[Marc Kadella 04.0] Certain Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  The Christmas Holidays passed; December turned into January and gradually life went back to normal. There was only so much the police could do and the feds were not very cooperative. No charges were pending against Howie Traynor and after a while the search for him took on a low priority for everyone.

  A week after New Year’s Craig Slocum resigned. He had deluded himself into believing he could ride out the storm and keep his job. A visit to the Governor’s Mansion in St. Paul and a stern warning from Governor Dahlstrom dispelled that idea. Even though Dahlstrom was a Republican, he let Slocum, a nominal Democrat, know the Democrats wanted him gone ASAP. The next day, Slocum emptied his office. Besides, he was looking at spending the next year trying to keep his attorney license. A fight he would eventually lose.

  The governor appointed an interim county attorney, a woman from the state attorney general’s office. An election was scheduled for early May to fill the office for the remainder of Slocum’s term. Steve Gondeck considered running then decided he wasn’t a politician and declined. The woman appointed as interim county attorney would win the job which almost caused a mutiny among the staff and lawyers. She was turning out to be at least as bad as Craig Slocum.

  By mid-January Marc Kadella stopped carrying a gun, at least not every day. His son, daughter and ex-wife were home and back to normal. Margaret Tennant was no longer being guarded by sheriff’s deputies and the world was still turning. Gradually, even in Minnesota, winter turned to spring and Howie Traynor would fade from memory and people believing he was gone was no longer a source of significant concern.

  SIXTY-THREE

  June

  Madeline Rivers and her date were finishing their meal. Gabriella Shriqui had convinced Maddy to try her luck on a couple of dating sites. Gabriella had met someone whom she claimed was a really good guy and between them, things were going quite well. Maddy had no way of knowing that Gabriella, at this very moment, was entertaining second thoughts about online dating and the “really good guy” was now history because he had been seeing at least three other women.

  This was Maddy’s fourth first date with men she had met online. So far the results were not encouraging. Gary Something, she couldn’t remember his last name, was this evening’s first and last date. It seemed to be going well until a moment ago when he slipped up and mentioned a wife.

  “You’re married? Your profile said you were single,” Maddy said leaning forward and staring straight at him.

  “Well, ah, yeah. Sort of technically married,” he stammered. “We’re, ah, separated. Probably getting divorced.”

  His use of the word “probably” caused an alarm to go off in her head. A thought occurred to Maddy and she asked, “Where are you living?”

  “Um, ah, just temporarily, with my parents,” he admitted.

  “Why are you separated?” her curiosity getting the better of her, Maddy had to ask.

  “Because my wife’s an unreasonable bitch!”

  “In other words, she caught you cheating and threw you out.”

  “I, ah, wouldn’t put it that way,” he said avoiding Maddy’s piercing eyes.

  “No, but I’ll bet she would. So, you cheated on your wife and now you’re living with your mom,” Maddy said still glaring at the man. “You do realize you a have a giant ‘L’ for loser stamped on your forehead, don’t you?”

  “Hey, you don’t talk to me like that bitch,” he snarled as he reached across the table with his right hand. It was a big mistake.

  Maddy calmly grabbed his hand with her left, bent it back and twisted his arm in a direction it was not meant to go. She then applied just enough downward pressure to cause his elbow to almost snap eliciting a sharp yelp from him.

  “Don’t try to touch me again,” she said with a soft voice and nasty look. “Oh, and you get the check.”

  “Hey, goddamnit,” Gary whined. “That hurt. And ah, look um, I was hoping you would, you know, help out with the bill, first date and all.”

  Maddy was on her feet preparing to leave when he said this. She bent over the table and said, “Wash dishes, asshole. Be thankful I don’t find a good lawyer for your wife. I know a great one.”

  By this time the customers of several tables in the area were watching this little drama. Maddy turned to leave and saw them looking at her. “Just a little disagreement about the bill, folks. It’s all settled now,” she said smiling and walked away.

  Maddy was at a restaurant called Trapper Jack’s on the 494 strip in Bloomington, a decent place for a first date. Not too expensive and the food was good. It also had a patio area and on a pleasant early summer Saturday night like this one, every table on it was full.

