First Murder (23 page)

Finally the sauce was simmering, an antipasto salad was cooling in the refrigerator, and a bottle of Chianti had appeared. Ray took out the photo of Sean Stuckey and slid it across the table.

“Oh my,” she said softly before Ray asked a question. She looked up at him. “Who is this?”

The look on her face said she recognized him—that she’d seen Sean Stuckey before but didn’t know his name. Lakisha picked up the picture and studied it more closely, cocking her head to one side. There was a look of deep concern on her face.

Tony stayed silent. He didn’t know if Ray would say the name or if it would mean anything to Lakisha.

“You’ve seen this man before.” Ray said. It wasn’t a question. Lakisha took a sip of wine.

“In Los Angeles.” She nodded as she answered. “The last night we were there. Who is this? How did you get this picture?”

“I can’t tell you that.” She scowled at Ray as if to ask
why the hell not
? “Not yet anyway. You saw this man in Los Angeles the night you all went to the club. Where did you see him? At the club?”

All of the camaraderie and laughter was sucked from the room by the picture. Ray was the interrogator now and Lakisha the witness. Tony saw tension in their faces and their body language.

Lakisha took another sip of the Chianti. “Not at the club. It was at the bar afterward. I remember because…because I thought it was trouble coming.” She picked up her wine glass and walked over to the great windows overlooking the lawn and the lake. The mist had turned to a drizzle, the shoreline was barely visible in the gloom.

Ray moved next to her. Both of them looked out into the dusk. “Tell me about it,” he said.

“I was the last one left with Karen and Dee in the bar. We had a table. I noticed that Karen kept looking over at the bar. This boy…” she tapped the picture Ray was still holding. “He was at the bar…smiling at her.”

“At Karen Hewes?”

“Right.”

“Not at Deanna?”

Lakisha took a small sip of her Chianti. Tony noticed a small trembling from his post nearby. “At all of us at first, but he caught Karen’s eye and she kept looking back at him.”

“Did he approach you…at the table?”

“Not when I was there. I caught his eye once and gave him a hard look. I remember that. Like,
leave us alone you little dipshit
.”

“And he didn’t?”

Lakisha looked over at Ray. “No. He just sat there and smiled this goofy smile. I’m sure he was stoned. Not drunk—stoned. He had that look. His eyes were pinned.”

“But he never came over to the table.”

“Not while I was there. I told you that. I didn’t stick around long after that though. I was beat and a little drunk and tired and…oh, Rayford,” she paused for a beat and looked into his eyes. “Maybe I should have stayed with them.”

Ray patted her arm, trying to console her while at the same time trying to figure out what had her so distraught. It was Tony who asked the question.

“Why are you so upset, Lakisha?”

She turned to face Tony, her face set and determined now. “Because you have a picture of a man from Los Angeles that I recognize from the last night we were there. You didn’t get this picture from Los Angeles. You took it here, here in the Cities somewhere. You came across the man for some reason and it has a connection to Deanna’s murder. It has to or you wouldn’t have the picture.” Tony looked to Ray for guidance. How much could, or should, they share with her?

“There’s a connection,” Ray said evenly. “We still don’t know what it is, but you’ve just gotten us closer to figuring it out.”

“So who is he?” She walked to the stove to stir the simmering gravy.

Tony could see Ray fighting through the question. How much did they dare share with Lakisha Marland, and to what end? She had already described her encounter with Stuckey in some detail. What would be gained by identifying him by name or elaborating at this point? Did it matter that he was a porn actor? Did it matter that he was Scott Jr.’s roommate? If they told her would she run for the phone to gossip with the other ‘Go Girls’ and tell them the killer was in town? Tony reasoned that if all these questions were caroming around in his head they must be in Ray’s as well.

“I can’t tell you.” Ray looked down at the tabletop. “Not yet anyway.”

“Then get out. Both of you. Get out of my house right now!” Lakisha was pointing toward the front door. “I tell you everything I know and do everything I can to help you find Dee’s killer and you won’t tell me who this motherfucker is? He might be stalking us, Rayford. He might be planning to kill every one of us.” She was trembling in fear or anger or both. Ray stood, his head still down. Tony thought he looked sad.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said softly. “We’ll go. I wish I could tell you more but I can’t. There are a hundred reasons. C’mon Tony.” Ray started walking toward the hall. Tony gave Lakisha a look that he hoped said he was sorry, too.

