Mia waited impatiently for Katie at the corner of Twenty-Fifth and Bryant in south Minneapolis. It was almost 10:00 A.M. and Katie was taking her to Mueller Park for some play time. The Harpers had spent a small fortune renovating a ten room house a block away. They had chosen this neighborhood to demonstrate their trendy side but were not thrilled about their little trophy fraternizing with the locals. The Harpers disapproved of both the small park and its inhabitants.
Katie held Mia’s hand while they hurried across Twenty Fifth and entered the park by the wading pool. As soon as they reached the park’s grass Mia jerked away from Katie and took off. Katie walked quickly behind her as Mia ran toward the large sandbox play area. Mia knew her two best friends, a three-year-old-girl named Kyra and another three old girl named Sailee, would already be there.
Katie sat down on a bench next to the small park facilities building to watch the girls. The day care provider for Mia’s friends and a couple of the other younger children was also there. The two women watched as the children ran in, out and off of the various swings, slides and playground equipment. A couple of other regulars with children joined them and for a half-hour or so they gabbed and watched the kids play.
Several times Katie turned her head toward the park’s picnic area. Finally, after the fourth or fifth time, she asked her friend Darlene, the day care provider, about the man sitting at a table. He was about a hundred yards away from them, his arms spread out on the table top and his head tilted forward.
“I think he might be a passed out drunk,” Darlene answered her.
Both women looked toward their left at the man and Katie said, “He hasn’t moved since I got here. What’s that all over the front of his shirt?”
“He probably got sick and threw up on himself,” Darlene said.
By now, the other women in their little group were looking at him as Katie said, “Maybe someone should go over there and check on him.”
“Go ahead,” the others said in unison. Katie turned back to Darlene and said, “Come with me, please.”
“Okay,” Darlene answered reluctantly.
The two of them walked slowly toward the man. He was in the Southeast corner of the park sitting at a picnic table. His back was against the table, his head facing away from it west toward Colfax Avenue. His arms were stretched out to both sides and his head tilted downward, his chin touching his chest and they could see he was barefoot.
Katie and Darlene slowly came to within fifty feet of him when Darlene exclaimed, “Oh my God! That’s not vomit, it’s blood!” Darlene grabbed Katie’s arm as if to stop her and almost yelled, “What should we do?”
By this time Katie was already doing it. She removed her phone from her pocket and started to punch in 911 on it. As she did this she calmly said to the horrified Darlene, “Go back to the kids and make sure to keep them away from here.”
Owen Jefferson and Marcie Sterling listened quietly while Katie told the story for the fourth or fifth time. They were standing on the south side of the little building. While they talked, the CSU people were combing over every inch of the park and an M.E. doctor was examining the body.
When Katie finished, Jefferson asked, “Do you think you could do something for us? We’d like you to take a look and see if you can identify him.”
“Oh, God, I don’t know,” Katie said wrinkling her face in revulsion. “I guess I could try.” She turned around to check on Mia. All of the children had been hustled into a corner of the play area directly opposite from the body. The park’s building blocked their line of sight but none of them were playing. With the police all over the park even the little ones knew something was wrong and they all quietly sat watching. All of the adults had been asked to stay to give statements to the police.
The medical examiner had set up a three-sided portable screen around the picnic table and body. A crowd was gathering along the streets bordering the park. There were also houses along the little park’s south side. The screen would shield the grisly sight from the gawkers and the media. The latter were starting to arrive. Channel 8 had a van and crew on site that was being held back by uniformed officers.
The two detectives, with Katie in between them, walked back toward the body. When they got within ten feet of him, Katie could see his hands were nailed to the tabletop and he was wearing a barbed wire crown.
“You okay?” Marcie asked her.
“Barely. What kind of sicko could do this?” Katie said.
The M.E. looked at them and when Jefferson nodded at the doctor he gently lifted the man’s head so Katie could see his face.
“You still okay?” Marcie asked again.
Katie stared at the gruesome white face, completely drained of blood and said, “Yeah, I’m alright and I shouldn’t be.”
“Do you recognize him?” Jefferson quietly asked.
“No,” she said. “I’ve never seen him around here.”
They walked her back to the group of civilians and children. There were two other police officers there who told Jefferson they had taken statements from the adults. Jefferson then gave the okay for them to get the kids home.
Before leaving the scene themselves, Jefferson had the M.E. get the fingerprints from both of the victim’s hands. While watching him do this, Jefferson again looked at the crushed and bloody fingers and toes of the man.
While they were walking to where their car was parked on Bryant for the ride back to headquarters, Marcie said, “That’s two in two days. First the judge and now this guy, whoever he is.”
Jefferson was looking at a Polaroid of the ghastly looking man. Just like the others, he thought. Throat cut from behind by a left-handed person from ear to ear, blood covering his abdomen, the crushed fingers and toes and the macabre crown of barbed wire thorns.
They reached the car and he slipped the photo into his inside coat pocket.
“You check missing persons and I’ll run his prints. Let’s see if we can find out who he is,” Jefferson said.
