by Judy M. Kerr
“Good morning, Mister Thomson,” MC said. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“I didn’t agree to speak with anyone. Perhaps I should call my attorney. Why am I here? Is this about the fabricated charges on Stennard Global Enterprises?”
“We’re interviewing people about Arthur Musselman.”
He scowled. “Why wouldn’t the FBI be talking to me? And what does the postal service have to do with anything?”
She ignored his two questions. “We’re building the framework for what happened to Arthur Musselman and I plan to achieve that in a cooperative manner. Standard procedure dictates that I Mirandize you so you are aware of your rights.”
She read him the Miranda warning, then met his gaze.
“Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”
He scoffed. “Yes. Should I phone my attorney?”
MC said, “If you’d rather have your attorney here, I can let the others know, and we can postpone our talk until your attorney arrives. Since it’s Christmas Eve day, I’m guessing he might be busy. Could take a while for him to get here.”
Even for someone like you, she didn’t say out loud.
Thomson crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Get on with it already.”
“Great.” MC paged back through her notes. “When was the last time you saw Musselman?”
“At a meeting in Mike’s office the same evening Arty was killed, I guess.”
“Who was at the meeting?”
“Mike, Arty, and me.”
MC noted he kept his answers clipped. “No one else?”
“No.” Thomson brushed a hand over his pants.
MC wondered if his palms were sweating, or if he was brushing imaginary dust off. “Anyone else in the building?”
“I know the three of us were in Mike’s office. I can’t speak for staff who may have been in other areas. Although, it was after hours, so I don’t imagine there were too many folks around. Maybe security.”
MC scribbled a couple of fake notes. “Security?”
“Len Klein’s our security. He always seemed to be around.”
“But you didn’t specifically need him at your meeting? Was there anything else going on which would’ve required his attention?”
“Agent McCall—”
“Inspector.”
“Whatever. I don’t know every move our employees make. I trust Len Klein knows his job and does it.”
“Klein wasn’t attending to something specific in the building?”
“I don’t know.” He leaned forward. “You’re asking a lot of questions about Len Klein. Is he a suspect in Musselman’s murder?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, Mister Thomson.” MC felt good being on the giving end instead of the receiving end of those words. “Let’s get back to the meeting.”
Thomson sat back and let out an impatient sigh. “The meeting was over right around seven. And I left first, so I don’t know if Mike and Arty left at the same time or not.”
MC took a moment before acknowledging Thomson. “And after the meeting?”
“My wife and I had dinner reservations for seven that evening.”
“Which restaurant?” MC didn’t move her gaze from him.
“You and your partner already went through this with me at my home last week. Seems redundant to ask the same questions.”
“We’re interviewing multiple people for second and third times. It’s a murder investigation. I would think you’d want to help find your friend’s killer.”
“We weren’t friends. We were business associates.” He blew out a breath. “My answers haven’t changed.”
“Recount it for me, to be sure I didn’t miss anything.” MC tilted her head slightly, the epitome of patience.
“Why isn’t your partner here? He was asking the questions last time. Maybe his memory is better than yours.” He crossed his legs.
MC ignored his question and waited.
Finally, Thomson said, “The restaurant was CoV on Lake Minnetonka, but my wife called and said she had a migraine. She told me to pick up some takeout for myself because she’d taken some meds and would be in bed for the night. I went to Katsana’s for Thai. Went home and watched a basketball game on TV while I ate. End of story—again.”
MC paged back through her notes. Tapped her pen against the notebook. “Interestingly enough, your story pretty much matches what you told us earlier.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” Thomson glared at her.
“We had some officers show your photo to employees at Katsana’s, and no one recognized you. And there’s the trifling detail of no receipt as proof you were there. These things puzzle me.”
“Maybe you’re not cut out for this job.” Thomson’s face was turning the color of the sofa on which he sat.
“Another thing we discovered is Katsana’s has a security camera. They had a rash of robberies early this year and spent extra money to have a high-quality system installed. They were able to show us the video from November seventeenth from open to close. Busy day. Know what the funny thing is?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Absolutely no sign of you. We had them go back a couple days and forward a couple days. You never appeared.”
She stared at him, thinking wiggle your way out of this one asshole.
“I don’t understand why you’re acting so smug, Inspector. Are you implying I had something to do with what happened to Arty?”
“Did you?”
“I’m done answering your questions. I’d like to leave now. It is Christmas Eve, after all.”
MC stood. “Stay put. I’ll let the others know we’re finished.”
She exited and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Thomson’s reminder about it being Christmas Eve caused her heart to seize and she felt light-headed. Barb would’ve had the house decked out all holly and jolly. Instead MC would go home to her one-bedroom spartan apartment. She took a deep breath and tried to re-center herself.
Ferndale stuck his head out of the next room. “What’s going on?”
MC straightened up. “Just thinking.” Praying for strength, she followed him into the observation area for the interview room.
Once they were all gathered inside the room Oldfield said, “Here’s where we’re at. Agent Andrews talked with Mrs. Thomson. She supports Gavin’s story about the migraine. She, however, didn’t know of any dinner reservations for that evening. Take it away, Ferndale.”
