In Their Blood (4 page)

Then how could the police believe it was a burglary?

Jeremy had called the number on Detective Kuzniski’s business card and arranged to meet him. Elise was still asleep in her room, but Flora was at the house dusting, vacuuming just like she’d always done.

Jeremy parked at a meter outside Starbucks. Several people were sitting at outdoor tables sipping their lattes on the tree-lined street— a couple of gay guys in their jogging shorts, a cute girl with a golden retriever, an old man reading the newspaper. Cars drove by. A motorcyclist revved his engine.

The girl looked up at him, then quickly turned away. It was as though she sensed his freakishness. That he wasn’t one of them.

He wasn’t one of them. His parents had been murdered.

There was a burst of cold air as Jeremy pulled open the door to the coffee shop. A woman with a toddler in a stroller was waiting for her order. Several people were sitting at tables staring at their laptops and didn’t look up at him. At a corner table near the window, two people were watching Jeremy. The man, in his thirties, was
wearing a sport jacket and had black hair slicked back. The woman next to him was older, maybe his mother’s age, but she had a weathered look about her. She was wearing a poorly fitting pantsuit and was tapping her fingers against the table.

The man stood up and extended his hand. He was as tall as Jeremy, but had a good-sized paunch. “Jeremy Stroeb?”

Jeremy must have looked surprised as he shook the man’s hand.

“Photos,” the man said. “Almost didn’t recognize you with the beard and long hair, though. I’m Detective Kuzniski and this is Detective Lieber.” He gestured toward the woman. There were gray streaks in her brown hair.

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Jeremy,” Detective Lieber said. Her voice was gravelly, as though she’d once been a big-time smoker.

“Thank you.”

“Tragic,” Kuzniski shook his head. “Really tragic. The last thing we’d expect to happen in a neighborhood like yours. But don’t you worry, Jeremy, we’ll get whoever did this to your parents. We’ve got all our resources on this.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink, Jeremy?” Lieber asked, putting a stick of gum in her mouth. She had a full cup of black coffee and a pile of gum wrappers near her napkin. The remains of a chocolate chip muffin sat on the table in front of Kuzniski.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Jeremy sat down across from them.

“So, how can we help you, Jeremy?” Kuzniski said.

“Actually,” Jeremy said. “I would have thought you’d want to talk to me.”

“About something in particular?” Kuzniski asked.

“I don’t know. Things like did my parents have any enemies? Who do I think may have killed them? You’re the detectives. I just watch movies.”

Lieber drew her head back, and Jeremy realized he sounded like a jerk.

“Look,” Jeremy said. “I’m not trying to be confrontational. This whole thing— it just blows me away. Someone comes to my house and kills my parents?”

“We understand,” Lieber said. “And of course we’re interested in anything you can tell us that would help the investigation.”

“But the good news is,” Kuzniski said, “we already have a pretty good idea who did it.”

“That’s what my uncle said you told him.”

“Dwight Stroeb.” Kuzniski nodded.

“Would you mind telling me?” Jeremy said.

Kuzniski glanced at his watch, gold with a thick band. “We picked someone up near the island.”

“And what makes him a suspect?”

“He had a laptop case in his car. Your father’s ID tag was still on it. And he just got out of jail. Has a rap sheet about ten pages long. Armed robbery, assault, drugs.”

“Laptop case?” Jeremy said. “What about the laptop?”

Kuzniski shook his head. “Just the case.”

“And my mother’s?”

“Your mother’s what?” Lieber stopped chewing.

“My parents both had laptops. They take them everywhere they go.” He paused. “Took them, I mean. They both had their laptops when they came to see me in Madrid.”

“We only found the one case,” Lieber said, writing something down in a small notebook.

“Was anything else stolen?” Jeremy asked.

“You know, Jeremy,” Kuzniski said. “I’ve already filled your uncle in—”

“It doesn’t look like anything else was taken,” Lieber said. “He left in a hurry.”

“What about the key?” Jeremy said.

“What key?” Lieber said.

“The killer used a key to get into the house.”

“We don’t know that,” Kuzniski said.

“My sister said the door was unlocked when she came home. Did you find any evidence of a break-in?”

“No, but your parents probably left the door unlocked,” Kuzniski said.

