A Deadly Development

by James Green

  She ran her fingers through her long, black, curly hair and sighed. It was so quiet that Tom could easily hear the ‘click click’ of the second hand in the clock above the fireplace. The clock that had been a wedding gift.

  “Ok,” she said finally, defeated, “I’ll call the realtor in the morning.”

  “Promise?” Burke asked, while already moving to the door.

  She nodded and wiped a small tear from her eye.

  “I really screwed things up, didn’t I?” she asked. Burke didn’t answer. They had had that fight too many times already. Everything he had wanted to say about the subject had been said. The relationship was long over; they both knew it.

  He clutched his cellphone in his hand, pulled open the solid oak front door – the one he had refinished right before moving in – and walked outside. At least this home had one happy marriage, he thought before getting his car and driving away into the night.

  Thursday, March 16, morning

  “Coffee?” Tom Burke Sr. offered, pointing to a coffee maker on the small counter in his new home.

  “No thanks, Dad,” Burke had answered, “I already had some before coming over. It’ll make me jittery.”

  Sgt. Tom Burke was sitting in his father’s latest home. Which wasn’t his home, it was his girlfriend’s. If Burke recalled correctly, this would be the third live-in girlfriend for his father since he left his mother. The story repeated itself about every five years or so. Burke Sr. would meet a woman, usually an old classmate, or someone who hang out in the same bars that he did, and the romance would begin in earnest.

  Tom’s dad was popular with the women because he was an anomaly for men his age; he liked to do things. He loved to go to garage sales, live music, art fairs, lectures, you name it. This gave him an immense advantage over his competition. Most of his contemporaries were happy to just sit on the couch like a slug and watch TV. Not Tom Sr. He still had energy to burn.

  His hair was now completely snow white, and the body, which for so long had been lean – even muscular was finally caving in to all the beers he drank. But, he could be charming when he wanted to, and at the moment, his charm had led to his latest living arrangement, a modest three bedroom ranch in south Kansas City with a widow named Linda.

  “Sounds like you’ve got yourself one hell of case,” the old man said, sitting next to him, sipping from his coffee cup that proclaimed “world’s greatest dad”. Burke knew he hadn’t given him the cup, had his sister Megan? Or was it one of the fabulous “deals” his father had brokered in a garage sale purchase?

  “If you want to know the truth, it’s driving me nuts,” Tom said. “I’m going nowhere fast. That’s why I came. I need some background information.”

  “Shoot,” Tom Sr. said, while blowing on the top of his coffee, “I’m all ears.”

  “Dick Houlihan?” Burke said and waited for his reaction.

  “He’s not a murderer,” Tom Sr. said, while taking a gulp, “if that’s what you are thinking.”

  Burke shook his head.

  “I know that,” he replied, “he’s got an airtight alibi, I was just curious what you thought about him.” Burke could hear his father’s latest girlfriend, chatting on the phone in the other room. She was gossiping with a friend about the upcoming wedding of a friend’s daughter. It was obvious she didn’t approve of the bride’s choice of a spouse.

  “If bullshitting was an Olympic event, Dick would get the gold. Hands down,” the elder Burke said. “We went all through school together. St. Elizabeth’s all the way. Then Rockhurst. Dick liked to talk too much even then. Always was involved in those sorts of things – drama club, debate, you name it.”

  Tom Sr. got up and poured more coffee in his cup. He sat back down and laughed.

  “Somehow, he never got his ass kicked, which was something considering how much he talked and how full of crap he was. He remembered me, didn’t he?”

  Burke nodded.

  “He told me you were a good guy. I told him he must have known a different Tom Burke.”

  “Wiseass,” the old man said, but he wasn’t angry. He had a smile on his face.

  “You run into any else of my contemporaries lately?”

  “Just Jane Hughes,” Tom replied.

  “Seen her around a bunch,” his father stated, “but never really talked to her.”

