by James Ross
“We haven’t released anything to the news people,” Lester J emphasized. “Who is the beneficiary?”
“Jayla Donnelly, daughter of Richard W. Richards. And, get this, Shari Daniels-Donnelly.”
“Holy sh…” Lester J was stunned.
“Yeah and Shari Daniels-Donnelly has to endorse the check. They want the courts to immediately block disbursement of the proceeds until all active investigations are concluded.”
“We haven’t named her as a suspect, have we?”
“No, of course not. Not formally anyway. I don’t know where they got their information.”
“Maybe since the child is a product of an illegitimate union the insurance company wants to make sure that the surviving guardian is clear of any criminal wrongdoing.” Lester J pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s an outrageous claim to be paid out.”
“The insurance company has petitioned the civil court. We need to follow the court action.”
“What we really need to do is talk to her.”
Bazz shook his head in agreement. “And that is where the problem is. Shivetta is not allowing us to question his client.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Labor Day weekend came and went. The Cardinals put on a late season surge to make the playoffs. Basilio led the team into the World Series. The Rams struggled in the NFL. The Missouri Tiger football team won more than they lost while the Fighting Illini football team struggled in a tough conference.
Golf season wound down as the temperature cooled. Multi-colored leaves covered the ground after basking in idyllic, sun-drenched, humidity-free weather. Gray clouds replaced blue skies while snow, ice, and wind adversely affected the mood of the locals. Winter had arrived.
Basilio did as Raul predicted after the Cardinals won the World Series: he turned his back on St. Louis and took big money from an East Coast team that had cable television dollars to burn. Lisa Boudreau won another election running unopposed and garnering hordes of votes from those that received entitlements. Shari Daniels-Donnelly made headlines too. Her pending divorce to Tyler Cy was the most newsworthy item in the societal section of the local papers.
The news media kept pressure on the St. Louis County Police Department for information on the execution-style killing of Richard W. Richards. The cold trail collected ice as the temperatures dropped. Becca, Richie’s wife, called constantly. There were no new clues. Nobody was talking. No gun was found. No motorcycle was seen. No bike was bought or sold.
Bazz and Lester J brainstormed daily. Their suspicions led them back to the same conclusion. The lover’s triangle of Richie, Raul, and Shari was somehow connected.
“Did Tyler Cy have him killed after he found out they were having an affair?” Bazz wondered out loud.
“Maybe he found out that Richards fathered his youngest daughter and had the guy wasted,” Lester J suggested.
“Was she involved? Did she order a hit?”
“She certainly had the money.”
“For that matter so did he,” Bazz added.
“Let’s face it; they were the first ones to hire a lawyer.”
“They must have something to hide.”
“Who is benefitting from the life insurance policy?” Lester J asked.
“It’s not them directly, but the family will certainly prosper because of it.”
“Do you think her lover got pissed at the guy and did away with him?”
“Raul?”
“Yeah, her lover.”
“He had an alibi that checked out. Now he’s not talking.”
“Has he hired a lawyer?”
“I haven’t heard but he might feel that he doesn’t need one at this point.”
“What did the court say about the money on the life insurance policy?” Lester J asked.
“It’s being withheld pending the results of the investigation. The judge said that since the cause of death was murder…”
“Duh…”
“…it will be held in escrow until the situation is resolved to the court’s satisfaction.”
“Both of them had alibis, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. She was in jail and he was picking her up.”
“What about his golfing buddy?” Lester J asked. “What was his name?”
“Knuckles.”
Lester J slapped his forehead. “How could I forget?”
“He passed the polygraph and the paraffin test concluded that he had no residue on his body.”
Lester J sighed. “He didn’t have a motive anyway.” He shook his head back and forth. “I’m baffled. Why can’t we find that bike?”
The phone rang at Bazz’s desk. He scrambled to pick up before the second ring and listened to the voice on the other end. “Really? Is that so?” More chatter caused him to acknowledge new information. “Thanks. I’ll be right over.”
“What was that all about?”
“Somebody just called the hotline.” Bazz scurried out the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The winter months brought another kind of excitement to the St. Louis County courts. Tindra pled guilty to several misdemeanor offenses to save the expense of a lengthy trial. She had impersonated Shari in hundreds of text messages and admitted it. The cell phone history and the traces from the cell phone towers caught her red-handed.
Raul put up a $3,000 cash bond to free Tindra until sentencing because he needed a mother’s influence to supervise his children. The popular thought was that the judge would slap her wrists by giving her a fine and a suspended sentence.
But Tindra didn’t feel that the sentencing date with the judge was an important date. She had developed carpal tunnel syndrome in her wrist. It was undetermined if the cause was due to too many overhand volleys on the tennis court or from serial texting activities. Her doctor’s appointment conflicted with the court date for sentencing. She chose to take care of her wrist.
