by Greg Sisk
Pirkle had refused to permit them into the apartment that he shared with a roommate, insisting on talking with the police in the hallway of the apartment building. He adamantly denied he had stolen anything from Insignia Construction. When he was confronted with the accounts of other employees, which the police had learned from Bill Klein, Pirkle had shouted that he didn’t know why Klein was trying to ruin his life.
Not convinced they had probable cause quite yet for a search warrant on the apartment, the Golden Valley police left the scene. An officer returned the very next day—that would have been four days ago—only to learn from the roommate that Pirkle had left shortly after the first visit from police and had not come back.
The roommate was willing to let the officers into the apartment. On questioning, the roommate said he thought Pirkle had been acting odd. Pressed further, the roommate said he thought Pirkle kept a lot of his stuff in a storage locker somewhere. But the roommate didn’t know where that was.
Officers had gone back to the apartment building a couple more times, as recently as that morning. But Pirkle had not returned.
Burton and the Golden Valley police agreed that the combination of the credible theft accusation and the fact that Pirkle had worked with explosives justified issuing a public advisory that he was a person of interest. After getting the go-ahead as well from Kramer at ATF, the Golden Valley and Eden Prairie Police Departments issued a joint press release complete with a photo taken from his employee records. The report said that Olin Pirkle was being sought by police as a person of interest in the car bombing.
Given that the press almost surely would make Pirkle’s absence the top story of the day, they might hope for leads from the public to run Pirkle down, wherever he was.
Chapter 4
[HOURS AFTER THE TRAGEDY]
The day of J.D.’s exit from the world had been too much like the day of his entrance.
When her son was born, Candace Klein had been alone in the hospital, without husband or family.
After her son had died, she was again alone in the hospital.
For that solitary hour, attended to by medical strangers, Candace’s family had dissolved into a husband who was not there . . . and a son who would never be there again.
• • •
Ten years ago, as she was completing the second of three years at the University of Chicago Law School, Candace had found herself in the fortunate position of achieving grades that ranked her in the top ten percent of her law school class and then being selected as the managing editor on the prestigious University of Chicago Law Review.
With those law school credentials, Candace decided to seek a clerkship with a judge for the first year after graduation. Clerking for a judge, especially a federal judge, was a distinctive honor as well as a tremendous opportunity to observe judges at work behind the scenes. Having spoken with many former clerks, including several of her professors, she knew this was the kind of formative experience—and distinctive professional credential—that followed a lawyer throughout her career.
In the early twentieth century, when judges first began hiring clerks to work with them in chambers, these assistants were referred to as “elbow clerks” because they sat within arm’s reach of the judge’s desk. Today still, judicial clerks work directly with judges, helping with legal research and often preparing the first drafts of written court decisions.
Because her husband Bill’s job with an engineering firm was in Chicago, Candace had hoped that she could land a clerkship with one of the judges for the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit with chambers in Chicago. But her professors encouraged her to cast her net more widely, in order to increase the chance of getting a federal judicial clerkship somewhere.
After discussing it with Bill, they agreed that she should submit a few applications to judges in the Sixth and Eighth Circuits, both federal appellate courts for the geographical regions to the east and west of Illinois. Candace would put a priority on gaining a clerkship with the Seventh Circuit in Chicago. If the only clerkship offer did emerge somewhere else, the two would give serious consideration to her accepting the precious opportunity, if they could work out an arrangement for a long-distance marriage for a year.
As it happened, her first offer for a clerkship—and it came shockingly fast—was from a judge for the Eighth Circuit with chambers in Iowa City, Iowa. By that point, she had interviewed with three judges, two in the Seventh Circuit in Chicago and Judge Payton Bowers of the Eighth Circuit. And she heard back first from Judge Bowers.
Judge Bowers was a former justice of the Iowa Supreme Court, who had been appointed to the federal appellate bench by President George H.W. Bush. As a graduate of the University of Iowa College of Law, located in Iowa City, and then an attorney in nearby Coralville, Judge Bowers had decided to set up chambers in Iowa City when he was appointed to the Iowa Supreme Court. When he was later confirmed to the United States Court of Appeals for the Eighth Circuit, he had no desire to move elsewhere. Although there was no federal courthouse in Iowa City—the nearest federal courthouse was in Cedar Rapids—there was a federal building and post office, where space was renovated for Judge Bower’s chambers.
During Candace’s interview in his chambers, Judge Bowers was friendly and informal. By the time he shifted the conversation to her thoughts about certain controversial legal issues pending in various federal courts and then explored her understanding of the federal appellate courts, Candace was very much at ease. She displayed her affinity for legal topics well and even demonstrated her quick wit in response to questions. She left the federal building believing she had made a strong impression.
