“She’s hearing impaired?” Doyle asked.
“Among other things,” Reiser sighed. “We’d better talk inside. That kid can eavesdrop at fifty yards.”
Reiser’s workshop was like stepping back in time. The long room had four wooden hulls on trestles, in various states of completion. The air was redolent of sawdust, wood shavings, and shellac. Not a power tool in sight. But for the bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling beams, the works could have time-traveled from the last century. Or the one before that.
Zina wandered between the boats, running her hand over the hulls.
“Beautiful,” she murmured. She paused in front of a rifle rack that held a dozen long guns, scoped Springfields and Remingtons, plus a pair of ’94 Winchester lever action carbines.
“Expecting a war, Mr. Reiser?”
“They’re hunting guns, miss.”
“What do you hunt?”
“I don’t, anymore. I build boats. And don’t be wanderin’ around back there. Workshops can be dangerous.”
“Is that how you lost your fingertips?” Zina asked, rejoining them.
“My fingers?” Reiser glanced at them, as if he was surprised they were missing. “Yeah. Bandsaw, couple of years ago.”
“Looks like it hurt,” Doyle said.
“Compared to what?” Reiser snapped. “Your eye don’t look so hot either, sport. Can we get on with this? I got work to do.”
“I understand you had a beef with Jared Bannan?” Doyle said.
“My wife and I are breaking up. God knows, we’ve had enough trouble the past few years to wreck anybody. I got no beef with Rosie taking half of everything, though she’s been doing more drinkin’ than workin’ lately. When this is over, I’ll probably get drunk for a month myself.”
“When what’s over?”
“Our daughter is dying,” Reiser said bluntly. “Cancer. You’d think being born deaf would be enough grief for any child, but …” He trailed off, swallowing hard.
“I’m sorry,” Doyle said. “Truly.”
“It can’t be helped,” Reiser said grimly. “All I asked from Bannan was a few extra months, so Jeanie could be at home until … her time. Rosie was okay with it, but Bannan said he had a big-bucks buyer lined up who wouldn’t wait. Then Rosie’s drunk-ass boyfriend put in his two cents. If Marty Lehman hadn’t broken things up I swear I would’ve pounded ’em both to dog meat. But I never laid a hand on either of ’em. If Bannan claims I did, he’s lying.”
“Mr. Bannan isn’t claiming anything,” Doyle said mildly, watching Reiser’s face. “He’s dead. His car was run off the road last night.”
“Jesus,” Reiser said, combing his thick mane back out of his face with his shortened fingertips. “Look, I had no use for the guy, but I had no cause to harm him.”
“Not even to get the extra time you wanted?” Zina asked.
“We already worked that out. My wife’ll tell you.”
“Where is she?”
“Stayin’ at the Lakefront Inn, in town. On my dime. With her speed freak boyfriend, Mal La Roche.”
“We know Mal,” Doyle nodded. “Would you mind telling us where you were last night?”
“Here with Jeanie, where else? You can ask her if you want, just don’t upset her, okay? She’s got enough to deal with.”
“We’ll take your word for it, Mr. Reiser. No need to bother the girl. Thanks for your time. And we’re very sorry for your trouble.”
Zina craned around to take a long look back as they pulled out of the boatyard. Reiser was at the water’s edge, standing beside his daughter, his hand on her shoulder. Talking intently on a cell phone.
“We’ll take your word for it?” she echoed, swiveling in her seat to face Doyle.
“As sick as that kid is, she probably goes to bed early, and she’s hearing impaired. How would she know whether Reiser went out? What did you make of him?”
“An edgy guy with a world of trouble. Given his state of mind, I wouldn’t want to get crossways of him right now. You think his daughter’s the kid Doctor Bannan mentioned? The one who wanted an early Christmas?”
“She’s deaf and the Blair Center is the only school for special-needs students. Check with the school when we get back to the House. Meantime, we’ll talk to Reiser’s wife, confirm his story.”
“Or not,” Zina said.
