Richmond nods. “So we know Lars was up to something illegal that got him a bunch of cash. I’m betting that whoever killed him knew about it and hoped to get their hands on some, if not all of that money. Now all we have to do is figure out who that is.”
“And how do we do that?” I ask.
“Follow the money trail,” Richmond says. “We’re going to have to backtrack on every one of those phony invoices and bank deposits, and figure out when they were generated, what jobs Lars was doing at the time, and where the money might have come from.”
He makes it sound easy, but I know it won’t be. It will be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Chapter 22
Richmond and I arrive back at the station fifteen minutes before we are scheduled to meet with Hart Bauer, formally known as Hartwig Beckenbauer. I make use of the time by calling Hurley again, but all I get is his voice mail. Rather than leave another message, I just hang up. Richmond disappears long enough to go downstairs to the basement evidence area to log in the bank cards we found at Lars’s place. When he returns, he shares some information that Laura has dug up on Hart Bauer and we discuss how to bring it up. Once we have our plan down, Richmond asks me to go out and fetch our interviewee while he heads to the interview room and readies the equipment.
I head up front, poke my head out into the reception area, and call out Bauer’s name. He hops up from his seat and flashes me a big, very white smile, closing the distance between us with three long strides.
“Follow me, please,” I say without any further introduction, and then I turn and head for the interview room, assuming he will follow. He does, and when we enter the room, Richmond is standing just inside the door waiting on us. I let him do the introductions, and once he’s done, he directs Bauer to the far side of the table while he and I take our usual seats.
It’s hard for me to peg Mr. Bauer’s age. He has nice skin for a man—smooth, unblemished, pale but not sickly so. His hair is thick and brown with blond highlights, cut short on the sides and combed back from his face. His eyes are a vibrant shade of green that doesn’t look natural, and upon closer inspection I see the faint outline of contact lenses. Heightwise he has me by an inch or so, and his build is slender.
Richmond opens by stating the date and time, the case the interview involves, who is being interviewed, and who is doing the interview. With that out of the way, he informs Bauer that our session is being recorded and then gets right to the point. “Mr. Bauer, I understand that you had some issues with Lars Sanderson regarding a purchase he made from a Mrs. Freda Herman.”
“I do have an issue with the man,” Bauer says. “He’s a con artist.”
“Care to explain what you mean by that?” Richmond says.
“Sure. He stole my aunt’s property. She had a farm and a nice parcel of land several miles just outside of town. I was supposed to inherit it when she died since I’m her only living relative. But when she did finally pass, I discovered that the land had been hijacked by this Mr. Sanderson.”
Bauer has a fabulous voice—a deep baritone that’s hypnotically soft in volume—and he enunciates with great care.
“Hijacked?” Richmond says.
“Basically, yes. Aunt Freda and Uncle Joe lived and worked on that farm for more than thirty years. When Joe died eight years ago, Aunt Freda tried to handle the farm by herself and keep it going, but it got to be too much for her. She fell behind on her bills. Then this Sanderson character comes along two years ago and offers to help her out with the bills by advancing her some money and having her sign some papers. Turns out those papers gave Sanderson ownership of the land. He sold off bits and pieces of it while letting Aunt Freda stay in her home, and then when she died, he got that, and sold it off, too. I was counting on that land to help finance my career, and what he did to Aunt Freda was incorrigible.”
He makes this statement with much drama, befitting his occupation.
“You called an elder abuse hotline to complain, didn’t you?” I ask, using the information Laura dug up.
“I did,” Bauer says, tight-lipped. “But they didn’t do anything about it.”
“Actually, they did,” I tell him. “According to the report, your aunt was terminally ill when Sanderson approached her, and she was looking for a way to die in her home and not have to go to a nursing home. Yes, Sanderson did sell off parcels of her land, but he used some of the money he got from those sales to fund her home care. She had nurses around the clock during the last three months of her life.”
Bauer’s face has darkened with anger. “He might have paid for some nurses, but it hardly makes up for the money he made off her land. He stole it out from under her.”
Richmond says, “That must have made you angry.”
“Of course it made me angry. That money was supposed to be mine. It was supposed to help me stay in L.A. so I could give my acting career a chance.” He lets out a sigh of exasperation and folds his arms over his chest. “Look, why did you make me come here? You said this was regarding Sanderson, so I thought the bastard finally got what was coming to him and you were filing charges against him.”
“We are not filing any charges against Mr. Sanderson,” Richmond says.
“Why the hell not?” Bauer booms in his best stage voice.
“Mr. Bauer, where were you yesterday morning between the hours of five and eight?”
“I was in my apartment in Milwaukee, sleeping. The shows I’m in run late and I don’t usually get home until three in the morning or later.”
“Can anyone verify that you were there?”
Bauer frowns and narrows his eyes at Richmond. “What is this about?”
“Can you please answer my question?” Richmond says.
Bauer is pissed and it shows. “No, no one can verify that. I live alone.”
“Do you own a cat?”
“God, no. I’m allergic to the beasts. Swell up like a puffer fish if I so much as look at one.”
