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

by Linsey Lanier

  As he’d said before.

  It was true all this secrecy might blow up in his face. But if it did he could handle it. He could handle Miranda.

  “If that happens, Sergeant,” he said with a cockiness he didn’t feel as he followed an airport sign to the parking area. “I will buy you season tickets to the Cubs games.”

  Demarco let out another derisive chuckle as if he were amazed at Parker’s audacity. Or perhaps he considered it stupidity.

  “Make it the Soxs,” he said, “and you’re on. Have a nice trip.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “I hope you come back with what you’re looking for.”

  “I do, too,” Parker said weariness betraying his doubt. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Good enough,” Demarco said and hung up.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The best part of hanging with a cop is that they knew the best places to eat. And the best part of hanging with Templeton was she knew how to eat.

  After their earlier fiasco on the south side, as they’d headed back to the station the detective had suggested they detour for a lunch break.

  The pair now sat in a well-worn booth in a well-worn Mexican eatery in a well-worn section of the north side that sat under the L tracks between a beer joint and a dry cleaner.

  Miranda had thought Templeton would be a wimp on the spice, but she’d matched her bite for bite as they chomped down mega-hot salsa and chicken tamales that had a five-star heat rating on the menu.

  Until Miranda asked for a plate of sliced serranos and spooned them onto her dish.

  Templeton laughed and wiped her mouth. “You’ve got me beat there, Steele.”

  Miranda gave her a nudge. “Aw, c’mon.”

  The detective shook her head. “Don’t want to wipe myself out for the afternoon.”

  As if they had a lot to do that afternoon.

  Miranda dipped a chip in the salsa in time to the snappy music coming from a speaker and thought of that ugly abandoned house on the south side. And the neighbor who’d never seen anyone remotely matching Adam Tannenburg’s description.

  She thought of Mrs. Esposito who had seen Tannenburg leaving in his silver Mustang the night of the fire. She thought of Hildie, the waitress, who knew Tannenburg went to the Art Institute. She thought of the remains of the Tannenburg estate and how much it annoyed the neighbor, Mrs. Johnston.

  She thought of the photos of Lydia Sutherland’s poor charred body.

  Popping the chip in her mouth she chewed thoughtfully. But nothing came to her. “I’m out of ideas. What do you suggest we do next?”

  Templeton scraped her fork around the leftovers on her plate. “Run some more searches, I suppose.”

  Like that would do any good.

  “You don’t have any more clues stuck in your drawer back at the station, do you?”

  “Wish I did.”

  Miranda thought about finding that paper yesterday and confronting Templeton.

  She brightened. “Well, at least when we get those rape kit results we’ll have something definite.”

  Templeton looked at her as if she were a stone wall.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “I gotta tell you, Steele…”

  “What?”

  “This case is fifteen years old.”

  “I kind of know that. So?” She reached for another chip.

  “Back then methods weren’t as pristine as they are today. Hell, we’re lucky they even thought to take samples.

  Miranda dropped the chip on her plate. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean investigators weren’t as careful. Usually a rape kit from that time comes back with multiple donors.”

  Miranda stared at her. “You mean from CSIs or people on the scene who handled the evidence?”

  “Yep.”

  The training at the Parker Agency always made a big deal about not contaminating a crime scene. But Templeton was right. Those were modern day procedures.

  “And if Lydia Sutherland slept around, she might have had multiple donors, too. If you catch my drift.”

  Miranda caught it all right. She pushed her plate away suddenly feeling queasy. Wanting to get back to the office and check on that kit, she reached for the check. “My treat.”

  Templeton didn’t protest. “Thanks.”

  Money had to be tight with a kid to support on her own. Miranda was more than glad to foot the bill.

  As they headed toward the door her mind was back on the case. Mrs. Esposito said the blond haired boyfriend had been exclusive for a week or two. Hildie the waitress had been sure Lydia was in love with the guy from the Art Institute. And the ME who’d examined Lydia’s body had had to be extra cautious, even for that time, to get something out of it.

