The Equalizer (15 page)

She pulled me in by my jacket collar and unzipped my jacket and snuggled into my body. We never made it out of the living room—Victoria had a
flawless
body and was the most uninhibited woman I’d been with—even had some toys I’d never tried.

An hour later, while we ate our nuked cheese pizza and drank beer, she sprung something on me.

“How about going to Vegas with me next weekend?”

I’m not the spontaneous type, so I made an excuse. “I have to work.”

“Hear me out. I need someone to go with me to my dad’s wedding and I can’t bear the thought of going alone. What do you say?”

“I say no.”

“Just like that? Won’t you at least think about it?”

I put my index finger to my temple. “Hmmm. There, I thought about it. No.”

She sighed deeply. “Well, I don’t want to go either but I have to, and I really want someone to come with me that I can have fun with.” She jabbed my chest with her finger. “That would be you. Come on! It’s all free and it’s Vegas, baby!”

“So why don’t you want to go?”

“This is his
third
marriage. I asked him why he even wanted to marry again. He said, ‘I’m the marrying kind—like Paul McCartney and Rod Stewart. Anyway, it’d do you good to get out of this place. Right? Tell me you’ll think about it.”

“No promises.”

Chapter 17

DAY SEVEN

W
ith the Kohler/Peterson
case bouncing
around in my brain like a racket ball, I had difficulty falling asleep. When I did finally manage to doze off, I woke panting and in a heavy sweat after a weird dream about Ronny Peterson and Ted Kohler. They were sitting together on bar stools in Buzzo’s singing “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” I’d felt relieved they weren’t really dead. As I walked up to them, Kohler tipped his glass at me and asked, “Did you see him?”

“Who?” I asked

“Our killer. He just left.”

Then they resumed singing. I ran out the door. All I could see was a shadow. I chased it for miles. Every time I’d get close, it’d ooze under a door or float upward.

I must have fallen back to sleep because I woke before five after having a dream about Adriana. She was helping me car shop and encouraging me to buy a red BMW convertible—her fantasy car. I was happy and ready to buy a car I couldn’t afford when a huge great horned owl swooped down telling me to buy a Ford. That’s when I woke up. I tried to get back to sleep and to my happy place with Adriana, but it was no use. I had to shake her off. The best way I knew was to go for a run.

Bullet and I did the six-mile loop along the Birch River that meandered through Birch County Park South. As I was pounding the asphalt trail at dawn, I mulled over the case: Kohler wouldn’t have put his boat in if he’d interrupted something. He was shot first. Ronny probably drove in on the scene and was shot because he was a witness. Trouble was, all our likely suspects had witnesses to support their alibis. We still had no murder weapon. When I got to the falls by the Minnesota Fare I turned around and headed toward home.

I was ready for work an hour and a half early. I stopped at the Sportsman Café and picked up a half dozen cinnamon rolls for the eight o’clock meeting with Ralph and Troy. Tony, the owner, always threw in extra rolls. The warmth and aroma of the rolls radiated through the full white bag he handed me—I found myself salivating.

“Thanks, Tony. I think you over counted again. You and your cinnamon rolls are the best.”

He winked. “Well, you’re my best customer.”

When I walked into the squad room
to grab a cup of coffee, Georgia was just making it.

“You’re here early,” I said.

“So are you. I’m here because Ralph has a press conference this morning at eight o’clock. The commissioners had an emergency meeting last night and appointed him acting sheriff until Jack comes back. They insisted the media be informed via a real press conference.”

“Where is he?”

Georgia pointed down. “In the Sheriff’s office. He’s pretty nervous.”

I hurried down the stairs to first floor to catch Ralph to wish him luck before he went on air, but I couldn’t get near for all the lights and media personnel. So I went back up to the office. While I scanned my case notes, I ate two cinnamon rolls and sipped the liquid masquerading as coffee.

At eight o’clock I made my way to the squad room already crowded with staff ready to watch Ralph’s news conference. Ralph looked scared and his hands visibly shook as he read from a large index card. It made me nervous just watching him.

“Good morning. My name is Sergeant Ralph Martinson. Yesterday, Sheriff Jack Whitman suffered a heart attack. He’s expected to make a full recovery. The Birch County Commissioners have appointed me as a temporary replacement. As you know, along with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in Bemidji, we’re investigating a double murder, and at this time, we do not have a suspect in custody. We have two highly qualified investigators working full time on the case and will update you as we can. Now, I will open this up to a few questions.”

