by Matt Goldman
The news hurt my heart and swirled my stomach. I sat up on the bed. I heard construction workers outside the coat factory yell a conversation because that’s what construction workers do. I said, “What time was the nine-one-one call?”
“Five forty-three A.M.”
“And how the hell did Arndt Kjellgren escape?”
“We’re looking into it. That’s all I can say for now. A couple of uniformed officers went out to check on Mrs. Rabinowitz. Uh, boy. Looks like a murder-suicide.”
“God dammit.”
“Yeah.”
I said, “I’ll meet you at the station in half an hour.”
“Okay. But actually, we’d appreciate it if you could meet us at the crime scene.”
I wasn’t sure if Detective Irving called because I was a suspect, a witness, or a private detective. I figured I’d find out when I got there. I took a moment to let the murder of Robin Rabinowitz sink in. I liked her.
I wiped my eyes and blew my nose then called Ellegaard and Annika and asked them to meet me at Christmas Lake. I also asked Annika to call Ian Halferin and tell him the bad news. Then I sobbed in the shower. Cried like a boy, my arms folded over my chest, my head bent in the spray. I cried until I had nothing left. I wasn’t in love with Robin Rabinowitz. Not even close. But I abandoned her when she was scared for her safety. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of her house. There was no way to rationalize my failure, and I hated myself for it.
I got dressed, backed out of the coat factory, drove a few blocks, and ramped onto freeway 394. I got up my nerve and called Ellegaard. “Listen. I need to tell you something. I spent last night with Robin.”
Ellegaard paused. I pictured him pinching his temples between thumb and forefinger. He said, “Geez, Shap. Really? After our conversation?”
“I told you there would be nothing physical between us and there wasn’t. She was scared to spend the night alone, and apparently for good reason. But she wanted me to sleep next to her. So, I’m sure they’ll find a hair or two of mine on the pillow. I know I shouldn’t have slept next to her, but I did. Actually, I take that back. What I shouldn’t have done is left. I’ll tell the police. Just wanted you to hear it first.” Ellegaard didn’t respond. There was little traffic heading west on 394. Sometimes this city feels empty. “Ellie, you there?”
“Yeah … Listen, Shap. Don’t tell the police when Annika’s around. She thinks the world of you.”
“I suppose it looks pretty bad, huh?”
“Yeah, buddy. Pretty bad. Hey, I should call Molly and tell her about Robin.”
“Of course,” I said, not sure if Ellegaard really wanted to call Molly or just get off the phone with me. I’d disappointed him. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time it stemmed from a dumb move on my part rather than from a difference in personality or style. I hated feeling his disappointment. I said, “I’ll see you out there.”
I drove down Christmas Lake Road, past the spot where I’d dropped Arndt Kjellgren with my car door. I’d had less than twelve hours of bliss—not even my awkward sleepover with Robin Rabinowitz had nipped away at Micaela’s good news. Our good news. Then Irving called this morning and took it away.
The same uniform I’d seen a few nights earlier stood by another strip of yellow police tape. I stopped and rolled down my window. She said, “Welcome back, Mr. Shapiro.” She scrunched her face. “I suppose that sounds weird.”
“A bit. Yeah.” I managed a courtesy smile, and she pulled away the tape. I drove forward and into the Rabinowitzes’ driveway. The house built for the oft-entertaining, child-free couple had a big enough driveway for three squad cars, two unmarked cars, an ambulance, county coroner’s van, and my dented hockey-mom mobile. I got out of the Volvo, started toward the house, then stopped. I’d seen my share of dead bodies, but I wasn’t ready to see Robin’s.
Detective Irving stepped out of the house and squinted in the sunlight. He made a visor of his hand and spotted me standing in the driveway. He started down the pebbled stairs. “Thanks for coming, Nils.” He walked up and shook my hand. “We have some questions to confirm your timeline with Mrs. Rabinowitz last night, but they can wait. What we’d really like your help with is this crime scene.”
“I slept here last night.”
Irving looked at me. His face soured. “Oh.”
