Chapter Nine
Audrey Packer and Chad Remington were next up on the homicide rotation, so they caught the Terrance Cogen homicide.
“Have you ever been inside one of these mansions?” Audrey asked her partner as they turned off the highway and into Dunthorpe.
“About ten years ago. A financial analyst committed suicide when his company went under and his wife walked out.”
“I’ve never been. Was it nice?”
“The house?”
“Yeah.”
“It was too big. I would have rattled around in it.”
“You could have held parties to fill it up. Was there a pool?”
“Yeah. We found the poor bastard floating in it.”
They turned a corner and saw the police car sitting beside the open gate.
Packer held her ID out of the driver’s-side window, and the uniform waved them through.
An ambulance and several cars, marked and unmarked, were parked in a turnaround.
The most conspicuous vehicle was a Jaguar that Chad guessed cost more than he made in a year.
Packer parked, and the detectives got out of their car.
Brady McDowell knew Packer and Remington from cases they had worked, and he walked over.
“Hey,” McDowell said.
“I understand you caught the perp,” Audrey said.
McDowell pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s in the back of my car. He hasn’t asked for a lawyer, so you want to take a shot?”
“Sounds good,” Chad said. “Fill us in.”
McDowell told the detectives about spotting the stolen Jag and finding Cogen’s body. The detectives cracked up when McDowell told them about being freaked out by the lion.
“Has Blackburn admitted to killing Cogen?”
“No. He says he’s never been in the house, and he insists that this Billy guy loaned him the car.”
“Have you talked to Billy?”
“We didn’t find anyone on the property. Someone was living in an apartment over the garage, but it looks like they cleared out.”
“Okay. Take me to Mr. Blackburn,” Remington said.
Jack Blackburn pressed his face against the window when McDowell and the detectives walked up. McDowell had told the detectives that he didn’t think the suspect would try anything, so Chad opened the back door.
“Hi, Jack. I’m Chad Remington, a detective with Homicide, and this is my partner, Audrey Packer.”
Blackburn looked sick. “Why did they send homicide detectives? I haven’t killed anyone.”
“I hear you’ve been cooped up for a while. Would you like to take a walk and get some fresh air?”
“Yeah, thank you. Does that mean I can get out of the car?”
“It does. Just don’t go running off. I’m getting too old to chase you, so I’d have to shoot you.”
“I won’t run. I promise.”
“I was just fucking with you, Jack. If you didn’t kill Mr. Cogen, you wouldn’t have a reason to run, would you?”
“No, sir.”
Jack got out of the car, and he and Chad started strolling across the lawn that bordered the mansion. Audrey and McDowell trailed behind.
“Why did you lie to Officer McDowell about not knowing where Mr. Cogen lived?”
Jack hung his head. “I shouldn’t have done that, but I was scared he’d arrest me for stealing the Jag.”
“Tell me about the car.”
Jack’s face lit up, and he waxed poetic about his dream car.
“Why do you think Billy let you drive the Jag?” Chad asked.
“He was too drunk to drive. He asked me to take his girlfriend home.”
“Does the girlfriend have a name?”
“I think it’s Candy or Cindy. I’m not sure. She didn’t say much at the bar after Billy introduced her, so I only heard the name once.”
“Why do you think Billy didn’t try to get the car back? It’s pretty expensive, and it doesn’t belong to him.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I told him where I live.”
“But you knew Billy worked here. Why not drive here and return the car?”
“I should have.”
“You ever watch crime shows on TV, Jack?”
“Sometimes.”
“You know that the guys from the crime lab are going to go over this crime scene with a fine-tooth comb. If they find a hair or a piece of skin belonging to you or a fingerprint or DNA in this house, after you’ve said that you’ve never been inside, you know you’re fucked.
So, I’m going to ask you if you still say you were never inside the house. ”
“I swear to God I never was.”
“Okay, then.”
Chad turned and headed back toward the house. Blackburn followed him.
“Are you gonna let me go?” Jack asked.
“Not right now.”
Chad returned Blackburn to McDowell and told the officer to take his prisoner downtown and book him. Then Remington led Audrey into Cogen’s mansion.
Dr. Sally Grace, the medical examiner, was just leaving. Dr. Grace was a slender woman with frizzy black hair, who had a dry sense of humor and a sharp intellect. She had testified in several of Chad’s trials, and he thought she was an excellent witness.
“What’s the word?” Packer asked.
“Today’s word is blunt force trauma,” Sally answered.
“That’s three words,” Packer said.
“One for each blow our victim received. And he was probably killed a few days ago. I’ll have more for you after the autopsy.”
Dr. Grace left, and the detectives walked past the lion and down the hall to the scene of the crime. Audrey stared at the polar bear.
“How many shots do you think it took to bring that thing down?”
“I have no idea,” Chad answered, “and I hope I never have to find out.”
The men from the medical examiner’s office had waited for the detectives to arrive before taking the body away. They stood aside when Packer and Remington walked in.
Chad didn’t have a medical degree, but he thought that he could have diagnosed the cause of death as easily as the medical examiner.
Someone had destroyed Terrance Cogen’s skull with a heavy, blood-drenched marble statue.
Brain and bone fragments lay near the corpse, and blood formed a halo around the dead man’s head.
Chad had been to many crime scenes, but he put this one in his top ten for sheer violence.
“Was Cogen married?” Chad asked.
“I did an internet search before we left. Rosemarie and Terrance Cogen are separated, and she lives in a penthouse near the Portland Art Museum.”
“Let’s visit the widow,” Chad said.
