by Fred Limberg
“Hey, don’t give me that look.” Erica pointed an accusing finger at Ray. “I’m telling you, the guy’s nuts. Without Deanna I don’t know what will happen to Karen.” Bruno was lasered on that finger, just waiting for the word. Bruno was ready.
“What do you mean?” Tony was picking up the vibe, getting an idea.
“I mean, they did everything together. Deanna got Karen out of that house. If it was up to Gary there’d be locks on the outside of the doors.”
“But you haven’t heard of them arguing lately.”
“Not that I’ve heard. Dee got in Gary’s face more than once about his attitude. I know that for a fact. But there wasn’t anything on the radar lately.”
Tony wanted to ask her if she thought Gary was capable of killing Deanna but she beat him to it.
“But Gary though, he’s a pussy—too pussy to use a knife. He’d have used one of his damn guns.”
Ken Kennebrew was the polar opposite of Gary Hewes. When Ray explained again that it was best that they talk to Roxie privately he just shrugged his shoulders, muttered okay, and disappeared.
It was just past noon. Tony wondered if the orange juice Roxie was sipping had vodka in it. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks red-tinged. He didn’t see a bottle but knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She offered them coffee. One look at the oily remains in the carafe prompted a polite no from both of them.
Roxie didn’t recognize Sean Stuckey. She was sure she’d never seen him either in the Cities or in LA or anywhere. Positive. No doubts. Never seen him.
“That was quite a scene at the club that last night, I hear.” Ray’s comment seemed to sober her, shock her system. She snapped her head in his direction and the look on her face changed from confident denial to curiosity.
“You’ve been talking to Erica.” She squinted and took a sip of her orange juice.
“And others. It sounds like it almost got out of hand.”
Roxie looked briefly down the hallway Ken had gone down. “The key word is almost. Almost.” Roxie got lost for a minute somewhere in the bottom of her glass, down there with the half melted ice cubes and the bits of orange pulp. “Truth is, after the first few minutes there everything I remember about it is what someone else told me, you know?”
“You don’t remember?” She snorted at Tony’s question, got up from the table and went to the refrigerator, obviously in need of another screwdriver. The vodka was in the icebox along with the orange juice.
“I remember it wasn’t one of my best ideas. Or was it Karen’s?” She waved her hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter. I must have been a horse’s ass though. Erica wouldn’t speak to me for a week and even Lakisha was stand-offish for a while.”
“You were, ah…a little tipsy?”
“Honey, I was snot slinging drunk. Walking wounded. Deanna told me I tried to climb on the stage. It’s embarrassing.” Roxie took a slug from the drink. Tony and Ray both realized Roxie Kennebrew wasn’t going to be able to help them at all.
“So what’s with the guy?”
Ray stood and collected the picture, ready to leave. Tony rose too.
“Thanks for your time.”
Ray offered his hand. Roxie had to figure out how to set down her drink before she could shake with him. Tony glanced at his watch. It was 1:16 in the afternoon and Roxie was already gone.
“Well that was a waste of time.” Tony, behind the wheel this time, didn’t know where they were headed.
Ray sighed, partnering in Tony’s frustration. “She didn’t recognize him. Our connection is getting a little thin, don’t you think?”
“She could have slept with him and she wouldn’t remember,” Tony replied, disgust evident in his tone.
Ray was more detached, more analytical. “Maybe she did.”
Tony’s eyebrows arched. “You think?”
“Not really, but we have so many maybes going on, why not throw in another one.”
“So where to, boss?” Tony didn’t want to think about all the dead ends, all the maybes and what-ifs. He wanted a finger pointing them toward the killer. He wanted a motive to surface. He wanted to keep asking questions until something made sense.
“Who’s left? Karen Hewes and Lakisha Marland. I don’t think Allyson Couts would have seen him. She didn’t go with them that night.”
“Okay, Karen Hewes, then?”
Ray screwed up his face and sighed. “As much as I hate to drag this out, I think we should save her for Monday.” Tony caught Ray’s meaning immediately.
