A Deadly Development (9 page)

Hi, it’s Julie, leave a message and I will
call you back as soon as I can

Burke hung up. He knew he needed to lobby
Julie hard to get her to agree to sell the house. Leaving a message
wouldn’t suffice. He may be forced to see her face to face. The
thought of that made him emit a heavy sigh and grab a beer out of
the fridge. It would have to wait; he would have to build up the
patience before he crossed that bridge.

Tuesday, March 14 7:25 a.m.

Dick Houlihan held court every weekday
morning at a popular breakfast restaurant on the Country Club
Plaza. It was the place where Kansas City power brokers went to see
and be seen. Granted, the food was good and the service was
excellent, but that’s not why he came. Houlihan liked it because
there was only one large room for the entire restaurant. The dining
floor was one large rectangle - bar and hostess table at the front,
a phalanx of tables in the middle; and at the back, the restrooms
and the kitchen. No one could get in or out without Houlihan
noticing.

He always sat at the same table with his back
to the southern wall. From this vantage point, he could not only
see every individual who was in the restaurant but could also gaze
through the floor to ceiling windows on the north side of the
restaurant to see who was walking along 47
^th
Street.

Like every morning, he wore a blue Italian
suit, white silk shirt, and a scarlet red tie and matching
suspenders. His thick salt and pepper hair was brushed straight
back into a tall pompadour. He had bushy eyebrows that desperately
needed to be trimmed, but he never did, no matter how much his wife
nagged him about it. Around his neck hung his reading glasses,
attached by an eighteen carat gold chain. Dick Houlihan bought new
suits every two years, without fail. Partly to stay up with the
latest styles; mostly because his waistline, despite his best
efforts, continued to grow at an alarming rate. Dutifully, he wore
his father’s gold watch and cufflinks.

Technically, he was retired. He had sold all
of his businesses-- a car wash, dry cleaner and a billboard sign
company. But, he still got up by six every morning, dressed and
left before his wife of forty-seven years even stirred. Keeping the
routine made him still feel relevant and important. He had no
hobbies. His children were grown and gone. They were really
strangers to him, anyway. He was an absentee father, who missed
most of their ballgames, recitals and even a few of their
birthdays. He left raising them to his wife.

The air smelled of oily bacon, strong coffee
and starch. On this particular morning, he saw many of the usual
suspects. Chamber of Commerce executives. The Jackson County
executive and his staff. Former Mayor Jerome Blankenship, having
breakfast with his wife. He spent time acknowledging them all. Some
got a simple ‘hello’ and a pat on the back. Others, those with real
power, he spent more time with. He would start with benign
questions –
how’s the wife, go anywhere this winter, how about
this weather?
Then he would move on to more pressing items –
Who do you think is going to run for Governor? How is it looking
in Jefferson City for the highway bill?
And on this morning, he
asked the question that was on everyone’s mind –
Who do you
think killed John Vithous?

There was one individual that morning that
Dick did not recognize. Houlihan guessed the gentleman was in his
late thirties. He was eating alone, reading the paper while sitting
at the bar by the hostess table. Dick could tell the man was
careful about what he ate; while most individuals were eating
bacon, eggs or pancakes, the stranger at the bar was eating a bagel
and fruit cup. Houlihan first thought he must be an out of town
businessman, considering he was eating alone and was wearing a
dress shirt and tie. The man’s suit coat was draped on the barstool
next to him; it was obvious he wasn’t expecting any company. But
Houlihan realized that he wasn’t an out of town guest. He was a
cop; the badge on his belt and the service revolver in its holster
were a dead giveaway. He realized that this cop had been watching
him. For how long, he wasn’t sure, but the few times he glanced up
the cop was looking right at him. And it was evident it didn’t
bother the cop that Dick caught him watching, because he just kept
looking anyway. Houlihan concluded this showed this guy wasn’t
easily intimidated. He thought about getting up and introducing
himself, but before he could, the cop was on his way over to his
table.

“Dick Houlihan?”

“Yes?”

“Sgt. Tom Burke, Kansas City homicide,” Burke
stated as he flashed his badge. “Mind if I have a seat?”

