“Did you try to contact her afterwards?”
“No. There was really no way to reach her. She didn’t have a cell phone. I’d been paying for a prepaid phone, but once we broke up, I canceled the service. If she didn’t want to be found, there was nothing I could do about it.”
“Mrs. LeVitre, who might have wanted Tracey dead?”
Her gaze dropped to the tops of her thighs. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine something so horrible.”
“What about your husband?” I gently prodded.
Her head snapped up at that. “Stephen would never hurt a fly.”
“Not even to get back at you for the affair?”
She shook her head. “His pride was wounded. But we spoke about it, and I promised never to see her again, and that was the end of it.”
I made a thoughtful noise, but I wasn’t convinced at all.
Mrs. LeVitre regarded me with earnest intensity. “Detective, how did she die?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share that information. It’s still an active investigation.”
“I understand. Well, I hope you’ll keep me in touch if you learn more.”
She unfastened the gold clasp on the designer leather clutch bag she’d brought along. Her hand disappeared inside before producing a business card.
“Call me the next time you want to talk,” she instructed as she slipped the embossed card into my hand. “It will save me the trouble of having to explain to party guests why there’s a police officer in my home.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I promised.
Her high heels clicked on the basement floor. I ran my fingertips over the business card’s raised, gold letters as Mrs. LeVitre showed herself out.
CHAPTER NINE
Diana Plantz lived outside of the Twin Cities in the rural community of Carver, Minnesota. I’d found her most recent address from the Department of Motor Vehicles. A quick search on NCIC showed a clean record. No priors, no outstanding warrants, no liens on her property.
A white wooden house stood atop the slope of a little hill. Behind the house was a great red barn whose roof had partially collapsed. An old white pickup truck was parked in the gravel driveway.
I parked my unmarked squad car behind the white Ford and secured my firearm in the holster affixed to my hip, opposite my badge. After the anxiety-inducing visit to Frederick Wilson’s property, I had become more mindful to bring my duty gun with me, if only to serve as a security blanket.
My boots crunched on loose gravel as I made my way to the front door. I climbed four wooden steps to a wraparound porch and approached a red painted door.
I knocked on the sturdy door and waited with my hand comfortably resting on the butt of my gun.
When no one came to the door, I peered through an adjacent window. Beyond the white lacy curtains I spied worn hardwood floors and the mismatched furniture of a living room.
With no signs of life in the house, I began to explore the surrounding property. I found a greenhouse directly behind the main house. The door was open, so I poked my head inside the small shed. A woman stood before a long table of seedlings she was transplanting into larger pots.
“Hello?” I called out.
The woman looked up sharply from her task, alert but not startled. Her wide, bright blue eyes widened at my appearance. She had long grey hair but a youthful, unlined face. I guessed she was in her early 50s. A dirt smudge was spread across her right cheekbone.
“Diana Plantz?” I guessed.
She wiped her dirt-caked hands on the front of her sweatshirt. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Cassidy Miller, Minneapolis Police. I’d like to speak with you about Tracey Green if you have a moment.”
The woman’s body visibly sagged. “Tracey Green. I haven’t heard that name in quite some time. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
I took note that it was the second time someone had associated the victim’s name with police trouble.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that she passed away, ma’am.”
A dirt-covered hand went to her throat, and with shaking legs, Diana Plantz sat down on a nearby wooden bench. “H-how?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m part of the Cold Case division. We’ve reopened the case, but our leads are very limited.”
“Cold Case.” Her bright blue eyes focused on my face. “So this happened a while ago?”
“2005,” I confirmed.
She didn’t respond, as though working out the math in her head.
“How did you know Tracey?” I asked.
“She broke into my house.”
My body jerked at her response. “I didn’t find a criminal record.”
“Oh, I never reported it,” she dismissed. “Tracey was homeless at the time. She’d been fending for herself for about a year before we met, never quite sure where her next meal might come from. I gave her a place to stay, and she helped me out around the farm.” She gestured to the area around her. “It’s not easy taking care of this kind of acreage by yourself.”
“I’d guess not.”
“What happened to her?” she asked.
“She admitted herself to a hospital in St. Paul with stomach pain. The autopsy found a large amount of botulinum toxin in her blood, which we believe slowly poisoned her.”
“She was poisoned? On purpose?”
“So it appears.”
I let Diana Plantz sit quietly with the information. We had only just met, but I felt more compassion and remorse from her words and actions than in my two interactions with Victoria LeVitre.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Detective, how did you know I knew Tracey?”
“Victoria LeVitre gave me your name.”
“Oh.” Diana thinned her lips. “Her.”
“You don’t seem to be a fan,” I observed.
“I only met the woman once, so perhaps I’m being unfair.”
“You knew about the affair?”
Diana nodded. “Tracey was in love. I wasn’t so sure about the other woman. But from the things Tracey told me about her, she seemed manipulative.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“I had been trying to set Tracey up with a job for a while—a real job, not just chores around the farm—but none of them seemed to stick. Victoria always had some kind of excuse why Tracey should quit. I don’t think she wanted Tracey to have a job.”
