by Joseph Badal
Connie had “lawyered up” with the top criminal defense attorney in Albuquerque, Bill McWilliams, a dapper guy, too well dressed for Albuquerque. He looked as though he should be in an L.A. court room defending the likes of O.J. Simpson or Winona Rider. He was short, bull-like, with ruddy coloring and blondish-gray hair. Barbara wondered how Connie had wound up with such a high-priced mouthpiece. Then Maxwell Comstock came to mind.
McWilliams and Connie sat on one side of the table. Barbara took a seat opposite them. She glanced toward the one-way window and nodded. It was the signal for Susan to turn on the recording equipment.
“Hello, Mr. McWilliams,” Barbara said with a smile. “We meet again. It seems you show up whenever we find a rich dead body.”
McWilliams showed Barbara a toothy grin. “I appreciate the compliment, Detective. But shall we get down to business?”
“Sure,” Barbara said. “Tell me, Miss Alban, why did you go down to the barn on the Schiller estate after you murdered Victoria Comstock?”
Connie didn’t respond. She looked at McWilliams, who made a calming motion at her, then turned to Barbara.
“If you’re going to waste my client’s and my time with that kind of crap, I’ll have to conclude this meeting and advise Ms. Alban to no longer cooperate with the police,” he said. “Now, do you want to start again?”
Barbara didn’t say or do anything to acknowledge McWilliams. “Why were you in the barn on the Schiller property?” she asked Connie.
Connie folded her arms across her chest and slouched in her chair. “I already told you why,” she said. She sneered and added, “Because my witch-of-a-mother hired a private investigator to find me. I heard from Victoria and some other friends about this guy asking questions about me. I didn’t want to be dragged back to my mother’s hick town. Farmington! Yuck! And I sure as hell didn’t want to see my mother.”
“What guy?” Barbara asked, repelled by the girl’s apparent hatred for her mother.
Connie rolled her eyes. “Some Hispanic guy. Romero . . . no, it was Navarro.”
“So, why the barn?” Barbara asked.
“Vickie told me to hide there. I stayed in the bedroom off the tack room. There is a fully-stocked refrigerator down there.”
“How long were you in the barn?”
“Couple weeks. Hector stayed with me until he had to go to California.”
“Did you hear any noise up at the house the night Mrs. Comstock was killed—June 24th? June 25th?”
“I guess I heard sirens,” Connie said, “but I couldn’t see anything from the barn.”
“And you hadn’t heard about the murder?”
“Nah. There’s no TV or radio in the barn. And Hector took my cell phone with him.”
“Yesterday, you said your mother had threatened to kill Victoria Comstock.”
Connie seemed to brighten at the change of subject. She smiled and her eyes came alive. “She said it more than once.”
“Give us an example,” Susan said.
“When I told her I wanted to move in with Victoria, she ranted like a crazy woman. She told me she would cut off my allowance and stop paying my tuition at the university.” Connie laughed. “When I told her Victoria had given me my own car, agreed to pay my tuition, and was giving me a thousand dollars a month for spending money, my mother went crazy. That’s one time she threatened to kill her.”
“Did your mother ever attack Mrs. Comstock, either physically or verbally?”
The girl thought about that for a few beats. She looked disappointed when she said, “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Do you know of any other person who ever threatened Mrs. Comstock?”
It took Connie a moment to answer. “That’s easy,” she said. “I can name three people: Marge Stanley, Marge Stanley, and Marge Stanley.”
“What’s the problem between you and your mother?” Barbara asked.
McWilliams jumped in. “I don’t think that has any relevance to this matter.”
“Oh really, Mr. McWilliams!” Barbara said. “You don’t see any possibility that Miss Alban’s feelings toward her mother could influence her opinions or her statements here?”
Before McWilliams could respond, Connie spoke up. Her face was set now in a hard, angry mask. “Since I was little, my mother told me my father died from an illness. She lied to me all those years. Vickie told me what really happened. How my mother had been sleeping around and when my father found out about it he killed himself.”
