Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6)

by Linsey Lanier

So Morgan was not Mackenzie’s father. And he hadn’t sent Miranda those texts. He had been here in jail when they appeared on her phone. Parker’s traces would have found this source right away.

  This search for sexual offenders in Chicago was getting him nowhere. What was he to do now? Go back to Demarco and get another five names? It seemed like an exercise in sheer futility.

  He thought a moment. An old prison could hold all sorts of information. “Do you have records going back fifteen years ago?” he asked the director. “I mean, internal records?”

  The white haired man blinked in surprise. “Only physical ones. They’d be in the archives.”

  Just as he thought. “I’d like to look at them. With your permission, of course.”

  There was hesitation and Parker saw doubt in the director’s eyes.

  He thought of what Miranda had told him last night. Adam Tannenburg had been brought in for questioning regarding the Sutherland case. No doubt, he’d been taken here. Perhaps he could find a clue to Tannenburg’s whereabouts.

  “I’m also working a cold case for Sergeant Demarco. We have a suspect that seems to be a person of interest. He was brought in for questioning just a few months before the assault case.”

  “The rape case in Lawnfield Heights you’re looking into.”

  “Yes.” Parker had kept the details clinical. “I’d like to check your records during the timeframe of the cold case. I’m sure the Sergeant would appreciate it.” And he could search for more men who fit his profile in reports that weren’t available online.

  The director sat back in his chair with a half smile. He knew he was being played, but he seemed understanding. “For Demarco, anything. I mentored him when he first joined the force.”

  Parker met Novak’s grin with his own. “So he told me. He spoke very highly of you.” That much was true.

  A twinkle in his eye at Parker’s too obvious flattery, the director called the captain again. After a moment or two of instruction, once again the officer escorted him down a labyrinth of passages to a large, dank smelling room the size of a small concert hall.

  The light wasn’t good in the room but he could see the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with dozen of shelves holding hundreds of dusty bound volumes.

  “These were all supposed to have been scanned by now,” the captain grumbled. “But you know how government funding is.”

  “Yes, I do.” The mundane day-to-day details of the prisoners were low priority.

  Parker moved over to one of the tables in the middle of the room and set down his briefcase. He gazed up at the thick rows in front of him. “Can you show me where I can find records from fifteen years ago?”

  ###

  Two hours later Parker was still paging through the records, making notes on his laptop as he went.

  He sat back and ran his hands through his hair.

  These records gave him more detail than the public information. Prisoners’ height, weight, health status, meal and recreation schedule, visits from family members. He now had an additional ten names of dark-haired men brought in on sexual assault charges who had lived in or around the area of Lawnfield Heights.

  Would any of them be the man he was looking for?

  There wouldn’t be time to run them all down during this visit, unless the Sutherland case dragged on for another week or two. He couldn’t let that happen. They had an anniversary party to attend. And he had a task to complete, as distasteful as it was.

  He would wine and dine his wife, make love to her throughout the weekend.

  And then when the time was right, he would gently break the news to her. Parker and Steele Consulting was over.

  He could imagine her reaction. She would be crushed. Angry. Livid. She would storm around the house cursing the day he was born, no doubt. He didn’t want to deal with the vision at the moment.

  He glanced at his screen. As for these suspects? He might send someone else here to spend a few weeks tracking them down. Someone who could handle the sensitive information about Miranda’s past. Dave Becker, perhaps. He was a trusted friend as well as a valued employee. Or Detective Hank Judd who’d been with him from nearly the beginning.

  Well, he had better make good on the excuse he’d given the director about Adam Tannenburg. As for Miranda, he’d tell her he had interviewed an officer at the prison who was interested in training at the Agency and had decided to check on what Detective Templeton had found yesterday.

  He reached for the heavy book he’d been perusing.

  He’d been working backward from early May through April and February of the year Miranda had been attacked. It was a reasonable assumption someone with that sort of inclination would strike again soon after one success. December eighteenth, the date of the Sutherland fire, would be several weeks before.

  He turned back another page—and stopped.

  He ran his hand over it, double-checked the date. Double-checked the name.

  It was Adam Tannenburg.

  The young man had been brought in on February first—a month and a half after the Sutherland case. That wasn’t right. Miranda had specifically said Tannenburg was brought in the day after the fire. And released right away.

  There was no other information on the sheet. The interview transcript Detective Templeton had obtained yesterday would be kept in another department of the prison. A department whose records had been scanned.

  Parker turned the page again to see if the record was continued there. Suddenly he felt as if his chest had been struck by a sharp blazing thunderbolt from the sky.

  There was only one line for Tannenburg. A visit with the date and time.

  Parker pressed his palm to his forehead. His jaw clenched. His gut turned into a hard fist. His blood pressure climbed, fueled by the fire of deep-seated rage. Had he inhaled some hallucinogenic substance in this foul air? Was he so obsessed with finding the man who had attacked his wife he was seeing things?

  Once again he ran his fingers over the letters. They were clear. They were real. There was no denying them.

