by C. M. Sutter
I looked at Renz. “Anything else you want to ask?”
He nodded. “Was anyone bothering Tamara here at work?”
“Not that I’ve ever noticed.” He looked down and shook his head. “I don’t know the details, only that she met with foul play, but it’s a real shame. Tamara was a stand-up lady through and through. From what I’ve heard, her folks are taking her death really hard.”
I gave Derrick one of my cards, then we thanked him and left. There was no reason to ask the employees the same questions the police had, and we were pretty sure Tamara’s murder had nothing to do with her.
“Want to head back and start digging into the mayor’s background?” Renz asked.
“Yep. I’m all for finding out whatever it is they’re keeping secret.”
Chapter 29
A smile spread across Evelyn’s face when the news anchor said that the mayor had canceled the press conference he had scheduled about his daughter. He would be taking time off to mourn, needed his privacy, and couldn’t address the public at that time.
“Jacob, it’s working.”
Evelyn’s husband took a seat next to her and caught the tail end of the segment. “Good. We want everyone to go through the same gut-wrenching sadness we did.”
“And they need to pay that horrific price because they participated in the cover-up. Let’s take a drive.”
“To where?”
“Silver Shores. I want to hear if people are talking about Amanda’s murder, and we need to know if her parents are suffering like we did.”
“But maybe they’ve temporarily closed the restaurant because of her death,” Jacob said.
“And that would be even better. Then we’d truly know they’re suffering. I’ll call and see if they’re open.” Evelyn looked up the number on her phone then pressed the call button. A prerecorded message came on saying that the restaurant was closed until the following weekend due to a family tragedy. Evelyn hung up and nodded. “Good. They’re in agony just like we were.”
Jacob walked to the desk where the laptop sat. “I’ll pull up the other names online and see if we can find any news. There has to be something for us to read that the media put together about the murders.”
“How long are we going to let them wallow in their misery?”
“Before we exact our own revenge on them?”
“Yes.”
“Poetic justice would be for each of them to die on the night before their loved one’s funeral. That, my lovely wife, would be the shocker of the year.”
Chapter 30
We had our work cut out for us. Michael Kent had been the mayor of Milwaukee since 2008 and was dug in deep. He had a lot of personal and political clout, and the chances of us learning the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of his life were great. Because any city issues that arose during his years in office were public information, news archives would have a record of them, and the media would have been sure to create a buzz. Private matters would be more difficult to uncover. Personal dirt about public officials was usually swept under the proverbial rug.
As we were about to pass Taft’s office, Renz and I stopped in to give her a quick update. We told Maureen that we’d spoken with Derrick Hunt, who had been the second in charge on the evening shift at Dalia’s but was taking Tamara’s place.
I repeated what Derrick had said. “He told us that Tamara was worried, not for her own welfare but for her mother and father’s. She had mentioned how stressed her mom was about her dad, but she didn’t tell Derrick if the problems were personal or political.”
“Interesting. Okay, what’s your next step?”
Renz took over. “We’re heading back to our office to begin looking into Michael Kent’s background to see if there’s ever been grievances filed against him and, if so, by whom. Political issues would be news fodder and publicized, but if there were personal improprieties, they may be harder to dig up. There’s always the chance that he’s being blackmailed, and maybe that’s why Marie is stressed. The other murders are connected, and as soon as we figure out how, we’ll be able to follow the bread crumbs to the root cause.”
“Good. We need to nip this in the bud and fast. The mayor has his own security detail and lives in a walled and gated compound, but as far as the families of the other victims are concerned, and because we don’t know the connection yet, they’re kind of on their own.”
I had to agree, although people generally took extra precautions when tragic events affected their lives.
Renz and I settled in at our desks and got busy reviewing archived newspaper and internet articles. We wrote down the names of anyone who came up as having a beef with the city administration or the mayor.
After an hour of digging, I stood, stretched, and grabbed a couple of bucks out of my purse. “Want a soda?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Renz looked at me and tapped his pen against his desk as if it helped him think.
“For God’s sake, just say what’s on your mind.”
“This doesn’t feel right.”
I sat back down. “In what way?”
“We aren’t going to find the connection like this. That’s telling me this isn’t a political matter because the victims didn’t have a political connection to the mayor.”
“Right, but someone in their six degrees might have.”
“Let’s wait for everyone to get back with their results. We’ve already spent an hour that I think was a waste of time.”
“So in the meantime?”
Renz’s phone rang, and he raised his hand. “Hold that thought.” He lifted the receiver from the base and answered the call. “DeLeon speaking. Yeah, we’re on our way.”
“What’s going on? Something good, I hope.”
“Not sure, but Taft wants us back in her office right away.”
We charged down the hall to our boss’s office, and she waved us in before Renz had a chance to knock.
“What’s up, Boss?”
“You two spent more time with Erik Smalley than anyone else, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“Okay. I was just sent this grainy video from District Six, and it shows somebody leaving the alley in the time frame of Brandon’s murder. What I need to know, since the footage is from a half block away, is if you think that person is Erik Smalley.” She waved us to her side of the desk. “Give it careful consideration and don’t say yes just because it would fit the narrative. Take your time.”
