Stiff Competition

by Annelise Ryan

  “I have a key to the office door,” Kirsten says, ignoring the first question. She gestures toward a windowed door at the rear of the room that opens onto a small yard enclosed with privacy fencing. At the back of the fence is a gate.

  “I thought Mr. Sanderson had an office over on Holly Street,” Hurley says.

  “He does,” Kirsten says. “But he also has this one.... Different offices for different clients. Whenever he conducts business here in his home, he has people come in through this rear entrance.”

  It’s easy to guess why Lars used the rear entrance after seeing the sheik’s harem décor in the rest of the house.

  “Lars and I have a . . . well . . . I guess you could say we have an arrangement,” Kirsten says with a sheepish smile.

  “What sort of arrangement?” Hurley asks.

  “I suppose you could call it a sexual arrangement, although it’s not just that.”

  “You and Mr. Sanderson are dating?” Hurley says.

  Kirsten makes an equivocal face. “I guess you could call it that. We provide one another with a plus-one from time to time for various social or business occasions, and sometimes we extend those get-togethers into the evening or nighttime. It’s not an exclusive relationship; Lars sees other women, too.”

  “And you are here now because . . . ?” Hurley arches his brows in question.

  “Because I left something here last night.” She smiles coyly as she says this, but then her expression turns serious. “Why are you here? And where is Lars?”

  “Is Mr. Sanderson expecting you?” Hurley says, using his classic answer-a-question-with-another-question maneuver.

  “I’m not sure,” she says. “I called and left a message earlier to let him know I was coming by, but he didn’t return the call.”

  “So you just show up, not knowing if he’s aware you’re coming?” Hurley says in a voice rife with skepticism. “And why the back door?”

  Kirsten gives him a patient sigh. “I used the back door precisely because I didn’t know if Lars knew I was coming. Nor did I know if he was home. If he had a business meeting taking place, I would have been able to see it through this door and could have waited. If he had a more personal type of meeting taking place in the rest of the house, I can be in and out of here with no one being the wiser.”

  “And Mr. Sanderson is okay with you doing that?”

  Kirsten shrugs. “It’s not like I do it every day.”

  “And what is it you left here last night?”

  My mind immediately jumps to the wineglasses we found in the kitchen and I suspect I know who the lip prints belong to. The shade of lipstick Kirsten is wearing now doesn’t match what was on the glass, but since she’s already admitted to being here last night, it seems logical that the wineglasses were hers and Sanderson’s.

  “I left behind a proposal I was discussing with Lars,” she says. “That’s another reason why I came in through this door.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb. “I figured it would be here in the office somewhere.”

  “What sort of proposal was it?” Hurley asks.

  “A potential development thing,” she says, dismissively. “Where is Lars?”

  “Development,” Hurley says, squinting in thought.

  I decide to jump in and help him out. “Kirsten is a real estate broker,” I tell him. “Donaldson Realty? You’ve probably seen her signs around town.”

  Kirsten nods and smiles, but after a few seconds the smile fades. “Is Lars in some sort of trouble? Is that why you’re here?”

  I noticed that when Hurley introduced me, he failed to mention my title or office, something I expect was intentional. Now he blurts out the truth. “We’re here because Mr. Sanderson was found dead this morning.”

  If he’s hoping to elicit a reaction from Kirsten, he’s successful. “Lars is dead?” she gasps. She claps one hand over her chest again while the other one grabs the back of the chair that is tucked in behind the desk. Her eyes are wide with shock. “What happened?”

  “It appears he was killed while out hunting,” Hurley says.

  “Hunting?” Kirsten says, frowning and shaking her head. “Lars doesn’t hunt.”

  “He was out in the woods where a lot of other hunters are,” I tell her. “And he was wearing blaze orange.” The fact that he apparently wasn’t armed in any way and didn’t have any hunting equipment in his car is something Kirsten doesn’t need to know yet.

  “Was he shot?” she asks.

  I leave this one for Hurley to answer. I’ve learned that he prefers to withhold certain facts, or intentionally mislead people at times to see if they will say something incriminating, or provide a previously unknown clue. But Hurley doesn’t answer the question at all. He fires back with one of his own.

  “Can you tell me where you were this morning between the hours of five and eight?”

  Kirsten looks puzzled. “Why would you need to know that?” she asks. “I don’t hunt. I don’t even own a gun. You can’t think I shot him.”

  “Can you please just answer the question,” Hurley says, sounding tired and impatient.

  Kirsten scowls at him. “I got up at six this morning, had a cup of coffee, and read the newspaper.”

  “Where?” I ask her.

  She looks over at me and her scowl deepens. “Where what?” she asks in an irritated tone.

  “Where were you when you got out of bed this morning? Your house or here?”

  “My house.”

  “What time was it when you left here last night?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know. Around eleven I suppose?”

  “Did you drink any wine while you were here?”

  “Sure. Lars and I are both wine connoisseurs.”

  “And was your evening one of your romantic get-togethers?” I ask.

  She cocks her head and gives me a wry smile. “If you’re asking whether or not we had sex, then yes, we did. We both had early starts today so I headed home before it got too late.”

