by Judy M. Kerr
“I don’t know if he’s got any friends left. He’s burned plenty of bridges over the years. Still, I guess everyone deserves a modicum of peace in life.”
“Right.” She couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her tone.
“I’ll let you get back to work. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll keep the wolves at bay. Give you a chance to reacclimate.”
“Thanks. I don’t know how much sympathy talk I can stand. Know what I mean?”
“I do.” Jamie exited, closing the door behind him.
MC settled back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. She glanced at the time on her computer screen, seven twenty-three.
Cam usually rolled in around eight so she had time to get through more email.
Instead she reached for her desk phone. She quickly punched the numbers she’d memorized.
“Sharpe.”
“Morning, Detective. This is MC McCall.”
“Inspector McCall, what can I do for you?”
“Checking in. Anything?”
“Nothing.”
She yearned for an ice-cold vodka to bulldoze the pain blaring in her skull and wet the dustbin that was her mouth.
He blew out a breath, charging the phone line with crackles. “Inspector McCall. Trust we are doing everything in our power to solve the case.”
“Have you talked to the neighbors? All of them? Did anyone see or hear anything?” MC was a pitbull, latched on and refusing to let go.
“I can’t go into specifics about the investigation.” His voice softened. “You will be the first to know if anything of relevance is discovered. I know how hard this must be for you.”
“I understand.” She didn’t. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“Anytime. Have a good day.” He hung up.
After work she’d go back to her old neighborhood and do some door-to-door chats with the neighbors. She remembered the email from Agent Ferndale and returned her attention to the computer. She read through the message. Ferndale wrote they were interviewing Klein yet again. He and Andrews seemed hellbent on Klein as Arty’s killer.
MC disagreed. But she decided to hold off on a response until after she and Cam discussed what was going on.
As if on cue, her door swung open and there he was.
“Partner!” He hustled around the desk to give her a hug.
“Hey, Cam.” He was the younger brother she never had. “How’re you? How’re Jane and the kids?”
“We’re all fine. More importantly, how are you?” He stepped back, hands on her shoulders. “You’ve lost some weight. Have you been sleeping?”
“Gee, don’t hold back.” She sat. “I’m as good as I can be, considering. Grab a chair.”
“How about I get us some coffee? Unless you don’t need more.”
“You know I do.” She sucked down the cold remnants and handed over her cup. “Please and thank you.” She sent a sheepish grin his way as the headache pounded behind her eyes.
“You got it. Be right back.”
MC swallowed a couple ibuprofen before he returned.
Hunkered down over her desk they went through the file on Arty.
MC said, “Ferndale and Andrews think it’s Len Klein. They’re interviewing him again.” She scrolled down through the emails trolling for any other related messages. “Hey, what’s this?” She hovered the cursor over an email from late the previous day from Agent Teri Young, the FBI agent partnered with Agent Alexis Trinh. MC clicked it open.
Cam stepped behind her and read over her shoulder. “The cyber team found no text or emails of concern on the phone, but they found a couple audio files, including one from after Arty’s meeting with Stennard. And no go on any “Wooly” or “Worley” in any of the employee records.”
“We were there, Cam. At the dump site. Why didn’t I find the damn phone when I was skulking along the shrubs?”
“We were too late to save Arty. And you managed to get some good intel on Klein and his buddies. Besides, the phone was found at the end of that road, if you can call it a road. In the darkest area of the scene.”
“Still, I should’ve noticed something.” She hit the reply button on the email. “I wish we could find that damn USB drive. Then at least we’d be able to push ahead on more search warrants for the fraud case. I’ll ask Young to send us the MP3 files.”
MC and Cam had settled back in their seats when MC’s desk phone rang. “Inspector McCall. Agent Young, hello.” MC’s gaze lifted to Cam.
