Uncle stepped away from Nolan’s bed, and Alvie fired, pop, pop, pop. It was a mess. Alvie covered Uncle’s body with a blanket, picked up her screaming son, and carried him to her bed. She held him until he fell asleep. Eventually, she worked up enough courage to go back to Nolan’s room to clean up. Uncle was huge, but Alvie was strong, and she dragged his shrouded body down the stairs and out to the yard. It took hours, but she dug a deep enough hole and got Uncle buried by the big oak.
Alvie almost threw the gun away after using it that one time, but she was sure glad she hadn’t. It gave her the power to make people do what she wanted. Yes, she was in control.
Judge Fenneman, Arthur Franz, Marshall Kelton. Three down, three to go. Unless she killed the little sergeant, then she might add the sheriff and that snooty secretary at the public defender’s office to the list. Boy, to knock that smirk off her face permanently would be worth whatever trouble it took. That would make six to go.
It was nearly five o’clock. Rebecca would be home for supper in about an hour. Plenty of time for a calming cigarette and a little reflection on the third suicide. What if she hadn’t overheard them talking about suicide notes? She was meant to hear that so everyone would know they were suicides. The families had to know that. It made the suffering so much worse.
Alvie lit a cigarette and dragged long and hard as she settled into her La-Z-Boy. Just one quick one; there’d be time to clear the air for Rebecca. She’d have a fit to see her grandma smoking. Not because of her own respiratory problems—she’d be worried about Alvie getting cancer. Rebecca was a dear, always thinking of her grandmother. Nolan, you’d be proud. She’s the best of all of us. A little sickly, but never complained about that, or anything else, for that matter.
Alvie watched the smoke swirl around her head and thought about her latest triumph. Kelton wasn’t quite as easy as Judge Fenneman, or Arthur Franz, but he was gone. The look on his face when she walked into his living room pointing the gun at him. He had the television on loud enough to cover the little sound she’d made coming in the unlocked back door. Alvie crept to the opening separating the kitchen from the living room and spotted the back of his head leaning against the back of his couch. He was a true sitting duck, too interested in the game on TV and drinking a beer to hear her.
Alvie quietly went to the kitchen refrigerator, pulled out a beer, slipped outside to cover the sound of popping the top, poured the crushed tablets in the brew, and waited one long minute for them to dissolve. Once inside the house again, she pulled the gun from her pocket, walked in and blocked the lawyer’s view of the game. His jaw dropped so low, Alvie could see most of his bottom teeth were full of fillings. It was a silly thing to nearly make her lose her concentration.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Alvie saw he was struggling to identify her, but the man disguise prevented that.
“Drink this. Don’t ask questions.”
And he did, just like that. He tried to talk a few times before he fell asleep, but Alvie just shook her head and waved her gun back and forth.
She opened the new pack of razor blades, fumbling, a little awkward with the rubber gloves on her hands. Kelton was snoring and barely moved in his sleep when the blood started dripping from the cut on his wrist. His breaths grew slower, and slower, and stopped. Just like that.
Alvie commended herself on the most relaxing suicide yet. She put the blade in Kelton’s right hand so his prints would be evident, then watched it drop from fingers that could no longer grasp. Alvie retrieved the note she had left on the kitchen counter. She was about to lay it on the end table, next to the public defender, when she saw a pocketsize appointment calendar there. She picked it up as a keepsake, then placed the note down in its place.
Alvie took one last satisfying look at another job well done and walked calmly back to her car. She didn’t spot a single soul as she drove her Chevy south of town to the haven of her little house.
The third suicide had been the best part of the past two days. There was no need to give more thought to the wasted time at Speiss’s, or being spotted by the ace detective and little sergeant. She needed her energy to pull off the last three suicides, and to take good care of Rebecca. She was back from camp, so Alvie would have to be careful. Rebecca was smart and would notice if her grandmother was gone too much. As long as she kept the man disguise and gun locked in her trunk, Rebecca would never know. She could pull the car in the garage, undress quick as a flash, and stow her gear. Just like that. Yes, she would keep that as part of her routine so there would be no mistakes.
The one thing that was beginning to concern her was, she only had four tablets left of the ten she’d stolen from Henry’s prescription. Was it possible to pull off one of the deaths without the drug? Maybe if she did a shooting. That might be a good one for Jason Browne. He didn’t deserve to fall asleep like the last two. He should be awake and know exactly how he was going to die. Nolan did. And Jason was the one who had ratted Nolan out, the traitor who’d handed him over to the wolves who picked him apart until there was nothing left to keep him alive.
Time to open a can of soup and toast some bread for sandwiches. Rebecca was due anytime.
25
Finished with Mrs. Sanford, I made my way back to my squad car. After sitting in the sun, with its black interior, the temperature inside my car was well over one hundred degrees. When I slipped behind the wheel, the smell of death and decay joined me, surrounding me in the heat, threatening to knock me unconscious. I gasped for air, pushed my door open, and jumped onto the pavement. The stench from Marshall Kelton’s death was still with me—on me—ten hours later, and I knew the foul odor would forever be ingrained in my memory.
