“I’m still living out of boxes in the garage,” Lauren admitted. “I took the place for the view. The back deck overlooks the lake. 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 screwing up our case.”
“In what way?”
“By lying to us or withholding information.”
“Holy crap,” 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 hit 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 it 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 damned technicality. Give me a name! Hell, 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.”
“Damn right I’d better, before I slap the crap 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 God!”
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 seven 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 possibles, but only one serious hit. 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 Jap rolled on the Volchek crime family, busted up a major drug ring. They wiped out his wife and kids as a payback.”
“Nobody in our case is Japanese.”
“Neither was the hit man. He got that nickname because he had some fingertips missing. Japanese Yakuza gangsters whack off their fingertips over matters of honor.”
“Hell, Doyle, half my backwoods relatives are missing fingers or toes because they swing chainsaws for a living. That doesn’t make ’em hit men.”
“There’s more. After the trial, the Jap 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 identity, even plastic surgery. But you can’t grow his fingers back...”
“They stashed him in chainsaw country,” Zina finished, “where nobody notices missing fingers. You think Reiser’s this Jap?”
“I can’t think of any other reason a backwoods boat builder would be waltzing with J. Edgar Hoover.”
“And this hit man’s daughter is in Dr. 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 LUDs. She calls the parents of her students occasionally, 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 the 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 pass. 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 as 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 fishin’ 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 Dr. Bannan knows who he is?”
“Hell, she was the one that warned him. That bitch almost got me killed!”