Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder by Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon

The leaves on the ground crunched beneath their feet as they
walked toward their vehicles.
    Frisco turned and waved a hand at the apartment building. “You
know, even after being a cop for all these years, I still find it hard to
believe there were multiple homicides in there when it’s so beautiful out
here.”
    Jo nodded and lifted her face toward the sun, knowing in another
month or so, she’d be raising her face to snowflakes. “Hard to believe there is
any kind of violence in the world on a day like today.”
    The detective sighed. “Well, guess we’d best get back to it.” He
patted his jacket pocket. “Got the name and address of Wilson’s professor at
the university right here. Let’s start there.”
    He indicated his vehicle. “Why don’t I drive and you navigate. I’m
still finding my way around.”
    Once they were in the car, he fished out a slip of paper with the
information from his pocket and handed it to Jo. She glanced at the address and
commented, “Looks like a Crocus Hill address. Pricey real estate.”
    They arrived at Professor Michael Mazlo’s house several minutes
later. Frisco pulled in front along the curb and put the car in park. Jo looked
toward the mammoth red brick house, with an impeccably manicured front lawn.
    Frisco voiced her thoughts when he remarked, “Looks like the
professor does okay for himself.”
    Jo waited for Frisco to join her on the front stoop and then rang
the doorbell. An elegantly dressed woman answered almost immediately, as if she
had been waiting all day for them to arrive at her door.
    Her voice was low and slightly husky as she raised an eyebrow.
“May I help you?”
    Jo held up her badge. “My name is Special Agent Schwann with the
FBI and this is Detective Frisco, with the St. Paul PD. We’re here to speak to
Professor Michael Mazlo.”
    The woman arched her eyebrow. “My name is Candace Mazlo. May I ask
why you’d like to see my husband?”
    Frisco said, “We’re here to ask about one of his students. Is he
around?”
      The woman looked them both
up and down for a moment. As if deciding something, she finally stepped aside
to let them into the spacious foyer. “Of course. Let me get him for you.”
    They waited while the professor’s wife disappeared into a room off
to the right. A few moments later, a slight, be-speckled man she presumed to be
Michael Mazlo entered the foyer without his wife. He appeared to be in his
early fifties and his salt-and-pepper hair touched the collar of the green
tartan plaid shirt he was wearing.
    He squinted at them through artsy eyeglasses. “May I help you?”
    Frisco said, “Are you Michael Mazlo …   Professor Mazlo?”
    “Yes, well, I’m an adjunct professor, but yes, that’s me. What can
I do for you?”
    Jo raised an eyebrow. A house in this neighborhood meant that
either Mazlo had quite a lucrative job outside his meager adjunct professor
salary, or he came from money. She tucked away the thought for the moment.
After the introductions were made once again, Jo said, “We’re here to speak to
you about one of your students. Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”
    Mazlo’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Of course, of
course. Please, follow me.” He led them across the black-and-white marble tiled
floor of the foyer into a wood-paneled library. After they had settled into stiff
red leather chairs in front of a massive desk, Mazlo began, “So, I’m curious.
What kind of trouble could a student of mine be in to warrant the attention of
the FBI?”
    Frisco cleared his throat. He sidestepped the question and asked
one of his own. “We understand you are currently advising Rick Wilson on a
special project.”
    A frown line formed between the adjunct professor’s eyes. “Um,
yes.”
    The detective said, “And what sort of classes do you teach at the
U?”
    “Business. Look, what does that have to do with…”
    Jo asked the next question before he could finish. “Is it