“You want Gary out of the house, right? Hey, we can always take her downtown. I can handle the guy.”
“I think we’ll get more if she’s at home. It would be a needless confrontation and I don’t want to antagonize them any further just yet.”
Tony nodded in agreement. “Okay, makes sense to me. So…off to Minnetonka?”
“That would be our remaining option for today.”
“Want to drop me at the station or at home? Do this one by yourself?” Tony knew there was some electricity between the two of them. Maybe Ray would appreciate the opportunity to spend some time with the woman without having him sitting silently on the sideline. Ray shook his head, laughing softly in that low melodious voice.
“Just drive. I still think I might need a chaperone around that woman.”
Chapter 24
There was a car in the driveway at the Marland house, a Jaguar coupe. Ray and Tony had not called ahead. They both perceived that they got better responses when they arrived unannounced…well, Ray thought so. Tony felt the Jag’s hood. It was still warm. Apparently Lakisha had a visitor. They were about to get back in their car and leave when the front door opened. Lakisha waved and hurried toward them.
“Just in time!”
She pointed a key fob at the Jag and the trunk popped open. A half dozen brown grocery bags peeked out of the trunk. “We can do this in one trip.” She loaded them each with two bags, chattering the whole time about her good fortune to have two such strong handsome men to help her. The gray blanket sky had just begun to mist.
She directed them to the kitchen, selected countertops and tabletops for each particular bag. Fresh produce was tucked into the massive stainless steel refrigerator, cans stacked in a pantry, and a package of cookies was left on the counter in easy reach. Somewhere in the bustle a coffeepot was primed and the smell of rich Colombian dark roast promised delicious reward for their labors.
“What impeccable timing,” she said, pouring each of the detectives a mug. “I was in a cooking mood and what should appear but two hearty appetites.” Tony looked to Ray for guidance.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Ray confessed. Lakisha seemed not to hear him as tomatoes and onions and fat globes of garlic rolled across the counter.
“It is now.” She smiled at them. It was almost wicked, that taunting grin. “You,” she pointed at Tony. “With a name like de Luca you should know your way around a Bolognese sauce.”
Tony nodded. The pile of ripe Roma tomatoes called to him.
“Really. Lakisha, we can’t.” Ray protested. Tony listened hard for any enthusiasm in his partner’s denial and decided there was a chance.
He looked over the kitchen. The Viking range and double ovens said this was a kitchen designed for cooking, and with Sue Ellen under guard at the safe house Tony certainly had no better options.
“Why not?” Lakisha stood in front of Ray with her hands on her hips and a playful scowl on her face. She was wearing leggings and a skirt that seemed to be made from a large colorful scarf. A comfortable looking sweater hung down past her waist. The ensemble was casual and thrown together but it looked elegant to Tony. He wondered what Ray’s hesitation was.
“I…we’d hate to impose.” The scowl became a smile.
“You just want to ask some questions and leave, huh?” She pointed out the windows toward the sullen lake. “And it’s such a nice afternoon to be out. Rayford, slice the damn bread
.” She hit him on the arm playfully with a fresh crusty baguette.
He took the loaf in hand and pointed it at her. “I still have some questions.”
Tony smiled. Lakisha and the tomatoes were winning.
“Let’s get the sauce working and then I’ll answer your questions.”
Tony sliced and peeled and crushed. Garlic and onion simmered in a copper bottom skillet. The smell of fresh oregano being finely chopped wafted in the steam rising from the stock pot bubbling with tomatoes. Ray helped, but it seemed he was always being crowded by Lakisha. She reached over and around him for a spice or a bowl. She clucked at him and took over making the bruschetta. They were having their own conversation but Tony didn’t mind. He did know his way around gravy and enjoyed watching them.
Finally the sauce was simmering, an antipasto salad was cooling in the refrigerator, and a bottle of Chianti had appeared. Ray took out the photo of Sean Stuckey and slid it across the table.
