Love 'Em or Leave 'Em Dead Page 11
Made sense to me.
Heavy, quick steps up the staircase had all of us sitting up straighter. A figure wearing a black jacket with the hood up strode past us.
Patrice stood. “Stop!” All our hands shot to our holsters.
The individual stopped and walked backwards, glancing into the living room. He pulled off his hood, then smiled. He was a tall, slim kid, light hair down to his shoulders.
“Oh, it’s you, Grady.”
“Hi, Mrs. Clinton. Zabrina’s waiting for me.”
“First, come meet my deputies, Cal Sheehan and Tamika Frank. This is Zabrina’s boyfriend, Grady LaMere.”
“Nice meeting you,” he said as he extended his hand. Firm handshake. Nice looking kid.
“They’re investigating Zabrina’s grandmother’s death,” Patrice said.
“Oh, that whole deal was freaking weird.” He pointed toward Zabrina’s bedroom and started to edge his way out. “Well, she’s waiting for me.”
“She’s sleeping,” Patrice said.
“She just texted me saying to come straight up.”
“Oh, well . . . go on, but keep it short, dear. She needs to rest.”
The kid smiled, nodded, and slipped back into the hallway.
“Nice boy. Justine liked him a lot.”
“How long have they been dating?” Tamika asked.
“Since last summer. He goes to the U. He’s studying to be a veterinarian . . . like your girlfriend.” She nodded in my direction.
She got up and headed toward Zabrina’s bedroom.
Tamika leaned in and said, “Patrice needs to chill out. That girl needs her boyfriend right now.”
“This afternoon I’d like to talk to him and her friends. The murders have to be connected, so anything to do with the Logan case has to do with ours.”
“That’s how we justify questioning them.”
“You got it.”
Grady came back down the hall, waved as he passed by, and then headed down the stairs. I jumped up to follow him. Tamika was at my heels.
“Hey, Grady, do you have a minute?”
“I have class. I needed to stop and see for myself she was okay.”
“I only need a minute.”
He looked at his watch. “Yeah, okay.”
Tamika said, “Do you really have class, or did Sheriff Clinton kick you out?”
He snuffled a laugh. “Well, both, but’s it’s all cool. She said I should come back later.”
“You know Zabrina better than we do. How do you think she’s doing?” Tamika asked.
“She took the bullet in the arm, but I guess she should have full use of it when it heals. It could have been way worse”
“And emotionally?” I asked.
He twisted his face into a grimace. “She’s having a hard time. Who wouldn’t if your family is wiped out?”
“True,” I said. “How did you and Zabrina meet?”
“At Lake Calhoun beach last summer. We talked all afternoon, had a date that night, and we’ve been together since.”
“When did you realize she was from a wealthy family?”
He blushed. “She hid it from me for a good month. We always met somewhere else. Then when she asked me to come to dinner here to meet her mom and grandmother, I was blown away. I had no idea her grandmother was famous.”
“Did she indicate to you any problems her family was having?”
“No man, things were cool until . . . boom. Man, it’s too crazy.”
“Who are her closet friends?”
“Her roommate and a couple other girls at school.”
“What are their names?”
“Autumn is her roommate. She went to high school with her. Molly and Sophie live on her floor. I don’t know their last names. I’ve met a few others, but I don’t think they’re that close.”
“You wouldn’t have their phone numbers?”
“No, but I can get them from Zabrina.”
“That’d be terrific.”
He started to text and seconds later he looked up at me and said, “She asked why I wanted to know.”
“So you can report to them how she’s doing,” I said.
He nodded, texted, and then began reciting phone numbers. I copied them in my notebook.
“Thanks. And your address and phone number for our records?”
He gave us his information, and then I asked, “So what’s your hometown?”
“Minneapolis.”
“Were you with Zabrina when she found out about her grandmother’s death?”
“Um, yeah. We were at my place when her mom called.”
“When was this?”