  Maddy walked through the dining area, virtually everyone there watching her. When she was twenty feet from the front door, she turned toward the bar area. Every man there was looking at the tall, slender beauty that she is including a man with whom she made brief eye contact. Angry and in a hurry to leave, the man’s face did not register right away. Maddy took two or three more steps and then realized who it was she believed she had just seen.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, turned back toward the bar in time to see the man reach the patio door. He hesitated before going out, looked back at her for an instant then casually went outside.

  Maddy immediately hurried after him and as she did, she reached in the purse she had draped over her shoulder. She wrapped her hand around the reassuring butt of the Ladysmith 9 mm handgun in her purse as she went through the same door to the patio searching for the man.

  She stood in the doorway and looked over the crowd. Not finding him, she asked a table filled with people next to the door if they had seen him. None of them had noticed anyone and after a couple more minutes, she gave up looking over the crowd. Maddy went back inside and despite the noise, took out her phone and made a call.

  “What’s up, kid? Saturday night shouldn’t you be on a date somewhere?” she heard Tony Carvelli say.

  “I was. Listen, I’m not sure but I think I just saw Howie Traynor.” Maddy went on to tell him what she had seen and done and where she was.

  “Stay inside. Do not, repeat, do not go out there after him. You know what he’s like. He could be waiting for you. Wait right there. I’ll have the Bloomington cops there in five minutes and I’ll be there in ten myself.”

  “Okay,” Maddy said.

  “Do not go after him, Madeline,” he repeated. “I know what you’re like. Don’t do it.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” an obviously annoyed Maddy said. “I’ll be at the bar with one hand on my gun.”

  “Good,” Tony replied. “Wait right there.”

  Carvelli was a little optimistic about the timing. It took ten minutes for the Bloomington cops to get there. When they did, six squad cars came roaring into the restaurant’s parking lot, all with lights flashing. The restaurant patrons all believed they were caught up in some type of raid.

  Maddy went out to greet them and before she could, Carvelli pulled into the parking lot and drove up to the front door where she was standing. While the patrol officers spread out through the parking lot, a BPD lieutenant joined Carvelli and Maddy at Tony’s car.

  “Hey, Mike,” Carvelli said to the lieutenant. “This is Madeline Rivers. She’s a P.I. friend of mine. She’s the one who called.”

  “So, you think you might’ve seen this Traynor guy?” the lieutenant asked. Every cop in the Metro area still remembered who Howie Traynor was.

  “Maybe,” Maddy said. “It was just a glimpse of him then he was gone. Sorry, but I can’t be more positive than that.”

  “It’s okay,” Tony said. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Another car with emergency lights flashing pulled into the parking lot. It was an unmarked sedan with Owen Jefferson at the wheel. He spotted the trio waiting by Carvelli’s Camaro and drove over to them.

  Madeline repeated her story for Jefferson including her most recent date from Hell. The Bloomington cops spent a half hour
searching the parking lot, using flashlights to look into and even under every car. All the while the restaurant patrons watched wondering what was going on.

  Satisfied, the cops gradually began to go back to their normal patrol duties. Finally, Maddy, Tony and Owen Jefferson were the only ones left.

  “I wish I could’ve seen him better. It might not have even been him,” Maddy said.

  “It’s okay,” Jefferson said.

  “Now that I think about it,” Maddy continued. “I’ve had this weird feeling I was being followed for the past couple days. Did you call Marc?” she asked Tony.

  “Yeah, I did. I told him about your call. He asked me to call him back with any news. He’s at Margaret’s house. They’re fine.”

  “I don’t know what else we can do tonight,” Jefferson said. “You be careful,” he told Maddy.

  “And sleep with a gun tonight,” Tony added.

  Pavel Gorecki shuffled along the street in Northeast Minneapolis toward his destination, St. Andrew’s Catholic Church. Pavel was 78, a retired railroad worker and a volunteer custodian at St. Andrews. A devout Catholic, he lived for his duties at the Church. His wife of almost fifty years passed six years ago and there was little else left in his life.