It was the same for Judge Fenneman, and Arthur Franz, and all the other death scenes I had been at. Each one had its own set of smells attached to it. With the judge, it was hospital antiseptics, rain in the air and on the earth, swamp on bedclothes and skin.
Arthur’s death was the taste of gravel dust, sun-baked soil, the witness’ sweat, and the beginning of decay in the hothouse of Arthur’s vehicle.
Marshall’s was stale beer, dried blood, and decomposing flesh, not unlike the musty smell of mold.
I climbed back in my car and turned the air conditioning fan on full force. I lifted my arm to my nose and inhaled deeply, but I couldn’t tell if the odors from Marshall’s house were clinging to my clothes or were springing unbidden from my memory.
I pulled in my driveway, ran into my house, stripped in the laundry room, and stepped into the shower. The hot water blasted over me while I soaped and rinsed twice. I needed reassurance that any telltale stench from my workday was scrubbed from my body, exiled to the recesses of my mind.
Mother had a generous portion of pasta and vegetable salad dished into the multi-colored bowl she often used for summer meals.
“Your face is a little flushed, Mom. You okay?”
“Fine, dear. Just rushing around trying to finish up. Elton will be here soon.”
I looked around. “Mother, what is there left to do? Your house is perfect, dinner smells wonderful, and your table is even set, for heaven’s sake. Relax, Elton is just an old friend, remember?” The opportunity to tease her was so rare, I couldn’t resist.
“Yes, I remember. Now take your salad and go, or you’ll be late.” She pushed the bowl against me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“I really appreciate this. I love you, Mom. Have fun.”
“You, too.”
Faith opened the door to their two-story brick home. She was supported on either side by look-alike, freckled carrot tops. Each was holding a Barbie doll. I didn’t know the dolls were still popular and guessed my mother had mine stowed somewhere.
“Come in, Sergeant Corky.”
“Thank you, Faith. Who are your friends?”
“This is Janie and this is Sarah.”
“Very nice to meet you, girls. Would you happen to be twins?” All three girls
giggled.
“You know, my best friend’s name is Sara.”
They giggled again.
“Corky, welcome.” Nick appeared, and the girls ran off to play. He took the salad from my hands, and I followed him to the kitchen. “This looks good—almost as colorful as the bowl.” He set the bowl on his sand-colored granite countertop.
“We can thank my mother for that. She likes to color coordinate.” I laughed.
“You’re not in uniform?” It was spoken more as a statement than a question.
“What?”
He put a hand on either shoulder and gently pulled my hair. “Never mind, you look better like this.” He ran his hands down the back of my turquoise sleeveless shirt and rested them on my capris-clad hips. “There will be other opportunities to kiss my favorite officer when she’s in uniform.”
“Oh yes, that weird fantasy of yours,” I said as Nick stepped closer, trapping me between his body and the cabinets.
“You think it’s a weird fantasy?”
“I do.”
“Probably more common than you think. Okay, then we’ll just practice for now.”
His lips closed over mine, and I heard the shy giggling of little girls nearby. Nick lifted his head and faced the girls. “Faith, Sarah, Janie, it’s not polite to laugh when you’re spying.” He smiled and gave my back a quick rub before stepping away.
“Sorry, Dad,” Faith said, not looking the least bit so.
Nick smiled. “Hey, dinner is about done. You girls can set the table. We’ll eat on the deck. Corky, what can I get you to drink? Wine, soda?”
“Water is fine.” Nick served my drink and laid out the table service for the girls to use. “Something smells good,” I said.
“Ribs on the grill, and corn on the cob steaming on the stove.”
“Mmm, what can I do?”
Nick pointed to a drawer. “You’ll find the serving utensils in there. And you can pour milk for the girls—glasses are in that cupboard.” He disappeared to the backyard with a platter and tongs.
Nick and my mother had created a great dinner, and I ate until I couldn’t hold another bite. The girls kept us entertained, telling stories and the same knock knock jokes I had told as a kid. They thought they were the funniest things in the world and I laughed with them, my sides actually aching because of it. Nick rolled his eyes more than once, but didn’t seem to mind being outnumbered four to one.
“May we be excused?” Faith asked after dessert of chocolate covered ice cream treats.
“You may. And take your dishes in with you.”
I watched the little girls shift their loads to open the door.
“Faith is so polite. She seems like a thirty-year-old inside a little girl’s body.”
He chuckled. “More like a forty-year-old. I am grateful she has been so easy to raise. So far. We’re a few years from the teens yet.”
I couldn’t imagine Faith being a problem teen, but I’d seen enough to know anything was possible.
“More coffee?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Let me help you clean up. I should get going soon.” I stood, and Nick did the same.
“You work tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Back to the evening shift. You probably heard the news about the lead defense attorney, Marshall Kelton?”
“No. What happened?”
“Apparent suicide. Another one.” I told him the story, with more information than I had given my mother. “I’m guessing the press will be all over it by morning, and rumors and speculations will start flying about the coincidence of an attorney killing himself on the day of his rival attorney’s memorial service.”
