Marcie Sterling was standing a few feet behind the M.E. looking over his shoulder. After a few minutes she walked across the parking ramp aisle to join Jefferson.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“He didn’t have time to do the job completely. Looks like her throat was slit the same way and she has the barbed wire crown. Her fingers are still intact and he had no way to finish posing her.”
“Or a copy cat,” Marcie said.
“Could be but I don’t think so. Doesn’t feel like it.”
Marcie was holding the victim’s purse. Both she and Jefferson wore gloves, and she held up the woman’s driver’s license. “Cara Meyers. Five-foot-seven, one thirty-five, brown and brown, thirty-eight years old. Address is here, in this building,” Marcie cryptically read from the license.
Marcie set the purse on the back of the car Jefferson leaned on and started going through the bill fold. Jefferson turned back to watch the M.E.
A minute later Marcie held up a laminated card and said, “Check this out. Ms. Meyers is, was, a lawyer.”
She handed it to Jefferson, who read it and said, “That probably takes care of the copycat theory.”
The M.E., Clyde Marston, stood holding up a clear plastic bag for the two detectives to see.
“Tell me you have something!” Jefferson said as he straightened to greet Marston.
“Maybe,” Marston said as he handed the little bag to the tall detective. “It’s a hair and I don’t think it’s hers. Lighter in color and shorter.”
“Can we get DNA off of it?” Marcie asked.
“Probably,” Marston shrugged. “For sure if the follicle is still attached.”
“I’m taking possession of this. Note that in your report for chain-of-custody. I’ll run this over to St. Paul to the state crime lab myself. Anything else?” Jefferson said.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Marston replied. “I’ll check more thoroughly when I get her downtown.”
Despite the steady rain, with lights and sirens, Jefferson and Marcie made it to the East Side of St. Paul in under twenty minutes. While Jefferson drove, Marcie called Selena Kane and told her what they had. Kane called the deputy chief who called the chief and he called the mayor. By coincidence, Mayor Gillette was on the phone with Governor Dahlstrom when the chief called. One of the mayor’s assistants interrupted the call with the news.
Jefferson pulled up to the BCA building on Maryland Avenue and the wheels having been greased by a phone call from the governor, a crowd of lab people were already waiting for them. Leading the parade of BCA personnel through the rain was the BCA director herself, Anne Scanlon.
Jefferson illegally parked his car in a fire lane and the two detectives got out. Jefferson looked at Scanlon, a former MPD deputy chief and said, “Anne, what’s going on?”
“I got a call from Governor Dahlstrom and he made it abundantly clear we’re to give this a priority,” she replied.
Marcie handed the precious piece of evidence to a man who introduced himself as the lead lab tech.
“We’ll keep an accurate chain-of custody record,” the director said.
“Call us when you know something,” Jefferson said holding his trench coat at the collar against the rain.
Jeff Miller hurried to the homicide detectives’ squad room. On their way back from St. Paul, Marcie had called him and told him to run a check on the latest victim. He had news for them and was taking this opportunity to deliver it personality. And see Marcie.
“You could’ve called,” Jefferson said when Jeff came through the conference room door.
“I, ah, yes, I suppose,” Jeff stammered.
“Did you find something, Jeff?” Marcie politely asked while giving Jefferson a stern look.
Jeff looked at her, smiled and said, “Yeah, I did.” He walked over to the whiteboard, picked up a marker and circled a name.
“Parlow! Are you sure she’s connected to Eugene Parlow?” Jefferson asked with a bewildered look on his face.
“Cara Meyers was Parlow’s lawyer when the faulty DNA was used to convict him,” Jeff proudly told them.
“Are you sure she isn’t connected to any other names on our list?” Marcie asked.
“I ran all of the suspects on the board and Parlow was the only one that came up,” Miller answered. “And Judge Peterson was his trial judge; Judge Smith, the victim up North, decided his appeal and Rhea Watson was the prosecutor.”
“This is too much of a coincidence. What are the odds of this happening?” Marcie asked. “We need to get a hold of Lieutenant Schiller and double check their surveillance,” Marcie continued. “According to the surveillance reports, Parlow is the one they’re having the most trouble keeping track of.”
Jeff took a chair next to Marcie and said, “The odds of this happening are probably better than you think. Rhea Watson, during that time, was the chief criminal prosecutor for the county. She had over a hundred cases.”
“I remember it,” Jefferson said. “Word was she was very ambitious and had her eye on the top job. Plus the judge, Peterson, had a bit of a reputation for believing in DNA evidence. Most of the prosecutors with DNA cases tried to get him.”
“Okay,” Marcie said. “What about the appellate judge, Smith?” she continued pointing at his name on the whiteboard.
“That one could simply be a coincidence,” Jefferson said. “Every homicide case gets appealed and he maybe just got unlucky. I need to go see someone, a civilian ex-cop. Marcie, I want you to go to the M.E.’s office and check on the autopsy. Then get a hold of the detectives who are running checks on the other suspects.”
Jefferson wearily sat back in his chair and studied the whiteboard for a minute or so.
“I don’t know where the hell we are,” he said. “I still think its Traynor or, more likely, Forsberg but…”
“We’ve had them under surveillance,” Marcie said.
“Yeah,” Jefferson said turning to look at Marcie. “And it’s a helluva an alibi, isn’t it?”
Marcie and Jeff Miller left and Jefferson made a phone call. Tony Carvelli agreed to meet him and the two men settled on a place to do so. Twenty minutes later, Jefferson entered a chain Italian restaurant, removed his trench coat to shake the rain off and took an empty booth in the bar.
A few minutes later Carvelli arrived and the two men shook hands. They both ordered coffee from the server then Jefferson said, “I need a fresh pair of eyes and an uncluttered mind.”
The server brought two cups into which he poured their coffee. When the young woman left Jefferson went over everything they had about the killings while Carvelli quietly listened. When he finished, Jefferson said, “What do you think?”
“What about the hair that was found this morning?” Tony asked.
“You know something, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it wasn’t planted. Why, all of a sudden, does he get that careless and we find just one hair?”
“Maybe you’re right. Or maybe he had to hurry. He’s in a parking garage with lights and people who could show up any time. Occam’s razor,” Tony said. “The simplest solution, the simplest answer is probably the correct one.”
“Is that what Occam’s razor is?”
“That’s the simplified version,” Tony said. Carvelli leaned forward almost halfway across the table. Jefferson did the same so the two men’s heads were inches apart. “In my gut, I think it’s Traynor. I’m just not buying his ‘I found Jesus’ act.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I know,” Tony interrupted. “We’ve watched him like a hawk. I just remember what a goddamn psycho he was; is. I’m not buying that he could switch that off. Listen, let me think about it and if I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Tony. I needed to talk to someone about this,” Jefferson said. “It’s making me a little crazy.”
“Anytime.”
TWENTY-NINE
When Jefferson got back downtown to the departm
ent, Marcie was back from the M.E.’s office. Jefferson hung up his coat and wearily sat down. He looked at Marcie and said, “I’m open to suggestions, Marcie, if you have any.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “What if it’s one guy and he did one or two victims just to confuse us.”
“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,” Ma
ddy 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.”
Certain Justice Page 18