“Never.” Jeremy hit the table, and the coffee in Lieber’s cup sloshed over the top. “My parents would never leave the door unlocked when they went to bed.”

“They were jetlagged,” Kuzniski said. “It may have been an oversight.”

“My parents did not have oversights.”

Kuzniski glanced at his watch. “Listen, Jeremy—”

“And the weapon?” Jeremy said. “Have you found the weapon?”

“We rarely find the murder weapon,” Kuzniski said. “That’s just in your movies.”

“But I’m still confused. You think this ex-con intended to burglarize our house, but didn’t expect anyone to be home. Then he found my parents in their bedroom and he shot them. Why? Why wouldn’t he just have run?”

“He must have believed they had a gun,” Kuzniski said.

“But he killed them. Both of them.” Jeremy felt a rush of heat. “How the hell could he have killed both of them?” The woman with the stroller moved to a table closer to them. “I mean, how many shots did he fire? It’s not that easy to shoot someone and kill them. And to kill both of them?”

“One,” Lieber said. “That’s what Forensics tells us.”

“One?”

“It just took one shot,” Lieber said.

“It was a shotgun. Double-barreled,” Kuzniski said. “With buckshot.”

Jeremy felt like he was falling. He had kept the physical image
of his parents’ murder far, far away. But now, there was no escaping it. A shotgun. His parents had been killed with a shotgun. Once when surfing the Net, he’d seen photos of animals killed by buckshot at close range. Their ravaged bodies. The blood, pieces of flesh torn and thrown everywhere.

Unrecognizable. His parents would have been unrecognizable.

“Can you tell me something, please?” Jeremy could barely hear his own voice. “What kind of burglar uses a key to get into a house and brings a shotgun?”

Kuzniski stood up abruptly, almost knocking over his chair.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy said. “You pick up some guy who happens to be driving near Lotus Island with a laptop case and a rap sheet and you’re done. You’ve got your killer. The streets of Miami are now safe for its citizens. Children can go back outside to play.”

“Mr. Stroeb,” Kuzniski said, “this investigation has been given top priority. We’re all working hard with the sole task of finding your parents’ killer. Where do you get off, barging in here and attacking us?” He ran his fingers through his hair in two rapid movements. “We’re busy people, Mr. Stroeb. We don’t have time to sit around with some college punk who’s watched a few episodes of
CSI
and thinks he knows more than we do. Are you coming, Lieber?”

She shook her head.

“Fine,” Kuzniski said and stomped out of the coffee shop.

The woman with the toddler was staring at him. Jeremy caught her eye, and she turned away.

Why had he come here? There was nothing he could do. Everywhere was frustration. His uncle, the detectives. The sense of his own futility. It’s why he’d left in the first place.

Tomorrow he’d catch a plane. Maybe he’d go to Greece. The islands. He’d always wanted to go to Santorini.

“I can imagine how difficult this is for you,” Detective Lieber
said. She’d been watching him. “How’s your sister? I saw her at the funeral. She seemed— well, lost.”

Her kindness made his throat close up. He shot a muffin crumb across the table with his thumb and middle finger.

“It must be a big relief to her that you’re home now.”

Jeremy pushed back his chair. It scraped against the floor. “I really appreciate you meeting me,” he said, “but I’m sure, like Detective Kuzniski, you have more important things to do.”

She was flattening out a gum wrapper against the table and made no move to get up. The skin on her hands was slightly wrinkled and covered with age spots.

“I understand you’ve been traveling around Europe for the past year,” Lieber said after a while. “That your parents and sister had just returned from visiting you.”

“I’m sure Uncle Dwight filled you in. Gave you an earful about the wayward son.”

“Did your parents seem concerned about anything?”

“Besides me?”

“Yes, Jeremy. Besides you.”

He leaned his head back. One of the overhead lights was out. She must think he was one self-centered jerk. “I don’t know,” Jeremy said. “They were both pretty intense people. They always seemed to have a lot on their minds.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Why?” he said. “Why do you care? You already have a suspect.”

“A suspect is only that, Jeremy.”

“So you haven’t put the investigation to bed?”

“I don’t like loose ends and unanswered questions.”

“Thank you.” He looked down at his clenched hands. “Thank you.”

“So tell me about your parents.”

