Robin’s voice came over the radio, “Winnebago County, Six oh eight and Three forty.”
“Six oh eight, County.”
“Six oh eight, Doctor Melberg is in town and phoned for directions. He’s on the way.”
“Ten-four.”
“Did you notice the footprint back here?” Smoke was bent over near the exhaust pipe. The gravel drive and park area was surrounded on three sides by bushes, ferns, and other foliage growing in black dirt. It was an area that had filled in naturally by either the wind, or by birds spreading the seeds, between the gravel and the planted corn and soybeans.
Smoke went on, “Looks like it could be either a man’s or a woman’s shoe, long and narrow. I’d say about size ten. Franz would be smaller than that. It had to have been left today, ’cause it rained last night. Must have been someone fishing here this morning, before Franz got here.”
We were still looking at the print when Dr. Melberg pulled in, followed by two Winnebago County squad cars.
“Sergeant, start a sign-in sheet,” Sheriff Twardy ordered.
Natural curiosity and a sense of duty, brought deputies to crime and accident scenes to offer any needed support to the lead officer on the case. It was department policy to make everyone sign in when they showed up at an investigation scene, and consequently write a report, if needed.
Dr. Melberg stepped out of his Lexus with a small case. Whenever I saw him, I wondered how he had chosen medicine. He reminded me more of a professional athlete, or coach. His pants were a little too snug on his muscular thighs and his shirts a little too small for his biceps. Melberg kept his graying brown hair cropped close to his head and had deep squint lines around his eyes, like he had been protecting them from the sun for years. But, despite gray hair and some wrinkles, he was a young looking forty-something with a gorgeous wife and a teenage daughter.
Dr. Melberg looked more tired than usual, almost weary.
“Hello, Doc,” Twardy said for all of us.
Melberg tipped his head back a hair and narrowed his eyes. “Franz?”
The sheriff nodded.
Deputies Brian Carlson and Todd Mason signed in via the clipboard, and all the sheriff’s department personnel gathered to watch at a reasonable distance from the Taurus, allowing the coroner to do his job.
“Pictures taken of the scene?” Melberg turned to ask the sheriff.
“Yes.”
“Any contamination?”
“Sergeant?” The sheriff passed the question on to me.
“Not that we know of. The civilian who found him didn’t touch anything. He just walked around the vehicle and looked in the windows. And we only did a sweep outside the vehicle.”
“Good, good,” Melberg said.
Dr. Melberg set the case down, pulled on two sets of latex gloves, and opened the driver’s door. The speed of decomposition accelerated on hot, humid days, especially in a car baking in the sun. Melberg pulled a thermometer from his case and set it on the dashboard of the Taurus. The mercury began a steady, rapid climb then settled on 140 degrees Fahrenheit.
Sweat dropped from the doctor’s head onto his notepad as he jotted some information down. The smell of death from inside the car reached us in seconds, about the same time flies gathered on Arthur’s body to begin their work. They were an efficient crew, knowing where to go and what to do.
“When was Franz last seen alive, anybody know?” Melberg asked.
“Right around noon, when he left for lunch,” I told him.
Melberg confirmed that with a nod. “He could easily be dead five, six hours. Looks like suicide—there’s a note here.” He pointed to a paper on the passenger seat. “Can someone call Anderson’s Funeral Home? We’ll transport him to Hennepin County for autopsy after we notify the family,” Melberg instructed.
“I’ll call Anderson’s,” Mason volunteered.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “We’re not sure who he has for family. But, of course, we’ll find out.” He pointed at a deputy. “Carlson, call Communications and have them track down one of the county attorneys and tell them to call Detective Dawes on his cell phone. And we’ll need a tow to take the vehicle to the crime lab for processing,” Sheriff Twardy instructed then clapped Carlson on the back.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ready to take pictures of the inside of the vehicle?” Melberg asked Smoke.
