First Murder (4 page)

He thanked her for the coffee, left a card—one of Ray’s with his name scrawled on it, and told her to call if she remembered anything else, anything at all.

By the time Tony finished up with Mae, Deanna’s body had been removed and taken to the morgue for an autopsy. Scott Fredrickson was standing now, the first time Tony had seen him upright. He joined them. Ray was looking toward the house—the husband not able to.

“I can’t stay here,” Fredrickson said, meaning it was too hard, too tragic.

“No you can’t.” Ray said, adding that it was a crime scene and it would be a few days. Tony noticed the hurt look in the husband’s eyes as it registered; that he might be a suspect and that he was forbidden from entering his own home.

Tony was dispatched to fetch some clothes from Scott’s closet, an evidence tech accompanying him, photographing and inspecting what he placed in an available suitcase. Ray noted where Fredrickson would be staying and made arrangements to meet up later in the day. It promised to be a long one.

R
ay told Tony to go home, to grab a shower and fresh clothes and that they’d meet at 9:30 in the CAP squad room. The
Crimes Against Persons
division of the S.P.P.D took responsibility for investigation of everything from assaults to rapes and homicide and the squad room served as their base of operations.

Tony wanted to stay with the scene, watch Ray work with the evidence techs and see what came next almost as much as he wanted to get cleaned up and squared away. On the drive to his house on St. Paul’s East Side he tried to sort through and arrange what they knew so far, what
he
knew so far, but it wasn’t enough yet. It wasn’t much at all.

Tony noticed a neon ‘Open’ sign flickering in the window of a strip mall hair salon on Arcade and checked his watch. He had time. From the chair he could see a Dunn Bros. across the street. While his freshly shorn undercover hair fell on his shoulders and the floor he thought of Mae’s percolator and the truly shitty coffee it made.

Finally home, he quickly showered and shaved. He ran his fingers through thick black almost wavy hair, not completely happy with the quick cut, but what do you want for thirteen bucks. He grimaced at his closet. Rayford Bankston was something of a dandy. A sharp dressed man, they called him in the bull pen. Tony had a blue suit, a gray suit, some of his dad’s tired ties, and a lonely tan sport coat.

The tan sport coat over clean pressed jeans won. Tony stood in front of the mirror with the black matte Glock .40 in his hand, the one he’d left under the Crown Vic’s seat at the crime scene. The detective gig was so new he hadn’t had time to find either a shoulder rig or a clip-on holster. He had another pistol, a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver. It had been his father’s. So had the little house on Case Street where he lived. He took a minute to remember the cranky old bastard and miss him one more time.
Back to work, detective.
Dad would be proud. Mom would worry.

Uniform regulations called for the Glock, but what about detective regs? He tried both in waistbands and coat pockets and the little .38 won the first round. The Glock went in the shooting bag and back under the front seat, Tony thinking maybe he could get to Gander Mountain sometime during the day. He didn’t see a shootout in the near future. He wondered what Ray carried…and how.

On the drive back downtown Sue Ellen called his cell phone. Tony grinned and thought of white sheets and lost socks.

She launched a dozen questions rapid fire. How did it go? Is it the woman on Victoria or the Asians over in Frogtown? Do you have any suspects? Tony had never been involved with anyone interested in cop stuff before. It usually put them off, usually pretty quickly.

Involved?

“What did you mean by ‘Uncle Ray?” he asked, finally getting a word in.

“My mother’s a Bankston. Ray’s sister. That’s how it usually works.”

“Ah.”

Sue Ellen’s tone changed from curious to really curious, almost wary. “Is it a problem, Tony?”

“Huh? What?” The light changed and he hooked a right on Seventh. He didn’t have long to talk.

“I favor my father. You didn’t know?” Her tone shifted again, now close to angry. “Don’t tell me this is a problem.”

“Sue Ellen, I’m just starting my first case as a detective. I have no idea when I’ll have any time, but as soon as I do will you meet me for a drink, dinner maybe, if we have time? Whatever? No, it’s no problem. What problem?”

She laughed softly. “Good and yes.”

“Except maybe for the uncle thing,” Tony said, chuckling too. “What’s he like? I mean, I’ve heard stories.”

“Uncle Rayford is a very interesting man. You’re going to like him. Did you know that he sings, for example?”

