“It looks like Kilbourn Tech asked Wisconsin Fish and Game to significantly reduce their application of TFM in the tributaries and streams that feed into Lake Michigan.” Bernadette scrolled down. “Well, look at this. The argument got quite heated.”
“Really?”
“Rheinstaller said that cutting the TFM application in half will put another twenty thousand sea lampreys into Lake Michigan.”
“Not silver lampreys?”
Bernadette kept scrolling. “Silver lampreys are native to the area, but sea lampreys are an invasive species. Remember Dunn’s seventh-grade science report? Sea lampreys almost put fishermen out of business before TFM came along. And if the TFM is reduced, the Piscary Association says the sea lampreys will destroy the trout and salmon population. The president said the season will be hard enough with the lower trout numbers, and now there will be even fewer trout if the sea lampreys survive to adulthood. The university countered that the cancer treatment is one of the exceptions to the economic rules. Someone else points out that this is an argument that should be made at the city level, not to the Piscary Association.” She looked up. “That could explain why Rheinstaller ordered the TFM.”
Kep nodded. “If he was thinking of acting on his own and applying the TFM in areas where the Department of Fish and Game wouldn’t…”
“He didn’t file the police report because he wouldn’t want to call attention to his plans to illegally kill all those lampreys.”
“Or,” Kep mused, “sometime between when Rheinstaller called the cops and when they asked him to finish the report, he realized who had taken the TFM and no longer wanted to report it.”
Bernadette wrinkled her nose. “If you’re right, who did he suspect had taken the TFM?”
Kep scratched his head and sighed. “You’ve asked an awfully good question. And one I believe we must answer.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bernadette and Kep walked around the side of Rheinstaller’s house, opening the half-height gate in the low chain-link fence that led into the backyard.
An aluminum shed, about ten feet wide by five feet deep, abutted the wall of the detached garage.
“If the TFM would attract thieves, it seems weird to have it out in the yard,” Bernadette muttered.
“Yes, but TFM is volatile,” Kep said. “It won’t explode if one sneezes too loudly, but the product is flammable and can cause respiratory irritation. I wouldn’t want it around the house while I’m preparing breakfast.”
They stood in front of the shed door; it had no lock.
Kep swung the shed door open. It was empty.
“You are as a candle,” he muttered to the empty space, “the better part burnt out.” He stepped inside.
Bernadette could smell something: a little like fertilizer, a little like rat poison. Not very strong—maybe she wouldn’t have even noticed it if she weren’t specifically searching out an odd smell.
“The scent is definitive,” Kep said. “Rheinstaller stored the TFM in this shed, and it’s obvious that it’s no longer here.”
“Why didn’t you smell it in the house or on his clothes?”
“One of the reasons Fish and Game uses TFM is because it breaks down quickly,” Kep said. “So when it’s applied directly to areas where there is a high population of ammocoetes, it kills most of them, then dissipates to levels safe for other fish.”
“And how come you can smell it?”
“A much higher amount of TFM was stored in here,” Kep said, “and this is a closed shed in sub-freezing temperatures. It doesn’t break down as rapidly when it’s dry.”
Bernadette nodded. “So do you think he planned to kill the lampreys in the lab?”
Kep stepped out of the shed. “It’s hard to say. Surely he would have known this could be traced to him.”
“Right,” Bernadette said. Her phone rang in her purse. Barlow Finnegan. Again. She exhaled loudly.
“That sounds like an ex-husband sigh,” Kep said.
“It’s definitely a none-of-your-business sigh.” She answered the phone, walking toward the house, out of Kep’s earshot. She was glad his hearing wasn’t as keen as his nose.
“Hello, Barlow.”
“Listen,” he said, “I know you’re probably busy, but your daughter is very concerned about you. You usually call by now.”
“I’m sorry. I’m working on a case.”
“She saw a story online about a shooting today in Milwaukee, and she was worried it was you. I told her she had nothing to worry about, and that you probably weren’t anywhere near the shooting. But she seems to think she was rude to you when she last spoke to you, and she’s beside herself.”