She had only traveled about half way home on the four-hour drive back to Chicago when her cell phone rang. It was Judge Bowers offering her a clerkship on the spot—if she accepted within the hour. She had been warned by her professors and other former judicial clerks that some judges made “exploding” offers, which had to be accepted almost immediately or the judge would move on to another clerkship candidate. But she’d been given to understand that she’d have at least a day to think about it.
After thanking the judge, explaining that she would call her husband right away, and promising to call the judge back within the hour, Candace pulled over at the nearest rest area off the highway and called Bill. Bill was off on a construction job. His cell phone went right to voice mail. She left a message, telling him to call her back right away. And she sat in her car and waited. As the minutes ticked down, Bill did not call back. She tried to call Bill again, but was forwarded directly to voice mail a second time.
Anxious to talk with someone she knew before making such a potentially life-changing commitment, Candace placed a call to her father, who fortunately was in his construction office in Minnesota. Hearing the pride in her father’s voice after she told him she had been offered the chance to work with a federal judge heightened her excitement and dampened her anxiety. Her father told her that, of course, she should accept, that she should rejoice at her good fortune, and that a husband concerned for her success could only concur.
She tried to connect with Bill a third time, but again to no avail. She waited some more.
When the hour was nearly up, Candace returned the call to Judge Bowers and accepted the clerkship.
When she got home that night, Bill assured her that she had made the right decision. He said that, if she had reached him on the phone, he would have told her to take the proverbial bird in the hand and not lose it in the hope for an offer from a Chicago-based judge. He reminded her that they had talked about the possibility that she would have to leave Chicago for a year for a clerkship, so this was not wholly unanticipated. They would work it out.
She did not tell Bill that she had spoken to her father or what he had said.
• • •
Bill had been so understanding that her
initial guilt about accepting a clerkship with Judge Bowers, and thus declaring an effective—if temporary—separation from her husband, faded quickly as her excitement grew about this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And they need not be separated for all of the clerkship year, as Chicago was only four hours away. So they planned to trade-off making the trip to see each other every week. One weekend Bill would travel to Iowa City, while the next weekend Candace would drive back to Chicago.
Alas, life got in the way of those plans. They learned in March, during her last semester of law school, that Candace was pregnant. The projected delivery date was November, when she would be less than half-way through her one-year clerkship for Judge Bowers in Iowa City.
Candace thought about withdrawing from the clerkship. But she and Bill agreed that backing out now would be unfair to the judge in having to find a replacement after most other clerk candidates had committed to other judges. And it would deny her a valuable experience that would not come her way again.
• • •
James Daniel had come into the world about a month earlier than expected, barely two months into her clerkship during that year she lived in Iowa, while Bill remained in Chicago. On a chilly autumn evening in October, nine-and-a-half-years ago, only about an hour after her water broke and with minimal labor, she gave birth at the hospital of the University of Iowa medical school. Despite being about four weeks earlier than expected, James Daniel arrived into the world in fine health—a little jaundiced, but that faded within a few days.
Candace gave birth alone, without her husband or any member of her family present in the hospital with her. There just hadn’t been time. She’d called Bill immediately after her water broke, as she grabbed her already-packed bag to rush to the hospital. He had jumped right in the car to drive from Chicago to Iowa City. But J.D. would not wait. Bill arrived nearly three hours after the birth.
• • •
And so it had happened again, on the day she lost her boy. Alone in the hospital.
Bill came to the hospital as soon as he could, less than an hour after she was transported by ambulance. Still, the fact that Bill was not at fault for his tardiness on either occasion did not absolve him in her mind. Not today. She knew she was being unfair to him. But she didn’t want to be fair . . . not right now.
Bill did not need to tell her that J.D. was gone. She’d known that the moment she had turned her head to see the flaming hell behind her on the drive.
“Hell”? No, no, no! She couldn’t permit that word to come anywhere near her or anyone she knew. J.D. was anywhere but in hell. And to conceive of her own miserable situation as sending her to a personal hell was the first step toward despair. Despair, she knew, was a sin.
A police officer, a young and rather short woman who identified herself as Officer Melissa Garth, was waiting outside the hospital room to which Candace was wheeled after being examined by the emergency room physician. Officer Garth was reluctant to tell her anything. After Candace persisted, the petite woman reluctantly confirmed what Candace already knew. Yes, there had been a small body in the burning car. Of course, Candace knew that was coming. She knew what she had seen in her driveway. And from the moment Candace first set eyes on Officer Garth, she could see the sorrow in the officer’s eyes.
When Bill later came to Candace’s hospital room, after being waylaid to fill out medical forms at the admissions desk, he knew she already had been informed. He knew better than to recapitulate the horror to her.
And by her brusque manner, Bill knew that Candace did not want to talk. She knew she was being unkind to him, that he too was dying inside. But she could not open up to him yet. He could have tried, though, and perhaps that would have broken the ice. But once again Bill simply acquiesced to the preferences of those around him. So Candace maintained a sullen silence, answering his pedestrian questions with monosyllabic responses.
