As he locked up the back door, the pistol heavy in his coat pocket, Tony wondered if Deanna Fredrickson had thought of the gun when she was attacked. If it had been handier could she have defended herself, saved her life? If her husband hadn’t been stranded on a runway, if he’d been home, would he have been able to rush to the kitchen and shoot the killer? Was her murder made possible because of a fucking warning light in an airplane cockpit a thousand miles away?
It didn’t take Ray but a second to make the connection. Lakisha Marland had scoffed when he suggested they could run into trouble on their trips. She’d said ‘we have Ally’- something like that. Allyson Couts was an impressive woman. She greeted them at the door to her office, smiling and polite, and intimidating as hell.
She was almost as tall as Ray, close to six feet. Ray estimated she weighed between 260 and 280 pounds. She didn’t try to disguise it. Her suit was tailored to her size, close fitting but not tight, a navy blue skirt and jacket advertising a confident, powerful woman. Kind of pug faced, she had shoulder length brown hair and wore glasses. She showed them to the client chairs in front of her desk, asked if they cared for coffee or water. She seemed open and pleasant-at first.
“Obviously, you’re here because of Deanna’s murder.” They hadn’t called ahead. Ray and Carol had taken the chance that they would catch her in the office.
“Yes. We’re interviewing family and friends at this point, trying to get a feel.”
“I think we’ve met, Detective Bankston.” Ray couldn’t pull it out. He was sure he would have remembered this woman.
“Twelve years ago? Maybe more? The Bianchi case?” That took care of one question. She was a defense lawyer. He remembered now. It started clicking. Ray didn’t get involved in Minneapolis cases often. Allyson Couts must work mainly Hennepin County, he surmised. He’d been called to testify against Carlo Bianchi, who he was sure had murdered Reese Whittier, a minor St. Paul troublemaker.
“I remember now.” Allyson Couts hadn’t been as large then. He remembered her as a tall, relentless defense attorney who had mercilessly shredded him on the stand. He had been called to provide background on Whittier. She had blocked, ducked, dodged and blunted everything he had to say.
“So, how can I help you, Detective Bankston? What’s the TOD?” He also recalled her brusque style.
“Monday. Early A.M. We’re thinking 7:00 to 9:00 or 9:30.”
“Breakfast. Helmo case. Client and co-counsel.” She grabbed a pen and scribbled on a pad. “Here.” There were three names and phone numbers on the paper. She knew how it all worked and didn’t seem to take any offense.
“Any tension between the husband and wife you noticed?” Ray decided to match her style. He could do brusque too.
“Nope. Storybook.”
“Kid problems?”
“Everyone should have kids like Scotty and Helene. Wrong tree.”
“What about the ‘Go Girls’?”
“What about ’em?” Ray noticed her eyes narrow slightly at the question.
“Arguments? Jealousy? Someone pissed about something that happened on a trip?” She might have been abrupt and direct, but Allyson was thorough and seemingly truthful. She took a minute to think about Ray’s last question.
“Not with Dee.” She seemed distracted then, still thinking about what she knew, what she thought, and how much of it she would share. “A couple of them might be on the outs, but not Deanna. Not with Dee. Next question?”
“What can you tell me about the incident at the strip club in LA?” Ray didn’t have much else to work with. Neither did he have much expectation of Allyson Couts giving anything up.
“Can’t help you. I wasn’t there.”
“You went on the LA trip though.”
“True. But I didn’t go to the club.” She leaned forward on the desk, hands out and open. “I’m gay, Detective Bankston. The last thing I’d want to do is go to some dive where a bunch of guys are waving their dicks around. I skipped that one. And I don’t do hearsay.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Ray smiled and rose, offered his hand. “Thanks for your time, Counselor.” He saw Carol start to reach for the fingerprint kit and gave her a discreet wave off. They showed themselves out.
“Whew.” Carol said once they were in the car. “You went up against her in court? And lived to talk about it?” She was chuckling while she lit a cigarette.
“It wasn’t too bad for me, but she got the guy off.” Ray shrugged.
“Did he do it?”
“I think so.” He turned to her in the car. “I got it straight in my mind a long time ago, Carol. We catch ’em. The DA prosecutes ’em. Someone in Minneapolis screwed up or something. Not my problem.”
“Yeah, I think that way too.” She nodded. “But sometimes…don’t you get mad sometimes when some junior ADA screws up and one of the bad guys walks?”
“Not mad. I don’t need to waste my energy on mad. I just try to get the next one so airtight, so perfect, that anyone can prosecute it.”
“Bullshit.” Carol tossed the half smoked butt out the window and started the car. “You get mad.”
Chapter 13
Ted Lipka and Vang Pao were leaning against Connor’s squad car. Tony remembered they were still interviewing the neighbors so they must have been nearby. He joined them, curious if the canvassing had produced anything. An old man in a red plaid jacket was herding a small pile of leaves near the curb two houses over. Tony noticed he was keeping an eye on the activity around the police car. Greetings out of the way, talk turned to the case.
“Anything?” Both of the older detectives shook their heads.
Ted flipped a page back on his pad. “Not much. One lady, Grober’s her name, lives in the blue house over there.” He pointed east, toward the busier cross street and the gas station two blocks over. “She said she saw a young man wearing a hooded sweatshirt walking toward the bus stop early Monday morning. She said she didn’t recognize him.”
“She seems to be the unofficial neighborhood watch,” Vang added. “She remembered the Graves woman walking her dog, a Mr. Hendricks was running late and had to trot to catch the 8:15, and that someone named Aldo got his paper that morning in his boxers.”
“That might be something then,” Tony sounded hopeful.
“She only saw him from the back. Couldn’t tell if he was black or white. Couldn’t remember if the sweatshirt had any writing on it. No idea about size. Might not even have been a guy.”
“He was carrying a backpack.”
“That’s not much.” Then Tony remembered something Mae had said, something about hearing a car door. “Did she say anything about a car here at the house? Out front or in the drive?”
“No, but she wouldn’t have been able to see this house.” Ted pointed again toward the blue house. It was on the same side of the street and only three down. Unless the Grober woman had been on the lawn she wouldn’t be able to see the Fredrickson’s.
“What about you? Talked to the last roommate yet?”
It was Tony’s turn to shake his head. “He seems to be a busy boy. I don’t think he’s ducking me but he’s not calling me back either. What do you guys think?” Tony wasn’t above asking advice. Ted and Vang were veterans. Neither of them exuded the presence that Ray did but he knew they were both competent investigators. And everyone had more experience than he did.
“A college kid not bending over backwards to talk to a cop? That’s not surprising.” Vang had a frown on his face. “But…we need to clear him. You’ve left messages?”
“Several.”
“We need to clear him. These kids live on their damn cell phones.” Vang’s tone of voice told Tony that talking with Stuckey was important. He felt a swell of urgency.
“I’m thinking of staking out the house. Ray’s left me kind of twisting here.”
Lipka chuckled. “That sounds like Ray. He doesn’t hold hands, Tony. I’m guessing he said something like ‘talk to the last roommate’ and not much else.”