Relative Malice (8 page)

12

Before she drove out of the hospital parking lot, Kendall’s phone buzzed.

“We have a suspect in the home invasions,” said the FBI agent, Gene Tarkowski.

“How did you find him?”

“The old story—he was picked up in Minnesota for speeding, mouthed off enough to get cuffed and the car searched. They found a gun in the trunk, a .38, same kind used in the invasions. He was carrying an amount of cash similar to what was missing in your case.”

“Sounds kind of light.”

“Yeah, but they have a rush on ballistics. They’re holding him in St. Paul on a concealed weapons charge.”

“Where will he be taken for questioning?”

“Stillwater. Since his crimes cover two states, we’ll be running the show. One of our agents will do the interview. I wanted to give you a heads-up right away.”

Kendall was steamed, but she knew they wouldn’t be having this conversation unless the powers that be had already approved the takeover by the Feds. Trying to fight it would be senseless.

Tarkowski continued, “His name is Travis Jordan. He lives in Minneapolis and works construction.”

Kendall struggled for words. She should be grateful they might have found the perp responsible for the murders, but knowing she wasn’t involved in the arrest really grated.

“Does this Jordan have a sheet?”

“No. He’s stayed under the radar, although he travels in questionable circles.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Not much. He’s twenty-five years old, African-American with green eyes.”

Kendall had to keep reminding herself that it was the result that mattered—putting him behind bars where he couldn’t kill any more innocent people—if they even had the right guy.

When the call ended, she punched in Alverson’s number. “What are you doing?”

“We’re at the high school, talking to girls about Sienna and the virgin emails again.”

“Wrap it up. I’m headed to CPP to talk to Glausson. Meet me in their parking lot when I’m done, about half an hour from now. We’re going on a road trip, but keep it to yourself.”

She’d worry about repercussions later.

Graham Glausson’s secretary ushered Kendall into her boss’s empty office, gesturing to one of two chairs facing a long mahogany desk before leaving to get Kendall a cup of coffee. Too wired to sit, Kendall toured the photos and awards adorning his walls. She saw a few family shots: a photo of the Glausson boys looking younger and happier, one of the parents, and a few of the family in various poses in a wood-paneled speedboat. A glamorous, professional portrait of England centered a shelf whose only other addition was a photo of the couple in formal wear talking to the governor.

Graham Glausson entered the room, tall and imposing in an expensive heather brown suit.

“Detective Halsrud. Do you have news for me about my niece?”

“No, nothing about Philly. I wanted to discuss the note you received.”

“Note?”

“Yes, Mr. Glausson, the threatening note you found on your car this morning.”

Glausson sank heavily into one of the chairs in a conversation area at the back of the room. “You can call me Gray, Detective. England brought it to you, right?”

“Yes.”

“I told her not to, but she can be rather headstrong. I know what the note is about; it has nothing to do with what happened to my brother’s family. CPP is still in contract negotiations at the Wausau plant, and things aren’t going well. There’ll probably be a strike come the expiration date of the contract. The situation is heating up, and I have no doubt the note has something to do with it—there’ve been other incidents.”

Kendall studied him. He looked tired, his eyes lifeless, his hair looking like he’d run his fingers through it more than once that day. His explanation about the note made sense. “Let me know if anything else happens. If you have a problem in Wausau, call the WPD. It’s best to be cautious.”

Gray wiped his face with his big hands. “I heard you talked to Nash.”

Her intention to complain about his hiring Nashlund had lessened in priority since the call from Tarkowski. “I wanted to talk to you about that. He asked me to let him work the case with me. I can’t do that. He’s interfering in a police investigation.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have to do anything I can, Detective. My niece may be out there somewhere, in God only knows what conditions.”

Kendall had been eager to talk to him more about Nash, but she had to get on the road for Stillwater before she was ordered to stay put. She turned to leave, then stopped.

“Oh, I keep forgetting—I have to do something with the cat we found at the Glausson home; it belonged to Sienna. Would you like to have it?”

“I can’t, England’s allergic. Will you have to take it to a shelter?”

“A neighbor of mine has been taking care of it. She’s willing to keep it if you can’t.”

“Good. I’ll contribute to its care if necessary. If it doesn’t work out, let me know. I’ll find it a home.”

Kendall thanked him and hurried to the car.

With the Highlander pointed toward Stillwater, Kendall fought to keep the car within ten miles of the speed limit on I-94 while she listened to Alverson bitch.

