Love 'Em or Leave 'Em Dead

by Bubany, Midge;

  “When I think this could be my last Christmas with the kids . . .”

  “Aw, Shannon, you can’t think that way.” And now all the negative bullshit made perfect sense. She thought she was going to die.

  AS I APPROACHED MY STREET, I saw a car back out of my driveway. Worried it was Hawk, I slowed down. I let out my breath when I recognized Dallas’s Subaru Outback.

  She rolled down the window. “Hi.”

  “Hi, gorgeous. Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  “I would,” she said smiling.

  I let Bullet out while she parked her car.

  “I should walk Bullet. You up for it? You seem to be dressed adequately.”

  “Sure. I didn’t think to bring Willie.”

  “Want to go get him?”

  “No, I walked him just before I came over.”

  I grabbed the leash, put on my stocking cap and warmer boots and gloves, and we started down the street.

  Just looking at her made me smile. “So how are you?” I asked.

  “I’m good, and I understand why you’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just been busy.”

  She shook her head. “Regardless, I came to tell you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Vince came to my house today to give me a Christmas present.”

  “Shit.”

  “I wouldn’t accept it.”

  Bullet stopped to pee on a bush, and I waited for her to finish her sentence. When she didn’t, I said, “How did he react?”

  “He cried.”

  I kept quiet because I didn’t think she was finished with what she had to say. But she remained silent, and we’d started walking again.

  She said, “He said he was changed and had made a lot of mistakes.”

  My stomach clenched. Was she considering going back to that asshole?

  She stopped. Bullet was pooping in the middle of the sidewalk.

  I turned to her. “What do you want me to say? You know I love you, and I hope you don’t go back to him. But I’m not ready for remarriage, and I don’t think you are either, but maybe someday if you can be—”

  She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed me. I took her in my arms and kissed her back. A horn sounded from the car driving by. We pulled apart to look. It was Matt Hauser on his way to Eleanor’s.

  “Patient,” I said, finishing my sentence.

  “I’m in total agreement. Do you have a poo bag?”

  “Oh, I forgot to grab one.”

  She pulled out a pink bag and picked up the smelly deposit without hesitation.

  I took the bag from her and said, “Let’s go back to my house.”

  At my place, I threw the bag in the trash, then we went inside. After she removed her coat, she pulled out a small wrapped present from her pocket. I went to the tree, picked up the small box, and handed it to her.

  “You first,” I said.

  She unwrapped the small blue Tiffany box and smiled. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She asked me to put it on. I kissed her neck after I secured the silver pendant with her initial on it.

  “Now you.”

  I started working at the wrapping. “Geez, you put enough tape on it,” I said, grinning.

  Inside was a silver keychain. Attached was a silver disc containing a picture of Bullet and me on one of the hikes we’d taken with Dallas and Willie.

  “I really like it, thank you.” I gave her a short peck on the lips.

  “Mom loved her generous gift card to the salon.”

  “She deserves it.”

  “Now, where’s that drink you promised me?” she said.

  I turned on the fireplace and we sat on the sofa, sipped wine, and stared into the flames, my arm around her, both of us happy and content in the moment.

  “Last night, Jamie and Scott said they never liked Vince. Evidently at the wedding, Scott had told him to be good to me, and Vince responded by saying, ‘What? You think she’s some kind of special princess or something?’ And Scott told him, Yeah, I was special, and if he didn’t realize it, he should walk. Vince laughed and said, ‘Now you tell me.’ He pointed to his ring, then gave Scott the finger. I never knew that happened until last night.”

  “Was this tale shared before or after Vince showed up?”

  “After.”

  “Yeah, it’s amazing what people will hold back.”

  She put her hand on my thigh—a dangerous thing to do. “Right here and now, let’s make a promise to always tell each other the truth no matter what.”

  I smiled and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Here’s a truth—I want to go upstairs for pie.”

  She laughed. “I really want to, but . . .” She looked at her watch. “Oh, my gosh, my family’s waiting for me. We’re having family movie night, and I’m supposed to be buying popcorn and soda from the Quick Stop.”

  “Oh.”

  “You could join us.”

  “Sure. Dallas, I’m worried Vince will continue pressuring you to come back.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl.”

  Then Bullet and I followed her over to her house. On the drive, I was beginning to realize I really enjoyed being with Dallas and wanted to spend as much time with her as I could.

  I spent the next few hours with Clara, Dallas, her two brothers, Scott and Jamie, and Jamie’s wife, Jen, watching a violent cop movie, End of Watch. Jamie had picked it. When I said goodnight to Dallas, I asked her if she thought there was a message in the movie choice.

  “Since he didn’t know you were joining us, I think the message was for me. I’m sorry. I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “No, don’t. If it continues, I’ll say something.”

  “He’s just being protective.”

  “I know, and I get it. My job is a risky one.”

  Weird. I thought I’d look good compared to Vince. I guess not.

  “Does Scott want you to break up with me, too?”

  “Nope, Scott loves you—like Mom does.”

