A Deadly Development (5 page)

“Yes, I have been there several times,” Burke
responded, “I can be there in ten minutes, does that work?”

“See you soon Sergeant.” Edwards replied and
hung up.

He realized almost instantly that he had no
idea what she looked like, but he figured if he typed in “Bethany
Edwards”, “Kansas City Star” into a search engine he could easily
get her picture. Sure enough, several pictures of a young, thin
woman with short black hair, coal eyes and glasses stared at him
from his monitor. She was not what he was expecting. For some
reason, the sound of her voice made her sound much older and
heavier.

The drive to the restaurant was short. It was
located just south of downtown, in a one story building complete
with a retro looking sign of a girl holding an enormous bowl of
noodles. Burke used to eat there with Julie back when they were
still married. She loved the Pad Thai and he loved Asian noodles
and rice. As he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, he realized
he had not been there since the divorce. Perhaps it was yet another
painful reminder, but more likely it was because he hated eating
alone. He had seen people over the years with books on the table,
pretending to be reading instead of conversing with a friend or
lover, but he always thought they were trying too hard to look like
they weren’t lonely. He would rather order take- out than look that
lonely.

The restaurant was packed. A small koi pond
with bamboo benches encircling it was in front. Next to the pond
was the hostess table. The floor was concrete and the roof was made
out of tin, amplifying a cacophony of chatter, laughter, and the
clanking of plates and silverware. Burke saw Edwards sitting at the
bar, with a smile on her face listening to a blond woman with her
back to him. It dawned on him that he was actually hungry, so
before approaching Bethany he ordered from the to-go menu. He
ordered the Thai garlic noodles and then walked to the bar.

“Ms. Edwards? Tom Burke with KCPD,” he held
up his badge for her inspection. Bethany looked up and offered her
hand. While shaking Burke’s hand, Edwards introduced her friend,
“Sgt. Burke this is my friend Kate Radcliffe--she works at the
paper with me.”

Burke noticed that both women were drinking
martinis and it was clear from the empty appetizer plates they had
been there for a while. He felt a small twinge of regret; like he
was intruding on their private lives, but it quickly passed. He had
too much to get done to worry about such niceties.

“Do you mind if we step outside to talk?”
Burke shouted in her ear. “It’s kind of hard to hear in here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bethany replied as she grabbed
her purse off the bar and her coat which was draped on the back of
her chair. “Kate, give me a few minutes, ok?”

Burke let her lead the way. Bethany sliced
through the crowd effortlessly, her small frame working to her
advantage. Burke had to work to keep up, but was able to do so and
as the front door closed behind them, the noise dampened to a small
hum. The cold spring air felt good.

“Ms. Edwards, I am sure you know why I am
here,” Burke began. “I am investigating the murder of John Vithous.
It turns out the last email he sent was to you, right before he was
murdered.” The look of kindness in Bethany’s eye faded some; Burke
could tell she was trying to process the information. She was
pursing her lips together, and took a deep breath before
responding.

“I assume you read the email,” she asked.
Burke nodded. He was content to wait for her to say more.

“I am sorry that he died, but he was a nasty
individual,” she stated. “He was rude to me since I first starting
covering City Hall eight months ago. As soon as I started asking
questions he didn’t like, he got defensive, or would obfuscate and
always go on the attack.”

“What development was he was talking about?”
Burke asked as he leaned up against the façade of the building. He
suddenly realized he was very tired. The stress of the case and the
thought of having to call Julie were weighing on him.

“He was angry I was asking about the new
development on the riverfront called Viceroy.”

“What was the problem with it?”

“There wasn’t a problem
per se
, it was
more the fact that Peter Knaak, the Mayor’s personal attorney and
advisor, owns the land and is the major investor of the project. I
got a tip that unlike previous developments proposed at the site,
Viceroy was going to sail through the approval process.”

