Fred Limberg - First Murder

“And the son? They got along as far as you could tell?”

“They had some set-tos when he was in high school. Dee was harder on him than his father. Of course, she was around more. But he grew up into a fine young man. Even brings his friends over now and then.” That’s interesting.

“Friends?” Not that you’re nosy or anything, Mae my darling .

“From the school I think. They came over on Sundays sometimes. I think they come for the big TV downstairs and Dee’s cooking.”

“Ah. Just a couple more questions if that’s okay?” Mae fetched the percolator and refilled their cups. “Think back to yesterday morning. Was there anything out of the ordinary? Any early visitors you might have noticed?”

“Is that when she was killed?” Tears welled now. Mae stared sadly at the tabletop and said softly, “I knew I should have gone over there when her car sat there all day.” Tony gave her a long minute. “I heard a car, a car door, yesterday morning. I was still in bed. Asleep, really. I didn’t think anything of it then. I guess I thought it was just Dee leaving. Guessed it was 8:30 but I never bothered to look at the clock. Now I think about it, it could have been a car on the street too.”

“Anything else you remember?”

“Yesterday morning. I made coffee, got the paper from the front stoop around 9:00. I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary. You know, I never even went out the side of the house until afternoon. I was going to the grocery. That’s when I noticed her car still there. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

He thanked her for the coffee, left a card-one of Ray’s with his name scrawled on it, and told her to call if she remembered anything else, anything at all.

By the time Tony finished up with Mae, Deanna’s body had been removed and taken to the morgue for an autopsy. Scott Fredrickson was standing now, the first time Tony had seen him upright. He joined them. Ray was looking toward the house-the husband not able to.

“I can’t stay here,” Fredrickson said, meaning it was too hard, too tragic.

“No you can’t.” Ray said, adding that it was a crime scene and it would be a few days. Tony noticed the hurt look in the husband’s eyes as it registered; that he might be a suspect and that he was forbidden from entering his own home.

Tony was dispatched to fetch some clothes from Scott’s closet, an evidence tech accompanying him, photographing and inspecting what he placed in an available suitcase. Ray noted where Fredrickson would be staying and made arrangements to meet up later in the day. It promised to be a long one.

Ray told Tony to go home, to grab a shower and fresh clothes and that they’d meet at 9:30 in the CAP squad room. The Crimes Against Persons division of the S.P.P.D took responsibility for investigation of everything from assaults to rapes and homicide and the squad room served as their base of operations.

Tony wanted to stay with the scene, watch Ray work with the evidence techs and see what came next almost as much as he wanted to get cleaned up and squared away. On the drive to his house on St. Paul’s East Side he tried to sort through and arrange what they knew so far, what he knew so far, but it wasn’t enough yet. It wasn’t much at all.

Tony noticed a neon ‘Open’ sign flickering in the window of a strip mall hair salon on Arcade and checked his watch. He had time. From the chair he could see a Dunn Bros. across the street. While his freshly shorn undercover hair fell on his shoulders and the floor he thought of Mae’s percolator and the truly shitty coffee it made.

Finally home, he quickly showered and shaved. He ran his fingers through thick black almost wavy hair, not completely happy with the quick cut, but what do you want for thirteen bucks. He grimaced at his closet. Rayford Bankston was something of a dandy. A sharp dressed man, they called him in the bull pen. Tony had a blue suit, a gray suit, some of his dad’s tired ties, and a lonely tan sport coat.

The tan sport coat over clean pressed jeans won. Tony stood in front of the mirror with the black matte Glock.40 in his hand, the one he’d left under the Crown Vic’s seat at the crime scene. The detective gig was so new he hadn’t had time to find either a shoulder rig or a clip-on holster. He had another pistol, a.38 Smith and Wesson revolver. It had been his father’s. So had the little house on Case Street where he lived. He took a minute to remember the cranky old bastard and miss him one more time. Back to work, detective. Dad would be proud. Mom would worry.

Uniform regulations called for the Glock, but what about detective regs? He tried both in waistbands and coat pockets and the little.38 won the first round. The Glock went in the shooting bag and back under the front seat, Tony thinking maybe he could get to Gander Mountain sometime during the day. He didn’t see a shootout in the near future. He wondered what Ray carried…and how.

On the drive back downtown Sue Ellen called his cell phone. Tony grinned and thought of white sheets and lost socks.

She launched a dozen questions rapid fire. How did it go? Is it the woman on Victoria or the Asians over in Frogtown? Do you have any suspects? Tony had never been involved with anyone interested in cop stuff before. It usually put them off, usually pretty quickly.

Involved?

“What did you mean by ‘Uncle Ray?” he asked, finally getting a word in.

“My mother’s a Bankston. Ray’s sister. That’s how it usually works.”

“Ah.”

Sue Ellen’s tone changed from curious to really curious, almost wary. “Is it a problem, Tony?”

“Huh? What?” The light changed and he hooked a right on Seventh. He didn’t have long to talk.

“I favor my father. You didn’t know?” Her tone shifted again, now close to angry. “Don’t tell me this is a problem.”

“Sue Ellen, I’m just starting my first case as a detective. I have no idea when I’ll have any time, but as soon as I do will you meet me for a drink, dinner maybe, if we have time? Whatever? No, it’s no problem. What problem?”

She laughed softly. “Good and yes.”

“Except maybe for the uncle thing,” Tony said, chuckling too. “What’s he like? I mean, I’ve heard stories.”

“Uncle Rayford is a very interesting man. You’re going to like him. Did you know that he sings, for example?”

“Sings? Like in a church choir?” That got a laugh.

“No, like R and B. Motown. Bluesy. Jazzy stuff. He knows Smokey and all those guys.”

“Smokey Robinson?” Tony was impressed. He was a casual fan.

“Ask him.”

Tony had another question or ten but not much time. He wheeled into the parking lot next to the headquarters building. “Why’s he a cop? What kind of cop is he?”

“Why? You’ll have to ask him. He’s got a real strong sense of fair play, of justice. It’s what he wants to do. As far as what kind? He’s really, really good.”

A quick glance at his watch told him he was late again. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you soon as I have some time.”

“You don’t have my number,” Sue Ellen pointed out.

“I’m a detective. I’ll find it.” He heard her laughing when he closed the phone and smiled at the caller ID screen.

The CAP’s Homicide Unit staked claim to the northeast corner of the second floor. Desks butted up to desks. The Lieutenant’s office sat at one end, glass walled, with the blinds usually drawn. File cabinets lined one wall. Most desks had a computer monitor and keyboard on them. Modern as it was, ancient bland fluorescent light flattened and depressed it.

Voices drifted from a meeting room at one end with the door open. Tony found Ray, the lieutenant, Gullickson, and three others…one that he knew well, seated around the large table in the center of the room. He nodded at Carol Offord, trying to remember how long it had been.