Don't Look Twice (11 page)

Y
ou believe in coincidence, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Hauck said to Chief Pecoric, “not when it comes to murder.”

The Madison chief nodded and the young tech from the local ME's office pulled out the body drawer; the pale, bloated body of Keith Kramer rolled into view. The victim was short, a little pudgy around the waist, with wiry, reddish hair. His face was youthful, affable, set in a calm that would have been in sharp contrast to his final moments.

Hauck kneeled, ran his hand along the railing next to Kramer's head. The sight of the corpse made him uneasy. Not just the stark, white body—never an easy sight—but that the two seemingly unrelated victims were now connected. Which didn't make this a random shooting any longer, but a double murder, and if he ran with that, it made David Sanger the target that day, not just an unfortunate bystander.

Which also implied that there was something these two had been hiding and made this a whole different case.

“You say his wife had no idea why anyone would want to do this?”

“Not a clue,” Chief Pecoric said, standing behind him. “We went through the whole laundry list. Maybe they were a little hurting for money of late, she admitted. His wife had apparently been the breadwinner the past couple of years, sold real estate…”

“That game's over.”

“Yeah,” Marty Pecoric agreed, “it is. But they didn't seem to have any sizable debts. No threats she was aware of. No drugs, gambling. No history of cheating on his wife. You're welcome to talk to her if you want.”

“Thanks.” Hauck stood up, his knees cracking. “You got any gangs up here, by any chance?”

“Gangs?”
The chief laughed. “Book clubs, maybe. Why?”

Hauck shook his head. “Just thought I'd ask. You say he worked for the Pequot Woods up in Uncasville?”

“Pit supervisor. Blackjack, roulette. I spoke to the guy in charge of security up there. Raines. He said Kramer was well liked, didn't miss his shifts, never attracted trouble. A model guy. He'd just ended his shift up there—midnight to six
A.M.
—never made it home. It's likely he was abducted somewhere en route home. You see that burn mark on the chest? It seems he was Tasered. I know they'd like to keep this under wraps as best they can.”

“Did he happen to be carrying any amount of cash?”

“Still had his share of the night's tips in his pocket. Wallet in his pants.”

“One thing I do know”—Hauck nodded to the tech, indicating he'd seen enough—“model guys don't generally get whacked in the head on the way home from work.”

Kramer's stark torso disappeared.

“Tasered. No robbery. This was no random killing,” Hauck
said. “You mind if I call that guy up in Uncasville, just to check it out? What did you say his name was?”

“Raines. Heads up security for the casino,” Pecoric said. “Maybe you can get something out of him I couldn't. Be my guest.”

W
hen Hauck got back to the station, Munoz jumped out from behind his desk. He and Steve Chrisafoulis followed him in.

“You had us checking into Sanger, LT…”

Steve dropped a thick folder on the round table next to Hauck's desk. Steve was short, barrel chested, with wiry, graying hair and a dark mustache. He was a ten-year veteran of the NYPD who did the crossword puzzle every day, had moved up here eight years ago for an easier life, and handled most of Hauck's fraud and bunko cases.

“What'd you find?”

Steve arranged a couple of piles. They seemed to be photocopies of bank and telephone records bound together with black clasps.

“First, I took a look at the guy's phone records, Lieutenant…” He picked up a stack and put the sheets in front of Hauck. “His cell. What you're seeing goes back to April…

That's as far as I pulled.”

There were dozens of handwritten annotations Steve had made in the margins, identifying most of Sanger's calls. Most of them seemed to be office related or to his home. Several had
been highlighted in green marker. Hauck noticed these all belonged to the same number.

203-253-7797.

“Guess whose?” Freddy Munoz rested his foot up against the table.

Hauck shrugged.

“Kramer,” Steve Chrisafoulis said. “Victim Number Two.”

Hauck leafed through the calls. There seemed to be twenty or thirty of them going back six months. Sometimes in clusters—two or three in a matter of days.

They'd been speaking a couple of times a week up to the day Sanger died.

“Then there's this…” Steve brought over a new stack, feeding Hauck individual sheets. “I looked through his bank records…You can see for yourself, they've got several accounts in the Fieldpoint Bank, right here in town. Checking, savings, a couple of CDs, fifteen, twenty thousand, one for each of the kids. Under forty grand, the whole ball of wax. He and his wife are the lone signatories on all accounts. There's also an investment IRA at Smith Barney in his and his wife's name. A shade over a hundred and fifty grand in it…”

Hauck shrugged. “The guy's a government employee, not a hedge fund manager.”

“Yeah.” Chrisafoulis nodded. “That's what I was thinking. So then what do you make of this?”