“Oh my,” she said softly before Ray asked a question. She looked up at him. “Who is this?”
The look on her face said she recognized him—that she’d seen Sean Stuckey before but didn’t know his name. Lakisha picked up the picture and studied it more closely, cocking her head to one side. There was a look of deep concern on her face.
Tony stayed silent. He didn’t know if Ray would say the name or if it would mean anything to Lakisha.
“You’ve seen this man before.” Ray said. It wasn’t a question. Lakisha took a sip of wine.
“In Los Angeles.” She nodded as she answered. “The last night we were there. Who is this? How did you get this picture?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She scowled at Ray as if to ask why the hell not? “Not yet anyway. You saw this man in Los Angeles the night you all went to the club. Where did you see him? At the club?”
All of the camaraderie and laughter was sucked from the room by the picture. Ray was the interrogator now and Lakisha the witness. Tony saw tension in their faces and their body language.
Lakisha took another sip of the Chianti. “Not at the club. It was at the bar afterward. I remember because…because I thought it was trouble coming.” She picked up her wine glass and walked over to the great windows overlooking the lawn and the lake. The mist had turned to a drizzle, the shoreline was barely visible in the gloom.
Ray moved next to her. Both of them looked out into the dusk. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“I was the last one left with Karen and Dee in the bar. We had a table. I noticed that Karen kept looking over at the bar. This boy…” she tapped the picture Ray was still holding. “He was at the bar…smiling at her.”
“At Karen Hewes?”
“Right.”
“Not at Deanna?”
Lakisha took a small sip of her Chianti. Tony noticed a small trembling from his post nearby. “At all of us at first, but he caught Karen’s eye and she kept looking back at him.”
“Did he approach you…at the table?”
“Not when I was there. I caught his eye once and gave him a hard look. I remember that. Like, leave us alone you little dipshit.”
“And he didn’t?”
Lakisha looked over at Ray. “No. He just sat there and smiled this goofy smile. I’m sure he was stoned. Not drunk—stoned. He had that look. His eyes were pinned.”
“But he never came over to the table.”
“Not while I was there. I told you that. I didn’t stick around long after that though. I was beat and a little drunk and tired and…oh, Rayford,” she paused for a beat and looked into his eyes. “Maybe I should have stayed with them.”
Ray patted her arm, trying to console her while at the same time trying to figure out what had her so distraught. It was Tony who asked the question.
“Why are you so upset, Lakisha?”
She turned to face Tony, her face set and determined now. “Because you have a picture of a man from Los Angeles that I recognize from the last night we were there. You didn’t get this picture from Los Angeles. You took it here, here in the Cities somewhere. You came across the man for some reason and it has a connection to Deanna’s murder. It has to or you wouldn’t have the picture.” Tony looked to Ray for guidance. How much could, or should, they share with her?
“There’s a connection,” Ray said evenly. “We still don’t know what it is, but you’ve just gotten us closer to figuring it out.”
“So who is he?” She walked to the stove to stir the simmering gravy.
Tony could see Ray fighting through the question. How much did they dare share with Lakisha Marland, and to what end? She had already described her encounter with Stuckey in some detail. What would be gained by identifying him by name or elaborating at this point? Did it matter that he was a porn actor? Did it matter that he was Scott Jr.’s roommate? If they told her would she run for the phone to gossip with the other ‘Go Girls’ and tell them the killer was in town? Tony reasoned that if all these questions were caroming around in his head they must be in Ray’s as well.
“I can’t tell you.” Ray looked down at the tabletop. “Not yet anyway.”
“Then get out. Both of you. Get out of my house right now!” Lakisha was pointing toward the front door. “I tell you everything I know and do everything I can to help you find Dee’s killer and you won’t tell me who this motherfucker is? He might be stalking us, Rayford. He might be planning to kill every one of us.” She was trembling in fear or anger or both. Ray stood, his head still down. Tony thought he looked sad.