Renz scooted the roller chairs closer, and Taft moved out of our way. We had seen Erik on the bank’s video and had watched it numerous times. The man leaving the alley wore a windbreaker like Erik did on Saturday, and his hair was black like Erik’s. I studied his mannerisms and gait. He looked down as he walked and had a long stride.
I voiced my opinion. “I think it’s him.”
Taft looked at Renz. “Lorenzo?”
“I agree. That search warrant is still good on Erik’s apartment and belongings, right?”
Taft said that it was.
“But nothing of importance was found there,” I said.
Renz palmed his forehead. “If you recall, Erik didn’t seem all that nervous when I said our agents were already going through his apartment. That’s because if he was the shooter, he’d already offloaded the gun. The only evidence was that windbreaker he grabbed when we hauled him in for questioning. His smug self thought we wouldn’t find a video of him leaving the alley that showed he had on the same jacket he wore Saturday. The agents searched the duplex and found nothing because their focus was on the gun. We should have ripped that jacket off Erik’s body during his interview and had it tested for GSR, but we were only thinking of the gun. If we’re going to prove that Erik is the shooter, then we need that jacket.”
I groaned. “If it’s not too late. He may have washed it already.”
“Or maybe not. Narcissistic people who think they’re smarter than the cops tend to let their guard down. We need to pay him another visit a
nd grab that jacket.”
Taft jerked her head toward the door. “Go ahead and do it now.”
We returned to Erik’s West Allis apartment and banged on the door. We knew somebody was there since the lights were on and sounds were coming from inside. They likely thought we’d just go away if they didn’t answer.
Renz pounded harder the second time and yelled Erik’s name. We were ignored.
“Looks like the door is going down.”
“I’ll give them one more chance, and then I’m kicking it in.” Renz yelled that we still had a warrant and if somebody didn’t open the door immediately, it would be kicked down. A grin spread across his face when we heard footsteps running down the stairs.
“All right, already. Damn cops just don’t stop, do you?”
We pushed our way past Cole, the other roommate, as he opened the door. “We aren’t cops, and where is Erik?”
“He isn’t here.”
Renz and I continued up the stairs then searched every room. Cole was right—Erik wasn’t there.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
Cole shrugged. “Who knows? I’m not his mommy.”
I glared at him. “That’s the best you’ve got? Which room is Erik’s?”
The kid tipped his head to the right. “The messiest one—over there.”
I walked in, looked around, and saw the windbreaker lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I pulled my phone from my pocket, took several pictures of the jacket, then slipped on my gloves and picked it up. I took several more pictures, gave it a once-over, and walked out of the room with it. I handed my phone to Renz and stood next to Cole with the jacket held up. “Take a few more pictures, Renz, so nobody can deny this jacket came from this residence.”
“Smart thinking, Jade.” Renz took the pictures with Cole in the frame. “Okay, we have what we came for. Let’s go.”
Before returning to our headquarters, we dropped off the jacket at the county crime lab and told them we needed it tested for GSR as soon as possible. Hal said he would call with the results in a few hours. Time was of the essence, and if any residue remained on the jacket after a full day, it would be tiny particles, but between that and the alley video, we would have all we needed to arrest Erik Smalley for murder.
Chapter 31
I knew we were in for a long night and couldn’t imagine getting home before ten o’clock. The time didn’t matter. I was excited to learn what the other agents had found out after pressing the people they’d interviewed earlier about possible connections to the mayor.
We gathered around the conference room table. Taft tipped her head at Kyle, likely because he and Charlotte were to her left.
Charlotte nodded to her partner. “Go ahead, Kyle. You can start the ball rolling.”
“Sure.” He let out a puff of air and began. “We interviewed Pete Lawrence’s widow again and asked more about the twin, Paul, since he was too distraught to speak with us earlier. She gave us details about his profession and said that he wasn’t an ordinary bartender but one of those charismatic types who excelled at flamboyant tricks with drinks, glasses, and bottles.”
I frowned. “That’s a thing? Like in that eighties movie?”
“I guess so, but here’s the real kicker. Paul Lawrence is a freelance bartender and works a lot of fundraising and charity events. Those types of events would be something the mayor would obviously attend.”
Taft wrote that down. “That’s interesting. Okay, so what have you got, Carl?”
“After speaking with Sheila Kam’s daughter for the second time, we learned that she goes by her maiden name, Rebecca Kam. Her high-profile-attorney husband is Douglas Blake.”
Taft nodded. “I’ve heard the name.”
“Right. It took a lot of digging into the archives, but we found out that he’s the mayor’s personal attorney. He’s represented Michael Kent through the years with estate taxes, wills, settlements, benefactors, endowments, and the like, especially when his grandparents and more recently his own parents passed. Some disgruntled cousin contested Michael’s father’s will, saying that his own father, Michael’s brother, Ted, who had squandered his inheritance from the grandparents, deserved more money.”
“So there was bad blood between an uncle, a cousin, and Michael?” I asked.
