“I’m not selling anything, ma’am,” I assured her. “I’m Detective Cassidy Miller, Minneapolis Police.”
“Oh, how silly of me!” she exclaimed with a laugh. Her hand came off the door handle and rested on her neck to fidget with the iridescent pearls of her necklace. “I’m sorry—the way you’re dressed—I thought you were the Mormons again.”
I tried to not feel offended. My clothing had always been the least interesting thing about me, and I liked it that way.
“Mrs. Trask, is Chase home?”
The brief mirth disappeared from her features. “Chase?” she echoed. “What is this about?”
“I’m investigating the deaths of Kennedy Petersik along with Michael Bloom,” I told her. “I have a few questions for your son.”
“Bloom,” she breathed. “I haven’t heard that name in a while. You think there’s some connection between the Bloom boy and Kennedy’s death?”
“I can’t go into more detail, ma’am,” I begged off. “But I’d like to ask Chase some questions about Kennedy, specifically. I know he was at her memorial service, and I’m hoping he’s still in town.”
Mrs. Trask shook her head. “If you’d like to speak with my son, our family lawyer needs to be present, and he’s currently out of the country on vacation, so you as can see, it’s just not going to be possible.”
“Ma’am, with all due respect, I’m not accusing your son of anything. I only have a few questions for him. In fact,” I added, “he might be a big help to this case since he was one of the last people to speak to Kennedy Petersik before her death.”
Mrs. Trask visibly flinched. “And how do you know that?”
“Cell phone records, ma’am. Kennedy called your residence the day before her death. Someone at this address spoke to her for about four minutes. I’d like to be able to confirm that that person was your son and find out what he and Kennedy spoke about. It may give us insight into her mindset at the time.”
“I’m very sorry, Detective. I wish we could be of more help; Kennedy was a sweet girl. But my son is not available for questioning.”
I opened my mouth in continued protest, but I didn’t have the opportunity to double down on my request; the front door had already been shut in my face.
+ + +
My police boots squeaked on the linoleum floor of the Fourth Precinct basement as I came to an abrupt stop. Jason Ryan was sitting at my desk. He leaned back in my chair and rested his designer dress shoes on my desktop. I scanned the room for Sarah or Celeste or even Captain Forrester, but Ryan and I were the only ones in the office.
“Did you show up unannounced at the residence of Senator Richard Trask?” Ryan demanded.
I was surprised he’d found out so quickly, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah,” I grunted. “The crime lab retrieved Kennedy Petersik’s cell phone records. She called the Senator’s house the day before she died.”
“Didn’t get very far with the Trasks, did ya?” he mused, a smug smile on his idiotic face.
I clenched my jaw. “No.”
“Did they teach you that technique in the Marines, Miller? Storm the beaches, guns blazing, at the first whiff of new evidence?”
His question didn’t require a response, so I didn’t give him one.
“The Senator’s office called the Inspector to chew him out,” he told me. “Apparently, his wife didn’t appreciate being interrogated about our case, even if it came from a goddamn national treasure like yourself.”
“I guess I should stick to questioning grieving families at funerals instead,” I retorted.
“Whatever,” Ryan scoffed. He removed his shoes from my desktop. “Just remember that we’re working on this case together. The next time you get new intel, I expect to be included.”
“Yeah, sure. You will,” I sighed. I didn’t have the energy for a fight.
Ryan popped to his feet. “Are you gonna start the paperwork or should I?”
“For what?”
“To assemble a grand jury.” Ryan grinned and rubbed his hands together. “If the Senator’s son still refuses to cooperate, a judge can hold him in contempt of court. He’ll go to jail until he agrees to talk to us.”
My eyebrows arched in surprise. “Geez, man. Isn’t that a little much? This kid is a minor player; he talked to our victim for four minutes.”
“It’s textbook overkill,” Ryan admitted, “but the Trasks don’t have to know that. They’ll be down here with their high-priced lawyer before you have time to kiss my ass for being so brilliant.”
Another long shot.
“If you say so,” I shrugged.
“Stick with me, Miller,” he winked. “I know all the tricks of the trade.”
+ + +
“How’s Duluth?”
“Charming.
“That’s Julia-speak for ‘primitive,’” I spoke knowingly.
Her laughter filled my ears. She’d only been gone a few hours, but I already missed her. I didn’t know how I was going to handle more than a few days of being apart. But her laughter told me we were going to be okay.
I plugged my cell phone into the wall and propped myself up on the decorative pillows on her side of the bed. Work had been mentally exhausting and I had big plans to spend my first night on my own eating pizza and watching zombie films—two things I rarely had the opportunity to do when Julia was home.
“There’s only so many hotels to choose from, especially on such short notice, but I’m making do.”
“You’re not staying with Charlotte?” I hoped I didn’t sound as jealous as I felt.
“No. It would be a bit of a tight fit in that apartment between herself, her daughter, and her girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? As in girlfriend girlfriend?” I squeaked. “How am I just hearing about this?”
“I didn’t know myself,” Julia promised. “It’s a bit of a new development apparently. But as it turns out, Charlotte’s girlfriend is the reason I’m up here.”