“By all means,” Houlihan responded while
gesturing for Burke to sit down, “I have long been a friend of
Kansas City’s finest.”

Burke placed his cup of coffee down on the
table and sat down.

Tom had been there since the place had
opened. Bobby had told him that he could find Houlihan there every
morning like clockwork. Houlihan entered less than two minutes
after Burke did, and it was clear he felt he ran the place. He said
good morning to the entire wait staff, waved at a couple of
individuals who were already seated, and then plopped himself down
at a table without the hostess showing him to his seat. Burke
thought about introducing himself right away, but he wanted to
observe Houlihan first.

The man knew almost everyone in the room. And
if he didn’t know them, Houlihan would work hard to make a
connection.

“You related to Bill O’Shaunessey who lived
over on Charlotte?” he asked one twenty- something female attorney
who was eating breakfast with a man who was clearly her boss. She
had spent a good ten minutes showing spreadsheets and talking about
billable hours to the heavy-set man across from her before Houlihan
had walked over, interrupted her and shook her boss’ hand with one
hand, while placing his other hand on the man’s shoulder. The man
joked with Houlihan, telling his young associate not to trust
anything Houlihan said, which got an awkward laugh from the young
attorney. Houlihan had asked if she was a new secretary, and she
had politely, but very firmly corrected him and told Houlihan she
was an attorney. Burke had laughed at that, he had enjoyed watching
Houlihan step right into some shit, especially since he was trying
so hard to be smooth.

“I’m so sorry,” Houlihan said, backpedalling
as fast as he could, “you’ll have to forgive me, I am an old man
who shouldn’t make assumptions.” He stuck out his hand to her. She
had shaken his hand and told him her name, and that’s when Houlihan
asked about the family connection.

“He’s my uncle,” she had replied with a
startled look on her face, “how do you know him?”

“Old ‘Wild Bill’?” Houlihan said, his large
eyebrows crowning. “Hell, I knew him when he was just Billy Joe,
running around St. Peter’s, causing the nuns grief.” That remark
sparked an honest laugh from the young woman. Dick excused himself
and sat back down to the table, satisfied he had made amends.

Burke tried not to make snap judgments about
people. It was bad for his business. It was better to let the facts
dictate his feelings, not his gut. But, he couldn’t help but
dislike Dick Houlihan. He was clearly full of shit, reminding Tom
of an elderly neighbor who lived next door to them when he was a
kid. That old man loved sharing jokes that were neither funny nor
clever. Burke even caught himself in the mirror behind the bar
rolling his eyes at some of the crap Houlihan was selling that
morning.

But, Dick Houlihan most likely did not like
John Vithous, which meant he had motive. Burke decided he would try
his best to approach Houlihan with an open mind, no matter how full
of shit he was.

“You must be related to Tom Burke the
cop”

“He’s my father,” Burke said, slightly
irritated.
Don’t let him get to you.

“Good guy,” Houlihan offered, “How’s he
doing?”

“He’s fine,” Burke replied, “I’ll give him
your regards. I don’t mean to be rude, but as much as I like making
personal connections, I don’t have much time and I wanted to talk
to you about John Vithous.”

Houlihan face changed from an avuncular smile
into a cold stare.

“Can’t say I’m sorry that son of bitch is
gone.”

“Yes,” Burke replied, “I’m hearing that quite
a bit. He… ”

“As you should,” Houlihan interrupted,
“Vithous would sell his mother if he thought he could make a
buck.”

“I heard he replaced you in the Mayor’s
office.”

“That’s a nice way to put it, Sgt Burke.”
Houlihan was picking at his eggs, which had gone cold, but it
didn’t seem to bother him. He scooped an entire mouthful in,
swallowed, and then went on.

“He got me fired. Kept whispering in Jane
Hughes’ ear that I was the problem, that I was why she wasn’t
polling well. You know how long I knew Jane Hughes?”

Burke shrugged.

“I knew Jane Hughes when she was all of
twenty-three, a newlywed who was selling Avon door to door. Her
husband, who I thought was a friend, told me she was interested in
politics. So I helped out.”

Dick Houlihan continued to eat while talking.
Apparently anger didn’t diminish his appetite.