  “How about her attorney, Peter Knaak?” Tom said. His old man’s eyes lit up.

  “Him I know. Spoiled rich kid. Grew up right off Ward Parkway, around 58th street. Huge house. His old man had more money than his kids could spend.”

  “You go to school with him?”

  The old man shook his head violently.

  “Nope. He isn’t Catholic. He was one of the Pem Day school brats.”

  Burke didn’t know it as Pem Day; to him it was Pembroke - a private school right off the Plaza where Kansas City’s elite sent their children. Both Burke and his father had run-ins with the Pembroke boys when they were in high school. The word was a Pembroke education cost more than most universities. To this day, Pembroke kids drove nicer cars to school than Burke ever owned.

  “So, how did you know him?” Tom asked.

  “Same way you ran into a lot of them brats - parties, fist fights, stupid high school shit.”

  “He’s a big powerful lawyer now, guess he changed.”

  Tom Sr. put his lips together and blew.

  “Doubt it,” he said with contempt, “he’s probably the same asshole. But money will always let you abide by a different set of rules than the rest of us. Don’t you forget it.”

  Linda had walked in, still talking on the cordless phone. She smiled at both Toms, poured a cup for herself, finishing off the pot, and disappeared back into the bedroom.

  “That one talks even more than your mother,” Tom Sr. stated.

  “Is that even possible?”

  That got a snort out of the old man.

  “Sadly so,” he said.

  “You ever see Pete Knaak after high school?”

  The old man nodded and smiled.

  “When I was a young beat cop, we got a call about a disturbance at a bar over by Rockhurst College – Mike’s, you know it?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Burke replied, “my college buddies and I hung out there a lot, trying to get into Rockhurst college girls pants.”

  “And failing miserably?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sounds familiar, anyway, we get to the bar. Pete Knaak is being held back by the bartender. Turns out someone had insulted his date –squeezed her ass, made a nasty remark – something, I don’t remember exactly. Pete was drunk as hell. When the guy turned away, Pete smashed him over the head with a beer bottle.”

  Burke’s heart skipped a beat.

  “He hit him?” Burke said. “Over the head?”

  “Yes, Tom. Are you not listening to me?”

  “I’m listening, believe me. Every word.”

  “Yes, over the head. Guy was bleeding all over the place. His buddies wanted to kick Knaak’s ass, but the bartender had a baseball bat hidden under the bar for just that type of situation.”

  Burke’s Dad stood up, grabbed a donut from a paper bag, and took a bite.

  “We haul his sorry ass down to the station. He’s blubbering like an idiot. Talking about how his date was disrespected and he had to do it.”

  “What all did he get charged with?”

  “Are you kidding me? All charges were dropped. Once he stopped crying, he called the old man, who just happened to be good golfing buddies with the Jackson County prosecutor. That little shitbird probably got home before I did that night.”

  Burke thought it was too good to be true. Too easy to make the connection.

  “But that was forty years ago,” he offered. “He can’t still be acting that way.”

  “How’d your victim die?”

  “Hit over the head repeatedly with what we believe to be a small bookend.”

  “Sounds like Pete Knaak
’s M.O. to me,” the old man said while smiling. “God how awesome would it be if my son got to arrest that little rich prick for murder. Now that would make my year.”

  Tom Sr. took the last half of the donut and shoved it in his mouth. He waited until he was done chewing before he started talking.

  “You got any tie-ins to him and your victim?”

  “Vithous and Knaak? Only that they were both close advisors to the Mayor. And, looks like Vithous was running a pay for play scheme up there, looking for either cash or property or both.”

  “Any recent dealings between them on any property?”

  “Yep. Turns out the new development down on the river is owned by Knaak, a development that just recently sold a small portion of property to a company that Vithous’ girlfriend owns. For the enormous sum of one dollar.”

  Burke Sr. made a low whistling sound.