“I’m sorry,” Ray said softly. “We’ll go. I wish I could tell you more but I can’t. There are a hundred reasons. C’mon Tony.” Ray started walking toward the hall. Tony gave Lakisha a look that he hoped said he was sorry, too.
Ray took the driver’s seat this time. Tony sat quietly on the other side waiting for him to start the car. The afternoon was gone and the drizzle was trying to turn into rain. Water ran in random rivulets down the windshield that was starting to fog from the two men’s breathing.
“We can’t tell her yet,” Ray finally said.
“I know.”
“But do you know why?” Ray turned to Tony, eyebrows arched, inquisitive. Tony wondered if it was one of Ray’s teaching moments.
“I can think of a dozen reasons, maybe more.”
“But the big one…what do you think the most important reason is?” Tony shook his head. All the things that he could think of seemed valid. He looked back at Ray and noticed a sliver of light from the front door and a shadow approaching the car in the drizzle. “It’s because she knows something else and if she has a name or where we came up with the guy it will taint her memory. There’s something else there.”
Both of them jumped at a sharp rapping at the driver’s side window. Ray rolled it down. Lakisha stuck her head inside the car.
“I can’t eat all that pasta by myself. Get back inside. If you can’t tell me—fine.” She turned and strode toward the front door, yelling over her shoulder, “and hurry it up.”
“You heard the lady.” Ray said as he opened his door.
Chapter 25
Swenson and Hong were both surly when Tony pounded on their door just after 9:00 on Sunday morning. No, Stuckey wasn’t there. No, they hadn’t seen him all weekend, not since Friday morning. Most importantly, no, he hadn’t moved any of his stuff out.
When Hong asked why Tony was so intent on finding Sean and asked if he was a suspect or something Tony answered, “No.”
There was no answer when they banged on Angie Arkwright’s door. Tony told Ray it wouldn’t surprise him if she was still wasted and didn’t even hear the knocking. Ray wondered if they were both in the apartment and were refusing to answer the door. Tony noticed movement down the hall out of the corner of his eye.
The frizzy gray haired woman Angie had flipped off the night he’d interviewed her was peering around her door jamb. When he started walking toward her she pulled back and shut the door.
“Ma�
��am,” Tony said, knocking gently on the door. “Police, ma’am. Could I speak to you a moment?” He rapped again.
“Whadda’ you want?” A raspy old-woman’s voice struggled through the door, leaving ten thousand cigarettes in its wake.
Tony held his gold badge up to the peep hole. “A couple of questions is all. Open the door, please.” Ray joined him, a quizzical look on his face.
“I don’t know nothin’. Leave me be.” Tony could tell she was leaning against the door. She sounded a little afraid.
“Please just open the door so we don’t have to yell. Your neighbors might not like it, cops yelling at your door.” Tony felt the door shudder and saw the knob turn slowly. She only opened it an inch.
“Whadda’ you want?” she asked again in a hissed whisper.
“Do you know the woman in 33? The Arkwright woman?” Tony still had his badge out and up.
“Know who she is. Don’t know her. She a mean ‘un.”
“Mean?”
“Always cussin’ me an’ stickin’ me her finger. I ain’t nosy. I jes’ like to know who’s comin’ an’ goin’.” She was squinting through the barely open door. All Tony could see was a slice of wild gray hair and a watery blue eye deep-set in a thin hard wrinkled face.
“You ever see this guy around?” He held up a picture of Sean Stuckey. The door creaked open another couple of inches.
“I seen him. Hair’s longer now an’ he’s got whiskers.”
“This is an older picture.” It was one of the altered shots, Stuckey’s California look. The old woman had noticed the difference.
Tony got an idea just then and smiled thinly. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Couple a’ days ago.” She nodded toward Angie’s door down the hall. “He ain’t there now. Some other fella’s in there, though.” The old woman dropped her voice to a whisper. “She sellin’ it, I think.”
“What’s your name, ma’am? I’m Tony. This is my partner, Ray.” Bankston nodded. He was pleased. He had an idea where Tony was going with this woman.
“That boy in some trouble?”