(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Great. Now he’s over here. We got a bigger problem.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jake,

  “Her,” said Linaman, nodding toward the body. “Recognize her?”

  “No,” said Jake. “Should I? Who is she?”

  “C’mon,” he answered. He led Jake over to the police lab unit, reached into the vehicle’s back door and brought out a brown purse with a long leather shoulder strap. “Hers,” he said as he pulled a billfold from the purse, folded it open and handed it to Waschke with the driver’s license showing through the clear plastic.

  “Michelle Marie Dahlstrom,” said Waschke as he read the information from the license. “Brown and brown. Age 24. Lives about a block from here. Probably on her way home from a place on Grand last night.”

  “We’re checking,” Linaman replied. “Does the name mean anything?”

  “Not Ted Dahlstrom?” asked Waschke. “Please don’t tell me this is the Governor’s daughter.”

  “Afraid so,” replied Linaman. “At least, I think so.”

  “Oh, shit. You gotta be kidding. Please say you are,” said Waschke as he passed his hand over his face and stood staring vacantly at the back of the lab vehicle.

  “I wish I was. Believe me. I’m the one that gets to go tell him,” said Linaman.

  “Oh, Christ,” said Jake. “This is just fucking wonderful. When are you going to see him?”

  “Pretty soon. I was gonna make a call and try to track him down.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Jake offered, opening his cell phone. He punched in a pre-set number, put it to his ear and listened to the ringing.

  “You know someone?” Linaman asked, with obvious hope.

  “Yeah. My brother,” Jake said as he waited for the call to be answered.

  FIVE

  Thirty minutes later, Jake was introducing his younger brother, Daniel, to the St Paul detective in the reception room of the Governor’s Chief of Staff’s office in the Capitol building.

  “What’s up, Jake?” asked Danny, as Jake still called him even though he was the top aide to Governor Theodore Dahlstrom.

  Jake put his left index finder to his lips and pointed to Daniel’s office with his other hand. Daniel gave him a puzzled look, shrugged his shoulders, turned and headed toward the door followed by the two policemen. Jake glanced around at the normally bustling crowd and answered the inquisitive looks with as warm a smile as he could force. No need for rumors and gossip at this point, he thought. They’ll all know soon enough.

  After Linaman had quietly closed the door behind them, Jake said to his brother, “Sit down, Danny. This isn’t gonna be fun.”

  “What?” asked Danny as he took his chair behind the large, oak desk. “What is it? Why do you need a private meeting with him?”

  “It’s Michelle, Danny. She was murdered last night,” said Jake, as calmly as he could.

  Immediately, Daniel put his hand over his mouth as his back stiffened in the chair. His eyes wide open, unblinking for several seconds, he sat looking back and forth at the two police officers. After a long moment, he brought his hand away from his mouth but remained otherwise frozen in place and said, “Are you sure? No, there must be some mistake,” he continued, shaking his head. “This can’t be. No. No. I just saw her the other day.”

  “Show him the billfold,” Jake said to the other policeman.

  Linaman was standing in front of the large oak door with the translucent frosted window guarding against possible intruders. He reached inside his suit coat as he walked the half dozen steps to the front of Daniel’s desk and pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing a brown leather woman’s billfold from his inside pocket. As he reached the desk, he held the bag up so the driver’s license in the billfold could be seen and placed it into Daniel’s proffered hand. Daniel grabbed it, almost jerking it out of Linaman’s hand, grasping at this last second hope that there had been a mistake, knowing that there wasn’t. He held it up and looked at the picture on the driver’s license, his heart rising into his throat with the thought of telling a man he greatly admired that the most precious thing in the world to that man was gone forever.

  “Yes, that’s Michelle,” he said in a barely audible whisper as he sat staring at the plastic image. His arm collapsed as if the muscles had been severed and his hand and the evidence bag hit the desk with a dull thud. He stared vacantly at the wall opposite his desk for three or four seconds, silence among the three men. “Now what?” he asked. “How do we tell him this?”

