Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (27 page)

Head Shot

St Paul &
Minneapolis, MN

February,
Fifteen Months Later

M
EDIA VANS
CLOGGED WEST
Kellogg Boulevard in front of the
eighteen-story, limestone-clad Ramsey County Court building. It took Jo Schwann
some time to locate an open parking space. Once she did, she had to dodge
several snow banks, as well as reporters’ speculative questions about the
outcome of the Mazlo murder trial. To each question, she replied with her
standard, “No comment.” The jury had been deliberating for the last two days,
and Jo had received word this morning they were ready to present their verdict.

Jo stepped off the elevator and her eyes swept the crowded
hallway. She finally spied Frisco and his partner, Riley standing next to Rick
Wilson and his mother, Caroline. Once Jo had greeted them all, she turned to
Rick and Caroline. “How are you both holding up?”

Rick shrugged and his mother replied, “Ready for this to be over.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse than sitting through the trial,
there was the fresh hell of waiting for the jury to decide. I kept wondering
what was taking them so long. Surely they found the bastard guilty.” Caroline
looked up at Jo, pleading with her eyes.

Jo certainly knew what she meant. The road to justice for Rick and
the other victims had been long and arduous. The case had taken an
extraordinary amount of time to come to a close, primarily because the first
case had been declared a mistrial after the original judge died of a heart
attack on the golf course near the end of the trial.

Jo offered them what she hoped was a reassuring smile, “Today is
going to be the day this jury finds Mazlo guilty on all counts.”

As soon as she had uttered these words, the bailiff opened the
door and announced the jury was returning to the courtroom. Jo gave Rick’s hand
a brief squeeze. They filed into the room with the other victim’s family
members.

Taking her place on one of the walnut benches in the courtroom,
she smiled encouragingly at the families of Rick Wilson’s roommate and his
girlfriend who had attended every day of Mazlo’s trial. Also in attendance was
the young wife of the campus security officer, who died at Coffman Memorial
Union on the day of Mazlo’s arrest. In June of last year, the former adjunct
professor had been found guilty of second-degree murder in his death, along
with attempted murder for the wounding of Officer Canton of the Minneapolis
Police Department. Jo had heard Canton had just returned to active duty as a
desk sergeant a few weeks ago.

Noticeably absent was Billy MacGregor’s mom. In spite of the fact
this trial was separate from her son’s murder trial, Jo had half expected her
to attend anyway. The victim’s families had grown close over the previous
several months.

However, Jo couldn’t blame her for not being here. During the
murder trial to convict Mazlo for the murder of her son, Mrs. MacGregor had
experienced several heart problems, worsened by the outcome of the case. While
his murder trial had proceeded without delay, the jury had found there wasn’t
enough evidence to convict Mazlo on the first degree murder charge. They had
handed down a lesser sentence of involuntary manslaughter. Jo suspected Billy’s
mother may have had her fill of courtrooms. She made a mental note to stop by
and check on her when this was all over.

While they waited for the judge and jury to enter the room, Jo
directed her gaze to Caroline Wilson’s face Jo noted the deep lines that had
formed around the woman’s mouth and she was shocked at how much weight the
woman had lost over the last several months. Caring for her son and attending
the trial for his attempted murderer had taken its toll on Rick’s mother.

Throughout her career, Jo had always thought of herself as sympathetic
to the families of victims. However, now that Jo was a mother herself, she
realized she couldn’t begin to imagine the horror of being in this woman’s
shoes.

She shifted her focus to Michael Mazlo, who sat at a table next to
his attorney. He too had aged in the intervening months; his once
salt-and-pepper hair had turned completely white. Jo could not muster any
sympathy for the former adjunct professor. In fact, she took a certain pleasure
in seeing what the trials had cost him and she hoped he would be rotting in a
jail cell for the rest of his life. The monster deserved everything the court
system could throw at him and more. And Jo was there to make sure it happened.

The bailiff interrupted her train of thought by calling out, “All
rise.”

The quiet buzz of conversations around the room ceased
immediately, and everyone rose to their feet. All remained standing until the
judge took his spot at the large rosewood bench. The somber jurors filed in
next, taking their places in the jury box. Jo studied their faces, looking for
a clue as to their collective decision. Without exception, however, the eight
men and four women had turned their gazes to the judge.

Jo felt Caroline tremble next to her. She felt her own heart
thudding in her chest and Jo offered a silent prayer that justice would be
served. She shook her head. The time for praying was over, because the jury had
already reached a verdict it would soon reveal to the rest of the world.