  This Sunday morning for Pavel was the same as all Sundays. He hurried along as best as his weary, old legs could carry him. Pavel liked arriving early at the church to spend some quiet time communing with the Lord without the intervention of a priest. He would then go up and down the aisles and pews to make sure they were neat, tidy and ready for the 7:00 A.M. Mass.

  Pavel took his normal seat in the pew farthest from the altar. The church was dimly lit and at first, he noticed nothing usual. Then as he knelt to pray, he looked up at the altar and noticed something out of the ordinary. Because of the weak lighting and his fading old eyes, he could not make out what it was. Something up there was amiss and his curiosity got the better of him.

  Pavel stood and made his way up the center aisle. He got within thirty feet of the object that had caught his attention before realizing what it was. The old man gasped, slapped his hands to his face, turned and hurried back down the center aisle, horrified, stumbling and gasping to get to a phone.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Owen Jefferson’s cell phone rang awakening both him and his wife. Because of his status in homicide, these calls were not unusual, especially on a Sunday morning which naturally followed Saturday nights with its usual assortment of violent stupidity.

  “Yeah, Jefferson,” he croaked then cleared his throat.

  “Owen, it’s Dan Fielding. I’m at St. Andrews in Northeast. You’ll want to get down here. I think your boy is back. It’s the priest…”

  “Father Brinkley,” Jefferson said. “Shit. Is he posed?”

  “Yeah, just like Jimmy Oliver and the others,” Fielding said. It was Sgt. Dan Fielding who was first on the scene when Jimmy Oliver was found in the alley behind Tooley’s. “You know where St. Andrews is?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there,” Jefferson said.

  “I got CSU and the M.E. on the way.”

  “Okay, Dan. I’ll be along.”

  After Jefferson ended the call his wife, Clarice asked, “What?”

  “Howie Traynor’s back. Maddy Rivers, a P.I. friend of Tony Carvelli, saw him last night or, at least thinks she did. Now we got another victim, Traynor’s priest over at St. Andrews.”

  Jefferson took his time getting to the crime scene. The first thing he did was call Marcie Sterling and Tony Carvelli. He awakened both of them but figured if he could get an early call, why not share the misery?

  By the time Jefferson arrived at the church, Marcie was already inside. Jefferson went in and found Marcie, an assistant M.E. and the CSU team at the front of the church.

  Marcie was bent down in front of the body watching while the M.E. examined it. Jefferson stood back, hands in his pants’ pockets as he surveyed the scene.

  Father John was sitting on the floor, his head slumped forward, his cassock covered in blood. His back was against the oak altar, his arms spread and hands nailed to the wood. He had a barbed wire crown and even from this distance, Jefferson could tell his fingers were crushed, his feet were bare and his toes had been similarly mangled.

  Marcie noticed her partner watching. She stood up, stepped back to him and said, “Traynor’s back or we’ve got a copycat.”

  “It’s him,” Jefferson said. He then explained what had happened the night before.

  “Why didn’t you call me last night?” Marcie asked.

  “Because I figured you were with Jeff Miller and I didn’t want to bother you,” he said.

  “What makes you think I was with Jeff Miller?” she asked a little too defensively.

  “You didn’t think I knew?”

  “No, maybe, I don’t know. Oh shit, who else knows?”

  “Well let’s see,” Jefferson began. “There’s me and pretty much the entire police department.”

  A uniformed officer tapped Jefferson on the shoulder and told him Tony Carvelli was outside.

  Jefferson and Marcie hurried down the aisle toward the front door. While they walked, Marcie whispered, “How long have you known?”

  “Since day one. I’m a cop, remember? Relax, you’re an adult, he’s more or less an adult, you’re entitled. It’s okay. Besides, word is he’s really hung,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh shut up!” she said as she slapped him on the shoulder. They walked a few more steps and just before they reached the door she said, “Besides, it’s not true but he’ll do.”

