Funeral for a Friend

by Brian Freeman

  “She was a messed up bitch, that’s for sure, but do you really think Mousy McBlonde would have the balls to shoot a guy?”

  “Jonny and I know some things about her past that you don’t. That’s all I’ll say.”

  Maggie arched an eyebrow but didn’t pursue it. “Did Andrea know Ned was at the Deeps?” she asked.

  “Yes. Stride told her.”

  “What about a gun?”

  “Denise says she had one.”

  “Well, it makes her a suspect, but we have no proof that she went to the Deeps that night. Whereas Stride has already admitted it.”

  “I know. Plus, Jonny is convinced she didn’t do it.”

  “Is that his famous gut talking?” Maggie asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “If not her, then who? Devin Card? Or Peter Stanhope? They had the most to lose if the story came out.”

  “Peter swears they weren’t involved, for whatever that’s worth,” Serena replied. “He says they didn’t know that Ned was getting ready to name the woman in his article.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I’m not sure. Ned found Andrea, and I can’t believe he wouldn’t have gone to Devin for a comment, even if he didn’t tell him who the woman was. But Peter must figure there’s no way we can prove it one way or another. Maybe they scooped up all of Ned’s notes after they had him killed.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Except there’s zero evidence of that.”

  “I know. On the other hand, we do have evidence that Andrea was telling the truth about the rape. We found a witness who saw blood and semen in the sheets in an upstairs bedroom after one of the summer parties. It was in her parents’ house in West Duluth.”

  “Did she see Devin and Andrea together?”

  “No. So there’s no proof that Devin was the one who did it. It’s he said, she said. Then again, that probably would have been enough for the voters. If this woman had come forward seven years ago to verify the rape accusation, it would have been devastating for Devin’s campaign. But Andrea says she never told anyone about it. Not Ned or anyone else.”

  Maggie frowned. “That means we’re still left with Andrea, Devin, and Peter as the only people with motives to kill Ned. Other than Stride.”

  “So far.”

  “Having other credible suspects means reasonable doubt. That’s a good thing.”

  “Yes, but unless we clear him, Jonny will always have a cloud over his head,” Serena said. “He can’t come back to the force while he’s a suspect in a homicide.”

  “I know. That’s what worries me. I don’t see how we solve this.”

  “We have to be missing something,” Serena went on, pursing her lips in frustration. “How did Ned find Andrea? How did he figure out it was her?”

  “He’s a reporter. That’s what reporters do.”

  “Yes, but there were a lot of reporters in town trying to find the woman behind that letter. Ned’s the only one who succeeded.”

  “Well, the motel owner where Ned was staying gave him a Denfeld yearbook,” Maggie said. “Dan and I saw it. Ned put circles around the faces of dozens of girls. All the same general type. Blond, cute, the usual Scandinavian look. He researched each one name by name, crossing them out until he got to Andrea.”

  “And Andrea’s reaction told him she was the one?” Serena said.

  “Probably.”

  Serena shook her head. “Except how did he even know what she looked like? Someone must have seen Andrea with Devin at that party. Ned told Stride at the Deeps that he had a witness. Whoever it was must have given Ned a description, and that’s why Ned started tracking down blond girls in the yearbook. That’s what led him to Andrea.”

  “But he didn’t tell Stride who the witness was?”

  “No. He said he had an anonymous source. That’s all.”

  Maggie pictured the circles and X’s scribbled in Adam Halka’s yearbook. She turned to face Serena in the firelight. “If you’re a journalist following a tip from a witness, and you think you’ve found the right woman, what do you do next?”

  Serena frowned as she put herself in Ned’s shoes. “You go back to the witness and ask if this is the girl that he or she saw with Devin.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Somebody’s hiding something, Maggie. Somebody talked to Ned Baer about that party, and they haven’t come forward.”

  Maggie tapped her empty beer glass against her lips and thought about it. The lake breeze was cool on her neck. The fire jumped amid the red stones. “I’d really like to know who. And why they’re so intent on staying anonymous.”

  * * * * *

  Peter Stanhope made sure his Mercedes wasn’t being followed as he left his Congdon Park mansion. These days, he never knew when he was safe from the prying eyes of the media. Online reporters and bloggers no longer played by the old rules. As he drove, he made a series of random turns, watching the headlights behind him. He didn’t head out of the city until he was convinced he was alone.

  He followed I-35 south to the Grand Avenue exit. Still eyeing his mirror, he drove another mile and then turned left across the railroad tracks into a quiet neighborhood near the water. Not far away, the road ended at the bay in the Indian Point campground. He took a dirt trail into the dense birch trees and parked where his car wouldn’t be seen. From his glove compartment, he removed a compact Taurus pistol and secured it inside his jacket pocket.

  This was a meeting where he took no chances.

  Peter got out of the sedan and locked it. He made sure that no one else was nearby. The night was dark inside the trees, but pale moonlight shined on the water not even a hundred yards away. He could see silhouettes of campers dotting the woods, and he smelled the lingering smoke of fires. It was after midnight now, and he didn’t think anyone would disturb them. He tramped across the soft ground, conscious that he was leaving footprints.