  “We’ll do it, Danny,” his brother replied. “Just get us in to see him right away. The media was at the crime scene. This is gonna get out, and real soon.”

  “You told the news people?” asked Daniel, a trace of anger and incredulity in his voice.

  “Of course not,” responded Linaman defensively. “We kept them back and they saw nothing but they’ll get it. This is too big to keep quiet.”

  “Who else knows it was Michelle?” asked Daniel more calmly.

  “Just the three of us, so far,” said Jake. “She’s on her way to the morgue but someone will recognize her. It’s gonna get out, Danny. We need to see him now.”

  “You’re right. Okay. Wait here and I’ll set it up,” said Daniel as he rose from the chair and headed to the office door.

  Six minutes later, the two men were ushered into the large, ornately furnished office of the Governor of Minnesota. Seated behind the huge rosewood desk was the room’s current occupant, Theodore Dahlstrom. He rose to greet them as the secretary quietly closed the door leaving the four men in privacy. Like all good secretaries, even though she did not know what the unscheduled meeting was about, with two cops involved, she instinctively knew it must be serious and prepared to stand guard at the gate.

  “Well, Jake, it’s good to see you again,” he said as he came around the desk, right hand extended, to greet his unexpected visitors. It was immediately clear from his guest’s expressions and his aide’s silence that, whatever their purpose, it was extremely serious.

  Before he had finished moving from behind the desk, Jake stepped up to him, took the Governor’s hand in both of his and quickly, with forced control, said, “Governor, I think you’d better sit down, sir. We have terrible news for you, I’m afraid.”

  With a puzzled expression and without removing his hand from the policeman’s gentle grasp, he looked back and forth between the three men. Jake gently took him by the elbow and guided him back to his seat.

  “It’s Michelle,” he heard Daniel say as he looked up into the sympathetic eyes of the big lieutenant.

  “I’m afraid she’s dead,” said Jake. “I am terribly sorry for your loss, sir.”

  “What? No, wait, this can’t be. How? No, this can’t be. There’s a mistake here,” said the Governor as he searched the faces of the three men, his face pleading for a reprieve from the thunder that crashed in his head. None was forthcoming. Daniel and Detective Linaman, unable to look at the Governor, stood silently staring at the floor, their hands held in front of themselves as if they were already attending the funeral. Only Jake was able to keep a grasp on the situation. Move it forward to its inevitable conclusion when the father would break down, sobbing, his head between his knees.

  The two policemen stood at the bottom of the granite steps leading down from the Capitol entry to the parking area on the street below. Neither spoke for several long seconds as they both stared at the buildings of downtown St. Paul. Jake twirled an unlit cigarette in his fingers, looked up at the graying sky and rotated his head to loosen the muscles in his neck and relieve the tension he felt in his shoulders.

  “No matter how long I do this job, I’ll never get used to that,” said Linaman.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Waschke quietly agreed. “It’s just so sad and difficult. No matter who it is.”

  “Tryin’ to quit?” asked Linaman, nodding his head slightly toward Jake’s hands, anxious to change the subject.

  “Yeah.” Jak
e sighed. “Trying. Not too successfully.”

  “I know what you mean. Quit myself eight years ago and I still want one sometimes,” said Linaman.

  “Like now?”

  “Yeah, like now.”

  Waschke handed the smoke to the detective, took out another for himself and, as he held out his plastic lighter to Linaman, said, “Who’s gonna handle this thing for your department?”

  “I was thinking about John Lucas,” he replied as he inhaled deeply. “He’s passed the test for detective second.”

  “He’ll do fine. We’ll wanna work with you people on this guy. I’ve worked with John a couple times before. If it’s okay with him, it’s sure okay with me.”

  “I’m sure it will be okay with him,” Linaman said. “He’s a good cop. Good detective.”

  “We gotta get this asshole,” said Jake. “After this,” he continued pointing back toward the Capitol building, “the political heat is gonna be unbearable.”