“Sings? Like in a church choir?” That got a laugh.

“No, like R and B. Motown. Bluesy. Jazzy stuff. He knows Smokey and all those guys.”

“Smokey Robinson?” Tony was impressed. He was a casual fan.

“Ask him.”

Tony had another question or ten but not much time. He wheeled into the parking lot next to the headquarters building. “Why’s he a cop? What kind of cop is he?”

“Why? You’ll have to ask him. He’s got a real strong sense of fair play, of justice. It’s what he wants to do. As far as what kind? He’s really, really good.”

A quick glance at his watch told him he was late again. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you soon as I have some time.”

“You don’t have my number,” Sue Ellen pointed out.

“I’m a detective. I’ll find it.” He heard her laughing when he closed the phone and smiled at the caller ID screen.

The CAP’s Homicide Unit staked claim to the northeast corner of the second floor. Desks butted up to desks. The Lieutenant’s office sat at one end, glass walled, with the blinds usually drawn. File cabinets lined one wall. Most desks had a computer monitor and keyboard on them. Modern as it was, ancient bland fluorescent light flattened and depressed it.

Voices drifted from a meeting room at one end with the door open. Tony found Ray, the lieutenant, Gullickson, and three others…one that he knew well, seated around the large table in the center of the room. He nodded at Carol Offord, trying to remember how long it had been.

“You clean up pretty good,” Ray remarked in greeting. Tony wasn’t sure how to respond, wondered what these meetings were like, what this one would be like. He let his easy nature take over, opened the coat, gave a turn, and smiled.

“Grab a chair, de Luca, you’re late,” Gullickson grumbled, looking at his watch. Tony would soon learn that he did that a lot.

Gullickson started right in. “Okay, I’m giving you Offord, Lipka, and the inscrutable Vang Pao for now. You’ll need help on this bastard. No offense, de Luca, but you’re a little raw. Ray was just elaborating on the husband interview.”

Ray took over. “We’re going to need to verify it, but I’m pretty sure the guy was out of town. The arrival time bothers me, though. Four in the morning?”

“Want me on that?” Ted Lipka looked up from his note taking.

Ray nodded. “Then I want you and Pao on follow-up door to doors. You got any notes Tony?”

Tony nodded. He flipped through his notebook and ripped several sheets out, the ones with the names and notes he’d taken from the group on the street and offered them to Lipka. Pao let out an audible groan. “What?” Everyone had a grimace on their face except Carol. She looked away to hide her grin.

Ray cleared his throat to take over the conversation and stop the smirking. “In the future Tony, keep your notebook intact. You might need those notes in trial. Might need them later. Make copies.”

“Oh.”

Shit!

“Okay.”

“Autopsy?” someone asked.

Carol Offord answered. “Tomorrow at the earliest. There was a small fire-fight over in Frogtown involving six Asian gentlemen—two dead, two in Ramsey, and two in custody. The dead guys beat our deceased to the morgue.”

For a brief moment Tony wished they had drawn that case instead. He was familiar with the street, with the gangs, and hell,
they
already had people in custody.
Slam dunk. Start adding up the closed cases for Detective Anthony de Luca. Sweat ’em a little Get one of the Asians to rat
on one of the others and lock all of them up in Stillwater.
The buzz of conversation intruded on his fantasy.

“Tommy Gorand is at Region’s. They’re pretty sure he’s going to make it, but it was bad.”

Christ!
Tommy’s a pal of mine.
Shot?
Tony tucked his fantasy away and got his head back into the case.

Gullickson got up to leave. “Obviously, you’re lead on this one, Ray. Use your people as you see fit. De Luca, don’t get over eager on me. These are good people, you’ll learn a lot.” Tony tracked him as he retreated to his office.

Lipka and Vang Pao saddled up for the door to door interviews. Ray kept Carol back, huddled with her for a minute, then came over to Tony.

“I want you to go talk to the son and the roommates.”

“Alone?” Tony was surprised but not worried that he couldn’t do the job.

“I’m taking Carol with me. We’re going to make another run at the husband. What we need right now is to know where everyone was from Sunday night through Monday morning.” Ray paused, let out a sigh and shook his head. “Man, that’s a lot of time.”

