First Murder (22 page)

“So why’s Ray so hell bent on doing it this way then?” Tony asked.

“Uncle Rayford has a blind spot. He wants his evidence to be so perfect he goes too far sometimes. That’s my guess.”

“So you wouldn’t need the lineups in court if you were prosecuting the case?”

“Tony.” Sue Ellen shook her head. “You’re a million miles from the courtroom.”

T
hat Saturday morning never did actually dawn through October clouds that were low and wet. It was like a damp gray blanket had been draped over the city. It grudgingly revealed itself, detail by detail, but by 9:30 still hadn’t satisfied the streetlights’ electric eyes. They were still on while Tony and Ray drove to Erika Hilgendorf’s house in Roseville, an old first ring suburb just north of St. Paul. She was glad to have them stop by, she’d said, anxious for them to catch her up on the investigation.

Ray didn’t tell her it was more a case of them doing the asking. Erica would figure that out pretty quickly.

Bruno greeted them at the door. Bruno, a Great Pyrenees, shaggy and snow white, outweighed the petite woman by at least twenty pounds…maybe even thirty.

“Who walks who?” Tony chuckled as Bruno grudgingly let them enter. Very protective of his mistress, his eyes never left the detectives for the entire visit. Tony made a conscious effort to avoid any fast moves.

“Oh, I walk him. He’s a big baby.” Tony nodded, thinking ‘
sure you do, uh huh’
. “The leash is just a prop.” Tony was about to make a joke about a saddle but Ray headed him off. He produced the picture of Sean Stuckey that Kumpula had updated and passed it over to Erika.

“Is this the guy who killed Deanna?” There was fire and anger in the small woman’s eyes. She studied the picture closely, holding it up to the front window of the living room for better light.

“No, this is just someone we’re interested in.”

“Why?” She jiggled the picture at Ray. “If you don’t think he did it then he must know something, right, like a witness or something.”

“Have you ever seen this man? Do you recognize him?”

“Recognize him? This kid?” The comment made Tony wonder again how old Erica was. The ‘Go Girls’ all had a talent, or at least a technique, for shaving years off. She gave the picture another hard look. “Nope. Never saw him before.”

Tony gave Ray a sidelong glance before he said, “It might not have been here in the Cities.” They had battled earlier about using the photo line-up. Tony had won that one. The skirmish for mentioning LA was fought to a standstill and remained unresolved.

“Tony…”

“It might have been in Los Angeles last spring. The night you all went to the uh…club.” At first Tony thought she wasn’t embarrassed by his mention of the strip joint. Her stance was still aggressive. Her posture was confident and businesslike, but Tony noticed the tops of her ears redden slightly and a pale pink tinge of color crept into her cheeks. The room was warm. No chilled breeze had crept in.

“You think he was one of the dancers?” She studied the picture again, then closed her eyes and tilted her head back. After a minute she looked back at the photo. “Nope. I can’t place him. Sorry.” She handed the picture back.

“No need to apologize,” Ray assured her. “If you haven’t seen him, you haven’t seen him.”

“If you want to know the truth, the only thing I was looking for in that damned place was an exit sign as soon as those guys started wagging their tallywhackers.” She let out a nervous laugh. It didn’t fool Bruno, Tony guessed, when the big white dog started rumbling.

“I didn’t speak to Roxie or Karen for a week. I don’t know
what
they were thinking.” Ray was searching for his next question when Tony spoke up.

“We met Gary.” Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was that Erica had some idea of what they would have thought of the guy. She smirked at the comment.

“Real peach, huh?”

“He, ah…he’s protective.”

“Bruno baby is protective. Gary’s a freak.” Tony tried to remember who had used the words Gary and leash in the same sentence.

“You two don’t get along I take it.”

“We get along fine. If I enter a room he leaves or I kick his ass.” Gary Hewes was over six feet tall and Tony knew he had thick ropy muscles. He didn’t know quite how to use them, but he couldn’t see little Erica Hilgendorff kicking anybody’s ass.

“Check this out.” She and Bruno led them to a small bedroom that had been converted into a home office.

Two walls were lined with shelves and the shelves were full of trophies. Tony looked closely at some of them. Karate trophies. Ju-Jitsu matches. Full contact Tae Kwon Do.

There were photos too, all of them with little Erica Hilgendorff wearing a black sash and standing on one of the raised platforms, usually the tallest one with the first place trophy in her arms. Tony suspected that if you managed to get past Bruno your troubles were just beginning.

“Like I said, we get along fine.”

Ray was leaning in the doorway, a serious look on his face. “I don’t know if I’ve asked you this, but did Karen and Deanna ever fight?”

Erica didn’t hesitate with her answer. “No. Never. Those two were like sisters, you know. Why do you ask?” It irritated Ray that this woman was always probing for the reason behind his questions. “Oh…I get it. Maybe they were having a problem and Gary went over to straighten Deanna out and it got a little out of hand.”

Ray wondered for the ten thousandth time why everyone in an investigation wanted to be a detective.

“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.”

T
here 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.