A Deadly Development

by James Green

  The air smelled of oily bacon, strong coffee and starch. On this particular morning, he saw many of the usual suspects. Chamber of Commerce executives. The Jackson County executive and his staff. Former Mayor Jerome Blankenship, having breakfast with his wife. He spent time acknowledging them all. Some got a simple ‘hello’ and a pat on the back. Others, those with real power, he spent more time with. He would start with benign questions – how’s the wife, go anywhere this winter, how about this weather? Then he would move on to more pressing items – Who do you think is going to run for Governor? How is it looking in Jefferson City for the highway bill? And on this morning, he asked the question that was on everyone’s mind – Who do you think killed John Vithous?

  There was one individual that morning that Dick did not recognize. Houlihan guessed the gentleman was in his late thirties. He was eating alone, reading the paper while sitting at the bar by the hostess table. Dick could tell the man was careful about what he ate; while most individuals were eating bacon, eggs or pancakes, the stranger at the bar was eating a bagel and fruit cup. Houlihan first thought he must be an out of town businessman, considering he was eating alone and was wearing a dress shirt and tie. The man’s suit coat was draped on the barstool next to him; it was obvious he wasn’t expecting any company. But Houlihan realized that he wasn’t an out of town guest. He was a cop; the badge on his belt and the service revolver in its holster were a dead giveaway. He realized that this cop had been watching him. For how long, he wasn’t sure, but the few times he glanced up the cop was looking right at him. And it was evident it didn’t bother the cop that Dick caught him watching, because he just kept looking anyway. Houlihan concluded this showed this guy wasn’t easily intimidated. He thought about getting up and introducing himself, but before he could, the cop was on his way over to his table.

  “Dick Houlihan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sgt. Tom Burke, Kansas City homicide,” Burke stated as he flashed his badge. “Mind if I have a seat?”

  “By all means,” Houlihan responded while gesturing for Burke to sit down, “I have long been a friend of Kansas City’s finest.”

  Burke placed his cup of coffee down on the table and sat down.

  Tom had been there since the place had opened. Bobby had told him that he could find Houlihan there every morning like clockwork. Houlihan entered less than two minutes after Burke did, and it was clear he felt he ran the place. He said good morning to the entire wait staff, waved at a couple of individuals who were already seated, and then plopped himself down at a table without the hostess showing him to his seat. Burke thought about introducing himself right away, but he wanted to observe Houlihan first.

  The man knew almost everyone in the room. And if he didn’t know them, Houlihan would work hard to make a connection.

  “You related to Bill O’Shaunessey who lived over on Charlotte?” he asked one twenty- something female attorney who was eating breakfast with a man who was clearly her boss. She had spent a good ten minutes showing spreadsheets and talking about billable hours to the heavy-set man across from her before Houlihan had walked over, interrupted her and shook her boss’ hand with one hand, while placing his other hand on the man’s shoulder. The man joked with Houlihan, telling his young associate not to trust anything Houlihan said, which got an awkward laugh from the young attorney. Houlihan had asked if she was a new secretary, and she had politely, but very firmly corrected him and told Houlihan she was an attorney. Burke had laughed at that, he had enjoyed watching Houlihan step right into some shit, especially since he was trying so hard to be smooth.

  “I’m so sorry,” Houlihan said, backpedalling as fast as he could, “you’ll have to forgive me, I am an old man who shouldn’t make assumptions.” He stuck out his hand to her. She had shaken his hand and told him her name, and that’s when Houlihan asked about the family connection.

  “He’s my uncle,” she had replied with a startled look on her face, “how do you know him?”

  “Old ‘Wild Bill’?” Houlihan said, his large eyebrows crowning. “Hell, I knew him when he was just Billy Joe, running around St. Peter’s, causing the nuns grief.” That remark sparked an honest laugh from the young woman. Dick excused himself and sat back down to the table, satisfied he had made amends.