Ferndale said, “When asked if they had any plans, she said Gavin told her of the work meeting, and he didn’t know how long it might last. She vaguely recalls him telling her things were getting complicated with the business, and he and Mike were worried about Arty’s capabilities handling some tough financial issues.”
MC asked, “And the headache was real?”
Ferndale reviewed his notes. “She verifies she had a migraine and took meds, which pretty much knocked her out for the night.”
MC wrote the details in her notebook. “He lied about dinner reservations and the takeout. Makes him look guilty. Hints at premeditation.”
Oldfield nodded. “Yep.”
Ferndale continued, “Mrs. Thomson doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s going on. She knows bare bones, from what I got from Andrews. She knows someone killed Arty. Gavin told her the business is being investigated for, in his words, ‘fraud or something.’ ”
Oldfield asked, “You don’t think she’s covering for him?”
“No, we don’t,” Ferndale said.
MC said, “Thomson’s a sociopath. Keeping his wife in the dark plays into his mindset. He wouldn’t take any chances with her accidentally spilling the beans. He needs complete control.”
Ferndale said, “We’re keeping him. We’ll get his prints and compare to the partial from the SUV. Hopefully it’ll be a match.”
Oldfield said, “I spoke with AUSA—Assistant US Attorney—Vince Long early this morning. He
agreed to stick around today in case we got enough to support a Warrant for Arrest on Thomson.”
Ferndale said, “Do you need anything from me?”
Oldfield responded, “No. I’ve got the Affidavit mostly written up already. I’ll fill in the details showing the evidence we have and Thomson’s alleged role in the crimes. AUSA Long will file the Complaint and Affidavit with the US District Court and get us the Warrant for Arrest. We’ll be good to go on Friday.”
While Ferndale and Oldfield continued to confer, MC checked her phone. Almost two. Exhaustion, a heavy cloak, draped over her. The murmur of Oldfield’s and Ferndale’s voices barely penetrated the fog.
“McCall?” Ferndale’s voice was a sharp report in the confined space.
“What?”
Oldfield said, “Let’s call it a day. We can pick up again on Friday.”
Ferndale said, “Thomson won’t be going anywhere because we got a judge to sign off on a seventy-two-hour hold without charges based on his flight risk. It’s a godsend he was hightailing it to the Bahamas. And the holiday worked in our favor.”
MC stood. “Gives us some breathing room.”
Speaking of breathing room, she hoped she’d have some at Meg and Dara’s for the Christmas celebration. She’d wracked her brain for ways to avoid attending, but there wasn’t an effective enough excuse in the world that could prevent her two friends from coming to roust her out to be with them.
Chapter Nineteen
Friday, December 26
The house was darker than an abandoned well. MC closed her front door and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. “Barb?”
Muffled sounds, voices from the back of the house. MC edged into the living room and twisted the knob on the floor lamp. Nothing. Had a breaker tripped? “Barb?”
“MC. Help.” Barb’s voice was faint, but clear and panicked. “Help me.”
MC drew her gun and hustled to the hallway leading from the front door to the kitchen. She ran into a wall. Turning this way and that, she realized she was in a maze of hallways she didn’t recognize.
“Barb? Where are you?”
“MC! Help. I’m scared.”
MC’s heart thundered, the thrum ricocheting down her arm, making her gun waver in her hand. She tried to follow Barb’s voice.
“Too late . . . ”
One gunshot blasted through the house, then another.
MC screamed, “No!”
She sat bolt upright, gasping for air, sweat-soaked sheets in her fists.
She desperately tried to focus. Not her house. Barb wasn’t next to her. MC swallowed, realized she was in her bedroom inside her apartment.
She rubbed sleep-crusted eyes and prayed to Jesus Christ the work crew inside her skull would stop their incessant buzzsawing. The upside? Despite the nightmare from which she’d just awakened, the early morning light proved she had managed to get through her first holiday without Barb.
Head pounding, stomach queasy, MC swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stepped on notebooks and a pen lying on the floor. A definite pattern was forming. Barb wouldn’t be happy about her newly acquired slovenly habits.
She got ready for work in record time and drove to Flannel. The bright light and subzero temp exacerbated the hammering in her cranial cavity. She parked in front of the coffee shop and sat, unable to erase the feelings and images from her dreams. The remnants of the nightmare slowly fizzled, leaving her worn out and guilt-ridden. She’d again not been able to save Barb.
She exited the car and dashed into the café.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Dara’s voice boomed across the shop turning the heads of the few customers seated at various tables.
At the counter, MC said, “Cripes, Dara, could you be any louder?”
“Are we feeling under the weather this fine winter’s morn?” Dara’s voice dropped a couple notches. “You look like you’re carrying a couple of overstuffed bags under your eyes, pal.”
MC said, “Do not go there. I don’t have a problem. I didn’t even have a drop to drink at your place yesterday.”
“But maybe when you got home—”
“Would you please be a good friend and give me a coffee with a double shot of espresso, to go?” MC retreated to the condiment station where a jug of water sat beside the sweeteners and cream. She filled a plastic cup and swallowed a pill cocktail—ibuprofen and naproxen—she’d stuck in her coat pocket.
