The little sergeant acted strange. She stood by the water for a long time and stared. Why? At what? Of course, she did live on the other side, not far from where Alvie was. Maybe she swam in that lake. Who knew? Alvie was just glad when they finally packed up, got in those police cars, and drove away.
She wouldn’t have to come back after all, and she couldn’t wait to hear the news about the lawyer’s suicide.
17
I was in the squad room working on my report when Communications phoned. I found Smoke at his desk.
“Marion McIllvery is at the south entrance,” I said.
Smoke looked up from his writing. “Will you meet her and bring her here? It will be more private at my desk.”
“Sure.”
I opened the secured door to a tall, slender woman who looked like someone I should know, but couldn’t place. Her eyes were red and she was biting the inside of her cheek.
“Ms. McIllvery?”
She nodded.
“I’m Sergeant Aleckson. Please follow me. Detective Dawes is waiting for us.”
She hurried in and looked around. “Where’s Artie?”
“The detective will explain everything.”
We snaked our way through the unoccupied sheriff’s department to Smoke’s cubicle. He rose, came around his desk, and offered his hand. “Ms. McIllvery, I’m Detective Dawes. Please sit down.”
Marion McIllvery took his hand and held it. She didn’t sit down. “What’s happened to Artie? Where is he?” she pleaded, her knuckles white as she squeezed Smoke’s hand.
Smoke moved his free hand to her arm. “It’s my sad duty to tell you he died this afternoon. His body is at Anderson’s Funeral Home.”
“Oh God. Oh God—”
Her legs gave out, but between Smoke holding onto her arm and me stepping in behind her, we prevented her fall and eased her into a chair. McIllvery tried to speak, but no words came out for a long moment.
“What happened?” She choked on a sob.
“It appears he took his own life.” Smoke spoke in a soothing tone, perhaps to ease the pain of his words.
“Killed himself? You’re wrong, mistaken, there is no way!” She shook her head back and forth, tears spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks, denying the ugly words and their meaning. I reached for a box of tissues on the corner of Smoke’s desk and set it in front of McIllvery. She snatched up two.
“He was found in his car with a dryer hose from the exhaust to the passenger window. And there was a note,” Smoke explained.
Marion McIllvery scrutinized Smoke. “Why didn’t you call me? There was no one in his office this late, so I finally called the sheriff’s department. I hadn’t heard from him all day.”
Smoke reached over and put his hand over hers. “We didn’t know how to reach you, or even who you were. We were on our way to Arthur’s office when we learned you had called.”
“He carries an ‘in case of emergency’ card in his wallet with my name and number as the contact person,” she said.
Smoke took a minute then glanced at his memo pad. “His wallet wasn’t on his person.”
“He puts it in the glove box when he drives. It bothers him to sit on it, he has trouble with his sciatic nerve,” Marion explained.
“We haven’t done a thorough search of the vehicle yet,” Smoke said.
The impact hit her again and Marion let out a whimper. “Oh, God. What did the note say?” She bowed her head.
Smoke picked up the evidence bag containing the note from the top of the pile on his desk. “Here, you can read it.”
Marion lifted her head slowly and blinked, pushing the unshed tears from her eyes. She slowly accepted the plastic bag from Smoke with trembling hands. “He typed it on the computer?”
She stood up and walked back and forth for a few minutes, her eyes glued to the paper. “This doesn’t sound like Artie, and the message doesn’t make sense. ‘Best for all concerned.’ Concerned in what? For what? He’s happy. He loves his career, and our personal life is almost perfect.”
“Communications said you were his wife?” Smoke said.
“Common law—it’s a long story,” she started. Marion paused, appearing uncertain of what to say. “You see, Artie and I are cousins.” The words came out slowly, deliberately.
“Cousins?” Smoke asked, his voice steady.
“First cousins.”
My eyebrows went up involuntarily, and I was glad Marion couldn’t see the expression on my face. Smoke was a seasoned professional and didn’t even blink.