  As she pulled open the door to the Tahoe and climbed inside her mood lifted.

  She turned to Templeton, a finger in the air. “On the bright side. If we do get just one donor on the rape kit, we’ll know for sure that’s our killer.”

  Templeton pulled onto the street and shot her a half grin. “That, honey, would make the DA’s day.”

  ###

  They took the scenic route back to the station, breezing past the lake then onto LaSalle and the forest of skyscrapers and streets with noisy traffic and smelly buses.

  Miranda stared up at the architectural giants recalling how fascinating she’d found them when she was a kid, though she rarely got to go downtown. A trip to the Field Museum was an uncommon treat.

  She wondered if, as a young boy, Adam Tannenburg had gotten to come to the city a lot with his clarinet playing mother, and if he’d felt the same fascination. She wondered what had made him snap and kill his girlfriend, then set his own house on fire a year later. Or maybe he was just really unlucky.

  She wondered if they’d ever know. Another reason she hated cold cases. All those unanswered questions.

  They reached the Larrabee station in under twenty minutes. Just as Templeton was angling the SUV into a spot in the parking lot, Miranda’s phone beeped.

  The next second Templeton’s went off, too.

  They dug them out of their pockets and held them up at the same time.

  “Well, look at that,” Miranda grinned.

  Templeton gaped at her phone. “I don’t believe it.”

  The automated search they’d set before they left was flashing.

  Miranda twisted around to her and gave her a friendly shove. “Believe it, honey. We got a hit. And it was your machine. Guess I do owe you that pizza.”

  Templeton swiped around on her phone to discover exactly what they’d found. “There he is,” she said after a minute, pointing to the screen with her stubby finger so Miranda could see. “Adam Foster Tannenburg.”

  Miranda grabbed her hand to peer at the screen. She couldn’t believe it, either. But sure enough, there was Adam Tannenburg’s name and several lines of information on him. Including an address.

  “He’s in a nursing home,” she said.

  Templeton pointed to the details. “And it’s in Evanston.”

  His home town. But wait. “A nursing home? Tannenburg is only thirty-four.”

  Templeton’s leathery skin creased as she pursed her lips to consider that. “Could be for psychiatric reasons, a bad accident. Something like that.”

  “Yeah.” If Tannenburg went nuts after his mother’s death and needed to be institutionalized it made sense. Miranda glanced over at the station. “You don’t need to check in with Demarco, do you?”

  Templeton gave her a slyer look than Miranda thought she was capable of. “Not with this hot lead.”

  She grinned back, her pulse starting to thump with anticipation. “Then let’s get going.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The nursing home in Evanston was named Progressive Comfort and was situated on the north side of town.

  Housed in a five story building of salmon colored brick across from a Lutheran church, on first glance
the place didn’t appear to provide much in the way of comfort or progress.

  Templeton pulled over to the curb and together they marched up the steps and inside to the front desk.

  “I’m sorry,” said a saucy young woman with red hair that clashed with her cherry colored scrubs after Miranda explained why they were here. “But Mr. Tannenburg is on a shopping trip with some of our other residents.”

  “Shopping trip?”

  “Yes. Every other Thursday our bus takes a group to the local shopping center. It’s a good chance for them to get out.” She spoke as if she were talking to a kindergarten student. Must be a side effect of the job.

  At Miranda’s side she felt Templeton bristle. “Did we mention this was a police matter?”

  The young woman blinked nervously. “Why, yes. You did say that.”

  Miranda took Templeton’s lead and leaned over the counter, lowering her voice. “We’re investigating a murder case. I’m sure you’ll want to cooperate.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. I—I mean we’ll do anything you need. But the bus won’t be back for another few hours.”

  Miranda turned to her partner. “You want to wait here while I go find them?”