“So I get her involved,” he went on. “First
precinct chair, then got her on the Public Improvement Advisory
Committee. Then, after a few years, I tell her she should run for
the state legislature. That her representative is retiring and she
has a good chance of winning. I chaired her campaign, did her
fundraising, got her elected.”

“Sounds like you did a lot,” Burke offered,
“what went wrong?”

“I’m getting there –Jesus – you young people
are so God damn impatient.”

Burke started to open his mouth and argue,
but thought better of it.

“You have to remember, this is back in the
1970s, when being a Democrat in Jefferson City meant you had some
real power. She bided her time, eventually became chair of the
House budget committee. Then her ego took over, thought she was
suddenly too big and important to have little old Dick Houlihan
running her campaigns, and her fundraising.”

They were interrupted by the waitress, who
topped off their coffee and asked if they needed anything else.

“No, sweetie,” Houlihan purred, “I think we
are doing just fine.”

Burke just hoped that Dick Houlihan was at
least a good tipper in exchange for all the sexism she had to
endure.

“Where were we?”

“You were telling me Jane Hughes got a big
head.”

“Right. She ended up hiring a young guy by
the name of John Vithous. This would be the fall of 1992. I
remember because she let me know my services were no longer needed
when we were at a Bill Clinton rally over in Independence.”
Houlihan took a large gulp of coffee, ran his fingers through his
hair and laughed.

“Can you believe that? The bitch actually
fired me at a political rally, in front of a lot people.”

“And you went back?” Burke asked. Now he was
interested.

“I’m getting there,” Houlihan shot back,
clearly irritated.

“John Vithous had a hold on her. He had run
some successful city council races here where he wasn’t afraid to
play dirty. You know, spread rumors, and in a lot of cases, out and
out lies. He told her he would make her Governor within 5 years.
She believed that fucker, too. What she saw in him, I don’t know.”
He was now scraping his fork across his mostly empty plate, trying
to get every last bit of egg into his mouth.

“Vithous had her run for Secretary of State
in 1994. You remember that year?”

“Bad year for Democrats,” Burke replied. He
wasn’t all that into politics, but even he remembered that
election.

“Yep, it was indeed. She lost by seventeen
points. Vithous blamed it on national party politics, the little
weasel. Not that he cared, he got paid the same amount whether she
won or lost. Word was even back then he was charging $150 an hour
for his services.”

Burke found himself enjoying this story more
than he thought he would. Usually politics bored him to no end, but
knowing the key characters of the story, one his homicide victim,
had piqued his interest.

“She comes crawling back to Kansas City.
Sells real estate with her husband. Most think her career is over.
Vithous dropped her like a hot potato. But, she and my wife run
into each other at the Brookside market. Despite my protests, they
actually become friends. Go golfing together, gardening shows,
stuff like that.”

Houlihan took his napkin off his lap, wiped
his face and placed it on his plate.

“Jane asks for a meeting with me. For a long
time, I say hell no – I would have said fuck no but this was my
wife I was talking to, and she doesn’t like it when I swear.”

Burke laughed out loud at that.

“You married, Burke?”

“I was.”

“Then you understand. Anyway, Jerome
Blankenship was termed out, so the Mayor’s office is an open seat.
Jane Hughes tells me she wants to run. Tells me she has learned her
lesson.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“I’d like to tell you that I was the bigger
person, but that’d be a lie,” Houlihan replied. “Truth is I did it
for ego, pure and simple.

“Ego?”

“Yes, ego. If I could get Jane Hughes elected
Mayor. Jane Hughes, whose political career had spun into a death
spiral and crashed and burned in an amazing ball of fire that could
be seen from here to St. Louis, then I had real talent.”

Burke nodded.

“I find the admission of ego refreshing, Mr.
Houlihan.”

“Call me Dick,” he replied, “any son of Tom
Burke is ok by me. Anyway, so I took it. It wasn’t easy. Open seats
only come up every eight years. So there were a lot of people
wanting that job. At the beginning, no one remembered Jane. I
worked my ass off. Hired the staff, raised the money, worked on the
messaging, the whole nine yards. And, as you recall, against all
odds, we won.”