Bernadette was quiet.
“Bernadette?”
She shut her eyes and flinched at the memory of the bullet whizzing past her ear.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said softly. “You were there? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”
“You’re not supposed to be in danger,” Barlow said. “You told me this assignment would mean less time in the field.”
“It does. This is the first trip I’ve gone on in months. It was a fluke.”
Barlow sighed. “What if I have to tell our daughter—”
“I could get into a car accident or get electrocuted in the kitchen,” Bernadette said. “I’m not quitting. Besides—”
A pause. “Besides, what?”
Besides, I don’t know how to do anything else. “I was going to say I’d be home soon. But I don’t know if I will.”
“Well, at least talk to Sophie. She’ll put on a brave face, but talk to her.”
“Right. Yes. Put her on.”
Small talk. Sophie, instead of her usual monosyllabic responses, spoke a few sentences about her day. She didn’t mention anything about the shooting in Milwaukee, and Bernadette didn’t offer anything, either.
A moment of awkward silence. No questions about the bad guys. Not even a glimmer of interest.
“Okay, Mom,” Sophie said. “I should get back to my homework.”
“Okay,” Bernadette said. “Thanks for being understanding. I don’t think this will happen more than a few times a year now. Not like when I was an agent.”
“Love you,” Sophie said, and ended the call before Bernadette had a chance to say it back.
Bernadette rubbed her forehead. The cold made her lungs hurt a little, and it made her breathe more slowly. That helped. She straightened her parka, put her phone in her purse, and walked back to the shed, where Kep stood outside it, looking thoughtful.
“Let’s go grab a coffee,” Bernadette said. “Maybe we do a little work at the café and get more information on Mr. Rheinstaller.”
“Use our laptops to connect to an insecure Wi-Fi network when we’ve got a suspect installing malicious keylogging software? No, I don’t think so. At any rate,” Kep said, “we both have a few questions for Rheinstaller.”
“You want to talk to him without Maura’s approval?”
Kep’s glasses slipped down his nose. “Maura doesn’t have to approve my questions.”
Kep and Bernadette sat at the metal table in the windowless room in front of a one-way mirror. Even though it was late, the guards had allowed the interview after Bernadette flashed her ID.
Kep scrolled on his phone they waited for the guards to bring Rheinstaller, and Bernadette kept glancing over to him.
“Any word from Maura?” Bernadette asked.
“About what?”
Bernadette furrowed her brow. “About Curtis. Has she heard from him?”
“No, I haven’t had any communications with the lieutenant.” Kep looked up. “I’m searching the location data of a wireless network provider,” he said.
“For this case?”
“Yes.”
“Will you share your thoughts with the whole class?”
The door opened suddenly, and a guard came in with Douglas Rheinst
aller—dressed in a WDC orange jumpsuit—and handcuffed him to the table. The guard nodded to Kep, then he stood in the corner of the room. Rheinstaller glared at the guard, then turned to face Kep.
“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Rheinstaller growled. “I should make bail in the next day or two. And I’ll beat this. I doubt anyone will want to press charges.”
“You can listen,” Bernadette said.
Kep sat back and folded his arms.
Rheinstaller’s eyes fell on Bernadette’s face, and narrowed into slits. “You’re the one who’ll pay for my new front door.”
Bernadette lifted her chin and stared back at Rheinstaller. “On Saturday—two days before the murder of Kymer Thompson—you reported a theft on your property. Your back shed. You called the police but decided against reporting the crime.”
“Neighborhood kids,” Rheinstaller said.
Bernadette was dying to remind him that he said he wouldn’t talk without a lawyer present, but she held her tongue. “We have chemical evidence that the shed contained a piscicide, commonly called TFM, that’s used to eliminate the lamprey population in the Great Lakes.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to be the president of the Piscary Association,” Rheinstaller retorted. “I’ve got a seat on the council that deals with controlling the lamprey population every year. There’s a reason I have that stuff.”
