Oblanski shut the door, leaving Georgia and Pieter to fill out statement forms. “Now I see why you didn’t want the interview recorded.” He jerked his thumb at the interview room door. “Just what the hell do I do with that?”
“It’s going to be a tough call.” Arn waited until the secretary from Records walked past them in the hallway. “Sometimes, the right thing isn’t always the legal thing to do.”
“Criminally, there’s nothing that can be done.”
“The statute of limitations has run out on fraud.”
“And the feds may not even pursue reimbursement for the money once they know why Butch killed himself.” Oblanski sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Arn. “It could be argued that he committed suicide as a result of job stress.” He led Arn into his office and shut the door. He found a victim from among the pencils on his desk top and began chewing the end. “If I keep my mouth shut, Georgia and Pieter will benefit, but you’ll be hurt.”
“How so?”
“If we don’t go public with this, it’ll mean the hot dog detective the TV station hired to solve Butch Spangler’s murder failed. And failed to connect it to the other deaths, like Ana Maria claimed.”
Arn groaned. “I forgot, I’ll have to break the news to her … ”
“Don’t you dare,” Oblanski said. “She’s never kept her mouth shut about anything yet. This would be a huge story for her.”
Arn thought of just that. If he told Ana Maria, there was a risk she would use it to catapult herself to national prominence. On the other hand, if he kept quiet, she’d go on spinning her wheels trying to solve a homicide that had never occurred.
“You’ve still got the deaths of Gaylord and Steve—and the Five Point cases—to solve,” Arn said. “There’s still a lot of news coverage she can get with your cases.”
“You mean our cases.”
“Not hardly.”
“You’re the one who uncovered them as homicides,” Oblanski said. “And Butch’s death as a suicide. The least you can do is stick around and help—”
Arn held up his hand. “I was hired to solve Butch’s murder. I’m willing to go along with it if you decide to keep the Spangler secret buried. But”—he leaned closer to Oblanski—“I might be persuaded to come in as a consultant on those other cases.”
“For a fee, no doubt.”
Arn held up his hands. “So call me a mercenary. Renovating Mom’s old house is costing me a mint, and I need the bucks.”
Oblanski leaned back and tossed his chewed pencil in the trash can. “It’s more than the money with you though, isn’t it?”
Arn pulled his neckerchief away from his collar. His wound had scabbed up with the salve, but it still itched. “This is personal. It was personal when Johnny was murdered. And now that I know Gaylord and Steve’s deaths weren’t accidental, it’s even more so.
“And the Five Point Killer?”
“Those cases are important because I’m convinced they’ll lead us to Steve and Gaylord’s murderer.”
“There might be some problems getting the town council to release money for a consultant that failed to solve the Spangler murder.” Oblanski looked to the ceiling fan for answers. “But right now—with the department in chaos over Johnny’s murder—the council and mayor will probably give me whatever I ask. Let me make a call.” He winced as he picked up the phone and talked with Gorilla Legs. He told her—no, asked her, as no one tells a two-hundred-pound Bohemian woman what to do—to set up a meeting with the mayor. “I need combat pay just talking with that woman,” Oblanski said as he hung up the phone.
Laughter came from outside and Oblanski swiveled in his chair. He pulled back the window blinds. Two kids had piled on one sled and raced along a snow-packed alleyway pulled by a large yellow dog. “Now that you’re in the consulting business, who would float to the top of the shit pile of suspects in Gaylord and Steve’s deaths?”
“Frank. Maybe you were right about him all along.”
Oblanski tapped his fingers on the desk. “No, I was wrong about him. I fingered him for Butch’s murder. I never figured him to be involved—”
“In a couple accidental deaths?”
“All right, so we were wrong about Steve and Gaylord’s deaths being natural. You proved they were homicides. But Frank had no reason to kill them. Butch went to the prosecutor and asked that Frank’s burglary charge be dropped.”
“About two weeks after they were both murdered. And only when Butch thought Frank would implicate Hannah.” Arn scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned on Oblanski’s desk. “Frank would still have a lot to lose with them alive.”
“I wanted Frank to be Butch’s killer.” Oblanski paced in front of his desk. “As much as I want him to be involved in the other deaths, I’m not so sure. I’ve been wrong all these years. It’s about time I rethink Frank.”
“Consider this,” Arn said. “Frank might have known Butch was close to solving the Five Point cases. And he would know Butch’s partner and his supervisor would be privy to whatever information Butch had. So he killed them. One at a time when the opportunity arose. But when it came time to kill Butch, Butch did the job himself.”
“You really think Frank could be the Five Point Killer?”
“He fits what little information we know about the killer,” Arn answered. “Ana Maria found out that Frank got a severe leg injury when he was serving time in that Colorado prison. The suspect who picked up Joey Bent from the Leapfrog the night he was murdered had a limp. Frank knew Joey. They were both mechanics. Joey even tossed Frank work now and again.”
“And how do you square Frank knowing Delbert Urban?”
Arn shrugged. “He could have found him on the Internet. Maybe it was just random, and Delbert was unlucky enough to be at the Hobby Shop when Frank broke in. He’s a good enough home burglar, he would have all sorts of ways to gain entrance to homes and businesses.”
“And maybe he was the one who got into your house that night and stole your slippers just to toy with you.”
“Good possibility,” Arn answered. “Frank hasn’t broken into all those houses you suspect him of these last years without being able to do so quietly.”
“I don’t know.” Oblanski pulled the curtains aside, but the kids and their dog were gone. “You forgetting about Johnny. Why would Frank want him dead?”
“Ana Maria’s special brought Johnny to the forefront of reopening the investigations. Remember, Frank used to service the hospital vehicles. He probably still has a key to the maintenance door.”
“And as long as he came and went in the hospital,” Oblanski said, turning and dropping into his chair, fumbling for reports, “he’d know where the surveillance cameras are located and their area of coverage.” Oblanski grabbed a one-paragraph report from the bottom of his stack and handed it to Arn. “Hospital security took a report that someone has been stealing things from the supply room. They didn’t connect anything until … Johnny’s murder.”
Arn put on his glasses. “Booties, masks, and a gown. Just like Johnny’s killer wore.” He handed the sheet back to Oblanski. “Makes it less likely that Dr. Dawes killed Johnny that day. He wouldn’t need to steal anything from the supply closet. He already has access to everything on that list.”
“I thought of that.” Oblanski hunted his desk drawer for a victim-pencil to chew on. “But we found that shoe print that exactly matched those found at Gaylord’s—both when he was murdered and after the assault on you in the basement—and identical to the one on Delbert Urban’s back, in Johnny’s room. And it matched the shoes we recovered from Dr. Dawes’ Caddy.”
“Frank,” Arn said. “If we’re right about him, he damned sure would know enough to get into Jefferson’s car and plant those shoes there. He may be a crappy mechanic, but even crappy mechanics can break into most cars. And place that anonymous call that led to your search warrant.”
Oblanski slumped in his seat. “We’re screwed.”
Arn waited for an explanation.
“We brought Dawes in on suspicion of Johnny’s death. And unless there’s two killers—assuming your theory about Frank holds water—Dawes is pure as the driven snow.”
“I guess you’d better grab your city attorney and visit Dawes this afternoon. Patch things over as best you can,” Arn said. “And have Frank brought in for another interview.”
Oblanski guffawed. “You expect Frank to break down and confess?”
“I don’t expect him to say anything. But what a person doesn’t say often sinks him. Tell him you’re a hair’s breath away from pinning Butch’s murder on him.”
“But we know now Butch wasn’t murdered.”
Arn smiled. “Frank doesn’t know that.”