  Hurley says, “Back to this morning and your early start . . . after your coffee and paper what did you do?”

  “I showered and got dressed and went to my office,” she says. “I got in just before eight.”

  “Can anyone vouch for that?” Hurley asks.

  “My office manager got in a little after eight. Prior to that, I was alone.”

  “So no,” Hurley says.

  Kirsten laughs and shakes her head. “Seriously, Detective, what possible reason could I have for wanting Lars dead?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

  “There isn’t one,” she says. “Lars and I were business associates and good friends.”

  “Friends with benefits,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says unapologetically. “I’m divorced, and he’s single, so where is the harm in that?”

  “There isn’t any,” I say.

  “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Lars?” Hurley asks.

  Kirsten chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Oh my, yes. That’s a bit of a list, I’m afraid. There are a lot of people in town who didn’t like Lars. You only have to read the Op-Ed page in the paper to see that. He was all about making a buck no matter how it affected other people or the city in general.”

  Hurley asks, “Did Lars ever talk with you about any of the other women he was seeing?”

  “No, and if he had, I would have kicked him out of my bed straightaway. That would have been too rude, even for Lars.”

  “What sort of business did the two of you do together?”

  “I’ve brokered a number of deals for him,” Kirsten says, “including this development. He purchased the land and built these town houses right after he moved here. I handled the sale of all the units for him. That was how we met.”

  “Why did Lars come to Sorenson?” I ask. “It’s not like this area is a hotbed of development opportunities, and he doesn’t have any family nearby.”

  “Ah, but you’re w
rong about this area,” Kirsten says. “It’s filled with opportunity. Rural areas located within a reasonable commuting distance to the bigger cities have huge potential for suburban development. You’ve got all this land that many of the farmers can no longer turn profitably, and you’ve got these cozy little bedroom communities like Sorenson that give people a small-town atmosphere and proximity to cities like Madison and Milwaukee. Lars saw the potential and acted on it.”

  “Where was he before?” Hurley asks.

  “He told me he spent some time working deals down in rural Indiana and Illinois before coming here.”

  “Why did he leave?” I ask. “Why give up all the connections and professional relationships he built there to move here and start over from scratch?”

  “That’s a good question,” Kirsten says, wagging a finger at me. “And I asked it of Lars, but he never gave me a good answer. So I did a little digging around based on some of the few details he provided and discovered that the man has always had a knack for pissing people off. He’s a bit ruthless when it comes to business and he doesn’t care about the people behind the deal. He was all about burning his bridges. So my guess is he moved here to get a fresh start with people who didn’t know him or his reputation.”

  “Do you hunt, Ms. Donaldson?” Hurley asks.

  “Heavens, no,” she says, with an odd little smile. “I love animals and I’m a vegetarian. In fact, hunting was one of the things that came between me and my ex. He’s an avid bow hunter.”

  With the mention of bow hunting, Hurley and I exchange a look.

  “Is your husband the jealous type?” I ask Kirsten.

  “I’m afraid so,” she says, her eyes wide. “He was very insecure in that way.” She looks sheepish for a moment, and then adds, “Brad Donaldson isn’t a particularly handsome man. I didn’t marry him for his looks, and despite the rumors, I didn’t marry him for his money, either, though I’ll admit it didn’t hurt. I married him because he was one of the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful men I’ve ever met.”

  “So what went wrong?” I ask. I have a morbid fascination of late with the demise of other people’s marriages, most likely because I still reel occasionally at how fast my own went to hell.

  Kirsten thinks about this for a moment. “He became too possessive. That jealous streak was something I found endearing in the beginning, but over time it became confining, and controlling. His love was stifling me and I had to get out.”

  “Was he agreeable to the divorce?”

  She smiled, and shook her head. “Let’s just say it took him a while to see the light.”

  “Do the two of you stay in touch at all?”

  “We do, for the sake of the kids.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two girls,” she says with a beatific smile. “Avery is a med student at the U of Dub in Madison, and Brittany is a freshman at Harvard studying pre-law.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” I say. It seems Kirsten has rolled a seven in the crapshoot game of raising children. I’m amazed by how many kids who come from good families with loving parents who try to do everything right still manage to turn out wrong. It’s one of my biggest fears with Matthew . . . that and the genetic tendencies he might have inherited. This last thing bothers me the most given that my mother has some serious mental health issues and my father is not only a deadbeat but a wanted felon.

  Hurley says, “I need a number where I can reach you, Ms. Donaldson. I might need to talk with you again at some point, but for now I need you to leave these premises. Whatever it is you came here for will have to wait.”

  “That’s fine,” she says, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a business card. “My office and cell numbers are on there.”

  Hurley takes the card and sticks it between the pages of the small notebook he always carries in his pocket. “I would also like your key to this place, please.”

  “Is that really necessary?” she says. “There are files here on some of our joint ventures that I might need to access.”

  “Once our investigation is concluded and we release the place you can have it back. If there’s something you need before then, call me.” He concludes the information swap by handing her one of his business cards.

