Fred Limberg - First Murder

At first he thought of a poster he’d seen somewhere; in a bar or liquor store somewhere-a poster of a German girl, a fraulien , a St. Pauli girl. Erica had big hips, full breasts, long blond hair and sturdy arms; muscled, in Ray’s imagination, from serving giant steins of dark foamy beer. She was a robust looking woman with laugh lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes and a wide full mouth that looked like it was used to smiling.

She couldn’t have been over four and a half feet tall. He glanced down at her shoes and noticed she was wearing low heels. While she and Carol were getting introductions out of the way he took the opportunity to study her. She didn’t have large hands and arms or the exaggerated limbs suggesting dwarfism. Everything was in perfect proportion. It was just in miniature, as if she had been created on a slightly different scale. She led them to an unused meeting room for the interview.

“I had just about gotten over my early crying jag when you called to say you were on the way over.” It was a brave attempt at a smile, Ray noticed. He was going to let Carol be the lead on this interview.

“It’s rough, huh?” Carol leaned close, establishing a rapport.

“Losing one of your best friends? Goddamn right it’s rough.” A tissue magically appeared.

“We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Sunday night I was home alone. There was an old Bette Davis flick on. I’m a sucker for gray movies. I turned in early and was here in the office about 7:00, on the phones by 7:30. I sell insurance, commercial lines. Sometimes I can catch people early. Get their attention.” Carol looked over at Ray and frowned. She hadn’t asked a question.

Erika noticed Carol’s unease and explained. “I talked to Lakisha last night. She clued me into what you guys would be asking.”

“That’s maybe not so good,” Carol said. It came out terse and with a frosting of reprimand. Erika didn’t seem the least intimidated.

“What…that friends talk? What? You think we’re trying to get our stories straight? Get our alibi’s tight?” Ray just sat there, occasionally making a note.

Carol stiffened. “I’ll need some names to verify the morning calls.”

Erika produced a folded sheet of paper from her jacket pocket and tossed it in front of Carol, now bristling at the woman detective’s increasingly arrogant tone. “That’s Monday’s call log. Don’t embarrass me, honey.”

“Thank you.”

Erika continued. Carol’s attitude had worn off on her a bit. She was combative now. “I can’t think of a person in the world that would want to hurt Dee. It has to have been a robbery or something. Is there some serial killer out there you’re keeping out of the press?”

Ray looked up from his notes, eyebrows arched. They hadn’t tossed the idea of a serial killer around. There hadn’t been a true serial killer in the Twin Cities for as long as he could remember, not a real one. He tried to think of the writer’s name, the one who wrote all the crime novels that made it sound like the Twin Cities was spree-murder central, but couldn’t pull it out.

“No,” Carol said.

“She got along with everybody. I mean everybody . Always a kind word. The first person to step in to help. The fu…the world should have more Deanna Fredricksons.”

When Carol asked questions about the possibility of affairs Erica didn’t answer verbally. Instead she gave her interrogator a look that would have made most people retreat and fervently repent, at least that’s what Ray thought. He didn’t know if it was Erika’s personality or Carol’s that kept touching match to kindling, but it was time for him to step in.

“Ms. Hilgendorff, I’m immensely curious about the trips you took as a group. I don’t know why exactly.” His voice was soothing, low, and melodic like the music he liked to play, like the songs he sang. “I don’t normally share this information while we’re still interviewing family and friends, but we know you didn’t have anything to do with your friend’s death.”

Carol looked over with raised eyebrows. What did he mean telling this chick she wasn’t a possible suspect? Of course, they could lie up a storm as easily as the suspects if they wanted to-and often did. Not Ray so much, though.

“We’re up against such a wall here that I have to wonder if it isn’t something from somewhere else, from out of town.”

“What do you mean?” Erica was engaged again. The quills were laid back flat.

“Las Vegas or maybe Laughlin comes to mind. Maybe she crossed someone? There was some gambling.”

“Not a chance. Deanna didn’t gamble that much. Just slots. Lakisha and I play some cards. No…Dee just wanted to go to shows.”

“No troubles in Mexico? It can get pretty wild down there.” Ray was guessing at that. He’d never been south of the border in his life.

“Mexico was actually pretty tame. We did the beach thing a lot. We snorkeled and some of us even went scuba diving. The instructions were pretty basic. We didn’t go very deep.”

“But it’s a tourist town. No nightlife?”

“Two words, detective: cruise ships. Jesus, they’d dock in the morning and spew thousands of people out into the streets. And not just one ship at a time. The bars were so crammed at night you couldn’t turn around.”

“I see.” He paid attention to his pad for a few seconds. “Then there was LA.”

“Then there was LA,” Erika sighed. If Ray hadn’t known better he would have said he’d heard an audible click right then. He felt a dramatic change in her tone. “Some of us had more fun in LA than others.”

“Trouble?” It looked to Ray like she was trying to make up her mind to tell tales. He hoped she would.

“Shopping. Rodeo Drive. Beverly Hills. Some of us work for a living. Some of us can’t afford Hermes and Prada and fucking Gucci.”

“You were jealous of each other’s money? Of Deanna’s Visa Card?” Ray winced when Carol said that. Erika Hilgendorff turned her head in Carol’s direction slowly but she was clearly addressing Ray.

“We take these trips for different reasons. Deanna just wanted to have fun, see new things and do new things. Lakisha always seems to be on a mission to bankrupt Mr. Marland. Roxie gets to drink without having Ken on her ass about it. Karen just wants to get some breathing room. Let her hair down. Me, I just want to hang with my friends. A lot like Deanna did.” She turned back to Ray.

“I’m the only single one in the group, well…except Ally. I think LA was my last trip though. With Deanna’s death we may not ever go again anyway. It’s hard to explain.” She shot a quick glare in Carol’s direction. “It isn’t all about the money.”

Finally! Ray cheered silently…some friction !

“Since I’m the only single one, some of the ladies in the group have been taking it on themselves to get me laid. They wouldn’t dare do it themselves. Deanna was Snow White . She never pushed, but Karen and Roxie are getting to be a pain in the ass. Like, they do all this flirting and egging guys on and then turn ’em loose on me.”

Ray nodded, pretending to understand what she meant. “That could be awkward, I suppose.”

“Damn straight it is. Christ, one night…the last night in LA they roped me into going to this strip club with them.”

“Strip club?”

“In Los Angeles they have strip clubs for women, Detective Bankston. You don’t get out much, do you?”

She didn’t mean it as an insult and sort of laughed the comment off. Ray was a little stung by it though. He’d gotten out plenty, maybe not so much the last few years, but he’d been a regular at the Motown Studio in Detroit since the late 70’s. He’d spent time in the clubs in Chicago and St. Louis. He’d sung in Memphis for the gang at Stax records…not really his thing, but he knew some of the session players. What did this chick know about Rafe Bankston? He kept the emotion off his face. He was working. She was talking.