Twenty minutes later, the detectives were in the lobby of the condominium where Rosemarie Cogen was living.
They flashed their IDs and told the security guard that they needed to speak to Mrs. Cogen.
He called up to the penthouse. Then he led the detectives past a bank of elevators in the lobby to another elevator and keyed them up to the top floor.
“You have better people skills, so why don’t you break the news to Mrs. Cogen?” Packer said.
When the elevator doors opened, the detectives found themselves in a marble entryway that led to a sunken living room.
A tall woman in her midthirties with blue eyes, raven-colored hair that fell to her shoulders, and an athletic figure was standing a few feet from the elevator.
She had a glass in her hand and looked puzzled.
“Mrs. Cogen?” Chad asked.
“Call me Rosemarie. Milton said you are detectives.”
“We are. My name is Chad Remington, and this is my partner, Audrey Packer. I’m afraid we have some bad news for you. Can we go into the living room, where you can find a comfortable seat?”
“Certainly. Can I get you something to drink?” Rosemarie held up her glass. “I make a mean martini, but I have a full bar.”
“Nothing for me,” Remington said.
“I’ll pass too,” Packer said.
“Then join me,” Cogen said as she led the way down a short flight of steps and motioned the detectives toward a long couch facing floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a stunning view of the lights of Portland.
“Now, what is so serious that you want me to sit down?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband has passed away,” Chad said.
Rosemarie’s full lips formed a pleasant smile. “You mean he’s dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The smile widened. “What’s the bad news?” she asked.
Audrey frowned. “My partner forgot to tell you that we’re from Homicide, and your husband has been brutally murdered in the living room of his mansion.”
“My mansion.”
“Pardon me?” Chad said.
“I own this penthouse and the estate in Dunthorpe. Terrance didn’t own squat.”
“You don’t appear to be upset by the news of your husband’s death,” Audrey said.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but Terrance was a crook and an asshole, and his death means that I won’t have to continue paying my divorce lawyer.”
“Why do you say Mr. Cogen was a crook?” Packer asked.
Cogen shrugged. “He was being investigated by the feds and the Multnomah County DA. Since you’re in law enforcement, you can probably find out the details.
All I know is that we lived in this building before Terrance and I separated, and he moved back to that mausoleum in Dunthorpe.
Terrance was the building treasurer. From what I’ve heard, there were projects that cost millions but were never started.
I’ve been told that the money went to shell companies Terrance owned, and antique cars and artwork suddenly appeared in Dunthorpe. ”
“Did you know he was stealing?”
“Terrance never confided in me about where money was coming from. I thought he made it in the stock market and his business as a financial adviser, but since my lawyer started looking, I’ve discovered that he was a very unsuccessful trader and his clients tended to lose money.”
“Can you think of a person who might have killed your husband?” Remington asked.
Rosemarie smiled. “You mean, besides me? Well, detectives, there were the people he scammed. I understand that embezzling from this building wasn’t his only criminal enterprise. But, as I said, I don’t know the details of his criminal activities.”
“When was the last time you saw your husband?” Packer asked.
“Let me see. We met at his lawyer’s office three days ago.” Rosmarie grimaced. “That was fun. Terrance was foaming at the mouth and calling me names I couldn’t repeat in the presence of children, which, thank God, we don’t have.”
“Does he have any?” Packer asked.
“Two from his first wife. Marta lives in Arizona. I think she’s an accountant. Terrance Jr. lives in Manhattan, where, from what Terrance told me, he is a failed actor.”
“How many times has Mr. Cogen been married?” Remington asked.
“I’m number four, and I should have known better, but, as I’ve discovered, Terrance was an ace number one con man.”
“The person we’ve arrested for your husband’s murder was driving one of your husband’s cars.” Packer consulted the notes. “A 2019 Jaguar XJR575.”
Rosemarie shrugged. “I don’t know anything about Terrance’s cars, and I could not care less.”
“The reason I ask is that the man claims that someone named Billy lent him the car and said he was your husband’s chauffeur. Did your husband employ a chauffeur named Billy?”
“That would be Billy Kramer.”
“Do you know where we can find him? There wasn’t anyone at the house in Dunthorpe.”
“Billy was living in an apartment over the garage.”
“We did find the apartment, but no one was there, and it looked like whoever had been living there had cleared out,” Chad said.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Were there other servants?”
“Cynthia Woodruff kept house and Terrance had a cook named Alvin Martelli, but they didn’t live at the estate. Terrance dealt with the staff. I imagine he’d have their numbers and addresses in his phone.”
“Do I take it that you lived here and your husband lived in Dunthorpe?” Chad asked.
“My grandfather made a ton of money in logging, and he built the Dunthorpe mansion to show off how well he’d done.
Daddy squandered most of the fortune, and the place started to go to pot.
I never liked the estate, and I got out of there as soon as I could.
Terrance used the place to impress the people he was scamming.
But I was going to boot him out as soon as the divorce was final. ”
“Was Mr. Cogen the big-game hunter?” Chad asked.
Rosemarie laughed. “I see you’ve met Leo the lion and Teddy the bear.”
“We have,” Chad said. “The lion scared the hell out of the first officers on the scene.”
“Daddy bagged those sad beasts. Terrance wouldn’t have been caught dead in deepest, darkest Africa. Too untidy.”
The detectives spent another half hour with Mrs. Cogen before leaving.
“What did you think of the widow Cogen?” Remington asked when they were walking to their car.
“I like the fact that she didn’t put on an act.”
“We do have to put her on our list of suspects.”
“Of course. But I hope she didn’t kill Cogen,” Packer said. “I like her.”