“Why do you think that?”
“It took time away from her, and I think she liked that Tracey was so dependent on her for money.”
If Mrs. LeVitre had started the affair because her husband was always busy with work, it made sense that she wouldn’t have wanted her girlfriend to have a full-time job.
“When did you last see Tracey?”
Diana blinked a few times. “I’d have to check my calendar to give you an exact date. We had a fight. I woke up the morning after and she was gone. No note. No anything.”
“And you never heard from her afterwards?”
She shook her head. “No. I thought maybe they’d actually gone through with their plan.”
“Plan?” I echoed.
“It’s what we’d fought about. Tracey said Victoria was going to leave her husband. I doubted that would ever happen, and I told her so.”
“Did Tracey tell you anything more specific about their plan?” I dug. “Was it just that Mrs. LeVitre going to leave her husband, or was there more to it?”
Diana shook her head. “All Tracey told me was they were going to leave town together. I don’t know if Victoria was going to file for a divorce or not.”
I produced a business card from my pocket. The department had just printed them with my name, work e-mail, and the phone number and address of the Cold Case division. I set my card on the corner of the gardening table.
“If you think of anything else, Ms. Plantz, I hope you’ll give me a call. Thank you for your time.”
“No. Thank you, Det
ective.” She grasped my hands in her own. Despite working in the dirt, her skin was warm and soft; it reminded me of bread dough.
“For what?”
“Tracey wasn’t the most … noble of people … but if someone really did murder her, I hope you can find out who did it.”
+ + +
Eden Prairie was on my way back to the city, so rather than return directly to the Fourth Precinct, I made a slight detour to the home of Dr. Stephen and Victoria LeVitre. The surrounding neighborhood appeared even more opulent in the daytime. Everywhere I looked, hired help mowed perfectly manicured lawns, a deep green color only accomplished through spray paint or constant watering.
The front gate was open, and with no tuxedo’d bouncers to turn me away, I pulled up the long circular driveway. I was surprised when Mrs. LeVitre herself and not a butler or maid answered the front door.
“Didn’t I ask you to call next time?” she said in lieu of a proper greeting.
I glanced at my wrist even though I wore no watch. “It’s a Tuesday afternoon. I figured it was safe.”
“We often have afternoon functions at the house,” she sniffed. “I play Bunko with the other doctor’s wives. I could still be entertaining.”
“Are you?” I pressed.
“No. Come in.”
I entered the mansion and glanced around the main entryway. I’d only been to the house at night in the middle of a party. In the early afternoon, the home was silent as a tomb.
“Is your husband home?” I asked as I followed her inside.
“No. He’s at work.” Mrs. LeVitre looked far too dressed up to only be spending the afternoon at home. She wore a tight knitted dress and high heels that echoed on the marble floor.
“To what do I owe this unsolicited visit, Detective Miller? Did you have a breakthrough with the case?”
“Something like that,” I murmured distractedly.
I followed Mrs. LeVitre deeper into the house. We passed the den area where I’d previously been admitted, back to an enormous kitchen with vaulted ceilings. There was so much natural light in the room, I practically needed sunglasses.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade? Sparkling water?”
The question I needed to ask was blunt, but there was no delicate way to frame it. “Were you going to leave your husband for Tracey Green?”
Her high heels fell silent. “What?”
“I spoke to Diana Plantz this afternoon. She said you and Tracey had a plan. You were going to leave town with her.”
“Oh. I’m sure we probably spoke about it.” She was flippant in her dismissal. “Post-orgasmic discussions in bed, you know. Nothing more serious than that. Something to drink?” she offered again.
“What about the rental car? Is it possible you rented the car with the purpose of running away together?” I proposed.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Then why did you get Tracey a rental car?”
“I told you already; she needed one to get around for job interviews.”
“Why not just buy her one? That seems more cost effective than renting a car for a full month,” I pointed out.
“And how was I supposed to explain that to my husband? He didn’t regularly check my credit card bills, but he would have noticed a car loan.”
“You couldn’t have bought her a beater outright?” I noted. “A few thousand dollars seems like it would be a drop in the bucket to you.”
Victoria LeVitre narrowed her eyes. “Am I under arrest, Detective?”
“No.”
“Then why are you interrogating me like I’m a suspect?”
“I’m trying to find out what happened to your dead girlfriend, Mrs. LeVitre.”
“Ex,” she said in a voice almost too quiet to hear.
“What was that?”
“She was my ex-girlfriend,” she spoke a little louder. She set her mouth in a straight line. “You should probably see yourself out, Detective. And the next time you decide to visit, I’d appreciate some notice.”
I pulled another business card from my pocket and set it purposefully on the kitchen island. “When you’re feeling a little more cooperative, give me a call.”
