“Is this the prison record?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Tony replied.
“Give me the Cliff’s Notes version. I’ll read it all later.”
Tony poured a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table and refilled Vivian’s as well. They sipped their drinks while he gave her a brief overview of the report he had just handed her.
“Do you believe this miraculous transformation Mr. Traynor made from homicidal sociopath to devout Catholic?” she asked when he finished.
“Not for an instant,” Tony emphatically said. “When I was in burglary, everyone knew who this guy was. Homicide knew him too. I knew a couple cops who were on the street undercover at the time who told me most of the dirtbags in the Cities knew Howie Traynor. He scared the hell out of everyone, including the cops. It was as if he had no feelings at all. Didn’t care about anyone or anything, including himself. Now he goes from that to a choir boy? I don’t think so.”
“Can the police do anything about him?”
“Not really. They don’t have the manpower to follow him even if they could. They pretty much have to wait until he does something.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I don’t know. He made a lot of threats when he was convicted, even to his own lawyer, Marc Kadella.”
“Marc was his lawyer then?” Vivian asked with genuine surprise. She knew Marc and was genuinely fond of him and respected him as a lawyer and a person. She also knew Marc’s love, Margaret Tennant.
“Yes, he was,” Tony nodded. “It was his first homicide trial. Long story how he got stuck with it. Anyway,” he continued, “from what I remember and what others said, Marc did a good job for him but Howie didn’t see it that way.
“Then at his hearing to get him released, Marc told me Howie acted like they were best friends. Marc said it made his skin crawl.”
For the next several minutes they sat in silence while Vivian looked across the beautifully manicured lawn at the sailboats gliding by on Lake Minnetonka. Tony finished his lemonade and refilled their glasses.
“I want to hire you to keep an eye on him,” Vivian finally said. “At least for a while until we’re sure one way or another.”
“Vivian,” Tony said sternly looking at her. “This is not your responsibility. In fact, I would advise you to stay out of it.”
“Anthony, this man murdered my aunt and gave it no more thought than if he had swatted a fly. That makes it my business. Plus, at this point, we both believe he will kill again and the police are helpless to prevent it. All I’m asking is to hire you to do what you do and watch him until we’re sure.”
Knowing the futility of trying to dissuade this headstrong, remarkable woman, Tony looked at her, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay, I’ll do it. Better me than someone else. But I do have other clients and…”
“I know that,” Vivian said.
“…I’ll call Maddy Rivers and…”
“I was going to suggest that you do. Send me your bill, pad it all you want, I don’t care. Talk to Madeline and bring her to see me. She’s so gorgeous even I like looking at her.”
“I was going to say, Maddy Rivers and some other guys I know, retired cops, to help me.”
“Bring in whomever you need.”
THIRTEEN
While Tony was driving away from the mansion he took out his phone and pressed a speed dial button. It barely finished ringing once when it was answered.
“Hey, Carvelli,” he heard a P.I. friend of his, Madeline Rivers say.
Madeline Rivers was an ex-cop from the Chicago Police department in her early thirties. In her three-inch heeled suede half boots she liked to wear she was over six feet tall. She had a full head of thick dark hair with auburn highlights that fell down over her shoulders, a model gorgeous face and a body worthy of Playboy. In fact, foolishly posing for that magazine was what led her to quit the Chicago PD.
Maddy, as she was called by her friends, had moved to Minneapolis after quitting the Chicago cops following her Playboy spread. At the same time, she also went through an ugly breakup when she found out the doctor she had fallen for was married. After arriving in Minnesota she got a private investigator’s license. Maddy was befriended by Tony Carvelli and she was now doing quite well herself.
“You busy?” Tony asked her.
“You mean right this minute?”
“Yeah, we need to meet. I got a project and I’m going to need another body.”
“Okay, where and when?” she asked.
Tony gave her the name of a place in downtown Minneapolis; a British style pub and restaurant on the Nicollet Mall.
“Yeah, I know it,” she said. “I’ll see you there in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you upstairs in the patio area. I’ll be there in a few minutes and get us a table.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Maddy entered the pub through the door on Nicollet. She removed her sunglasses and stood at the entrance for ten seconds to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Satisfied she could see, she told the young hostess she was going upstairs to the patio. Despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon of a work day, the pub was more than half full of customers. While Maddy walked toward the stairway, almost every male head and most of the females turned to watch her. Dressed in designer jeans, a white sleeveless silk blouse, her usual three inch heeled half boots and the sunglasses on her head, she looked like a model strolling through the dining room.
Ignoring the gawkers, she went up the stairs into the bright sunlight and looked over the crowd until she saw Tony wave at her. When she reached his table, she offered her cheek for a quick kiss then took a seat.
“So, what’s up?” she asked.
“Have you been reading the papers? Watching the news about those guys released from prison because of bad DNA tests?”
“No, not really. I’ve been in Chicago to see my parents. I just got back yesterday,” Maddy replied.
“How’s your Dad?”
The waitress came to their table and took their orders.
