“He’s done a good job of that. How do you know it isn’t two of them working together?”
“I guess I really don’t,” she agreed. “And we should keep an open mind to the possibility but I just don’t think so. One guy makes more sense. Do a couple of victims he has no connection with to create reasonable doubt. I also think it’s one of the three DNA guys,” she continued referring to Forsberg, Traynor and Parlow.
Jefferson remained silent for another minute then said, “Right now, it’s as good a theory as any. In fact, I was thinking the same thing before I got back. I think you may be right.”
The compliment from the veteran detective, a man Marcie greatly admired, gave her ego a nice boost. While she inwardly smiled, Jefferson’s phone went off.
“Jefferson,” he said answering it. “Okay, put him through,” he told the MPD switchboard.
“Mr. Forsberg, this is Owen Jefferson, what can I do for you?”
Jefferson listened in silence to the man on the other end of the call. After a couple of minutes, while Marcie curiously looked at him Jefferson covered the phone and mouthed the word Forsberg to her. He listened some more then said, “Fine and thanks for calling.” Jefferson ended the call and explained it to his younger partner.
“That was Forsberg’s uncle, John. Seems Aaron slipped out last night and beat our surveillance. He left around nine o’clock and took his uncle’s car. Didn’t tell the uncle, just said he was going out for a while and grabbed the keys to his uncle’s car. Our guys didn’t realize it was him driving the uncle’s car and let him go.”
When Jefferson finished telling Marcie about the phone call there was a sharp rap on the door and Selena Kane walked in.
“We need to go upstairs to the mayor’s office. There’s a political clusterfuck taking place and the higher ups want some answers from you two,” Kane said.
“Tell them we don’t have any,” Jefferson wearily said.
“That’s not true,” Marcie interjected seeing the pursed and narrowed lips on Kane’s face. “We’ve narrowed the list down and we have a DNA test coming back probably by tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Kane said, the look on her face softening a bit, “that’s something. Let’s go, Owen. We have people we have to answer to.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Jefferson agreed.
The three of them were swiftly ushered into the mayor’s office as soon as they arrived. Waiting for them were Mayor Susan Gillette and the Chief of Police, Arne Sorenstad. Also in attendance were the County Attorney Craig Slocum and the chief prosecutor, Steven Gondeck. Three extra chairs had been brought in for the lieutenant and two detectives.
“I had an interesting call from the governor earlier today while you two were on your way to St. Paul,” the mayor began. “The word is already out that another lawyer was murdered. Please tell us you have some answers.”
Before Kane or Jefferson had a chance to speak, Marcie Sterling spoke up. “Of the six victims, the first three all have a connection to the same three men,” she said. “Judge Smith handled the appeal of each of them. Judge Peterson was the trial judge and Rhea Watson was the prosecutor for Aaron Forsberg, Howard Traynor and Eugene Parlow. These are three of the four men recently released from prison because of doctored DNA test results.”
“And they’re all suing the city, county and state over it,” Slocum reminded everyone.
“The next three,” Marcie continued. “Each have a connection to one of these three suspects but not the other two. We believe the hair found on this morning’s victim will give us some DNA evidence.”
With Marcie’s clear and succinct update, Selena Kane relaxed a bit.
“Are you sure they are all the victims of the same man?” Chief Sorenstad asked looking directly at Marcie.
“We’ve kicked around the idea of more than one person being involved but it doesn’t seem likely. Parlow and Traynor served time in Stillwater together and probably knew each other, but Forsberg was in Michigan City, Indiana. He has no link to the other two.”
“Why do you think it’s not Traynor and Parlow together?” Steven Gondeck asked.
“Because Howie Traynor has been under surveillance the entire time, even before the killings started. It’s possible he has been directing Parlow but it doesn’t seem likely. They travel in very different circles,” Marcie replied.
Marcie looked at Jefferson who nodded and said, “Tell them.”