  “No bullshit there,” said Linaman. “Your chief and mine are gonna be all over everyone to get this guy. “

  “I gotta get to the office. Have John call me as soon as he can. Here, give him my card,” Jake said as he pulled out his wallet.

  “Sure thing,” came the reply. “Anything anybody needs on this one, we gotta do.”

  SIX

  Three days later, at Lakewood Cemetery, Jake and John Lucas stood on a small knoll about a hundred yards away from the huge crowd gathered in a semi-circle around the minister. The casket and grave were protected from the mist that had been descending all day by a yellow and white striped awning. Jake was too far away to hear the graveside service and his attention drifted back and forth from the mourners to the media horde being restrained a respectful distance from the Governor, his wife, the brother and sister of Michelle.

  Daniel had called the day before to tell him the Governor wanted him and John Lucas to attend. He didn’t elaborate but simply asked them to be there. A gloomy enough business without the rain thought Jake, as he shifted his feet, hands thrust in the pockets of his raincoat.

  “The trees and grass are gonna explode when this rain lets up and we get some sunshine,” said Lucas trying to make a little small talk.

  “Yeah, looks like spring is finally here,” Jake replied. “Here comes Danny,” he continued as he noticed his brother break out of the crowd and start walking toward them.

  “That’s your brother?” asked Lucas, slightly disbelieving.

  “Different fathers,” explained Jake as if he had said it a thousand times, which he probably had. The physical difference between the two men was striking. Jake was a large, bulky man and Daniel was shorter and had a more normal build. “Mine died working for the railroad shortly after I was born. Mom remarried a couple years later. He fathered Danny.”

  They waited a few more seconds as Daniel walked toward them. As he approached he held out his hand to Jake who brushed it aside after seeing the look in his brother’s eyes and instead, the two men embraced.

  “How’s the family holding up?” asked Jake as the two of them separated.

  “Not too good,” Daniel answered. “He’ll be all right but Marie and the other two kids,” he paused and shrugged. “Well, probably gonna need lots of counseling to get through it.”

  “Danny, this is John Lucas of the St. Paul Police,” said Jake as the two men shook hands. “John’s in charge of the St. Paul investigation. We’ll be working together on this thing.”

  “Are you sure this is the same guy? The same guy that killed those women in Minneapolis killed Michelle?” asked Daniel.

  “Well, obviously, we can’t be positive until we catch him. And we will get him, don’t worry about that. But, yeah, we’re sure it’s the same guy,” said Jake.

  “Okay, good,” said Daniel. “Anyway, he wants a word with you. Just a minute or two, okay? As soon as the service is over,” said Daniel.

  “How much longer?” asked Jake, immediately regretting the insensitive question.

  “Pretty soon, I think,” said Daniel with a half smile. “I’ll get him and bring him here.”

  He turned and headed back toward the crowd just as it was starting to break up. Jake and John Lucas stood silently watching Daniel make his way through the dissolving crowd and walk to the two figures holding each other near the gravesite, the woman obviously sobbing into the man’s chest. Jake watched as Daniel approached the grieving parents and stood a respectful distance away, waiting for the Governor to notice him.

  After a brief moment, he saw the Governor and his wife separate, the remaining two children moving quickly to their mother. As Daniel and the Governor approached, Jake couldn’t help but notice the redness in Dahlstrom’s eyes and the firmness of his facial muscles. The guy is really pissed. That’s both good and bad, Jake thought to himself.

  “Lieutenant,” said Dahlstrom as he and Jake exchanged a brief handshake.

  “Governor, this is John Lucas out of St. Paul,” Jake replied as the two men shook hands.

  “Lieutenant, I want to be kept informed of your investigation. I want you to know, whatever you need, FBI, BCA, anything at all, you let me know and you got it. Understand?” said Dahlstrom being very clear this was not a request.

  “Ah, Governor, excuse me …” Lucas began to protest.