  He found the RV where the man said it would be, in one of the campsites closest to the bay. A beige Buick was parked beside it. Peter climbed the steps of the RV and rapped his knuckles on the door.

  Seconds later, the door opened. The smoke of a cigar drifted into a cloud outside.

  “Pete,” Adam Halka said. “Glad you could make it, man. Come on in.”

  The interior of the camper was humid and dank. None of the windows were open. Peter stood in the narrow corridor as Halka closed the door.

  “Have a seat. You want a drink?”

  “I won’t be staying long,” Peter replied.

  The motel owner flopped down on a vinyl sofa and popped a can of Budweiser. He put his feet up. “Long time, huh, Pete?”

  “What do you want, Adam? Why am I here?”

  “I thought we should talk. It’s been years since you and I talked.”

  “We never talked. We weren’t friends. You said on the phone that this was important.”

  Halka shrugged. “Yeah, I get it, you don’t like to slum it with the poor people. You’re not part of the RV crowd. I usually stay at the motel, but during the summer, it’s nice to get away and hang out by the water. Of course, your idea of a getaway is probably a private island somewhere, right? Must be nice.”

  Peter said nothing. He waited, because he knew Halka had to be leading up to something.

  “Do you ever miss the old days?” the man asked. “High school? Summer parties? Those were wild times, huh? Lots of booze. Drugs. Sex.”

  “I don’t recall partying with you, Adam. We played some baseball together in school. That’s it.”

  “Oh, you may not have seen me at the parties, but I was there. I saw you. Devin, too.”

  “What’s your point?” Peter asked.

  Halka swigged his beer. “The point is, the police came to my motel today. They were asking about Ned Baer. You know, he stayed at my place that summer whe
n he was in town.”

  “So what?”

  “Ned heard I was part of the scene back then, so he asked me what I remembered from the party days. He wanted to know if I saw Devin with any girls. Whether I remembered any names.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him no. Said that was way too long ago and my brain was fried. But the fact is, I saw Devin with lots of girls. I can’t remember a party where he wasn’t with a girl. More than one, usually. But that wasn’t any of Neddy’s business, was it? We hometown boys have to stick up for one another.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I figured you should know that I’m able to keep my mouth shut. And also that I have a pretty good memory for details.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning the police are real interested in Ned Baer again, now that they know somebody killed him. They were asking me if Ned got any visitors while he was staying at my place. I said I didn’t remember anybody. I didn’t mention that I saw an old school buddy of mine hanging out near the motel right before Ned disappeared. I saw you, Pete. You were parked on the street in your Mercedes. Not exactly your neighborhood.”

  “Who’s going to believe you, Adam?” Peter said after a pause. “You didn’t tell anyone, and now you come up with this story? Without any proof?”

  Halka laughed. “Who says I don’t have proof?”

  Peter froze where he was. “Excuse me?”

  The motel owner dug a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. When he unfolded it, Peter saw a printout of a grainy nighttime photograph taken on a Duluth street near the motel.

  It was himself. Sitting in his car.

  “See, some things are weird enough that I like to document them,” Halka went on, “just in case they ever come in handy someday. The Great Peter Stanhope hanging out near my fleabag motel? I definitely wanted a record of that. Good thing I had my phone with me. Of course, I never really thought it had anything to do with Ned back then. I didn’t know anything had happened to him. But now?”

  “What do you want, Adam?”

  “You mean, to keep all of this to myself? To not talk to the police or the media about what I saw? Well, seems like we can come up with a fair price. I was thinking ten thousand dollars is a nice round number. Good for you and Devin. Good for me. Everybody wins.”

  Peter shook his head. “I have a counteroffer for you, Adam.”

  “Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

  “Zero. That’s what I have in mind. I pay you zero, and we forget this conversation ever happened, and I don’t ask the police to charge you with extortion.”

  Halka slammed his beer can down on the table, and foam spurted from the top. He shouted loud enough to make the walls shake. “You think I won’t send that photo to the cops? Just watch me. I’ll do it! I’ll take you down, Pete! I’ve waited a long time to get back at you, you arrogant prick!”

  The motel owner sprang off the sofa, but just as quickly, Peter had his pistol in his hand. Halka stopped cold when he saw the gun. His upper lip snarled with hatred, but he backed away.

  “That’s right, sit yourself back down, Adam,” Peter instructed him, keeping the gun aimed across the camper. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk out of here and forget I ever met you. You can do whatever you want with that photograph. Send it along to the police, I don’t care. But if you think I won’t put you in prison for blackmailing me, you’re wrong. Don’t play chicken with a lawyer, Adam. We don’t blink.”

  Halka said nothing more. Peter waited to make sure the threat was gone, and then he turned around and left, slamming the door behind him as he did. He pocketed his gun as he descended the metal steps. He put on his best unconcerned smile as he marched across the wet ground back to his Mercedes, but he couldn’t escape the reality of his situation.

