The Big Book of Christmas Mysteries Part 78

"Which leaves WITSEC," Doyle agreed. "Witness protection."

"So Reiser gets a free pa.s.s just because he testified for the Feds once upon a time?"

"No way, in fact it makes him a lot more interesting. But since he's officially at the bottom of our list, let's see how fast we can work our way back down to him. Ferguson's the only suspect we haven't interviewed. We might want to look at Mal La Roche too, just on general principles-"

"That's the second time you've done that," Zina said.

"Done what?"

"Skipped over the foxy doc. She's got five million reasons to want her husband dead, Doyle, she's connected to Reiser, and she definitely ducked some of our questions. Or maybe you didn't notice? Because you're a guy and the doc definitely isn't."

"That's a load!" Doyle snapped. "I'm not ..." He broke off, meeting Zee's level gaze. Realizing there might just be a kernel of truth in what she said. As usual.

"Okay," he nodded. "Straight up, do you seriously think she killed her husband? Or had it done?"

"I don't know. Neither do you. But she was definitely holding something back. Maybe it's connected to her husband's death, maybe not, but if we're crossing names off our list, I think I should question her again. Alone, this time. Girl talk. Unless you've got some objection? Sergeant?"

Doyle scanned her face for irony. He'd been partnered with Zina Redfern since she transferred north. Nearly two years now. And he still had no idea how her mind worked. Nor any other woman's mind, for that matter.

"h.e.l.l, go for it, Zee. Seeing a shrink might do you some good. Just be careful she doesn't have you committed."

"Screw that. I'm more worried about getting torched in my car."

Lauren Bannan delayed making the phone call as long as she could. She meant to make it after lunch, but wound up working at her desk well into the afternoon.

So she swore to make it the last call of the business day. Then forgot again. Sort of.

But when she stepped into the kitchen of the small lakefront cottage she'd leased after her separation, she knew she couldn't delay any longer. And like most tasks we dread, it wasn't as difficult as she'd feared.

Nearly eighty now, Jared Bannan's mother had been in a rest home in Miami for years. She was used to receiving bad news. In the home, it came on a daily basis.

"Don't make a big fuss over the funeral, Lauren," she quavered. "Jared never cared a fig for religion and I won't be coming. I'm sorry, but I'm simply not up to it. Hold whatever service you feel is appropriate, then send his ashes to me. He can be on the mantle, beside his father. I'll be seeing them both before long. How are you holding up, my dear?"

And Lauren started to cry. Tears streaming silently as she listened to words of comfort from an elderly lady she hardly knew. And would never see again.

"I'm all right, Mother Bannan," she lied. "I'll be fine."

Afterward, she washed her face, made herself a stiff cup of Irish coffee, then sat down at her kitchen table to scan the Yellow Pages listings for funeral homes.

The doorbell rang.

Padding barefoot to her front door, Lauren checked the peephole, half expecting Marty Lehman. He'd been hinting about offering her a shoulder to cry on- But it wasn't.

"Detective Redfern," Lauren said, opening the door wide. "What can I do for Valhalla's finest?"

"Sorry to bother you at home, Doctor Bannan, but a few things have come up. Can you spare me a minute?"

"Actually, your timing's perfect, Detective. I have to choose a funeral home for Jared's service. Can you recommend one?"

"McGuinn's downtown handles the department funerals." Zina followed Lauren through the living room to the kitchen, glancing around the small apartment. It was practically barren. She'd seen abandoned homes that looked friendlier. "Love what you've done with the place."

"I'm still living out of boxes in the garage," Lauren admitted. "I took the place for the lakefront. The back deck overlooks the big lake. The view will break your heart. Sit down, please. I'm having Irish coffee. Would you like some?"

"Coffee's fine, but hold the Irish, please." Zina took a chair at the kitchen table. "This isn't a social call."

"Good," Lauren said, placing a steaming mug in front of Zina, sitting directly across from her. "I wouldn't know how to deal with a social call. Our friends were mostly Jared's business buddies. What do you need, Detective?"

"You sure you're up for this? You seem a bit ... distracted."

"This hasn't been a day to relive in my golden years, but I'm not a china doll either. Cut to the chase, please."

"Fair enough. We've got an ugly murder on our hands, and you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up our case."

"In what way?"

"By lying to us or withholding information."

"Holy c.r.a.p," Lauren said, sipping her coffee. "That's pretty direct."

"You're not a china doll."

"No I'm not," Lauren said, taking a deep breath. "I'm a special ed teacher and counselor, licensed by the state and prohibited by federal law from divulging information obtained in my work. To anyone."

"Are you trying to tell me you know who killed your husband?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"But you know something?"

"Nothing that directly relates to Jared's death. And nothing I can discuss with you in any case."

"Reality check, Doc. A fair amount of evidence points directly at you. Shut us out and you could end up in a jackpot that can wreck your life, guilty or not."

"I'll help you in any way I can."

Leaning back in her chair, Zee sipped her coffee, reading Lauren's face openly. "All right. Let's. .h.i.t the high spots. In our first interview, Doyle asked why you moved north. You ducked that question. Why was that?"

Lauren glanced away a moment, then met Zina's eyes, straight on. "Jared and I needed a fresh start after the death of our son," she said flatly. "Jared Junior was born with a congenital heart defect. He lived five months. We hoped a new place might help. It didn't."

"I'm sorry."

"It was four years ago. I didn't become a counselor because I'm a good person who wanted to help others, Detective. I was only trying to save myself."

"How's it going?"

"A day at a time. Next question?"

"The big one. When Doyle asked who might have cause to hurt your husband, you hesitated."

"Did I?"

"You just did again. Are you protecting someone?"

"I'm sorry," Lauren said, shaking her head slowly. "I can't."