  “Very well,” Kirsten says with a sigh. She takes a set of keys out of her pocket, removes one from the ring, and goes to hand it to Hurley. But instead of letting it go right away, she takes a step closer to him and looks him right in the eye. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if I can be of any further assistance with anything,” she says. Her gaze lingers a second or two longer before she finally lets go of the key and leaves.

  Chapter 6

  “Sheesh,” I say, glowering at the door. “So much for being upset over Lars’s death. The guy isn’t even cold yet and already she’s flirting with someone new.”

  “It sounds like their relationship was more of a business associates with benefits thing rather than friends with benefits,” Hurley says. “That sort of arrangement appeals to a lot of successful women, particularly the older ones. And I imagine a lot of men would love that sort of arrangement, too, particularly if they’re commitment-phobes.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas about establishing a business relationship with Kirsten,” I say, making air quotes when I say the word business.

  Hurley walks over to me, grabs my shoulders, and gives me a nice kiss on the mouth. It’s brief, but sweet. “You’re all the woman I want or need,” he says. Then he winks and hands me his camera. “So start filming while I take a look around.”

  I man the video camera as Hurley starts routing around through the stuff on top and inside of Lars’s desk. There’s a lot of it. Both file drawers are crammed full of papers and there are several stacked files in a third drawer. Hurley fingers through some tabbed hanging files and sighs. Then he looks over at the bookcase, the shelves of which are jam-packed with cardboard organizers filled with notebooks and binders.

  “It’s going to take too much time to go through all of this stuff here,” Hurley says. “Let’s box it up, take it back to the station, and let Jonas wade through it.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, turning off the camera.

  Hurley places a call to the station and asks if there is anyone available who can come with Jonas to Lars’s residence to assist us. After some juggling of personnel, arrangements are made to send Patrick back our way. With that done, Hurley and I head upstairs.

  Given what the rest of the place looks like, I shudder as I think about what horrors await us in Lars’s bedroom, and it turns out to be worse than I imagined. The entire ceiling over the bed is covered with mirrored tiles. A faux leopard-skin bedspread covers the king-size bed and the sheets and pillowcases are black satin. The shag carpet has made it into here as well, this time in black. The walls are bloodred like the bathroom. I feel like I’m in a cave, which seems fitting since I’m starting to think Lars was quite the animal.

  “Holy crap,” Hurley says, staring at the room. “What the hell was this guy thinking? Do women actually like this stuff?”

  “This woman doesn’t, but it sounds like Lars was something of a ladies’ man, so enough of them must. I’m betting that bedspread will light up like a Christmas tree under a UV light.”

  Hurley curls his lip in disgust. “And I suppose we should take it all in as evidence.”

  “Do we have to?” I whine. “I don’t think I want to touch it.”

  “Yeah, we need to collect it,” Hurley says with a sigh of resignation. “If Lars was sleeping around, we need to know who’s been in this bed. Our killer’s DNA could be there.” He thinks for a second and then his face brightens. “However, I don’t see why we can’t let Jonas and Patrick collect it all.”

  I head into the master bath off the bedroom and open up the medicine cabinet. “It looks like Lars needed a little help keeping up with all his women,” I holler out to Hurley, taking a bottle of pills out and bagging them. “
He was using Viagra.” I look in the trash can bedside the toilet and at first blush it looks like detritus from a kid’s birthday party. Then I realize what I’m looking at.

  “Sheesh, I think we should call in a biohazard team,” I say. “There must be ten used condoms in this trash. And apparently Lars liked to experiment with colors and styles.”

  “I suppose we should be glad he was practicing safe sex,” Hurley says.

  There are several other prescription bottles in the cabinet along with an assortment of over-the-counter drugs. I scan the labels on the other medications. “It looks like Lars had himself a little habit. There are several narcotic prescriptions in here—hydrocodone, oxycodone, OxyContin—all prescribed by different doctors and all filled at different pharmacies.”

  Hurley walks into the bathroom holding up a baggie full of dried leafy stuff. “That’s not the only habit he had, apparently,” he says. “And to counter all of this mellowing, there’s another baggie in the bedside stand with some white powder in it. I’m betting it’s coke.”

  “I wonder where he gets it from. And how he pays for it,” I say. An expensive drug habit might explain why Lars was living in his own, cheaply built housing.

  “I’ll have a look at his banking records,” Hurley says. “Maybe his drug use has something to do with his death.”

  “Great,” I mutter with sarcasm. “Just what we need. More motive and more suspects.”

  “Speaking of money,” Hurley says, “I’ve been thinking about Emily and her education. She’s going to be graduating in a few years and what if she wants to go to college? I don’t have money saved up for that sort of thing.”

  “I’m guessing Kate didn’t either?”

  He shakes his head. “She didn’t have any savings, or any life insurance. What little she did have was used to pay off medical bills.”

  I suspect Kirsten’s kid bragging has triggered this line of thinking, so I say, “You don’t have to foot the bill for a fancy, expensive college education, Hurley. There are other options. Depending on what she wants to do, there are lots of affordable community colleges in the area, or she can attend the U of Dub and live at home.” I consider offering to help with the tuition, but decide to hold off. Hurley and money is touchy territory. So instead I ask, “Has she talked about any career interests?”