“Possibly, and we can check for alibis, but that’s a solid connection leading directly to the mayor.”
It certainly is,” Taft said. “Tommy and Fay, did you learn anything new from Amanda’s parents?”
“They own Silver Shores Resort, and since we’ve now learned that Paul Lawrence freelances his bartending services, that could be a connection. We already know from their website that Silver Shores hosts banquets and charity events on a regular basis. We’ll make the call and ask if they’ve ever hired Paul Lawrence and if the mayor had ever attended an event there when Mr. Lawrence bartended.”
My enthusiasm was building. “We’re definitely getting somewhere.”
“What about George Patrick? Was there more information brought to light about him?”
Charlotte took her turn. “We spoke with most of his neighbors earlier except the person who lived right next door on his left. Nobody answered our knock when we were there before. When we returned a few hours ago, we saw a car in the driveway, so we went to the door. A midforties looking woman answered. We told her who we were and said we’d been there earlier but nobody was home. She introduced herself as Julie Beckett and told us she had just gotten home from work. After inviting us in, she talked about George, and from the look on her face, it was obvious that she cared deeply for him. She said she’d lived in her home for thirteen years, and George was not only her go-to guy who fixed everything for her but her dearest friend. She said life would never be the same without him, and if there hadn’t been a crisis that forced her to be at her workplace, she would have taken a few days off.”
Kyle took over. “That’s when I asked her where she worked, and she said city hall. I’m sure our hearts skipped a beat when she said that, and then I pressed harder by asking her in what capacity.” Kyle looked at each of us. “Ready for this?”
I swatted the air. “Well, yeah. Let’s hear it.”
“She’s the mayor’s personal assistant.”
That was the first time I’d ever heard Taft curse. We all stared silently at her and waited. It took a few seconds, then she glanced at the wall clock. “When are we going to get the GSR results?”
“We were told it’ll take a few hours, Maureen,” Renz said. “Meanwhile, we can put those puzzle pieces together like we talked about.”
We hadn’t mentioned seeing the bottle of bourbon on the mayor’s library desk at ten that morning or when we’d returned a few hours later and he was three sheets to the wind. People coped with tragedy and mourned in different ways, and I assumed the drinking was his way to numb the pain or possibly the guilt. I couldn’t fault him since I didn’t know the man personally and had no idea if his wife, closest friends, and workmates were covering up for him drinking too much.
Renz began the puzzle. “Okay, we have Silver Shores Resort that hosts charity functions and fundraising events. The daughter of owners Roger and Tina Kennedy, Amanda, was murdered. They possibly hired Paul Lawrence to bartend there on a night that hosted an event the mayor might have been at. Both very possible scenarios, and we can easily find out that information with a phone call. Paul’s brother, Pete, was murdered. Then we have Douglas Blake, the personal attorney for the mayor, and his mother-in-law, Sheila Kam, was murdered. Finally, there’s Julie Beckett, who happens to be the mayor’s personal assistant, and George Patrick, a factory foreman, her neighbor, and best friend, was murdered. To me, it sounds like the killers want to inflict pain on the mayor and the people affiliated with him.”
“And once we find out the why, we’ll also know the who,” I said as I gave Renz a slight head tip.
“I saw that,” Tommy said. “What gives?”
I groa
ned. “We did notice a bottle of bourbon on the mayor’s desk this morning, and then when we went back to question him later, he was completely incoherent. We didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him at all, and the wife was less than inviting and asked us to leave. She said if we wanted to speak to her husband again, we’d have to give them a twenty-four hour notice.”
“That seems more than telling,” Taft said. She turned to Tommy. “Pull up the mayor’s name on the county arrest database. See if he’s ever been hauled in for public intoxication, public disturbances, speeding, drunk driving or driving recklessly, and so on. Run the gamut on him.”
“Roger that.”
“Meanwhile, have the BOLOs hit on any of the missing vehicles?” Fay asked.
Maureen said two more cars had been located at homes of known felons. “I imagine the cars were abandoned with the keys inside and it didn’t take long for opportunistic crooks to lay claim to them. Those cars have been taken to the crime lab’s garage and will be gone over from top to bottom. That leaves two more cars to track down, yet as slow as it seems, we are making progress.”
When my phone buzzed on the table, everyone looked my way. “That has to be the crime lab with the GSR results,” I said.
Taft jerked her chin toward me. “Put it on Speaker.”
I answered my phone then tapped the speaker icon. “Agent Monroe here.”
“Agent Monroe, it’s Hal from the crime lab. We have the results on the GSR.”
“Yes, and?”
“We found traces, slight ones, but traces nonetheless.”
I fist-pumped the air, and Taft took over.
“Hal, it’s Supervisory Special Agent Taft speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is there enough GSR present to make an arrest? No question?”
“No question, ma’am. If there isn’t a logical explanation for GSR to be on the sleeves of that jacket, then an arrest is definitely in order.”
“Thanks, Hal. We’ll need that jacket secured and the report sent over to Agent Monroe’s email immediately. Great work.”
