Blood Reckoning

by C. M. Sutter

  Chapter 35

  Cole and Lucas put enough distance between themselves and that bitch FBI agent that there was time to warn the others. The group left silently and scattered in different directions, with instructions from Jacob and Evelyn to reconvene tomorrow at noon at the original site, where they would learn who the final targets were. Even though Jacob and Evelyn wanted to enjoy committing those last murders themselves, they would have backup along in case something went sideways.

  They thanked Cole and Lucas for their quick thinking then left.

  Erik, Cole, and Lucas headed north on foot with no place in mind. They couldn’t return to the duplex since they realized too late that they’d been duped. That woman agent had to have been outside and followed them when they left the building.

  “Why didn’t you just stay home?” Erik asked. “Now they know where that location is, meaning we can’t go back there again.”

  “We went because Jacob said to meet there at ten o’clock. I didn’t really want to get on his bad side by being a no-show,” Cole said. “We didn’t know we were being followed until we got off the bus. We saw headlights a half block behind us, continued on, but then circled back when we heard footsteps getting closer. I heard someone talking on their phone, too, and it turned out to be that same agent who thought she was hot shit by having her partner take a picture of me and her together as proof that your windbreaker came from the apartment.”

  “And then they took it?”

  “That’s exactly what they did.”

  Erik paced. “We need somewhere to stay since I’m sure the apartment is being watched.”

  “Let’s head to the underpass where Brandon offed that homeless woman. It’s close to the warehouse, and then tomorrow, we’ll ask about staying with someone from the group. Jacob will make one of the recruits put us up,” Lucas said.

  “We better hope so, or we’ll be living alongside those homeless assholes under the overpass.” Erik jerked his head. “Come on. Let’s continue north for a few blocks and then catch a bus.”

  Chapter 36

  Sleep didn’t come easily that night even with a melatonin tablet and four aspirin. I knew we were close to our aha moment, and I couldn’t wait to find out if our gut instincts were right. Did all of those murders lead right back to the mayor, and if so, why? If we found something horrific that happened in May on the same night the mayor attended the function at Silver Shores Resort and Paul Lawrence was bartending, we could possibly piece together a motive for the murders. Somehow, some way, Michael Kent was the catalyst.

  I had to force myself out of bed that Tuesday morning, not because I wasn’t excited to get to work but because I was still exhausted. I stumbled into the bathroom and took a look at my face in the mirror. I groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding.” My nose was swollen, and hints of blue underlined both eyes. I let out a puff of air and turned on the shower faucet. “What else is new?”

  After taking a hot shower and getting dressed, I downed two cups of coffee and a filling egg-and-bacon breakfast, compliments of my little sister. Then I was back in form and raring to go. I listened as Amber berated me about being more careful. I thanked her for the concern then heard the same warning from Kate when she entered the kitchen.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I slammed into a fist last night.”

  She shook her head. “Or a fist slammed into you. You really ought to be more careful. It isn’t like you’re a rookie cop for Pete’s sake.”

  “Sorry. I was on the phone with Renz when some asshat sucker punched me in the dark just as I hung up. I didn’t see or hear him coming.” I guzzled the last of my coffee. “Gotta go. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll capture those punks and get them to talk.”

  “Is one of those punks the asshat who clocked you?” Kate asked.

  “Yep, he sure is.”

  “Good, then I hope you get them too.”

  I said my goodbyes and headed out. I couldn’t wait to hear if any of those three had been apprehended overnight. If they hadn’t been, we would air all their faces on the news and do our best to put them behind bars before the end of the day. Tommy and Fay should have news to share about their interview with Paul Lawrence last night, and then as a team, we needed to search harder in the archived records for something that might have happened in May to set the killing spree in motion. The problem was, we had no idea what we were searching for.

  I made it through a traffic slowdown on I-43 as I traveled south but still arrived at work on time. Hopefully, that was the sign of a good day to come. I was about to climb the three flights of stairs as my morning workout when I saw Renz standing at the elevator. I decided to join him instead.

  “I guess you don’t know any more than I do since you’re just getting here too.”

  Renz stared at my bruised face. “Wow.”

  I held up my hand. “I don’t need a third scolding. I’ve already gotten enough from Amber and Kate.”

  “And rightfully so.”

  I huffed and pointed at my nose. “This is actually your fault for calling me last night.”

  “Or your fault for answering.”

  “One could argue that point too.” I chuckled and pressed the button for the third floor. “Hopefully, Tommy and Fay got something from Paul Lawrence that’ll help.”

  Renz shook his head as if in doubt. “Why would a bartender have any kind of altercation with the mayor, though? I’m sure security people were there as well, and they’d run interference if something took place between them.”

  The elevator’s ding indicated that we’d arrived on the third floor. The steel box bounced slightly then stopped, and the doors parted. We made a quick detour at our office to drop off our jackets then headed down the hallway to see if everyone was there. I was excited to get our morning updates underway and to find out if Taft had heard of any new developments since she’d arrived. Maureen waved us in then sighed when she saw my face. I assured her I was fine.