  “No problem, sir,” said Jake, cutting Lucas off before he could go any further. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Is there a problem, Lucas?” asked Dahlstrom, glaring at the detective, leaving no doubt about who is in charge.

  “No, sir. None at all,” Lucas replied.

  “Good. Then we understand each other,” said Dahlstrom firmly, returning his gaze to Jake.

  “Let’s be clear, here, okay, Lieutenant? This isn’t just because of Michelle. You’ve seen the news and the papers. Look at that,” he continued moving his head toward the roped off media. “It’s about all of theses victims and their families. This shit doesn’t happen in Minnesota. This isn’t New York or L.A. For everyone’s sake, you gotta nail this sonofabitch, now, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” both policemen responded, in unison.

  “Then we’re clear here. Get it done,” he said as he turned and walked off.

  SEVEN

  The early morning traffic moved slowly along Lake Street. In fact, barely faster than a brisk walking speed because of the thorough washing the street was getting from the cloud bank that covered the upper floors of the IDS Center and other concrete monsters that had grown out of the prairie soil of downtown Minneapolis. Marc Kadella liked the rain. Liked the way it washed away the grit and grime that the winter left deposited on the city like an enormous bathtub ring when the snow finally melted away. Today was the fourth day in a row of the rain but the TV news fluffs were predicting high pressure, sunshine and real spring starting tomorrow. The rainy days will have washed clean the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul and the multiple rings of shiny suburbs with their shiny homes, their shiny new cars and their shiny couples with two point three shiny children, he thought as he stared at the MTC bus going westbound along Lake Street. As he continued watching, the bus splashed through a puddle and sprayed the two women standing on the corner. That, at least, brought a brief flicker of a smile to his face.

  “Jesus Christ,” he softly said aloud to himself, “you’re getting to be a cynical asshole.”

  It was barely 8:00 a.m. and he had already been in the office over an hour. A few minutes earlier he heard Carolyn come in, one of the three secretaries he shared with the three other lawyers in the office. His door was partially open and he could hear her rustling about preparing to start her day.

  Staring at the rain, the traffic and the few pedestrians scurrying along the sidewalks, he once again found himself wondering when he would snap out of his funk, why he ever decided to go to law school and then compound that stupidity with actually attempting to make a living at the practice of law.

  He looked up from the street scen
e below and then north toward downtown Minneapolis. He reached up and pushed the window open as far as it would go to let in the fresh, wet air. A little of the downpour would occasionally splash in after hitting the outside ledge. He didn’t mind. In fact he kind of liked the wetness and freshness of it. It felt cool and invigorating. The ledges on the upper floors kept most of the rain at bay so it was no problem to have the window open, even on the rainiest of days, like today.

  The ability to open the windows was one of the best features of the Reardon Building located on the southeast corner of Lake Street and Charles. An older building built in the twenties when the Calhoun area of the city was expensive, trendy and fashionable. Now it was mostly just trendy, the artsy kind of young people drifting in and out. But he still liked the building with the creaky wooden stairs coming up from the street, the slightly musty odor and, of course, the windows you could still open.

  He even liked the neighborhood which was still relatively crime free and the inhabitants were certainly interesting. Colorful, he thought, is a good way to describe them. And they usually made for more interesting clients. Certainly more interesting than the insurance and corporate clients the boys and girls in the downtown towers had to put up with.

  He smiled a sly smile as he remembered what a law school classmate, a modern day slave in one of the big, downtown firms, recently told him about big firm clients.

  “Every time you turn around,” he had said, “you’ve got another ass to kiss. I’d rather suck their dicks. At least that’s finite. There’s an end to it at some point. The ass kissing never ends. When you win a case for these bastards it’s because you had an easy case and when you lose it’s because you screwed up. They’re never satisfied and they always want their ass kissed. And don’t get me started on the senior partners in the firm. They’re even worse. Smart, good lawyers but in many ways the dumbest sonsabitches God ever put on the planet. Most of them don’t have the sense to open an umbrella in the rain.”