  Before Templeton could answer an angry looking woman with short black hair in a stiff dark business suit and black high heels clicked down the hall to the front desk. The top of her head came up to Miranda’s chin, and she had the air of a drill sergeant with a Napoleon complex.

  She slapped some folders down onto the counter with a glare. “What’s going on here, Amelia?”

  “Oh, Ms. Wilson,” the redhead in the red scrubs sputtered. “These two ladies are here from the Larrabee police station. They want to speak to one of our residents.”

  The woman turned to Templeton. “Do you have a warrant?”

  Miranda’s training from Parker kicked in and she forced a smile. “We just want to speak to Mr. Tannenburg to verify a few details of our case. It’s nothing so drastic that it needs a warrant.” And she was pretty sure Templeton could get one if it did.

  Ms. Wilson eyed them up and down. “Do you have identification?”

  Templeton took out her badge and the woman examined it. Miranda hoped Wilson didn’t ask for hers. She’d have to show her PI license from Georgia. She’d end up in her office, answering questions for an hour, like a misbehaving student sent to the principal.

  Wilson let out a huff and turned to the redhead. “Is Mr. Tannenburg in the dining hall?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s on a field trip to the mall today.”

  “No, he isn’t.” All four of them turned to a woman in cream colored scrubs with the Progressive Comfort logo on the pocket. She had been straightening magazines in the lobby.

  Wilson put a hand on her hip. “What do you mean, Brenda?”

  The woman in cream gave her an angelic smile. “Mr. Tannenburg didn’t feel like going shopping today. I just got him settled in the Activities Room. I can take them to see him.”

  Wilson huffed a little more but apparently decided it was easier to give in.

  She turned to Miranda and Templeton with a scowl. “Go ahead. But don’t you dare upset him.”

  ###

  The Activities Room was on the third floor.

  Miranda followed the attendant named Brenda into a large open space painted a cheery yellow with paintings of waterfalls on the walls. Two gray haired women and a man sat in stackable chairs in the corner watching some noisy game show on a big screen TV.

  Three more silver haired women were playing cards at a table. At another table a skinny man in a dress shirt and baggy slacks sat alone working a jigsaw puzzle, one piece in his trembling hand. He was bent so far over the puzzle he looked like he might put the piece in place with his nose.

  Miranda’s heart went out to him.

  Along one wall there was a counter with a coffee machine and a microwave with the door left open. The room smelled vaguely of burnt popcorn and urine.

  Brenda’s nurse shoes squeaked as she turned on the tile and led them to the opposite corner where another lone man sat in a wheelchair staring out the window at the cityscape beyond.

  Miranda saw the pale blond hair from the back and her heart skipped a beat.

  Brenda leaned over and smiled at him. “Mr. Tannenburg? You have visitors.”

  “Visitors?” The voice seemed strange.

  Brenda turned the chair around.

  “To see me?” The man extended a shaky hand and grabbed Miranda. “You’re a cutie.” He grinned a toothless grin.

  “Uh…thanks.” Extracting herself from the man’s grip Miranda felt her shoulders slump.

  The man in the chair was as bent and wrinkled as the one with the jigsaw puzzle. His hair wasn’t blonde. It was silver-gray like the women playing cards.

  Slowly she lifted a palm to cover her mouth and whispered to Brenda, “Are you sure that’s Adam Tannenburg?”

  Brenda seemed surprised at the question. “Oh, yes. He’s been with us for some time now.”

  Miranda glanced at Templeton.

  The detective’s square face was tight. “The Adam Foster Tannenburg we’re looking for is thirty-four.”

  And unless he had that horrible aging disease, this guy was somebody else.

  “No,” Brenda corrected. “Mr. Tannenburg just celebrated his ninety-first birthday last week.”

  What the Sam Hill? Templeton’s search parameters couldn’t have pulled up something that far off.

  Miranda turned to the attendant. “Is there any way we could see Mr. Tannenburg’s records?”