“Friday evening. I’m not sure of the exact time. Zabrina wanted to drive up to be with her mom but . . . well . . . we’d been drinking, so I talked her into waiting until the next day. Look, I should go. I don’t want to be late for my final.”
“Sure, go ahead,” I said.
After he left, Tamika said, “He seems like a sweetie.”
“Yeah, nice kid.”
13
GARY WILLIAMS BROUGHT his attorney with him to the interview. Ryan and Gill interviewed Charity Vosika and Williams separately. The night of the Minneapolis shootings, they had entertained a party of twenty from seven o’clock to midnight—an alibi easily checked, therefore, I doubted they’d lie about it. He was off the hook for Justine’s murder, unless he’d ordered a hit. But my gut told me he didn’t kill his cousin or her daughter for their money. As he himself pointed out, he was a wealthy man.
After the interviews concluded, Tamika and I were chatting with Martha in her office when I brought up our conversation with Grady LaMere.
“I’d like to speak to him, as well,” she said.
“We have some of Zabrina’s friends’ phone numbers, too.” I took out my notebook and shared the information.
Gill leaned back in her chair and said, “How about I arrange a meeting with the friends for this afternoon after your interviews with Sonya’s estranged stepchildren. If I can get something set up, I’ll text you.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
AT 10:30 A.M., TAMIKA AND I PARKED in a ten-buck parking lot three blocks from Dr. Donovan’s office building. According to the board in the lobby, his office was on the third floor, one he shared with other dentists.
We entered the reception area and approached the counter decorated with a plastic wreath. An instrumental version of “Deck the Halls” filled the room. A sparsely decorated artificial tree had been placed in the far corner.
The receptionist, Granny Clampett’s doppelganger, greeted us. “Can I help you?” she asked, her smile revealing perfect, white teeth too large for her mouth—implants or dentures.
“Detectives Cal Sheehan and Tamika Frank to see Kent Donovan,” I said.
She looked at her watch. “Doctor Donovan is with a patient. Have a seat.” She pointed to the waiting area. Her smile faded; the friendliness vanished. I gave her my sweetest smile and said, “Thank you so kindly.” She pointed again. As we moved away from the counter, I raised my eyebrows at Tamika, and she let out a tiny giggle.
Four adults and two children took up the seating in the corner where the tree had been placed, so Tamika and I sat on vacant chairs under the large window. I soon realized why no one chose those seats. Cold seeped through the windows like an open door.
Tamika zipped up her jacket farther, then blew into the air.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if I can see my breath.”
“Guess not,” I said.
She hiked her shoulders, then picked up a People magazine and started flipping through pages. I stared at the ugly tree. I suppose I should get one on the way home, I thought.
Tamika shoved the magazine in front of my face, showing me unflattering photos of celebrities in bathing suits. She found this way too amusing. She giggled as she kept flashing me pictures. I don’t know why—maybe it was a combination of Tamika’s enj
oyment of the photos and the icy greeting we received at reception—but I started laughing. When we got looks from the other patients and Granny Clampett, whose head was barely visible behind the counter, I whispered to Tamika, “Stop showing me that shit.”
I grabbed a Business Weekly to get my mind focused on something else, but I wasn’t interested in the articles and our giggles kept bobbing to the surface.
As patients were called, more entered to take their places.
Tamika nudged me. “It’s now quarter past eleven. Want me to give the gray-hair some grief?”
“Granny Clampett?”
She giggled. “I was trying to think who she reminded me of.”
“She probably isn’t controlling the situation, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead and ask.”
Tamika stood, strutted over to the desk, leaned on the counter, and said, “How long is Doctor Donovan going to keep the police waiting? We have important things to attend to.”
“He had an emergency, and I also believe he is waiting for his attorney to arrive, so I would advise you to be patient.”
“And I’d advise you to—”
“Tamika,” I said.