As she talked, Burke noticed Edwards moved
her hands constantly to add emphasis. Her fingers were bony and her
hands small. The sight of them reminded Burke of his fourth grade
teacher, Ms. Kastl, back at St. Elizabeth’s. Burke had been
mesmerized the entire year, watching Ms. Kastl gesticulate while in
front of the class. Tom had earned a front row seat to the show,
due to his inability to sit still or be quiet. Bethany’s movements
so mimicked Ms. Kastl’s Burke briefly wondered if they were related
somehow.

“How much do you know about development law,
Sergeant Burke?” Bethany inquired, her hands stopping briefly as
her arms folded in front of her.

“Not much,” Burke responded, “they didn’t
cover it in the academy.”

Bethany spent the next twenty minutes giving
Burke a crash course on the subject. Burke wrote copious notes as
she talked, but he knew he was not going to be able to retain all
of it. Edwards explained that almost all development in Kansas City
utilized some sort of economic development package to get built.
Developers and their attorneys had become extremely adept at
working the process and making it as profitable as possible. They
utilized tax incentives, such as tax abatements and state tax
credits to make their developments more lucrative. Edwards stated
that the developers would layer these incentives on top of each
other – historic tax credits, low income housing credits, twenty
five year property tax abatements and even the selling of bonds to
help by the property and the equipment within.

“None of this is illegal,” Bethany went on,
her hands flying around her body as she spoke, “but the system is
purposely abstruse in order to remain secretive and be only
available to a chosen few.”

“What was the deal with Viceroy? What piqued
your interest?” Burke asked, while wondering how cold his order
was, and if Bethany’s friend had given up on her and gone home or
was still drinking alone at the bar.

“The land had sat empty forever. Years ago,
it actually had been a dumping ground for industrial waste by
companies down in the river bottoms. Knaak had bought it about
three years ago for virtually nothing. First he gets a brownfields
designation from the State of Missouri that allows him to tap into
state money to pay for the cleanup of the area. A process that
usually takes years is sewn up in a few months. Then he gets the
Port Authority to designate the development within a Port
Improvement District which gives Knaak the ability to issue revenue
bonds to pay for the cleanup and the improvements.”

“He sounds like he just games the system,
what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except the fact he’s Mayor Hughes’
private attorney and she is responsible for all the Port Authority
board appointments and has strong contacts in Jefferson City from
when she was in the legislature,” Edwards replied, her hands
momentarily coming to rest.

“So, you start doing some digging, asking
some questions, and the wrath of John Vithous comes down on your
head?”

Edwards nodded.

“I didn’t have anything concrete, I just
wanted to shake the trees some, see if anything fell out. It seemed
too much of a coincidence to have just “happened.” She made the
quote signs with her bony fingers to add emphasis.

“Vithous was a total ….” She was hesitant to
say

“Asshole?” Burke offered.

She nodded.

“He didn’t just send that email; he already
had called my editor, he called my sources, he called everyone. He
told them I was ignorant, didn’t understand the economic
development process and was just stirring up trouble to sell
papers.”

“Was he right?” Burke asked and immediately
regretted asking the question. It sounded accusatorial and he
didn’t mean to be.

“Of course he wasn’t right, Sergeant,”
Bethany hissed, her fingers pointed at his chest again. “He was a
bully and a brute and a political heavyweight who just wanted to
intimidate me and make me go away. But it didn’t work; it just
confirmed my suspicions that something wasn’t on the up and
up.”

“What now?” Burke asked, wishing he hadn’t
asked another question. He was cold, tired and very hungry. At the
moment, he didn’t care about anything but some food and rest. The
smell of the peanut oil and curry from the restaurant was driving
him crazy.

“I plan to keep digging -- although it might
be a bit harder with the Mayor’s right hand man in the morgue. My
editor says we need to sit on the story for now. What now for
you?”

“I don’t know,” stated Tom Burke wearily, “I
honestly don’t know.”

Sunday, March 12, 8:33 a.m.

My jet fuel, overflowing. Now on the
Launchpad, headed for the sky!