“Rosie don’t want to talk to you,” Mal La Roche said, blocking the motel room doorway, his massive arms folded. Shaggy and unshaven, Mal was a poster boy for the cedar savages, backwoodsmen who still live off the land, though nowadays they’re more likely to be growing reefer or cooking crank than running trap lines.
Mal has two brothers and a dozen cousins rougher than he is. Every cop north of Midland knows them by their first names.
“This isn’t a roust, Mal, it’s a murder case,” Doyle explained. “We need to ask the lady a few questions, then we’re gone.”
“Or we can pat you down for speed,” Zina added. “You look jumpy to me, Mal. Been tootin’ your own product again?”
“I ain’t—”
“It’s all right, Mal, I’ll talk to them.” Rosie Reiser edged past Mal. Bottle blonde and blowsy, in a faded bathrobe, she looked exhausted, defeated. And half in the bag. “We’ll talk out here, things are a mess inside. Is this about Mr. Bannan?”
“Your husband called you?” Doyle asked.
“He said you might be by,” she nodded.
“Did he also tell you what to say?”
“I don’t need him for that!” Rosie said resentfully. “I’m here ain’t I?”
“So you are,” Zina said, glancing pointedly around at the rundown motel cabin, “though I can’t imagine why. Your daughter—”
“Is where she needs to be! With her father, by the damn lake. His little princess. It’s always about her! Has been since she was born. Never about me.”
“Okay, what about you?” Zina said coolly. “Is this dump where you should be?”
“Just ask your questions and git!” Mal put in. We don’t need no lectures.”
“What was the beef between your husband and Jared Bannan?” Doyle asked.
“It’s over and done with.”
“I didn’t ask if it was settled. I asked what it was about.”
“It …” Rosie blinked rapidly, trying to focus through a whiskey haze. “I don’t know. Something about … Emil wanted to wait until after Jeanie … you know.”
“Dies?” Zina prompted coldly. “And Bannan had a problem with that?”
“He had some big-shot buyer lined up, but they wanted to break ground right away,” Mal put in. “It’s taken care of now, though. Jared and Emil worked it out.”
“How?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t know the details.”
“Who was the buyer?”
“We don’t know!” Rosie snapped. “I just know it’s settled.”
“Because your husband said so?”
“Screw this, I don’t have to talk to you. You want to arrest me, go ahead.”
“Why would we arrest you?” Doyle asked, puzzled.
“That’s what you do, ain’t it? So get to it or take a hike.” She thrust out her wrists, waiting for the cuffs.
“We’re sorry for your trouble, ma’am,” Doyle sighed. “Have a nice day.”
Zina started to follow him to the car, then turned back.
“Mrs. Reiser? It’s none of my business, but losing a child must be incredibly difficult. You might want to wait a bit before you throw away your marriage for the likes of Mal La Roche.”
“Hey,” Mal began, “you can’t—”
“Shut up, Mal, or I’ll kick your ass into next week. Mrs. Reiser—”
“Butt out, Pocahontas,” Rosie said, clutching La Roche’s arm protectively. “At least Mal can show me a good time. Just because Emil’s got no life don’t mean I gotta live like a damn hermit.”
“No, I guess not,” Zee shrugged. “You’re right, ma’am. You’re exactly where you belong.
”
“It’s the same kid,” Zina said, hanging up her phone. “Jeanie Reiser is enrolled at Blair Center. Or was. A special-needs student, hearing impaired. She was taken out of school a few weeks ago, because of health issues.”
They were in their office at the House.
“Which means Doctor Bannan knows Emil Reiser,” Zee continued. “Interesting.”
“Interesting how?” Doyle snorted. “Like Strangers on a Train? He kills her husband and … Who does she kill? Mal La Roche? Besides, neither one of ’em has an alibi.”
“Maybe they aren’t as tricky as the guys in the movie.”
“Yep, that sounds like the doc all right. Dumb as a box of rocks.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Glad I caught you two,” Captain Kazmarek interrupted, poking his head in the door. Fifty and fit, “Cash” Kazmarek bossed the Investigations unit. An affable politician, he was also a rock-solid cop, twenty-five years on the Tri County Force. “I got a call from the sheriff’s department at Gaylord. They have your truck. Red Ford pickup, passenger’s-side front fender damaged, reported stolen yesterday. Found it an hour ago, abandoned in a Walmart parking lot. What the hell happened to your eye, Doyle?”