She turned to give me a dirty look, then turned back to the woman to say, “We don’t have all day. Hurry him up.”
I didn’t hear the woman’s response.
Tamika returned in a huff.
“What did she say?”
“She said she understood, or something similar.”
“What did she really say?”
“Nothing. She pointed to our window.”
“I don’t think you push Granny around.”
“Geez, she really looks like her.”
“Shh. Here’s another People magazine for you to look at.”
At 11:20, a woman wearing a long, sable fur coat rushed in and stopped at the desk, then disappeared down the hallway. Shortly after, a man wearing a black wool coat and carrying a black leather briefcase did the same. We waited another ten more minutes before Granny stood and said in an exaggerated manner, “The doctor will see you now.”
Tamika glanced at me, her mouth turned up into a grin.
“Don’t,” I said. “And if you laugh in there, I will shoot you in the foot. I mean it this time.”
She said, “Sure, Sheehan. You’re a real badass, shooting people’s feet off all the time. Don’t worry. I’ll think of diarrhea poop in toilets.”
“Oh. My. God.” I shook my head in disgust.
We followed Granny to the end of the hallway and into a conference room where three people were seated at a table: a man with a deep tan dressed in a white dentist’s coat, the woman in the fur, and the man in the black coat, who looked a tad like George Clooney.
The men stood to shake hands with us. Clooney said, “I’m James Sinclair, Dr. Donovan and Mrs. Freeman’s attorney.” He pointed to his clients as if we wouldn’t spot them without his help. Justine was clearly from the same bloodline as the Donovans, with their pinched, pointy noses, small chins, and high foreheads.
“Detective Cal Sheehan, and this is my partner—”
“Detective Tamika Frank.” She blinked at me. I’d upped her status at the hospital, so why not now?
We took chairs side by side across from Dr. Donovan and his sister. Sinclair sat to our right. Sinclair had “successful attorney” written all over him: expensive suit and tie, dark hair graying at the temples, styled perfectly, confidence. He was sitting sideways in his chair, so he could cross a leg and face us.
He said, “We are extremely curious why you called this meeting.”
“We’re investigating the murder of Sonya Donovan.” Gesturing to the Donovan siblings, I added, “Dr. Donovan and Mrs. Freeman’s step-mother.”
“What does her death have to do with either of my clients? They haven’t seen her in thirty years.”
“No contact at all?” I asked.
“None,” the attorney said.
“Do you mind if they answer for themselves?” I asked.
The three exchanged glances, Sinclair lifting a brow, which I interpreted as a warning.
“I can speak for myself,” Dr. Donovan said.
Mrs. Freeman nodded. “Me too, Jim.”
Sinclair lifted his hands in resignation. I pulled out my iPad and set it on the table, then Tamika and I got out notebooks ready to take notes. I gave the date, time, case number, and who was present in the room. While glaring at us suspiciously, they supplied the information I asked for: full names, home addresses, and phone numbers.
“You want to find Sonya’s killer? I’d start by finding out whose home she wrecked recently,” Dr. Donovan said.
The attorney frowned and lifted a hand in disapproval.
“Do you hold her responsible for your parents’ break-up?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said.
Natalie Freeman sat back and crossed her arms across her chest. “Seriously, Kent? My God, Sonya was Katie’s age when she married him. Do you think if she fell for an older man she would be at fault? No, you’d say she was seduced.”
Donovan sighed. “Nat, don’t be ridiculous.” He then scowled at me like I was responsible for his sister’s opinion. “What do you need from us?”
“Your whereabouts on December eleventh and twelfth.”
“Both of us? Or just Kent’s?” Natalie said.
Kent gave out a groan of irritation.
“Both,” I said.
“Must I, Jim?” Dr. Donovan asked his attorney.
“Like I said, it will eliminate you immediately, and this will end. If you don’t cooperate, they can get a warrant and dig into your personal life.”
Dr. Donovan’s face contorted into a full grimace. “I was in Hawaii.”