  Carvelli was standing on the concrete steps leading up to the front door of the church. Jefferson looked around and saw at least two hundred people watching from across the street. It was a little after 7:00 and most of the crowd were parishioners who were there for the 7:00 A.M. Mass. Word of Father John’s murder had leaked and quickly spread. Jefferson stopped on the top step and saw a couple of media vans pull up a block away.

  “So much for keeping a lid on this,” he muttered.

  The two MPD detectives joined Carvelli who was sipping a large Caribou coffee, looking as dapper as ever.

  “Is it our boy?” Carvelli asked.

  “Looks like it,” Jefferson answered. “Did you call Maddy Rivers and Marc Kadella?”

  “Yeah, I did, had the pleasure of waking them both up. They’re fine. I’ll call them back when we’re done here. Can I get in to take a look?”

  “Sure, come on,” Jefferson said.

  Jefferson and Marcie spent the morning notifying every police department in the Metro area. The local media was all over the story and all over the MPD looking for information. The public relations office issued denials and warnings that it was too early to tell if the Crown of Thornes Killer was back. Ignoring the denials the media ran with the story that it was the Crown of Thornes Killer. By the end of the day, every judge and a number of prosecutors were clamoring for police protection.

  Because the police had done a good job of keeping Howie Traynor’s name out of it, he was not named as a suspect. A couple of media people specifically asked the MPD about him but received firm denials.

  By the end of the day, an exhausted Owen Jefferson was happy to be home.

  While all of this was taking place, Howie Traynor was smugly watching the TV news from his motel room in Hudson, Wisconsin. Hudson is a small city on the St. Croix River. The river serves as a border between the two states and is barely twenty miles east of St. Paul. Howie could be back in Minneapolis in less than an hour.

  Melinda Pace hurried down the front steps of the Lutheran church. She was in a hurry to get away from the AA meeting and a small crowd of people in the evening’s group gathering in front along the sidewalk. Melinda went along with this farce to satisfy the station’s higher-ups but she really did not buy into it. The other people who attended she considered to be nothing but whining, simpering, pathetic losers and drunks with whom she had nothing in common. For their part, Mel
inda was a huge celebrity who was one of them and was so much nicer than her reputation portrayed.

  Playing her role, Melinda smiled and politely nodded at several of them as she walked toward the street. Most of them were smoking and Melinda also lit up while she walked.

  Following her normal routine, she was parked on the street of the next block away from the church where the meetings were held. She was in a spot where none of the others would be so they would not want to walk along with her. Plus, she could make a quick getaway.

  Listening to the heels of her shoes clicking on the concrete sidewalk, all Melinda could think about was the silver flask filled with vodka in the car. She had arrived for the meeting before dark and the street lights were not turned on. Because she was thinking about her flask of vodka she failed to notice the streetlight next to her car was out.

  Three feet from the driver’s door Melinda hit the unlock button on her key fob. She reached for the door and Howie hit her in the ribs with his Taser. Melinda hit the asphalt face first and hard, immobilized and bewildered but still conscious. Before she even began to comprehend what was happening her mouth was taped shut, her hands tied together and she was in the trunk of a car.

  Howie Traynor, one hand on the trunk lid, tossed her purse in with her. A terrified Melinda Pace stared up at him, conscious, immobilized and finally comprehending the fate that awaited her.

  “Hello, Melinda,” Howie said grinning down at her. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Howie quietly closed the trunk lid and took a quick look around to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied he drove off down the dark, tree-lined street.

  “Who found her?” Jefferson asked a uniformed MPD cop.

  “A groundskeeper. He was out checking the course just before 6:00,” the man answered.

  Jefferson, the officer and Marcie Sterling were standing in the rough along the eleventh hole of the Columbia Golf Course. Melinda Pace was nailed to two small trees in an all too familiar pose. A CSU tech and an M.E., Clyde Marston, were examining the body. The entire area surrounding the scene had been roped off with yellow crime scene tape. A half dozen CSU people were searching for evidence while another dozen cops were milling about. A vehicle from the medical examiner’s office was parked on the fairway nearby waiting to transport the body. Two CSU vehicles were there but everyone else had ridden in on golf carts. Jefferson turned at the sound of one approaching and saw the chief of police himself being driven toward them.