson’s alibi checked out. So did Swenson’s. He tried Sean Stuckey’s cell phone every fifteen minutes. All he got was voice mail. He left messages the first two times.

  Ray and Carol rolled in just after noon. Carol was polite but chippy. Tony guessed her attitude had to do with their encounter earlier and shrugged it off. Ray was thoughtful and curious what Tony had learned from the son and the roommates.

  Ray again directed Carol to match up with Vang Pao and get on the hospital and gym interviews. She snatched up her purse and stalked out. Ray knew she wanted to get to the women friends, the ‘Go Girls’. He did too, but there were other things to do first.

  He showed Tony how to fill out the interview forms for the case file. Ray didn’t mind that the file was actually created electronically, just so long as copies were printed and kept in the case folder. He didn’t care to sit for hours squinting at a computer screen, opening windows, searching sub–folders and clicking keys. He liked to feel the paper, read real words in black and white, and occasionally make notes. He hoped Tony would adopt the habit.

  Tony took a call from the morgue and transferred it to Ray after the person calling insisted. They’d never heard of a Detective de Luca, they wanted Sergeant Bankston. His attention was split then. He tried to hear what Ray was saying while he transferred notes from his pad to the interview log form on the screen. The keyboard knew he was a little pissed, the way he was punching the keys with authority.

  Ray, making notes, the phone handset clamped in a hunched shoulder, said “uh huh” a number of times. The call went on for a while and eventually Tony quit trying to follow Ray’s end. He’d find out soon enough what the coroner had to say so he concentrated on his own notes, carefully transcribing what Scott Jr. had said and what Swenson and David Hong had said. Tony wondered if he should make notes of their body language. He didn’t know. Ray was still on the phone with the coroner and he couldn’t ask. Another line rang. They’d probably want Sergeant fricking Bankston too, he fumed.

  “Homicide, de Luca”

  “Hey man.” It was a cheery voice, almost familiar. He tried to place it. “It’s Kumpula. Forget me already?”

  “Jonny. What’s up?”

  “Ray around?” Tony frowned and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Here we go again.

  “He’s on with the coroner right now. Want to hold?” Tony almost managed to keep the attitude out of his voice.

  “Hell no. Look, I’ve got a problem. You can help me here.”

  “I’ll do what I can. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got so many fuckin’ fingerprints we’re going crazy down here.” Kumpula sounded frustrated.

  “Any on the knife?” Tony sat up straighter and grabbed a pen.

  “Yep.”

  Tony felt the adrenaline squirt right into his bloodstream. His heart rate downshifted and revved to near the red line. “Whose? Whose are they?” Ray turned to look at him. He’d shouted the question.

  “Whoa, podna’…down boy. I thought the same thing, first off. It was the vic’s prints, man. The woman grabbed the knife after she was stabbed. If there were others they got smudged. Hers were smudged too, like she dragged her hand down the hilt.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. My feelings exactly. Look, all you guys out on the street start printing the people you interview, okay. I’m not kidding. We’ve got close to two dozen different sets. We’re going to run all of them through AFIS but it’ll take time. Get me some comparison prints, okay?”

  “Will do.” Tony replied. He was sure Ray would agree. “Anything promising yet?”

  “Get me some comps, Tony. That’ll help.”

  “Okay. Will do. You still want Ray? He’s off now.”

  “What for? Gotta go. Comps, baby. I need comps!” The line went dead. Tony grinned. At least Kumpula wasn’t treating him like a newbie. He leaned back in his chair to enjoy it for a moment.

  “Good news?” Ray had a pair of cheaters on, glasses with small rectangular tortoise shell frames that perched on the end of his nose. He looked over them at Tony.

  “Uh...not really.”

  “Kumpula?”

  “Yeah.” Tony straightened back up in the chair and lost the smile. “There were prints on the knife hilt but they were the vic’s.” Rays face hardened. He let out a short sigh before he looked away.

  “Do me a favor, Tony.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Don’t refer to the deceased as ‘the vic’ anymore. The word is victim. Her name was Deanna Fredrickson. It isn’t respectful.”

  Tony didn’t expect that. On the street they were all vics and perps. It might be a hard habit to break, he thought. Then he remembered catching himself when he was talking to the boys earlier. Maybe it wouldn’t be too hard.

  “I’ll try, Ray.”

  “I’ll appreciate it. What else did he have to say?”

  “He’s got a shi…big pile of prints. Lots of different sets. Lots of people. He wants us to print anyone of interest, people we interview.”

  Ray pursed his lips before replying. “That’ll make things interesting. I was thinking of doing it anyway.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, we can ask for their prints, but it takes a judge or an arrest to make ’em give them up if they don’t want to. Just like DNA samples.”

  “That is
interesting.” Tony thought about it for a minute. If someone didn’t want to give up their prints for comparison there would have to be a reason—a damn good one. That could lead to all sorts of compelling conversations.

  “When we get a break run down to the lab and get everyone a kit.”

  “Don’t you mean a scanner?” Tony was a gear junkie and thought the electronic fingerprint modules were very cool gadgets. He knew the department had a number of them; surely enough for the Homicide teams. It would save a lot of time and mess.

  “Nope. I want ’em inked.” Ray watched Tony try to work out for himself why he’d want to use the old fashioned method.

  “Intimidation?” Tony guessed that it was a sort of a test, that there was, as usual, a reason for everything with Ray Bankston.

  “Mm-Hm.”

  “Okay. I get it. What did the coroner have to say?” Ray had been on the phone for a while. Maybe they could skip going to the morgue to watch the coroner perform the autopsy. Tony had seen blood and trauma in all its horrid forms—car wrecks, gun-shot wounds, knifings and slashings, even the aftermath of a hatchet fight one time—but he wasn’t at all anxious to see what happened on the table in the morgue. Not yet. CSI on television was one thing.

  “Cause of death was, as expected, the knife to the heart.” Ray looked down at his notes. “No recent sexual activity. Stomach contents were barely digested. Some cereal, raisins, some orange juice.”

  “No coffee?” Tony remembered the cup and the half full carafe.

  “Nope.”

  “There was a coffee cup in the sink.”

  “Mm-hm.” Ray nodded. “Why don’t you run down and grab those print kits now. I’ve got to work on my notes and the others should be back soon. We need to see where we are.”

  “Grab you anything on the way back up?” Tony was already out of his chair and halfway to the door.

  “No thanks. Not right now.” Tony left and Ray dropped the notes from his hand. He had no stomach for anything right at the moment.