The door to the coffee shop opened and a group of women in sweat suits and oversized designer bags came in, talking loudly as though they owned the place.

“She wasn’t like that,” Jeremy said, nodding toward the women. “My mother. She was classy and understated and—”

“And what?”

Jeremy’s throat had closed up again. He reached for Lieber’s black coffee and took a sip. Cold and bitter. “You know she was a partner in a CPA firm. Very smart, respected. Everyone liked her.”

“It seems that way from the people I spoke to.”

“So you have been asking around?”

“Of course.”

Maybe he’d misjudged the detectives.

“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted her dead?”

“My mother? I can’t imagine.”

“Clients? Partners? Someone on the staff?”

He shook his head.

“She had two partners.” Lieber flipped through the pages of her notebook. “Bud McNally and Irving Luria. Did you know them well?”

“Not really. I used to hang out in my mom’s office when I was a kid.” He thought back to the gathering at the Castillos’ yesterday. They had both been there— Irv Luria, the ugly man in a wrinkled suit, and Bud McNally, a large guy with a southern accent.

“How did she get along with them? Any tension you were aware of?”

“I couldn’t say. I haven’t exactly been around much. But my mom and Bud started at the firm at the same time. I remember they used to tease each other a lot. Like a competition.”

“Any animosity?”

He was surprised by her vocabulary. “No. It seemed good-natured.”

“And Irving Luria? How’d your mom get along with him?”

“He’s much older than my mom. He was like her mentor.”

She waited.

“I guess they got along okay.”

“And what about your father? Can you think of anyone who may have had a grudge against him?”

“He was a college professor. A harmless college professor. Shit. He even wore a jacket with patches on the elbows.”

“And everyone loved him?”

“I guess. I don’t know. He used to bitch about the administration. And he was always writing stuff that pissed people off. But you don’t get killed for that, do you?”

“You’d be surprised what people get killed for.” She turned to another page in her notebook. “Do you know his boss? The dean? Let me see if I can find his name.”

“Dr. Winter,” Jeremy said. “He’s an asshole.”

“I see. You know him.”

“Not really, but my father hated his guts.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention.”

She looked back down at her book. “And what about your father’s graduate assistant, Marina Champlain?”

He shook his head.

“You’ve never met her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you’d remember her if you did.” She closed her book. “Anyone else we should be talking to? Anyone who came to mind when you heard what had happened?”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill them.” He crushed a muffin crumb between his fingers. “They were just ordinary people. A mom and dad with jobs and a family. Who kills a mom and dad with a family?”

“We’ll try to figure that out. Right now, all we have is the guy with the laptop case, but we’re also checking other possibilities. Lotus Island has a pretty good security system. We’ve looked at the records and videos of everyone who got on and off the island that night. The suspect drove onto the island around eleven p.m., then off after midnight.” She took the stack of wrappers and folded them together in half, then in quarters, in a neat little package. “But the house was pretty clean. No usable fingerprints. It hasn’t been easy, Jeremy. And I’m sure you can appreciate how eager everyone is to put the murderer behind bars.”

“So what you’re saying is it’s better to have a suspect, even if he didn’t really do it, than to come up empty-handed.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It seems to be your partner’s approach.”

“Well, I’m not ready to put it to bed. The problem is, there’s just so much information I can get from interviews. Without getting on the inside, it’s almost impossible to learn if anyone close to your parents had a motive.”

“Plant a mole,” Jeremy said. “Someone undercover.”

“Nice idea.” She half-smiled. “Like in the movies. Anyway, if you think of anything else that might be helpful to us, call me.” She handed Jeremy her card. Detective Judy Lieber. “And do you have a cell phone and e-mail address where I can reach you?”

He took her pen and scribbled on a napkin. “I’m not sure I can be much help to you,” Jeremy said. “I’m probably heading back to Europe in the next day or so.”

“But—” She closed her mouth abruptly. “I see.” Then she gathered up the coffee, napkins, gum wrappers, and Kuzniski’s crumpled muffin liner and threw them away. She extended her hand. “Well, good luck to you, Jeremy. Rest assured while you’re busy seeing the world or whatever you rich kids do out there, we detectives
won’t rest until we find your parents’ murderer and bring him to justice.” She scowled and tapped her lips. “I believe that’s how they say it in the movies.”