Certain Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “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 re
sult…”

  “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.”

  “Look, Steve,” the judge said. “I get it. This is a big deal and I want to get whoever is doing this too. But one loose strand of hair for a suspect whose already been screwed by DNA testing isn’t enough. And if you try to shop this around to another judge, I’ll remember it.”

  “Yes, your Honor,” Gondeck said then turned and left before the steam started coming out of his ears.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Owen Jefferson hung up the department’s phone and heavily sighed. Steve Gondeck had called with the news about the warrants. Jefferson looked across the table at Marcie who stared back with an inquisitive look on her face.

  “Serenity now,” Jefferson said.

  “What?”

  “No warrants,” he answered her. “No search warrant, no arrest warrant. That was Steve Gondeck, with Slocum’s office…”

  “Yeah, I know who he is.”

  “The judge he had to take the applications to refused to sign them. Said she needed more than a single strand of hair. Steve thinks Traynor suing everybody over the last time DNA was used against him caused her to pause.”

  “Now what?” Marcie asked.

  Jefferson didn’t answer her right away. He swiveled his chair toward the whiteboard. He leaned back while staring at the names, reflecting on what they could do.

  “I say we go pick him up anyway,” Marcie said. “We have enough to haul his ass in here for questioning.”

  Jefferson turned his chair back to her, stared directly at her for several seconds before saying, “You’re right. Go get him. Grab a couple of uniforms and get him downtown. He should be at the church but you can check with Rod Schiller to make sure.”

  Marcie started dialing the phone to call Schiller and while doing so said, “What are you up to?”

  “I have someone I need to talk to. Make sure everybody wears a vest and has a Taser. I don’t trust this guy one bit. And keep quiet about this. I don’t want the media hanging from the rafters when you get him back here.”

  Jefferson quietly waited for his partner to finish her calls then pack up and leave. As soon as she was out the door, he made the call he was waiting to make.

  “Hey, you busy right this minute?” Jefferson said when Tony Carvelli answered this phone.

  “No, I was about to call you anyway. I hear you got the DNA results back from the hair sample found on Cara Meyers and it’s our boy Howie,” Carvelli said.

  “How did you find that out?”

  “I’m not telling you and I’m not sure you want to know.”

  “Okay, I need to talk to you. You got some time now?” Jefferson asked.

  “Why aren’t you out arresting the sonofabitch?”

  “That’s one of the things I need to talk to you about.”

  “Okay,” Carvelli replied. “I could use some lunch anyway.”

  Barely fifteen minutes after the phone call between the two men, Carvelli entered Rosa’s on Lake Street and Graham Avenue. He looked along the wall on the right-hand side and checked the booths until he spotted Jefferson.

  “Best Mexican in town,” Carvelli said as he shook Jefferson’s hand and sat opposite him.

  Within fifteen seconds Rosa herself was at their booth.

  “Bad enough I got cops coming in here now you’re bringing him with you,” she lightly chided Jefferson referring to Carvelli. “You know Tony, I think you have a tab around here that you still owe,” she kidded Carvelli.

  “You say that to me every time I come in here,” he said.

  “‘Cause you ain’t paid it.”

  Tony gently took her right hand gently kissed the back of it and said, “But I still love you. Let’s run off together.”

  “You’re too old for me. You couldn’t keep up,” the sixty-something Rosa replied.

  “Probably true,” Jefferson said.

  Rosa winked at Jefferson with a sly smile then took a pen from behind her right ear. She took their order and left the two men to talk.

  Jefferson quickly explained where he was with the investigation and the problem with the arrest and search warrants. When he finished he said, “We need a boost. We need to figure out how he’s doing this.”

  “If he’s doing it,” Carvelli corrected him. “The guy’s been under surveillance except for a couple of days since he got out. He has the best alibi ever. What about the other two, what’s their names…?”

  “Forsberg and Parlow,” Jefferson said.

  “Yeah, what about them?”

