The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [46]
“We were looking at snowmobile tracks,” I said, hinting. “Not for a third body. If anybody asks …”
“Oh,” said Sue, absently. “All right.”
You do what you can. I went to bed. But before I did, I turned off the police scanner.
Nine
Wednesday, January 14, 1998, 0907
I made an appointment with Donna Sue Rahll for 0915, at the Sheriff’s Department. I went in out of uniform, to put her at her ease. That worked about half the time, and blue jeans were a lot warmer than uniform trousers.
Art was in Oelwein, interviewing the mother of the two victims, so I got to do the preliminary interview of Donna Sue all by myself. As it turned out, she was a bright, fairly attractive girl, who considered Freddie to be a phase of her life she’d just as soon forget. About the first sentence out of her was to the effect that she hadn’t wished to associate with Fred for the last seven or eight months.
“So, I don’t know why I’m here,” she said. The second sentence.
I could tell that she was hoping for a short interview, because she’d left her blue parka on. Unzipped, though, to reveal the orange lining. There was hope. “Any particular reason you broke up?” She looked me right in the eye. “I don’t see that that’s any of your business.”
“It isn’t,” I replied. “But it may be the state’s business. There’s a lot of interest in Fred right now.”
She sighed. “This is all confidential?”
“Unless it has a direct bearing on facts material to the investigation. Then you may be questioned regarding things, in court.”
“If I know something about the case, you mean.”
“That’s right,” I said.
She stood, and said her good-bye line. “Well, since I don’t know anything ‘material,’ about any kind of case, I’ll leave, now.”
“I think you might know more than you think,” I said. “Why don’t you sit back down for a minute.”
She stopped, but didn’t sit. At least the parka hadn’t been zipped yet.
“I want to ask about Fred’s two cousins, Dirk and Royce …”
She flicked out an insincere little smile. “The Colson brothers? The ‘Weasels’?”
“Pardon?” I said.
“The ‘Weasels.’ That’s what we call them.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. I had her.
She sat back down. “Because they’re greasy little shit-heads who have no respect for anybody, and lie and steal and stick their noses in and think they’re just great.”
Well. It came out in a rush, and I suspect she felt a lot better for having said it. It sure helped me.
“Stick their noses in what?” I was already pretty sure about the “steal” part.
“Everybody’s business.” She exhaled hard, and started to shrug out of her coat. “They just cause a lot of trouble.” She looked at me. “Why? What have they done now?”
It took me just a second. Then the little lightbulb came on in my head. We hadn’t released the names of the victims yet. And if she’d severed relations with Fred, she might not have a way of knowing.
“You don’t talk to Fred and his crowd much these days?”
“I have no time for them. If I saw one of them coming toward me, I’d cross the street.”
“Ah.” I gave her my most serious and concerned look. “Well, I’m sorry. Really. I assumed …”
“What?”
Had her good. “That you knew they were dead.”
I figured I was ready for about any kind of reaction, but was surprised when she simply said, “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It doesn’t? Why not?”
“They ‘party hearty,’ and they drive too fast. We’ve all been telling ’em that. For years.”
“Wasn’t a car wreck,” I said. I paused for effect, for all the good it did me. “They were murdered.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Murdered? Like, by somebody else?”
“That’s what it looks like.” By somebody else, indeed.
“Well,” she said, “well, shit. Huh. Whadda ya know …” She paused. “That’s something. Well, you guys know who did it?”
“It’s beginning to look like it might be Fred.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no way. Oh, no,” and she started to chuckle. “No, not Fred. No.”
In about ten minutes, she