  “Sounds like to me Pete Knaak had a hell of a motive to kill your man.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t have any proof. Not yet, anyway.” Burke stood up. He needed to go.

  He had a breakfast meeting with Bobby, and needed to digest all that he had just learned.

  “You’ll get there,” Tom Sr. said, walking into the living room. He shut off the TV that no one was watching and opened the door for his son.

  “Learned from the best,” Tom said. He usually wasn’t that generous with his father. He had been mad at him for a long time, and the old man still could get him going when he wanted to. But, he had appreciated the help. And, it was true. His dad was a good cop.

  “Tommy,” the old man shouted at him, as he walked to his car, parked on the curb, “remember one thing. People don’t change. They get older, maybe a little wiser with time, but they don’t ever change.”

  Tom nodded, and got into his car. Did Pete Knaak kill John Vithous? He didn’t know for sure, but at least he now knew Knaak had a violent temper.

  “You’re late,” Bobby said, pointing to his watch on his left wrist.

  “Sorry,” Tom said as he slid into the booth spot across from his cousin, “I got caught up at Dad’s.”

  “How’s the old man?”

  “Good,” Tom said, “really good, actually. The old man somehow always manages to land on his feet.”

  Bobby brought the docket. They met at greasy spoon breakfast restaurant they liked in Westport. Sitting in a wide booth with bright red vinyl seats and a Formica table and started to go over the projects. Bobby had marked all the economic development projects with a yellow highlighter to make it easier for Tom to follow along.

  “You’ve got only three candidates,” Bobby stated while scanning the forms, “one up by the airport, one on the Plaza, and one on the riverfront.”

  “Who represents them?”

  “The Plaza project is Romanelli Engels, the one up by the airport is Hanna Gorman Coker, and the riverfront is Snyder Knaak.” Sullivan took a large gulp of coffee.

  “As in Peter Knaak?” Bobby asked. “Viceroy, right?”

  “Yup,” Bobby replied. “You know he owns the property too, right?”

  “I had heard that.” Burke scratched his head, thinking. Could it really be falling into place this easily? After all the false starts and dead ends, he wasn’t going to jump to a conclusion just yet.

  “My guess is that all of them hired Vithous as a ‘consultant’ for these projects.” Bobby was inhaling his coffee. The mug was the size of a soup bowl, but he was making fast work of it. “In fact,” Bobby said while pulling out a sheet of paper, “I went to his consulting website. He listed all his clients. All those firms are on there. Even mine.”

  “Ok,” Burke said, “Vithous liked to double dip on things. Had been doing so for years. What would be different about these projects? To me, it looks like it is just business as usual.” Burke gazed out the window. An old lady was running after the metro bus, trying to flag it down, to no avail. He had felt like that lady for the past five days.

  “I thought about that, so I asked around some,” Bobby replied, “all of it off the record, of course.”

  “And?” Tom was impatient. He wanted to be done with John Vithous and City Hall.

  “Apparently, sometimes John would come back at the last second and say that there was some unforeseen problem that was going to hold up the project. This would happen the week the ordinance approving the project was up for a final Council vote. He would claim that some extra work would need to be done to ensure it would be approved.”

  “So, the bastard would hit them up for a little extra cash right at the end?” Burke said while taking a large bite out of his bagel. Despite his best efforts, a large glob of jam dripped off the bagel and into his lap. He cursed briefly and started frantically trying to clean it up with napkin. He didn’t want to have to pay for dry cleaning.

  “I’m thinking he mixed and matched – sometimes he took cash, sometimes he took a bit a property, and apparently sometimes he took both.” Sullivan paused. He wanted to see his cousin’s reaction to that one.

  “He’s was a greedy little S.O.B., that’s for sure,” Burke moved forward in his seat, he was antsy and irritated by it all. He wanted to get a giant fire hose and hose down the entire building.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t catch onto this earlier,” Bobby replied. “He was pretty brazen about it once he got himself up in the Mayor’s office.”