“Sergeant Martinson, George Trent,
Minneapolis Star
. Can you tell us the manner of death of the two individuals?”

“Both died from gunshot wounds.”

“Is there any evidence of more than one gunman?” Trent asked.

“Both victims were shot by the same weapon, so we believe we’re looking for one individual.”

Ralph pointed to another reporter. “Warren Bale, WCCO. What do the ballistics tests tell you about the weapon?”

“I can’t share that information at this time.”

“Do you have a person of interest in the case?” Bale asked.

“Let me just say, we have evidence in our favor and are following many leads.”

Ralph pointed at Victoria. Oh, boy. She was Lois Lane wearing a navy blue pantsuit, red eyeglasses, little make-up and a ponytail. This was the same woman I’d had kinky sex with last night? Unbelievable.

“Victoria Lewis.
Birch County Register
. I understand a threatening Bible quote was found in Mr. Kohler’s vehicle.”

Ralph looked taken aback. I know I certainly was. But since I had called all over town asking about it, and showed it to Eleanor Kohler and Hamilton Fairchild, it’s not surprising she found out.

“We don’t know if it’s related to the case, but we’re testing fingerprints found on the note, just in case.”

“Will you disclose what it said?”

“No, ma’am, not at this time.”

Ralph called on Mac Simmons from the
Prairie Falls Times
.

“Sounds like you have no real suspects, Ralph.”

“We’re making headway.”

“Do you have a possible motive?” Mac asked.

“We want to give you facts not speculation.”

After the press conference,
Ralph joined Troy and me in the investigations office. He sat in his chair with a thunk.

“Nice job, boss,” I said.

“Did I look as nervous as I felt?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

Troy laughed. “What are you talking about, Sheehan? He shook like a dog during a thunder storm.”

Ralph’s face dropped. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious. I don’t like the camera like Jack does.”

“But the camera likes
you
better,” I said, shooting Troy a
shut the hell up
look.

“How did the chick find out about the Bible quote?” Troy asked.

“Probably because I called all the churches in the county to find out the source . . . showed it Eleanor Kohler and Ham Fairchild.”

“Why the fuck did you leak that kind of evidence,” Troy said.

“Troy, we investigate what evidence we have, and that means asking questions,” Ralph said.

Troy lifted his hands as if in surrender. “Well, that’s how she got it. Ham Fairchild would give that chick an interview in a heartbeat. Who is she anyway?”

I leaned back. “Victoria Lewis . . . the woman who rear-ended me.”

Troy sat back and belly laughed. “She could rear-end me anytime.”

“Speaking of which, Cal, have you replaced your Civic?” Ralph asked changing the subject.

I shook my head. “Haven’t had time.”

“So make time.”

“I’m going to Ronny Peterson’s funeral at ten o’clock.”

“Me too,” Troy said.

“Do it after that. I have a meeting so its good you’re both attending the funeral. So what will you boys focus on this afternoon?” Ralph asked.

“I want to go over everything we have so far, find out when BRO can get the DNA and toxicology test results back to us,” Troy said.

Ralph looked at his watch and pointed at the door and said, “My meeting’s starting in two minutes.”

“And we better head out to the funeral,” I said.

Troy and I drove
separately
because I decided to go car shopping after. Compared to Kohler’s funeral, there were only about a fourth the amount of cars parked at St. Stephen’s for Ronny’s. The media trucks had moved to the parking lot, so I easily found a spot right beside the church. Troy and I sat together near the back with the smattering of elderly women who attend funerals as a social event. I spotted a row of local reporters, including Victoria, sitting together in the very back row. A number of county employees, including Naomi Moberg, Joyce Dexter, and Gus Taylor, were seated mid-way in the church on the left side of the aisle. Hector Buzzo and Connie Hackett were seated several pews in front of us. I guess they were as close to him as anybody. Max Becker and Zach Whitman came in together and sat behind Hector and Connie.

The untimely deaths of young people usually make for huge funerals. But beside his co-workers, the only young people here were Max and Zach. The church was only about half full when the service began. A few voices from the choir loft guided the congregation in song as the family, about forty strong, processed in. They all seemed to have the same tank body style, even the women.