  “I don’t see Parlow being smart enough to pull this off,” Jefferson told him. “Forsberg, to be honest, looks as good for it as Traynor does. But we got DNA on Traynor…”

  “Okay, but don’t kid yourself about Parlow. He’s as big an asshole as Traynor…”

  “…and we’ve been having more trouble keeping track of him than Forsberg or Howie,” Jefferson added. “Look Tony, I don’t know why but my gut tells me that it’s Traynor. At this point we’re chasing our tails and I want to either nail his ass or eliminate him.”

  Rosa brought their lunches and the three of them engaged in a little more good-natured banter. She left and the two men went to work on their meals.

  “Okay,” Tony said a few minutes later. “I know what I can do but you are not going to be told. The less you know the better. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “You got it,” Jefferson said while wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. He slyly smiled to himself knowing perfectly well what the former MPD detective had in mind.

  While Owen Jefferson and Tony Carvelli were meeting for lunch, Marcie Sterling parked in the lot of St. Andrew’s Catholic Church. She was followed and accompanied by two large MPD uniformed cops, Sergeant Paul Hemer and Officer Kyle Fulton. Hemer was driving the squad car and he parked it behind Howie’s car effectively blocking it in. Having seen them arrive, Father John Brinkley opened the door for them before they reached it.

  Marcie introduced themselves to the priest while showing him her credentials. She politely asked Father John to take them to Howie Traynor.

  The priest led them downstairs into the basement where Howie was eating lunch. All the way down Father John kept asking questions about why they were there and what they wanted. Marcie courteously deflected each question with a standard inability to divulge this information response.

  “Howard Traynor?” Marcie asked when they arrived at his table. Howie had seen them coming across the floor of the basement’s common area. He quickly shoved the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth then turned back to look at them.

  “Yes,” Howie said to Marcie’s question while still chewing.

  “We need you to come with us,” Marcie answered.

  “Is he under arrest?” the priest asked.

  “Am I?” Howie also inquired.

  “No, we just want you to come downtown for a chat.”

  At that moment, the younger uniformed cop, Fulton, the larger of the two, step forward in a menacing manner. When he did this the old Howie Traynor returned for a brief moment, enough to make a point. The expression on his face changed enough to let the cop know Howie was not to be intimidated by a mere cop. Fulton got the message and so did Marcie and Sergeant Hemer.

  “This building is a place of worship and a sanctuary,” Father John reminded them trying to find cover for Howie.

  “It’s his place of employment,” Marcie corrected the priest. She looked at Howie and asked, “Are you requesting sanctuary from the Church?”

  Howie thought it over for a second then stood up and said, “No, I’ll come with you. I have nothing to hide and
I would like to get this over with.”

  The priest started to say something but Howie interrupted him. “It’s all right, Father. I know what they want. They think I have something to do with these murders, but I don’t. So I might as well go with them and see if I can convince them. Will you call a lawyer for me, please Father? His name is Marc Kadella,” Howie asked him then spelled Marc’s name. “Ask him to meet me there.”

  “I will and I’ll be downtown myself right behind you,” Father John replied.

  While he was being led out of the church, Howie said, “I’ll tell you right now, I’m not answering any questions until my lawyer gets there.”

  “That’s your right and we will respect that,” a disappointed Marcie Sterling replied.

  Marcie drove her car into the underground parking of the Old City Hall. The two uniforms, with Howie Traynor in the back of their squad car, followed her down the ramp. Within minutes they hustled him upstairs to the police department and into an interrogation room. Marcie left Officer Fulton in the conference room at the door to watch Howie while she went to find Owen Jefferson.

  Marcie stuck her head into the conference room they were using as an office and found it to be empty. She turned to the detectives in the room and said, “Anybody seen Jefferson?”

  Before anyone could answer he came into the room through the hallway doors.

  “Never mind,” Marcie said.

  They greeted each other and Marcie held the door for him as they went into their private office space. Selena Kane saw Jefferson arrive and she entered the room right behind him.

  “He lawyered up,” Marcie told them. “Says he won’t talk to us without a lawyer.”

  “Let’s get him one,” Kane said.

  “His priest is calling one for him,” Marcie said. “A guy Howie told him to call.”

  “What do you want to do?” Kane asked Jefferson.

  “Wait for his lawyer. In the meantime, I’ll call Steve Gondeck at Slocum’s office and have him come over,” Jefferson answered his boss as he started dialing the department phone.