“No better time of death?” Tony asked.

“Not until the autopsy…maybe…hopefully.” All Ray could do was shrug.

“Okay. Hey, thanks for the shot, Ray.”

At first Bankston turned to walk away, but he decided to get this one thing out of the way now; hopefully get it out of the way for good, but he doubted it. He was remembering the attitude he’d gotten earlier at the crime scene, the sarcastic replies. Now would be a good time to set the young detective straight.

“Tony, I have an idea what’s going on in your head right now. After six-some years on the force you think you know some things, and so far you’ve shown me that you do. Some things, okay? But there’s this chip on your shoulder. You get pissy pretty quick sometimes.”

Tony met his gaze. Both faces were set and serious.

Ray continued. “I don’t
do
pissy, de Luca. I don’t play politics. I don’t play games. I clear cases. I like spirit. I like young detectives who have a little fire in their bellies. Point your spirit and your fire at clearing this case, not at me because I want things done a certain way.”

“Yes sir.” Tony’s voice was flat, showing no emotion. He heard what Ray was saying, both the words and what was between the lines. He got it. If there was any anger he’d point it at himself for being a dumb ass. Ray was right.

“I don’t do ‘sir’, either. Tony, you’re enrolled in ‘Murder 101’ now. Go talk to the son and his roommates. Find out where they say they were Sunday night and Monday morning. Find someone to back them up and if you think someone’s lying to you, find someone to back
them
up. Get a feel for them. Stay in touch. Ask me questions. Bounce your thoughts off me. Someone who knew Deanna Fredrickson killed her and she was a popular lady. She knew lots of people.”

“You can count on me, Ray.” Tony was grateful, truly grateful, for the words, for the lesson.

Bankston merely nodded and walked away thinking to himself ‘
and don’t
ever
sass me again, boy’
.

Tony found himself alone in the meeting room with Carol Offord. Well, he thought, I couldn’t duck her forever.

“Tony.”

“Carol. How have you been?” De Luca had no idea what to expect from her. The affair had been short lived and over for what, a year? Two? That long ago?

Carol was tall for a woman. She almost met Tony eye-to-eye when she looked at him. Tony took in what would have been a pretty, high cheek-boned face except for the eyes. Gray wisps teased at her black short hair. Carol had flinty blue, almost gray eyes that always looked sad and resigned, like she had seen too many bad things in her years on the force. He remembered she favored no nonsense business suits, just like the one she wore now, and that it likely hid some outrageous lacy nothings underneath. They’d had a few laughs. It hadn’t ended badly or sadly, it had just ended.

“I’ve been good. Good. Congratulations.” Carol offered her hand.

“Thanks. It’s a little overwhelming.” Tony took it. Her skin was cool and dry and smooth.

“I’d thought you’d have called. What’s it been, a year?” She was still holding on.

“About that I guess.” Here it comes, he thought. I really don’t need to deal with this right now.

“I got a divorce, you know.” Carol smiled and finally let go of his hand.

Was she telling him something? Hinting? Flirting? “I heard that.” What was it Ray said? No politics. No games. Clear cases. “Look, I gotta head out. I’m doing the son and the roommates. This will be good, working together.” He nodded, trying to convince himself that it would be, maybe reassuring Carol.

Carol looked down at the floor. “It wasn’t because of you, of us…the divorce.” Maybe she was more nervous than she looked. No politics. No games.

“That’s good.”

“Was it the age thing?”

The age thing?

Tony was twenty-nine then, Carol at least ten years older. It had felt a little naughty at first, he remembered—getting it on with an older woman. A little weird, but what the hell, they were both adults. He hadn’t really thought about it much. She obviously had.

“No. Not at all,” Tony said. “We just went in different directions—at least that’s what I thought.”

“Sure, that’s it, different directions. And we both end up here.” A cloud passed over Carol’s face, a worry, something flickered in her eyes. Tony had no idea what.

“Are you okay, Carol?”

“I’d like to talk. Away from here. A drink later maybe?” There was too much hopefulness in the question. Tony was uneasy, hell, he was worried now. One of the reasons it had ended was that Carol was a little intense for him.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said.

“So am I,” she snapped back, turning, and striding off. Tony watched her walk away thinking he
really
didn’t need this right now. She turned at the doorway.