“Aaron Forsberg slipped our surveillance last night. Plus we know he was out and unaccounted for at the time of the first three,” Marcie said.
“We’ll lock him down for sure tonight and see what comes back from the BCA on the hair sample,” Jefferson added.
“Pick him up,” the chief angrily said.
“We have no grounds at all for that,” Jefferson said. “No probable cause except he doesn’t have an alibi. We’ll know more when we get the DNA test back.”
The room went silent for a moment then Mayor Gillette quietly said, “Owen, if he gets by you and there’s another murder, it will be all three of your asses. I hope you know that.”
“I understand,” Jefferson answered her. He looked at the chief and said, “We will get him.”
“Goddamnit, make it soon,” the mayor said.
Vivian Donahue ended the call from Susan Gillette and leaned back in her father’s old, leather chair. She was sitting at his walnut desk in the mansion’s private study. Vivian loved this room above all others. The big chair, the desk, the solid, dark walnut paneling, the overstuffed couch that matched the desk chair, all reminded her of her father. Whenever she spoke of him she still referred to him as “Daddy”. She was and always would be Daddy’s girl and she was quite comfortable with it. Best of all, he would be proud of her. Her strength, intelligence and commanding presence were all handed down from him with a large dose of her mother tossed in for good measure.
While she silently stared at the portrait of her father and mother hanging on the wall, she contemplated the phone call she received from Mayor Gillette. The mayor had given her a detailed report on the meeting that took place in her office. Gillette, having been made aware Vivian had a personal interest in the case, had called her even before she called Governor Dahlstrom to tell him about the meeting. Vivian listened politely and thanked her for the call. She thought it over then made a decision.
“Hello, Anthony,” she said into her private iPhone. “Could you find some time today to see me? I need to talk to you about something.”
“Crown of Thornes?” Carvelli asked.
“I’m not sure I approve of that particular sobriquet. It sounds a little blasphemous,” she said.
“I think it’s meant to be,” Tony answered. “But to answer your question, yes in about an hour or so.”
“Good, you can come for dinner. And try to bring our beautiful friend as well. I think we may need her.”
“I’ll give her a call and see you around six.”
At 5:45, Carvelli drove his Camaro up the long driveway toward the mansion. Trailing right behind him in her car was Maddy Rivers. They parked with Vivian’s candy apple red Bentley sandwiched between them. As the two of them walked toward the door in the light rain, Maddy said, referring to the Bentley, “I want one of those.”
“I’ll mention it to Vivian. As much as she likes you, she’ll probably have one delivered with a bow on it for your birthday,” Tony said.
“Don’t you dare!” Maddy said. Three seconds later as they reached the door, Maddy added, “You think she would?”
Tony looked at her, lightly shook his head and didn’t answer. He rang the bell and stepped back from the door.
“I was just sorta, you know, wondering,” Maddy sheepishly added.
“You were just sorta, you know, seeing yourself driving that car,” Tony replied.
“You have to admit it’s not a bad image,” she added then turned back to look wistfully at the Bentley again.
The woman who answered the door and let them in led them to
Vivian’s private study. She opened the door for them and Vivian came around the desk to greet them.
“When would you like dinner to be ready, Mrs. Donahue?”
Vivian looked back and forth at her guests then courteously said, “A half an hour should be fine Gail, thank you.”
The young woman left and Tony asked, “You’re not making dinner for us yourself? I was looking forward to it.”
“Be thankful. I can do a lot of things but cook is not one of them. The price of a spoiled upbringing,” she said to Tony knowing he was poking fun at her. “And how are you my lovely girl? Give us a hug,” she said to Maddy and the two of them embraced.
Vivian took a chair in front of the couch and Maddy and Tony sat down on it.
“Tony and I were admiring your Bentley and…” Maddy started to say.
“Worst car I’ve ever owned,” Vivian stopped her. “They can’t seem to get the timing right. The damn thing is in the shop every other week. I’ll give them one more try then they get it back.” This statement punched a huge hole in Maddy’s fantasy and she dropped the subject.
