Fred Limberg - First Murder

Ray just nodded.

There were sheers on the windows flanked by heavy brocade drapes. Tony noticed it was getting lighter outside. How long had they been in the house?

“Time to talk to the husband.”

Ray headed downstairs. At the front door he checked the deadbolts and alarm. The killer hadn’t gone this way either. It had all gone down in the kitchen.

Tony lagged behind, upstairs. Standing in the master bedroom, he noticed the pale lightening of the sheers, heard the furnace whisper on again, barely disturbing the silence. He took in the neatness of the room, the ordinary-ness of everything. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing seemed out of place. He hustled down the stairs to join his partner.

They cautiously stepped around the techs dusting for prints and looking for other minute traces of evidence. Kumpula looked up at them, brow furrowed, frowning.

“Liver temp is 74.1, Ray, and I checked out the thermostat. It’s not a set-back model. It’s been 62 in here the whole time.”

Ray needed a time of death to even think of getting started. “Get me close, Kump.”

“Wish I could. You’re looking at 11pm night-before to 9 AM yesterday. Late Sunday night to early Monday morning. Best I can do for now.”

Ray nodded.

“Maybe the Doc can get you closer from the autopsy. Liver temp sucks when it’s been this long,” Kumpula said, trying to give him some hope and maybe something more exact to work with.

“I know.”

“So who’s the new victim…I mean partner?” Kumpula jerked a thumb in Tony’s direction.

“Victim?”

“Tony de Luca, meet Jonny Kumpula.”

“I’d shake but it’s kinda’ insincere when we’re all wearing gloves,” Kumpula joked.

“Nice to meet you, Jonny. Hey, just what did you mean by ‘victim’?” Ray was already out the door and Tony was anxious to follow.

“Just kidding,” Kumpula called out behind him as the screen door closed. Tony could have sworn he heard him add ‘ sorta ’ just before it latched.

Ray stood in the center of the paver driveway just outside the back door. He looked toward the radio car the husband was sitting in, glanced up at the lightening early morning sky, and finally towards a small gathering of people, neighbors shivering in housecoats and robes. One man pointed at the house. Two women were whispering to each other.

Tony nudged Ray with his elbow. “Think anyone saw anything?” He nodded toward the gathering.

“I’m sure someone saw something. Trouble is, right now we don’t know when whatever they saw has any bearing.”

“Yesterday morning.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Early yesterday morning. The lady was dressed, ready to go to whatever CH/ Orient is.”

Ray nodded and told him to go on.

“The bowl and the coffee cup in the sink? Purse on the counter? She was wearing makeup and lipstick.”

“Could have been going out the night before?” Ray added. “Or coming in.” He turned to look back up the drive toward the garage. A new looking Lexus sedan was parked in front of it.

Tony pressed on. “Didn’t strike me as going out clothes, the outfit she had on…has on. Looked like office clothes…business clothes. Coffee mug in the sink. Morning.”

“Just how long have you had a gold shield?” Ray looked into Tony’s eyes. Tony thought he was making fun of him, felt a little squirt of anger. Ray intended it as a compliment.

“It’s what I think , Sergeant Bankston. That’s all.” It came out more pissed off than he really intended. Tony knew he was a rookie detective but he wasn’t a rookie cop with a rookie mind. He turned away so Ray wouldn’t see his expression.

Ray thought about his reply for a minute. This was turning into one of those moments that can define a relationship, or at least affect it in a negative way for a while. Tony was a rookie detective, true, but Ray happened to think he was right-thought he was pretty observant. But they didn’t have a time of death and she might have had a business meeting the night before and been coming home. Too many mights . Still, Ray thought this one, de Luca, might actually have some instincts, some talent. So many other partners managed to disappointed him he was wary by default.

This was not the time for a confrontation, though, so he decided to say, “We’re not in these people’s lives yet, Tony. You go over and talk to the neighbors. You’ve done that before, right? Keep an open mind. This thing’s just starting.”

“You’re going to talk to the husband?”

“Mm-Hm.”

“Without me?” Still tense, Tony could see the logic even if he didn’t like it. He knew how to work a crowd of potential witnesses.

“This time. We’ll be having more conversations with Mr. Fredrickson. And Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“Be sure you ask them about Monday morning.” Bankston gave him a half-smile before he turned to the radio car.

After borrowing a pad from one of the uniformed cops still there and taking the required abuse, Tony approached the small crowd clustered behind a slash of yellow tape. Their hushed conversations quieted further as he approached.

Tony realized that at this moment he missed his uniform. He’d done this dozens, even hundreds of times. Ray’s comment about looking scruffy still stung. Tony knew that he cut an imposing figure in uniform. Six foot one and a muscular hundred and seventy five pounds of black haired, squared away, blue clad, no nonsense cop, with a creaking leather belt and a high riding Glock on his right hip-he got people’s attention right now . Well…most people.

Now, he fumed, here he was in yesterday’s jeans with yesterday’s whiskers, undercover hair, probably smelling like he’d just boinked an assistant D.A, and with only one fucking sock he hoped would go unnoticed. Well, at least he had the gold shield hanging around his neck. He stepped up to the yellow tape.

“Good morning. I’m Detective de Luca.”

“What’s going on officer?”

“Was somebody hurt?”

“Who’s dead? I heard one of the cops talking about a body.”

“Why’s there a coroner van over there.”

“Where’s the ambulance?”

“Is it Deanna?”

“Is it Scotty?”

“He’s living over by the U.”

“What’s going on, officer?”

They were ganging up on him. Tony was being stoned, pelted with questions he wasn’t sure he could answer or should answer. Even so, some things registered. The dead woman’s name was Deanna. He hadn’t known that and felt like he should have. He held up his hand, trying to quiet them, missing his uniform more and more.

“Hang on folks!” He said it louder than he needed to but it had the desired effect. Most of them got quiet. “I’m Detective de Luca. I need to get your names. You all live around here, right? And I need to ask a couple of questions right now. I or another detective may contact you later today or tomorrow with more questions.”

Tony ducked under the crime scene tape and started working the small crowd, asking things like have you noticed anything out of the ordinary at the Fredrickson’s the past couple of days? Any delivery trucks? Any strange vehicles? Have you seen any people that looked like they don’t belong here? When? Well, anytime the last couple of days. Monday morning?

He noticed one man walking away from the group and called out after him, untangling himself from the housewives and retirees.

“Hey! Hold on.” The man kept walking, looking back over his shoulder.

“I said HOLD IT!” Tony’s street-cop voiced command froze the man. “What’s your name?”