“Yeah, go ahead, Sergeant,” Smoke told me.
I held my breath while the camera and my brain captured one picture after the next of the body and surrounding area. Franz was beyond being irritated by the flies buzzing around us and landing on him. I tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore them, growing increasingly tense with each passing second. When I finished the photography, I looked for Smoke and saw him standing by his squad car, talking on his cell phone.
The transport van from Anderson’s Funeral Home arrived. Dr. Melberg supervised and assisted the two middle-aged Anderson brothers with the removal of the remains from his vehicle. Flies were everywhere, but any clinging to the body of Arthur Franz would soon be suffocated when sealed in the vinyl bag. Dr. Melberg needlessly advised the brothers to put the body in their cooler to await transport to Hennepin County.
“Call my cell after you make notification, or if anything comes up,” Melberg called back to us and followed the Anderson vehicle away from the scene.
“You got a county attorney to meet you at their office?” Twardy asked Smoke.
He nodded. “I just got off the phone with Collinwood. He’s coming in. I told him we’ll call when we’re finished here and ready for him.”
Smoke reached in the Taurus and removed the suicide note with a pair of tweezers.
“What does it say? Read it out loud,” the sheriff instructed.
“‘This is best for all concerned. Arthur Franz.’ It’s typed, except the signature. One sentence. Kind of odd.” Smoke held it up so we could see the words.
“Very odd. And that’s it? ‘This is best for all concerned. Arthur Franz’?” The sheriff frowned.
“That’s it,” Smoke confirmed.
The sheriff shook his head. “What the hell kind of explanation is that?”
Smoke added, “And why the devil would he bring a lunch with him if he was planning to off himself?” With gloved hands he picked up an open can of soda from the center holder and a small red lunch cooler from the passenger seat. “Got a bag for these?” he asked me.
Carlson pulled a plastic evidence bag from his back pocket. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Smoke dropped the cooler in then fixed his eyes on the soda can. “Hey, look at this.” He slid his readers on his nose and moved the can closer to his face. “Some kind of powder residue on the top of the can. We’ll have it tested. I’ll need another bag.”
Mason ran to his squad and returned with another evidence bag.
“Winnebago County, Seven fourteen.” Jerry’s voice.
“Seven fourteen, County, go ahead,” Mason answered.
“Domestic assault in progress at Four four zero one Dayton Avenue Southwest. We have a child on the line reporting her father is hitting her mother.”
“Ten-four. Show Seven fourteen and Seven twenty-three en route.” Mason and Carlson were gone in seconds, leaving the sheriff, Smoke, and I standing in a cloud of dust.
I held the plastic evidence bag, and Smoke dropped the can inside. Arthur had downed most of the soda as the can felt nearly empty.
“Got a Sharpie with you?” Smoke asked, searching for a permanent marking pen as he patted his pants pocket. “Never mind, I got one.” He handed it to me. “Fill in the info on these evidence bags, will ya? I’ll see if there’s anything else we need here.”
Sheriff Twardy followed behind Smoke. “I have the county commissioners’ meeting at seven and need to get cleaned up. Page me when you make notification. The press is going to be all over this in no time, so I’ll need to prepare a statement.”
“Will do, Sheriff,” Smoke said.
For no apparent reason, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. I felt like someone was watching me. Strange. I looked around, scanning the opposite shore and nearby cornfields, but Smoke was the only living thing I spotted besides the ducks.
“Smoke, I have been having the weirdest feelings lately.”
He quit writing in his notebook and slid his glasses to the top of his head. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t think I’m crazy, but it’s actually two separate feelings. One is that there’s something wrong, like an evil presence. I can’t really explain it better than that. And the other is that I’m being watched. It’s happened a few times now and started the night Judge Fenneman died.”
“Doo doo, doo doo, doo doo, doo, doo.” Smoke sang the eerie little tune then smiled. When I didn’t smile back, he said, “Where did my friend lose her sense of humor?”