“He’s good,” she smiled. “The cancer is in remission and his strength is back and he’s doing pretty well, thank God. I never realized how much I would miss him until he got sick. So, tell me…”
Tony saw the waitress returning with their drinks and waited for her to set them on the table and leave. For the next fifteen minutes he told her the entire story and brought her up to date.
“This guy murdered Vivian’s aunt. That can’t make her happy and that’s one lady I wouldn’t want to have displeased with me,” Maddy said.
“Oh, I forgot,” Tony said. “Guess who this Traynor had for a lawyer?”
“Marc?”
“Yep. His first homicide and Traynor threatened him too.”
“What can we do? What can the cops do?”
“The cops can’t do anything. If they even go near him they could get slapped with a harassment suit. The two of us, though,” Tony continued, “can do loose surveillance and I know some retired cops we can get to help. Vivian insists on paying us. What I’d like to do is spend at least a couple of weeks watching him. See where he goes, who he talks to, stuff like that. See if we can find out if he really found Jesus or if it’s an act.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“This is for you,” Tony said as he handed her a photo of Howie Traynor. “It’s a little old but it still looks like him. He’s pushing forty now and his hair is a little longer but you’ll recognize him.
“First thing I have to do is find him. He’s not on parole or in a halfway house so we don’t know where he is. I know a few places to check out. If he’s still here, I’ll find him.”
“What about the priest that was in court with him?” Maddy asked still staring at Traynor’s picture.
“He’s on the list. I’ll see him if I have to.”
“Dead eyes,” Maddy muttered. “If you look in his eyes…”
“Oh, I had th
e opportunity, up close and personal and there’s nothing behind them. When I saw him there wasn’t a spark of human emotion. But don’t let that fool you. The shrinks say he has a 130 IQ. He’s no dummy.”
“Get me a copy of everything you have, please.”
“Yeah, sorry. I should have and didn’t think of it. I will,” Tony apologized. “I’m going to take off and see if I can get a line on him.”
“You want me to check out some places?”
“No,” he shook his head as they both stood to leave. Tony dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and said, “You’d stick out like a sore thumb in these dives. Plus it will be better if you stay in the background for now. I’ll call you later.”
Tony parked the Camaro at the back of the bar’s parking lot away from any other cars. Most of the patrons of the East End on East Franklin Avenue were not likely to be too concerned about banging their car door against another car. This was the fourth place he had been and so far, no luck.
When he got inside, he took a seat at the bar close to the door and ordered a glass of beer. While he sipped his drink he casually looked over the crowd, several of whom were also checking him out. Tony could see into the back where the pool tables were which reminded him of the night they had dragged Howie Traynor out of here. After a few minutes he saw a disheveled, long-haired, heavily tattooed man come out of the men’s room and join the pool players. He was dressed in old jeans, a black T-shirt with the Rolling Stones’ tongue logo on the front, battered sneakers and a denim vest.
About two minutes after leaving the men’s room he made eye contact with Tony. Carvelli quickly finished his beer and set the empty glass on the bar. As inconspicuously as possible, he stood and strolled out the door to wait in his car. Fifteen minutes after leaving the bar, Tony saw the man he was waiting for leave the bar and start walking west on Franklin. Carvelli patiently waited another three minutes to be sure no one followed the man then drove out of the lot looking for him.
Two blocks down Franklin, he pulled to the curb, buzzed down the passenger side window and said, “Eddie, got a minute?”
The best undercover cop in Minneapolis stuck his head in the window, smiled and said, “Hey, Tony. How the hell are you?”
“Get in Eddie, I need to talk.”
Eddie Davis got in the passenger side and as Tony punched the gas and the powerful car jumped forward, Eddie said, “God I love this car. How are you doing, dude?”
Tony looked him over and said, “Jesus Christ, Eddie, you need to get off undercover. Aren’t you tired of looking like this?”
“Hey, I save more lives busting dope dealing assholes and help put away more scumbags than any of you desk jockey detectives.”
Tony thought about it and said, “You know, you’re probably right. When you retire, the city should put up a statue.”
“Damn straight,” Eddie said laughing.
Tony took a minute to tell Eddie who he was looking for and gave Eddie a brief description. As soon as Tony described him, Eddie stopped him.
“You got a picture?”
“Yeah, here,” Carvelli said pulling a copy of Traynor’s photo from his pocket.
Eddie looked it over then said, “He was at the East End earlier today. He’s older and hair a little longer?”
“Yeah,” Tony said.
“That’s him. He was in asking about a safe cracker named Jimmy Oliver.”
“You know Oliver?”
“Sure, I know Jimmy. He’s supposed to be straight. Tends bar up Northeast,” he continued referring to a district of Minneapolis. “Tooley’s I think. I’m pretty sure.”
With one hand on the wheel Tony slipped the picture back in his coat pocket. “If you see Traynor again, call Owen Jefferson and tell him to call me.”
“Okay, will do,” Eddie said.
“I’ll run up to Tooley’s. Where do you want me to drop you?”
“Anyplace along here is fine,” Eddie answered.
Tony pulled the car to the curb and more completely explained to the detective what he was up to and why. “If you come across anything, let me know. You can always call Jefferson and he’ll get in touch with me.”