Before they could get in the car a woman reporter with the Channel 8 van yelled at Jefferson and caught his attention. Gabriella Shriqui was politely but firmly being held back by an MPD cop.
Jefferson heard his name being called and looked toward the source. He saw Gabriella and decided he would take a minute to talk to her. He motioned to the uniformed officer to let her through. She started to come forward with a camera operator but Jefferson quickly held up a hand to stop the cameraman.
When Gabriella reached him, the three of them, including Marcie, walked silently across the street. When they reached the edge of the park Jefferson turned to Gabriella and held up a hand before she could ask a question.
“Here’s the deal,” Jefferson began. “I’ll talk to you only, no cameras and this is completely off the record.”
Gabriella stood in front of them with her back to the park. She took a quick look at each of the detectives then said, “Owen, that’s not fair…”
“What’s fair got to do with it?” Jefferson said.
“Okay,” Gabriella shrugged. “We’re getting reports…”
“Leaks,” Jefferson again interrupted.
“Okay, leaks…” she started again.
“Rumors actually,” Jefferson corrected her.
“Fine, goddamnit,” an annoyed Gabriella said. “Rumors, leaks, whatever. We’re hearing there’s a serial killer out there and this guy is victim three or four. You guys need to start coming clean or we’ll start reporting using the ‘sources close to the investigation’ bullshit attribution.”
Jefferson thought it over a minute before saying, “Call me later this afternoon. I have to check with some people first, okay?”
“Fair enough but if I don’t get anything we’ll run with what we know. I’ll keep your name out of it but we will report this. We have to.”
On the drive downtown, the two detectives talked over the case. The first thing they needed was to identify this latest victim. From that they would see if ther
e is a connection with the other victims.
“These cannot be random,” Marcie said. “There has to be a connection.”
“And when we find the connection we’ll find our psycho,” Jefferson agreed.
Jefferson electronically submitted the fingerprints taken from the body into IAFIS, the automated Fingerprint Identification System. IAFIS is used by law enforcement throughout the nation to identify people by their fingerprints. It is maintained by the FBI and contains over one hundred million sets of fingerprints obtained by a number of ways, especially from criminal subjects.
While he waited for a response, Jefferson leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest and stared at the names on the whiteboard. Marcie was on the phone talking to someone in missing persons. Whoever she was speaking with placed her on hold to check on something.
“We may have a hit,” Marcie said while holding the phone to her ear. Jefferson sat up and wheeled his chair around to look at her but before he could respond, Marcie held up an index finger to him and said into the phone, “Yes, I’m here. What do you have?”
She listened for a minute and took some notes while saying, “Uh huh, uh huh. Okay. Yeah, I got it. Thanks, we’ll check it out.”
Marcie hung up the phone and made a few more notes on the tablet she had written on.
“What?” Jefferson impatiently asked.
“They got a call from a woman a couple of hours ago. Her name is Marilyn Kuhn. She was supposed to meet her dad for breakfast this morning and when he didn’t show she got worried and went to his house. When she got there his car was in the garage but he wasn’t there. She called and we sent a squad car to get a statement. The description she gave sounds like our victim.”
“Okay. You go check her out. Here,” Jefferson said as he tossed the Polaroid of the victim across their desks to her. “Take this with you but only show it to her if you absolutely have to. She doesn’t need to see her dad like that. See if she has a picture of him for you to look at. If it’s him take her to the morgue to identify him. Can you do that?”
“Take her to the morgue?”
“Yeah.”
Marcie hesitated for a moment, a sad look on her face, and then said, “Yeah, I can. It’s part of the job and I better get used to it.”
“You never get used to it,” Jefferson said. “You just learn how to deal with it.”
As she was packing up to leave she asked him, “What will you be doing?”
“I’m waiting for IAFIS to run its program and see if he’s in the system. It takes a half hour or so. While I’m doing that I need to talk to Selena about the media.”
Fifteen minutes later, Selena Kane and Jefferson were ushered into the office of the mayor. Waiting for them were the chief of police, the city attorney and the county attorney. Introductions were made then Jefferson was given the floor. Jefferson quickly brought them all up to date on the victims and the investigation.
“So, we have a serial killer on our hands,” the mayor said. “Why wasn’t I told sooner?”
“That was my call,” the chief interjected. “Until yesterday we weren’t sure.”
“I’m still not sure we have a typical serial,” Selena Kane interjected.
“How so?” Mayor Gillette asked.
“Serial killers usually act on some psychological need. Motives can vary but they are typically things like anger, thrill, attention seeking or even a financial gain,” Kane answered. “We believe this is some type of vengeance or revenge thing. At least that’s our best guess. He’s going after specific people who we believe wronged him through the courts.”
“What about the man who was found this morning?” the chief asked. “What’s his connection?”
“We don’t know yet, Chief,” Jefferson answered. “We’re still checking into him to find out who he is.”
“Could this maniac be one of the people who were convicted with doctored DNA reports and recently released?” asked the mayor.
