Virgil turned to Lucas and said, “Fisk said she was clearing out the house for a sale, and because she couldn’t stand to look at her husband’s stuff. Other than the jewelry, there wasn’t a single damn thing in the entire house that belonged to him. No clothes. No shirts, no jackets, no socks, no shoes, nothing. She said it all went to Goodwill. I’m somewhat familiar with Goodwill, and if this is high-end doctor clothing…it’ll be gone by now. It would probably have been gone the day after she donated it.”
“Trying not to sound like Captain Obvious, it kinda looks like shewas trying to hide something,” Duncan said. “We need to go back there.”
“Don’t do that yet,” Lucas said. “Give me and Virgil some time to work it.”
“I’ve got an idea about that,” Virgil said. “When I was talking to Dr. Baer, he said they were both members of the Turtle Lake Golf Club. I wonder if she remembered to clean out his locker?”
“Be our first stop,” Lucas said.
Duncan: “You guys need to talk with your true-crimers, too. I think a few of them gave up and went home while you were gone.”
“We’ll get with them after Turtle Lake,” Virgil said. “They’ve been doing research, we need to know where they’re at.”
—
On the waynorth, Lucas said, “Fisk. You think she could have burned you out?”
“Would have taken brass balls. Guess what: she has them.”
“She worked at Bee,” Lucas said.
“Yes.”
“She married Carlson not long after the murder,” Lucas said.
“Yes.”
“Interesting series of coincidences; in which I don’t believe,” Lucas concluded.
“If she killed Doris Grandfelt…wait. So she knows, somehow, something is up. She’s been dating Timothy Carlson, a rich doctor, and all of a sudden this hot piece of blonde shows up on his doorstep. She somehow figures out that they’ve been meeting at Bee, and she hides in there after hours to see what’s up. She sees them having sex, or hears them, is sideswiped by jealousy, and kills Doris.”
“Was Carlson there for the murder?”
Virgil had to think for a minute: “Don’t know,” he said eventually. “Probably not, but the murder was pretty close to the sex.”
“One problem with all of this,” Lucas said. “Everything you can blame Fisk for, it’s more logical to blame Carlson. He’s screwing Doris, not long after an emotional trauma, his divorce, has a sudden spasm of regret followed by a psychotic break, and kills her. I’m not saying that’s what happened, but a defense attorney would.”
“He didn’t kill Marcia Wise,” Virgil said. “And weknowthat was connected.”
“You’re saying we’re dealing with a serial killer? Women rarely are, not even one in ten, and not this way,” Lucas said. “Maybe with poison, or drugs, but they don’t stab people to death, or beat people to death, or throw them off balconies…I don’t know how big Carlson was, but from what I’ve seen, I’m thinking a hundred seventy, a hundred and eighty pounds? Could she throw him off, even if she wanted to?”
“If he was stretched out, balanced on a railing, and she just had to tip him over, maybe,” Virgil said.
“Maybe.”
The Turtle Lake Golf Club was pleasant enough, low rolling terrain dressed in midsummer green, with what appeared to be well-tended greens. The clubhouse itself was of the hybrid Black Forest chalet/Southern plantation style.
Lucas had been at the club once before, not to play golf, but to chat with a member. This time, they located the general manager, Dale Young, who took them to the men’s locker room. Two obese, white, naked men were walking out of the shower rooms, talking, both jiggling and shaking like bowls of Jell-O.
When they were out of earshot, Virgil muttered to Lucas, “I didn’t need to see that.”
“Guys haven’t seen their dicks in years,” Lucas muttered back.
Young said, “I didn’t hear any of that.”
Gerry Wint, the locker room attendant, showed them Carlson’s locker, which was empty.
“Wife came in and cleaned it out,” Wint said. “I had to check and make sure no naked gentlemen were wandering around.”