The sentencing judge was none too happy. Raul was out $3,000. Bond was forfeited. An arrest warrant was issued. When Tindra was picked up and hauled in, she appeared in front of the judge and promptly slapped with a $10,000 fine and sentenced to two years in jail. The handcuffs were placed on her wrists (the right one heavily braced) and she was hauled off to the slammer. Raul was left to care for the kids.
On a different side of the law concerning another matter, Seth Montgomery, the attorney who Shari was hurriedly referred to by Tyler Cy’s real estate attorney, went for the jugular. He filed a civil lawsuit on behalf of Shari Daniels-Donnelly specifically naming St. Louis County and Tindra Svahnstrom as defendants. Unspecified damages were sought due to a botched investigation, false imprisonment, and harassment.
In a nutshell, Shari had a case. Lester J and Bazz followed the instructions that the court had given to them concerning the order of protection that a judge had issued. However, the subsequent investigation and confession by Tindra actually absolved Shari of wrongdoing. She and Seth Montgomery were using the results of the investigation by St. Louis County against all parties. Of course, in Tindra’s case, the confession was means enough to award civil damages to Shari. The paper alone that was used to file the false reports of harassment could have wallpapered Shari’s bedroom. It was cut and dried for a jury.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
When Bazz returned from his meeting with the tipster hotline, the smile on his face was as wide as the Mississippi.
“We got lucky?” Lester J asked.
“It’s the proverbial good news, bad news,” Bazz responded.
“Did someone see the bike?”
“No.”
“Then what is so good?”
“Somebody called in and said that they had a bike like that and it had been stolen,” Bazz explained.
“When? Where?”
“A while back. It had been stolen two days before Richards was shot.”
“That should have been one of the first things that we checked.”
“We
did,” Bazz said, “but we checked St. Louis and St. Louis County as well as Jefferson and St. Charles Counties.”
“Where was it stolen from?”
“Illinois. Macoupin County.”
“Farm country. It could be in any barn on either side of the Mississippi by now.”
“Yep,” Bazz agreed, “or anywhere else for that matter.”
“I take it that is the bad news.”
Bazz nodded. “Slow paperwork and a slower effort to find it. It wasn’t a priority item. It slipped through the cracks.”
“Does the owner check out?”
“Farm family. College kid went back to school. That was his means of transportation around campus. Nothing sent out any alarms.”
Lester J stewed for a few minutes. “That’s like looking for an ant in a beach full of sand.”
“Or in a thousand pieces.”
The comment triggered an immediate response from Lester J. “That’s it! We have to hit the junkyards, especially the ones that have a metal shredder; you know, those commercial grinders that tear a car to slivers.”
“What good is that going to do for us?” Bazz answered his own question. “If it is ground up it’s not going to do us any good. We won’t find it.”
“A ticket,” Lester J said. “Paperwork. A receipt.”
“The guy wouldn’t be dumb enough to use his own name.”
“No, maybe not.” Lester J thought. “But there might be a piece of paper identifying the item that was shredded. You know, like motorcycle tire and rim, handlebars, fuel tank, anything.”
Bazz saw the point. “It can’t hurt.”
“Get the guys on the street. Let’s identify who in town has a grinder with those capabilities.”
“What happens if the guy simply fenced the parts?”
Lester J looked at Bazz in astonishment. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Yeah.”
“Paperwork. If the guy chopped it up then he might have sold off various parts. If he’s stupid enough to whack somebody for money then he might be stupid enough to make a couple extra bucks on two lousy tires.”
“Got it. We’ll see what we can turn over.”
“In the meantime we need to give that Raul guy another visit,” Lester J said.
“What do you have up your sleeve?”
“He put up $3,000 cash bond for that cute little blonde girlfriend of his. We need to find out where he got the money.”
“I bet he says tips.”
“Yeah, well, he just lost it.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t show for her court date and it was forfeited. For a guy living off of tips he just took a big hit.”
Chapter Eighty
Raul was not in a good mood when Detectives Mullen and Basnahan knocked on his door. The weather was chilly and clouds cast a gray pall over the city.
A Cardinal pre-season game from Florida was on TV. Temperatures were in the 80s in the Sunshine State and Raul longed for the days when he had been at spring training with his good buddy. Basilio was now long gone and nearly a billionaire as a member of an East Coast contender. Raul’s mind wandered often to days past when he had sat in the stands soaking up the rays, enjoying a beer, the game, and Tindra’s pleasant company.
Now he had the heat cranked up in their frame bungalow, two crying kids, a live-in lover in jail, and a very scarce source of income. Olde Blueblood CC only offered limited services and his weren’t needed at this time of the year. He answered the door, barefoot, dressed only in a white tank top and short black stretch shorts that magnified a bulging package.
“Got a few minutes?” Lester J asked.
“Maybe one or two.” The kids cried louder.
“Sorry to hear about your misfortune.”
“You could care less about me.”
Bazz butted in. “You should thank us. We were the ones that solved your case of the harassing text messages.”
“At the expense of putting my girlfriend in jail,” Raul replied sharply.