  Burke tried not to make snap judgments about people. It was bad for his business. It was better to let the facts dictate his feelings, not his gut. But, he couldn’t help but dislike Dick Houlihan. He was clearly full of shit, reminding Tom of an elderly neighbor who lived next door to them when he was a kid. That old man loved sharing jokes that were neither funny nor clever. Burke even caught himself in the mirror behind the bar rolling his eyes at some of the crap Houlihan was selling that morning.

  But, Dick Houlihan most likely did not like John Vithous, which meant he had motive. Burke decided he would try his best to approach Houlihan with an open mind, no matter how full of shit he was.

  “You must be related to Tom Burke the cop”

  “He’s my father,” Burke said, slightly irritated. Don’t let him get to you.

  “Good guy,” Houlihan offered, “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine,” Burke replied, “I’ll give him your regards. I don’t mean to be rude, but as much as I like making personal connections, I don’t have much time and I wanted to talk to you about John Vithous.”

  Houlihan face changed from an avuncular smile into a cold stare.

  “Can’t say I’m sorry that son of bitch is gone.”

  “Yes,” Burke replied, “I’m hearing that quite a bit. He… ”

  “As you should,” Houlihan interrupted, “Vithous would sell his mother if he thought he could make a buck.”

  “I heard he replaced you in the Mayor’s office.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it, Sgt Burke.” Houlihan was picking at his eggs, which had gone cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He scooped an entire mouthful in, swallowed, and then went on.

  “He got me fired. Kept whispering in Jane Hughes’ ear that I was the problem, that I was why she wasn’t polling well. You know how long I knew Jane Hughes?”

  Burke shrugged.

  “I knew Jane Hughes when she was all of twenty-three, a newlywed who was selling Avon door to door. Her husband, who I thought was a friend, told me she was interested in politics. So I helped out.”

  Dick Houlihan continued to eat while talking. Apparently anger didn’t diminish his appetite.

  “So I get her involved,” he went on. “First precinct chair, then got her on the Public Improvement Advisory Committee. Then, after a few years, I tell her she should run for the state legislature. That her representative is retiring and she has a good chance of winning. I chaired her campaign, did her fundraising, got her elected.”

  “Sounds like you did a lot,” Burke offered, “what went wrong?”

  “I’m getting there –Jesus – you young people are so God damn impatient.”

  Burke started to open his mouth and argue, but thought better of it.

  “You have to remember, this is back in the 1970s, when being a Democrat in Jefferson City meant you had some real power. She bided her time, eventually became chair of the House budget committee. Then her ego took over, thought she was suddenly too big and important to have little old Dick Houlihan running her campaigns, and her fundraising.”

  They were interrupted by the waitress, who topped off their coffee and asked if they needed anything else.

  “No, sweetie,” Houlihan purred, “I think we are doing just fine.”

  Burke just hoped that Dick Houlihan was at least a good tipper in exchange for all the sexism she had to endure.

  “Where were we?”

  “You were telling me Jane Hughes got a big head.”

  “Right. She ended up hiring a young guy by the name of John Vithous. This would be the fall of 1992. I remember because she let me know my services were no longer needed when we were at a Bill Clinton rally over in Ind
ependence.” Houlihan took a large gulp of coffee, ran his fingers through his hair and laughed.

  “Can you believe that? The bitch actually fired me at a political rally, in front of a lot people.”

  “And you went back?” Burke asked. Now he was interested.

  “I’m getting there,” Houlihan shot back, clearly irritated.

  “John Vithous had a hold on her. He had run some successful city council races here where he wasn’t afraid to play dirty. You know, spread rumors, and in a lot of cases, out and out lies. He told her he would make her Governor within 5 years. She believed that fucker, too. What she saw in him, I don’t know.” He was now scraping his fork across his mostly empty plate, trying to get every last bit of egg into his mouth.

  “Vithous had her run for Secretary of State in 1994. You remember that year?”

  “Bad year for Democrats,” Burke replied. He wasn’t all that into politics, but even he remembered that election.