  “We’ll begin in ten minutes since we’re still waiting on Kyle to show up. I, for one, am excited to hear about Tommy’s conversation with Paul Lawrence,” she said.

  It was my turn to make the coffee, and I had just enough time to brew a pot and set the carafe on the table before everyone filed into the room. We took our seats, Taft said none of the guys had been apprehended during the night, then she opened the meeting with a head tip at Tommy.

  “Go ahead and tell us what you learned from Paul Lawrence. We’re all sitting on pins and needles.”

  Tommy blew out a long breath. I took that to mean he didn’t have earth-shattering news to share, and I felt my shoulders slump.

  “Well, I’ll admit I felt really bad for the guy. He was truly suffering from the loss of his twin brother, and I’m sure his focus wasn’t even on the questions we asked. He seemed annoyed that our focus was on Michael Kent instead of his brother’s murder.”

  Fay spoke up. “But who could blame him? The FBI comes to talk to him and he probably thought we had news about the killer. Instead, we ask questions about a night he bartended at Silver Shores during a fundraiser when the mayor happened to be there. To top it off, that was five months ago. He looked at us like we were crazy.”

  Taft nodded for Fay to continue. “And then what?”

  Fay sighed. “And then not much. He said he barely remembered that night other than the fact that the mayor was there. Paul went on to say that the mayor gave a short speech about the fundraiser, schmoozed with people, and then planted his ass at the bar for several hours. He couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary as far as the mayor was concerned. Paul said he had to cut people off throughout the night, as he always did, and the mayor was one of them. Paul couldn’t recall how many glasses of bourbon the mayor had, but he did remember the mayor being pissed when Paul eventually closed his tab. He said the fundraiser was over with anyway, and the resort was clearing out. He admitted that he should have cut off the mayor long before that, bu
t since he was the guest of honor, he didn’t want to make waves.”

  “Humph. That doesn’t sound any different than what most bartenders do when it’s necessary,” I said.

  “So there wasn’t an altercation between them?” Taft asked.

  Tommy took over. “It didn’t sound like anything that would attract attention and embarrass the mayor.”

  Taft tapped the table. “Unfortunately, people can be at the same event and remember things differently. Somebody had to be angry enough with Paul Lawrence to kill his brother, and we know it isn’t the mayor who’s doing the killings since his own daughter was murdered.” Taft tipped her head at Tommy. “Get more names of people who were at that event. I want to hear other eyewitness accounts from people who were at the bar when the mayor was. I want to know just how drunk he was before Paul Lawrence cut him off and if there were heated words between them or possibly threats too.”

  Chapter 37

  If anyone other than the eyewitnesses at the May event knew what had gone down that night, it could be the mayor’s personal assistant or his attorney. There was a chance that the assistant had spoken with Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy or the function coordinator and arranged for the mayor to make an appearance and a speech at the fundraiser. His showing up would definitely increase attendance and help fund the new fire station being built at that time.

  I passed my suggestion on to Taft, and she said to go ahead and make the call. I also mentioned that if something involving Paul Lawrence and the mayor did occur at the event, there was a chance that the attorney had been briefed about it. I would call him, too, and request records of phone calls or appointments between him and the mayor over the last six months. Chances were he’d deny us access and a warrant would have to be issued.

  Renz and I returned to our office and settled in. He would call Douglas Blake, the attorney, and I would contact the mayor’s assistant, Julie Beckett.

  We knew the mayor was taking the week off because of his daughter’s death and that the deputy mayor, John Branford, was filling in for him. The funeral service for Tamara Kent wouldn’t take place until Saturday, when all of the city employees could attend. Meanwhile, for the rest of the week, Julie Beckett was reporting directly to John Branford.

  After dialing city hall and going through five prompts before I got to the mayor’s office, I finally reached the automated assistant who asked for the name of the party or extension I wanted to reach. I said the name Julie Beckett since I didn’t know her extension. I waited as the phone rang in my ear three times before it connected to a voice. My excitement faded quickly when I realized it was only a voicemail greeting. Disappointed, I left a message and hung up. Most requests for a return call went without a reply. I’d always assumed that people weren’t curious enough to return a call to the FBI, and whether that was from fear, guilt, or the thought that they were being pranked, most people didn’t want to talk to us, and that meant more work in chasing them down. I set my phone timer to remind me to try again in thirty minutes.

  From the phone conversation Renz was having, it didn’t sound like the attorney was too excited about handing over phone records or his appointment calendar. I heard Renz use the word warrant more than once before he hung up.

  I groaned in frustration after he placed the receiver on the base. “No luck either?”

  “Nah, he’s playing hardball with me, but that’s okay. I know how this back-and-forth thing works, but in the meantime, we’ll ask for the warrant anyway. No skin off my back, and he knows it. He either gives me what I asked for, or the warrant will cover anything and everything we want to look at. Doubt if he wants that to happen.” Renz glanced at the clock. “I bet I’ll get a callback in less than an hour.”

  “And the warrant?”

  “I’ll let Taft know we need one.” Renz picked up the receiver again and dialed our boss.