He pulled out another couple of pages. He slid them to Hauck. “He's got this other account…Not in Greenwich. Not with his wife's name on it. But up in Hartford. Bank of America. And just him on it—no one else.”

Hauck leaned over the detective's shoulder and read.

“I mean, the guy's a federal attorney, right? So I figured, he's just parking away a few bucks for the kids' college fund.”

At the top, where the current balance was, it read $427,651.

Hauck stopped on it.

Freddy Munoz was grinning. “Like you said, LT, the guy's just a government employee, right?”

“Check out the size of these deposits,” Steve said, sliding a pencil down the page. “Forty-three K, thirty-one thousand. Twenty-eight…And the withdrawals…Generally thesame—fifteen to twenty grand. Why does a government lawyer keep a private account with twice what they have jointly to their names stashed away there and totally separate from his wife?”

“And more to the point, where does a guy who pulls in ninety, maybe a hundred grand even get those kinds of funds?”

In itself, it didn't prove anything. It could all be family money he didn't want to commingle with his wife's. Or investment income from something they hadn't found yet.

“I don't know,” Hauck said, “but I think we're going to find out from Wendy.”

“Before you do…” Chrisafoulis took a last sheet out of the folder. “There might be one last thing you want to ask her, sir.”

W
endy Sanger was heading back up the walk to her house from the mailbox, leafing through envelopes, when Hauck pulled up, taking her by surprise.

He waved to her and smiled.

“You have a few moments to talk?” Hauck asked, stepping out of the car with a manila folder tucked under his arm.

“Sure…” Her reply was a little wary, sensing something.

“Just watch out for the obstacle course.” A tricycle and a plastic hockey net were strewn on the lawn.

Inside, Wendy offered some coffee, which he declined. But he followed her into the kitchen and asked how she was doing while she brewed herself a cup of tea.

“I can barely even get back to the basic things yet.” She shrugged. “The wash, shopping…Haley's been taking it all pretty hard. She and David always had this bond.
Ethan…
”

She stopped, pulled out a bottle of honey, stood with her back to the counter. “He still doesn't fully understand. How do I explain this to a six-year-old with Asperger's? It's his first day back at school today. It's like, you try to get everything back to normal, but then there's this huge, empty hole that just comes at you…”

“I know,” Hauck said, “it's gonna take some time. Listen, I came out here because there are a few things I need to ask you, Ms. Sanger. A couple of things have come up.”

Wendy poured her tea, motioned Hauck over to an old farmhouse table in the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard. They sat down. “Okay…”

Hauck opened the envelope. “Did you know someone named Keith Kramer, Ms. Sanger? He may have been a friend of your husband's?”

“Keith. Yes. I know him. A little.” She seemed surprised at the name. “He and David went to Wesleyan together. They kept up a bit, I suppose.”

Hauck shifted. “Did you know that Mr. Kramer was killed, Ms. Sanger? Last week.”

“
What?
Keith?
No
…” She put down her mug, clearly shocked. “Oh, my God, that's terrible. What a horrible coincidence. I don't think he and David had too much to do with each other lately. I think he worked for one of the casinos upstate.
How?
”

“He was shot. In the back of the head. Up where he lived in Madison. His body was found strewn in the woods.”

“Oh, God, how horrible, Lieutenant.” Wendy shot a hand to her mouth. “I think he had kids,” she said after a few seconds, “a little younger than ours…I think his wife was in the real estate business or something. Joan, I think…” Then Wendy looked up at him, her face suddenly darkening. “You're not thinking this is a coincidence, are you, Lieutenant?
David. Keith
…That's why you're here.”

Hauck asked her, “Do you mind telling me the last time you and your husband heard from Mr. Kramer, Ms. Sanger?”

“You mean David, not me. We hadn't socialized in years. I don't know. Keith was sort of an easygoing guy. He never
seemed to have to have a lot of ambition. He was sort of a math whiz, if I recall, back in school. But most of their friends, they'd gone on to something. Wall Street. Med school. Teaching. The past couple of years, I'm not sure he and David had that much to do with each other. We went to dinner with them and a few friends in Stamford…I don't know, two or three years…”

Hauck took out the folders Steve had prepared. He opened one and removed the stack of bound pages marked up with yellow lines. “Don't be alarmed,” he said, “but these are your husband's cell phone records, Ms. Sanger. This is all pretty routine stuff in a case involving an unsolved homicide.”

Wendy wet her lips and took the pages onto her lap. She leafed through a few. “Okay…”

“The yellow highlighting you're seeing is all from the same cell phone number. Keith Kramer's cell. As you can see, the calls go back over a period of several months.”

