Leslie Glass - A Killing Gift

"It must be nice to know your parents were thinking of you. The place will be great once you get it cleaned up. Are you going to live there?"

"No, I'm selling it."

April had no comment for that. Too bad. "What do you think is the significance of the number four?" she asked after a pause.

"As in million? I have no idea." Kathy's voice sounded weary. "No idea at all. Does it tie into the murder?"

"Still working on it. Have you heard of a guy called Al Frayme?"

"No, the name doesn't ring a bell. Who is he?"

"He's a fund-raiser in the alumni office at York U. He knew your dad from way back. Our guess is he started putting the arm on him for a contribution as soon as the lottery money came in."

"Him and everyone else."

"Yes, but he knew Birdie, too. Neither one gave him any money."

Kathy whooped. "I knew it wasn't Bill!" Then she was quiet for a moment. "What's the motive? He killed them because they didn't give money to a school!"

"This is very early days. We think he didn't want them to have a guilty conscience."

"What?"

"It's a little unclear why, Kathy. But he knew their movements well, and he had opportunity."

"Do you have anything else on him?"

"Not yet. We're still in the process of subpoenaing the wills and financial records of Birdie and your dad. The paper is coming in. In the Bassett case we don't know yet who stands to gain."

"What can I do?"

"It's Frayme I'm interested in at the moment. If you see anything with his name on it, any notes your father may have made, anything to connect the two recently, that would help. I don't want to jump the gun, but at the moment he's looking good."

"I'm sorry I haven't been more help," Kathy said after a pause.

"No problem. I'm still on your side. We'll find that money. Give me a call on my cell." April hung up. She didn't have anything else to add.

Al Frayme's name wasn't on April's list of black belts at the nearest tae kwon do studio on Twelfth Street. That didn't surprise her. She called Marcus Beame to alert Fred and Frank.

"Hey, April. I'm going nuts here with no news. What's going on?" He sounded more than glad to hear from her.

"I have a question for Frank and Fred on the karate angle."

"Shoot."

"We have a suspect. His name is Albert Frayme, with a Y. He lives in the area, East Eighth Street." She gave the building number.

"That's Frayme with a Y," Beame confirmed.

"Yes. Mixed-fight expert. He has the hands. I don't know about the feet."

"Is he the one? You'd know, you fought him, right?"

The question made her uncomfortable. Mike had given her the look in Al's office. Before that, she and Jack Devereaux had given each other the look in his apartment. Jack couldn't be sure; her memory was faulty. It was pitiful. She just didn't know.

"We're just fishing at the moment, Marcus. Just ask them if the name has come up."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"You know, yes. I'm getting a funny feeling about a guy seen walking a dog near both homicides. We've been thinking of him as a witness, but maybe he was a lookout."

"How would that play, April?"

"I'm getting some expert help on this. But I'm guessing it might be someone who was on the scene but didn't actively participate-like someone riding shotgun in a car. Frayme may be one of those guys who wouldn't kill without a friend to egg him on. Check the name Frayme, his known associates and sparring partners. If we're real lucky, one of them has a dog."

"Yeah, I got it," Marcus said excitedly.

"Call me back right away." April was sweating with excitement. That dog piece of the puzzle had been driving her nuts. Now it was beginning to play.

She caught Marty Baldwin coming in the front door of the administration building. "Mr. Baldwin. I'm Sergeant Woo from the police. I'd like to ask you a few questions." She showed him her ID.

Marty Baldwin glanced back at the two uniformed officers and nodded. He was a short, round-faced cherub with a balding head and a bulging muscle in his neck that masqueraded as a double chin. He wore a yellow-and-blue tattersall shirt and a brown suit with a red silk handkerchief in the breast pocket. "Okay. Let's go to my office," he said.

April followed him up the stairs to where the three big officers hung out in the hall.

"Did something happen?" he asked anxiously.

April didn't answer. She took the lead as they went into the alumni office, where Mike was sitting in Al Frayme's only guest chair.

"Oops, getting crowded in here," Mike said cheerfully. "Mr. Baldwin, I presume. I'm Lieutenant Sanchez, Homicide."

Marty nodded again. His eyes slid over to Al. "What's happening?" he asked again.

"Just clearing up a few details about Wednesday night. Al, let's give your boss some privacy here."

"Where are we going?" Al asked.

"To the station."

Al made a farting sound with his lips. "Sorry, Marty, looks like I'll be out of the office for a while." He glanced down, then carefully started wrapping his half-eaten sandwich to take with him.

"You won't need that," Mike jerked his head at April. She went out into the hall and beckoned the officers. They filed into the office.

"It cost nine bucks," Al protested.

Mike tossed it in the trash, and Al's gray eyes grew stormy.

"Sir, would you go into your office, please," April directed Baldwin. He complied without a word.

When Mike, Frayme, and the three officers were gone, April sat down in Baldwin's office and took out her notebook.

"Is this about Birdie Bassett?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, it is, Mr. Baldwin. On the tenth of this month you went to a meeting in the School of Social Work. Do you want to tell me about that?"

"Huh?" He was startled. He glanced up as Woody Baum came into the room.

April nodded and Woody took a seat next to her. "This is Detective Baum."

"Sir," Woody said.

He looked from one to the other.

"What was the nature of the meeting?" April asked.

Baldwin cleared his throat. "That was a while ago. I'm not sure. We've been meeting in all the schools. There are fourteen of them at the university." He made a face. "President Warmsley read the riot act when he took over, so each school has to stand on its own financially now, raise its own money." He licked his lips. "How is this relevant?"

"What time was the meeting?"

"Ah, I don't recollect much about that week, much less that day. It's the end of the school year. We're pretty pressured right now. I'd have to look it up."

"That would be good."

He didn't move. "Ah, I think the one you're talking about was pretty much a meet-and-greet. The dean there is new. Her alumni traditionally give little to nothing, so she has a problem. Going into the social services, as you know, is not the way to make money in this world."

"What was discussed in the meeting?"

"We were trying to come up with some alternative fund-raising strategies. Going to private foundations interested in vulnerable populations, to the state, and so forth."

"Is that part of your job description?"

"No. It was a waste of our time."

"Did you stay all the way through it?"

"Of course."

"How about bathroom breaks?"

Baldwin blinked. "Everybody takes bathroom breaks. What is this about?"

"What about Al; was he there?" She scribbled some notes.

"Oh, Al is everywhere."

"Does he take bathroom breaks?"

"He's in and out. I don't know why you're asking this. He's terrific. I don't know what I would do without him. He does most of the writing for the magazine. That's a quarterly. And he's great on outreach. He answers the phone, never gets annoyed."

"Mm-hmm." April wrote that down. "Tell me about the outreach."

Baldwin hesitated. "He does the reunions, follows up on careers. Thousands of them. He was very upset to hear about Birdie's death. She was an undergrad classmate of his."