Fred Limberg - First Murder

Someone had told him, someone from the Gang Strike Force, not long ago, that gang members outnumbered police officers something like three to one. Ray hoped they all stayed dumb and kept shooting at each other. A war in the streets was unthinkable. He preferred his murders one at a time.

Ray also worried that the threats would affect de Luca, distract him. He liked the young man and thought he showed some promise. De Luca had instincts, thought processes that neither Ray nor anyone else could ever teach, critical to untangling lies and obscurities and mis-directions, critical to solving cases. And, he thought, it’s his first murder. It would be important to clear this one. Ray’s first murder was still open, unsolved, and it haunted him.

It wasn’t a daily anguish, sometimes not even weekly. But every so often he remembered the little girl who was violated and murdered and left like so much trash in a dumpster so long ago. They didn’t have the DNA tools back then but it didn’t matter. He’d put what they had into the system and didn’t get any hits. The last time was three years before, he remembered, and thought maybe he’d try again.

The phone caught his eye. He had a call to make and his ruminations and the whiskey had been convenient excuses for not making it. Not that he was afraid of making the call-well, maybe a little-but not for any reasons relating to the case. At least he hoped not.

She answered on the third ring. “This is Lakisha.”

“Ray Bankston. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Rayford, I was thinking about you earlier this evening.”

I was thinking about you too, he thought, but didn’t say.

“No, it’s not too late at all. I was just reading.”

“Anything interesting?” Ray read police reports and interview transcriptions, coroner’s reports and department bulletins. He tried to remember the last book he’d read.

“Have you ever read anything by Walter Mosley?”

“I’ve heard the name, but no. I don’t have much time to read novels.”

“True crime being so much more interesting than detective stories?”

Ray chuckled softly. “Not really. I’d give anything to be able to get to page two hundred and know who the killer is, though. Know that when I picked the book up that all of the mystery was there, in the one book.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

“The reason I called…”

“The true crime, of course. Deanna’s murder.”

“I neglected to ask you a question or two.” Ray wondered if she knew he’d done it intentionally so he would have an excuse to call her, maybe see her again.

“Yes?”

“Where were you Monday morning, early?”

“I was here at home. Sleeping.”

“How to say this…ah…can anyone corroborate that?” He heard her laugh, not directly into the phone but as if she was holding it at her side. Ray had never thought of the word corroborate as funny.

“Well, Mr. Marland is away; out of the country, actually. The pool boy is off for the season, and while I have my eye on a certain man we haven’t been able to spend much time together.” Ray wondered if she was flirting, if she was talking about him.

“Any phone calls? Deliveries? Can you think of anything to support that?” There was a pause in the conversation. She was thinking.

“I’m afraid I was sort of a lay about on Monday. In fact, I don’t think I went out at all. I’m sure of it.” Ray Bankston’s life was in constant motion. He had a hard time imagining staying home all day, not talking to anyone, not even the time he’d been laid low by the flu. Still, Lakisha Marland wasn’t much of a suspect. None of the ‘Go Girls’ were at this point.

“I spent the day writing. I’m a writer you know.” No, he didn’t know that. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a recluse when I’m working on a book.”

“What do you write? I don’t spend much time in bookstores.”

“Erotica. I write about sex, Rayford.” Ray’s mind blanked for a beat. It wasn’t until he heard her laughing again that it rebooted. Erotica?

“I’m sorry,” she said, getting her voice under control. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was teasing.”

“Well, someone has to write it I suppose.”

“Good comeback. I’m sorry. Actually, I write mysteries and you wouldn’t have seen my name in the bookstores because I publish under a psuedonym.”

“Apology accepted. I’ll tell you, you got me with that one though.”

“Good. I meant to.”

Ray made himself stay on task. “I just had a thought. Do you write on a computer?”

“Of course.”

“I think the problem’s solved.” Ray caught himself smiling. “Your entries will have a time stamp on them. Were you working early?”

“Monday? I think I sat down about seven. I’d been puzzling over a scene and had some thoughts during the night. That happens often.”

“I’ll need to see the computer, have you open some files for me.”

“Tonight?”

“It’s after ten, Lakisha. A little late?”

He heard disappointment in her voice. “Hmm…I suppose.”

“I’ll be by in a day or two. The data isn’t going anywhere.”

“Okay.”

“Another question. Does Scott Fredrickson manage any of your husband’s money?”

“No. What an intriguing thought, though.” She paused, playing with the scene in her mind. “The husband is doing something with the funds, what…money laundering or something? An investment goes terribly bad, thousands disappear. And the wife is killed as a warning or revenge. Complicated.”

“Thinking of a plot twist for your latest book?” Ray was enjoying the conversation but in the back of his mind he was worried. A mystery writer’s imagination could skew his own thinking if he listened too hard, or shared too much. He’d have to be careful with what he said around her.

“Always. I have to tell you, Rayford, I’ve been thinking very hard about Deanna’s murder, trying to envision what could be behind it. I’ve been imagining scenarios involving our friends and have tried to think what could possibly have happened. Have you met all the others yet?”

“All but Karen Hewes.”

“After you meet Karen call me. Come see my computer and we’ll talk. You need to meet them all first.” This was a change from her earlier attitude. Ray wondered if she would share more information about the ‘Go Girls’. Tony had thought she might.

“Can time stamps on a computer be altered?” she asked.

“Don’t mess with the computer, Lakisha.”

“I won’t, not until after you’ve checked it out. A woman needs a strong alibi from time to time.”

“You’re thinking about a plot twist now, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” She laughed softly and said good night. Not goodbye…good night.

“Don’t mess with the computer.”

De Luca wondered if being exhausted at the start of every day was a detective’s lot in life. Tuesday started at a hung-over four in the morning with the discovery of Deanna Fredrickson’s body. After putting twelve hours in on the case, Wednesday had fallen apart with the late visit to Sue Ellen’s. The escalating threat implied by the bullet outside her door galvanizing her protectors. She was hustled off to a hotel with three guards in tow. Finally home, Tony had tried to sleep but there were too many things banging around in his head. What little shut-eye he got was shallow and filled with questions and worry and the ghost of Deanna Fredrickson.

Tony wasn’t happy with Ray Bankston. Ray had decided to wait until afternoon to get the team together to compare notes. He could have not slept for at least another hour. A seven o’clock meeting required a six o’clock alarm. Between yawns Tony was working on his interview transcriptions when Carol Offord came into the squad room. She was wearing a navy blue business suit and looked rested and scrubbed and fresh. She said ‘hi’ much too cheerfully in his opinion.