Free Suicide King (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series) by Shelley Singer Page A

marrying Emily, but sex is different.”
    I stayed away from that one. “So you think the motive was personal?”
    She smiled over the rim of her glass. “A scorned woman? A betrayed husband? I don’t know about that side of my son’s life, but I assume he had affairs. God knows his father did. Of course, his father wasn’t killed by a jealous husband, he died in a boating accident.” She shrugged. “At least I don’t think he was killed by a jealous husband.”
    “His father, you mean.”
    “Yes. I think you should look into money. There’s very big money involved in politics, isn’t there? Big contributions, that sort of thing?”
    “Yes. Big money, people with lots of money.”
    “Joe was a very noble character in some ways, Jake. He had his ideals, his beliefs. But money was also very important to him. Money to live out his ideals. Money to run his campaign. Money to do as he damn well pleased. Very important.”
    “But he already had a lot of money, didn’t he?”
    “Oh, yes, And it was very important to him. That’s where you should be looking.”
    “I’ll remember that. Who else do you think I should talk to before I leave Minneapolis?”
    “I suppose you could talk to his brother.” She went to a small side table, took a pen and a piece of paper out of a drawer, wrote down a number, and gave it to me. “This is his home phone.” I already had his work number; I’d gotten that from Pam. “Have you talked to Emily? Maybe she knows something I don’t, although I doubt it. Other than that…” she waved a limp hand and swallowed the last of her orange soda.
    “I’ve talked to Emily.”
    “In that case… this has been very pleasant, Jake.” Her smile was coquettish, charming. “But I’m very tired, and I still have to get through the funeral tomorrow.”
    “Of course,” I said, standing. “If I have any other questions, I hope you won’t mind if I give you a call?”
    “As long as it’s after the funeral. And I do want to know what you find out, ultimately.” She leaned forward, toward me. “I really do.”
    “Sure.” I gave her a card from the stack I’d taken off the hotel desk. “And here’s where I’m staying, in case you come up with any ideas.” She took the card and stuck it in an invisible pocket in the long skirt.
    “Would you like to see the rest of the house? Gerald can show it to you. I have an art deco room, a Victorian room, a medieval room, a modern room— I have a Mondrian in that one.”
    “No, thanks just the same. I’ll go now.”
    “I don’t want you to feel I’m being inhospitable. I’ll be fine, once I’ve gotten through the funeral.”
    “Right. Of course you will.”
    “Gerald will show you out, then.”
    On my way out behind Gerald, I was wondering what she thought the funeral was going to do for her. Did she think she would stop mourning once the formalities were over? Did she think that once he was buried everything would be okay and she could take off her dark glasses?

– 12 –
    PAM had given me a few leads, a few names to start with. The wife, the mother, the cousin who was currently running the mill. The brother. A couple of old friends. Some political connections, including Richmond’s campaign manager, who would be in town for the funeral.
    By the time I’d finished with Marietta Richmond, it was nearly six o’clock. No one answered at the business numbers I had for the cousin and brother, or at the home number Marietta had given me for her older son. I did manage to reach one old friend— he hadn’t known Richmond was dead, and kept repeating, “Hanged? He was hanged?”— the campaign manager and one local political pal. I’d asked the old friend to meet me, but he declined, saying there was nothing he could possibly know about Joe Richmond hanging himself. When I explained that he might not exactly have hanged himself, the man was even more certain he had nothing to say. The campaign manager agreed to meet me for