Killing Kate: A Novel (Riley Spartz Book 4) (22 page)

My boss startled me by suggesting someone else should handle that part of the story.

“You stick to the nuts and bolts of the issue. I’ll get someone else to interview Buddy’s family as a sidebar.”

I was so gleeful at ducking that assignment, I didn’t bother asking, who? But I should have. Because that might have made a big difference later on.

“Hey, Riley, Fargo wants a word about your angel killer,” Ozzie yelled out to me from the assignment desk.

“What about it?” He was talking about our network affiliate in
Fargo, North Dakota. Television market rank 120, compared to Minneapolis–St. Paul at number 15.

“They think they might have one.”

“A killer?”

“A murder.”

I took the call at my desk and learned that a couple months earlier, Bonnie Brang had been beaten to death and left on the blacktop driveway of her fenced house on the outskirts of town. The station covered the homicide as big news. Still no arrests. But after the police had cleared the scene, the local reporter shot a standup in front of the open gate, and where the body had lain, a chalk outline could be seen.

“Until I saw your story, I just figured the cops made it. Now I’m not so sure. And they won’t talk.”

He emailed me the news link and as I watched the video, I saw that the outline resembled the one drawn around Kate. “What did the victim do for a living?”

“A waitress.”

My murder map gained a star at Fargo, North Dakota, along with a photo of the victim. This latest case had more in common with the others than Kate. Staying objective, I could see Kate was the least attractive of the dead. The others were blond waitresses. From smaller cities. Madison was market rank 85 and Ames shared Des Moines’s TV market at number 71.

If the homicides were the work of the same killer—and the chalk outlines inferred that scenario—it suggested the maniac’s motive might have shifted.

The map was quite visual, and as a television reporter I prefer laying out my investigations in charts, graphics, and pictures. That technique helps me tell the story to viewers and see for myself where the case might be heading.

Some serial killers select their victims from the same geographic
area, terrorizing a single city. Others enjoy traveling and staying undetected. Each of these homicides happened in cities more than two hundred miles from Minneapolis. All different states—Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin, North Dakota—another technique for a smart thug to evade attention.

But that observation was fairly obvious. I didn’t need a custom map to calculate distance and borders. What really struck me was the shape of the murderer’s route.

I traced a line between the slayings and saw the Black Angel appear before me. Let Minneapolis be her head. Ames, her feet. Fargo, the top wing tip. Madison, the lower wing. The killer was leaving an even more subtle signature than his chalk outline. The big picture.

I paged Noreen on the overhead speaker, asking her to come to my office.

She tilted her head and squinted her eyes at my wall. “I see what you mean, Riley, but don’t you think that’s stretching things a bit for crazy? Even for a serial killer?”

I reminded her about the wild college student about a decade earlier who planted pipe bombs in mailboxes across the Midwest in a path shaped like a giant smiley face.

“I’m not saying psychopaths make sense, Noreen. I’m just saying we have another murder that fits and we ought to build a graphic for tonight’s newscast. Think exclusive.”

So she did.

((SOPHIE CU))
CHANNEL 3 HAS LEARNED THAT A
FOURTH HOMICIDE—THIS TIME IN
FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA—MIGHT
BE TIED TO THE ANGEL OF DEATH
KILLER.
RILEY SPARTZ IS FIRST WITH THE
DETAILS.

((RILEY TRACK))
THE BODY OF A WOMAN
MURDERED IN FARGO WAS
ALSO FOUND WITH A CHALK
OUTLINE THAT RESEMBLED THE
SILHOUETTE OF AN INFAMOUS
BLACK ANGEL STATUE IN IOWA.

((RILEY GRAPHIC))
AND WHEN WE LINED UP THE
FOUR CITIES WHERE THE KILLINGS
HAPPENED . . . THIS IS WHAT YOU
SEE.

Then we froze the video of the Black Angel and dissolved in the four Midwest cities simultaneously. The statue’s head, feet, and wing tips matched perfectly—and that shape spooked me.

H
e deemed his progress acceptable.

