“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 home 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.”
“What!?” Marc practically yelled which caused Margaret to raise her head up from the file she was working on. “Are they sure?”
“Pretty sure, yeah,” Carvelli answered.
While Marc listened, a bead of sweat lightly broke out on his forehead. Carvelli went over each victim. He started with the first one, the appellate judge who had presided over Traynor’s appeal. Then he revisited Rhea Watson who had prosecuted the case and Judge Ross Peterson who was the trial judge.
Before Carvelli got to the man found that morning in Mueller Park, Marc interrupted him. “What about the guy found this morning? He wasn’t a judge or lawyer. I was his lawyer.”
“Elliot Sanders. Does the name sound familiar?” Carvelli asked.
“No, should it?”
“No, probably not. It’s been a while. Anyway, you ready for this? He was the jury foreman.”
“Holy shit, sonofabitch,” Marc quietly said. “Do you think I’m…”
“Yeah, Marc. They do think you’re on the list. Probably me too.”
“Why you?”
“I arrested his ass. Me and Jake Waschke and a few others.”
“Jesus Christ. Now what?
“What?” a concerned Margaret almost yelled.
Marc held up an index finger to her and softly said to her, “I’ll tell you in a minute. Relax.”
“Jefferson has surveillance on him and…”
“Wait a minute,” Marc interrupted. “I thought you and Maddy were doing that for Vivian. What happened?”
“We stopped a few days ago. He hadn’t done anything so…”
“Were you watching him when any of these other victims were killed?”
“Yeah, we were,” Carvelli said.
“Then how…”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Carvelli replied. “I don’t know. We had him covered for the time frame of the first two but not Judge Peterson and this Sanders guy.”
“That’s a pretty solid alibi,” Marc, the lawyer in him said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. He could’ve slipped past us but his car never moved. How did he get out and get up to Bemidji, do that judge up there then get back by morning in time for Sunday church?”
“The cops could have it all wrong,” Marc said. “They could be looking at the wrong thing entirely.”
“Yeah, they could. The Minneapolis cops are contacting everyone involved with this case so I told Jefferson I’d get a hold of you. You want some protection?”
Marc thought about that for a moment then said, “No. I have a carry permit and I’ll start using it for now.”
“Yeah, me too,” Carvelli said. “Be careful.”
“I will, you too,” Marc replied.
Before Marc could set the phone on the table, Margaret started in. “What the hell was that?” she almost shouted. She was staring at him with an astonished look on her face because of what she had overheard. “You’re going to start carrying a gun?”
It wasn’t the fact that he was going to start carrying a gun. She knew he had a concealed carry permit as did she. A lot of judges do. In fact, Margaret knew of at least two Hennepin County judges, both very liberal, who kept a gun hidden on the bench. What concerned her was the reason why Marc told Tony he would. She wanted to know why.
Marc relayed the conversation to her and explained the police suspicions about Howie Traynor. “I can’t see how it could be him. He was under surveillance for all but a couple of the killings,” he said
“Don’t you think you should demand police protection?”
Marc simply shrugged and said, “They can’t protect everybody all the time. I don’t believe it’s Howie so I’m not too worried about it.”
The next day George Lynch and his ten-year-old black lab were taking their usual mid-morning walk. It was cloudy and cool with a forecast of rain predicted for later that afternoon. George was a retired fireman and still married to his high school sweetheart. Because of the chill he had on a hat and coat. Zeus was loosely held by a long leash which allowed the dog a little freedom to roam.
The two of them were on the walkway surrounding Lake Harriet, one of the lakes that make up the chain of lakes in Minneapolis. The weather being what it was there were far fewer people out than normal.
Up ahead, about a hundred yards, George could see and hear a flock of about twenty crows. The birds were on and around a small copse of birch trees standing between the asphalt trail and the lake. As George and his companion got closer, he could tell that something on the ground among the trees had the scavengers’ attention.