“Like I said, it’s a long story,” she confirmed.
“It could be a piece of the puzzle. The people here at Winnebago County know virtually nothing of Arthur’s private life,” Smoke said.
Marion sank back down on the chair. “Now you can guess why. I met Arthur when I was hired by Ramsey County as an assistant county attorney. He had been there, I think, five years.”
Smoke sat on the edge of his desk looking relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. He opened a bottle of water and set it in front of Marion. “Let me get this straight. You’re first cousins, but didn’t meet until you were adults?”
McIllvery captured Smoke’s eyes, then mine. “Our mothers were sisters, but they were estranged, hadn’t spoken for years. In fact, neither of us even knew we had a maternal aunt. Arthur grew up in Duluth. I was from Iowa. I came to Minnesota to attend college at Saint Thomas and loved the area. I went to law school at William Mitchell and started with Ramsey County eleven years ago. I’m still there, at Ramsey.” She pulled another tissue from the box and dabbed at her eyes and nose. Every movement McIllvery made was graceful, flowing.
“When we met, there was an immediate attraction between us. Not just physical, but intellectual, spiritual, even. You hear about soul mates? We are, truly we are. We dated for two months, then Artie took me home to meet his mother. Oh my God, you should have seen the look on his mother’s face when he introduced me.” Marion took a moment to smile through her tears at the memory.
“She recognized my name right away, of course, and I look a lot like my mother. Auntie didn’t say a word, just left the room for the longest time, and we just stood there, wondering what was going on. Artie was embarrassed. He couldn’t understand his mother’s behavior.
“When Aunt Mary came back in the room, she was carrying a photograph. She held it out and said, ‘Do you know who these children are?’ It was a picture of Artie, his brother, a baby boy, and me. Artie was four, his brother six, I was eighteen months, the baby was three months old. We were lined up next to each other on a couch. I recognized myself, Artie recognized his brother and himself, but neither of us could understand why we were there together.
“Artie’s mom told us the story, pretty gingerly, of why she and my mother hadn’t spoken for over twenty years. My family was visiting the Franz family for a weekend. We lived about six hundred miles apart, so visits were rare. And our mothers were never close, even as children. My parents were visiting school friends in town. Artie’s dad had taken the boys and me to the neighbor’s—they had a kids’ swimming pool. Artie’s mom stayed home with the baby, who was taking a nap. The baby was my infant brother—I didn’t even know about him, can you imagine?”
Smoke discreetly shifted his weight, and I sat down next to Marion.
She watched us a moment, then continued, “Anyway, when my mother got back, she went to check on the baby. He had died of SIDS, or something, in his sleep. My mother blamed Artie’s mom, saying she had killed her baby, and it went from bad to worse. Artie and his brother spent the night at the neighbor’s, and we left Duluth that night, never to return.
“Artie’s mom tried to make amends, but my mother never forgave her. My mother eventually drove my father away. He was a saint to put up with her under the best of conditions, anyway. She kept the secret of my brother, her sister and family, from me until the day she died.” Marion locked her eyes on mine.
I mouthed
the words, “I’m sorry.”
She went on. “You can imagine how shocked Artie and I were by the story. When he saw the picture he had a vague memory of the day, but I had none, of course. I was just a baby. That night the three of us—Artie’s father had died a few years before—had a very quiet, very polite dinner. During the night his mother must have started wondering about the depth of our relationship. The next morning she had a long conversation with Artie and made him promise to break off with me immediately. She even made him swear on the family Bible.”
Marion stood and paced the small area in Smoke’s cubicle, her movements fluid, even in the confined space. “It was a long ride back to St. Paul that day, you can imagine. We agreed to stop seeing each other. Honestly, we were, both of us, a little grossed out about our personal relationship. We both had paternal cousins we had grown up close to that seemed almost like siblings.