“And when is the last time you saw Mr. Sanderson?” Richmond asks, the picture of cool, calm collection, which just seems to incense Bauer even more.
“I don’t know . . . a few weeks ago, I guess. I went to his office to try to reason with the guy and see if he would at least give me part of the proceeds from the sale of Aunt Freda’s house, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He told me to leave and not come back.” Bauer pauses and looks from Richmond to me and then back to Richmond again. “Wait a minute,” he says, his eyes growing wide. Then he points at me, though he’s still focused on Richmond. “You said she’s with the medical examiner’s office?”
Richmond nods.
“Does that mean someone is dead?”
“It does,” Richmond answers.
“Is Sanderson dead?”
Richmond hesitates for a second or two before he nods. “Yes, I’m afraid he is.”
Bauer lets out an ironic laugh and shakes his head. “If you guys are talking to people like me, I’m guessing somebody killed him?”
“It would appear so, yes,” Richmond says.
“Good,” Bauer says with a defiant expression on his face. “The bastard finally got what was coming to him.”
Richmond arches his brows at Bauer and leans toward him, arms on the table, his eyes holding Bauer in a piercing glare.
“What?” Bauer says with a huff. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m sad he’s dead, because I’m not. I didn’t kill him, but I’d buy a drink for whoever did.”
A half a minute of silence ensues as Richmond and Bauer stare one another down. Richmond’s glare is scary looking, but Bauer doesn’t appear at all intimidated.
“Am I done here?” Bauer says finally, pushing back his chair in preparation for standing.
“One more question,” Richmond says. “Do you own a bow and arrow of any sort?”
“No. Why?”
“Have you ever shot a bow and arrow?”
“You said one question, so I don’t have to answe
r that, but I will. No, I haven’t. And I’m leaving.” He stands and heads around the end of the table toward the door. “If you have any more questions for me, you can direct them to my lawyer.”
“Well, that was certainly interesting,” I say after we escort Hart Bauer out. “Our Mr. Bauer has motive and no alibi, but I don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?”
Richmond sighs and shakes his head. “No, I don’t. He seemed genuinely surprised—and pleased—to learn that Lars was dead.”
“Lars definitely didn’t have many fans,” I say with a sigh. “Though I have to confess, what he did for Freda Herman was actually quite kind. He didn’t have to let her stay in that house or pay for the private duty nurses. And yet he did. It suggests he had some kind of a conscience.”
“I suppose,” Richmond says, sounding unconvinced.
“Any word on the search warrant for Harry Olsen’s archery equipment?”
“Yeah, I got it but I’ve put it on the back burner for now. We know the arrow that killed Lars belonged to Reece Morton, so I don’t know what good it will do to look at Olsen’s equipment,” Richmond grumbles.
“We know the arrow was Morton’s, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was fired from Morton’s bow, does it? Will a bow leave markings on the arrow the way a gun barrel does with bullets?”
“It’s possible, but there are no guarantees. And if the arrow was used with Morton’s bow and then another bow, any evidence gleaned from markings on the arrow would be worthless. Plus, I’ve done some research on the topic based on what Bo Jurgenson told us, and learned that arrows are specifically weighted and built to fit the bow they will be shot from. Using another bow might have a deleterious effect on accuracy.”
I glance at my watch and see that we have over half an hour before Brad Donaldson is due to arrive. “Listen,” I say, “while you contemplate our next steps, I’m going to head back to my office to see if Arnie and Joey have made any progress with Emily’s computer. I’ll be back in time for the interview with Brad Donaldson.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I think we need it.” I grab my coat and head over to my office. Once there I head upstairs to Arnie’s lab area. He and Joey are right where I left them.
“Perfect timing,” Arnie says. “We were just about to call you.”
“Did you find something?”
Arnie looks grim and shakes his head. “We’ve scoured through her e-mails, and all the recent ones are about school stuff, and while she does have accounts established on Myspace and Facebook, she hasn’t posted anything on them in weeks. We went through all of her Word files to see if there might be any letters, or a diary, but all we found were papers she wrote for school. We just finished looking through her browser history to see if anything there looked promising, but all we found were some fan sites she’d been to, some research stuff she did for school, and some music downloads. No searches for bus tickets, train schedules, maps, or directions.”
“No communications with anyone in Chicago?”
“Nothing current. There were some e-mail exchanges months ago with one girl she went to school with in Chicago, but there hasn’t been any recent contact.”
“Dang it!”
“I’m sorry, Mattie,” Joey says.
I pat him on his shoulder. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I tell him. “You did exactly what I needed you to do. Thank you.” I bend down and kiss him on his cheek, which makes him flush bright red. “Give me the name of the girl in Chicago and I’ll pass it on to Hurley just in case.”
Arnie writes it down for me and hands me the paper. “You might as well take the computer back,” he says. “We’ve given it a thorough going-over.”
I nod as Arnie closes the laptop, unplugs it, and hands it to me.
“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”
Joey gets up from his chair and walks toward me, arms spread wide. Smiling, I let him wrap me in a giant bear hug. “I’m glad I got to see you again, Mattie,” he says.
“I’m glad I got to see you, too, Joey. Thank you for helping me.”