According to Father Moran’s eulogy, Ronny and his brother mowed the church grounds every Saturday without pay. Huh. Never would have figured that one. The priest said when a young person dies tragically it’s difficult to understand God’s plan, but we must remember as lowly servants we are incapable of seeing it. Is murder really part of God’s plan? Not in my mind, but someone definitely planned these cold-blooded murders and I have to figure out who and why.

During the service I noticed Troy’s eyes on Naomi. He was definitely interested. After the service, we met up with her and Joyce in front of the church. Naomi looked sharp wearing a black dress with a beaded black cardigan. Her smile looked forced and her eyes bounced between Troy and me.

Joyce spoke up. “Isn’t this just awful?”

We all nodded and uttered simple words of agreement.

“Did you go to Ted Kohler’s funeral too?” Joyce asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I didn’t know him personally so I didn’t go. Hey, I saw Ralph Martinson’s news conference this morning. Shame about the sheriff’s heart attack—too much stress, I guess,” Joyce said.

“I guess. So you gave your crew the morning off?” I asked Naomi.

“Actually, the whole day.”

“We better get to the car if we’re going to the cemetery, Naomi,” Joyce said. As she and Naomi started walking away, I realized if I liked her, I better act.

“Hey, Naomi,” I said and she turned and stopped. I pulled her aside. “Are you going to be home later?”

“I have my kids the rest of the week. So, sorry, I guess I’m not available.”

“Oh . . . sure.”

So, she doesn’t want a divorce, and she has kids that prevent her from seeing me. Okay then. That’s that.

When I returned to Troy he asked what that was about.

“Just asked if Stan had talked to her about the truck Ronny drove,” I lied.

“Did he?”

“No.”

A Vegas weekend with Victoria suddenly sounded appealing.

I drove to Danielson’s Ford
to find Rob Cornel, a golfing friend of mine who’s a new car salesman. He greeted me with a fist bump.

“Hey, Rob, totaled the Civic and need to replace it.”

“Heard that.”

“Last night I had a weird dream. An owl swooped down and told me to buy a Ford.”

He laughed. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope.”

“Sounds like a good idea for a Ford commercial. Maybe I’ll send it in. So would your owl approve of a red Mustang convertible? I have a beauty on the showroom floor.”

He led me to the Mustang and proceeded to give me his sales pitch. I was even tempted.

“I’m thinking more practical. Would you believe Hamilton Fairchild offered to sell me Ted Kohler’s truck?”

“Oh? I sold him that truck. It’s really tricked out. Must be two years old, probably low mileage.” He stopped and tapped his head. He leaned in and whispered, “Wait, am I fricking nuts? You want a new vehicle with better gas mileage. Am I right?”

Rob priced out a Fusion, Taurus and a Mustang, and then walked me over to used cars. There were a couple options that could work, but I wanted time to think about it. Before I went back to the department, I stopped at the hospital to see Jack. I wondered if he would mention Ham Fairchild.

Chapter 18

W
hen I walked into Jack’s
hospital room, Dixie was sitting in a chair reading a magazine. She said he was in the restroom. To make conversation I asked her if Dixie was her real name, if one of her parents had Southern roots.

She giggled and said, “No, my given name is Dorothy Jane Davis. One day my mother bought some Dixie cups, and from then on I told everyone to call me Dixie Jane Davis, because I loved the way it sounded.”

“Great story,” I said. She looked like a Dixie.

“What’s a great story?” growled Jack as he walked out of the restroom rolling an IV cart.

“Oh, I was just telling Cal about how I got my name. And as long as he’s here, I’m going to run home and get some things done. You two can have a nice visit.”

“I can be alone, Dix. It’s not like I’m dying, for Christ’s sake, unless you know something I don’t,” Jack said.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I just thought you two would like some time to talk. But remember—no shop talk—doctor’s orders.”

“Ah, what does he know?” Jack grumbled.

“And, Cal, thank you so much for your quick action at the church. We’re so appreciative. Aren’t we Jack?”

Jack gave a half nod.

After Dixie left, I sat in a chair beside him, waiting for him to bring up Ham Fairchild.

“This place is enough to drive a guy nuts,” he muttered.

“I imagine you’re being a perfect patient,” I said.