  Adam Tannenburg’s visitor had been Leon Groth.

  Chapter Forty

  His blood still boiling in his veins, his mind still spinning with shock Parker followed the captain back to Director Novak’s office.

  “What is it, Mr. Parker?” Novak said as Parker sank into the guest chair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “In a manner of speaking I have.”

  The director gave him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about grimace.

  Parker explained, as discreetly as he could, Miranda’s marriage to the cop who routinely beat her, who sent her out to get ice cream on that February night fifteen years ago. Then he told the director the details of the Sutherland case he’d left out before.

  “Adam Tannenburg was brought in for questioning the night after the fire,” Parker said. “What was he doing here a month and a half later?”

  The director’s face betrayed no emotion. “Didn’t the record state what he was brought in for the second time?”

  “All it had was Groth’s name as a visitor.” Parker sat forward, put his head in his hands. “Why would Leon Groth come to see Adam Tannenburg?”

  The two men were silent for a long moment, straining to answer the unanswerable question.

  “Is there anyone here who was on guard at the time?” Parker asked finally.

  The director sat back, rocked in his chair staring at a painting on the wall of a peaceful green forest. He looked as if he wished he were there. “Fifteen years ago…Most everyone on the staff would be gone by now.”

  Parker knew there was always a good turnover rate in a correctional facility. For staff as well as prisoners. The likelihood of finding someone who knew about Groth’s visit was infinitesimally small.

  “Tannenburg was in Division One,” he added flatly. Just as Morgan was now.

  The director tapped his fingers against his lips. “Division One. Division One.” He had a low, g
ravelly voice of someone who had shouted commands most of his career.

  Suddenly he sat up. “Ah. Of course. Wolak.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Novak smiled wistfully. “Good old Felix Wolak. He was a buddy of mine. Worked down there for years.”

  Parker tensed at the director’s use of past tense. “Where is Wolak now?”

  “Retired three years ago, the lucky sonofabitch. He’s in Florida now. A place called Jupiter. He went there for the fishing. Man loves to fish.”

  A retired corrections officer who might have been on duty when Groth visited Tannenburg. It was another straw to grasp. But it was better than the fistful of nothing he had right now.

  “Do you know how I might contact him?” Parker asked.

  “Contact him?” The director wrinkled his face. “Let’s see. We exchange Christmas cards every year. Wolak always sends me pictures of himself out on his boat. I send him one of me shoveling snow. Ha.”

  Parker forced a smile. “Do you have an address? A phone number?”

  “Let’s see.” The director took out his cell phone and paged through his contacts. “No, doesn’t look like I have it. My wife might. Wait.” He held up a finger. “Personnel records.” He turned to his keyboard and began looking up data.

  Parker listened to the tempo of his fingers, his gut twisting first with hope then with despair while the man hissed and grunted at the program he was working with.

  “What time did you say that visit from Groth was?”

  That detail had been in the record. “10 PM.”

  Novak gave a gruff nod. “Wolak was working swing shift then.” Apparently work schedules back then had been done online.

  Parker’s hopes rose again.

  “Ah. You’re in luck. There’s a contact number listed. Let me see if I can reach him.” He dialed the number, put the phone on speaker and laid it on the desk.

  After an inordinate number of rings, a female voice picked up.

  “Hello?” Her voice had a touch of a southern accent.

  The director broke out in a grin. “Emily? Is that you?”

  “Steve?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Well, it’s been forever. So good to hear from you. How are you?”

  “Good. And you?”

  “Can’t complain. How’s Fran?”

  “Fine, fine,” the director chuckled. “Doesn’t quite know what to do with herself now that Donna’s gone off to UCLA.”

  The woman on the other end uttered an empathic groan. “Tell me about it.”

  Parker resisted the urge to clear his throat.

  The director seemed to pick up on his anxiety. “Look, Emily. Is Felix around?”

  “Felix? Oh, no. He’s out fishing as usual. He has his own boat, you know.” She laughed softly as if she were glad her husband was enjoying himself and she could have a little time to herself.

  Novak chuckled in response. “How could I not with the pictures he sent me last Christmas? Even named it after you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.” She didn’t sound as excited about that as Felix must have been.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Not until this evening.”

  The director’s mouth tightened. “Does he have a cell phone on him?”

  “He does. But it doesn’t get very good reception out on the ocean. Why? Is anything wrong?”

  The director cleared his throat. “Emily, I have a private detective in my office who’s working a cold case Felix may know something about.”

  “Oh. Well, I can try to call him.”

  “That would be great.”

  “I’ll call you back in few minutes.” She hung up.

  Parker and the director stared at each other and waited for what seemed like several eternities.

  At last the phone rang. The director answered it. “Emily?”

  “I’m sorry, Steve. I tried three times. It just goes to voice mail.”

  Parker shot to his feet and began pacing to fight off the frustration. This was taking too long. He could be in Florida by the time this man returned home from his fishing trip. His mind raced. That wasn’t a bad idea. This was a sensitive matter. A complex matter. It would be best to speak to the man in person.