  “Yep, it was indeed. She lost by seventeen points. Vithous blamed it on national party politics, the little weasel. Not that he cared, he got paid the same amount whether she won or lost. Word was even back then he was charging $150 an hour for his services.”

  Burke found himself enjoying this story more than he thought he would. Usually politics bored him to no end, but knowing the key characters of the story, one his homicide victim, had piqued his interest.

  “She comes crawling back to Kansas City. Sells real estate with her husband. Most think her career is over. Vithous dropped her like a hot potato. But, she and my wife run into each other at the Brookside market. Despite my protests, they actually become friends. Go golfing together, gardening shows, stuff like that.”

  Houlihan took his napkin off his lap, wiped his face and placed it on his plate.

  “Jane asks for a meeting with me. For a long time, I say hell no – I would have said fuck no but this was my wife I was talking to, and she doesn’t like it when I swear.”

  Burke laughed out loud at that.

  “You married, Burke?”

  “I was.”

  “Then you understand. Anyway, Jerome Blankenship was termed out, so the Mayor’s office is an open seat. Jane Hughes tells me she wants to run. Tells me she has learned her lesson.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “I’d like to tell you that I was the bigger person, but that’d be a lie,” Houlihan replied. “Truth is I did it for ego, pure and simple.

  “Ego?”

  “Yes, ego. If I could get Jane Hughes elected Mayor. Jane Hughes, whose political career had spun into a death spiral and crashed and burned in an amazing ball of fire that could be seen from here to St. Louis, then I had real talent.”

  Burke nodded.

  “I find the admission of ego refreshing, Mr. Houlihan.”

  “Call me Dick,” he replied, “any son of Tom Burke is ok by me. Anyway, so I took it. It wasn’t easy. Open seats only come up every eight years. So there were a lot of people wanting that job. At the beginning, no one remembered Jane. I worked my ass off. Hired the staff, raised the money, worked on the messaging, the whole nine yards. And, as you recall, against all odds, we won.”

  “And she offered you the Chief of Staff Job?” Burke stated.

  “You want to know the crazy thing?” Houlihan asked. “I didn’t even want the job. She had to talk me into it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, what do I need that headache for? It’s a real job with real hours and all those personnel issues, dealing with City Council egos. I was sixty-four years old at the time. I was winding down. I was ready to move on.”

  He stopped for a moment to greet two men in power suits that were done eating and were walking out. Burke could tell Houlihan knew them well and that they had done business together. What type of business he could not be sure. What Burke could be sure of was that Dick Houlihan would never truly be retired. He loved the game, the backslapping, bullshitting, handshaking and scheming. No way was he going to give that up if he could help it.

  “So, what changed?” Burke was getting impatient. He needed to get to headquarters before Michaels got there. He knew his captain wasn’t happy with him. He didn’t need to make it worse by showing up late.

  “She talked me into it, the Mayor that is.”

  Burke looked dubious. Dick seemed to read his mind.

  “No really,” he said, “I’m being serious. She can be very persuasive when she wants to and she knew I loved politics–the power, the deal making, all of it. Even though I thought better of it, I caved.”

  “So how come I’m talking to you here now, as opposed to John Vithous - besides the obvious reason he’s dead?”

  Dick took in a long, deep breath, held it in for a moment, and then released it. His entire body seemed to shrink.

  “What I hadn’t known is that John Vithous had got back into her good graces. He had provided free polling during the first mayoral campaign without my knowledge. He got a foot in the door– that he promptly slithered his way past.”

  “That was over four years ago, what happened during the last campaign?” Burke checked his watch and wasn’t even subtle about it. He needed Houlihan to get to the point.

  “He became more involved as her first term went on. At first it was a meeting, then a few, next thing you know he’s sitting in every Friday afternoon kitchen cabinet meeting.”

  “Her top lieutenants?”

  “Yeah, same idea. Fewer people – me, Pete Knaak, the communications director, sometimes the Mayor’s husband and Vithous.”