“We can’t figure out why she would impersonate someone,” Lester J said.
“It must have had something to do with what you were doing,” Bazz followed. “Don’t blame us for your predicament.”
Raul was impatient and he didn’t like the two cops anyway. “What can I do for you?”
“We want to ask you a question about the bond money that you forfeited.”
“What’s that got to do with Tindra sending text messages to me?”
Lester J said, “We’re always investigating cases.”
“Yeah, just keeping our nose on the sidewalk,” Bazz added.
“You know, I don’t like you guys nosing around in my business.” The toothy smile that was normally plastered across his face was gone.
“We were wondering where a guy like you comes up with that kind of cash so quickly,” Lester J said.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Was it drugs or from something you stole or …”
“Tips,” Raul replied.
Bazz laughed and turned to Lester J. “See?”
“What’s so funny?” Raul asked. The cops quieted down. “I think that I’m done answering your questions today.” He stepped back and inched the door toward the jamb. The kids screamed some more. “I’ve got to go. There are more pressing things for me to do right now.”
“We were just wondering if…”
“Save it for another day. I’m done with you two.”
“Can you tell us…”
“Ask my attorney.”
Disappointed, the detectives asked in unison, “Who is that?”
“I don’t have one yet but if you two keep asking me questions I’ll get one.”
Lester J clarified a point. “We may ask you a few more questions until you identify who you’ve hired as counsel.”
Raul inched the door closed. Through an inch-wide opening he said, “I’ll have him call you when I retain his services.”
The door was closed. The detectives raised the collars on their overcoats and braved the wind.
Chapter Eighty-One
As miserable as Raul was, Tindra was ten times more so. The cell which was to be her home until the judge decided she would be released measured six foot by eight. It was dank. The lower five feet of the cinder block wall was painted a drab green and grey paint covered the remaining portion of the wall to the ceiling. A single metal bed was anchored to the wall as was a stainless steel sink. A toilet was bolted to the floor.
A mattress that resembled a floor mat in a high school wrestling room was used in the single bed. Warmth was provided by a thin flannel blanket. The combination of physical discomfort and a yearning to see her children made sleep nearly impossible. Prison food was horrible—oatmeal and milk for breakfast; cold soup and stale bread for lunch; lunch meat, refried beans and a few peas for dinner.
It didn’t take long. Tindra had been in jail for less than a month. In the common pod at her prison she saw the graphic on TV. The police were looking for a white Honda motorcycle with a purple stripe on it. She knew she had seen it. She informed the guards that she had information about the motorcycle that the police were looking for. She wanted to talk to Detectives Mullen and Basnahan and give them the specific details.
A jailhouse informant? The idea was not novel. What did she want? Tindra wanted a reduced sentence so she could get out of jail.
Chapter Eighty-Two
It didn’t take long for the message to reach the two detectives who were responsible for putting Tindra in jail.
“Guess who found religion?” Bazz asked after Lester J approached his desk.
“It wouldn’t be anybody running the federal government, would it?”
“Thirty to sixty days in a six by eight converts a lot of them.”
“Ah, a jailhouse snitch. Who is it?”
“Tindra.”
“Raul’s ex live-in?”
Bazz nodded. “It
seems like she all of a sudden remembers seeing a white motorcycle with a purple stripe on it.”
“That’s what we needed! I knew something like this would happen!” Lester J was ecstatic. “When? Where? Whose is it?” He sipped out of his coffee mug.
“I don’t know the details. She wants to talk to us.”
“I knew Raul was involved!”
“Who said anything about him? Let’s not get our hopes up. We don’t know how credible she is.” Bazz took a jump shot and fired a crumpled up piece of paper into a trash can. “She’s lied to us before.”
“What are we waiting on?” Lester J asked. “Let’s pay her a visit.”
The pair was investigating a homicide and suspected that she might have the information that they needed. They fast-tracked their way into jail to see Tindra. The St. Louis County jail in Clayton may be nicer than the facilities at Olde Blueblood. It was certainly nicer than the bungalow that Raul and Tindra shared in Kirkwood. Evidently it was not as nice as Tindra wanted since she was used to the resort life she enjoyed in Bastad and the clay tennis courts in South Florida. She was compelled to get out immediately.
After she was led into the interview room they got to see a third side of Ms. Svahnstrom. Her prison look and demeanor was totally different than the first few times they had met. On the first meeting she was striking, perky, and athletic. The second found her tussled but stunning after being disturbed in the middle of a nooner. Now Tindra looked worn and haggard. She wore no makeup. Being incarcerated for the short period of time had aged her and given her a rougher, hardened look.
The small talk was minimal. Tindra did not want to be friendly with the two detectives. Her purpose was to get out of the hellhole that she had been placed in.
“We got word that you wanted to talk to us,” Lester J started.
“Yeah. I want out of here.”
“Everybody does,” Bazz snorted. “What’s new?”
“I saw the tipster message on TV. I’ve seen that motorcycle that you’ve been looking for.”