“It’s just kind of freaking me out. Is it from stress, do you think? Not that I really feel any more stressed than usual.”
He slipped his pad and pen into his pocket. “I think you are paying attention to your gut feelings, that’s all. Maybe there is an evil presence and maybe you are being watched.”
“That makes me feel much better.”
Smoke closed the space between us and put his arm around my shoulder. “So tell me exactly when you’ve experienced these feelings.”
“The first time was in Judge Fenneman’s hospital room, after his death. It was a strong sense there was something I had missed, overlooked. Something that would explain why the judge left his hospital bed, made his way out the back entrance, and ended up in the pond. And it felt creepy, bad, evil. It’s happened a few other times, like when I got that strange note. And a while ago, when you asked about the footprint by the tailpipe.”
I took a breath. “And the weirdest thing of all? Do you remember Nolan Eisner?”
“Boy, the name is familiar, but I can’t think why.”
I gave him the rundown.
“Oh, sure, I should have remembered—one of the cases I handled my first year back. That was a bad deal all the way around. What brings him to mind? You weren’t with the department back then.”
“I interviewed his daughter. She was a patient on B-wing the night the judge died. Her grandmother, Nolan’s mother, came in about the time I finished and just stared at me. I hate to admit it, but she kind of scared me.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. She just looked at me so intensely, like she could read my mind or something. Anyway, when you asked me about the footprint?”
Smoke nodded.
“Well, for a second, I was back in that hospital room with Missus—or Ms.—Eisner looking right through me. Isn’t that strange?”
Smoke shrugged.
“Then, a few minutes ago, when I was standing by the shore, I could have sworn we were being watched. That’s happened a couple of times, too.”
Smoke sucked in a deep breath. “You know, there are coyotes around here. Maybe they are watching the goings on here. Not your usual day of maybe one fisherman, two if they’re lucky.”
“Are you serious, Smoke?” I looked for his teasing grin.
“Absolutely. When I lived in the north woods, it wasn’t uncommon for me to feel I was being watched when hiking through the forest. An old timer up there said it was the wolves. We couldn’t see them, but they could see us.” He scratched the back of his neck.
It seemed a little far out to me. “I don’t know. You think there are coyotes by Sara Speiss’s house? I feel I’m being watched every time I’m there lately.”
“I don’t know where she lives,” he said, so I told him. “Well, it’s a pretty populated area, but lots of trees. I suppose it is possible, but not likely, coyotes are watching you there. Probably a nosy neighbor, or an admirer.” He winked and smiled. “All kidding aside, I’m the last one to tell you to dismiss your gut feelings. By all means, cover your backside.”
The tow truck arrived. Smoke handed Lou the Property Release Form, and Lou loaded the vehicle where Arthur Franz had breathed his last. The dryer hose and pillow were left as they had been found. The crime lab would go through the vehicle. All evidence would be examined, labeled, and placed in the property room. What they couldn’t test on site would be sent to the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension for analysis. The vehicle and personal property would eventually be released to the family. Lou pulled away with his load.
“I’ll give Collinwood that call to meet us at the office.” Smoke’s phone rang before he could dial. “Detective Dawes. . . . Uh huh. . . . Right. . . . What did you tell her?” He pulled the notebook and pen from his pocket and slid his glasses down from the top of his head. “Her name again? . . . Okay. She’s on her way there? . . . Copy. Sergeant Aleckson and I will meet with her there. Thanks.”
“What?” I asked.
“No need to call Collinwood in. Franz has a significant other on her way to the sheriff’s department. She’s coming from Plymouth, so it will be about a half hour.”
We walked to our vehicles. “She? Franz has a significant other that no one knows about? How did they get in touch with her?”
“She called Communications, finally, after not hearing from Arthur since he left for work this morning. She knows something is wrong, but Communications wouldn’t tell her what, of course. They told her an official would contact her as soon as possible. She said she was on her way to Oak Lea and hung up.”