  Everything was unraveling, just as he’d predicted. The rats were coming out of the walls.

  The police were going to find out the truth.

  21

  “We didn’t break in to Wyatt’s place,” Cat told Stride. “Colleen had a key. He gave her a key. Doesn’t that make it okay?”

  Stride sighed in the doorway of her bedroom. “It wasn’t her apartment. Colleen may have had a key, but she didn’t have permission from Wyatt to go inside. So no. It’s not okay.”

  He watched Cat twist her hair in exasperation. She got off her bed, went to the window and looked out at the street, and then came back. “But now we know it’s him. I saw the pictures. He has a gun. You still can’t do anything?”

  “Like arrest him? I’m sorry. I wish I could, but no. As far as the police and the courts are concerned, nothing you saw in there actually exists.”

  “What if Colleen gives you a statement that Wyatt told her it was okay to go inside?”

  “Is that true?” Stride asked.

  “It could be true. I’m sure she’d say it was true.”

  “I don’t play games like that, Cat. You know that.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  Stride sat down next to her on the bed. “The first thing you do is not ditch Brayden again. Got it? He’s there to protect you. His job is to keep you safe. He can’t do that if you disappear on him.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Do the two of you not get along?” Stride asked. “I can find someone else to go with you if that’s the problem.”

  “No, no, I like him a lot! I don’t want him in trouble. This was my fault.”

  “Then let him do his job.”

  “And what about Wyatt?” Cat asked.

  “I’ve asked Guppo to find out whatever he can about him, but like Brayden says, there doesn’t seem to be much that’s suspicious in his past. But we’ll keep looking. If we find anything that would give us cause to get a search warrant, we’ll go into his apartment. With the photos there, we’d be able to get a restraining order to keep him away from you. Maybe more. If there’s evidence that he broke the law, we’ll charge him.”

  “Like that’ll stop him,” Cat said, rolling her eyes.

  “I know it doesn’t seem like much. I wish the law worked better in these situations, but it doesn’t. In the end, most of these people aren’t actually dangerous, just confused, but we’re not going to take any chances.”

  Cat shook her head. “Wyatt thinks he’s in love with me, Stride. He’s obsessed. You saw the note. You saw what he did to my car. Those pictures? He’s been following me for weeks. He freaks me out.”

  “Believe me, I’m worried, too.”

  The girl got up again, and this time she pulled down the shades on all of the windows. “I hate living like this. He makes me feel like a prisoner in my own house.”

  “It won’t be forever.”

  “Yeah. I know. But it never ends with me.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s okay.”

  “Try to get some sleep.”

  Stride turned to leave, but Cat called after him. “Hey, Stride? Actually, can I ask you something before you go?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Everything’s been about me lately, but I know things are going on with you, too. I don’t want you thinking I don’t care. What’s all this stuff about a body at Dr. Steve’s place? And about you getting suspended from the police?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Stride assured her. “It’s my problem, not yours.”

  He saw her face flush with anger. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “That’s a terrible answer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why do you shut me out like that? You do it to Serena, too.”

  Stride didn’t know what to s
ay. “Force of habit, I guess.”

  “I hate that you do that.”

  “I’m sorry, Cat.”

  “I know I’ll always be a stupid little knocked up hooker to you. But give me some credit for growing up. I’m not the girl I used to be.”

  He was genuinely shocked to hear her say that. “I never thought that about you, Catalina. Not ever.”

  Cat got off the bed and marched up to him. “Then talk to me! Come on, Stride. Talk to me like I matter, not like I’m some charity case you dragged from the street. Talk to me like you really need me.”

  Stride put his arms around her. “Hey. You know how much I need you.”

  Cat held onto him, and they stayed that way a long time. A wave of regret washed over him, because she was right. He was doing to her what he’d done to people throughout his life. He shut them out from who he was. He built a wall to keep them safe. Except the wall wasn’t there to protect anyone else; it was to protect himself.

  He was always learning lessons from this girl.

  Correction, he thought: Woman.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. Let’s talk.”

  And he did. They sat down on her bed, and he told her everything, from start to finish. About his relationship with Andrea. About the Deeps. About Ned Baer. About lying to Maggie, about cheating on his wife, about things that had nothing to do with the investigation. He went back to his childhood and talked about people he hadn’t thought about in years. He cried about Steve again. He cried about Cindy again. He opened up his heart and told her things he’d never told anyone else. And when he was done, Cat did what she always did. She cut like a surgeon through everything that didn’t matter and went straight to what he was really hiding.

  “You don’t want to be a cop anymore, do you?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Is that what this is all about?”

  He took a long, slow breath. The question was very simple and not simple at all. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

  “You had to kill someone this year. Is it because of that?”

  “Partly. It’s about a lot of things. It’s been gathering for a while, ever since the marathon bombing. And it’s not like I have a plan to do anything, Cat. This is just something rolling around in my head. I guess being suspended didn’t bother me like I assumed it would. The idea of being outside the police was always impossible for me to think about. Now here I am, and I realize it almost feels like a relief.”