Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (5 page)

Chapter
Eight

Head Shot

St. Paul, MN

Late October

J
O PULLED UP BEHIND Frisco’s car, in front of Rick Wilson’s
apartment building. She verified the apartment number and climbed the steps to
the third floor. Pushing aside the yellow crime-scene tape, she turned the knob
of the apartment door and her nose was immediately assailed by the combined
smells of smoke and blood. Jo’s stomach protested and she swallowed a few times
to push back the bile that had risen in her throat.

She steadied herself and went in. Her eyes watered at the acrid
odor and she coughed. Breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell, she
called out, “Frisco. You in here?”

Jo heard him reply, “Yeah, first bedroom on your right.” She
gingerly stepped around an overturned kitchen chair and wove her way through
the crime scene.

Entering the bedroom, Jo recognized Frisco’s dark hair as he
crouched low over the bed. She looked around the destroyed room. “What a mess.”

Frisco straightened up and Jo could see the blood stain that
covered the upper part of the bed. He said, “No kidding. Glad to be working
with you again, Jo.” He looked down at his gloved hands. “I’d shake your hand,
but these latex gloves are a bitch to get back on.”

Jo felt the roiling once again in her stomach.
I don’t have time to have the flu.
She
fought to keep her composure and mentally counted to twenty before she trusted
herself to respond, “Not a problem. So, bring me up to speed.”

Frisco studied her. “You feeling ok? You look a little green
around the gills.”

Jo waved a hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a bit rank in here. So, tell
me what you know about the case.”

The detective pulled out his note pad and flipped to a page.
“About midnight last night, Grant Humphreys, a kid who lives two doors down,
smelled smoke. When he came out into the hallway to investigate, he saw the
door was wide open and there was a fire blazing on the floor of the living
room. Humphreys said it looked like a stack of notebooks and a pile of printer
paper. He grabbed a blanket off the couch and started slapping the fire,
screaming for help.”

“Didn’t Humphreys think it was odd no one in the apartment helped
him out?”

Frisco chuckled. “I don’t think he gave anything much thought
except putting out the fire. Turns out, Humphreys has some priors for
possession of marijuana. He was scared shitless the whole place would go up in
flames, spread down to his apartment and he’d lose his latest crop growing in
his bathroom under heat lamps. It was only after the flames were out that
Humphreys went to investigate the bedrooms and found our vics.”

“Well, thank God he called 911. He could have been more concerned
about getting caught with another batch of weed than saving their lives.”

“Yeah, good thing for Rick Wilson. Talk about one lucky bastard. I
saw Dr. Goodman after the operation. John said the kid might actually pull
through.” Frisco frowned. “The other two vics ran out of luck, however. The
roommate…” Frisco paused to consult his notes again, “Uh, Kyle Marshall, and
the young woman, Anna Wroblewski, were found naked in the other bedroom.
Evidently they were in the heat of the moment and didn’t hear the killer come
in. Both vics were shot in the head. The EMTs said both were DOA.”

“I’m assuming you’ve ruled out a double murder-suicide scenario,
with our surviving vic being the jealous type.”

“He was shot in the back of the head. Ain’t no way that was a
suicide shot.”

“Tom said you were leaning towards the fracking documentary as
possible motive. Why not just a simple burglary gone bad? This place is a
wreck.”

“Ah, but it seems a little extreme to set a fire to cover up a
burglary. Also, the medical examiner found very little gunshot residue around
the wounds, even though the shots were clearly up-close and personal. So I’m
thinking the killer used a silencer…”

Jo finished his thought, “…because most of the gunshot residue
would be caught up in the silencer.”

Frisco nodded. “Not only that, but no one heard the shots. There
were several neighbors home last night and no one heard a damned thing. So,
what kind of burglar uses a silencer? Looks to me like the shooter planned the
murders and then hunted around to find something and/or to destroy it.”

Jo rubbed her jaw for a moment, deep in thought. “If the killer
simply wanted to steal whatever he was looking for, why wouldn’t he wait until
no one was home? Not a lot of security in this building that I could see when I
walked in. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out a college kid’s class schedule and
pick an opportune time to sneak in.”

“Assuming it was the documentary information he or she was after,
then just destroying it wouldn’t be enough.” Frisco tapped his forehead. “The
information would also be up here, in Wilson’s head.”

She thought about Frisco’s theory. It sounded plausible, but she
wasn’t totally convinced. “Tell me why you think it has to do with Wilson’s
documentary and not something his roommate was into.”

“We’re checking into all possibilities, obviously. My new
co-worker, Riley Simmons, is following up with the roommate’s family and
acquaintances and we’ll compare notes.” Frisco waved his hand around the
bedroom. “But, here’s the deal. This is Wilson’s bedroom. Take a look around.
This place is trashed. Big time. It was
his
laptop that was smashed. I found a scrap of the burned notebooks out in the
living room. Wilson’s name was on the scrap.”

He showed Jo the piece of the notebook he had placed in a clear
evidence bag. As she examined it, he continued, “If you go into the other
bedroom, you’ll see not much is disturbed.” The detective smirked. “Well,
except for the mess you’d find in any college guy’s bedroom.”

“I guess we weren’t lucky enough to find finger prints, witnesses
seeing the killer walk in…anything like that?”

 
“The crime scene techies
were in here earlier, combing the place for clues, so maybe they’ll have
something for us later. They found tons of prints, but I’m not holding my
breath. If the killer was smart enough to use a silencer, then he or she was
smart enough to wear gloves. The cops have canvassed the neighbors. So far, no
one saw the killer enter or leave the building.”

“So, where do we go from here?”