My jealous outrage paused long enough for me to consider Julia’s words. “What do you mean?”
“Charlotte and her ex-boyfriend have been separated for some time,” Julia explained. “He had never shown any interest in their daughter’s life before, and then suddenly there’s a petition to take her away from Charlotte.”
I blinked as the words rattled around in my head. “He wants custody of his daughter because Charlotte is dating a woman?”
Julia sighed. “So it would seem.”
“And a judge is actually allowing this to happen? They’re actually considering her sexuality as grounds to take her daughter away?” My voice pitched higher and my body tensed the more I spoke. I couldn’t muster the appropriate rage because the idea was so ludicrous.
“Not if I can stop it,” she observed.
I tried to settle back onto the bed despite my irritation. “So what happens next?”
“Out of court negotiations failed, which is why I’m here. I’m going to have to pull an all-nighter tonight to get caught up on the background of the case because tomorrow we’re already in court,” she said. “Tomorrow will largely be character witnesses and questions about which parent is best suited to serve as the primary caregiver.”
“Have you ever tried a child custody case before?”
I knew she’d represented herself when she’d tried to sue for custody of her mother, but this was probably different.
“No,” she admitted. “And it’s been some time since my family law coursework in law school. I won’t be versed in loop holes or know the minute details of random court decisions, but at its core the law is all the same. I’ll convince the judge that I’m right and the other side is wrong.”
She sounded confident, but I still worried. “Don’t let this guy take Charlotte’s kid, okay?”
“I’m going to do my very best not to let that happen,” she promised.
+ + +
Chase Trask sat on the other side of the interrogation table, s
andwiched between his mother and a man who introduced himself as the Trask’s personal lawyer. I couldn’t imagine having counsel on retainer, but I also wasn’t from an ambitious political family. Chase, understandably, appeared far less comfortable in a police interrogation room than when he’d been holding court amongst high school friends in the Petersik’s living room. He wore the same blue suit and tie from Kennedy’s memorial. The outfit was getting unexpected use on his extended return home.
I was loath to admit it, but Ryan’s bluff had worked. As soon as we faxed the beginnings of the grand jury paperwork to the Trask’s family lawyer, we’d immediately received a phone call indicating that Chase Trask was willing to answer our questions—in the presence of his mother and their lawyer, who apparently wasn’t out of the country, after all.
I pulled out my copy of Kennedy Petersik’s cell phone records that Celeste Rivers had procured and set it in the center of the table. The Trask family’s home phone number was highlighted in bright yellow in the center of the top page.
“The day before Kennedy died,” I began, “someone in your house spoke to her. Was that person you, Chase?”
The boy didn’t immediately respond. I noticed how he looked first to his mom. Only when she nodded did he address us.
“We talked, yeah,” he finally confirmed. “I was surprised to hear from her. I hadn’t heard from her in a while.”
“Not since the breakup?” I posed.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yeah.”
“What did you talk about?” I asked.
“Nothing, really. Smalltalk. How school was going. Our parents. She asked if I would meet up with her.”
“But he didn’t go,” Mrs. Trask spoke up.
I tried to ignore Mrs. Trask’s outburst because it was her first, and I hoped, her last. “No?” I questioned.
“We never met up. I agreed on the phone, but I didn’t actually go.” Chase glanced at the woman sitting beside him. “My, uh, my mom didn’t want me to go.”
“And look at how right I was,” Mrs. Trask defended. “I won’t be uncouth and say I told you so, but I told you it was a bad idea to reconnect with Kennedy after all this time.”
“You always do what your mom says?” Ryan poked.
It was an obvious jab at Chase Trask’s masculinity, but instead of being annoyed by Detective Ryan’s unorthodox question, I appreciated it. A rattled witness might inadvertently spill information they’d intended to keep to themselves.
“I didn’t go,” Chase reiterated, ignoring Ryan’s question. “We talked on the phone a little. That’s all that happened.”
“How did she sound on the phone?” Ryan asked. “Happy? Sad?”
Chase shrugged beneath his suit jacket. “I dunno. Normal, I guess.”
I bit back a groan. We were getting nothing from the Trask boy. I started to worry that perhaps this was a serious dead end and that we’d played grand jury chicken with a State Senator’s family for no reason.
“You hadn’t spoken since the breakup, but did you ever talk about her with anyone else?” I tried. “Did you ask mutual friends how she was doing or what she was up to? Did you check up on her online?”
Chase wiggled a little more. “We were friends online, but we never, like, talked. I’d make a comment on a photo or something, but she never responded.”
“She must have been pretty mad that you broke up with her,” I innocently remarked.
His eyes suddenly focused on me. The blue orbs had taken on an intensity that hadn’t been there before. “I didn’t break up with her. She broke up with me.”
His admittance didn’t match the information I’d received from Kennedy’s aunt, but I should have known not to put much stock into the gossip of overly involved extended family.
“Did she say why?” I asked.
“Is all this high school drama really necessary?” Mrs. Trask jumped in.
“Why did Kennedy break up with you, Chase?” I tried again.