“I drove Robin home from the police station, and she asked me to stay. I slept in her bed with her. Fully clothed and on top of the covers. We did not have sex. I left around five A.M. She was fine, and there was no sign of Arndt Kjellgren or anyone else around here. What time did he escape?”
“You slept here last night?”
“Yes. She didn’t want to be alone.”
Irving scrunched his forehead and squinted in the white-hot light. “Well, I suppose that’s none of anyone’s business but your own. You know, assuming the M.E. establishes time of death after five A.M. and all that.” Irving shuffled from foot to foot and rubbed a hand through his orange crew cut. “Well,” he said, “we’ll have to check ballistics and DNA and what have you.”
“Of course. You have my full cooperation.”
“You probably don’t have an alibi, considering time of day.”
“I don’t, but you can check what towers my cell phone pinged. It’s not ironclad. But it’s something.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you. And hey, sorry if what’s in there is extra hard to see.”
I nodded. “It will be.”
“So, are you free now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you work for us?”
The heat and humidity magnified the tragedy. The sunlight hurt. I squinted. “I thought you said it was a murder-suicide.”
“Yeah. It is. Well, it appears to be. But we still could use your help on Todd Rabinowitz’s murder. With no chief, it’s just me and Norton and a few uniforms. You would really—”
“Let’s talk about it later. I’ll see how I feel after…” I looked at the house.
“Of course. Yeah. Come on.”
I followed Irving up the pebbled steps and into the house. CSU officers took fingerprints, impressions, swabs, and photographs. We walked through the entryway and living room, by the low, flat couches and coffee table. Irving entered the hall toward the bedroom. I followed.
Robin Rabinowitz lay facedown, wearing the same gym shorts and white tank. Her tanned calves had turned gray. A manhole-sized circle of blood soaked the white duvet, Robin’s head at its center. It had darkened but not dried. Her throat had been sliced halfway through her neck, a wire still in her flesh.
Arndt Kjellgren lay faceup. It appeared he’d sat on the end of the bed, put a gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. Bits of pink, white, and gray splattered the headboard, wall, and ceiling. A .38 lay on the bed, six inches from Arndt’s right hand.
Dr. Melzer, the tall, sexagenarian medical examiner, peered through his tiny, round, rimless eyeglasses at a digital thermometer. His short ponytail bounced as he moved to make a note on a clipboard. He then turned his attention to Robin’s fingernails. A CSU photographer snapped photos, the flash making shadows then erasing them.
“You seeing the same thing we’re seeing?”
I looked to my right. Detective Norton stood, arms folded, rocking back on his heels and chewing gum like a cow. I’d taken a trip inside myself when I stepped into the room and, during my journey, Irving must have briefed Norton on my whereabouts last night. Norton had a dickish, judgmental look on his face. I stared at him, said nothing, then walked around toward Robin’s side of the bed. I squatted to get a closer look at whatever had been used to slice through her throat. It was a wire studded with something coarse, like grains of sand from 60-grit sandpaper. Each end of the thread was tied to a plastic ring.
I said, “CSU take a look at this thing?”
“Not yet,” said Irving.
“Get a photographer with a macro lens. And why don’t you tell me how Arndt Kjellgren
escaped from the Taj Mahal of jails.”
Ellegaard and Annika entered the room. Annika stayed back by the doorway, these being the first crime scene bodies she’d seen. When I’d called earlier, I said she didn’t have to come, but she wanted to. “I’d rather see my first victims with you and Anders,” she said. “I want to be there.”
“Well,” said Irving, “it’s kind of embarrassing, but it appears Kjellgren escaped out the jail cell’s window.”
“A barred window?” asked Ellegaard.
Norton said, “The thing is—”
I cut him off. “Let me guess. Kjellgren cut out a bar or two.”
Norton and Irving looked at each other. Norton rocked back on his heels and took a couple chomps on his gum. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“That wire in Robin’s throat, he cut himself out with that.”
“What?” said Irving.
Ellegaard said, “Did you search him before you put him in the cell?”