“Who is she?” I wondered.
“We don’t know her, at least I don’t. Marion McIllvery. She called Franz her husband.”
“Why would Arthur be secretive about having a wife?”
“Who knows? Let’s get out of here. We’ll meet with Miss Marion then write reports until tomorrow morning.”
Smoke called Collinwood to say thanks anyway, and I took a last look around the area. Maybe I was developing a weird sensitivity to death scenes.
Not a positive thing in my line of work.
16: Alvie
There was sure a lot of monkeying around to get rid of one body and one car. Alvie thought the little sergeant and that ace detective would be there forever. Even the sheriff had left long before. Her cigarettes were burning a hole in her pocket, but she didn’t dare light up as long as they were there, to risk being discovered. She had the perfect hiding spot, across the lake behind a clump of sapling birch trees, with weeds nearly as tall sprouting from the bases.
It was one hot day, low nineties, high humidity. Alvie unzipped the workman’s jumpsuit to the top of her breasts to release some of her skin from the synthetic, clinging fabric. A little better. She sipped on her last soft drink, impatient for them to leave already.
What luck to happen onto that setup. Alvie had stashed her Chevy in the cornfield, waited in her hiding spot for Franz to show up, and no one was the wiser. Her ball cap helped keep the sun from her face as she kept her lookout. Franz was five minutes later than the day before. Five measly more minutes to be alive, that’s all it meant. She watched him pull in and park then quickly made her way to the other side of the small lake, about the length of a football field.
Her supplies were stashed by a small bush, out of sight. Franz walked along the shoreline in the opposite direction. Just like the day before and the day before that. Alvie crouched down and crawled to the passenger side of his car, opened the door, dumped the contents of the crushed tablets into his cola can, and used a straw to stir them in. She licked a granule that was clinging to the straw. No detectable taste other than cola.
Alvie crouched in a ball in an atte
mpt to be invisible behind the small bushes. A few minutes later, she heard a car door open, and Franz climbed back in the driver’s seat. He was parked in the shade, but left the door open for apparent ventilation. Alvie snuck a look in time to see his head tip back to get a last sip of beverage from the can. He settled against the headrest and closed his eyes.
Alvie waited as long as she could stand it, then grabbed the dryer hose and pillow and went to work. Franz didn’t move when she opened the passenger door. She rolled down the window, inserted the hose, and rolled the window back up. She leaned over the seat and turned the ignition key. The car started right up.
Alvie noticed a little instrument, about the size of a calculator, lying on the seat by the county attorney’s hand. It looked like a Palm Pilot, one of those appointment calendars like the administrator of the nursing home used. Franz wouldn’t need that anymore, and it was something for Alvie to save as a souvenir, so she slipped it in the zippered pocket of the coveralls.
Alvie pulled the door handle out then eased the door shut as quietly as possible. She leaned her weight against it for a tight close and repeated the process on the driver’s side. Franz was snoring by the time she stuffed the pillow in the open space of the window.
The windows started fogging up, and the car doors didn’t open, so after twenty minutes or so, Alvie figured he was dead. Slick as snot. Slicker. She hiked back to her vantage point to sit tight. She had no idea how many people fished in that lake, but someone was bound to come by sooner or later. She’d wait until dark, then come back the next day if need be. She had to cover a day shift for someone the next day, so she could come after that.
Franz’s car stopped running at about three o’clock, and Alvie’s heart practically stopped beating. She figured it had run out of gas when she spotted no movement whatsoever around the vehicle.
Except for the “cah, cahs” of the crows every once in a while, it was quiet until a truck loaded with a boat trailer rumbled in next to Franz’s car. Five minutes later the little sergeant showed up, followed by the others, and they all worked like busy little bees, walking around, taking pictures, writing, loading up the body, and finally hooking up the car to a tow truck.
Murder in Winnebago County Page 10