When they reached that point on the walkway, George decided to find out what it was. He tightened Zeus’ leash and the two of them walked toward the commotion. Being city birds and used to people, they didn’t fly off until George got within ten feet and set Zeus loose. At the bottom of the half dozen or so trees was some brush about three feet high. Because of this, George had to walk around the trees to see what had attracted the birds. When he got there he almost wished he had not.
The first police officer to arrive had been at Mueller Park the day before. He spoke to the retired fireman who was waiting on the walking path and called it in on his shoulder mic right away. George described to him the pose of the body and the cop knew immediately what to do.
When Jefferson and Marcie arrived the M.E. was examining the body and a CSU team was combing over the area. They took a few minutes to hear the dog walker’s story. They thanked him then walked over to the first cop on scene, Officer Dejuan Carver.
“When are you getting your sergeant stripes?” Jefferson asked him as they shook hands.
“Next month,” Carver replied.
“Really? Good. About time.” Jefferson introduced Marcie then waited for Carver to fill him in. The patrolman told the detectives what he found and did upon arriving.
“Write it up and get it to me by the end of today,” Jefferson said when Carver finished.
“Owen,” the patrolman continued. “I know this guy. Or, he looks really familiar but I can’t remember his name.”
Jefferson and Marcie stood behind Clyde Marston, the on-site M.E. The victim was posed exactly as the others. His arms were spread apart and his hands were nailed to two trees. His throat had been slit open, his shirt covered in blood and the crown of barbed wire thorns atop his head. Even from a few feet away the two detectives could see the damage done to the man’s fingers and toes.
“Lift his chin and let me take a look please, Clyde,” Jefferson said.
Marston complied and as soon as he did so Jefferson quietly said, “Sonofabitch. You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You know him?” Marcie asked.
“Yeah, I know who he is,” Jefferson answered. “He ripped me to shreds on the witness stand a few years ago, before he was appointed to the bench. It’s Julian Segal, a Ramsey County judge. I think I better give St. Paul a call.”
Jefferson found the number of a St. Paul detective he knew and called him. The man answered immediately and without a greeting said, “So, you’ve got yourself a shit storm over there. Glad I’m not you,” John Lucas said.
“Yeah, well suck it up buddy ‘cause I’m about to drag you into it.”
Jefferson explained the most recent victim to Lucas. When he finished Lucas told him he would put together a search team to go through Segal’s house. While on the phone Lucas had looked up the judge’s Summit Avenue address and Jefferson agreed to meet him there.
Jefferson, Marcie and Lucas were the first to arrive at Segal’s home. It was their responsibility to inform the new widow of what had happened to her husband. She told them she had called the
St. Paul police to report him missing.
“We’re Jewish,” she said through her sobs. “He’s supposed to be buried…”
“Within 24 hours,” Jefferson said. “I know ma’am.”
“Do they have to do an autopsy?” she asked.
“Yes, legally it must be done. I’ve already requested that it be done as quickly as possible to get him back to you,” Jefferson answered. “Mrs. Segal, we need to search your home. We would like to have your permission to do so.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s a routine request,” Marcie politely said. “To look for any clue as to who might have done this. We’ll be as careful as we possibly can.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” the widow answered. “Yes, sure. Do what you have to do.”
An hour later Jefferson told John Lucas they were leaving and to let him know if they found anything.
“You taking this?” Lucas asked referring to jurisdiction.
“The body was found in Minneapolis. Unless we find out he was killed somewhere else, it’s ours.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Lucas said.
Marcie Sterling was on the phone with Jeff Miller, the MPD computer tech, while Owen Jefferson stared at the whiteboard. They were back at the office trying to find a connection between their theory and Julian Segal.
“Thanks, Jeff,” Marcie said into the phone. “Get anything you find to us as soon as you can.”
“He has a thing for you,” Jefferson said after Marcie hung up the phone.
“Shut up!” she said which made Jefferson laugh. Their boss, Selena Kane, entered the room at that moment and sat down at the head of the table.
“Tell me you have something,” she said.
“We’re looking,” Jefferson dejectedly answered.
“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. What if it’s something and someone else?” Kane said looking at the names on the whiteboard.
Certain Justice Page 15