“Of course we did. Took his belt. Took his shoelaces. I don’t know what you’re even talking about. You can’t cut through metal bars with wire.”
“It’s not wire,” I said. “It’s a saw. My guess is it’s made of carbon fiber and industrial diamonds. Could have hidden it in his hair, in the sole of his shoe, maybe he ran it through the inseam of his jeans. Don’t know if you checked him with a metal detector—”
“Damn right we did,” said Detective Norton.
“… but a metal detector won’t detect carbon fiber and diamonds.”
“Oh,” said Norton.
Irving’s face reddened. He looked down, shook his head, and said, “Damn.”
Norton kept his arms crossed but no longer rocked on his heels. His friendly, cooperative demeanor toward me was gone. It was about time a cop acted like a cop.
“Where did he get the gun?” said Annika. Norton and Irving hadn’t realized she was in the room. They turned and looked at her, which seemed to catch her off guard. She took half a step back. Unsure, she looked at Ellegaard and me. At Stone Arch, we encouraged Annika to say whatever popped into her head, especially hunches and first impressions, no matter how stupid they seemed. It was hard for her at first, but in the last few months, she’d grown comfortable with it. More than comfortable—it had become second nature. I gave Annika a small smile and nod. She straightened up and said, “I’m just saying Kjellgren didn’t hide a gun in his hair or in the sole of his shoe.”
Irving and Norton perked up. The gun couldn’t have been their fault. They wouldn’t have missed a gun before locking up Kjellgren. Irving said, “Maybe last night, he stashed the gun outside the house before he ran.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Did you have the area searched after we caught Kjellgren?”
Irving and Norton slipped back into their shells of shame. No one said a word. Dr. Melzer put something into a sealed evidence bag and labeled it with a marker.
I told Norton and Irving I’d see them at the station around one, then drove into Excelsior to meet Ellegaard and Annika for an early lunch. I called FBI Special Agent Delvin Peterson on the drive.
I could tell he’d saved my contact information in his phone because he answered with a ho-hum, “What.”
“Good day to you, too.”
“I’m not in the mood, Shapiro.”
“It’s D.C. hot and humid today. What are you complaining about?”
“My day started at four A.M. and I’ll be lucky to get home before midnight. Karin Tressler has a load of friends in Washington, and every one of them is riding me to find out who blew up Halferin Silver.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Oh, really. What’s in it for you?”
“One thing. I got a country club police department that wants me to do their job for them. I’m actually doing it right now by making this call. But after I catch you up to speed, you may want to take over for me.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re calling me during my twenty-hour workday to tell me you want to add to my workload?”
“Yes.” I told him about Arndt Kjellgren’s escape from Mayberry RFD, Robin Rabinowitz’s 911 call, and both of them at her house—dead.
“Got it,” said Peterson. “Thanks.” He hung up.
Maynards Restaurant sits dockside on Lake Minnetonka looking out on St. Alban’s Bay. The water was a gray-blue swash of small chop with sailboats, mostly students piloting white sails from one orange buoy to the next. I watched it all through big windows, opting for the air-conditioning over the outdoor seating with its humidity and panhandling gulls. We sat at a blond oak table preset with paper placemats and cardboard coasters. A waiter took our beverage orders then disappeared.
Ellegaard said, “I don’t like this, Shap. We’ve already pushed the ethical boundaries by working for Halferin Silver and Robin Rabinowitz simultaneously. Working for Halferin Silver and the Greater Lake Minnetonka Police Department is out of the question.”
I said, “Yeah. That kind of moonlighting could create trouble. Plus, Halferin Silver would probably be happy if I officially joined Annika working for them.”
“So we’re agreed?” said Ellegaard. “We turn down GLMPD?”
“We’re agreed. What do you think, Annika?”
Annika Brydolf watched the sailboats zigzag across the bay. She said, “Is it always like that? Is there always that much blood and bits and pieces of them all over the room?”
Ellegaard said, “A lot of times, yes. And you never get used to it. You just get better at processing it. Shap’s seen a lot more than I have.”