“Will do. Good to see you again, man,” Eddie said. The two men shook hands, Eddie got out and Tony drove off.
Fifteen minutes later Tony found a parking space on the street between two cars fifty yards down from the front door of Tooley’s. Tooley’s was a neighborhood saloon in a working class part of Northeast Minneapolis. It had been here for over seventy years and the bar and its clientele had barely changed a bit during the entire time.
Tony put the transmission in park and unbuckled the shoulder harness to leave the car. As he was about to open his door he looked at the bar’s front door and saw Howie Traynor turn the corner and go inside the bar.
“Well there you are,” Tony muttered to himself.
Instead of getting out of the car and afraid of being recognized, Carvelli slid down in the seat and waited. It was almost a half hour before Traynor came out. When he did, he looked around then walked back from where he came.
Tony waited about a minute then started the Camaro to pursue him. As he was pulling away from the curb, Traynor drove around the corner right in front of him. He was driving a ten-year-old gray Buick and he turned right to head straight away from Tony.
Keeping his distance while following Traynor on Central Avenue toward downtown, Tony easily followed him right to his front door. A half mile north of downtown on Sixteenth Street, he turned east off Central. Three blocks later, Traynor pulled to the curb and parked his sedan on the street. Tony pulled over, took a small pair of binoculars from the Camaro’s console and watched Traynor enter an apartment building.
The building was one of four identical brick three story apartment buildings sitting side-by-side on Sixteenth Street and Clark Avenue NE. Built before the war, each building housed twelve apartments, four on each floor. The basement of each building was used for a laundry room and storage space. Each apartment was assigned one of the small rooms for storage.
Carvelli decided to stake the place out and waited until after eleven to see if Traynor would go anywhere. While he waited he made two calls. The first was to Maddy Rivers to let her know he had found Traynor. The second was to Owen Jefferson to give him the same news. He also got Jefferson to agree to go to Tooley’s and question Jimmy Oliver about his visit from Howie.
Traynor’s apartment was on the third floor of the second building from the corner. It was a small, one-bedroom with a kitchen, bathroom and a living room. The living room was up front facing the street and had two windows side by side. Howie was able to afford the apartment because of the lawyer he retained to sue the city. She had contacted him before he was released from prison and promised to get him big bucks in the wrongful incarceration lawsuit. Generally considered unethical, she had loaned him money for the apartment, the car and living expenses to be repaid from any settlement money. Shortly after eleven, looking out through the blinds of the window on the left, he saw the dark colored Camaro pull away from the curb and drive past his building. Howie had spotted the car on the street at Tooley’s and had deliberately allowed the man, whom Howie assumed was a cop, to follow him home.
While Tony sat in his car down the street from Traynor’s apartment, Marc was enjoying a quiet evening at Margaret’s Edina home. After dinner, Marc flopped on the couch while Margaret worked on several case files she had brought home. Shortly before nine, she stopped and joined him on the couch to watch one of their favorite shows. It was about a cowboy Deputy US Marshall and the Hillbilly Mafia in Kentucky.
During the 10:00 newscast they watched a one minute story of a press conference held by an infamous lawyer from California. A high profile self promoter named Glenda Albright was railing about the egregious injustice done to her clients. She had been retained to represent the victims of the intentionally altered DNA tests of the men recently released from prison. She named all four of the m
en who she claimed to represent including Howie Traynor.
“So the Wicked Witch of the West has arrived on her jet-powered broom to teach us ignorant folks out here in fly-over country about justice,” Margaret irreverently said.
“Looks like,” Marc agreed. “Except I’m not sure she has much of a case, at least with Traynor.”
“You know Minneapolis,” Margaret added. “They are probably already writing the checks.”
Maddy Rivers parked her car in the only spot available on Howie’s street close enough to watch both his apartment and his car. She was in the shade of a large Elm tree to her right on the street’s boulevard. She thought about the tree and having spent twenty-five dollars for a thorough car wash the day before, hoped the tree was not full of birds.
It was just past noon on a sunny, warm Saturday and Howie Traynor had been at church until noon. He had a job at St. Andrews Catholic Church helping with custodial duties. St. Andrews was in Northeast Minneapolis, a couple of miles from Howie’s apartment. It was also the parish of Howie’s priest, Father John Brinkley, the one who had appeared in court with him.
Maddy had discreetly followed him home from a safe distance and was taking another turn at a stakeout of him. She had seen him get a parking spot in front of his building then watched as he went inside.
She settled in for what was likely to be a dull afternoon until another of Carvelli’s friends took over later. He would stay until 10:00 or 11:00 that evening if Howie didn’t go out and Maddy would be back in the morning.
The team of P.I.’s and ex-cops had been doing a rotation surveillance of Traynor for a couple of weeks. So far, there was nothing to report. Spending Vivian’s money to pay everyone, Tony wanted to give it at least another week or two. It was boring work but paid well and Maddy liked and admired Vivian Donahue enough so that she would likely do it without pay.
Maddy picked up a hardcover book from the passenger seat and opened it to the page marked with a bookmark. As long as she had to sit here, she would indulge herself in her secret passion; a steamy romance novel.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 146