I found my way out of the cavernous home to where my squad car remained parked. It was probably time I met with Mrs. LeVitre’s husband.
+ + +
Dr. Stephen LeVitre indulged my phone call request for an interview that same day. He met up with me in the basement office of the Fourth Precinct after wrapping up his shift at a hospital in Eden Prairie. We sat at the central table with lukewarm cups of coffee before us.
Victoria LeVitre had stuck out in a police station, but in a white dress shirt and grey pants, Dr. LeVitre could have passed as another detective. The only thing that gave him away was the aggressively large watch on his left wrist.
He was handsome. Young. I had been expecting a balding, swollen, middle-aged man, but Dr. LeVitre had a full head of dark hair, and his lean build suggested someone who was no stranger to the gym.
“Thank you for coming all the way down here to meet with me, Dr. LeVitre.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Of course. Victoria told me what happened, and I’m more than happy to help.”
“What exactly did she tell you?” I asked.
“That Tracey Green was found dead, and the police suspect foul play.”
I made a thoughtful noise. I was purposely keeping key details about Tracey Green’s death to myself, like the specifics surrounding her death. I wanted to be cautious around these two who were my natural Number One and Two Suspects. They might have even worked together on this.
“I’m assuming you met Ms. Green?”
He nodded. “On a number of occasions. She was often a guest of my wife at our home.”
The doctor might have wanted to tiptoe around the facts, but I didn’t. “It’s my understanding that your wife and Ms. Green were intimate. When did you discover the affair?”
Mr. LeVitre reached for the plain, white ceramic coffee cup. He took a sip and cleared his throat before responding. “I work long hours. I get called in for emergency surgeries in the middle of the night. It comes with the territory, but I don’t think Victoria knew what she was getting into when she married a doctor. She was lonely. I get it. And from my understanding of the situation, Tracey didn’t had a job, didn’t have responsibilities, so she was able to give attention to my wife that I simply didn’t have the time for.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, not one defined by days on the calendar, but his words led me to believe that he blamed himself, not his wife, not even Tracey Green, for the infidelity.
“What kind of surgery do you do?”
“I’m a plastic surgeon.”
My throat constricted at the news, but I tried to keep my tone neutral—uninterested, even. “Like Botox?”
My face must have given me away, but Dr. LeVitre misinterpreted my interest.
“It’s not like the Hollywood doctors you’re probably thinking of. The majority of my patients were born with a deformity—a cleft lip,” he offered as example. “I do a lot of work with veterans as well.”
My interest in the doctor veered off course.
“You operate on veterans?”
“I can’t bring back a missing limb,” he explained, “but I can make other scars less visible. It’s a small thing, but I’m happy to do it.”
I found myself leaning forward in my chair. “What about skin grafts? Do you do those?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve done them personally, but I have a few colleagues who specialize in that. Is there a reason you’re asking?”
“Oh, uh, just asking for a friend.” I averted my eyes in case he had a talent for reading people.
Our interview was interrupted by the sound of loud crunching and the crinkle of a cellophane bag. Stanley burst through the office door with one hand jammed into a vending machine chip bag. He jerked to a stop in the threshold when
he noticed I wasn’t alone.
“Sorry,” he mumbled through a mouthful of Cheetos. “I didn’t realize you had someone in here.”
“Stanley, this is Dr. Stephen LeVitre,” I introduced.
My colleague reflexively thrust his hand out, but pulled it back when he realized it was covered in orange dust. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled instead.
“Stanley, Dr. LeVitre is a plastic surgeon.”
I watched the recognition slowly reach Stanley’s face. If Suspect Number One hadn’t been seated at the table, I might have laughed.
Dr. LeVitre glanced at his impressive watch. “If that’s all you have for me, I should probably be getting back to my wife.”
I stood from the table to see him out. “Of course. I’ll be in touch if I have further questions.”
“And let me know about that friend of yours.” His sympathetic smile told me he’d seen through my clunky lie. “Like I said, I haven’t performed any skin grafts since my residency, but we have many other fine surgeons at my hospital.”
“Right. Thanks. I’ll uh, I’ll let my friend know.”
Dr. LeVitre draped his suit jacket over his forearm and paused at the office door. “Detective, I hope you can find out who did this. It would be nice for Victoria to have some closure.”
With the doctor’s departure, I stood before the office wall clock that always seemed to run a little slow. I tapped at the plastic bubble that covered the face of the oversized clock. The red seconds hand had a tendency to stick on its rotation.
Stanley’s voice broken into my thoughts. “He’s a plastic surgeon.”
“Yep.”
“When do we arrest him?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How much more information do we need?” Stanley’s voice rose in pitch. “He had motive, and he would have had access to our unorthodox poison.”
“What would he benefit by killing Tracey Green?”
“He gets his cheating wife back?” he proposed.
“Give me a motive beyond jealousy and ego. The risk of getting caught would have been too high.”
Cold Blooded Lover Page 10