  29

  Friday, December 26

  FRIDAY MORNING I TOOK OFF for Brick’s Travel Center in Motley, stopping for coffee and cinnamon rolls at the Sportsman for the trip. Tony threw two more in the bag than I paid for.

  The Brick’s night-duty clerk had gone home already, but the store manager, Carl Bjornstad, told me all of the film was backed up on “the cloud,” so I sat with him in his office at his computer while he scanned the feed until we found the time ten minutes before Quinlan’s purchase was made. The gas lanes were empty until a 2005 black Chevy Cavalier pulled up to the end pump.

  “There’s your car!” Carl said.

  Quinlan exited the vehicle to pump the gas. I couldn’t get a clear view of the passenger because of the glare off the windshield, but there was definitely someone in the front seat. Then the passenger door opened. I fully expected to see Grady LaMere step out, but it was a girl, the niece. She moved quickly to the building. A few minutes later, she came out with a plastic bag. Quinlan also disappeared inside, then with a quick step, got in the car and drove off. I didn’t see another passenger. With the footage recorded on the thumb drive I’d brought, I began my drive back to Prairie Falls.

  After parking in the department lot, I made my way across to the building. First, I dropped the Motley flash drive off for Samantha Polansky to see if she could pull some good stills from it. She said to give her an hour.

  I then made my way down to Patrice’s office, but the door was closed.

  “She in?” I asked Georgia, her secretary, who had a desk in the outer office.

  “Yes, but she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Can you have her call me when she’s willing to be disturbed?”

  “Sure.”

  Georgia had just asked me how the twins liked Christmas when her phone rang. She listened and said, “He’s right here.” She gestured toward Patrice’s office.

  When I opened the door, she was
at her desk with her hands folded, looking all business-like.

  “How do you want to handle this Grady thing?” she asked.

  “We should bring him in for questioning today.”

  “Will you pick him up, or what?”

  “Sure, I can go out and get him. But, Patrice, the reason I came down was to tell you the Motley tape showed Quinlan had his niece with him. I couldn’t see another passenger, but I’m having Samantha enlarge the stills in case she can pick out someone in the backseat.”

  “Shoot me copies.”

  “Sure. Bobby Lopez’s housekeeper told me she saw lights on in the Donovan house between two to four in the morning on the twelfth.”

  “That fits the estimated time of death. Oh . . . and I should have told you this straightaway. Oliver said with the towels and proximity to the crime scene we had enough to charge Quinlan, so I called the press this morning and informed them.”

  Oliver and Patrice were both filing for reelection—they wanted the credit.

  “Tell you what, I’ll go with you to pick up Grady,” Patrice continued. “I’ve got some things to do first, so let’s shoot for right after lunch.”

  MEANWHILE, I WENT BACK to my desk and did more research in public records on Robert Quinlan and his family. He was the only child of Joseph and Harriet Quinlan, born in 1973. Harriet married Joseph Quinlan the same year Robert was born. Joseph Quinlan died in 1994. With a bit more digging, I found Harriet had previously been married to Arthur Van Pelt, and they had one girl, named Adelinda, though she went by Della. Arthur Van Pelt died in August of 1971. Robert and Adelinda Moore had different fathers.

  Samantha walked into my office and handed me five photos and the thumb drive. She mentioned she’d also emailed copies of the stills to Patrice and me. The photos were a little grainy, but you could definitely make out the faces. She also pulled one of the car and license plate. The niece looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her.

  AFTER I DOCUMENTED my Motley trip, I stared at the photo of Quinlan’s niece, trying to place her. I was having trouble concentrating. My mind flit from the case, to Dallas, to Shannon’s surgery next Tuesday. A knot formed in my throat every time I thought about her cancer.

  My cell phone rang. Martha Gill.

  “We had a very interesting conversation with Quinlan’s mother this morning,” she said.

  “What did you find out?”

  “Harriet Quinlan doesn’t like Della’s husband one bit. Evidently, about ten years ago Marvin turned into an authoritarian nut job. He got them involved in a church that operated more like a cult. She said Della went to Augsburg College for three years, then the money ran out; she had to quit school to work for a year. She met Marvin during that year and never finished college. They were married within months, and he moved her up north when Moriah was an infant. They couldn’t afford one child, but had five more.”

  “Yeah, they are struggling financially.”

  “Oh, and I asked Harriet more about those towels. She said they were wet when Moriah handed them to her.”

  “And she didn’t think that was strange?”

  “He told Moriah some cock-and-bull story about washing his car, which she passed on to Harriet.”

  “Good info, Martha. Thanks.”

