by James Green
"Speaking of our esteemed Mayor, I am actually on my way to interview her. Should I send her your regards?" Tom grinned as he said it and placed his hand on his cousin shoulder, squeezing it hard.
"Not if you want a pleasant experience," Bobby replied as he placed his scarf around his neck, and they both stepped outside. "Good luck, Tom-- keep me in the loop, ok?" Bobby was already walking to his car.
"Will do. I have a feeling I will need to ask you all sorts of questions as this investigation continues. I don't see this being an open and shut case." And with that, Sgt. Tom Burke, turned into the wind and headed briskly down the street into his car, which he hoped would warm quickly as he drove to Ward Parkway Estates, and the home of Jane Hughes.
Saturday March 11 - afternoon
The drive to Mayor Jane Hughes home was a relatively short one. Burke drove at a slower pace to be sure to go over what questions he wanted to ask and exactly how he wanted to approach the mayor. Bobby's description had made him a little leery; it certainly had not unnerved him, he'd been at this job far too long for that, but it did make him want to tread carefully. The Mayor was as member of the Police Board, and the Police Chief answered to that board. The last thing Tom wanted was to antagonize someone who could potentially be a real pain in his ass.
Burke began to think how many murder cases had he been involved in since becoming a detective ten years ago. Kansas City averaged about 120 murders a year; he probably would be involved in fifteen or twenty a year or so. So he was almost to 200 murders, if not already there. The number startled him as he thought about it. Two hundred people -- how many more people were affected by their deaths? Five hundred? One thousand? He could only guess.
When he first started the job he tried not to get involved in the personal stories, but he found it hard not to. At his very first murder case -- a seventeen year old shot on his front steps in an apparent retaliation for talking to someone else's girlfriend - he remembered clearly standing in the small house on the east side of town while the mother who was probably no older than he was, sobbed and tried to give him details. Behind her were the pictures of the boy -- as an infant; later as a toddler and then his first kindergarten pictures through elementary school and then finally what Burke imagined was his senior picture. And it dawned on him how although humans were different in many ways, they are so much alike. Alike in the simple markings of time -- a graduation, a First Communion, the first date. And that day, this young man -- still a child, really -- would no longer have photos to document his achievements. He was now in a morgue and the only way his memory was being kept alive at the moment was by Burke's probing questions to a grieving woman who had lost her only child.
Many murders fit that profile -- neighbors killing neighbors, a drunk shooting someone in a bar over a perceived slight, a husband killing his wife over alleged infidelities. And on, and on. Suspects often told him that they had felt ‘disrespected’ and that is why they killed. That explanation always infuriated Burke. How could they think becoming a murderer would earn them respect? Who teaches these things? Good luck getting respect in your five by eight cells for the rest of your life.
The cases like Vithous’ were the rare ones; ones with no obvious motive and with no witness. He began to get close to the Mayor's home and his mind for the moment took a respite from his previous cases.
As he drove past Loose Park, he noticed that the park was almost devoid of human activity. On nice warm days, the park would be filled with children on the playground, feeding the ducks, people with their dogs, joggers running on a track that went around the entire length of the mile-long park. When he was younger he spent many hours at the park -- picnics with family members and when older, unsuccessfully trying to meet girls with his friends while playing Frisbee - or god forbid, hacky-sack.
That thought amused him; he had not thought about it in many years. It was amazing how time flew like that -- one day you are living with your parents without bills, or many responsibilities and then before you know it you’re hunting down killers for a living. With that thought, a heavy sigh audibly escaped from his chest.
The Mayor's house was only a few blocks from the park. It was Georgian style; with beautiful columns and red bricks highlighted with white shutters. There was a long circle driveway in front. The lawn was perfectly manicured, nothing out of place. Burke pulled into the driveway and parked right behind a black Ford Expedition that he knew was the Mayor's official car. As he got out, he walked up the brick steps, took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Steven Hughes answered the door. Hughes had made his money in real estate. His father had started the company in the 1940s and by the time son had taken it over it had boomed. They specialized in new subdivisions and strip malls and timed the market perfectly. White flight out of the inner core had only made the business boom further.
Burke identified himself and was led inside. Hughes walked briskly down an ornate hallway and pivoted on his feet to the left, into a library. Hundreds of books from floor to ceiling covered all three walls in the room. An enormous oak desk, which had to be an antique of some sort, dominated the room. On the north wall was a beautiful fireplace which had a roaring fire going.
Nothing was out of place, not a book opened, not a piece of paper on the desk, not a chair askew, nothing. It was as if Burke had walked into a Better Homes and Garden photo shoot. Steven motioned to Burke take a chair in front of the desk and stated, "The Mayor should be down shortly." Steven Hughes walked out of the library. Burke could hear his shoes on the marble floor as he walked down the hall toward the back of the house.
It seemed odd to Tom that he would refer to his own wife as "the Mayor,” but then again, politics in general perplexed him. Why subject yourself to constant ridicule? He knew a lot of people hated cops, but at least he could be anonymous with it. He'd been in street clothes for over half his career, and made a point of only showing his badge if need be. Most of his neighbors didn't even know what he did for a living. No such luck for a public official, everyone knew who they were. He couldn't imagine stopping at the grocery store or a restaurant and hearing everyone complaining what a shitty job he was doing. He got enough abuse when he was in uniform.