  “Mrs. Wolak,” Parker said into the phone.

  “Hello?” She sounded as if she were caught off guard.

  “I apologize. I’ve been listening on speaker. My name is Wade Parker. I’m the private investigator the director mentioned. I’m wondering if I might visit you and your husband tonight.”

  The director raised his brows in surprise.

  “Tonight?”

  Parker glanced at the time on the phone. “I’m in Chicago. I’m sure I can catch a flight and be there by this evening.”

  “This evening? Well, I—”

  “It’s an urgent matter, Mrs. Wolak.”

  “I understand.” There was a long pause as if she might be checking her schedule. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening,” she said at last, her years of upset plans as the wife of a police officer no doubt coming back to her. “Of course, you’re welcome to come.” The friendly note in her voice was back.

  “Thank you.” Parker suppressed his relief. This visit might come to nothing.

  The director took back the conversation. “Thanks, Emily. Maybe we can get down there for a visit this winter.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. You’re always welcome.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to run.”

  “Sure. Say hello to Fran.”

  “Will do. Tell Felix not to get too much sun.” The director chuckled.

  “I’ll do that. See you tonight, Mr. Parker.”

  “Looking forward to meeting you and your husband.”

  Novak hung up and frowned at Parker. “You’re really going to Florida tonight?”

  “I am.” Not only was he seeing ghosts, he had been chasing them. Might as well chase one more.

  The director put his cell back in his pocket and jotted down the Florida address. “Your wife is a lucky woman. I hope she knows that.”

  “I think she does.” He reached across the desk for the address and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

  “My pleasure. And Mr. Parker?”

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever bastard you’re after, I hope you catch him.”

  “I do, too.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Parker was in the Audi cruising along the Kennedy Expressway, neck and neck with SUVs and semis on the way to the airport when he remembered his promise to Miranda to check in this morning.

  He’d also promised to be back that afternoon.

  In frustration he slapped his hand against the steering wheel. He could only hope his wife’s agile mind was too busy with the Sutherland case to think about why he wasn’t there. But he had better do some preemptive damage control.

  He pressed a button on the steering wheel and dialed Demarco.

  The sergeant answered the phone with a wry laugh. “Hello there, Parker. Glad you called. I wanted to thank you for putting me on the spot last night.”

  Parker stiffened as he pulled down the visor to cut the glare from the bumper in front of him. That scene in the evidence room last night had been more than awkward. He’d hated dragging Demarco into the lies he’d been telling Miranda.

  “I apologize, Sergeant,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  Once more Parker’s conscience pounded him. But he couldn’t very well tell his wife the truth. And he couldn’t explain that to the sergeant.

  So he didn’t.

  “If you say so.” Demarco’s chuckle was full of cynicism. “So how did your ‘interview’ go this morning?”

  Parker shifted lanes to get around a slow moving U-Haul. “Borkowski was injured this morning and couldn’t see visitors. Morgan, it turns out, is infertile.”

  The sergeant’s tone turned solemn. “Interesting.�
� Then he grew silent, waiting for Parker to tell him the next move.

  “Is Miranda in the station?” Parker asked.

  “She’s out with Templeton.”

  That was good. Just where he wanted her to be. And even better, she wasn’t alone. A cop with a firearm was not a bad companion in the field.

  “Have they had a break in the case yet?”

  “Not that they’ve reported.”

  That was good, too. “I’m going to have to go out of town for the rest of the day.”

  “What?”

  Parker zipped around a red pickup truck in the left lane. “I have a lead. I need to see a retired correctional officer in Florida. I’m going to catch a two o’clock flight and pay him a visit.”

  “What do you mean? You just told me your visit this morning was a dead end, like the other names I gave you.”

  Parker had filled the sergeant in on his lack of progress at the station yesterday. “I discovered something at the jail,” he said. “I have to follow it up.” He gave Demarco Felix Wolak’s address in Jupiter.

  “O—kay.”

  Demarco wasn’t following but Parker couldn’t explain over the phone. It was too complex. Too personal. And under no circumstances would he risk Miranda learning about the connection he’d found between Adam Tannenburg and Leon Groth.

  There was a long uncomfortable pause. “So what do I tell your wife?”

  His jaw tightening Parker took the exit for I-90 to O’Hare. “Tell her I have another interview.”

  He could imagine Demarco rolling his eyes. “Really, Parker? Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “It’s believable.”

  “Not to your wife. She’s a smart cookie. She knows you’re up to something.”

  Was Miranda’s perception as obvious to Demarco as it was to him? But he had no choice.

  He slowed the Audi as he steered around the cloverleaf. “What do you suggest?”

  Now he imagined Demarco twisting his toothpick in his mouth. “I suggest the truth.”

  Parker let out a long slow breath, forcing himself to be patient. “I’m sorry, sergeant. I simply can’t do that.”

  The sound of a long tired sigh came over the phone. “I hate to sound like a broken record, Parker. But I gotta tell you you’re gonna be sorry.”