“Hockey game,” Doyle said. “Did the security cameras catch anything?”
“Nope. The driver dumped it behind a delivery van to avoid the cameras. No prints either. Wiped clean, looks like.”
“A professional?” Zina asked.
“Could be,” Kazmarek said, dropping into the chair beside Doyle’s desk. “Or maybe some buzzed-up teenager with more luck than brains. Where are you on this thing?”
“We’ve got suspects, but it’s a fairly long list,” Doyle said. “Bannan majored in making enemies. Why?”
“Actually, a matter of overlapping jurisdictions has come up. I want you to drop a name to the bottom of your list.”
“Let me guess,” Zina said. “Doctor Lauren Bannan?”
“Lauren?” Kazmarek asked, surprised. “Is she a suspect?”
“The wife’s always a suspect. Why, do you know her?”
“We’ve met. She’s done some counseling for the department.”
“No kidding? Who’d she shrink?” Zee asked.
“None of your business, Detective. And Lauren’s not the name we need to move anyway. According to my sources, Emil Reiser has an ironclad alibi for that night.”
“What alibi?” Doyle asked. “He claimed he was home alone with his sick kid. There’s no way to verify that.”
“Consider it verified,” Cash said, rising briskly. “As far as we’re concerned, Mr. Reiser was at the policeman’s ball, waltzing with J. Edgar Hoover in a red dress.”
“Hoover?” Zina echoed. “Are you saying the Feds want us to lay off Reiser?”
“I didn’t mention the Feds, because a snotty FBI agent in Lansing asked me not to,” Cash said mildly. “That crack about Hoover must have been a Freudian thing. Forget you heard it. Clear?”
“Crystal. Does this mean Reiser is totally off limits, Captain?”
“Not at all, this is a murder case, not a traffic stop. Just make sure you exhaust all other avenues of investigation before you lean on Reiser. And if you come up with solid evidence against him, I’ll want to see it before you go public. Any questions?”
“You’re the boss,” Doyle said. “What about Mrs. Bannan?”
“I’d be surprised if Lauren’s involved,” Kazmarek said, pausing in the doorway. “But I’m obviously a lousy judge of character. I hired you two, didn’t I?”
Zina and Doyle eyed each other a moment after Cash had gone.
“Federal,” Doyle said at last.
“There’s no way Reiser can be a confidential informant,” Zina said positively. “That boatyard’s in the middle of nowhere and he’s been out there for years.”
“Which leaves WITSEC,” Doyle agreed. “Witness protection.”
“So Reiser gets a free pass just because he testified for the Feds once upon a time?”
“No way, in fact it makes him a lot more interesting. But since he’s officially at the bottom of our list, let’s see how fast we can work our way back down to him. Ferguson’s the only suspect we haven’t interviewed. We might want to look at Mal La Roche too, just on general principles—”
“That’s the second time you’ve done that,” Zina said.
“Done what?”
“Skipped over the foxy doc. She’s got five million reasons to want her husband dead, Doyle, she’s connected to Reiser, and she definitely ducked some of our questions. Or maybe you didn’t notice? Because you’re a guy and the doc definitely isn’t.”
“That’s a load!” Doyle snapped. “I’m not …” He broke off, meeting Zee’s level gaze. Realizing there might just be a kernel of truth in what she said. As usual.
“Okay,” he nodded. “Straight up, do you seriously think she killed her husband? Or had it done?”
“I don’t know. Neither do you. But she was definitely holding something back. Maybe it’s connected to her husband’s death, maybe not, but if we’re crossing names off our list, I think I should question her again. Alone, this time. Girl talk. Unless you’ve got some objection? Sergeant?”
Doyle scanned her face for irony. He’d been partnered with Zina Redfern since she transferred north. Nearly two years now. And he still had no idea how her mind worked. Nor any other woman’s mind, for that matter.
“Hell, go for it, Zee. Seeing a shrink might do you some good. Just be careful she doesn’t have you committed.”