Through patient observation, he’d learned that Riley Spartz typically left through the back door of Channel 3 at the end of the day. She bought monthly underground parking at a small hotel near the station. While no specific space was reserved, now that he knew she drove a gray Toyota, it was a simple matter for him to keep vigil on the street, watching for her car to exit.

The wild-card factor was the unpredictability of her shift. He must remain flexible. Once he discovered where she lived, he could plan around his schedule.

His first try, he lost her on the way home when she zipped through the stoplight off the 46th Street exit ramp, leaving him stuck behind two other vehicles. But he was able to see that she turned east. The next night, because he knew her route off the freeway, he was in a better position to chase. He passed ahead of her to drive through the stoplight first, then followed her for a few minutes toward Lake Nokomis.

He had expected a more affluent neighborhood with better security. He wished she had an attached garage, but he could make do. He had before. He was content to watch her shape pass in front of the windows until he was certain where her bedroom was located, and that she owned no dog.

He would make no move tonight, in case a neighbor had noted his vehicle, but more important, to allow himself anticipation time. He wouldn’t have the inconvenience of tailing her from work. Now he could just show up, perhaps waiting in the covered porch of the house for sale next door. His surveillance convinced him it was uninhabited.

Back at his apartment, he switched on Channel 3’s late news, hoping to watch Riley Spartz on the television screen and fantasize about their encounter to come. When she showed the Black Angel murder map, he knew he had to act soon.

T
he ringing phone roused me at just after midnight.

“Hello?” Ten seconds later I was alert enough to recognize Laura on the line, crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m at Kate’s,” she sobbed. “I’m freaking out.”

“Laura, what are you doing there?”

“I was trying to stay overnight, Riley. The motel was getting so expensive. I told myself to just fall sleep and not think about what happened to her. Except that’s all I can think about.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I can’t believe you even thought you could make that work.”

“I’m afraid to be alone here, Riley. Can you come over?”

Alone or not, I sure wouldn’t want to sleep in a murder house in the dark. So I offered her my couch.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Once a roommate, always a roommate.” I gave her my address, and twenty minutes later she was at the door holding a suitcase.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She kept repeating herself as I got her settled on the hide-a-bed in my home office.

“It’s no problem,” I assured her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Right now cash is tight. I spent a lot
on the plane and hotel and rental car. I’ve switched to Kate’s car now, and I’m fine driving that. But I can’t live in her house.”

“I understand, Laura.” As she rambled, I heated up enough hot chocolate for two, hoping we could both get a few hours sleep before I had to be at work.

“I’m meeting with Kate’s attorney tomorrow morning,” she said. “Her estate won’t be settled for months, but he’s seeing if I can get an advance on my inheritance to cover all the expenses.”

Her attorney. Of course. I gave myself a mental kick for not thinking of it myself. From the time I’d theorized a connection between Kate’s writing and her murder, I’d guessed the killer would be someone who knew Kate Warner was also Desiree Fleur. Kate’s attorney would certainly have known her alias.

“Would you like me to go with you, Laura?”

“Oh, would you? Lawyers make me nervous.”

No trouble, I assured her. And then I suggested we get some sleep.

Peter Marsden was a probate and tax attorney for one of Minnesota’s largest law firms. Working among more than four hundred lawyers would allow him to stay under the radar of curious colleagues.

His office was four blocks from Channel 3, so I gave Laura a spare key to my place and told her to follow me downtown. Marsden escorted us into a conference room of dark wood furniture and landscape oil paintings, a more suitable setting for briefing CEOs than us.

He and I had never met, probably because none of his clients had ever made news before. But he immediately recognized me, and warned Laura about the perils of getting too close to the media.

“I’m here as a friend, not a reporter,” I assured him. “I want to
support Laura.” I tried making both of them feel at ease. “As far as I’m concerned, this meeting’s off the record.”

Still suspicious, Marsden frowned at me. “How many days old is this camaraderie of yours? Laura, you’ve been under enormous stress. As your sister’s attorney, I consider it my professional responsibility to point out that you might be mistaking manipulation for friendship.”