Jane Hughes entered the room with her hand extended and with a smile that Tom recognized from every piece of campaign paraphernalia she had distributed over the years. It was a matronly, dynamic smile. Her short gray hair was accented nicely by her blue/gray eyes. Even though it was a Saturday, she was in a navy blue business suit.
Tom went through the motions of introducing himself, talking about standard procedures and where they were in the investigation. He really didn't have much -- the murder was less than eighteen hours old. He was then going to launch into a series of questions he had prepared in his mind on the drive over.
Jane Hughes at first listened politely, but then interjected, "Sergeant. Burke, I cannot begin to tell you how upset I am that this has happened. I detest all violence, but to have taken place in my office, to have my most trusted advisor brutally murdered at his desk is unacceptable. What do you plan to do about it?"
Her smile was gone the moment she started speaking. Tom was impressed how quickly she was able to move from smiling politician mode to snarling chief executive mode.
"Well, Mayor Hughes, we are doing all that we can, all resources will be utilized in this case," Tom replied, noticing that the glower from the Mayor's face had not diminished, and he took that to mean she was not yet satisfied with his answer, "This obviously is not the run of the mill murder - it happened in too public a place with too few people to have a motive to bludgeon Mr. Vithous to death. I believe whoever did it, knew Mr. Vithous and had been to your office many times before. He knew he would find Vithous alone and knew he could act."
The Mayor looked away from Burke and stared out the window toward the park. She stared silently for a full thirty seconds, Burke tried to figure out if this was some sort of test. Finally, her shoulders slac
kened, she turned to him and said curtly, "Chief Williams assures me that you are the right person for this case. I hope for both his sake and most certainly yours, he is correct. I will not stand for this; do you understand me, Sergeant? Find this murderer and find him fast." And with that, the Honorable Jane Hughes walked swiftly to the door before momentarily slowing down her pace to tell Tom she presumed he could show himself out. The interview was over. But as Tom immediately recognized, he had not asked a single question. Instead it was he who was held under the microscope. He cursed himself under his breath, and quickly exited the house before he cursed loud enough for anyone to hear.
On the way back to the office, Burke took a moment to look at his personal cell phone and promptly saw he had three messages. Two were from his mother, and one from his real estate agent. Burke used the # key to skip his mother’s messages entirely. She could wait. He did want to hear what his realtor had to say
Hey Tom, it’s Seth West. I’ve got good news and some…well let’s just talk about the other news. Call me when you get a chance.
Burke hit the ‘call back’ button on his phone. West answered on the first ring.
“Seth West.”
“Seth, it’s Tom Burke. You said you had some news?” Burke was driving north back to headquarters. If he made all the lights, he hoped to be back in the office within twenty minutes.
“You’ve got an offer.” Burke felt his stomach tighten up. He had wanted this news. He needed this news. The proceeds from the house would hopefully be enough for him to make a down payment on a loft downtown or in the Crossroads. Something much nicer than he was currently living in. But, the house sale was the last item of business from the divorce. The finality of it all hit him like a clenched fist.
“That’s great news,” he heard himself say. “Is it a decent offer?” The house had sat on the market without a single offer for months. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever sell.
“It is,” West stated, “but like I said, we have an issue. Julie thinks it’s too low.”
Burke exhaled deeply. Why did Julie have to make this so hard? Why did she fight him every step of the way? The marriage was over, and no amount of stalling by her was going to change it.
“Did you try to convince her otherwise?”
“Yes, as you know I’ve been trying to get her to lower the price forever, anyway. Tom the house has been sitting there for a long time. I know Julie is emotionally attached to it, but she needs to be realistic. I was hoping you could talk to her.”
Tom grimaced. He didn’t want to talk to Julie. Not about the house, not about anything. He felt the beginnings of a low throbbing pain at the back of his neck.
“Sure, I guess. I don’t think it will help, but I will try.” He wondered if she had planned this. If she had turned down the offer flat just so he would have to talk to her. He hoped that wasn’t the case.
“Great, I told them that this was from a divorce so it might take a couple of days before we can come back to them. When do you think you could call her?”
Burke looked at the dashboard clock.
“Probably not until tomorrow at the earliest. I am swamped with work.”
“I understand, but Tom, the sooner you get back to me, the better chance we have of selling. I’d hate to lose these people. They are newlyweds and from the sound of their realtor, they really want this house. But, I’m worried they won’t wait. As you know, there’s a glut of houses on the market in Brookside.”
“Seth, I will do my best. I promise. I’ll call you the minute I get off the phone with her.” Burke hung up the phone and threw it in the empty seat next to him. The tension in his neck was working its way up to the back of his skull. He was getting a nasty headache. Julie would have to wait. He would have to be in a better mood before he called her.