“At a convention,” Natalie added, smirking.
“Where did you stay?”
“The Royal Hawaiian in Oahu.”
Natalie cleared her throat. “Except there was no convention. He was with a—”
“Elizabeth Wells,” Kent said, flashing a look of contempt toward his sister.
“A convention of two,” Natalie said. “He’s cheating on his wife. Just a chip off the old block.”
Kent grunted and looked to Jim Sinclair, who chastised Natalie by touching her arm.
“Natalie, where were you on those two days?”
Her eyes danced with self-satisfaction. “I had a full calendar of meetings and lunches. I can supply phone numbers of people I was with.” She took a white leather datebook out of her purse, turned some pages and pushed it across the table toward us. “The numbers are in the back. Feel free to make a copy.”
Tamika took the small book and disappeared.
“You seem to harbor antagonism for Sonya, Dr. Donovan,” I said.
“He’s had years of therapy to get over our father’s betrayal,” Natalie said. “Worked swell, didn’t it?”
“Screw you,” Kent said to his sister. She pointed a finger back at him.
“Were you aware of Tuesday’s shootings on Logan?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sinclair said.
“The woman killed was your step-sister, Justine Donovan. Her daughter was also wounded.”
Natalie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God.”
Dr. Donovan shook his head. “I had nothing to do with any of it. I haven’t seen Justine since she was a child.”
“You didn’t attend your father’s funeral?”
“I went,” Natalie said, “but left immediately after the service.”
“I chose not to attend,” Donovan said. “Sonya wanted us out of their lives, and I obliged the bitch.”
My, my.
Everyone stared at him. I’d say he was pleased she was dead.
His attorney leaned forward. “Kent, just answer the questions without the commentary.” Dealing with a client like Kent Donovan wouldn’t be a picnic.
Natalie folded her hands and said, “Kent, you’re being unfair. Sonya tried—too hard, I think.”
Donovan rolled his eyes.
Tamika returned with the datebook and a few pages of printer copies. She slid the book back to Mrs. Freeman, who picked it up without taking her eyes off her brother.
“Where were you on the evening of Tuesday, the seventeenth?” I asked.
Donovan held his philandering chin up high. “At home with my wife.”
“And you, Mrs. Freeman?” I asked.
She paged through the datebook. “My husband and I were at the Ordway.”
“I copied that page, too,” Tamika said.
Dr. Donovan stood. “Well, enough of this bullshit. I need to get back to my patients. Jim, thanks for rearranging your busy schedule.” He shot me a look like I should appreciate his attorney attending the interview.
Sinclair also rose. “No problem . . . and that’s what this should be for you—no problem.” He turned his gaze on Tamika and me. Donovan left the room.
“Minneapolis PD may also want to question your clients. Separate investigations, you understand,” I said to Sinclair.
Sinclair gathered his coat from a rack in the room and said, “I hope you’ll pass the information along so we can minimize the process.” He also exited, but Natalie remained in her chair.
“Were you through with us?” she asked.
“For now. You and your brother seemed to be at odds,” I said.
“Always have been. Kent’s always been about Kent. His current wife, Carrie, is aware of his dalliances, by the way. I sometimes wonder if Mom hadn’t kicked Daddy out, if Sonya would have just been a brief interlude like Kent’s women.”
“How many times has he been married?”
“Three, but I’m speaking about his women on the side.”
“How do you even know about them?” Tamika asked.
“Carrie confides in me. She has a private investigator practically on payroll. I like her more than my brother, so I’ve encouraged her to divorce him, but her lifestyle would change too much.”
“Why does she bother with a PI if she doesn’t do anything about it?” Tamika asked.
“Oh, there’s power in the knowing.” She turned her head sideways and lifted a brow.
“Do you work outside the home?” Tamika asked.
She smiled. “I volunteer my time to a number of charities.”
“What does your husband do?” Tamika asked.