Chapter Forty-Eight
It was almost ten in the evening, and Chad Remington, Audrey Packer, Morris Johnson, and Karen Wyatt were sitting in a booth in a tavern near police headquarters where they had agreed to meet after Ellen Kaufman had been booked and interrogated.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Remington said. “We have two women who resemble each other so much that they both could have been the person Horan saw in the mirror. And they both have a motive to kill Terrance Cogen and Walter Zegda.”
“Let’s not forget that it’s possible that one of the ladies killed Cogen and the other one tried to shoot Zegda, and vice versa,” Karen said.
“This is giving me a headache,” Audrey said.
“My money is on Rosemarie for the Cogen murder,” Chad said.
“Why?” Morris Johnson asked.
“It’s the milkshake. Ellen swears that she can’t remember ever meeting Terrance Cogen, and with the exception of what she read about his murder and what she knew about the investigation into his schemes, she didn’t know anything about him.
She also says that she doesn’t remember ever being in Dunthorpe. ”
“I agree,” Audrey said. “Ellen doesn’t run in Cogen’s social circle, so how would she know about Cogen’s addiction to his milkshakes? And even if she did, how would she get Cogen in a social situation where she could dope his drink?
“And another thing. Kaufman is strong, and she trained as a cop. Cogen was a wimp, from what we’ve heard. She would have been able to overpower him without a weapon, but she owns a handgun and could have gotten the best of him that way, so why would she resort to poisoning his drink?”
“We know Zegda thinks Rosemarie tried to kill him. Has he said anything that helps us figure out who did what?” Karen asked.
“No. He hasn’t said a word since he asked to speak to his lawyer.”
“Billy Kramer said that he saw a car leaving the area around Cogen’s estate. Do we have anything on it?”
“It does show up on CCTV footage, but you can’t see the license plate or identify the make.”
“Do we have anything you can use to arrest Rosemarie?” Karen asked.
“Not a thing. All the evidence is circumstantial,” Chad said.
“You should sic your forensic accountants on her,” Audrey told Karen.
“Why don’t you use your people?” Karen asked.
“Frank Curtin nixed it. He said he’d authorize the use of our manpower if we could give him evidence that supports an investigation.
He’s afraid that the press would eat us alive if they found out we were going after the widow of a murder victim who is the terrified kidnap victim of a vicious gang leader. ”
“So, we’re at a dead end,” Morris said.
“It’s early days,” Chad said. “We just have to keep digging. If Rosemarie is the bad guy, something will show up.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Karen said.
Half an hour later, the party broke up.
“Are you doing anything interesting over the weekend?” Karen asked as she and Johnson walked to their cars.
“Vera and I are taking the kids to the Maryhill Museum.”
Karen frowned. “I think I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it out on the Columbia River Gorge on the Washington side?”
Morris nodded. “You should go. It’s pretty unique, and it’s got an odd history.”
“Oh?”
“The museum was originally intended as a mansion for Sam Hill and his wife, Mary, the daughter of James J. Hill, a Great Northern Railroad baron. He started building it in the early 1900s as the centerpiece of an Eden-like agricultural community on the gorge, but he had to abandon his plan when he found out that the land was too arid to get enough water for farming. The construction was halted when World War I started, and it was dedicated as a museum in 1926 by Queen Marie of Romania. What’s cool is that Maryhill has a really diverse collection.
There are American and European paintings, works by Auguste Rodin, three hundred chess sets from around the world, and American Indian beadwork and baskets.
There’s even a replica of Stonehenge nearby. And the setting is great.”
“It sounds interesting.”
“It is definitely worth the trip. How about you? Anything going on this weekend?”
Karen blushed. “I’ve been seeing Barry Clay.”
“The expert witness?”
“Yeah.”
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is. We’re going out to the coast on Saturday.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re seeing someone. It’s about time you started getting out there.”
Karen sighed. “It has been a while.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just like riding a bicycle. Even if you haven’t done it for a while, you remember how to keep your balance pretty quickly.”
It was a little after eleven when Karen walked into the living room in her penthouse and looked out at the lights of the city.
She had discovered the person who had betrayed her and her quest for revenge was finally over.
She had ended one chapter in her life, and she felt as if she was starting another.
Karen smiled. Barry Clay had booked a room at a hotel on the beach with an ocean view.
Karen had checked. The room had one king-size bed.
She knew what that meant. She hadn’t slept with a man since before her legal troubles started more than two years earlier.
She really liked Barry, and she was ready to see if the relationship would work, but she was nervous, and she hoped that Morris was right about riding a bicycle.
The excitement of the arrest had worn off, and Karen felt drained. She got ready for bed and turned off the lights. She was starting to drift off when she remembered something Morris had said. Karen opened her eyes. What was it? Something about the Maryhill Museum …
“Rodin!” Karen sat up in bed and stared at the wall. Then she got out of bed and grabbed her phone.
“Morris,” she said when her investigator answered. “I want you to write down everything you remember about what Rosemarie Cogen said at the Westmont when I asked her if anything valuable had been stolen from the Dunthorpe place.”
“I don’t have to remember what she said. It spooks people if you take out a pen and write down what they’re saying during an interview, so I leave my phone on in my pocket and record the conversation. I’ve got Rosemarie live.”