Saturday Evening, March 11
Tom Burke had to admit that John Vithous could curse with the best of them. “Fuck” was used as both as an active and passive verb, and a noun, adverb and occasionally an adjective. “Shit” seemed mostly in the realm of nouns, although there were some verbs involved. “God damn” was sprinkled throughout his prose. Put them all together and Vithous’ emails had the vibe of a Deadwood script, but without David Milch’s brilliance.
Getting a warrant for the emails hadn’t taken long. The high profile murder in City Hall caused the judicial system for once to move expeditiously. Burke had gotten the news the second he got back to his office and sat down. At the moment, Burke was reading Vithous’ official emails, he would look at the personal stuff later. Since John Vithous seem to live at City Hall and do nothing besides work, he didn’t think the personal email would lead to much. Ditto with Vithous’ personal cell phone. At the moment, he was satisfied trolling through the prodigious emails of one Jonathan Vithous.
By Burke’s count, Vithous had written seventy-eight emails from his official city account in the last 24 hours of his life. Seventy-eight. On the last official day of his life, Vithous had emailed at 12:05 a.m., 1:38 a.m., 2:15 a.m., 5:54 a.m., and 6:30 a.m. And that was before he even got to City Hall. Obviously the man did not sleep much.
Burke had managed to get a hold of the Mayor’s official security and ascertained that Vithous had arrived at City Hall at 8:20 a.m. Over the next twelve hours he managed to compose seventy-three emails. That was over six an hour.
Some of the emails were very detailed-- asking the City Attorney about an upcoming ordinance, instructing a staffer to get background information on an event the Mayor was invited to. Others were much more succinct, or rather terse. Burke’s favorite was a response to an email from the Mayor’s communications director wanting input about doing a sit down interview with a local TV reporter, known to be a blow-hard. The communications director’s email was very well written (naturally) seemed overly earnest and had several bullet points weighing the pros and cons of doing such an interview. At the end of the email, she asked Vithous for his input. John, I know you are very busy, but I would really appreciate any insight or guidance you could provide on this matter. Vithous’ response? Five words “Stop wasting my fucking time.” Burke chuckled at this. How many times had he been tempted to write such a thing, but thought better of it?
The one email that piqued his curiosity most of all was the last one.
Bethany:
While I would like to help you in creating fantasies about the supposed subterfuge between the Mayor’s office and the Viceroy Development, I have neither the time nor the inclination. It is patently clear that you lack the basic understanding about economic development law and how development deals are conducted in Kansas City. This being the case, I will not waste my time trying to disabuse you from your wrong conclusions and inaccurate assertions.
I believe a better use of my time would be to speak to Carl Roth about your inability to even get the basic facts straight.
J.V.
Impressive, Burke thought. He was able to compose an entire email without a curse word and still was able to completely humiliate the recipient. Burke felt a good place to start before the official forensics report came in would be to call Bethany Edwards.
She was not hard to reach. One call to Rick Kahn got Burke her cell phone number. She answered on the second ring.
“Bethany Edwards,” she answered. It was clear to Burke wherever she was, it was crowded and boisterous.
“Ms. Edwards, this Sgt. Tom Burke with the Kansas City Police Department’s Murder Squad. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I might about John Vithous.” Burke could hear the sounds of the crowd and then Bethany yelling over it.
“Sgt. Burke, it’s hard to hear you but if you like you could meet me in person.” She told him that she was at a popular Thai noodle shop in the Crossroads.
“Yes, I have been there several times,” Burke responded, “I can be there in ten minutes, does that work?”
“See you soon Sergeant.” Edwards replied and hung up.
He realized almost inst
antly that he had no idea what she looked like, but he figured if he typed in “Bethany Edwards”, “Kansas City Star” into a search engine he could easily get her picture. Sure enough, several pictures of a young, thin woman with short black hair, coal eyes and glasses stared at him from his monitor. She was not what he was expecting. For some reason, the sound of her voice made her sound much older and heavier.
The drive to the restaurant was short. It was located just south of downtown, in a one story building complete with a retro looking sign of a girl holding an enormous bowl of noodles. Burke used to eat there with Julie back when they were still married. She loved the Pad Thai and he loved Asian noodles and rice. As he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, he realized he had not been there since the divorce. Perhaps it was yet another painful reminder, but more likely it was because he hated eating alone. He had seen people over the years with books on the table, pretending to be reading instead of conversing with a friend or lover, but he always thought they were trying too hard to look like they weren’t lonely. He would rather order take- out than look that lonely.
The restaurant was packed. A small koi pond with bamboo benches encircling it was in front. Next to the pond was the hostess table. The floor was concrete and the roof was made out of tin, amplifying a cacophony of chatter, laughter, and the clanking of plates and silverware. Burke saw Edwards sitting at the bar, with a smile on her face listening to a blond woman with her back to him. It dawned on him that he was actually hungry, so before approaching Bethany he ordered from the to-go menu. He ordered the Thai garlic noodles and then walked to the bar.
“Ms. Edwards? Tom Burke with KCPD,” he held up his badge for her inspection. Bethany looked up and offered her hand. While shaking Burke’s hand, Edwards introduced her friend, “Sgt. Burke this is my friend Kate Radcliffe--she works at the paper with me.”