Burke ran with the beat. He found 1980s and
1990s hard rock to be the best running companion. The banging
drums, the guitar power chords, and the thumping bass lines kept
his pace steady even when he was tired or uninspired. At the
moment, he was both.

Ride my rocket, all night. Jet propelled,
make you feel right!!

What didn’t inspire him were the hackneyed
lyrics. He usually didn’t listen to the lyrics, but for some reason
he did at that moment, and once they caught his attention he
couldn’t help but chortle at how stupid they were. That caused him
to lose his stride and his focus. Fortunately, he had run far
enough for now. After five miles, he had reached his destination.
From Berkeley Riverfront Park he could see the muddy field that was
to become Viceroy. At the moment, it didn’t look like much.

He turned off his iPod, removed his
headphones and walked up to take a closer look. A sign in front had
a rendering of what the development would be once it opened. It
boasted of luxury townhouses, mixed use development including
retail and office space, great views, and a
“vibrant urban
lifestyle
.” In the picture, very happy people (too happy, Burke
thought) were walking in front of the buildings, reaching almost an
orgasmic state due to their decision to purchase property in
Viceroy.

Although it was Sunday morning, he could tell
that work had been done recently. Mud from the development had been
tracked out onto the street, and it wasn’t completely dried yet.
The contractor had a large crane on site, and hoisted up on it was
a portable generator. From his days in uniform, Burke knew this
meant the contractor was trying to avoid having the generator
stolen over the weekend. Over the years, he had been called on
numerous job sites where equipment, pipes, wood, tile, you name it,
had been stolen off the job site. As he looked closer, he could see
foundations had been poured and the rough outline of where the
buildings were going was evident. The sign proclaimed a fall 2012
opening. With the first real warm day of spring, Burke had no doubt
they would make that goal.

In the distance, about a half mile behind
Viceroy, was the brand new Missouri River bridge that had just
opened. Tom had heard that project had cost around $250 million. It
was obvious that wasn’t the only infrastructure improvements made.
All new streets, curbs and sidewalks were put in. Burke could make
out that the original road had hugged the river edge. The new road
jogged north away from the river for a considerable length before
it returned to the original road’s path next to the river. At the
middle of this new road stood the entrance to Viceroy.

At that moment, Burke got what Bethany
Edwards was trying so hard to convey the night before. All of this
– the land, the development, the new roads, the new bridge took
money. A lot of money. And most of that money came from taxpayers.
Even more important, all of this took even more coordination. The
new roads, curbs, and sidewalks from the city, the new bridge from
the state and feds, and Viceroy was tapping into all of it -- local
incentives, state incentives, port authority bonds and federal
environmental incentives.

A prime riverfront property sits empty for
decades, Burke thought. Full of trash, hazardous waste, God knows
what else. Then a new multi-million dollar bridge gets announced.
Next thing you know, Peter Knaak, personal attorney to Mayor
Hughes, buys up some land close by for next to nothing. He gets
environmental remediation paid for, port authority bonds and new
city roads that apparently move magically to his development’s
front gate. All of this happens in record time. In a city that is
usually known for moving at glacial speed.

Burke could see why this got Vithous’
attention. It looked bad. It probably wasn’t illegal, but it
certainly wasn’t going to look ethical. If the story gets
published, it will make waves. The TV vultures will then be on it,
and from there, who knows? His cousin’s words rang in his ears “In
politics, perception is reality.” And this perception was not
good.

Burke felt his sweat cooling in his hair. His
body had cooled, and even though it felt like spring for the first
time, it was still far from balmy. He needed to get home, get
showered, changed and back into the office. Gaming the system to
enrich yourself was interesting, but first he had a murder to
solve. He knew that the Chief wanted results now.

Sweet candy, between your legs! Drives me
crazy, hurts my head!

My God, he thought as he began to run home,
are all these lyrics this bad? He shrugged. The beat was good, the
sun was out, and he needed something to keep him moving for the
long run home.