"You can't? I can't believe you'd protect a killer over some d.a.m.ned technicality. Give me a name! h.e.l.l, give me his initials!"

"I just told you, I can't!"

"Jesus H. Christ!" Zina said, rising from her chair, leaning across the table. "In Flint I worked gangland, lady. The east side. I've known some hardcore bangers, but I've never met a colder case than you. The guy may have killed your husband!"

"You'd better go, Detective."

"d.a.m.n right I'd better, before I slap the c.r.a.p out of you. But I'm warning you, Doc, if anybody else gets hurt because you held out on us? I'll burn you down, swear to G.o.d!"

Doyle was at his desk when Zina stormed in.

"She definitely knows something, but won't give it up," Zina said, dropping into her seat, still seething. "What did you get?"

"More than I wanted to," Doyle said absently.

"About who? Ferguson?"

"The old man's been in the county psych ward for a week, for evaluation. Twenty-four observation. He's totally clear. So I ran Reiser through the Law Enforcement Information Net."

"Cash told us to lay off him."

"I didn't run his name, just his general description and those missing fingertips. Got a dozen possibilities, but only one serious. .h.i.t. A case I actually remembered, from twelve years ago in Ohio. I was a rookie on the Detroit force then. A Toledo hit man called the j.a.p, rolled on the Volchek crime family, busted up a major drug ring. They wiped out his wife and kids as a payback."

"n.o.body in our case is j.a.panese."

"Neither was the hit man. He got that nickname because he had some fingertips missing. j.a.panese Yakuza gangsters whack off their fingertips over matters of honor."

"h.e.l.l, Doyle, half my backwoods relatives are missing fingers or toes because they swing chain saws for a living. That doesn't make 'em hit men."

"There's more. After the trial, the j.a.p disappeared. No mention of prison time, no updates on his whereabouts. Zip, zilch, nada."

"You think the Feds put him in the witness protection program?"

"Probably," Doyle agreed. "Let's say you've got a witness with a contract out on him. You can give him a new ident.i.ty, maybe even plastic surgery. But you can't grow his fingers back ..."

"They stashed him in chain saw country," Zina finished, "where n.o.body notices missing fingers. You think Reiser's this j.a.p?"

"I can't think of any other reason a backwoods boat builder would be waltzing with J. Edgar Hoover."

"And this. .h.i.t man's daughter is in Mrs. Bannan's school, so they almost certainly know each other. Do you think she knows who he really is?"

"I know they've been talking a lot," Doyle said. "I pulled her telephone L.U.D.s. She calls the parents of her students on a monthly basis, probably to discuss problems or progress. But over the past few months she's been talking to Emil Reiser several times a week."

"His daughter's dying."

"And as her teacher, the Doc would naturally be concerned," Doyle nodded. "But they usually talk during business hours. She calls his shop or he calls the school. Except for last Tuesday. She called him at ten p.m. And two days later ..."

"Somebody greased her husband," Zina whistled. "Wow. But can we move on this? Cash told us to lay off Rieser unless we had rock-solid evidence. All we've got is a possible connection between the Doc and a possible hit man. And I guarantee she won't give anything up. That's one tough broad."

"Cash ordered us to give Emil Reiser a pa.s.s. He didn't say anything about Mrs. Reiser."

"Rosie was already half in the bag this afternoon," Zina agreed. "By now she's probably sloshed and looking for a shoulder to cry on."

But Rosie Reiser wasn't at the Lakefront Inn. Her boyfriend told them she'd been called to the hospital. An ambulance had brought princess Jeanie to the emergency room an hour earlier.

D.O.A.

They found Rosie Reiser in the E.R. waiting room, alone and dazed, her hair a shambles, cheeks streaked with mascara like a mime's tears. Her eyes were vacant as an abandoned building.

"Mrs. Reiser," Zina said, kneeling beside Rosie's chair. "We're very sorry for your loss. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Emil called. Said Jeanie was gone. She was fis.h.i.+n' off the end of the dock, that kid loved bein' outdoors ... But she dropped her pole. And when Emil checked, she was ..." Rosie took an unsteady breath. "He called the ambulance, they brought her here. They let me see her before they took her downstairs."

"Where's your husband now?" Doyle asked.

"He split. He knew when Jeanie died, the Doc would give him up. Figured you'd come for him."

"You mean Doctor Bannan knows who he is?"

"h.e.l.l, she was the one that warned him. That b.i.t.c.h almost got me killed!"

"Warned him about what, Mrs. Reiser? What happened?"

"Our final hearing was coming up, Jared had a buyer lined up for the business, we could cash out and be gone. But Emil kept stalling, wanted to wait because of Jeanie. Him and Jared had a big blowout about it. After Emil stormed out, I told Jared about Emil being in witness protection, hiding out up here. Jared planned to out him in court, make Emil run for his d.a.m.n life. That way I'd get everything, not just half."

"Clever plan," Zina said, her tone neutral.

"Marty Lehman didn't think so. He argued with Jared about it. Claimed Jared was an officer of the court, shouldn't give Emil up. Jared told him to screw himself. I thought we'd won. Then the Doc tipped Emil what was up and he took Jared out. Told me if I opened my mouth, he'd do me and Mal the same way."

"How did Doctor Bannan find out about Emil?" Doyle asked. "Are they involved?"

"Involved?" Rosie echoed, puzzled.

"Are they lovers, Mrs. Reiser? Are they friends?"

"h.e.l.l, Emil's got no friends. We had to live like G.o.dd.a.m.n hermits out there." And she began to sob, great gasping yawps of self-pity.

"Mrs. Reiser, do you know where your husband might have gone?" Zina pressed.

"He went with Jeanie when they took her down. He didn't want her to be alone in that place."

"What place-whoa, you mean the morgue? Doyle, the morgue's in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Reiser's still here!"