“I received some information today I want to discuss with you,” Vivian began. Ten minutes later, without telling them who her source was, she finished relaying what had taken place that afternoon in the mayor’s office.
“They found a loose hair on this morning’s victim?” Tony asked pretending he didn’t know this.
“Yes, they believe they’ll get a DNA match soon, maybe even today,” Vivian replied.
“That should be enough to pick up whoever it matches,” Tony said. “But by itself, I’m not sure you’ve got a conviction.”
“That’s what I was wondering,” Vivian added. “Is there anything we can do to help them along?”
Maddy and Tony talked it over for a minute then Tony said to Vivian, “Let’s wait and see what comes back from the DNA test. There are some things we can do that I’m not going to tell you about if the cops need a hand.”
“You mean things that might not be strictly legal?” Vivian asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Tony replied.
“Anthony, do you really think you need to protect me?”
“I just love the way she calls you Anthony,” Maddy said. “Coming from her it fits you.” Maddy looked at Vivian and added, “No, no we know you can take care of yourself. It’s to protect us. The fewer people who know what we’re up to, the better.”
“Okay, dear,” Vivian smiled. “Point taken.” She looked at the clock on the wall then said, “I’m hungry let’s eat.”
THIRTY
The rain was back Tuesday morning coming down harder than it had the day before. The weather geeks were calling for one more day of it, off and on. The weather predicted for the upcoming weekend was supposed to be one of those glorious, early autumn Upper Midwest treasures.
Owen Jefferson pulled his department issued Crown Vic into a “Police Only” spot on Third Avenue alongside City Hall. He waited for a large delivery truck to go by which sprayed the car down with rainwater when it passed. Jefferson sat in the car’s silent interior for a full minute staring through the window. The engine was still running and the wipers swished back and forth. He could not remember another case like this, one so completely devoid of physical evidence with this many victims. So far only one misplaced strand of hair.
Jefferson turned off the wipers and the car’s engine. He checked for traffic and as he exited the car, muttered to himself, “That goddamn strand of hair better tell us something.” He hunched his shoulders, ducked his head against the rain and sprinted to the door.
Marcie Sterling was on the phone when Jefferson entered their conference room. “Hang on,” she said into the phone, “he just walked in.”
“Who?” Jefferson quietly asked as he shook the rain off his trench coat and hung it on the coat rack.
“Lieutenant Schiller,” Marcie answered referring to the commander of the department’s surveillance unit.
While taking his seat at the table opposite Marcie, Jefferson picked up his extension and said, “Don’t give me any more bad news. I’m not in the mood.”
“No, no,” Schiller quickly answered. “No, I’m calling to let you know we got a bug on Forsberg’s uncle’s car. He cooperated with us.”
“Yeah, he said he would,” Jefferson said. “Anything going on last night?”
“No, all quiet and Owen, again, I couldn’t be more sorry about Forsberg slipping past us.”
“Forget it, Rod. Shit happens.”
“Just between you and me, I got the feeling his uncle thinks he’s doing it. Says the nephew is really angry. I’ll email a complete report later this morning,” Schiller told him.
“Thanks, Rod. I’ll talk to you later.”
“How much trouble is he in?” Marcie asked after Jefferson ended the call.
“Not as much as we are if we don’t break this pretty soon,” Jefferson glumly replied.
“Did we get a written report on those other seven guys who came up as possibles after Judge Segal was killed?” he asked her.
“Yeah,” Marcie replied pulling a stapled document from a pile on the table. “Here,” she said as she slid it across to him.
“Have you read it?” he asked while paging through it.
“Yes, and it’s just what they told us. A couple of them are remotely possible because of past violent felonies. Pretty thin, I think. They’ve all been out for at least a couple of years and…”
“This started when our three assholes got out,” Jefferson said completing the thought.