“Let’s you and I focus on the documentary angle and let Riley work
her side of the case. We need to find someone who knew more about that damned
documentary. I called up Wilson’s mother and tracked down the name of the
professor who advised him on the project. Maybe he can help us, or another
student. I’m thinking it might be a good idea to get our hands on a copy.”

Jo’s mind was already cataloging all the avenues to search. “We
have a lot of work to do.”

Frisco smirked. “Yeah, sounds like job security to me.”

***

The sky was a brilliant blue by the time Jo and Frisco stepped
outside. Jo was grateful her earlier queasiness had faded and she inhaled
deeply, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh, crisp air. The fall colors were
past peak, but a few stubborn leaves clung to the branches, flickering in the
light breeze. The leaves on the ground crunched beneath their feet as they
walked toward their vehicles.

Frisco turned and waved a hand at the apartment building. “You
know, even after being a cop for all these years, I still find it hard to
believe there were multiple homicides in there when it’s so beautiful out
here.”

Jo nodded and lifted her face toward the sun, knowing in another
month or so, she’d be raising her face to snowflakes. “Hard to believe there is
any kind of violence in the world on a day like today.”

The detective sighed. “Well, guess we’d best get back to it.” He
patted his jacket pocket. “Got the name and address of Wilson’s professor at
the university right here. Let’s start there.”

He indicated his vehicle. “Why don’t I drive and you navigate. I’m
still finding my way around.”

Once they were in the car, he fished out a slip of paper with the
information from his pocket and handed it to Jo. She glanced at the address and
commented, “Looks like a Crocus Hill address. Pricey real estate.”

They arrived at Professor Michael Mazlo’s house several minutes
later. Frisco pulled in front along the curb and put the car in park. Jo looked
toward the mammoth red brick house, with an impeccably manicured front lawn.

Frisco voiced her thoughts when he remarked, “Looks like the
professor does okay for himself.”

Jo waited for Frisco to join her on the front stoop and then rang
the doorbell. An elegantly dressed woman answered almost immediately, as if she
had been waiting all day for them to arrive at her door.

Her voice was low and slightly husky as she raised an eyebrow.
“May I help you?”

Jo held up her badge. “My name is Special Agent Schwann with the
FBI and this is Detective Frisco, with the St. Paul PD. We’re here to speak to
Professor Michael Mazlo.”

The woman arched her eyebrow. “My name is Candace Mazlo. May I ask
why you’d like to see my husband?”

Frisco said, “We’re here to ask about one of his students. Is he
around?”

 
The woman looked them both
up and down for a moment. As if deciding something, she finally stepped aside
to let them into the spacious foyer. “Of course. Let me get him for you.”

They waited while the professor’s wife disappeared into a room off
to the right. A few moments later, a slight, be-speckled man she presumed to be
Michael Mazlo entered the foyer without his wife. He appeared to be in his
early fifties and his salt-and-pepper hair touched the collar of the green
tartan plaid shirt he was wearing.

He squinted at them through artsy eyeglasses. “May I help you?”

Frisco said, “Are you Michael Mazlo …
 
Professor
Mazlo?”

“Yes, well, I’m an adjunct professor, but yes, that’s me. What can
I do for you?”

Jo raised an eyebrow. A house in this neighborhood meant that
either Mazlo had quite a lucrative job outside his meager adjunct professor
salary, or he came from money. She tucked away the thought for the moment.
After the introductions were made once again, Jo said, “We’re here to speak to
you about one of your students. Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”

Mazlo’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Of course, of
course. Please, follow me.” He led them across the black-and-white marble tiled
floor of the foyer into a wood-paneled library. After they had settled into stiff
red leather chairs in front of a massive desk, Mazlo began, “So, I’m curious.
What kind of trouble could a student of mine be in to warrant the attention of
the FBI?”

Frisco cleared his throat. He sidestepped the question and asked
one of his own. “We understand you are currently advising Rick Wilson on a
special project.”

A frown line formed between the adjunct professor’s eyes. “Um,
yes.”

The detective said, “And what sort of classes do you teach at the
U?”

“Business. Look, what does that have to do with…”

Jo asked the next question before he could finish. “Is it common
for business students to create documentaries?”

She noticed a red flush creep up the neck of the professor. “Yes…I
mean, no. He recently switched his major from business to environmental
sciences. Rick was a student in one of my international marketing classes a few
semesters ago. We hit it off, so when he asked me to be the advisor on a
project, I agreed.”

Frisco said, “That special project wouldn’t happen to be a
documentary on fracking, would it?”

Michael Mazlo’s eyes widened slightly. “Now how would you know
that? Seriously, I’d like to know what this is all about before I say anything
else. Is Rick in some kind of trouble, because….”

Jo interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Professor, I’m afraid we
have some bad news. Rick Wilson was shot yesterday.”

Mazlo turned pale. “Wha…What do you mean, shot? Is he dead? Oh,
no…..”

Jo said, “As of now, he’s in critical condition. The doctors are
doing everything they can for him, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”

The adjunct professor’s color was returning to his face and he
swiped a hand across his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

Jo turned to Frisco. He said, “We’re hoping you can give us some
information about his project.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But wait, you don’t think the documentary
has anything to do with his shooting, do you? Couldn’t it have been just a
random thing?”

“We haven’t ruled anything out yet. I’m not at liberty to go into
a lot of detail about the crime scene, but it appeared as if someone
intentionally tried to destroy some paperwork and computer files.”

Michael Mazlo clapped his hand to his mouth. “Jesus Christ! You
mean you think someone tried to kill him for his work on the documentary? Well,
then it would have to be the Frackers. Those bastards! Wouldn’t surprise me a
bit if they were involved.”