by Elaine Viets
“Please don’t. Not unless you want word to get back to Kip and Duke. They don’t go to the same school, but you know how news spreads in the Forest.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to him this morning. He can go to school late. You have his address and home phone, right?”
“Yes. The family lives in Toonerville. His mother’s name is Debra, and she’s a librarian at the main Chouteau County Library. His father is an insurance agent.”
“Big Al’s technically an adult, so I could interview him alone. Do you think his parents will encourage him to be cooperative?”
“My guess is yes, and he may be more comfortable talking with his parents there.”
“I’ll call them now and tell them nothing’s wrong—quite the opposite, in fact,” Butch said. “I’ll ask if we can interview Al before school.”
“Can I be there? I won’t say anything, but he sorta knows me.”
“Sure. See you there.”
By 7:00 a.m., Angela, Butch, Big Al, and his mother, Debra, were in the coffee-scented kitchen of the Shlesinger home, a one-story brick rambler with neat white trim. This was definitely a librarian’s house—books and bookshelves were everywhere: the living room, the hall, even the kitchen. The four sat at the big wooden kitchen table with blue mugs of coffee. The polished table’s centerpiece was a bowl of fresh fruit. Debra, a slender woman with dark hair and small, manicured hands, was seated next to her son. This morning, Al was freshly showered and wore a checked shirt and jeans. She bet he set the girls’ hearts fluttering.
Debra Shlesinger fidgeted with the ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers. “I hope I’m doing the right thing, Detective. My husband’s in Atlanta today on business, and I couldn’t reach him. I don’t like my son mixed up with arson and murder.”
“I understand, Mrs. Shlesinger.”
“Debra.”
“Your son has the evidence that can put two arsonists at the scene of the fire,” Butch said, “and then we can take them off the streets.”
“Yes, I know. But I also know Kip’s and Duke’s parents are rich and important. My son works hard, but he needs his job. Kip’s father is part owner of the pizza place where Al works, and my boy could lose his job.”
“Dr. Bryan Berry may be able to get him another one that pays more—eighteen dollars an hour.”
“What about college? Al’s grades are good. We’re hoping for a scholarship, but Reggie Du Pres and Duke’s dad, Judge Charbonneau, are on several college boards. They could deny my son a scholarship.”
“I can’t make any promises, but I can tell you that Dr. Berry and Ann Burris are on college boards for schools locally and in other states. They also have money and influence, and they’re in your son’s corner.”
“But what about my husband and me? Albert could lose some referrals—he’ll survive, but it could cost us money—and I could lose my job.”
“You’re a county librarian, correct? How are your yearly job evaluations?” Butch asked.
“I always get the highest possible ratings.”
“You’re protected by civil service. If you’re fired, you’re looking at a substantial lawsuit. Look, Debra, I know you’re worried. But I’m worried, too. If your son is right, these two young men are running around setting fires and shooting up heroin. They’re dangers to themselves and to the whole community. The third member of that group, who was also a dealer, OD’d later the same night your son saw him. So far, no one has died in the fires they’ve set, but that’s only a matter of time. Big Al says he was named for his great-great-grandfather, a war hero. Please let him continue the family tradition of bravery. We will do our best to protect him, and now he has powerful friends, too. They can help him.”
“Come on, Mom. These dudes are dangerous.” They were, but Angela wondered just how civic-minded Al was. Did he want the rich kids who treated him as invisible to finally know who he was? “And I am an adult.”
“Still living in this household,” Debra reminded him, and sighed. “All right. I hope you know what you’re doing.” Once again, Al told his story and then showed Butch his video and pizza-run sheet.
“So I’ve got them stone-cold, right?” Al said.
“You’ve got them at the scene before the fire and before Zander OD’d,” Butch said. “It’s a start. Right now, all we have them for is trespassing. Toilet paper was used to help start the fire, but it’s not illegal to possess TP—or throw it over a fence.”
“Oh.” Al looked disappointed. “So I wasn’t any help at all.”