  He set the phone to Speaker, and I listened as they talked. Taft said she’d had enough. The APBs were taking too long, and she was ready to post all three faces and descriptions on the news channels. Anyone affiliated with Erik, Lucas, or Cole would likely go underground, which would make finding the ringleader tougher, but if we captured any of those three, we would convince them to talk one way or another. The cards were stacked against them, especially Erik since we had proof of his murdering Brandon thanks to the GSR evidence on his jacket. Cole was also looking at plenty of time behind bars for slugging me in the face. Taft said the TV stations agreed to run their mug shots and descriptions on the air—every hour on the hour—as breaking news. Some concerned citizen would see them, do the right thing, be in the limelight momentarily, and enjoy their fifteen minutes of fame—I hoped.

  I looked at the timer on my phone again. Still seventeen minutes to go.

  “What about the Kam brother, Jeremy? Isn’t he supposed to arrive from New Mexico today?”

  Renz said he was, but he didn’t know when. During his conversation with Renz, Douglas Blake hadn’t mentioned his brother-in-law, or when Jeremy was scheduled to arrive in Milwaukee, at all.

  George Patrick’s mom and dad were flying in from Florida, and they still needed to be talked to. Chloe, Brandon’s sister, was also on my mind, but she’d said they weren’t close. Because she lived halfway across the country and was married and seven years older, I didn’t much hope that she knew anything about Brandon’s acquaintances. We were running out of people who could give us information that we didn’t already have.

  My phone’s buzzer sounded, and I made the second call to Julie Beckett. That time, she picked up, and I fist-pumped the air. Renz gave me a reassuring glance and a thumbs-up. I was stoked, and there was no way I would let her slip out of answering my questions. If we had to issue warrants for every person the mayor knew and every document that might give us the answers we needed, then so be it. I began as soon as she said hello.

  “Ms. Beckett?”

  “Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”

  “This is SSA Jade Monroe from the FBI’s serial crimes unit.”

  “Serial crimes? Are you sure you’re calling the right person?”

  “I’m more than sure, ma’am.”

  “Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old. So what can I do for you, Agent Monroe?”

  “I’m calling about the fundraiser that took place at Silver Shores Resort in May. It was a benefit and silent auction to raise money for the new firehouse on the east side.”

  “Yes, I recall that fundraiser. What about it?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, the mayor attended that event. Did you set that up?”

  “No, I’m not his PR person. I don’t set up his calendar of appearances.”

  Her response took me by surprise, and I wasn’t quite sure what to ask next.

  “Is that it? I’m rather busy.”

  Her tone irritated me, and I couldn’t understand why she was trying to get me off the phone. “Actually, no, that isn’t it. You were aware that the mayor attended that event, even if you aren’t his PR person. Am I correct?”

  She huffed into the phone. “If you had any idea how many functions the mayor attends every year, you wouldn’t ask that question.”

  “Well, I did, and I’d like an answer.” I went quiet and waited. Silence filled her end of the line for a good fifteen seconds before she spoke.

  “I’m aware he attended that event.”

  “Good, and what kind of records are kept for every function the mayor goes to?”

  “I couldn’t say. Like I told you before, I’m not his PR person.”

  “Then I’ll need the name of the person who is.”

  She huffed again, and for whatever reason, I seemed to be getting on her nerves. “His name is Noah Cummings. Now if—”

  I interrupted before she had the chance to hang up on me. “One more thing.”

  She groaned. “What is it?”

  “Since you’re his personal assistant, what exactly are the duties you perform for the mayor?”

>   “Emergency services, errands, and cleaning up messes. Things that go beyond his daily role as mayor.”

  “Cleaning up messes? Would you care to expand on that?”

  “No. Now I really have to go.”

  The phone clicked in my ear, and the line went dead. “Wow.”

  Renz frowned. “Want to explain wow to me?”

  I shook my head. “I guess I’d envisioned Julie Beckett as a sweet, heartfelt human being when Charlotte and Kyle described their interview with her.”

  “And she isn’t?”

  I pulled back. “Not from the conversation we just had. She strikes me more as having a pit bull personality.”

  “That’s odd.”

  I raised my brows. “Get this. She said one of her roles was to clean up the mayor’s messes.”

  Now it was Renz’s turn to pull back. “Wow.”

  “I told you, and it was more than apparent she didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “But she was forthcoming when she was interviewed at home.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, and now I’m understanding why. That interview was on her own turf, and the mayor wasn’t brought up. The interview was about George. Then I called her at work with questions about the mayor, and it instantly put her on the defensive.”

  Renz jotted down notes. “That’s interesting.”

  “Damn straight it is, and she hasn’t heard the last from me.” I read through my notes. “So there’s George’s parents and Sheila Kam’s son to interview in the next twenty-four hours, and we still haven’t found any salacious news articles from the fifth of May that involved the mayor.”

  “Nope, we sure haven’t.”

  I stood and headed for the door. “Come on. We need to have Taft set some priorities for the day. There’s also the mayor’s uncle and cousin who contested the latest family will. That had to cause bad blood.”