“Screw that. I’m more worried about getting torched in my car.”
Lauren Bannan delayed making the phone call as long as she could. She meant to make it after lunch, but wound up working at her desk well into the afternoon.
So she swore to make it the last call of the business day. Then forgot again. Sort of.
But when she stepped into the kitchen of the small lakefront cottage she’d leased after her separation, she knew she couldn’t delay any longer. And like most tasks we dread, it wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared.
Nearly eighty now, Jared Bannan’s mother had been in a rest home in Miami for years. She was used to receiving bad news. In the home, it came on a daily basis.
“Don’t make a big fuss over the funeral, Lauren,” she quavered. “Jared never cared a fig for religion and I won’t be coming. I’m sorry, but I’m simply not up to it. Hold whatever service you feel is appropriate, then send his ashes to me. He can be on the mantle, beside his father. I’ll be seeing them both before long. How are you holding up, my dear?”
And Lauren started to cry. Tears streaming silently as she listened to words of comfort from an elderly lady she hardly knew. And would never see again.
“I’m all right, Mother Bannan,” she lied. “I’ll be fine.”
Afterward, she washed her face, made herself a stiff cup of Irish coffee, then sat down at her kitchen table to scan the Yellow Pages listings for funeral homes.
The doorbell rang.
Padding barefoot to her front door, Lauren checked the peephole, half expecting Marty Lehman. He’d been hinting about offering her a shoulder to cry on—
But it wasn’t.
“Detective Redfern,” Lauren said, opening the door wide. “What can I do for Valhalla’s finest?”
“Sorry to bother you at home, Doctor Bannan, but a few things have come up. Can you spare me a minute?”
“Actually, your timing’s perfect, Detective. I have to choose a funeral home for Jared’s service. Can you recommend one?”
“McGuinn’s downtown handles the department funerals.” Zina followed Lauren through the living room to the kitchen, glancing around the small apartment. It was practically barren. She’d seen abandoned homes that looked friendlier. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
“I’m still living out of boxes in the garage,” Lauren admitted. “I took the place for the lakefront. The back deck overlooks the b
ig lake. The view will break your heart. Sit down, please. I’m having Irish coffee. Would you like some?”
“Coffee’s fine, but hold the Irish, please.” Zina took a chair at the kitchen table. “This isn’t a social call.”
“Good,” Lauren said, placing a steaming mug in front of Zina, sitting directly across from her. “I wouldn’t know how to deal with a social call. Our friends were mostly Jared’s business buddies. What do you need, Detective?”
“You sure you’re up for this? You seem a bit … distracted.”
“This hasn’t been a day to relive in my golden years, but I’m not a china doll either. Cut to the chase, please.”
“Fair enough. We’ve got an ugly murder on our hands, and you’re screwing up our case.”
“In what way?”
“By lying to us or withholding information.”
“Holy crap,” Lauren said, sipping her coffee. “That’s pretty direct.”
“You’re not a china doll.”
“No I’m not,” Lauren said, taking a deep breath. “I’m a special ed teacher and counselor, licensed by the state and prohibited by federal law from divulging information obtained in my work. To anyone.”
“Are you trying to tell me you know who killed your husband?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But you know something?”
“Nothing that directly relates to Jared’s death. And nothing I can discuss with you in any case.”
“Reality check, Doc. A fair amount of evidence points directly at you. Shut us out and you could end up in a jackpot that can wreck your life, guilty or not.”
“I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Leaning back in her chair, Zee sipped her coffee, reading Lauren’s face openly. “All right. Let’s hit the high spots. In our first interview, Doyle asked why you moved north. You ducked that question. Why was that?”
Lauren glanced away a moment, then met Zina’s eyes, straight on. “Jared and I needed a fresh start after the death of our son,” she said flatly. “Jared Junior was born with a congenital heart defect. He lived five months. We hoped a new place might help. It didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was four years ago. I didn’t become a counselor because I’m a good person who wanted to help others, Detective. I was only trying to save myself.”
The Big Book of Christmas Mysteries Page 77