“Coffee with dual extra lift,” Dara called out.
MC retrieved the high-octane brew. The aroma penetrated her foggy brain. “Sorry for snapping.”
“S’okay. But you should know I intend to rag on you whenever I feel it’s necessary. We’ve all lost someone special in Barb, and I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You dumb oaf. You’re not losing me.” MC blinked back tears. “I can handle it.”
“Handle what?” Meg came out of the office. “MC, good morning.” Meg rushed from behind the corner to give MC a hug. “Handle what?”
MC gave Meg a quick squeeze. “Nothing, we’re talking about work stuff.” MC glared at Dara.
“I was making sure our girl was keeping safe on the job and whatnot.” Dara grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter.
“Gotta run. Time is my nemesis in the mornings. Can’t be late…again.” MC blew out a breath. “Have a great day.”
MC tasted the bite of the windchill as she got back into her car. The task force arrest warrants would be issued today for Michael Stennard and Gavin Thomson, for fraud amongst other charges. MC did not want to miss the action. She buckled up and called Cam.
“Hey.” Cam’s voice ricocheted off her eardrum.
“No need to yell. I’m on my way in so don’t go having all the fun without me.”
“No worries. No one else is here yet.”
“See you soon. Meet in my office.”
Cam sipped an energy drink while MC wished she could hook up a coffee IV to her arm. They’d spent the requisite few minutes catching each other up on their holiday experiences and then got down to business. “What’s the plan?” she asked over the rim of her cup.
“According to Oldfield we get another shot at Thomson, and then we get to go with the team to pick up Stennard. I can’t believe we’re finally on the home stretch.”
“Cheers.” She raised her cup.
“Let’s go see what Mister Gavin Thomson has to say.” Cam crushed the empty can between his hands and made a two-pointer into the recycling basket next to MC’s desk.
At the Hennepin County facility, FBI Agents Sebastian Ferndale and Walt Andrews met up with them, and they all gathered inside one of the observation rooms.
Ferndale said, “They’re retrieving Thomson from his cell, and it could take a few minutes.” He handed MC a manila folder. “Check this out while we wait. Oldfield is about ten minutes out. By the way, I called Klein.”
MC said, “And?” She opened the file and scanned the pages: photo of gloves and finger prints.
Ferndale said, “He magically remembered that after he saw Arty acting weird, he’d called Mike. Said Mike sounded agitated and told Klein he’d ‘take care of it.’ Klein wasn’t sure what Mike meant and didn’t ask.”
Cam said, “Interesting he didn’t remember calling Mike before now.”
MC set the folder aside and opened a file on her cell. She read the transcript of the last recording from Arty’s phone. “One of the guys at the shooting says, ‘Gimme the gun.’ This tells me whoever the masked gunman was ended up not being the shooter.”
Cam said, “Okay.”
Ferndale nodded.
MC said, “After the gunshot, the guy says, ‘Loyalty is everything.’ I saw or heard reference to loyalty somewhere else.” She went back to a different file. “Here it is. At the meeting, Stennard tells Gavin that Arty is loyal. I’d been thinking Gavin Thomson was the shooter. Could it have been Mike Stennard?”
Ferndale said, “Maybe.”
Andrews said
, “When we talked to him, he seemed pretty torn up over Arty’s death, though. I got the impression he was a grieving friend.”
Ferndale said, “Let’s see what we get from Thomson.”
MC felt her cell buzz and saw a message from Dara. No hard feelings about earlier. Dinner tonight at the shop? Let me know. Peace out. MC tapped the corner of the phone against her knee as she considered the offer, then filed the thought away to deal with later.
Agent Ferndale said, “McCall, you ready for another round with Thomson?”
“Definitely.”
Cam asked, “Did you guys get much from him the other day?”
Ferndale said, “McCall did the interview and got bits and pieces of a story. But what we didn’t have then is confirmation the partial print from the inside of the SUV is a match for him.” He pointed to the manila folder he’d given MC.
“Any results on DNA or GSR from the gloves?” MC asked handing the folder to Cam to review.
“Nothing yet. Lab’s backed up because of the holiday.”
“Having the print gives us leverage.” MC reviewed her notes. “I think Cam should be in there with me.”
“Okay.”
“He wants his lawyer present this time,” Andrews said.
“He hasn’t been charged yet, right?” Cam asked.
“Correct,” Ferndale said. “But I think he knows it’s inevitable. He’s not sure what we’ll throw at him.”
MC said, “Let him have his lawyer.” Movement on the video monitor got her attention. “Look who the cat dragged in.”
Andrews said, “And he’s not quite as dapper in his orange scrubs and Jesus sandals.”
Ferndale said, “Today the interview room lacks the comfort of the one we used the other day. He must know we’re serious.”
Cam stood. “Hopefully, he’s feeling chatty.” He passed the file back to MC.
Ferndale’s phone rang. He answered, then held up a finger to MC and Cam. “We’ll be here.” He hung up. “Oldfield. He’s parking and will be right in.”
MC said, “If Thomson is unresponsive with us, we can switch out and you and Andrews can take over. We can tag team for as long it takes to break him.”