Joey releases me and, as I turn to leave, the door opens and Laura walks in. “Hello everyone,” she says. “How are things . . . ?”
It’s an amazingly succinct greeting for her and the reason behind it becomes readily apparent. She is gaping at me, her mouth hanging open, her greeting frozen in time. “You did something different to your hair,” she says after a few seconds of stunned silence. The fact that my hair has stunned her even though Joey is in the room speaks volumes.
“It’s a temporary thing,” I say with a self-conscious stroke of my hair. “An experiment gone wrong. I’m changing it back as soon as I can.” Then to divert attention away from me, I add, “Have you been over at the PD all day?”
She nods. “Jonas and I have been processing through all those files on the Sanderson case. Any good suspects yet?”
I see Arnie frown. No doubt he doesn’t like it when Laura has to spend time with Jonas, given that both men are vying for her attention.
“Lots of them,” I tell Laura. “But no one in particular yet.”
Laura finally looks at Joey and after a moment of study, she walks over to him and extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Laura.”
Joey’s mouth is hanging open and he’s standing all rigid and stiff, like he’s been Tasered.
“Laura, this is Joey, a friend of mine,” Arnie says.
“You’re really pretty,” Joey says, finally finding his voice.
“Thank you,” Laura says with a coquettish tilt of her head and a big smile.
Arnie rolls his eyes. Now that there are two other men who are gaga for Laura, things could get very tense.
I figure it’s a good time to escape and head downstairs to check in with Izzy. After I update him on the hunt for Emily and our progress on the Sanderson case, he says, “I just brought in a new body from the ER. It looks like a heart attack, but the circumstances were a little unusual and the guy had no history of heart trouble, so I plan to post him in the morning.”
“What time?”
“Figure on coming in at eight as usual. We’ll do it first thing. Why don’t you head home after your next interview? You had a long day yesterday. Go home and spend some time with that boy of yours.”
“Are you sure?”
He waves me away. “Get while the getting is good. Tell Dom I should be home around seven. I’m going to stay a little later tonight and try to get caught up on some paperwork.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“No, but thanks for the offer.” I turn to leave but he stops me. “Mattie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the honest talk yesterday about this thing with Dom. You raised some valid points and I appreciate your candor.”
“No problem.”
“I’m curious about something. Would you actually consider serving as a surrogate for me and Dom?”
“No, but I didn’t tell Dom that yet. I think it’s a valid option for the two of you, just not with me as the surrogate. Frankly, pregnancy wasn’t the glowing, tons-of-fun experience people led me to believe it would be. So if I ever go through that torture again, it’s going to be for my own kid. Besides, I think it would be a situation ripe with potential, and I don’t mean that in a good way. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I hope that’s okay.”
Izzy smiles at me. “It’s more than okay. It’s a relief. I was afraid I was going to have to fight both you and Dom on the matter. I’m not against the idea in general, just involving you in it. You’re absolutely right that it has the potential to jeopardize both our friendship and our working relationship. And since I’m technically your boss, asking you to have my child seems like the worst kind of sexual harassment and abuse of power.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I say, giving him a grudging look of admiration. “But I’m glad you did. It’s a perfect excuse to give Dom, an
d one that doesn’t make me look selfish.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Let him down easy for me, okay?” I say with a wink and a smile.
“I’ll do my best.”
“You know, Dom is right about one thing. You’d make a great father, Izzy. You’re kind, smart, loving, generous, and even fun at times.”
“Good try, but I told you, I can’t give you a raise until you’ve been on the job for a full year of continuous work, and that started over when you quit and came back.”
I shrug and wink again. “It was worth a try.” I turn to leave, but after taking a couple of steps I stop and look back at him. “All joking aside, I meant every word of that, Izzy.”
He smiles warmly and says, “Thanks. See you in the morning.”
Chapter 23
Brad Donaldson arrives promptly at three, driving up in a Hummer. Kirsten wasn’t kidding when she said she hadn’t married him for his looks. He appears to be in his mid-fifties and he’s a short, portly fellow with a ruddy face that hints of a close relationship with the bottle. Tiny blue veins crisscross his cheeks, and his nose is red and bulbous. His eyes are a weird color that looks like a cross between light brown and spinach green, and there are bags beneath them big enough to pack for a week. His hair is salt and pepper along the sides, but the top of his head is very nearly bald with just a few iron-gray strands tying the two sides together. His face is jowly and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow on both of his chins.
I’m convinced Kirsten had to have been a trophy wife until I greet Brad Donaldson and introduce myself. He smiles and his face is transformed. The skin tightens a little, the eyes reveal a sparkling glint of light, and his cheeks look rosy and healthy. Then he speaks and for a moment I’m mesmerized. His voice is deep, soothing, and mellow. The combination of that smile and the mellifluous voice leaves me feeling oddly drawn to the man.
Brad Donaldson manages to muddle my senses even more once we get him settled in the interview room and start talking with him.
“Mr. Donaldson, we’re looking into the death of Lars Sanderson,” Richmond starts. “Do you know the man?”
Stiff Competition Page 23