“Is there a reason neighborhood kids would steal it?” Too late, she realized she’d asked a question.
But Kep leaned forward and spoke quickly. “That chemical can kill silver lampreys as easily as sea lampreys,” he said, “and you had a heated disagreement with Kilbourn Tech over their management of the lamprey population.”
“In the lab, they can do whatever they want,” Rheinstaller said. “I got no beef with them. What happens in the lab stays in the lab.” He grinned at his weak joke. “But”—and his face fell into a frown—“I’m much less forgiving when the sea lamprey population spikes. It means I can’t put food on the table. I represent men and women with families. They struggle to keep their heads above water during a good season. And when these elitists come in with their test tubes and Bunsen burners, and they look down their noses at us—like our families don’t matter, like they don’t care if we starve. That’s when I start getting angry.”
“Fortunately,” Bernadette said, carefully choosing her words, “you can’t be arrested for wanting to commit a crime. And someone prevented you from dumping all the TFM into the aquariums at the Freshie.”
Rheinstaller laughed. “I told you, I don’t care about their lab. I wouldn’t set foot in the Freshie if you paid me a million dollars. It’s my trout and salmon I care about.”
“But you didn’t get to defend them,” Bernadette said quietly, “and now all the families you represent will lose out because the sea lampreys will live.”
Rheinstaller opened his mouth, and then a look of realization came over his face. He clamped his jaw shut, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the floor.
“Maybe there’s a way for the assault charge to get knocked down to a misdemeanor,” Kep said to Bernadette.
“How?”
“I wager the district attorney would look kindly on someone who assisted federal investigators with a murder case.”
Bernadette nodded. “Of course. DAs do look kindly on that kind of thing.”
“My theory is thus,” Kep said. “Whoever stole the TFM from you planned to poison the lampreys in the laboratory. This scuttled your plan to coordinate a sizable TFM rollout to fishermen near and far. I assume your plan was to utilize an amount of TFM in the streams and rivers equal to what Fish and Game used last year.” Kep smiled. “You’re a smart man despite your best efforts to conceal your intelligence, Mr. Rheinstaller, so I’m confident you were aware your plan was illegal. You calculated the risks: not only could you go to jail, but you knew you might even lose your fishing license permanently. It was a gamble you were willing to take.”
Rheinstaller stared at Kep, unblinking.
“When a thief stole the TFM from your shed, you became angry and let your emotions take control. You called the police because you thought only of retribution. After you calmed down, however, you recognized the gift you’d been given. Perhaps the realization came when the officer was at your house, or perhaps you noticed something in the shed. Whatever it was, it struck you that the person who’d stolen the TFM would kill the lampreys not in the rivers but in the laboratory.” Kep pressed his palms together. “While this wasn’t the action you planned to take, it was more than good enough to achieve your ends. With the lampreys in the lab dead, the project would be finished, and Fish and Game would lift their restrictions on the TFM. You’d get everything you wanted, and you wouldn’t have to commit a crime or risk getting caught.” Kep shook his head. “Your name might not even have come up in the investigation if you hadn’t assaulted Eddie Taysatch.”
Bernadette hadn’t heard—or even thought of—Kep’s theory before, but she had to admit it made sense.
“Are we on the right track, Dougie?” Kep asked.
“Douglas,” Rheinstaller said automatically.
Kep nodded. “I bet the thief’s plan would have gone forward without complication as well. Unfortunately, Kymer Thompson came into Research Room 12 unexpectedly and interrupted the perpetrator, who panicked and improvised. Suddenly, there’s a problem: a dead body without dead lampreys. By the time the killer disposed of the corpse, it was too late to finish the job.”
“It could have been a dry run,” Bernadette noted. “Or they could have been taking computer files or ibogaine.” She took her phone out and began searching for information on TFM.