“They’re on our list,” Jefferson said.
“All four of them?” the county attorney asked.
“No,” Selena Kane interjected. “One of the four, Angelo Suarez was shot and killed during an attempted assault by him on a woman in a St. Paul parking lot.”
“I heard about that,” the mayor said. “Good for her.”
“What about the press?” the chief asked.
The mayor thought it over for a few seconds then said, “My office will prepare a statement. We’ll have to admit we believe these killings are connected but we’re still investigating blah, blah, blah. We’ll run it by you,” she said to the chief. “Then we’ll release it in about an hour. We’ll have it for all of you to look at in about a half hour. Thanks for the information and keep us all up to date.”
“We will, your Honor,” Kane said.
Jefferson sat down in the same chair of the conference room they were using. The IAFIS report was finished and it came up negative. If the man had ever been fingerprinted he was not listed in the database. While he was looking over the printed report his cell phone went off.
“Yeah, did you find out anything?” Jefferson asked Marcie.
“We’re on our way to the morgue. She’s following me in her car. I think it’s him, her dad. She showed me a picture and it looks like him,” Marcie said. “His name is Elliot Sanders. I asked her about any connection he might have to the courts, judges or lawyers. I didn’t give her any specifics.”
“And?”
“The only thing she could come up with was he did jury duty about twelve or thirteen years ago. She couldn’t remember for sure. Hey! Watch out asshole,” she yelled as a driver cut in front of her then stuck out his left hand and flipped her off. “I wish I still had my ticket book,” she said.
“No, you don’t,” Jefferson reminded her.
“Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, can you check with the courts? See if they have a record of him on jury duty back then?”
“Sure. I even know who to call. Call me back when you’re done at the morgue.”
Jefferson was on hold for over fifteen minutes waiting with growing impatience. A record’s clerk with the clerk of courts office was checking their records for Elliot Sanders.
“Found him,” the woman said when she got back on the phone.
“What did you come up with?”
The woman gave Jefferson all of the details of the trial on which Sanders had served. When she finished, Jefferson had her repeat it just to be sure. He thanked her profusely, made her swear to keep it to herself, then hung up the phone and softly whistled. He stood up and went to the whiteboard where the list of names was written, circled one and quietly said, “Gotcha, you sonofabitch.”
His cell phone rang and he checked the ID. He answered the call and asked, “What did you find out?”
“It’s him, her dad. Boy, it really sucks doing that,” Marcie glumly added.
“She sure?”
“Yeah, she’s sure. I’m on my way back. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“I’ll tell you what I found out when you get here.”
Jefferson ended the call with Marcie and put down his cell phone. He picked up the department’s phone and dialed a number to a cop in the surveillance unit. Jefferson requested a high priority surveillance team to be put on his suspect. The man he called, an MPD lieutenant and a good friend, had surveillance in place within an hour and the suspect would be closely and professionally watched.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marc Kadella was seated at one end of the dining room table and Margaret Tennant was at the other end. They made dinner together and cleaned up afterwards. Now each was engrossed in work brought home and enjoying a quiet evening at Margaret’s house.
Marc was going over his case notes and witness statements for a trial starting scheduled for the next day. His client was charged with second-degree burglary, a serious felony. He was accused of entering a home with intent to steal from its contents. Fortunately, no one was h
ome at the time. It was the man’s second offense and the prosecution had offered nothing in exchange for a plea.
The fool had entered the house through an unlocked window. When he tried to leave through the same window, there were two uniformed Minneapolis cops standing beneath it waiting for him. Having been unable to exclude any of the evidence, the trial was likely a waste of everyone’s time. Especially damning was the client’s statement to the cops. “Well, I guess you got me for robbing this house.” Marc was no longer amazed or even amused at how stupid these people are. Once in a while it would be nice to get a client who knew how to keep his mouth shut.
His phone went off and he picked it up, looked at the ID and answered it by saying, “Hey goombah, what’s up?”
“What’s this goombah shit?” Tony Carvelli said. “I call with serious news and you try to imply I’m a gangster. I’m offended,” he continued trying to sound serious.
“That’s perfect,” Marc laughed. “Except you don’t know what the word offended means,” Marc looked at Margaret who was listening with an inquisitive look and mouthed the word “Tony” to her.
“Say hello,” she said.
“Margaret says hello.”
“Tell her she’s way too good for you and should dump you for a real man and not some wussified lawyer,” Tony replied.
“Tony says hello, too,” Marc said to Margaret.
“So, what’s this serious news you have?” Marc asked his P.I. friend.
“I got a call from Owen Jefferson a little while ago, you remember him?”
“Sure,” Marc replied.
“You see the news about Judge Peterson and the guy they found in the park this morning?”
“Yeah, the six o’clock news claimed there’s a serial killer loose.”
“Yeah, well sort of but not exactly,” Carvelli said. “All the victims have something in common. I’m not at liberty to go into detail about this but the thing they have in common is Howie Traynor’s trial for the death of Vivian’s aunt, Lucille Benson.”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 153