  Houlihan stood up quickly.

  “Do you mind walking me to my car? I’ve got a nine o’clock. appointment downtown I need to make.”

  “Sure”

  They walked to the front door, Houlihan greeting at least four different people before they made it to the exit. Burked opened the door open for him and waited. He could feel the cool spring air rolling over his face and chilling his hand as it held on to the wrought iron door handle. Two minutes later, he was following Houlihan’s large frame around the corner, to the parking lot directly behind the restaurant. Houlihan fingered his keyless entry system in his hand, unlocked the brand new Cadillac, but didn’t get in. He rested his ass and back up against the car to face Burke.

  “Fast forward to the last campaign. Vithous is polling every two weeks. Numbers don’t look good. Jane is furious. Vithous, the little cocksucker, tells her it’s the policy decisions I have promoted that are hurting her. That we look like we are too entrenched with the business community and the special interests and not enough with the neighborhood groups. Which is ironic as hell, because John Vithous has had his hand out to the business community since you were born.”

  Houlihan took off his suit coat and carefully placed it in the backseat of his car. He continued.

  “I get a call –I am not shitting you – a call on a Friday night. I’m with the missus, watching a movie, so I let it go to voicemail. On the message, Vithous tells me that the Mayor has decided to go in a new direction and my services are no longer needed.”

  “She didn’t even call you herself?” Burke asked. To Tom, that seemed rather cowardly.

  “Nope, he started on day one doing her dirty work. My guess is she remembered how pissed off I had been the first time she fired me. And Vithous got to the task at hand right away. A leak had already appeared in the Kansas City Insider blog saying I had some heart issues and wasn’t up to the job. I’m sure Vithous leaked that crap. It was all sewn up before I even got home from the show.”

  “Gives someone a hell of a good reason to kill someone,” Burke offered

  “Yes it does, and I probably wouldn’t be this forthcoming if I hadn’t been at the Kauffman Center Friday night for the opera. I’ve got 2,000 witnesses to confirm that to you detective.”

  “Sergeant,” Burke corrected him, “and the murder happened long before the opera started, so try again.”

  Houlihan looked off
into the distance, trying to remember what he had done before the opera. He apparently thought of something, because he snapped his fingers and pointed at Burke.

  “I was at Lidia’s eating with the wife before the opera. Reservation was for 5:30. Feel free to check it out.” Houlihan smiled, opened the car door and sat down.

  “I will,” Burke replied, “you can count on it. I appreciate your time, though.”

  Burke began to walk to his car, but only got a few steps.

  “Hey Burke,” Houlihan shouted, “You know what I really think happened?”

  Burke turned around and shrugged.

  “I think Vithous massaged the poll numbers from the get go. I think Jane Hughes was never in trouble. She easily would have been re-elected. He needed a reason to convince her to get rid of me and bad poll numbers were awfully convenient.”

  “You tell her that theory?”

  Houlihan shook his head.

  “That bitch?” he said as he grabbed the car door to close it. “I haven’t said a word to her since her henchman fired me. She can go to hell.”

  The car door slammed, and Houlihan pulled out and began to drive away. As he got close to Burke, he rolled his window down.

  “Tell your old man hello,” Houlihan shouted, as he drove past him.

  Burke nodded, and watched Houlihan make a hard left and then a right onto 47th Street and disappeared heading east.

  “Shame he has an alibi,” Burke said to himself as he walked across the street and got into his car. He put the car in gear and headed downtown.

  Twenty minutes later he was back at headquarters. Another morning and no real suspects. The pseudo-suspect was in the morgue, Dick Houlihan didn’t look promising, and Captain Michaels was even less happy than the night before.

  “Tell me, gentlemen, how do you not collar a two-bit criminal before he decides to decorate I-70 with his blood?”

  “Well, I was going to catch him, but Burke decided to be the hero and chased the guy into traffic,” Thurber offered, trying to be funny.