“Right. You think the last recording makes Klein more of a suspect?” MC flipped open her notebook and started scribbling. “Because Klein’s SUV matches the one described? But you know there are two black Escalades in the Stennard security fleet, right?” MC scrunched her eyebrows together and squinted at her computer screen. “Yes, it showed up in my inbox. Cam is here with me. We’ll listen to the recordings and get back to you. Thanks, bye.” She hung up.
Cam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Sounds like the FBI is all over Klein. First Ferndale and Andrews and now Young.”
“They think the recording, the last one on Arty’s phone, nails Klein. Let’s listen.”
Cam scooted his chair to sit next to MC. She opened the audio file. They sat through it once and then played it again. MC scrawled notes as Arty and another man’s voice droned from the tinny computer speaker.
“Impressive,” Cam said. “Someone tailed him, and Arty had the presence of mind to make a recording.”
“And to think fast enough to get rid of the phone before the bad guy or guys found it.”
“No kidding. All Jack Reacher.”
“The timeline doesn’t fit with Klein as the doer, though. I don’t buy it.” She spun the notebook so Cam could see. “The second voice is not Klein’s. I’m no voice expert but Klein’s voice is more baritone, this guy sounds more tenor. Seems younger to me. And the other voice, the shooter, doesn’t sound like Klein either.”
“The shooter’s voice is harder to pinpoint. Probably because the phone is farther away from the group by then. Maybe Klein was the driver who let the masked guy out?”
“Could be, I guess. But why would Klein go back to the Stennard building? Why not go home?”
“Because he had the meeting with the two doofuses.”
MC shook her head. “Also bothersome. Why would Klein set up a meeting at the boat storage lot, the same place he’d just dumped Arty’s body? He’s not stupid. Arty’s wallet was gone, but his briefcase and a ream of papers were strewn all over the car. Too sloppy for someone with Klein’s background.”
“Good point.”
“Gavin Thomson, on the other hand, Mister Sleek Businessman, might not be as thorough.” MC hesitated. “Maybe he was the driver? He let the henchman off on that frontage road with instructions to take care of Arty? He had access to the company vehicles, same as Klein. Let’s listen to the recording of the meeting again.”
Cam leaned forward in his seat, his face the picture of concentration. “Thomson definitely sounds like he wants Stennard to do something about Arty. He would’ve had to have someone on speed dial to set this all up so quickly.”
“Or he had it pre-arranged.” MC stared at the computer screen. “I think Gavin was at the end of his rope with Arty. The guy is cool as a cucumber, and his voice is chilling. I wish I could’ve seen his eyes. The eyes tell so much.”
“True. But the timeline?”
“He had time. Think about it. Gavin left before Arty did. Arty thought he heard someone in the hall so he checks it out. Next, he has a run-in with Klein on the first floor. This gives Gavin plenty of time to grab one of the SUVs from the back lot and follow Arty when he departs.”
“Do you think Klein and Gavin are in this together? Is Klein the masked guy? Oh, wait. The voice doesn’t match. Is Gavin the masked guy and Len Klein the driver?”
“Possible. Not probable. We don’t have any indication Klein and Gavin have contact. Seems like Stennard h
as most of the interaction with Klein. And I don’t see Gavin pulling on a black mask and wielding a gun. The effort would entail getting his hands very, very dirty. Guys like him, the high-class sociopaths, want to keep themselves clean. Someone else handles the wet work. We need to talk to both Klein and Gavin. I’d love to convince Ferndale and Andrews to let us interview these two.”
Cam stood. “Let’s do it. I bet Klein is at the Stennard building guarding the fortress even though nothing’s going on.”
“And Thomson is probably holed up in his fancy house on Lake Minnetonka. Hatches battened down. Waiting for the waves to recede. I’ll call Oldfield and let him know what we’re doing.”
“I’ll grab my coat and sign out a car. Meet you by the bubble.”
MC dialed Oldfield’s cell. He picked up after the first ring. “Oldfield.”
“ASAC Oldfield, this is MC McCall.”