He was all lawyer. I’d never want to face him during a deposition—or in a courtroom. And I wondered if his attack on me was to protect Laura or to isolate her. I’d expected him to be the kind of attorney who was good with numbers, not words. He was smooth, but was he also a killer?

“Actually, Riley and I went to college together.”

In a more composed tone than I expected, Laura explained that she trusted me completely, and hoped he would as well.

So without him responding one way or another, we got down to business.

Besides her church and a few charities, Laura was the sole heir. After taxes and probate fees, Marsden estimated she would receive just under a million dollars from Kate’s estate.

Laura was stunned. He detailed that the money would come from a life insurance policy, home equity, investments, and book royalties.

“Did she enjoy being an author?” I asked, wanting to hear more about Kate’s life than net worth.

Laura nodded, encouraging him to answer.

“One of the conditions she insisted on before having our firm represent her was that her professional life and personal life remain separate and secret. She would decide who and when anyone else would be told. We followed her instructions. Ours was a business relationship.”

“Do you know who else might have known?” I asked.

“It’s not something I ever inquired about.”

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted her dead? Did she ever mention being afraid?”

“Excuse me, Ms. Spartz, but right now you’re sounding more like a reporter than a friend. In what capacity are you asking these questions?”

I apologized, because I didn’t want to be banned from the discussion.

“I’ve already answered these questions with the police, and don’t feel I need to go over that ground with you.” He turned away from me and toward Laura. “However, you and I should stay in touch, and if you have any questions, please call me.”

Marsden handed her a business card, but not me. I reached for one and while he conceded, he mentioned nothing about calling him with questions. Nor did he thank me when I gave him one of my own cards.

I was distracted from his rudeness by Laura’s next announcement. “I want to sell the house.”

After last night, I wasn’t surprised.

“We can certainly arrange that,” he said, “but the estate needs to be settled first and, frankly, that will take months.”

“Isn’t there a state law that sellers have to disclose if a murder took place in a home?” I’d always wanted to do a story about people moving into homicide houses and whether they knew the history.

My question displeased him. “Yes.”

His answer disturbed Laura. “Won’t that make the house hard to sell?”

“It’s possible. But the more time that passes, the more people forget. Less publicity helps.” He looked at me, and I got his message. I just hoped Laura didn’t.

O
n that night’s late news, my pet custody story aired in the second block. After my outcue of “Riley Spartz, Channel 3 Television News” came a close-up anchor shot of Sophie.

((SOPHIE CU))
YOU’VE GOT THE BACKGROUND,
NOW YOU’RE GOING TO GET TO THE
HEART OF THE STORY.

((THREESHOT))
JOINING ME ON THE SET ARE THE
NOW EX-HUSBAND-AND-WIFE TEAM
OF KEITH AND BARBARA AVISE.

The lead in sounded a little circusy to me, but it was nothing compared to the actual interview to come. Keith had agreed to a live interview because his attorney had assured him that it was the best way to get his side of the story out—especially when guaranteed that Sophie, rather than me, would ask the questions.

Sophie had little experience interviewing live guests with opposing views. She was masterful at chitchat between weather and sports, or softball Q-and-A sessions with real-life folks thrust
into the media spotlight. Give her the hero who rescued a child from a burning vehicle or the woman who became an overnight millionaire with a lucky lottery ticket, and Sophie could give viewers three mesmerizing minutes.

Sophie, like many anchors, had been shielded from controversy, but Noreen felt this interview was worth the risk because it could be a blockbuster and attract a whole new audience to Channel 3.

Sophie was excited about proving herself as a real journalist.

“I’m not sure, Noreen,” I said, “to me, this setup feels better suited for the
Dr. Phil
show.”

“I know,” she answered proudly. “We’re going to promote it heavy during
Dr. Phil
and
Oprah
.”

Noreen assigned me to coach Sophie on interview techniques. “Your two guests could get surly, but you must stay calm. Cordial but firm is the way to go. You always want the audience to think you’re the reasonable one.”