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“Mitch Hauptmann? I’m Detective Josette Fournier and this is Detective Bob Arnett of the Oakhurst County State Police Detective Unit.” She emphasizedOakhurst County.
He started to speak, but a woman who must have been Frieda appeared next to him. Also white, blonde, and in her late forties, her muscularity was stringy despite the fact that she was far shorter, to the point of being almost petite.
“Oakhurst County?” she said.
“Correct. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”
Jo watched the wheels turning in her head.
“This is about that district attorney,” Frieda said scornfully. “Sandra something.”
Jo hid her surprise at the tone—she’d been expecting feigned sadness or pretend ignorance. “Sandra Ashville. That’s correct.”
“And if we say no?”
“Then we’ll have you brought in.”
A series of emotions flickered over Frieda’s face before she responded. “Fine, ask your questions.”
“May we come inside?” Jo asked.
“No way in hell I’m gonna let you in here to plant drugs or whatever you got on you.” Frieda stood straighter and braced her feet. “We’ve been harassed enough.”
Jo considered her approach, and decided she only really had one course open to her. “I’m here because two women are dead, both of whom your husband had a grudge against. I need to know where both of you were yesterday morning between six and eight, and this morning between seven and nine.”
“Who’s dead?” Frieda asked.
“You just said it yourself. Sandra Ashville. And Winnie Sakurai,” Arnett said.
One hand flew to Frieda’s hip and she spat out a laugh. “Sandra Ashville’sdead? I’m surprised it took so long.”
Despite the bold reaction, the fingers of Frieda’s other hand were plucking at the seam of her jeans, and Mitch’s eyes had widened. They were nervous—because they were guilty or because they were afraid of being falsely accused?
“Where were you this morning, and yesterday morning?” Arnett asked.
“I work over at the Atomic Raccoon, just off the pike,” Frieda said. “It takes an hour to close up the place and it’s a twenty-minute drive home, so I don’t get home ’til at least a little after three on Friday and Saturday nights. In bed by four, and then I slept ’til noon.”
Jo’s eyes flicked to Mitch. “And you?”
“I was working Saturday, starting at six. This morning I slept in.”
“Do you have anybody besides each other who can confirm that?”
“Nope.” Frieda’s eyes blazed.
“Where do you work?” Arnett asked Mitch.
“My brother and my cousin have construction companies, and I work wherever they need me to.”
“What’s the name and number of the one you were working with yesterday?”
Mitch jerked a phone out of his pants, tapped at it, then read off a name and number.
Jo turned back to Frieda, who was now gripping the seams of both legs. “One of the neighbors at your previous residence told us Sandra Ashville called the cops on you during a Fourth of July party?”
Frieda’s face came alive. “Who does that on the Fourth of fricken’ July? Yes, the music was loud. We were celebrating thebirth of our nation. I could see it if it had been like one in the morning. But it waseleven. Give me a break.”
“She didn’t come talk to you first?” Jo asked, putting on a veneer of incredulity.