“She said it was for the best,” Chase told us. “She said we were from different worlds and that it would never work between us.”
“Romeo and Juliet over here,” Ryan snickered.
Chase struck his palm against the table. He hadn’t hit it that hard, but the metallic clang echoed in the bare room. “I loved her!” he shouted. “And I know she loved me back. My parents thought she was a gold-digger and was only dating me because of who my father is, but it wasn’t like that. She was special. What we had was special. And then she ended it, with no warning!”
Chase’s face had become flushed and his breathing was labored. Ryan and I remained unflinching and unimpressed on the other side of the table. Chase Trask was cracking.
“Why did you stay for the funeral, Chase?” I was curious to know. “Your fall break from college must be over by now.”
I thought about Detective Ryan and his intrusive police work at the memorial service. I’d found him to be obtrusive and rude at the time, but he’d been right about one thing: perpetrators often attended the funerals of their victims.
Chase swallowed. He looked again to his mom, but she gave him no cues, verbal or nonverbal, on how to respond. She appeared annoyed that he’d revealed so much to us.
“I think that’s enough, Detectives,” the Trask family lawyer spoke for the first time since introductions. “The Trasks have been more than cooperative, and I think everyone can agree that Chase had nothing to do with Kennedy Petersik’s death. If you have further questions for my client, I advise you to call my office first and not show up at Senator and Mrs. Trask’s front door.”
He stood up and tossed an embossed business card onto the table like throwing scraps of food to a wild animal.
Ryan and I remained in our seats while Mrs. Trask, Chase, and the lawyer collected their belongings and filed out the door.
“We’ll be in touch!” Ryan cheerfully called after the retreating threesome.
No one in the group acknowledged his statement.
Ryan tapped at the top of the metal table like he was playing the drums. “What do you think of the man-child? Jilted ex-boyfriend still sore about a bad breakup?”
I stared at the interrogation room door through which Chase and his entourage had exited. “He didn’t pull the trigger,” I decided. “But that doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”
CHAPTER TEN
“How are you surviving?” I asked. “Need me to send you a care package?”
“There’s an in-room coffee maker,” Julia noted wryly. “I think I’ll survive.”
Julia had now been gone for three days. Three days of coming home to an empty apartment. Three lonely dinners in front of the TV. Three nights of sleeping by myself. Three mornings of waking next to an empty space where my girlfriend should have been.
“How much longer will you be, do you think?” I needed to know.
“Each case is different. But the law guardian seems like a reasonable woman, so hopefully this goes fairly quickly in our favor.”
“That would be Charlotte’s daughter’s lawyer, right?”
I knew a little about custody proceedings from course work at the police academy.
“That’s right,” Julia confirmed. “It’s a random appointment, so we have no control over who will represent the child’s interests. She could have been assigned a homophobic twit who believes a child can’t possibly be raised by two loving adults, regardless of sexual orientation. It appears we’ve been lucky in that regard, at least.”
“What about the judge? Have you gotten a good read on what they think about the situation?”
“Unfortunately, no,” she sighed. “And it’s been a point of frustration for me,” she admitted. “Normally I’m able to coax some kind of emotion from them. But our guy has been stone-faced for the entire proceedings, so it’s been a challenge to determine which way he might decide.”
A thought popped into my mind. “Does Charlotte know you date women, and that’s why she contacted you?�
�
“No,” she stated evenly. “She asked for my services because I’m a good lawyer.”
“I’m sorry. I’m like a dog with a bone,” I self-chastised.
“Have I ever given you reason to suspect me as unfaithful?” she challenged.
“Only with your cousin.”
When Julia and I had first begun our unlabeled arrangement in Embarrass, I’d observed her on the arm of a dark haired, dark eyed, dazzling man. I’d stupidly assumed the worst, when it was only her cousin Reggie. Good genes and all that. Unintentionally, however, it had become a kind of turning point for our relationship.
“Oh, that’s right,” she mused. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”
And let’s try to forget this little jealous tantrum, too,” I implored.
“You’re in luck—I find it endearing rather than without decorum.”
One would think that my confidence regarding our relationship would only grow the longer we’d been together, but I was discovering the opposite to be true. If anything, the deeper I fell in love, the more paranoid I became of screwing up and losing her. She had my heart and could do with it what she pleased. We had left the cat-and-mouse games behind in Embarrass and yet my paranoia threatened daily to ruin everything we’d built over the past few months.
“Come home soon, okay?” I sighed into the phone.
“I’m doing my best, darling,” she assured me. “But in the meantime, how are you enjoying the bachelorette life?”
“You mean am I having fast food for every meal?” I chuckled.
“I hope you’ll have the good sense to get rid of your debauchery before I get home.”
“Beer bottles will be recycled, fast food wrappers will be in the dumpster, hookers will be buried in the backyard,” I solemnly vowed.
She hummed in amusement, and I felt its vibrations all over.
“What are you wearing?” I needed to know.
“Miss Miller, we are not having phone sex.”
“I totally didn’t mean it like that,” I promised. “I just wish I could see you.”
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