  “There’s more. One of the old-timers at the station knew all about Harriet’s first husband, Arthur Van Pelt. He was killed during an armed robbery in progress at a neighborhood liquor store. The owner tripped the silent alarm, and the police rolled up shortly thereafter and shot the robber. Van Pelt was killed by a stray bullet from a Minneapolis police officer’s firearm. She won a big lawsuit of an undisclosed amount against the city. Anyway, according to one of her former neighbors whom she’s remained friends with, Joseph Quinlan ran a hole-in-the-wall jewelry store in the same strip mall as the liquor store where Arthur was shot. Joseph and Harriet got married about a year after her husband’s death. After the settlement money came, Joseph moved his shop to downtown Minneapolis. Within a year the shop went bankrupt, and they moved to a small house in Burnsville, then he went to work at a chain store in the mall, and she went back to work as a nurse’s aide.”

  “How did Joseph die?”

  “Natural causes. He died in his sleep.”

  “Do you know what Van Pelt did for a living?”

  “He was a librarian at Augsburg.”

  “And that’s why Delia went there. Has Robert always lived with his mother?”

  “Off and on.”

  “Well, putting Robert in Dexter Lake the night of the murder was huge for me. Thanks for the information about the towels. Maybe you can trace him to the drive-by.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  30

  AFTER I’D GIVEN PATRICE the scoop, she said, “So, does this new information clear Grady?”

  “Not necessarily. I want to question him again, but I’ve decided to send a squad out to bring him in a bit later. It will speak to our seriousness.”

  “All right, but it could be he didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Sounds like wishful thinking.”

  She knitted her brow. “Honestly, the more I’m around him, the better I like him. I’d say it’s more likely one or both of the Moores were involved.”

  “Quinlan didn’t break in, so someone allowed him entrance. I’m going to bring them back in for questioning.”

  I SECURED WARRANTS ON GRADY and Zabrina’s cell phone records, then arranged for Crosby Green to videotape today’s interviews. I sent two patrol units to pick up the Moores because I wanted Marvin separated from his wife and daughter during transport.

  When Greg Woods arrived at the home, he texted me, “The daughter was one of the passengers in the Camaro that went in the ditch the night of the storm.”

  “That’s why she looked familiar,” I replied. “Don’t mention the incident to the Moores.”

  I fully understood, given her family circumstances, why she’d give a false name. Now it was a bargaining chip—if I needed one.

  I texted Woods again. “What was your impression?”

  “House needs paint, clean inside. Furnishings sparse. Six kids too quiet.”

  “Like something’s wrong there?”

  “Yep.”

  I sent Woods a quick “Thanks.” None of what he said was surprising. While I waited, I did some quick research on Moriah. She didn’t have a driver’s license or a presence on social media. I was thrilled she was eighteen and wouldn’t need her parents in on the interview.

  MORIAH’S EYES MET MINE when I entered the interview room. My smile wasn’t returned. Her back straightened as I took the chair facing her. She sat forward in the chair, her hands in her lap. She resembled her mother and wore a plain, white blouse and navy slacks—something an old lady might choose.

  “Moriah, I’m Deputy Sheehan. Do you remember me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her cheeks brightened as she gave me tiny nods.

  “Do they call you Morry?”

  She nodded again.

  “I have a few questions for you.”

  More nods.

  As I gave the necessary information for the taped interview, her eyes darted about the room, her expression fearful. Once finished with the identification process, I said, “Robert Quinlan is your uncle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I showed her the photo I had of her in Motley.

  “This photo was taken early morning in Motley on December twelfth. This is you?”

  She glanced at the copy and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “You were with your uncle, Robert Quinlan.”

  Her shoulders dropped, but the muscles surrounding her eyes tightened, as if she was relieved this wasn’t about the underaged drinking incident, but confused as to why she was there.

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anyone else with you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “To the Cities for my college
visits to Bethel and Augsburg.”

  “Why didn’t your parents bring you down?”

  “They had to work.”

  I nodded. “How did it come about that Robert drove you?”

  She nodded. “I was going to take the bus, but he volunteered to come and get me.”

  “When did he arrive?”

  “Around three o’clock on Thursday afternoon.”

  “And you left for the Cities when?”

  “At 5:00 a.m., because I had a tour at Augsburg at eight o’clock.”

  “And Robert stayed at your house on Thursday night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he go out at any point?”

  “He went with my father on a call.”

  “A call?”

  “Yes, Father works part time for a maintenance company. There was a water leak somewhere.”

  “So Robert went out on that call with your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I’m not sure. I was sleeping.”

  “Do you know what time they returned?”

  “I heard them come in around four o’clock. Uncle Robert and I were leaving at five o’clock, so I got up and got ready.”

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary during the time he was at your home? Were your uncle and father acting differently?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Was Motley your only stop on your drive down to the Cities?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your grandmother is Harriet Quinlan?”

  “Yes.”

  “She said you brought her two wet towels?”

  “They were Robert’s.”

  “Did he say why they were wet?”

  “He said he wiped his car off with them after he washed it.”

  “Were you with him when he washed the car?”

  “No.”

  “Awfully nice towels to wipe a car down with, don’t you think?”

  She shrugged.

  “So, you stayed with your grandmother that weekend and went on your tours.”

  She nodded.

  “How did they go?”

  “They went well.”

  “Good. And how did you get back up to Dexter Lake?”