Fred Limberg - First Murder

“Well, King Louie, that was the dad…he went nuts. Got the lawyers working, hell, he even got me one. A good one. He hired some guys to track down the vids and buy ’em up. Broke up the servers. Word was he spent almost a million bucks to keep his kids out of jail, but mostly to keep the name Holtzman and his film company out of the press. Royal Cinematic Productions does not do porn. Yeah, right.”

“And you?” Tony asked.

Stuckey gave him a smart ass smile. “I was told to disappear. He laid enough money on me to start over out here and here I am.”

“Interesting story,” Ray said. It was surprising how nearly it dovetailed with the story Carol had gotten from the woman in Los Angeles. Still, Ray thought, the best liars use a lot of truth to make their stories believable. He wondered if that was going on here.

“It still doesn’t explain how I’ve got a very good witness that puts you in a bar with the Fredrickson woman.”

“I don’t remember. Half the time I didn’t even know my name. Why didn’t she recognize me at her house, huh?”

“And speaking of the house…” Tony was trying to bore a hole in Sean Stuckey with a dark stare. “How did your fingerprints get upstairs? You went over to watch TV. That’s in the basement.”

“Upstairs?” For the first time Stuckey’s eyes started dancing, flitting from place to place, not really seeing anything-just flicking right and left.

“Halftime. At halftime I had to piss. Everyone did. I went looking for a bathroom upstairs.”

“You didn’t go looking for Deanna Fredrickson to let her know you remembered her? Shake her down for some money?”

“I told you, dude, I needed to pee. Look, I’ve been very, uh…forthcoming here. Lighten up.” Ray put a hand on Tony’s arm.

“That makes sense, right Tony. The prints were on the bathroom door, off the hallway.” Stuckey replayed the smart ass smile and waggled a finger at the detectives. “Nice try, guys. The bathroom was off the master bedroom. I remember leaning in, looking for the can. That’s where I must have left a print.”

“Nice try, Sean. There’s a full bath off the hall before you even get to the bedroom.”

“But detective, it was full of Hong at the time.” The attitude was back, Stuckey’s remorse and shame gone. “Look, you got anything else?”

“Not right now.”

Stuckey slid out of the booth and looked down at Bankston and de Luca. “Okay, I didn’t tell you everything about the web deal. I admit it. But I’ve got a fresh start going out here. I’m clean and mostly sober. I did not kill Scotty’s mom. I hope you find out who did. They should fry.”

“You buy all that?” Tony asked Ray. He was leaning over the open car window. Ray had just taken him back to Angie’s dumpy apartment building and his truck.

“Not all of it. He made some sense out of the upstairs print though.”

Tony looked skeptical.

“I mean, the woman wasn’t home.”

“Yeah boss, but what if he left a note?”

“You have suspicious mind, Detective de Luca.”

“I also wonder if our film student can act with more than his pecker.”

“Eerie. I just had the same idea.”

“I have a good teacher.” Tony smiled. “Got a twenty on you, Ray ? I need to pay Connie and I’m a little short.”

Monday morning dawned cold and clear. Tony and Ray had a good angle on the Hewes’ house from where they were parked, patiently waiting for Gary Hewes to leave for work so they could have a quiet talk with Karen.

After paying Connie her bounty, Tony headed home the night before with mixed emotions and disjointed thoughts both bothering and pleasing him. He had a long talk with the part time dog. Tony laid out what he knew about the murder and the evidence they had in hand. More and more the vane swung toward Sean Stuckey as the killer.

A quick call to David Hong didn’t clear anything up. Hong remembered using the upstairs bathroom the afternoon they watched the game, but there were no fingerprints left behind. Hong never saw Stuckey upstairs at all. He pressed Tony to tell him why he wanted to know about it.

Boof wasn’t impressed. Tony was confused. True, none of Stuckey’s alibis were solid but there was a rational reasonable excuse in every instance. He could have simply confused the movies and been in class the morning of the murder. He could have innocently used the master bath that Sunday afternoon. Tony was looking forward to talking with Karen Hewes. Maybe she had a puzzle piece squirreled away. Boof was looking forward to another biscuit.

And then, when Tony finally crawled into bed he smelled Sue Ellen. He smelled her perfume on the pillows and her sweat and musk on the sheets. He finally drifted off to sleep letting thoughts of the woman push the thoughts of the murder from his tired mind.

Ray was very quiet and thoughtful while they watched for Gary Hewes’ departure. He didn’t volunteer where he went after the talk with Stuckey. Tony respected him enough not to ask. It seemed that they took turns checking their watches every five minutes or so. As 8:30 came and went Ray commented that the fella’ ought to be heading to work any time now. When 8:45 rolled past Tony wondered aloud if the dude was maybe out of town or something. There was no activity at the house. The shades were drawn. A rolled newspaper waited on the front walk.

At 9:00 Ray started squirming in his seat, complaining. They had been there for over two hours. At 9:20 Tony said that enough was enough. Ten minutes later Ray agreed.

Karen answered the door after the first knock, surprised that it was the two detectives. She let them in and directed them to the large oak table they had sat at before. She was dressed in a light blue warm up suit and shiny white running shoes. Her hair was shiny and well brushed, framing her face perfectly and she wore her makeup well, not heavy or garish-just a hint of blush and lipstick and accented eyes.

Tony kept a wary eye on the doorway, expecting her husband to come charging in again, challenging him, making things much more difficult than they needed to be.

“I apologize again for my husband the other day,” Karen said. She glanced over at the doorway too.

“Is he home?” Ray asked. The answer came from the doorway, a voice echoed down the stairs.

“Who’s down there, Karen? Is someone down there?” The questions tailed off into a fit of juicy coughing.

“Gary’s got the flu. He’s been snorting and hacking all weekend.”

“Mmm, that’s a shame.” Ray said, not meaning it.

“I’m starting to get worried. He’s so weak.” She looked to the doorway again. Tony couldn’t decide if it was concern on her face or fear.

“We have a few more questions if you have the time.”

“Honeeeey? Bring me some water.” Gary Hewes was screwing up the interview from his damn sick bed, Tony fumed.

“Why don’t you see to him,” Ray suggested.

Karen raised a hand and waved off the suggestion. “He’ll be fine. You said it was just a few questions. It won’t take long, will it?”

“If you’re sure,” Ray offered while pulling a picture from his coat pocket. He laid the photo of Sean Stuckey on the table. Ray and Tony both saw it immediately, the change in the woman’s expression. Karen Hewes’ eyes tightened. She clasped her hands together tightly on the tabletop, so tight her knuckles whitened. They both noticed her jaw muscles clenching and relaxing and tightening again.

“Honeeey?” Gary’s pleading echoed pitifully down the stairwell and through the door. Her head snapped in that direction, her visage giving way to fear…panic almost.

“Do you recognize this man?” Ray was a portrait of calm, his half-smile aimed at the desperate woman. Tony felt like he was watching a tennis match, his head swiveling from the scene at the table to the doorway and back. Karen pushed up from her chair.