The foreman of the jury, a lanky, dark-haired man, passed the verdict
form to the courtroom clerk, who read it out loud. Jo listened as Mazlo was
pronounced guilty of murder in the second degree for Rick’s roommate, Kyle
Marshall and Kyle’s girlfriend. Jo heard a gasp behind her and the quiet
weeping of both of the young victim’s mothers.

She reached for Caroline’s hand, which was cold and clammy. Jo
held tightly as the last verdict was read, “In the count of attempted first
degree murder, we find the defendant, Michael Mazlo, guilty.” To her left,
Frisco raised his fist in triumph. It was the strongest verdict that could have
been levied against Rick’s former mentor.

Rick Wilson wrapped his arms around his mother, who slumped
against his chest. He said, “We won, Mom. We won.”

Caroline calmly looked up at her son with tears in her eyes, and
Jo knew she would never forget the woman’s expression when she replied, “But
did we, really?”

Jo looked over at Michael Mazlo and saw no emotion in his face.
She didn’t know if it was because he was already thinking ahead to the sentencing
or to his future appeals.

***

The stairs in their home on Lake Calhoun emitted a homey creak as
John Goodman climbed them with ten-month-old Max tucked into the crook of one
arm and his twin sister Emma tucked into the other. He wryly thought about no
longer needing to work-out at the gym these days. Although the twins were born
a month prematurely, they had grown quickly and were now a pleasant weight in
his arms.

Caddy, their dog, followed him down the down the hallway and
together they entered the master bedroom. His son, always full of energy,
squirmed to get down and John gently set him on the carpet at Jo’s bare feet.
Max immediately pulled one of Jo’s shoes toward his mouth and she quickly
diverted his attention. Both children were crawling, and John wondered what
would happen once the twins were walking. He knew he and Jo were going to have
their hands full when that particular milestone was reached.

Emma, happy to be held, patted her father’s cheeks with her chubby
little hands and John felt an immense sense of peace at this simple touch from
his daughter. He caught a whiff of the baby shampoo in her soft red curls and
nuzzled her neck until she let out a squeal of delight.

He paused to admire his beautiful wife as she stood in her bra and
panties in their walk-in closet. She leaned over in a futile attempt to alter
their son’s path to pulling on Caddy’s tail. After giving birth to the twins a
little over a year ago, Jo was even more beautiful now than when he had first
met her. He found himself looking forward to their date tonight, even if it was
a fund-raising gala for the med school, and they would spend half the night
schmoozing with the wealthy alumni of the university.

Jo’s red curls grazed the top of her son’s matching ones when she
scooped him up and kissed his pink cheek. “Little man, you are your father’s
son; always distracting me from the task at hand.”

Jo’s green eyes met her husband’s over Max’s head. “I’m looking
forward to tonight, but did it have to be in the Grand Ballroom in Coffman
Hall?” She teased, “Couldn’t you have used your influence as dean of the med
school to have the event venue changed to somewhere other than the scene of my
botched arrest of Michael Mazlo? “

John returned her banter. “The only things they let me do are give
speeches and beg for money, you know that.”

Jo laughed out loud. “Well, you are pretty good at it.”

He looked from his daughter to his son. “I’m excited about the
evening as well, but I’m going to miss these little monsters. You’re sure
Mrs.Carson is up to the task? You know how they get into everything these
days….” The woman who was their primary caregiver while Jo and John worked was
getting up in years and he worried sometimes the twins were getting to be too
much for her.

His wife patted his arm with her free hand. “You worry too much.
Mrs. Carson has been caring for children for many years and will continue to do
so for a long time yet. Besides, I’ve seen her in action; nothing gets by her.”

“I don’t know how she does it. If I spend two hours with them, I’m
worn out. Maybe she could give me lessons.”

Jo smiled. “John, you are a terrific dad. Trust me, I’ve seen the
best and the worst dads in my line of work, and you definitely rank number one
in the best category.”

“Speaking of terrible dads, now that the murder trials are
finished, what’ll happen with Mazlo’s father and brothers?”

Jo gently freed her hair from her son’s fist. “The U.S. District
attorney is trying all four of them together for sex trafficking. The trial is
scheduled to begin in a couple of weeks.”

“And what about Jonathon Wellborne?”

“Wellborne Industries has declared bankruptcy. They couldn’t
survive the scandal. Detective Fischer in Williston is now Chief Fischer, by
the way.”

John studied her for a moment. “Are you glad this is pretty much
over?”

Jo tilted her head, considering his question. “Yes. At first, I
thought I’d miss it. But now that I’m in the white collar crimes division, I’m
relieved. This back and forth between my old and new job at the FBI has gotten
old.”