“The Fibbies are taking over the whole fuckin’ thing? Even the search? Makes us look like a pile of dog crap.”

Even though she’d had similar thoughts, Kendall was sick of hearing him grouse before they’d gotten ten miles out of Eau Claire, and having second and third thoughts about her decision to include him.

“Ross, there’s nothing we can do about it. We aren’t even authorized to be making this trip; Schoenfuss could call us in any minute now.”

He pulled out his phone and made a show of pressing the off button. “Then tough shit. I’m unavailable.”

Kendall picked up speed. Travis Jordan may not be in Stillwater yet, but she’d damn well be there when they brought him in.

They pulled into the Stillwater police station an hour later. As they walked in Kendall said, “Remember, Tarkowski said the agent doing the interview is trying to make himself look like the big dog here. So pucker up, we may have to kiss his ass to get anything out of him.”

Ross sneered. “Yeah, right. Then I’ll go toss my lunch.”

A detective wearing a Stillwater ID and a sour expression greeted them. Detective Sheila Olson stood about three inches shorter than Kendall and wore a bright red blazer over a pair of neatly pressed khakis. Her perfectly bobbed hair swung about her face with her least movement.

“Agent Kahn is interviewing the suspect. You can wait in here.” She led them into a room lined with shelving and stocked with coffee makers, newspapers, and a ratty leather sofa, apparently their break room.

Kendall stopped Olson before she rushed out. “Do you know how it’s going?”

Olson looked like she was trying to decide how much to tell them. “You had a similar invasion in Eau Claire, didn’t you?”

So we have to find common ground.
“Yes, just a few days ago. And we haven’t found out anything about the baby. That’s why we’re here. If you get anything from Jordan about the child, we want to be able to jump on it immediately.”

Olson nodded, her hair bouncing. “I understand, but you may have made this trip for nothing. Jordan asked for an attorney as soon as he got here. No one knows how he managed it, but a criminal defense attorney from the Cities showed up only minutes after they brought him in. Lucille Bellamy. Ever heard of her?”

Kendall frowned. “She’s good. Kahn won’t get anything from him if she stays on the case.”

Alverson opened his mouth as if to add a gripe, when a man obviously an FBI agent entered the room, his ramrod-straight posture hinting of a long-term military background. His age didn’t fit with long-term, however; he had to be in his early thirties.

Detective Olson made the introductions.

Agent Gerald Kahn stood about an inch under six feet and had a long, narrow nose, its profile as triangulated as a wedge of gouda cheese, above a pair of nearly nonexistent, colorless lips. “Detectives. What can I do for you?”

Kendall reminded herself of her own advice to remain subservient. “We’re here to help in any way we can. Our priority is to find out what happened to the Glausson baby. Can you tell us what you’ve gotten from the suspect?”

Kahn ran one hand over a bristly buzz cut. “I can’t help you, Detective. Jordan didn’t tell us anything before or after he lawyered up, and now Bellamy’s monitoring our questions. If we’re going to pin him to these murders, we’ll need solid evidence because we aren’t going to get a confession anytime soon.”

He stopped talking when a woman wearing a fitted, navy blue suit entered the room. Kendall recognized Lucille Bellamy from a news clip on a Minneapolis TV station several months ago. In her fifties, the woman was distinguished by an asymmetric face whose muscles on one side appeared to have been destroyed by a stroke, although the deformity was reported to be the result of an unusually severe attack of Bell’s palsy. The left side of her face sagged, the eyelid nearly covering one blue eye. When she spoke, only one side of her mouth moved.

“Am I missing a meeting of the minds?”

No one in the room spoke. Lucille Bellamy, despite her odd appearance, exuded authority and intelligence. Kendall wondered how Bellamy ended up in Stillwater representing Travis Jordan.

Kahn introduced her to Kendall and Alverson.

Bellamy faced Agent Kahn head on. “If you’re finished questioning my client, Agent, I’ve got better things to do than wait for moss to grow on my ass here in Stillwater. Arrest him or cut him loose.”

Kahn’s thin lips flattened into a straight line. “Sorry, Counselor. We’re holding him until ballistics on his
illegal, concealed
weapon is completed. If you prefer, we’ll book him on a weapons charge for the time being. Your client broke the law. He’s not going anywhere.”

Kendall was beginning to enjoy their barbed repartee when Kahn’s cell phone buzzed. He excused himself and left the room.