I said, “What you get better at is preparing yourself. And focusing on the living. Ellie and I had one hell of an instructor at the Minneapolis Police Academy. He taught us that. Whenever you see a crime scene, remember there are living people who need your help.”
Annika shook her head. “But a living person did that. Took those lives with such violence. How do you process that?”
Trite answers popped into my head. About motivation for catching bad guys and other bullshit. I said, “Honestly, Annika, you don’t. And you shouldn’t. Because the option is normalizing cruelty and evil. And that’s the last thing a person should do.”
Annika kept her eyes on the sailboats.
Ellegaard watched her, gave her a few moments, then said, “Have you ever sailed?” She shook her head. “There’s a great program at Lake Harriet. They teach adults and kids. When yours get a little older they can join the summer program. Olivia has really taken to it. She’s going to be a junior instructor next year and wants to race when she gets into high school.”
Annika knew what Ellegaard was doing, but it still helped. Not because Annika suddenly became interested in sailing, but because she appreciated the effort.
She asked what age kids could start the sailing program. The conversation drifted to her kids’ summer camp and what Ellegaard’s kids were doing. Emma’s attitude around the house had improved. Watching Ellegaard and Annika talk about their children felt like waking up from a bad dream—it rekindled my anticipation of becoming a father. Then we ordered and ate lunch and moved on with our day, emotionally hobbled but hopeful.
I drove to the GLMPD station after lunch. I could have just called, but I planned to take advantage of their job offer while I still had it. The orange-haired crew cut and big forehead met me in the reception area.
Norton said, “So are you finally ready to consult for GLMPD?”
“First I want to see Kjellgren’s cell.”
“Uh,” said Norton. “Sure.”
I followed them down one hall and turned into another. Irving held a card up to a sensor, which buzzed us into the cell area. GLMPD had four jail cells. Each had a three-foot-by-eighteen-inch window, vertical bars inside, with frosted glass behind them. Kjellgren’s cell was the last one on the right. Its frosted glass was missing, and two of the bars had been cut clean from the top and bottom. They rested upright in the corner of the cell like unused table legs.
I
said, “Where’s the glass?”
Irving said, “What do you mean?”
“The frosted glass outside the bars. Where did it go?”
Norton pressed his lips together, wriggled them around, then said, “The window’s not glass. It’s plexi. And we don’t know what happened to it.”
“It just disappeared?”
“Appears so,” said Irving.
“Huh,” I said. “What about metal filings from the saw?”
“That we got,” said Norton. “On the cell floor.”
“Okay if I go in?”
Norton and Irving looked at each other like parents who couldn’t make a decision without the other. Apparently, they’d come to an agreement because Irving said, “Yeah. Go ahead.”
I took a few steps into the cell but stopped when I saw the metallic filings gathered on the windowsill and the cell floor against the wall. I turned around and walked out.
“That’s it?” said Norton. “You don’t want to inspect it more closely.”
“No. I’ve seen all I need to see.”
They walked me toward the station’s front entrance. I got almost all the way out when Norton said, “Hey. We need to discuss your fee now that you’re on board.”
I stopped and turned back toward them. “You know, I’ve decided not to work for you, after all.”
Irving and Norton looked at each other in their parental way. I walked out before they agreed on what to say.
20
I walked around back of the police station to the window of Arndt Kjellgren’s cell. The ground alongside the building was paved with concrete. I saw no sign of the missing plexi or its surrounding frame and, of course, no footprints on the hard surface.
On the drive downtown I made two phone calls. The first was to Gabriella Núñez. I told her about Arndt Kjellgren’s records rant, and that I wanted access to his studio. Ellegaard beeped in on call-waiting. I ignored it. Gabriella said she’d see what she could do. I then got Dr. Melzer on the phone. I had no authority to discuss the case with a Hennepin County medical examiner, and he had no authority to discuss the case with me. But I took a shot and asked if he’d consider meeting for coffee. He agreed, and an hour later we sat in the Dunn Brothers in the Hennepin County Medical Center drinking sweet, frothy ice-cold coffee drinks through thick straws. Heat makes me do crazy things.