“I didn’t say that. You’ve come forward. You’ve given me a place to start. Now it’s up to me. I have to get some warrants and check with some people. Do you know if Kip, Zander, and Duke had Facebook accounts?”
“Facebook? That’s for old—” Al skidded to a stop. “I mean, high school kids don’t really use it. They use Snapchat mostly.”
“Do you know their account names?”
“You need their usernames,” Al said. “That’s how you find a Snapchat account. You also have what’s called a vanity name, but there would be a million Zanders, Kips, and Dukes on Snapchat. Most photos are shared in a closed group of friends, and I’m definitely not a friend of those three. No way I’d get a Snap from them. What are you looking for?”
“I’m hoping they took a selfie that places them at the Gravois mansion.”
“They could have. We like Snapchat because photos and videos aren’t around forever, like on Facebook. Once a Snap is opened, you get to decide how long it will last—anywhere from one to ten seconds. Then, unless you save it or screen-capture it, it’s gone—sort of. Most people think Snaps are erased once they’re read. That’s not quite how it works. Snapchat usually stores chats and images for thirty days.”
“Any way to stop Snapchat from destroying the photos?”
“Snapchat is tough. That’s why kids use it for sexting and stuff.” He looked at his mother. “Not that I’m into sexting.” His ears were bright red, and Angela wondered if some girls had sent him racy photos. Al seemed to know a lot about this subject.
“You better not be.” His mother sounded maternal, playful—and clueless.
“Do you have any of their cell phones?” Al asked.
“Not yet. We haven’t approached Kip or Duke,” Butch said. “What if we find Zander’s phone?”
“Unopened Snaps sent to a group chat are deleted by default after twenty-four hours. But if Kip or Duke saved it, you could still see it—if you find the phone and username within thirty days.”
Debra was getting restless with the tech talk. She glanced at the kitchen clock and asked, “Is there anything else? Al should be going to school.”
“Nothing else. You’ve been a big help, Al. Right now, the best thing you can do is go to school, go to work, and keep quiet.”
“No problem there,” Al said.
“He’s smart,” Debra said. “He knows what to do.” She gave her son a proud smile. “I e-mailed the school that you were going to be tardy. Looks like you’re going to miss your first class. I’ll write you a note and drive you to school.”
Angela and Butch thanked them both and left. “Want to get breakfast at the Forest Salade Shoppe?” he asked. “They make a mean chocolate-chip pancake.”
“Deal.” Angela got into her car. “See you there.”
She arrived first at the restaurant and asked for a booth. To humor Butch, she took the seat with her back to the door. After they ordered coffee and pancakes, Angela asked, “Before we start, what are you going to do about Greiman? Isn’t this his case?”
“It is, and he’s done nothing with it. In a department as small as ours, the lines of responsibility can be easily adjusted.”
“Will the chief go along with that?”
“He may not like it, but it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. If I present him with a solid case, he can’t do anything about it. As for Greiman, I don’t care what he thinks. I’ve kept quiet, but I’ve seen him bungle one i
nvestigation after another and somehow come out smelling like a rose. I’m not afraid to go against the grain. My father was a former chief in Peerless Grove, Kansas, so I guess you could say policing is in my blood.”
“I didn’t know that. Where’s Peerless Grove?”
“About eighty miles south of Kansas City. Old man’s retired now and still lives there with Mom. He’s sixty-eight.”
The server arrived with two stacks of chocolate-chip pancakes, butter, and warm maple syrup. There was a respectful silence while Butch and Angela dug into their warm, chocolatey pancakes. After nearly half a stack and another coffee refill, Angela asked, “What will you have to do to solve this case?”
“The pizza driver can put the boys at the scene. Al saw them, he saw their cars, and his video got the tag numbers. But what’s to say they started the fire? The fact that they had TP? Like I told Al, it’s not illegal to possess toilet paper or throw a twelve-pack over the fence. I need to get a warrant for all their cell-phone records to show they were at the fire scene. I also need the security-camera footage on the five other Du Barry Circle estates, and another warrant for the boy’s car—Kip, I think his name is. Will they lie about being at the scene? Probably. If they lie but were seen trespassing at the Gravois mansion before the fire and if they had TP, chips, and shortening, that might be enough for an arrest.”