“When Artie dropped me at my apartment, we held each other for a long time, like the final goodbye. The next morning, he was back. We were hopelessly in love, but Artie couldn’t hurt his mother, and neither could I, especially after the way my mother had treated her. So that’s how we began our secret that snowballed into a secretive life.”
A life none of us in Winnebago County knew about, a secret Arthur had kept until his dying day.
“Our dearest friends, Ann and Bill Jacobs, are the only two people—besides you, now—who know the whole truth. Artie left Ramsey County for Winnebago. We moved to Plymouth, about halfway between the two counties. I took a post office box for mail. Artie’s mom and brother have our individual cell and work phone numbers if they need to call.
“Fortunately, Artie’s mom never leaves Duluth, and his brother lives in Illinois. So it’s been easy that way. I’m always invited to her home for holidays, as the long lost niece, and when I’ve gone, Artie and I have somehow managed to hide our true feelings from her.” Marion sighed deeply and stared at nothing for a while.
I would never be able to keep my mother in the dark like they had, even if I lived on the moon.
“That’s quite a story. It must have been difficult living like that,” Smoke said, maintaining his pacifying tone.
Marion’s head inclined to the side and she inhaled a sigh. “It is. We wanted to tell Mary the truth, but couldn’t. It’s a small world, and you know how it goes. Mary, Artie’s mother, works in a gift shop in Canal Park, you know, downtown Duluth, and talks to people from all over. She’s told Artie over the years of all the people she’s met from Winnebago County. It would take just one innocent comment from someone about Arthur and me to absolutely destroy her. We couldn’t take that risk.
“So, as far as most of the world knows, Arthur is a hard-working county attorney, married to his profession, a bit unsociable. He adopted an artistic, dramatic way of dressing. He got the idea because of the nickname I gave him, ‘Artie.’ It sounds pretty silly now. He knew people were curious about him, wondering if he was gay, wondering why he didn’t talk about his life outside of work. But it’s almost impossible to have normal conversations with people without mentioning your personal life, so Arthur brought his lunch and even ate alone.”
“Sounds kinda lonely,” Smoke said.
Marion’s lip quivered. “It was, sometimes, but we always talk during lunch. In the summer he usually goes to the same lake, takes a walk, eats lunch, has a little nap, then phones me.” She licked a tear that found its way down her cheek. “Oh, God, when he didn’t call me, I called him and got his voicemail. I thought maybe he had forgotten his phone at the office and he’d call later. Why didn’t he call to say goodbye? He could not have done this to himself.” Marion bunched a tissue and squeezed tightly.
Neither Smoke nor I spoke in response. We had been at the scene, looked at the evidence. No sign of a struggle. What else could have happened?
“I have to see him,” Marion decided.
“I’ll call Anderson’s,” Smoke said.
It was heart wrenching watching Marion say goodbye to Arthur. When I took her hand to lead her out, she gripped mine so tightly I hoped I would someday regain the use of my trigger finger.
The Andersons prepared to transport the body of Arthur Franz to Hennepin County for autopsy. It would be several days before we would get the results. Maybe a brain tumor had affected his reasoning, or perhaps it was a fatal illness Arthur couldn’t deal with, not even to tell his family.
More secrets, added to the list of secrets Arthur Franz had already been keeping.
Ann and Bill Jacobs drove to Oak Lea to pick up Marion, at Smoke’s suggestion. It wasn’t safe for Marion to drive in her state of shock, plus Smoke didn’t want her alone with her grief. I wondered what Marion would tell Arthur’s mother. She could protect her aunt from the whole truth of Arthur’s life, but the truth of his death would be impossible to avoid.
We were on the way back to the sheriff’s department when Smoke said, “I think I’ve heard it all, and every day I hear something new.”
“You mean about Arthur Franz being with Marion?” I asked.
“Yeah, he always struck me as such a straight shooter, so black and white when it comes to the law. ’Course, I guess he didn’t actually marry her.” Smoke keyed open the south door to the sheriff’s department and motioned me in ahead of him.