“I don’t do sick, so if you’d ask the nurses, they probably say I’m a perfect pain in the ass,” he said. “ Speaking of which, Cal, if I’ve been a bit hard on you lately, I apologize. I’ve been pretty stressed.”

“Understandable.” Nothing like a brush of mortality to let you know who’s in charge.

“How’s the department doing without me?” he asked.

“We’re managing, sir.”

“Ralph’s a good man. He can handle things.”

“I’ve always thought highly of him. “

“You getting close to solving?”

“Getting there. Troy’s come aboard.”

“You don’t look happy about it.”

I shrugged.

“He can be an ass. He asked me to dump you from the case—said it was too important to let a rookie screw it up. I told him if we’re going to solve these murders, you all needed to work as a team.”

Troy really did it, the prick.

“Dixie tell you I’m having triple-bypass surgery tomorrow?”

“No, wow.”

“It’ll be a while before I can come back. Yep, we just made the decision this morning when Doc Gage brought in the cardiologist. I’m going down to the University by ambulance tonight. Hate to see that bill—I told him Dixie or Ben could drive me, but my doctor nixed that idea.”

“Too risky.”

“I s’pose. So tell me the latest in the investigation.”

“No shop talk, remember?”

“Ah, bullshit. Just tell me.”

So, I did. He didn’t offer an opinion, like I thought he would. With the first lull in the conversation, I bugged out, saying I’d let him rest and wished him good luck.

I stopped at Save Rite
and made myself a big salad and brought it back to the office. After I ate, I found Troy in the conference room working at the whiteboard. He seemed to be taking control of the case. I didn’t like that idea.

“Buy a car?” he asked.

“Not yet. What are you doing?”

“Just trying to get a feel for where we need to go next.”

“Is Ralph still the lead investigator?” I asked.

“Why? Oh, you don’t want me telling you what to do. Is that it?”

“Just asking is all.”

“Well, he didn’t say.”

And he was absolutely nuts on—I
do not
want to take orders from him. We spent the entire afternoon rehashing our data—until I was so frustrated I could have hauled off and cold cocked Troy.

That evening as I approached
my apartment I saw a note taped to the door. It said:
See me
—
Paris
. She was my twenty-year-old neighbor across the hall.

I knocked on her door. Three seconds later she stuck her head out. The first thing you noticed about Paris was her Mohawk—five-inch spikes of hot pink on the top, the rest dark brown and trimmed close to her head. She had multiple tattoos and piercings, and wore the alien type clothes she sells to teen girls in the mall boutique her parents bought for her, called Athena’s Closet.

She blinked her eyes at me. “Whatsup?” she asked.

I showed her the note.

“Oh, yeah, you had a woman banging on your door looking for ya.” I could see her green gum rolling in her black lipstick-lined mouth.

“What did she look like?”

“About my height. She was old, maybe your age. She wore a hat—a pink fuzzy thing, so I couldn’t tell you her hair color or style.”

Did she say old—maybe my age?
“What time was this?”

“About six o’clock I’d guess. “

“Did you talk to her?”

“Nah, I just watched her out the peep hole.”

“Well, thanks.”

“No worries. Did you want to see her?”

“Depends on who it was.”

Bullet greeted me with a whole body wag. After I took him out for a walk, I fed him, then sat at my table eating Chinese out of cartons while looking at my case notes. I kept thinking about the woman at my door—maybe Naomi.

I gave her a call. “Hey, Naomi, this is Cal.”

“Oh, hi!” she said, sounding pleased I’d called.

“Thanks again for helping locate Ronny’s cell phone.”

“Oh, sure. Did it help you any?”

“Maybe. I may have to run some phone numbers by you.”

“Sure, anything to help.”

“Say, did you by any chance stop over at my apartment this afternoon?”

“No, why?”

“Just checking. My neighbor said a woman in a pink fuzzy hat stopped by.”

“That . . . wasn’t me.” Her voice had changed.

“Didn’t think so. How long are your kids with you?”

“For five days. That’s how we alternate them.”

“Seems like a plan.”

“Works for us. So . . .”

“So . . . well . . . see you later.”

“Bye.”

That was awkward. Did I really like her? Or was it my ego? Maybe she just wasn’t into me—or worse—she was going for Troy over me. So who’s the pink fuzzy hat woman?