“Not sorry you moved to the new department, are you?” He was
curious about her response. Although it had been her idea to transfer to a less
dangerous department after the scare they had when she was pregnant, he
sometimes wondered if she missed the excitement of her former position. He, on
the other hand, was delighted she was out of harm’s way.

John released the breath he had been holding when she responded
with a smile. “Absolutely not. I thought the pace of the job would be slower. I
know some white collar criminals are as dumb as a bag of hammers, but there are
those that are really devious.” She shook her head. “Earlier this week, we
caught a case of a former Iowa business owner who is laundering money for a
Columbian drug cartel. Those are the cases that keep me on my toes.”

He shifted Emma’s weight to his other hip and changed the subject.
“How’s Rick Wilson doing, by the way?” Once his former patient had transferred
to the rehabilitation center to recover from his injuries, it had been more
difficult for John to keep up with his progress.

 
“Great, thanks to you.
You’ll be pleased to know his memory has mostly returned. Although he never saw
who shot him, he remembered the majority of the conversations with his former
mentor in the days leading up to the shooting.”

“How is his speech coming along?”

“Remarkable, considering the amount of damage to his brain. He
still slurs every now and then, so he had to repeat himself a few times during the
trial. Sometimes he substitutes odd words, but all in all, I would say he was
very effective on the witness stand. The jury was obviously moved by his
courage.”

Jo handed their wiggly son over to John. “Would you mind taking
them downstairs so I can finish getting ready? We’re going to be late if I
don’t get a move on.”

He took Max in his free arm. “Come on, you two troublemakers.
Let’s give your momma some room to get ready for her big night with Daddy.”

Walking toward the hallway, he heard Jo say, “John?”

He turned to face her. She said, “I don’t remember what life was
like before we met. Do you?” Her green eyes glowed like emeralds held under a
jeweler’s light.

He smiled broadly. “Me, either.”

Turners Bend

April

A
PRIL,
AND STILL NO SIGNS OF ANY
relief from the grip of winter, no
promise of spring to come, just cold windy days and gray, dirty snow. After
Hal’s capture and death and the completion of
Head Shot
, Chip lacked motivation, felt depression when he should
have felt relief. Finnegan’s unsolved murder was vexing him.

He
searched online newspapers for any updates on the case but found nothing. Mario
Franco was avoiding his calls and emails. He wondered if the detective’s lead
had gone cold.

By
popular request he had changed his ringtone to Katy Perry’s latest hit. He
heard her singing out and grabbed his cell. It was Franco.

“Detective
Franco. This is so strange; I was just thinking about you. Any news on the
Finnegan case?”

“I
thought I’d give you a heads up. Something is going to break on the WCCO six
o’clock news show tonight. I’m trying to flush out whoever hired Moore as a hit
man. Do you have a way of watching the telecast?”

“I
suppose I could live-stream it on my computer. You’ve got me more than a little
intrigued.”

Franco
seemed to hesitate then lowered his voice before he began. “I’m calling from
home and don’t want my wife to hear, especially when I’m about to stick my
fingers in a meat grinder.”

Chip’s
mind began to race, trying to put pieces of information together. “Can I take
it you leaked something to the news station, something that can get you into
trouble?”

“Bingo,
you’re pretty sharp. Must be your crime writer’s mind. Remember I told you I
had an interview with a woman in detox, named Winona Little Feather?”

“Yes.
You said she knew a lot about some kind of criminal activity, but that she
couldn’t be trusted.”

“Well,
when Winona’s DTs stopped, she implicated some of my co-workers in a sex
trafficking ring.”

“No
shit. You mean she fingered cops from the MPD?”

“Right
again.”

“Finnegan
and Murphy might have been researching sex trafficking in the Twin Cities.
Maybe they uncovered the MPD’s connection and that’s what got them killed”

 
“That’s where my mind is going, too. Tonight
that theory is going to hit the headlines. I’m the whistleblower. If I’m right,
I’m screwed, and if I’m wrong, I’m screwed.”

“What
about Dwayne Moore? How does he fit into this scenario?”

“Good
question. I said he had friends in high places, one of which may be the MPD
Vice Squad.”

***

Jane
and Chip sat in front of his computer monitor watching the evening news from
Minneapolis. The co-anchors were an attractive pair, both with long Italian
names. The male anchor led off the newscast with a teaser about a scandal in
the Minneapolis Police Department.

“Breaking
news only on WCCO. An anonymous source has lodged allegations of corruption in
the Minneapolis Police Department’s Vice Squad.”

The
female anchor took over. “Members of the Vice Squad are accused of running a
sex trafficking ring, specifically prostituting Native American women. The
source also links the deaths of crime writers Patrick Finnegan and Margaret
Murphy to the ring. Our police reporter is outside the First Precinct station.
What can you tell us, Andrea?”