“Did your mother ever tell you that Mrs. Comstock and your father had an affair while your father and mother were still married?” Barbara asked.
McWilliams shot out of his seat.
“That’s a goddam lie!” Connie screamed, standing up, too.
“That’s it,” McWilliams said. “We’re out of here.” He took Connie’s arm as though she were an invalid. “I assume my client is free to leave.”
“Yeah,” Barbara said, “but she needs to remain in Albuquerque. And I want to know where she’s staying.”
Connie provided an address and phone number of someone named Rebecca Sartell, who she said was a friend. McWilliams smiled at Susan, asked her if she was satisfied, didn’t wait for a response, and then walked Connie out of the room.
CHAPTER 28
“We’re going to read you your rights again, Ms. Stanley,” Susan said as soon as Marge took a seat in the interrogation room.
Stanley stiffened. “I’m still a suspect, huh?”
“Ms. Stanley, you’ve always been a suspect. But it has come to our attention you threatened to kill Victoria Comstock.”
A resigned look came to Stanley’s face as Susan read her her rights from a laminated card. Just as Susan finished, Stanley’s eyes widened. “You’ve talked with Connie, haven’t you?” She looked from Barbara to Susan and back again at Barbara. “You have, haven’t you? Please tell me. Is she all right?”
“Yes, we met with your daughter. In fact, she and her attorney just left here an hour or so ago. She’s fine.”
“How did you know we had talked with Connie?” Susan asked.
“Connie’s the only person in the world who I ever said anything to about killing Victoria. She told me she was about to move in with the Comstocks and then accused me of being responsible for her father’s death. I was so damned angry; I think I would have killed Victoria right then if she’d been there.”
“Did you ever tell Connie about her father’s affair with Victoria?” Susan asked.
Stanley shook her head. “What would that have gained me or Connie? I didn’t want to make her father out to be a loser in his daughter’s eyes.”
Susan nodded as though she understood.
“We need to know where you were between 10 p.m. on June 24th and 5 a.m. on June 25th,” Barbara said. “The night of the murder.”
Marge narrowed her eyes and, after a moment, said, “I was here in Albuquerque with my folks.”
Barbara took down the names and phone number of Marge’s parents.
“When did you return to Farmington?” Barbara said.
“Early on the 25th; just after 7 in the morning. I drove my pickup straight through and arrived home at about 11.”
“Did you have any contact with Victoria Comstock during that visit?” Barbara said.
Stanley hesitated. “No!” she said, a little too emphatically, Barbara thought.
Susan followed up with questions about Stanley’s history with Victoria. The woman spoke again of her former friendship with Victoria, the discovery of her husband’s affair, the breakup of her marriage, and her husband’s suicide. It didn’t really add anything new, but it gave more credence to the possibility that Stanley had murdered Victoria. Now, all they needed was evidence.
“You’re free to go,” Barbara told Marge Stanley. “But don’t leave the state.”
“That was interesting,” Susan said after Stanley left.
“I’ll be right back,” Barbara said and rushed from the room. S
he was gone for four minutes, then returned, out of breath.
“Eat something bad for lunch?” Susan asked.
“No, smartass. I followed Marge down to the parking garage and eyeballed her pickup.” She scribbled the license plate number in her notebook from memory. “Dark-blue, 2009 Chevy extended cab with a trailer hitch in the bed.”
“We got nothing from the canvas of the neighborhood,” Susan said. “Nobody saw or heard a thing.”
“Let’s have a deputy check again to see if any of the neighbors might have noticed something around the Comstock place near the time of the murder. Maybe the deputies missed someone the first time around.”
“I guess we better talk with Marge’s mother and father, too,” Susan said.
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
CHAPTER 29
From a spot near an enormous cottonwood tree, twenty yards from the gravesite, Susan and Barbara observed the crowd gathered for Victoria Comstock’s burial.