“McCall, hello. How are you?” Oldfield’s voice lost its edge. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” MC gripped the phone tighter, gritting her teeth against the swampy fog of grief threatening to descend. “I’m calling because Cam and I decided to interview Len Klein and hopefully Gavin Thomson about Arty.” She quickly dished the dirt on their suspicions.
“I’ve listened to the recording, too. I like the plan. Keep me posted, and loop Ferndale and Andrews in, too. They’ve been interviewing people all over the place. Glad to hear you’re back on the job. You good?”
“I’m good. Thank you for your concern.” MC hung up and expelled a huge gust of air, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
Cam parked in front of Stennard Global Enterprises. Bright light reflected off the glass doors and bounced off white snowbanks.
The lot wasn’t quite deserted, but close. MC counted three vehicles, all parked in the section designated for employees. Stennard and Thomson’s spots were empty.
Taylor, the receptionist, sat behind the reception desk in the lobby. “Good morning. Do you have an appointment with someone?”
MC flashed her badge. “You don’t remember us, Taylor?”
“Oh, hi.” Her face flushed. “Sorry, there’s been so much going on the last couple weeks. No one is really here. I mean no one important, except I guess Mister Klein.” She twisted her blond hair around a finger.
“Lucky for us, we’re here to see Mister Klein.” MC smiled, hoping to put her at ease.
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” Taylor reached for her phone.
Cam stretched his arm over the desk and stopped her. “We know the way to his office.”
“Thanks, Taylor,” MC said.
They angled around the reception desk and down the hall toward the security office.
The door was propped open. No need to lock doors when there wasn’t anything to secure. MC knocked on the doorframe.
Len Klein sat texting on a cell phone and paused when he saw them. “What do you two want? Didn’t you get everything during the raid last month?”
“Touchy, Len.” Cam wandered into the office. He moved into position behind him.
Klein tucked his cell into his pocket and craned his neck to locate Cam. MC shifted to the front of the desk. She leaned down, her hands on the barren desktop. She said, “We’ve got a few more questions for you.”
“I already told the FBI everything I know, which is nothing,” Klein said. “They asked me about Musselman.”
“Now we’re here to ask you our questions.” MC hooked a folding chair with a foot and sat. She pulled out her green notebook and a pen. She crossed her legs, pen poised over the notebook, then realized she had the wrong one. Her stomach took a dive and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat as she stared at Barb’s name on the page before her.
Klein let out a growling sound of exasperation. “You gonna ask your freakin’ questions or sit there all day staring at the damn note pad?”
Cam said, “Why don’t you shut your yap, Klein.”
MC bent to her bag and swapped the green for the black notebook. She took a deep breath. “Tell us about November seventeenth. Clue us in on what you did that entire day—from waking up to when you arrived back home.”
Klein eyed Cam over his shoulder. “Don’t you want a chair, too?”
“Nope. I’m good right here. Why don’t you go ahead and answer the question?”
Klein told them about his day. He mentioned seeing Arty both before and after the meeting with Stennard and Thomson. “I think it was around six forty-five when I ran into Musselman getting off the elevator down here. He left and I went back to my office and did the schedule for the next two weeks. I never saw him again after he went out the door.”
“Did you make any calls after Arty left?” MC asked.
“Calls? Uh, no.” Klein shifted in his seat, not making eye contact with MC. He focused on Cam again. “Sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable sitting?”
“Do I make you nervous?” Cam asked.
“To be honest, yes.” Klein shifted his gaze back and forth between Cam and MC.
“I’ll stay right here.”
MC said, “You didn’t make any calls after you saw Arty leave. What time did you leave?” She settled her gaze on Klein, enjoying the sight of him twitching in his seat.
He stared at some place above MC’s head. “I think around nine. Maybe a bit after.”
His answer certainly correlated with what they knew. “Where did you go after you left here?”
“Where did I go?” Klein asked. “I, um, I think I went home.”