The
camera cut away to a live shot of an attractive young woman wearing a jacket
with the WCCO logo on the front. “The Police Chief was unavailable for comment.
The department’s spokesperson denied any knowledge of the allegations. Rumors
of an internal whistleblower are unconfirmed at this point. We hope to have
more information for the ten o’clock news.”

The
male anchor continued. “Viewers may remember the murder of local crime writer
Patrick Finnegan last September. His body was found in the ONCE UPON A CRIME
bookstore. The homicide division identified it as an active case, so they are
not at liberty to comment. Our source revealed Finnegan may have been
researching sex trafficking in the Twin Cities.”

The
female anchor took over. “The death of writer Margaret Murphy was first
reported as a suicide. It now appears that may not be the case. Apparently
crime writing can be a dangerous occupation.”

The
two anchors moved on to a story about the threat of Asian carp in the
Mississippi river.

“Franco
was the whistleblower, Jane. He called me earlier today.”

Chip
began to pace around the room, so agitated he could not stay still. “Franco
could lose his job over this. Finnegan and Murphy must have discovered the Vice
Squad was involved in sex trafficking, and they shut them up…permanently.”

“Chip,
I don’t want to believe that law enforcement people would resort to murder to
keep them quiet. I know this kind of thing can happen, but in the Minneapolis
Police Department?”

“There’s
a lot of money in sex trafficking. Money corrupts. It’s happened in other major
cities, so why not Minneapolis? They probably had Moore or some other thug do
it and paid him a tidy sum. Poor Franco, he’s jumped into the fire. He’s done
the just and honorable thing, and he’s most likely going to get fired for it.”

***

Over
the next several weeks Chip, along with Chief Fredrickson, followed the story
in Minneapolis, piecing together information from as many news sources as they
could and meeting at the Bun to discuss events as they unfolded.

Over
coffee and cherry pie they talked about crime within police departments. “What
happens to crooked cops?” asked Chip as he forked Bernice’s flaky piecrust into
his mouth.

“Big
city departments have an internal affairs staff. They review complaints and
misconduct. In Minneapolis the department has a reputation of dismissing
charges against officers and not meting out much in terms of disciplinary
action, just referring the officers for what they call coaching.” The chief
signaled Bernice for a refill. “My god, Bernice, what’s in this pie?”

“I’m
making my pie crust with lard these days; don’t tell your doc. And, I put
amaretto in the cherry filling. What do you think?”

“I
think I’ll have another piece.”

Chip
returned the conversation to his recent findings. “Yesterday I read in the Star
Tribune that the city council’s Office of Police Conduct Review is
investigating the case and the American Civil Liberties Union of Minnesota is
also putting up a fuss. What do you think is going to happen?”

“To
tell the truth, Chip, I think there will be a discreet cover-up. Unknown to the
public the culprits will be dismissed or maybe just demoted to street duty. I
doubt there will be any criminal charges filed. Eventually the police will
issue some statement about continuing to investigate the murders and their
dedication to bringing their killer or killers to justice.”

Chip
put down his fork. “Really? That’s just not right. Something should be done
about it. How can they get away with that? What about the women who are being
victimized? What about all the illegal money that is being made by rotten
cops?”

“You’re
right, of course. Franco knew despite the evidence he had that nothing drastic
would happen. His source probably named names all the way up to the Captain of
Vice, but he knew her testimony would not hold up in court. He did it
anyway…for his own self-worth…because he’s one of the good guys. He expected to
be shunned by his fellow officers. It’s happened in previous incidences within
the force. Snitches are ostracized. ”

“How
do you know all this?”

“Talked
with him last week. Officially he’s been on paid administrative leave ever
since the MDP discovered he was the whistleblower. The Chief has been trying to
protect his reputation by keeping him out of view during the investigation.
She’s got quite a mess on her hands. Don’t envy her. Off the record, he told me
he plans to resign his position and resettle his family in another city as soon
as he has his affairs in order.”

Much
to Chip’s dismay and frustration, the chief’s predictions proved to be right.
Two members of the Tre Tre Crisps gang were charged with Finnegan’s murder.
They had been overheard in a Seven Corners bar bragging about a hit shortly
after midnight on the night Patrick Finnegan was shot. They were reported by an
off-duty cop who was bartending at the time. Margaret Murphy’s case remained
open but unsolved.

No
one in the vice department was publically exposed or prosecuted. What happened
internally was kept under wraps, but it was rumored there was a change in
command of the vice squad, and the chief announced she was doubling the force’s
efforts to stem sex trafficking in the city.