She turned to Bellamy. “I’d like to question your client, Ms. Bellamy. One of the crimes he’s suspected of took place in Eau Claire. It’s imperative that we find the missing baby, a girl not even a year old.”

Bellamy’s mismatched eyes followed the direction Kahn had gone with his phone. The functioning corner of her mouth raised in amusement. Clearly, she was aware Kendall would be going in without Kahn’s approval.

“All right, Detective, come with me.”

Travis Jordan looked younger than his twenty-five years. His aqua-green eyes, high cheekbones, and mocha complexion hinted of a mixed ethnicity and lent his face a unique handsomeness. It always surprised Kendall when a perp turned out to be attractive, rather than some kind of horned monster.

“Travis,” Bellamy said sweetly, as if she were talking to the boy delivering her groceries, “these are Detectives Halsrud and Alverson from Eau Claire. They would like to ask you some questions.”

Jordan could well remain mute as he’d done for Kahn, but this would be Kendall’s only chance to confront him. She didn’t have time for preliminaries. She identified herself and Alverson for the record, then reached into her briefcase and pulled out photos of the Glaussons. She spread the death photos on the table, facing Jordan.

Her voice was cold, her words sharp as razor-blades. “I’m sure you recognize the Glausson family. Their home was invaded last Friday night.” She waved a hand over the photos. “This is what’s left of them.”

Under a neatly trimmed Afro, Travis Jordan’s blue-green eyes remained emotionless as they scanned the photos. Centered above his left ear was a rectangular area of shaved scalp, tattooed inside it in Gothic letters, “TRAVIS.”

Alverson broke the silence and snarled, “Where’s the baby?”

Kendall knew Alverson had been ready to burst and touched his arm to quiet him.

“We need your help, Mr. Jordan,” she said. “The baby’s missing, and her remaining family needs to know where she is. We have to find her before any harm comes to her.”

Bellamy leaned toward her client and whispered in his ear. His sullen gaze remained unchanged.

Kendall brought out a photo of Philly Glausson and laid it on top of the others. “This innocent child deserves to be with family.”

Jordan’s eyes slid to the child. He sneered. “I’m not telling you jack. Take your pictures and shove ‘em up your ass.”

Alverson pushed across the table in Jordan’s direction. Kendall grabbed his arm and brought him back to a sitting position just as the door opened and Kahn walked in.

“This interview is concluded.” He motioned for Kendall and Alverson to follow him from the room.

The two men left the room ahead of her while Kendall returned the photos to her briefcase. Jordan’s gaze remained focused on her. In a loud, nearly singsong whisper, he said, “Fuckin’ baby’s dead, bitch.”

Kendall froze. “What did you say?”

Bellamy attempted to restrain her client as he spun out of control, grabbing the edge of the table and screaming, “You heard me—the baby’s dead! Dead! I fucked the piece of shit and it’s dead! Then I threw its bloody carcass in the woods for the animals.”

Kahn pulled Kendall out of the room and went in to confront Jordan. As the door closed behind her, Kendall could still hear Jordan yelling, along with Bellamy’s voice telling him to shut the fuck up. Kendall was nauseous remembering his words, grateful to be away from them.

She expected to be chastised for her impromptu interview with Travis Jordan, but a few moments later Kahn joined them, his face surprisingly devoid of animosity. “I’m going to let this pass, Detective. Anything Jordan says can be added to the evidence that’s already been acquired. Convicting him won’t be difficult with what we have on him.”

The phone call must have been his source of this new evidence. “And that is?”

Apparently too exhilarated about his evidence to contain it, Kahn said, “The ballistic report came in—the same gun was used in all three invasions—his. It was hidden in the trunk of his car and his fingerprints are all over it.”

“What about the partial we found on one of our victims? And the one in Green Bay? Do they match Jordan?” Kendall asked.

“We have the weapon, what more do you want?”

Was it possible all Kahn cared about was having enough evidence to make his arrest stick? “If the partial isn’t a match, Jordan might have had an accomplice who took the child.”

“An interesting suggestion, Detective. But it sounded to me like Jordan just admitted killing the child. I believe your chief told you we’ve taken over the case; let us follow up on anything that could lead to the child or indicate whether there was another unsub. We’ll find the baby. And in case you aren’t aware of it, a partial won’t hold up in court unless it has a decent point match-up.”