Fred Limberg - First Murder

“It was disgusting. I was thinking maybe we’d see some hunky guys like the Chippendales, but noooo . They had guys on stage with their wangs out, with erections, and women would go up on stage and…it was disgusting.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Karen almost dragged me up there. She tried to. To tell you the truth, Detective, I think she wanted to jump up there and blow one of those guys, but she was too chicken.” Ray was caught without a response to what she said. That didn’t happen often. Carol stepped right in.

“Get out! I’ve heard about those places but I never thought they were real.” Carol’s regular gig for years had been in the Sex Crimes Unit. She knew all about those places. She’d seen the videos too often, snatches of them at least.

“They’re real…real sicko.”

“What did you do?”

“I got the hell out of there. Dee and I grabbed Karen and Roxie. Rox was so shit faced I don’t think she knew what she was doing. That was it. We were out of there.”

Ray had another question. “Was Lakisha Marland there that night?”

“Sure.” Erica turned to look at him. “She was strange that night. She wasn’t one of them egging me on, she never does that, but she was taking in the whole thing like it was some kind of bizarre movie to her. That’s what she said later. It was like a surreal movie.”

“You were angry with Karen?”

“God damn right I was,” Erica huffed.

“Were you angry with Deanna?”

“Hell no.”

“Because she was helping you get out…get them out of there?”

“That’s right.”

“How’s your relationship with Karen Hewes now?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with Deanna’s murder. I don’t have a problem with Karen. Deanna didn’t have an ongoing issue with Karen either, if that’s what you’re implying. They were best friends-best friends long before we started this running around the country on trips.”

Ray held his hands up in mock surrender to Erika’s agitation. “I’m sorry if you took it that way. I wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

“Have you met Karen yet?”

“Not yet.”

“When you do you’ll meet Gary, too. There’s a reason Karen goes a little over the top when she can.”

“Gary?”

“Karen’s husband?” Carol asked. Erika nodded, looking away…looking grim.

“What’s he like?” Ray asked. Erika barked out a harsh laugh, one of those with no humor in it.

“You’ll meet him. It’s not for me to say.”

“Could he and Mrs. Fredrickson have been involved?” There was that look again, the one that made you sorry you’d spoken. The one that would make you think twice before asking another stupid question.

“Do you want my fingerprints now?” Erika was done with them. Lakisha would have told her about the fingerprints. It was funny. She was almost eager to give them up.

“I’ve never been fingerprinted before,” she said.

Ray and Carol rode in silence for a while before Carol offered an observation. “That is one tough chick.”

Ray didn’t completely agree. “It was an interesting interview. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of the Deanna Fredrickson admiration society.”

“C’mon, you were a little titillated, weren’t you?” Carol was driving. They were heading toward Edina and the law offices of Allyson Couts, Attorney at Law.

“Intrigued. Nobody just walks in off the street and sticks a knife in Snow White. Deanna knew her killer.” Ray reminded her.

“Which might mean the other ‘Go Girls’ know the killer too.”

“Which also might mean one of the ‘Go Girls’ is the killer.”

“Don’t you just love a mystery, Ray?” He thought about it for a while before answering. He missed his cigarettes at times like these. He was jealous of Carol and her Marlboro Lights.

“Not anymore. I used to be up for it. I used to love the challenge…the puzzle…the mystery. Not anymore. I want the murderer standing over the body with an empty smoking gun, crying his eyes out in remorse, crying out for God to forgive him for his sins.”

“This ain’t one of those, Ray.” She flicked a taunting ash out the window.

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes. Ray let his head droop to his chest, and thought about little Erika Hilgendorf and women’s strip joints where men waved boners around and about Lakisha Marland. Then he smiled, remembering he had to call her about her alibi later.

Tony drove away from the campus with no urgent destination. Stuckey was probably somewhere in the milling masses, anonymous and un-findable for the time being. He considered that the final solution was going to be a good old fashioned stakeout. Tony had never been on a stakeout. He’d sat on the side of the road with his radar on, jigging for speeders, but that wasn’t a stakeout. He’d done roadblocks before, but that wasn’t a stakeout either. The interstate sign appeared advertising Snelling Avenue, the exit nearest the Fredrickson’s house. He decided to make a stop there. It was still taped, still a secure crime scene. Ray hadn’t given him any specific instructions what to do if he couldn’t locate the missing roommate so he decided to go through the house again on his own.

It wasn’t like he’d been told he couldn’t, he told himself. The old saw about begging forgiveness before asking permission came to mind. If he had to sell it he’d call it…initiative. That had some buzz.

There was a squad car parked on the street in front. When Tony pulled into the driveway a young patrolwoman stepped out of the unit, tucked a baton in her belt, and approached him. She recognized it as an unmarked police car. There wasn’t any tension. Still, Tony reached for his new gold shield. He didn’t recognize her.

“Detective de Luca,” he said in greeting, trying to be nonchalant.

“Connors.” She offered her hand. Tony thought she looked awfully young to be wearing a uniform, fragile even. When they shook hands he noticed she sure didn’t smell like a cop.

“I just want to take a look.” He cricked his head toward the house. She told him some evidence techs had left not more than an hour ago, said they might be back, and produced a key and a clipboard he hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t been looking at her hands. Officer Connors was cute. He felt a little guilty standing at the back door, pulling on his powdered latex gloves. Then he was in the house.

The blood stain was still on the floor, dried and nearly black now, a dark testament of Deanna Fredrickson’s death. He noticed that someone had stepped in it at some point, probably after the body had been removed and the stain photographed and cataloged, described and filed away…after it didn’t matter anymore. He was glad it hadn’t been him.

Dusty graphite smudges surrounded the sink and littered the countertop. He noticed the coffee mug sitting on the counter. He leaned over to inspect it. The other smudges had rectangular striations across them, most of them, where the techs had used a tape to pull the prints off. The mug didn’t have any. That struck him as odd, but just for a second. He guessed the techs had other ways to lift prints. He vowed to study up on it.

The address book was gone. So was the planner notebook. Those would be in evidence now, handier for them to refer to. The smudge on the floor was still there but he could see where someone had scraped at it, no doubt lifting a sample for analysis. He remembered every detail of the appearance of the body from the early morning previous. As if in a photo shoot the image flashed in his mind. Here. There. Side view. The leg tucked under. The missing shoe.

What had the coroner’s report said? That it appeared to have been a left-handed assailant; the blade was angled right to left and slightly upward, under the ribcage, partially severing the aorta.