“You are in a rotten mood this morning,” Marcie observed.
“Here’s what we’re going to do this morning,” Jefferson said ignoring her remark. “We’ll both read through everything we have again and try to find something.”
Shortly after 10:00 A.M. Jefferson’s personal cell phone rang. He looked at the I.D. then quickly answered it. “Tell me something good,” he said.
The woman calling was slightly taken aback by the abrupt greeting. She quickly recovered and said, “Detective Jefferson? This is Anne Scanlon at the BCA.”
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Jefferson apologized. “That was no way to answer your call. Did your guys come up with something?”
Scanlon quickly told him who’s DNA the hair matched.
“Do you have a written result you can email me? We’ll need it for the warrants,” he said as he gave Marcie a thumbs up. He listened for a moment then said, “Great news, Anne. In fact, I think I want to have your baby.”
Scanlon laughed then said, “I’ll have it emailed in a couple minutes. You’ll have it right away. And I have all the babies I need, thanks.”
Jefferson ended the call, looked at Marcie and said, “Guess.”
“Forsberg,” she said.
“Howie Traynor,” Jefferson answered. “Ninety-nine point six percent match. It’s his hair.”
“How the hell did he get past us?”
“I don’t know but we’ll get a search warrant now and tear that apartment apart till we find it.”
Using the department’s phone, Jefferson placed a call to Steve Gondeck, the lawyer with the county attorney. He told the receptionist who he was and the call was extremely urgent. Within ten seconds, Gondeck was on the phone. Jefferson gave him the good news and Gondeck told him he would get both a search warrant and an arrest warrant.
When he finished talking to Gondeck, Jefferson looked at Marcie and said, “For the first time since this started, I actually feel the stress lifting.”
“We’ll get this fuckin’ asshole and put him away for good,” Marcie said.
Jefferson laughed then said, “Why, Detective Sterling, your language.”
“I’ve been around too many cops,” she slyly replied.
Normally Steve Gondeck, because he was the lead felony litigator at the county attorney’s office, would hand this off to an assistant to get the warrants. This time it was a little different and very personal
. Rhea Watson was not only a colleague but a good friend. She had also been a mentor and her death felt like a kick in the chest. Plus, Gondeck had been a second chair for the prosecution of Aaron Forsberg. He had been more than a little worried he might be on the list. Gondeck also admitted feeling a wave of relief knowing Traynor was the guy and he had no connection to him.
Jefferson forwarded the email with the DNA results attached. This document would go with his affidavit in support of the warrants he would request. While typing up the affidavit and warrants for the judge to sign, he called the court clerk. One of the court administrators told him which judge was assigned today for signing warrant requests. Gondeck heard the name and swallowed hard hoping she was not wearing her ACLU membership badge.
Fifteen minutes later Gondeck found himself waiting in the outer office of Judge Karen Fisher while the judge reviewed his warrant requests. The judge’s clerk was at her desk working on her computer when the judge buzzed her.
“Yes, Judge,” Gondeck heard the clerk say into her phone. “Certainly, I’ll send him in.”
When Gondeck heard this he stood and the clerk smiled while pointing to the door to Fisher’s chambers. Gondeck lightly knocked on the closed door and went in with a feeling of dread.
“Mr. Gondeck, have a seat, please.” Gondeck sat down and the judge continued saying, “Howard Traynor. Isn’t he one of the recently released inmates suing about a false DNA test used to send him to prison?”
“Um, yes, your Honor, I believe so,” Gondeck replied.
“What else do you have tying him to this victim?”
“Well, um, nothing your Honor but the DNA result…”
“I’m not going to stick my neck out and the state, county and city’s as well with one strand of hair. Sorry. Give me something more. His lawyer will take a large bite out of all of us if that’s all you have,” she said as she handed him the paperwork across her desk.
Gondeck stood up, took the documents from her and realizing it was futile to try to argue with her, said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 157