  Brenda’s eyes went wide. “I’m not sure Ms. Wilson—” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll take you to the office.”

  She gestured for an orderly to take care of the man in the wheelchair and led them out of the room.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  A few minutes later Miranda was in a chair in the Records Office going through a folder with Templeton beside her while Brenda kept the office manager from going berserk.

  She couldn’t believe it. It was the same. Everything was the same. Tannenburg’s birth at Evanston Hospital. His mother’s address listed as his last residence. The date Muriel Tannenburg had died. His school records. The only thing different was Tannenburg’s birth date on the copy of his driver’s license—which was old and didn’t have a picture.

  Miranda squinted at the figures, turned them this way and that. Finally, she took out her phone poised it as if taking a snapshot of it and set it to zoom in.

  She nudged Templeton. “Look at this?”

  “What is it?”

  “Right there.” Angling file and phone for the detective to see, she pointed with her nose. “See the date? The last two digits? Do they look right to you?”

  Narrowing her eyes Templeton lowered her head. Then she shook it. “Something’s off.”

  “Looks like the one was turned into a four.”

  Templeton squinted harder. “Yeah, it does.”

  “And this number,” Miranda pointed with her pinky now, “looks like it’s just a smidgen higher than the others.”

  Templeton took the paper and the phone and put her face up to the screen. “You’re right. Good eye, Steele.” She handed the things back.

  Miranda leaned in and lowered her voice. “So with a little manipulation of the last two digits—”

  “You have the birth date of a man over fifty years your senior.” Templeton sat back in her chair trying to absorb the information.

  Miranda shielded her mouth with her hand and whispered. “Somehow the real Adam Tannenburg switched his records for this guy.”

  Templeton looked like her hair was about to frizz. “Stole his identity?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But it sure makes him look guilty as hell.”

  “Tannenburg?”

  On the other side of the room someone gasped.

  Miranda had tried to keep her voice dow
n but it hadn’t worked. Both Brenda and the office manager were staring at her wide eyed.

  Brenda found her voice first. “What are you saying? That Mr. Tannenburg is—someone else?”

  Templeton shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. It was a sticky predicament for a cop.

  But it wasn’t for Miranda. “That’s exactly what we’re saying,” she told them.

  The office manager began pulling at her hair as panicky as if an emergency alarm had just gone off. “But what does that mean?” she said, waving her free hand. “Mr. Tannenburg has been here for years. He came from a county facility downtown. He has no family. He has dementia.”

  “What are we supposed to do with him?” Brenda asked. There was pleading in her voice.

  They wanted an institutional answer. A rule to follow.

  Miranda thought about it for a moment. This poor old man was innocent. He wasn’t a criminal. He shouldn’t have to pay for what someone else had done to him.

  She got up from her chair and handed the folder to the office manager with a shrug. “I’d say as long as he doesn’t know who he really is, you don’t need to, either. As far as I’m concerned he can stay Adam Foster Tannenburg.”

  ###

  Miranda shuffled through the nursing home entrance and out onto the sidewalk feeling as if her feet were made of lead.

  This was it. They were done.

  They couldn’t find Adam Tannenburg and Lydia Sutherland’s case would remain as cold as a block of ice. What a downer.

  Templeton plodded along beside Miranda on the sidewalk with her boxy gait. “I’m not sure what you said in there is by the book, Steele.”

  “About leaving the old man’s records alone even though they’re false?”

  “Uh huh. But I can’t argue with you. The poor guy.”

  Miranda was glad the detective saw it that way. She was just about to suggest they head back to the station when Templeton’s phone buzzed.

  She pulled it out of her pocket and groaned. “Uh oh.”

  “What is it? Demarco calling to chew you out for something?”

  Templeton held up a finger and pressed the cell to her ear. As she listened her flat features turned flatter. She finished, put the cell back in her pocket and headed for the car.