“Is there a connection?” he asked.
“I have no idea. Actually, this is an open investigation, so if I do find out there is a connection, I won’t be able to say anything until it’s over.”
Nick set his load of dishes on the kitchen counter and faced me. “That’s like letting me read the first nine chapters of a book, and right when it gets to the best part, you make me wait weeks to read chapter ten.”
I shrugged. “Pretty much—sorry.”
Nick put his arm around my waist. “You can make it up to me. Let’s sit on the couch and cuddle for a while.”
I pointed to the other room. “Nick, there are three eight year olds in the house.”
“You’re right, and they laughed at me the last time I kissed you. Doesn’t do much for a guy’s ego.”
I poked his chest. “You do seem pretty fragile.” I laughed.
He captured my hand and flattened it over his heart.
“Forget my ego. Feel what being near you does to my heart?”
It thumped hard and fast against my hand. I rested my ear where my hand had been and listened to his heart tap its rhythm, contentedly lost in his embrace until waves of youthful cackling from another room broke the moment.
“It’s your kitchen. Want me to wash or dry?” I asked.
“How about I load the dishwasher, and you find the most comfortable spot on the couch.”
“I do need to go.”
I stopped at my mother’s house to drop off her bowl so it wouldn’t get broken riding around for days as the unprotected passenger on my front seat. Smoke’s vehicle was in her driveway. A good sign—he hadn’t left the minute they finished dinner. It wasn’t quite dark, but the light was on in the kitchen, and I glanced in the window on my way to the back door. My mother and Smoke were in the throes of passionate kissing. And their hands were very busy. My brain didn’t immediately register what I was seeing, and when it did, I nearly dropped the ceramic dish.
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. The words kept repeating over and over in my mind as I climbed in my car and drove home. Sparks were flying in that kitchen, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I thought of Smoke as more of a companion for Mother, someone to go places with, eat dinner with, watch television with.
“Hello, Corky.” My brother was home and answered on the second ring.
“Hey, John Carl. You busy?”
“Naw, catching up on a little work I couldn’t get done at the office. What’s up?” John Carl rivaled my mother as a workaholic. I heard his fingers striking keys on his laptop.
“Do you think Mother will ever get married?” I settled on the couch.
“Yeah, the day after they put the Minnesota mosquito on the endangered species list.”
“Very funny, but I’m serious,” I said.
“Then, no, I don’t think it will ever happen.”
I told him what I had witnessed.
“Wow, maybe our mother is finally ready to accept that our father will never return from Vietnam.”
“You think that’s it?”
“When I was going through some rough times a few years ago, I talked to a shrink . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . don’t give me your usual guff.”
“I wasn’t going to. What did your shrink say?” I drew my feet under me and waited for his answer.
“Among other things, maybe one reason Mom was so smothering is she believed Dad would come home someday and we would all be the happy family they had always planned to be,” John Carl said. “She felt as if she had to keep our family perfect for that day.”
I picked some fuzz off the afghan I kept on the couch. “Why would she think that? He died—they sent back his body.”
“Gramps said he was unrecognizable. His dog tags were the way they identified him.”
I had never considered my mother not accepting Carl’s death. “What do you think?”
“About Carl?” he wondered.
“No, Mother,” I corrected.
“If Smoke can help her move on, it will be the best thing that can happen.”
I had to agree.
“When are you going up north to visit Grandpa and Grandma?” John Carl asked.
My father’s parents, Grandpa and Grandma Aleckson, spent the month of July at a resort in Nisswa.
“Wednesday and Thursday. I’m looking
forward to seeing them, but almost wish now I hadn’t committed. There’s been a lot going on here.”
John Carl and I e-mailed regularly, but I hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the two attorney suicides. I gave him the lowdown on the tragic events.
“So, if they set Marshall Kelton’s funeral for Thursday, I may just be there Wednesday,” I explained.
“The grandparents would be disappointed, but I’m sure they’d understand. Tell them I think about them all the time, and I’ll see them next month,” John Carl said.
“That’s a big ten-four, good buddy.”
And goodnight, I said to myself as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.
26
I heard the phone ringing and saw it was light outside. “Hello?”
“Is that all you ever do is sleep?” Smoke.
“What day is it, and what time is it?”
“Tuesday, eight twenty. I got permission to search both the county attorney’s and public defender’s offices, and I thought you should be in on it. Sheriff says he’ll get your evening shift covered. Meet me here a-sap. We’ll start at the county attorney’s office. There are reporters camped outside both the courthouse and the public defender’s office.”
“Great.”
“You could say the powers-that-be are none too thrilled.”
Ray Collinwood led the way into what had been Arthur Franz’s private office. Ray was the senior assistant county attorney and had the only other private office. The remaining six assistants, including Julie Grimes, had cubicles divided by rows of file cabinets.
“Here’s the password for Arthur’s computer. I’ve had it on file in case of emergency, but never had to use it.” He frowned and handed the yellow memo paper to Smoke. “I’ll get out of your way, but give us a holler if you need anything.”
Murder in Winnebago County Page 15