Susan said, “Half these people are movers and shakers in political and business circles.”
“You think these people are here out of love for Victoria or out of respect for Maxwell?” Barbara asked.
“You making book?”
“Only if I get to set the odds. There must be two hundred people here.”
“Including county commissioners, city councilors, a half dozen state officials, and one U.S. Representative.”
Susan finally spotted Maxwell Comstock. It had been nearly a week since Victoria’s murder. He had visibly changed from the man she had first met at the Albuquerque Airport on June 25. His face was drawn and dark half-moons showed below his red-veined eyes. Susan thought about postponing the interview with him, but pushed the thought out of her mind. She had a job to do. Besides, sympathy in a cop was viewed by other cops as weakness. She didn’t want to show that side of her, even to Barbara.
“Looks like he was rode hard and put away wet,” Susan whispered as they approached Comstock when he walked to a black Cadillac limousine after Victoria’s coffin had been lowered into the ground.
“He had to wait almost a week for OMI to release his wife’s body. That probably didn’t help his morale much,” Barbara said.
“Got a minute, sir?” Susan called as Comstock bent to enter the back of the limo.
He straightened and eyed the two detectives with wary resignation. “Well, well, it’s the Bernalillo County Sheriff Department’s diplomatic corps. Have you two ever thought about your sense of timing?” He glared at them for a few seconds, then said, “I suppose this can’t wait.”
Susan nodded. “That’s right. I assume you want to help us find your wife’s killer.”
Maxwell looked at the nearby stand of towering cottonwood trees backlit by the sun, which was now an hour or so away from setting. “She would have liked today,” he said. “Sunny, but not too hot. Just a hint of a breeze. Perfect riding weather.”
Susan nodded again. “This won’t take long, Mr. Comstock. We’re sorry to have to do this now.”
Comstock waved dismissively. “I appreciate your diligence. I want the bastard who killed Victoria arrested.” His eyes went hard. “I’ll pay a million dollars if you . . . make a trial unnecessary.”
Susan had dealt with many distraught relatives of murder victims in her career, but she’d never been offered a bounty to kill a perp. “Let’s pretend you didn’t say that, Mr. Comstock,” she said.
The dismissive gesture again. “You had questions?”
“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted Victoria dead?” Susan asked.
Comstock began to shake his head, but stopped. “Yeah, probably a number of people. Connie’s mother, for one. Victoria’s former husbands. A couple of horse breeders were pissed off at her.”
“Horse breeders?” Barbara prompted.
“Mick White and Teresa Foster.”
“What was their beef?” Barbara asked.
“White claimed Victoria stiffed him on a colt she bought from him. Said she owed him ten thousand dollars. Foster claims she and Victoria owned an American Thoroughbred together. The damned thing turned out to be the national champion hunter-jumper two years ago. Victoria sold the animal for two hundred thousand dollars. Teresa sued us because she said Victoria had agreed to split the money with her, but didn’t.
“Victoria swore she didn’t owe either of them any money. She told me they were both crooks. There was nothing on paper. In both cases, the court ruled in Victoria’s favor.”
“Do you think she owed them money?” Susan asked.
Comstock shrugged. He dropped his gaze to the ground. When he looked back at Susan, he said, “I didn’t participate in Victoria’s . . . business dealings.”
“Have you heard we’ve found Connie?” Barbara asked.
“Of course. Where is she now?”
“Last we saw her she was in the company of your friend, Bill McWilliams,” Susan said.
Comstock just stared at her.
After a few seconds passed, Susan added, “She looked fine, considering . . . .”
“Did you know she was hiding out on the Schiller property behind your place?” Barbara asked.
He shrugged. “I’m happy to hear she’s okay,” Comstock said. “She’s taken off before; disappeared once for weeks.”
Susan was gaining appreciation for Comstock’s evasion skills. He also was pissing her off. She met his gaze. “Why did she run away?”