“Is it even legal for first cousins to marry?” I knew the criminal and traffic codes of the Minnesota Statutes, but there were volumes and volumes of others.
“Yeah, with conditions, but I’m guessing it’s pretty rare, excluding, of course, rural areas where first cousins would be considered distant relatives.” He gave me that lopsided grin.
“Smoke.”
“Well . . .” He settled behind his desk, and I leaned against his cubicle partition.
“Ever have a crush on one of your cousins?” I asked.
“That would make me gay.” I shot him a puzzled look. “All my cousins are male,” he explained.
“Wow, no sisters or girl cousins.”
Smoke pulled open a drawer and looked inside. “Yeah, boys run in the family.”
“You know, I don’t have any first cousins at all,” I reminded him.
“That’s right. Kristen and Carl were both only children. Truth be told, when I was young I used to envy how spoiled they must be. No little brother to get into your stuff.”
I shrugged, knowing they probably were spoiled. I reached over and patted Smoke on the shoulder. “If only someone could spoil Kristen now.”
“I’d like that.” That grin again.
“You may have to try a little harder.”
“I’m thinking about it.” The same old story.
“Think less, act more.”
Smoke shuffled the papers around on his desk. “Little lady, it’s your mother we’re talking about. What would she say if she knew you said such a thing?”
I put my hand over his. “Don’t tell her. I repeat, think less, act more.”
“You are tenacious.”
18: Alvie
Alvie took her lunch break at eleven thirty a.m. She slipped out of the nursing home, not far from the hospital, and drove downtown. She parked in a public lot kitty-corner from the old square red brick building that housed the public defender’s office and waited. Alvie felt naked without her man disguise, but there hadn’t been time to go home, make the change, and return. She decided to stay put, making do with her sunglasses and large straw hat for a disguise.
A little after noon, Marshall Kelton left the office on foot and crossed the street. Alvie had a clear view of him going into The Sandwich Shoppe. He was out in a matter of minutes, carrying a bag. He returned to the office and remained there until she had to get back to work. Alvie figured she wouldn’t be so lucky again, to have the sitting ducks Fenneman and Franz had been. Was it only the day before that Franz had checked out of the world?
The newspaper would be out around four p.m., and she couldn’t wait. The local radio station reported the “apparent s
uicide” of the Winnebago County Attorney every half hour, and the nursing home staff had talked about it off and on all day. Most everyone knew who Arthur Franz was.
Alvie got off work at four and thought about picking up a newspaper, but decided she might miss Marshall Kelton. Maybe she already had. She slipped on her glasses and hat and drove back to the parking lot she had left several hours earlier. A little after four thirty, she spotted Kelton walking toward his office with a briefcase. Most likely returning from court. Probably some other kid who hoped his defender would do a decent job and instead found himself on his way to prison for making a little mistake, trusting the wrong person who got him in trouble.
Another fifteen minutes passed, and Alvie thought she would pass out from the heat. There seemed to be no end to the hot weather in sight. It had rained the morning before, but not enough to break the humidity.
Three people left the office before Kelton. At five o’clock on the dot, he walked out the door, talking on his cell phone with a silly smile on his face. She had to admit he was handsome, tall, dark eyes and hair, with only a hint of silver by his temples. About her age, but she had gone gray years before, so most people probably thought she was older, if they even cared.
Kelton walked to the parking lot where Alvie was and got into a black Ranger pickup. Not the vehicle she would have picked for him. He seemed like he’d have some fancy, sleek sports kind of car. Alvie watched him turn right then pulled out from her spot to follow at a safe distance. He led her to the American Legion Club near the industrial section west of town. Sure, Friday night. The old “Thank God it’s Friday” mentality of needing a few drinks after work to celebrate getting through another long workweek.
When Kelton walked into the club, Alvie drove to the nearby Holiday Station and bought a slice of pizza and two bottles of mineral water. She figured he’d be at happy hour a while.
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