“I don’t know anything about any dead bodies,” Rheinstaller said, meeting Kep’s eyes. “I don’t know who killed Kymer Thompson, I don’t know why they moved his body.” He looked back down at the floor. “And I don’t know who stole the—” He bit his lip. “I don’t know anything about any TFM.”
“We have the receipts in our possession, Dougie,” Kep said. “You purchased forty-five kilograms of TFM.”
“What?”
“A hundred pounds,” Bernadette said.
Kep nodded. “That amount is enough TFM to kill the lampreys in the project’s spawning zone, isn’t it?”
Rheinstaller set his mouth in a line.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Piscary Association coordinated efforts around the state,” Kep said.
“Or maybe,” Bernadette said, “you were planning it with another organization. A group you don’t want anyone to know you’re working with.”
Rheinstaller shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know what Cecilia Carter was doing with you when you bought that TFM in Fond du Lac,” Bernadette said, “but I bet the other board members of the Piscary Association wouldn’t be too pleased to find out.”
“I believe the colloquialism is ‘sleeping with the enemy,’ although perhaps you left the literal meaning to Professor Lightman.” Kep’s face remained serious as he took out a paper from the folder—Rheinstaller’s credit card statement. “Forty-six hundred dollars on your credit card. To me, that seems like a reasonable investment to make for your continued livelihood. It could be an expense reimbursed by the Piscary Association. Perhaps a hundred or so members are contributing fifty dollars apiece.” Kep put the credit card statement back in the folder. “However, I can’t imagine they’d be so amenable to reimbursement if they became aware of your arrangement with Justice for Oceans.”
Rheinstaller scraped his shoes against the cement floor.
“Maybe it was Cecilia Carter who stole all that TFM from you,” Bernadette suggested. “After all, she was with you when you bought it. Perhaps she was the only person who knew you had it.”
Rheinstaller’s eyes were focused on the table.
“We’re close to the truth,” Kep said to Bernadette. “In another forty-eight hours, I’m confident we’ll uncover all the inform
ation we need to capture the murderer. Then we won’t need Dougie to assist us anymore.”
“Drop the assault charges,” Rheinstaller said.
Kep frowned. “No, we can’t drop the assault charges completely. I could be persuaded to recommend lowering the charge to a misdemeanor.”
“Suspended sentence, maybe,” Bernadette said. “No jail time if we can work our magic. Maybe a fine.”
Rheinstaller shook his head. “Drop the charges completely.”
Kep looked at Bernadette. “What are your thoughts on Dougie’s suggestion?”
“He does seem like he’d probably fight Eddie Taysatch again. Maybe he’d even shoot him.”
“I propose we allow Dougie to return to his cell,” Kep said. “It’s possible he may make bail after he’s arraigned.”
“He won’t have to spend the weekend here, will he?”
“It’s already Wednesday,” Kep said. “I’m not familiar with the procedures of the Milwaukee police department, but in my home city, if the police fail to process the bail bond by 4:00 on Friday afternoon, the prisoner isn’t released until Monday morning.”
Rheinstaller glared at Bernadette, saying nothing.
“All right.” Bernadette got up and nodded to the guard. “We’re done here.”
Kep followed her out of the room.
In the parking lot, Bernadette started the engine of the SUV and turned the heater on full blast. Kep closed his eyes.
“You okay?” Maybe he’s finally worried about Curtis.
“I fear I’m missing a connection,” he said. “We have numerous suspects, and they all have motive. Some motives appear more compelling than others, but we’ve eliminated precious few. After we arrested Rheinstaller, I thought we had eliminated him. Unfortunately for him, his involvement in this case is undeniable, even if he isn’t guilty of murder.”
Bernadette’s phone buzzed, and she took it out of her purse.
“What is it?”
She tapped the screen. “Maura’s texting me.”
“Ah, has our young hacker friend returned to the nest?”
Bernadette shook her head. “But she found Nick LaSalle’s money trail.”
Ceremony Page 19