“What about a conviction?”
“Not with the kind of lawyers their parents can afford. We do have that unidentified print inside the car trunk—and the unknown DNA on the syringe stuck in Zander’s arm. The fire investigator found prints and DNA where they partied in the Gravois’s kitchen, and an unknown print on the TP wrapper and on the can of shortening at the scene. None of that burned when the fire went out in the kitchen. I can get Cheap and Easy video footage that will show them at the register buying the TP and other supplies.”
“If Duke and Kip were in the store with Zander,” Angela said. “He was their errand boy. They may have let him go in alone and buy the fire fixings. The receipt was in his car.”
“But if their fingerprints are on those items, we’ve got them at the fire.” Butch took another forkful of pancake.
“They’re seventeen,” Angela said. “Will they be charged as juveniles or adults?”
“Adults, although their lawyers will fight it. Too bad the dead kid’s a nobody—I don’t mean to be harsh, but if Zander’s mom had any influence, she might swing more weight than the killers’ parents.”
“If they killed Zander. His mother said he wasn’t a user, but the autopsy said otherwise.” She took a long drink of her coffee.
“You know what would be really nice?” Butch said. “If we got Kip’s or Duke’s phone, got their Snapchat account, and saw selfies of them at the fire scene.”
“Can’t the lawyers for Kip and Duke block you from seeing those Snaps?”
“Nope, these kids like to brag. They may share their story with everyone, so there’s no expectation of privacy. I’m going to pay a visit to the SROs at the Forest Academy and Chouteau Forest High School.”
“What’s an SRO? I don’t think you mean standing room only.”
Butch laughed and signaled for the check. “SROs are school resource officers, police officers who work in a school. They’re pretty cooperative. They don’t even have to see the actual post. They hear things. I’ll start with Peter Simonetti at Chouteau Forest High and see if he’s heard anything. Then I’ll check with the Academy’s SRO. You’d be surprised how quickly it will unravel. Once you start following someone online, he’ll let something slip in a publicly accessible space. Then it’s warrants and proof. As soon as I get an account username, I’m filing a request to preserve the data.”
“When the boys are charged, will they be jailed or released to their parents?”
“I see them going to detention or jail and not getting out anytime soon. Which is why I’m not going to say anything until I have those warrants. But don’t worry, Angela. We’ll get ’em.”
“You may find them, Butch, but those kids will never do jail time. Meanwhile, Kendra and her father are facing life in prison on flimsy evidence.”
“Don’t be so sure it’s over for Kendra and Jose, Angela. Monty is a good lawyer. At the very least, the arrests will end the fires.”
The server arrived with the check, and Butch grabbed it. “My treat. You working today?”
“Nope. Just another doctor’s appointment. But those are running down.”
Angela wanted to visit the Du Pres stables for some horse therapy before she saw Doc Bartlett, but when she got home, she saw Bud’s beat-up pickup bouncing down the gravel road leading to the horse farm. He signaled her to stop, and she pointed to her driveway. Bud parked behind her car and climbed out of his truck holding his soda-can spittoon. He wore old, saggy-seated jeans, a blue work shirt, nearly transparent with age, and a straw cowboy hat.
“Glad you didn’t go up to the stables. Old Reggie’s there right now. He’s getting another OTTB horse from Kentucky. I’m leaving this afternoon to pick her up. I’ll be gone two days. Wait till you see her,” he said. Angela heard real enthusiasm in his voice and a softness he never used for people. “She’s a beauty. Her name is Valerie’s Spirit. She’s dark brown with a white star and a black mane and tail. A very sweet horse. I got her picture here.” Bud brought out his cell phone. Where other people had photos of their families and pets, Bud had horse pictures.
“She’s a lovely shade of brown,” Angela said. Bud looked pleased at the praise and wiped his forehead with his red bandanna. The morning was hot.