Ray took the driver’s seat this time. Tony sat quietly on the other side waiting for him to start the car. The afternoon was gone and the drizzle was trying to turn into rain. Water ran in random rivulets down the windshield that was starting to fog from the two men’s breathing.

“We can’t tell her yet,” Ray finally said.

“I know.”

“But do you know why?” Ray turned to Tony, eyebrows arched, inquisitive. Tony wondered if it was one of Ray’s teaching moments.

“I can think of a dozen reasons, maybe more.”

“But the big one…what do you think the most important reason is?” Tony shook his head. All the things that he could think of seemed valid. He looked back at Ray and noticed a sliver of light from the front door and a shadow approaching the car in the drizzle. “It’s because she knows something else and if she has a name or where we came up with the guy it will taint her memory. There’s something else there.”

Both of them jumped at a sharp rapping at the driver’s side window. Ray rolled it down. Lakisha stuck her head inside the car.

“I can’t eat all that pasta by myself. Get back inside. If you can’t tell me—fine.” She turned and strode toward the front door, yelling over her shoulder, “and hurry it up.”

“You heard the lady.” Ray said as he opened his door.

S
wenson and Hong were both surly when Tony pounded on their door just after 9:00 on Sunday morning. No, Stuckey wasn’t there. No, they hadn’t seen him all weekend, not since Friday morning. Most importantly, no, he hadn’t moved any of his stuff out.

When Hong asked why Tony was so intent on finding Sean and asked if he was a suspect or something Tony answered, “No.”

There was no answer when they banged on Angie Arkwright’s door. Tony told Ray it wouldn’t surprise him if she was still wasted and didn’t even hear the knocking. Ray wondered if they were both in the apartment and were refusing to answer the door. Tony noticed movement down the hall out of the corner of his eye.

The frizzy gray haired woman Angie had flipped off the night he’d interviewed her was peering around her door jamb. When he started walking toward her she pulled back and shut the door.

“Ma’am,” Tony said, knocking gently on the door. “Police, ma’am. Could I speak to you a moment?” He rapped again.

“Whadda’ you want?” A raspy old-woman’s voice struggled through the door, leaving ten thousand cigarettes in its wake.

Tony held his gold badge up to the peep hole. “A couple of questions is all. Open the door, please.” Ray joined him, a quizzical look on his face.

“I don’t know nothin’. Leave me be.” Tony could tell she was leaning against the door. She sounded a little afraid.

“Please just open the door so we don’t have to yell. Your neighbors might not like it, cops yelling at your door.” Tony felt the door shudder and saw the knob turn slowly. She only opened it an inch.

“Whadda’ you want?” she asked again in a hissed whisper.

“Do you know the woman in 33? The Arkwright woman?” Tony still had his badge out and up.

“Know who she is. Don’t know her. She a mean ‘un.”

“Mean?”

“Always cussin’ me an’ stickin’ me her finger. I ain’t nosy. I jes’ like to know who’s comin’ an’ goin’.” She was squinting through the barely open door. All Tony could see was a slice of wild gray hair and a watery blue eye deep-set in a thin hard wrinkled face.

“You ever see this guy around?” He held up a picture of Sean Stuckey. The door creaked open another couple of inches.

“I seen him. Hair’s longer now an’ he’s got whiskers.”

“This is an older picture.” It was one of the altered shots, Stuckey’s California look. The old woman had noticed the difference.

Tony got an idea just then and smiled thinly. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Couple a’ days ago.” She nodded toward Angie’s door down the hall. “He ain’t there now. Some other fella’s in there, though.” The old woman dropped her voice to a whisper. “She sellin’ it, I think.”

“What’s your name, ma’am? I’m Tony. This is my partner, Ray.” Bankston nodded. He was pleased. He had an idea where Tony was going with this woman.

“That boy in some trouble?”

“We just want to talk to him. He’s a little hard to find sometimes.” Tony shrugged, tried a wider smile.

“Uh-huh. John Law knockin’ on the do’ Sunday mornin’ and he ain’t in trouble?”

“We want to talk to him is all.”

