“What about crime scene evidence?” Rob asked. “Shouldn’t we be out searching around the old railroad bridge?”
“Why? I’ve now proved to you she didn’t jump. She was murdered. Her vehicle was found abandoned at the boat-launch parking lot off River Road, which is almost a mile away from that bridge you keep talking about, and over difficult terrain. She went missing on Friday night, when it was raining pretty hard. That makes it even less likely that she hiked to the bridge. I believe she was killed elsewhere, moved to the boat-launch parking lot in her own vehicle, then dumped into the river.”
“Where did the killer go after he dumped the body?” Womack asked. “If he moved her in her own vehicle and then abandoned it, he didn’t have a ride.” The asshole was obviously looking to shred Owen’s theory instead of fall in line. Owen knew he had to keep his cool.
“Don’t know,” Owen replied. “Maybe there was an accomplice. Maybe he took a cab for all we know. Feel free to look into that, Rob. I had Kate’s vehicle transported to the state police crime lab for a thorough search and analysis, so if the killer left a trace in there, we’ll find it.”
“If you’re so convinced nothing went down at the bridge, and that she was murdered, then where did it happen?” Rob asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question. One possibility is, she was killed in her own residence. Yesterday, Detective Charles and I responded there to notify the next of kin and request an official identification. We met her husband, a Mr. Griffin Rothenberg. He was passed out drunk at two o’clock in the afternoon, and had an ugly bruise on his face that he couldn’t explain, and scratches on the backs of both hands. Scrapings were removed from under the victim’s fingernails, so hopefully we’ll get a match. The state police forensics lab is working with the ME to analyze evidence from the body. Since she was in the water for a while, hair and fiber evidence may be degraded, but we hope not. Oh, and the husband refused to cooperate beyond ID’ing the body.”
“He lawyered up?” Marv said.
“Not even. It’s not like he said he wanted a lawyer present but then he’d talk. He walked out on us. Wouldn’t consent to a search of premises so we could look for evidence that might explain what happened to her. To me, that’s a red flag. What kind of grieving husband doesn’t want to get to the bottom of his wife’s death?”
“It sounds like you already decided the husband did it,” Womack said. “So I guess you don’t have much use for us.”
Owen wanted to punch the guy, but he forced himself to take a deep breath instead. “Not at all. In fact, I have assignments for every one of you. Gene, you’re good with paperwork. I’d like to start working on a warrant application for Nineteen Dunsmore Street. I recognize that we don’t have probable cause yet. But we can lay out what we know so far and make contact with the county attorney to start the process. As additional facts come in, we add them to the warrant application so we can be ready to go as soon as possible. Every minute we delay is another minute Rothenberg could destroy evidence.”
“Yes, sir,” Gene said.
“Rob, you canvass the neighbors on Dunsmore Street and find out if anybody heard anything unusual on Friday night, which is when we believe Ms. Eastman went missing. Screaming, yelling, throwing things, bumps in the night. Anything indicating domestic violence could give us probable cause to search the house, as well as for an arrest warrant. But be discreet. We don’t need to spook Rothenberg and have him skip to Mexico.”
“All right,” Womack said, nodding.
“What about me, Chief?” Marv asked.
Marv was the one in whom Owen had the least confidence, but he had to assign him something or the guy would get miffed.
“Tell you what, Marv. You investigate any prior domestic violence complaints against Griffin Rothenberg. They moved to town recently. Before that, they were in New York. So check both places.”
“What about Keisha?” Marv said. “Can she check New York? Just because she doesn’t bother showing up for the meeting doesn’t mean she oughta get off without an assignment.”
Lazy POS, Owen thought.
“Keisha has plenty to do, all right? She’s out working a lead for me, something I asked her to look into. In fact, here she comes now.”
Through the glass partition, they watched as Keisha Charles yanked off her coat and scarf and dug through her briefcase. She strode into the conference room, bringing with her the bright, cold morning.
“Sorry I’m late, Chief, but when you hear what I found, I guarantee you’ll forgive me,” she said.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Fill us in.”
Keisha took an open chair and rummaged through her folders, picking out one and laying it open on the table.
“Last night you gave me two assignments. First, find out everything there is to know about Kate Eastman’s husband Griffin Rothenberg. So let’s start there. Griffin Rothenberg, Carlisle graduate in economics, is the only child of one Martin Allen Rothenberg, whose name you’re probably familiar with—”
A string of whistles rang out around the table, accompanied by a “Holy shit,” from Rob Womack.
“—because he was prosecuted for a major insider-trading scheme and financial fraud. Rothenberg Capital Partners. Not quite Bernie Madoff scale, but close. His entire company went under, and ten of his closest associates went to jail with him.”
“You know, that doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Owen said. “That guy had an attitude, didn’t he?”
“He sure did, Chief,” Keisha said.
“Like father, like son,” Owen asked. “Do you think there could be a connection between Kate’s death and that fraud case?”
“You mean, was the son involved in his father’s crimes? Did the wife know something she shouldn’t? That sort of thing.”
“You never know.”
“I’ll look into it. It could provide a motive.”
“Even if there’s no direct connection, we know Griffin Rothenberg was once a rich sonofabitch, and now he’s down on his luck, living in a dump and drinking all day. That could be a motive, too. Who knows, maybe his wife had money. Maybe he took out an insurance policy. We need to look into all these angles,” Owen said.
“Speaking of angles,” Keisha said, “Maureen, the night dispatcher, told me an attractive blond woman came to pick Rothenberg up last night. She only caught the first name. Aubrey. I think that might be this woman who teaches at the yoga studio in Riverside I go to sometimes. I’m gonna check into it.”
“Good,” Owen said.
“Next, you asked me to find out what I could about the marriage. Smart, Chief. I hit pay dirt.”
She pulled a sheaf of papers from a folder and handed it to Owen. “Kate Eastman filed for divorce from Griffin Rothenberg at the Belle County Courthouse. She filed, not him. That’s a copy of the divorce complaint. Take a look at the date stamped on the top.”