Afton shrugged. “Okay. Hurts a little.” Truth be told, it hurt like hell. When she woke up this morning she’d had to wrap another layer of gauze around her arm to hide the bleeding. It wouldn’t do to scare the kids while they were busy snarfing down their Apple Cinnamon Cheerios.
“I’m not surprised you’re still feeling it,” Max said. “You really got stuck.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Comes with the territory.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be your territory,” Max said. He wanted to scream and holler at her, but it was the best reprimand he could manage at the moment. Maybe later, when they were alone, he could really unload.
“Face it, I’m younger and faster,” Afton said, trying to make a joke of it. “It was logical that I go after him.”
Max spun in his chair to face her. “You mean younger and dumber,” he said, and this time his voice rose in genuine anger. “And even if you perceive me as being somewhat—and I said somewhat—older and slower, never forget . . . I’m the guy what carries the gun.”
Dillon looked up from one of the desks, where he was digging into a bag of Cheetos. “With a license to kill. Hey, did you guys happen to catch the all-star press conference on TV this morning?”
“No,” Afton said. “What happened?”
“The press pretty much crucified the chief and the mayor.” Dillon stuck another handful of orange glop in his mouth.
“Wonderful,” Afton said in a slightly acerbic tone. “Did anybody else join in with the torches and pitchforks?”
“Some of us kind of thought Sunny Odin would be screaming her ass off, but so far there’s been no sign of her,” Dillon said.
“She’s in shock,” Max said. “Gotta be brutal for her. The rocket attack and now this.”
“At least she’s got closure,” Dillon said. He held out his bag of Cheetos. “Want some?”
Afton shook her head. “No thanks.” Dillon’s wife was always nagging him to lose weight, trying to get him to eat only protein along with small servings of fruit. Looks like he’d fallen hard off the protein wagon.
“Has there been a preliminary report from the medical examiner?” Afton asked.
“Yeah, but nothing interesting,” Dillon said, still crunching loudly. “Other than the fact that the killer practically sliced Odin’s head off.”
• • •
THEY met in the large conference room. The one where the chief of police held press conferences and the mayor was known to pose with whichever officers were being either praised or excoriated, depending on the political winds of change. The group this morning consisted of Max, Afton, Andy Farmer, Dick Dillon, Kip Wheeler and Joe Jelenick from Crime Scene, and Deputy Chief Gerald Thacker.
Thacker didn’t look happy. “Now Odin’s been murdered,” he said, stating the obvious. “And we’re still no closer to catching the people who shot down that helicopter.”
“Has to be the same guy,” Dillon asked. “The one who blasted that copter with a rocket and the guy who slipped in last night to kill Odin.”
“I’d say the odds are about ninety-five percent,” Max said. “And whoever the asshole is, he’s still one step ahead of us.”
“So what’s with the Asian connection?” Farmer asked. “The two people who were at the noodle factory Tuesday night, the guy who posed as a doctor last night. What’s that all about?”
“We don’t know yet,” Max said. “But I’ll tell you one thing: With Fan Ling popping in to visit Odin at the hospital less than an hour before he was killed, we need to take a serious look at her.”
“Is she Odin’s mistress?” Jelenick asked.
“Probably,” Max said.
“Then she’s a serious suspect,” Farmer said.
“If Fan Ling was Odin’s mistress,” