Magic City Murder

by C S Davis

I knew playing house with Eve wouldn’t last, but for the moment, I was kind of content with the domesticated feeling. She wrapped her arms around me from behind as she stared at the screen over my shoulder.

  “That looks like girly handwriting,” said Eve.

  She was right. My theory of the doctor forging the intake forms was growing a little thin. Dr. Yu did not seem like the kind of person to write her letters in bubbly rounded fonts. Mary had a few pictures of notes that were obviously Dr. Yu’s and they looked nothing like the forms. The intake forms differed greatly from the ones we had found in the dumpster though. There were multiple instances where patients had come in just for a checkup or a cold. The forms had been changed to say things like chronic bronchitis, acute back pain, basically anything other than what they came in for. It would make a little more sense ordering all those extra tests and having them have multiple office visits if the initial reason for seeing the doctor was something more severe than a cough.

  Eve grabbed the original intake forms we had been looking at. Most had the letters BR written on them in bubbly letters to show who had checked the patient in. Eve held up one of them to the screen and compared Becky’s initials to the handwriting on the new patient intake forms. They looked remarkably similar.

  “So, she’s in on it?” asked Eve.

  I nodded. “It appears that way, but we’re going to have to figure out why she would throw the doctor under the bus the first chance she got.”

  If I had to guess, she was probably getting some kind of kickback from the doctor for her part in the fraud scheme. It seemed odd just to throw that away unless she thought it was already being investigated and she wanted to get out in front of it. I wondered if the Department of Health and Human Services already had an investigation on the clinic for their billing. Unfortunately, I had no contacts there so there was no way of knowing for sure.

  The main thing we needed to get done was to get the video to the deputy fire marshal investigating the arson at Eve’s house. She had allowed me to take pictures of the messages between her and Raymond. That along with what I had documented after speaking with Raymond and the catfishing stuff should be enough to get the fire marshal to look at him.

  I got his number from Eve and phoned him. His name was Jack Wagner. He was curt but professional. From the sound of his voice, he sounded like he was maybe in his early 40s. Wagner agreed to look at the video and reports I had generated regarding the arson.

  Eve made a copy of the DVD while I printed off reports and bound them together. I redacted a few things that were not pertinent to Wagner’s investigation. I was attempting to keep the murder investigation I was conducting and the arson investigation he was conducting separate. Every time I put something in writing or handed over a piece of paper to an attorney or another investigator, I had to assume that one day it would end up in court.

  Evidence was like cards in a game of poker. At some point, the other players will get to see all your cards through discovery, so you want to limit what you have in your hand. Why is this important? Say for argument’s sake all the stuff I give to Wagner gets used in an arson investigation and that investigation leads to an arrest and a trial. Everything I gave Wagner will get handed over to the defense. At that point, the information is out there and there is no telling what they will do with it. If I get called to testify and they ask me about the murder investigation, then I must answer and it’s part of public record and that’s all before the police even decide if they’re going to investigate Stephanie’s death as a murder. So, if they did decide to investigate her death as a murder and all this extra information has been previously released, the prime suspect or suspects will have already come up with solid alibis, excuses, and reasons to counter any evidence I had found. To be convicted of a crime, a jury must believe beyond a reasonable doubt you broke the law. With the more explanations the defense can offer, that reasonable doubt shrinks to reasonable suspicions and maybe preponderance of the evidence or less, and that’s not enough to get a conviction. So yes, I’m careful with how I handle the information I have.

  Eve had set out on a mission to find stuff for her apartment and put in some applications at a few restaurants. Servers made a normal minimum wage plus tips in Montana so they could actually make a decent living if they had good shifts.

  Wagner lived in Columbus which was at least a little closer for me than Billings, so we agreed to meet at a coffee shop in the evening after he finished up his day. He was already there when I arrived. As I had suspected, he looked to be about 45 with short brown hair that was thinning but was in decent shape.

  I introduced myself and we shook hands. I sat down in the booth and was immediately greeted by a waitress who took my order of black coffee and came back with it not long after.

  “The bread pudding here is really something else,” he said.

  My stomach suddenly felt very empty. Normally, I tried to stick to business at hand, but I ordered up a bread pudding when the server came back.

  I gave Wagner the reports and the video. I had brought my laptop, so I had it already set up for him to view. He flipped through the papers for a couple of minutes and watched the video.

  “The video is pretty far away, but that’s definitely the same car coming down the street that’s registered to Mr.--” Wagner took a moment to flip through the pages, “Freeman. Mr. Freeman.”

  I said, “I’m fairly sure it’s him and I would like to be in the room if you decide to interview Mr. Freeman.”

  Wagner nodded. He looked up from the documents, “You know this is the first time I’ve ever dealt with a private investigator. Your interest here can’t be just the fire.”

  I stared at him for a moment with my brain firing in a million directions. It was a probing statement, but he had not actually asked a question. “The young lady I briefly mentioned with the identify fraud stuff on social media, well she turned up dead. It was an apparent suicide but I’m just following up and making sure there wasn’t any external factors.”

  Wagner grinned and raised an eyebrow at me. “External factors like a pissed off young man offing her and then destroying any trace evidence after the fact?”

  I shrugged. “I’m just following evidence. That’s what we do, right? At the moment, the evidence tells me that Raymond Freeman torched that house and I want to know why.”

  The man across from me who was just a few years younger regarded me with a look of contemplation and then nodded. “OK, we’ll see if we can get him to come out for an interview. We probably have enough to charge him right now with the video and that other information you found. So how about we try to get him in to talk and if he doesn’t come in, someone will go hook him and then we’ll see if he wants to talk?”

  I nodded my agreement and shook Wagner’s hand. He seemed like a decent guy. I was finishing my dessert when he stood to leave. “Was I right about bread pudding?” he asked with a hopeful look on his face.

  “You did not lead me astray,” I replied.

  Satisfied with my answer, Wagner grabbed the file and disc and made his way out of the cafe.

  I went back home and slept in my bed alone which was kind of a strange sensation. Eve had found a washer and dryer she could afford and had found a friend to help her get them to her apartment. She had not been around that much, but it was apparently enough to make the cabin feel empty when she was away.

  My phone rang early the next morning. It was Wagner.

  “Hey, Lockhart, so no go on the interview. He declined to come in so I’m giving everything to the county attorney and they’re going to issue an arrest warrant,” said Wagner.

  I yawned. “What’s the timeline on that?” I asked.

  “They don’t get a lot of arson cases so they’re a little excited about this one. It’ll probably be ready by tomorrow.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a county attorney moving that quickly.”

  Wagner laughed. “It’s definitely not the
norm. I’ll give you a call when he’s picked up so you can come out.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  I hung up the phone and stumbled around to the coffee pot. I sent a text to Eve to see if she was up. She called me and told me she had the washer and dryer in and hooked up and was working on a bed. Eve had an interview that afternoon so she would probably stay in Billings again.

  After talking with Eve, I brought my coffee to the office and sat down with the information I had for the Stephanie York case. There were the photos Polazzo had given me, the laptop which seemed exhausted for what I could find, reports on her buying Adderall from Cliff Dove, a half vial of suxamethonium chloride, the shredded patient intake forms we had pieced back together, the video of Raymond leaving the house as it went up in flames in his RAV4 and various other reports I had written.

  Everything seemed to hinge on Raymond at the moment. There was no telling when he would get picked up and I expected him to lawyer up. I ran back through my notes, looking for something to do in the meantime.

  Becky Rand had an ex-husband named Felix Rand serving time at the Montana State Prison in Deer Lodge. It would take me over four hours to get there and visiting hours were only on the weekend.

  I did some research into who represented Felix when he was convicted and found his attorney’s name and number. The attorney said he would set up a meeting for the following day. I was a little amazed at how quickly that occurred. I did drop Becky’s name and that I was looking for some information on her. Once I mentioned that, things seemed to go smoother with the attorney. Apparently, Felix had blamed his incarceration on Becky.

  The next morning, I got up early and headed to Deer Lodge which was going to be a little over four hours of driving. The weather roads were fairly decent, but I had to take it easy before getting to Butte when I went through Homestake along the pass through the mountains. It seemed like that area was also the worst for some reason. If you’ve never been to Butte, I highly recommend it if for nothing else than to see the Berkeley Pit which is a massive lake of poisonous water left as a result of strip mining with no foresight on how to take care of the land when the mining companies went belly-up. I was convinced it was a gateway to hell. It swallowed up neighborhoods over the years when it was actively being mined and vomited poison when it was shut down. The thought of the government dragging their feet to do anything about it made me sick every time I passed it. This morning was no different.

  I arrived at the prison and met Felix’s attorney, Bob O’Brien outside. He was a young public defender not out of law school that long. He had longer brown hair slicked back and wore glasses. He seemed a few pounds overweight like the sedentary lifestyle of an attorney was starting to set in. Or maybe he was just getting close to 30. It seemed like the age of 30 was when the weight accumulated.

  Bob and I were screened and had our phones locked up. No electronic devices were allowed. I had only brought a pen and a notepad. We were led to an interview room which consisted of an average table with four chairs around it. The table was metal and bolted to the floor with a ring to restrain a prisoner if need be.

  Felix was almost 40 but looked closer to my age when he came in. His dark hair was graying and his week-old beard had a lot of speckles in it. He had some awful tattoos on his arms probably done while he was incarcerated. I say awful not because of the content but because they looked more like bruises and were just poorly done. Across each finger on one hand was his name F-E-L-I-X on each finger. On the other hand, B-E-C-K-Y.

  The prisoner sat down in the chair. The guard closed the door and watched from the window. “How are you, Bob?” he asked.

  “Good,” replied O’Brien. “This man is John Lockhart,” he said, motioning to me. “He is a private investigator and would like to ask you a few questions about your ex-wife, Becky.”

  Felix groaned. “Oh, come on, man. Don’t make me think about that bitch, you know I get angry when I do,” he said, grasping his head.

  “So, she’s not the nicest person?” I asked.

  The man in the orange jumpsuit across from me snorted and then looked at his attorney then back to me. “The reason I’m in this fuckin’ place.”

  “How long were you married?” I asked.

  Felix looked towards the ceiling and counted silently to himself. “Four, maybe five months.”

  “And how long did you date before you got married?” I asked.

  Felix through up his hands. “I don’t know, not long.”

  “Two weeks,” said his attorney.

  “Yeah! Yeah, that’s it,” said Felix. He held up a tattooed hand with his name on it and extended two fingers. “Two weeks.”

  I nodded and scribbled some notes. “And how did you meet?”

  “Pssh, bar, I think. Yeah, bar in Bozeman. I was living out in Belgrade at the time. We just kind of hit it off, you know. She said there was some guy stalking her so she kind of hung with me for a while and went back to my place. She liked to drink and fuck and so did I, so what the hell, right? Match made in heaven.”

  “Sounds like quite the catch,” I said.

  Felix continued. “It was going alright but we were spending money like crazy. She liked it up the ass and I didn’t want to lose that, so I had to do what I had to do.”

  “I’m guessing you borrowed a few things that didn’t get returned.”

  “Yeah!” Felix’s eyes were wide. “Exactly, right. Okay, so some of the shit I did steal like that lawn mower from the hardware store that I tried returning the next day.”

  My jaw dropped. “You stole a lawnmower and tried to bring it back the next day.”

  Felix through up his hands. “Well, you know, I drank a lot and snorted a lot of meth. I realize now through my sobriety and classes I’ve been taking that it was not a wise and productive decision on my part, and I take responsibility for those actions.”

  It sounded more than a little rehearsed. I wondered if he was up for parole soon. “So, she was a good lay, you stole some stuff to keep her happy, and that’s how you ended up here?”

  Felix waved his hand at me. “Naw, man. I got in here because she told me there was a guy who was getting handsy with her at work. So, I caught him in the parking lot and stabbed him in the dick, well actually the leg.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “Did he bleed out?”

  Felix shook his head. “No, no, he didn’t bleed out. He almost did though. I think he was legally dead at some point, but they brought him back. That’s why I got a shorter sentence, that and I took responsibility for my actions.” He pointed at his lawyer as he said the last part like a student looking to a teacher for approval.

  “Where was Becky working at the time?” I asked.

  “She was over at a place in Bozeman, one of those walk-in clinic things. You know what’s fucked up, I think that dude I stabbed was gay. I’ve never heard a man scream like such a bitch and start crying. Then at my sentencing he talked about what lasting effects my actions had on him and he definitely sounded gay,” Felix explained, making an air quotes gesture as he said “lasting effect.”

  “If he was gay, then why did she say he was handsy?” I asked.

  Felix shrugged. “I think they were having some workplace drama and she decided to have me do her dirty work. I don’t think she expected me to do such a thorough job though. Fairly positive she got fired and blackballed from anywhere in Bozeman after that. Then she divorced my ass as soon as I got in here.”

  “Did Becky do a lot of meth too?” I asked.

  Felix shrugged. “Not really, here and there. She was more into pills she grabbed at work.”

  “She was stealing from her job?” I asked.

  “Well, not exactly. Patients would bring back their medication saying it didn’t work well or they didn’t know what to do with all the extra stuff they had so she would just tell them to bring it to her and she would take care of it. So, every month she had extra bottles of all kinds of stuff. Sometimes we’d get lucky and
have some Somas, some Xanny bars, and some blues. That shit was like doing heroin.”

  I asked Felix, “Anything else I need to know about her?”

  He looked me in the eye and said, “She’s dangerous, man. Seriously, she’s crazy. Not like tearing her hair out crazy but more like poisoning you at Thanksgiving crazy. Me and her weren’t on the best of terms when I ended up here. So, I think she was killing two birds with one stone when she put me on that gay dude. I think she got more than she bargained for on that one. Or hell, maybe she got what she wanted. You going after her about something?”

  “Just trying to put some pieces together on a death that doesn’t make sense,” I said.

  Felix slapped his hand on the table and pointed at me. “She did it. I guaran-damn-tee you she did it. Who did she kill?”

  I closed my notebook and smiled. “I appreciate your time, Felix. I’ll make sure there’s some money on your books.”

  Felix smiled at me turned to his lawyer and pointed back at me. “Say, this guy. He’s alright, Bob.”

  The guard came and took Felix away. O’Brien and I exited the prison, not talking until we got out. “You really think his ex-wife killed someone?” asked O’Brien.

  “I don’t know, but she’s getting more and more interesting. Thanks for setting this up,” I said.

  I made the long drive back home and started looking more into Becky Rand who had not been my prime suspect but was very suspicious. Looking through her marital records, I realized that Rand was the name she took from her ex-husband. Becky’s maiden name had been Miller. I flipped back to the notes I had taken on Stephanie’s laptop. Logan Miller had been obsessed with her to the point she cut things off and he ended up dead. Miller was a fairly common name, but it seemed a little too coincidental.

  Genealogy sites are great ways to find out about long lost relatives or to discover that you’re not part Native American and have to live with your white guilt. They’re also great for accessing public records for free to find relationships between individuals. It appeared that Becky Rand had a brother named Logan Miller. He was about ten years younger than her. So, Becky who worked with Stephanie, had a brother who killed himself after being catfished by her. Becky just moved from highly suspicious to be another suspect.