  “The brutality of the crime scene threw me off,” Burke admitted. “It seemed much more like a crime of passion than someone upset about getting screwed financially.”

  Tom was drumming his fingers across the table. He was thinking. Lots of conjecture; not a lot of facts. But, Bobby was about to brighten his mood considerably.

  “This is when being my cousin really pays off for you,” Sullivan said. He pulled out a one page printout that he had folded neatly in his pocket

  “This was supposed to be yesterday’s docket,” he said pointing to the date on the top of the page along with the words ‘Finance and Audit Committee’, “If you look down at the list of ordinances, there is this - 012045, approving the purchase of 200 acres of land from the City of Kansas City to Viceroy Development, LLC.”

  “Holy shit,” Burke said, “but the project had already started.”

  “Phase one had already started Tom, this is phase two. Phase two was going to be much more lucrative. It is for a bunch of high rise office buildings. We are talking big bucks.” Sullivan stopped to let his cousin drink it all in.

  Burke was thinking back to the day in the coffee shop, with Bethany Edwards. He was trying to remember how much of the map had the yellow property lines around it. If he was remembering right, there had been a large tract of land to the east of Viceroy, that wasn’t anything but an empty field.

  “What do you mean that it was supposed to be on the docket?” Burke could feel the caffeine beginning to take effect. He felt jittery and jumpy, although that might have been more about what he was hearing than what he was drinking.

  “My secretary prints out the weekly docket every Monday morning,” Bobby replied. “I like to look at it to see what is going on in each committee. It lets me know what my competition is up to.”

  “When I first started pulling things for you,” Bobby went on, “I printed out the docket for each of the committees that met yesterday. Almost all the committees meet on Wednesday over there. While looking at the Finance and Audit committee, I noticed the Viceroy ordinance wasn’t there.”

  Burke stared at Bobby. He was hanging on every word.

  “They pulled it?” Burke asked.

  “Yes,” Bobby agreed, “sometime between Friday afternoon when they first put together the docket for the upcoming week and Wednesday when the committee actually meets, someone had asked that the ordinance be pulled off the docket.”

  A huge grin now appeared Bobby’s face.

  “Now you are really going to owe me,” he went on, “because I called a contact I have in the City Clerk’s office and found out who requested
that hold. You ready for this? John Vithous.”

  Burke about leapt out of his seat and hugged his cousin, but he wanted to hear more first.

  “Vithous was smart, too. He didn’t call or email his request. He walked into the Clerk’s office and asked for the hold personally.” Bobby was smiling, greatly pleased with himself. “I should be the detective in the family.”

  “You couldn’t stand the massive pay cut,” Tom said, his mind moving in a million directions at once, “Did your friend say what time Vithous made the request?”

  “You’re not going to believe it,” Bobby said, “turns out my friend was actually walking out the door, it was almost five, and she was the last person in the office. Apparently a lot of them leave early on Friday.”

  “And?” the suspense was killing Tom.

  “John Vithous stopped her as she was walking out, asked her to pull that ordinance then. She told him that she could make the request, but it would take a day or so to show up in the system.”

  “Meaning that it was still there when your secretary printed it out Monday morning, but gone before the committee met. I…”

  “Even better,” Bobby interrupted, “turns out my friend just lied to him. She didn’t want to hassle with making the change. She just wanted to go home, so after Vithous left, she just stuck a sticky note with the ordinance number on her computer screen to remind her when she came in on Monday morning to pull it. Which would have been no big deal….

  “If,” Burke finished his cousin’s thought, “Vithous hadn’t gotten killed that night. Holy shit.”

  “So now what?” Bobby asked.

  “I’ve got to track down Peter Knaak,” Burke said while getting up, “and soon.”

  Burke called Thurber on his way down and filled him in on the latest news. Thurber was excited as he was. “Fucking A,” Thurber said, “I guess your hunch about that project actually is going to pay off.”