“Reggie’s going to be around the stables most of today, but then he has some fancy-Dan thing at his club for the next two days, and you’ll have the stables to yourself.”
“Good. I’ll bring extra carrots and peppermints for Eecie and Hero.”
“They’d like that.” Bud’s face creased into a sun-wrinkled smile. Angela thought he’d leave, but he hung back. “You can see the stables from your bedroom window, right?”
“I have a clear view.”
“Good. If you get up in the middle of the night, keep an eye on them, will you?”
“Of course. What’s wrong, Bud?”
“I saw that performance the county prosecutor put on yesterday, saying Jose and Kendra are the Forest arsonists, but I don’t buy it. I think the real arsonists are still out there, and they’re still starting fires.”
“I think you’re right, Bud. Reggie spares no expense for those horses. Doesn’t he have a sprinkler system in the stables?”
“Can’t have one. He has fire extinguishers and fire alarms, but that horse barn is what they call ‘old mill construction.’ They used heavier timbers back then, which are slower to burn, but they don’t have sprinklers. Sprinkler systems can only be used in heated areas. Most barns aren’t heated well enough. The horses are warm from being sheltered, their winter coats keep them warm, and they wear blankets. I’ve done what I could to protect them from fire, Angela. I even talked Old Reggie into new security cameras for the stables, and he bought them. The guard shack has the new monitors, and there’s a set in my rooms at the stables, but I’m not going to be there to watch them. And the night guard is way too interested in texting his girlfriend.”
“I’ll keep an eye on your horses, Bud, and we can swap cell-phone numbers. Here’s my information. Call me if you want me to check something, or even if you have a bad feeling.”
She waved good-bye.
Her appointment at Doc Bartlett’s went smoothly and quickly. “Your blood-test results are excellent,” the short, energetic internist told Angela. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Can I quit using the cane? I’m always forgetting it.”
“Let’s check your balance and reflexes.”
Doc Bartlett put Angela through her paces: “Stand on your right leg. Now your left. On your toes.” After five minutes, she said, “Okay, toss the cane.”
Angela paid her co-
pay with a smile, then checked her voice messages in her car: Butch had called.
She called him right back. “What’s happening, Butch?”
“I’m in a hurry, Angela. Mom called. Dad’s had a heart attack and I’m on my way to Peerless Grove. I’ll be gone for a couple of days. But I have good news. Pete, the Chouteau High SRO, says there’s a picture from the fire. Kip is seeing Trina, a girl who goes to Chouteau High, and she’s part of Kip’s Snapchat friends. She Snapped a photo of the ruined mansion and said, ‘It was a really HOT time at the Gravois house.’ She hinted she knew someone who had set the fire. Her friend Charlotte didn’t believe her. Trina said, ‘I saw the pics.’ The word traveled, and Pete heard it. Now we have a name. We’ll see if she kept a screenshot or knows the usernames, and then warrants are on the way. When I get back, we’ll wrap this up.”
“You aren’t worried Greiman will catch them first?” Angela said.
“Man couldn’t catch a cold,” Butch said.
CHAPTER 36
Day thirteen
Angela walked for hours, finally free of her cane. She went barefoot, feeling the sun-warmed grass under her feet. That night, she was stretched out on the couch reading when Ann Burris called.
“Angela, we have an emergency.” Ann sounded breathless and worried. “I know it’s eight o’clock, long after working hours, but how do we get in touch with Detective Chetkin?”
“He had to go out of town. What’s wrong?”
“Big Al was just here. He’s heard something disturbing. You need to hear it.”
“Does he want to meet again after work?”
“That may be too late. This is urgent, Angela. Bryan and I are taking a late flight for San Francisco. We have to be at the airport by ten o’clock tonight. Bryan’s giving the keynote speech at a conference tomorrow night.” Her pride was touching.
“How about if I order a pizza?” Angela said. “Big Al will have an excuse to talk to us. Come to my house. What do you and Bryan want?”
“Nothing, thanks. We’ve eaten. We’ll be right over, ready for our trip with our bags in the car. We can go straight from your place to the airport.”