• • •
When her father arrived in her hospital room that afternoon, she didn’t speak to him either. There was no need. Her father immediately took her in his big arms, held her tightly yet tenderly, and cried with her. For the first time since she was a child, she rested her head on his big shoulders, held on to him with all her strength, and abandoned herself to her tears.
When her father finally stood up, looked over at Bill, and nodded to him, she looked at the clock. Nearly an hour had passed. Her father told her he would see her tomorrow.
Only after her father had left the hospital room and she realized that Bill was still sitting in the corner did Candace comprehend that she had locked him out again. She had shed no tears with Bill and had only briefly embraced him. By weeping in her father’s arms, she had placed Bill in a separate category, without even knowing she was doing it. She had further increased the distance between them and at the very moment that each of them had a desperate need for the other.
• • •
When they had uprooted from Chicago and moved to Minnesota three years ago, a job for Bill in the family business had seemed like a Godsend. Her father, George Peterson, said he could use a part-time engineer at Insignia Construction, filling out the job with Bill working as a construction supervisor as well. It was one more sign that coming to Minnesota was the right call. Or so it had seemed.
Bill was immediately high on the idea, as it would give him a place to land immediately after the move to the Twin Cities. From that comfortable sinecure, Bill could look for a more permanent position that better employed his engineering skills.
Candace should have known better. It was not that her father didn’t mean well or that he was given to unpleasant moods or that he exhibited a temper. He was a very stable person, typically in control of himself—and in control of others. To quote Shakespeare, “aye, there’s the rub.”
George Peterson was a take-charge kind of guy. And he couldn’t stop himself from being constantly involved in their lives. With Bill in the office every day, her father had immediate and intimate access to even the most trivial of family events and decisions. And George Peterson always had a word of insistent advice or critical comment—starting with where they should buy a house, how much they should spend on it, what they should repair first, where they should get furniture—and on and on.
In offering unsolicited advice, George probably was no worse than almost any father, father-in-law, and grandfather. It was the constancy of it, more than the content, that set Bill’s teeth on edge.
If the three of them had had a chance to set down their own roots in Minnesota, her father’s well-intended counsel almost surely would have blended into their family deliberations as helpful advice from a well-meaning, loving, and experienced family man. But because George Peterson had become such a large and dominating figure from the very day the moving truck had pulled up at 3732 Dunnell Drive in Eden Prairie, Minnesota, Bill felt overwhelmed almost immediately. He just couldn’t seem to get his bearings. And he was nervous to say anything since George wasn’t just his father-in-law; George was also his boss.
To be frank, thought Candace, it was Bill’s fault too. If he had asserted himself from the beginning, her father probably would have taken little or no offense and accepted a greater equilibrium in their relationship. By being passive, Bill had allowed a pattern to develop in which George appeared to grow bigger and bigger, while Bill saw himself as getting smaller and smaller. And still Bill wouldn’t say anything, other than by offhanded and often snide asides, mostly to Candace.
Still, Candace admitted to herself, she had known what was going on. She had known what Bill was feeling, even if he didn’t share those feelings. Why hadn’t she said something? Would that have made it better? Or would it have made things worse? Would Bill have felt emasculated by having his own wife speaking up for him to his own boss (who also happened to be her father)?
So Candace too felt stymied and uncertain. The months had passed
into years. As she became more apprehensive about the situation, and Bill remained sullenly silent, they became more and more distant. She felt guilty about letting this whole situation fester for so long.
And on top of that, three years after they left Chicago, the economic downturn still lingered. Other engineering jobs were not to be found, at least none attractive in either compensation or work assignments.
Insignia Construction was hardly immune from the financial impact. Candace knew her father had been letting a few long-time workers go as construction work slowed. He was holding on to Bill, undoubtedly because he was family. Bill had to know this too.
She could easily guess how this made Bill feel. Trapped. In more ways than one.
Chapter 5
[TWO DAYS AFTER THE TRAGEDY]
During the next couple of days, Burton and his new partner, Melissa Garth, continued to do the considerable leg-work involved in such a major investigation. They came up with precious little that advanced the ball.
Every neighbor within two blocks of the Kleins was interviewed, being asked what they knew about the Kleins and whether anyone had been observed entering the Klein property. As far as Burton could tell, they learned nothing of value to the investigation.
Every employee at Insignia Construction was questioned as well, with a particular focus on the use of explosives and on the behavior of Olin Pirkle. Other than concluding it was more and more likely that Pirkle truly had been stealing construction supplies, Burton and Garth didn’t learn anything more of value there either.
And Olin Pirkle was still in the wind. But his face now graced the front page of every newspaper in the region and appeared at the top of the television news.