“Who knows? Maybe because of an argument with Victoria. Maybe because of nothing at all. Connie had . . . issues.”
“I understand you and Mrs. Comstock wanted to adopt Connie.”
Comstock again looked down at the ground. “The whole thing bothered the hell out of me,” he said as he raised his eyes. “After all, Connie wasn’t an orphan. She wasn’t abused or neglected by her mother. But when Victoria decided she wanted something, there was no stopping her. She was obsessed with Connie. She’d never had any children of her own.”
“Have you talked with Connie since Victoria’s death?” Barbara asked.
“Yes. She called me to say she might need a lawyer.”
“That’s it?” Barbara said.
“That’s it! Let’s just say we weren’t close.”
“I thought you were about to adopt her,” Susan said.
“Like the horse business, Connie was Victoria’s project. I just wrote the checks.”
“You said Connie had issues,” Susan said. “What did you mean?”
Comstock sighed. “I think Connie really loved Victoria. But breaking off all contact with your own mother and replacing her with another woman you hadn’t seen since you were a little kid never made any sense to me. As I said, Connie had issues. But, I guess that goes with her condition.”
“Condition?” Susan asked.
“Oh, you didn’t know. She’s bi-polar. The condition apparently surfaced in the last year or two and has gotten worse.”
“Was she being treated for it?” Susan asked.
“Yes. A shrink named Nathan Stein.”
CHAPTER 30
“What’s your take on that conversation?” Susan asked Barbara as they drove away from the cemetery.
“I noticed he got to you. Wouldn’t always give you direct answers to your questions.”
“I hate it when you can tell I’m angry. I try to be so cool.”
Barbara laughed. “Honey, you’re a hot-blooded Latin. You couldn’t be cool in the center of an Arctic ice storm. But maybe Mr. Comstock didn’t notice.”
“Like hell! That guy negotiates multi-million-dollar deals. He’s a master at reading other people’s tells, and could probably negotiate the pants off an Iranian mullah.”
“Maxwell gave us a whole lot more than I expected. He was pretty darned candid about Victoria. What he had to say confirmed a lot of what we’ve already heard about her character.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Susan picked up the case file from the car seat a
nd read for a while. She closed the file on her lap. “Tell me again what you thought about Dr. Stein?” she said.
“He’s a hunk?” Barbara answered.
Susan laughed. “Yeah, but did you have any other impression besides the fact the guy made your thighs quiver.”
“I didn’t say anything about my thighs quivering.”
“How long has it been since you were with a man?” Susan said.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“Not since Jim, huh?”
Barbara felt her face go hot.
Susan poked Barbara’s arm. “Tell me more about Stein.”
“He seemed like a competent, caring professional.”
“Uh-huh,” Susan said. “He calls the police to tell them he has information about Victoria Comstock. Then he tells you Victoria was a terrible person and that he warned some people about some of her threats. But he never says a word about Connie Alban being his patient, even though he had to know about her relationship with the Comstocks. I smell a rat.”
“Maybe he felt divulging information about Alban would be unethical.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I still smell a rat.”
“Hah! Now you think Stein’s our killer?” Barbara said. “The other day you said the murderer was probably a woman.”
Susan smiled. “You remember that movie, Dressed to Kill?”
Barbara shook her head.
“Angie Dickinson gets sliced and diced by her shrink, played by Michael Caine, who goes out in drag and does the dirty deed. Hacked her up real good. See, a woman was the killer. Sort of.”
Barbara laughed until her stomach hurt. “You know, you’re the one who needs a shrink.”
“I think we should have the good doctor come down to the station for a little chat.”
“For what purpose? To ask him if he goes around town in drag and slices up women?”
“No, Miss Know-it-all, to see if I can get him to violate his professional ethics and admit he was Connie Alban’s shrink. Besides, you might enjoy a little more thigh-quivering.”
CHAPTER 31