“Uh-huh.” The old woman started coughing.

Tony fished a fold of bills out of his pocket and peeled off a twenty. Then he took one of his new cards out of another pocket.

“I could use your help. Now if you see this guy, any time, day or night, you call this number on the bottom.” She reached for the bill. Tony held it back and gave her the card first. “See the number on the bottom?”

“Not without my damn glasses.” She held it close to her tired watery eyes, squinting again. “Where it say cell?” Tony nodded and passed the twenty over.

“That’s the number. You see this guy you call me. If it works out, I’ll have another twenty for you. Deal?”

“Anytime?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay Ray.” She smiled a toothless smile and slammed the door.

“I thought
I
was Ray.” Bankston was chuckling as they pulled out of the dingy parking lot.

“Well, we look so much alike. I can see where people get us mixed up.” Tony laughed too. “So what now, boss?”

“I think we should rest today. I don’t want to get into it with the Hewes’ woman if her husband’s around, and we can’t find Stuckey. That was a slick move with the old woman.”

“There’s always a peeper. Even on patrol, whenever I’d pull up to a house, a crime scene or a domestic, whatever, I’d look around for the peeper.”

“If she calls let me know. I’ve got a few questions for Mr. Stuckey, too.”

Ray was driving, heading toward the east side of St. Paul to drop Tony at home. They rode in silence, each of them content with their own private thoughts.

Ray was getting comfortable with his young partner and appreciated that he didn’t talk just to make noise—that he waited until he had worked through a question before he asked for help. He liked that he didn’t leap to conclusions, too. So often the new ones, the youngsters, would be so eager to make their mark they tried to make the evidence fit some preconceived notion instead of letting it guide them.

Tony was simply enjoying the silence, watching familiar scenery slide past, letting go of the dozens of questions in his mind. He needed rest, he knew that. He also knew if he didn’t blank out the details of the murder for a while that things would begin to get confused. Maybe he’d go to the gym and work out. That helped sometimes, cleared some cobwebs. Maybe he’d call Sue Ellen later, see how life in the safe house was. He laughed to himself when he got the idea that what he should really do is check out a couple of the old Latin Kings haunts, find Garcia, and shoot him.

As they turned onto Tony’s street Ray gave a low grunt and pointed toward a SUV idling at the curb in front of his house. They could see three heads in the vehicle even though the windows were tinted.

“Someone’s waiting for you,” Ray said.

Tony wondered if the Latin Kings had somehow gotten through the barricade around his identity. Ray stopped the car in the middle of the street a half block away. Tony was just reaching for the Glock under his left arm when a man exited the SUV from the driver’s door. The big man lit a cigarette. It was Marc Giordano. Tony remained tense but left the gun in its holster. Ray drove alongside the SUV.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked when he got out of the car. Marco smiled at him and he relaxed.

“Oh, nothing,” Marco replied in a teasing sing song voice. He flicked the butt away. The rear door opened and Sue Ellen slid from the seat. Marco retrieved a clipboard and pen.

“Sign,” he commanded, and thrust an official looking document in Tony’s hands. “And welcome to the team.”

With his signature on the document Tony officially joined the protection detail for assistant district attorney S. E. McConnel as the SPPD’s liason officer.

Tony was puzzled but pleased. This must have been the tricky thing Sue Ellen had mentioned the night before that she was working on. While Tony and Marco were discussing the protectee’s eventual return to the safe house Sue Ellen was talking with her Uncle Ray at the car window. Before Tony could say good bye to him Ray dropped the car into gear and took off, leaving his grinning niece standing in the road. Marco left too.

“So how does this work?” Tony was smiling and untangling keys on his front stoop. “This protection thing.”

Sue Ellen was standing back from the steps admiring the small tidy house. It was pale green-almost-gray stucco with white shutters and trim. There was a large bare tree in the yard and not a leaf in sight, the browning grass cut short, and the walkway trimmed. Tony kept his home neat.

“Anyone comes after me you shoot ’em. Pretty simple.” Sue Ellen was wearing a khaki mid-calf length skirt with a denim blouse. A heavy sweater was draped over her shoulders, but the day was warm for October, last night’s rain a memory. Her bright red lipstick was perfectly applied and inviting.