“You think?” MC stared at him. “You’re not certain? Maybe you followed Arty. Maybe you left earlier than you’re telling us.”
“No way.” He raised his voice. “I didn’t follow the twerp. Why would I? I was here until nine, then I went home.”
MC said, “Relax. We’re just chatting, nailing down the timeline.”
Klein leaned back in his chair. “Sure doesn’t feel like no chat.”
MC asked, “How long does it take you to get home from here?”
He took a moment before answering. “Fifteen minutes with no traffic. Twenty-five or so if traffic is heavy.”
“You left here at nine, which puts you home at nine fifteen, right?”
“Sounds about right.”
“What if we told you we know you didn’t get home until nine forty-five?” MC folded her hands over the notebook in her lap. Do it, Klein, she thought. Hang yourself.
Klein screwed his eyebrows together. “Maybe it was nine forty-five. Wait. I think you’re right. I met a couple of business associates after I left here. A quick meeting and I went right home.” He nodded. “Definitely home in time to watch the late news.”
“And who might these business associates be?” MC leaned forward.
“They were referred to me by someone else. I’d never met them before. Now I think back, they were supposed to meet me, but they didn’t show up. And geez, I can’t remember their names.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Damn. Wish I could help you out, but I can’t.”
MC stowed her notebook, removed a business card from the pocket in her bag, and slid it across the desk. “Give me a call if you remember anything, especially if you remember the names of those business associates.”
Cam reached over Klein’s shoulder and tossed his card onto the desktop. “Here’s my card, too. You contact either one of us posthaste if your amnesia clears up.” He clapped a hand on Klein’s shoulder. “You hear me?”
“I hear ya. You’re practically screaming in my ear.” Klein tipped the chair over as he stood, Cam’s hand slid from his shoulder.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” MC said.
As they strode through the reception area toward the front door, MC waved at Taylor.
“Nice to see you again,” Taylor said.
“Nice to see you again.” Len Klein’s voice mimicked Taylor from behind.
Outside Cam said, “I think we got to him.”
MC said,
“He knows we know something, but he’s not sure what. I still don’t think he was involved in Arty’s kidnapping and murder, but he’s up to something.” She settled into the passenger seat and found the Map app on her phone. “Gavin Thomson’s?”
“Yep. So, what happened with you in there?” Cam started the engine and flipped the heater on high. He held his hands in front of the dash vents as lukewarm air huffed out.
“I grabbed the wrong notebook and was confused for a second.” MC hoped he’d let it drop.
Her need for a drink was ramping up, and Cam’s concern nudged the craving up a notch. She scanned the pages in her notebook until she found the one with Gavin’s home address and typed it into the app.
She said, “You know, there are these amazing new things called gloves. They work wonders to keep your hands warm when it’s cold outside.”
“How about you read me the directions and keep the commentary to yourself?” He frowned. “You sure you’re all right? You’ll tell me if you need a break, right?”
“Cam, I don’t need a break.”
Thirty minutes later they pulled up to a McMansion on Bohn’s Point on Lake Minnetonka. They parked on the brick driveway in front of a three-car attached garage. The house was a mammoth two-story structure of wood, shakes, brick, and stone.
Cam whistled. “Impressive. Think they have a pool and lakeshore?”
“Green isn’t a good color on you.”
“I’m not envious. Not much. How do you suppose they keep the driveway so clean? No snow. No ice. Underground heating? The one percent, huh?”
“Yep, the one percent. Shall we see if His Excellency will grant us an audience?”
A man about Cam’s height with dark brown hair and hazel eyes answered the door. “Yes?”
“Gavin Thomson?” MC recognized him from the day they’d enacted the search warrant at the company.
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m Inspector McCall and this is Inspector White.” They flashed their IDs. “We’re with the US Postal Inspection Service. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you have time.” MC refrained from stamping her feet as the chill wind whipped a dervish of ice crystals past them. “Are you Gavin Thomson?”