Wendy stared.

“You'd have to say they'd clearly been in touch a bit more than you suspected?”

She picked up the records, eyes wide, as seemingly in shock at the dates and the frequency of the calls. Her gaze came back to Hauck, unsure. “I don't understand.”

“What can you tell me about Mr. Kramer, Ms. Sanger?”

She shrugged. “
Keith?
I don't know if I can tell you much of anything, Lieutenant. Like I said, he went to school with David—I think they were roommates at some point. But that was twenty years ago. He never really got going on the career track, was all I knew. He was one of those people who seemed to always go back to what it was like in college. You know, who never quite grew up. Still wanted to always get together. Watch the games, play cards. I mean, he was harmless, nice. He
wouldn't get involved in anything. What does any of this have to do with David?”

“Did your husband ever talk about him?” Hauck asked. “Was there anything you can remember that would make them possibly be in touch?”

“No. I mean, once in a while, David would say he and a couple of his old friends were getting together or playing cards. Maybe David went down there once or twice when he stayed up in Hartford. It's possible once or twice he may have visited him at the casino. But that was all few and far between. We weren't even friends. I don't even know his kids' names.” She shook her head and her eyes went back to the records.
“You're saying that what happened to David and Keith is somehow linked?”

“I don't know. I don't want to alarm you right now. But you'd agree it's pretty unusual your husband was in such frequent contact with this person and then kept it all from you?”

“It is unusual,” Wendy said. “David didn't hide things from me. But my husband's death was an accident, Lieutenant. You said so yourself. What ever happened to that girl who was drowned…?”

“I want you to look at something else, Ms. Sanger,” Hauck said, pulling out the copy of Sanger's Bank of America account in Hartford.

Wendy's face turned white. She looked back at Hauck. “Where did you get this?”

“Like I said, we're dealing with an unsolved homicide, Ms. Sanger.”

She put a hand to her brow and nodded. “I just saw this…For the first time. Just the other day. A couple of David's colleagues from work brought down a bunch of stuff from his of
fice.” She looked up, confused. “I don't know what to make of it.”

“You never knew about this account?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. I don't even know if I should be saying anything more to you, Lieutenant. I want to help, but I don't know what's going on here. My husband was a good man. He was a good husband and a caring dad, and he spent his life fighting for people, when other people he knew were just into making money or putting together deals. I don't know where you're going with this. I'm starting to feel like
I
should have some kind of lawyer…?”

“Listen,” Hauck said. He noticed her hands fidgeting and he couldn't help but reach out. “I'm not your enemy, Ms. Sanger. I want to find out what happened to your husband just as much as you, and the last thing I want to do is drag his name through anything untoward. I promise you that.”

Wendy nodded.

“But your husband was depositing sizable amounts of cash in an account that he kept secret from you. An account you're not even a signee on. And that should worry you a bit. If this kind of thing got dug out by the press, or into the hands of someone else looking at this, such as the FBI, they're not going to be nearly as friendly, and you just don't know where that would lead. So I think you should talk to me, Ms. Sanger, if there's anything you know. Anything you might be holding back from me. Do you have any idea where these sorts of funds might've come from?”

“No!”
Wendy's eyes grew fearful. “I only found out about this two days ago. I don't have a goddamn idea what it all means, Lieutenant. We didn't keep things from each other.”

Hauck shrugged. “I'm sorry, but that's not the way it seems.”

“
I can see that's not the way it seems, Lieutenant!
And you can see how it's making me feel.”

Hauck nodded, shuffled the pages into a neat pile, and leaned forward, arms on knees. “I'm afraid there's more.” He opened another folder and took out a fastened sheath of papers. “This is a MasterCard account your husband kept, Ms. Sanger. Have you ever seen it before?”

Wendy Sanger looked at it. She stared back glassily. “No.”

“You see those charges? DealMeIn.com. Pokerbuff Online. Some of the charges run as high as five thousand dollars.”

“I see that, Lieutenant!” Wendy Sanger nodded.

“Listen, I know how hard this is. I know exactly what you've been through. But your husband's friend, Kramer, he was executed, Ms. Sanger. He worked for the Pequot Woods Casino and your husband had been in touch with him several times over the weeks before they both died. I don't know what was going on. I don't know if he was advising him on some matter he wanted to keep quiet, in his capacity as an attorney—though these bank deposits and Internet charges don't lend a lot of credence to that. But there's something I've got to ask you and you've got to be truthful with me.”

She nodded.

“Did your husband have some kind of gambling problem, Ms. Sanger?”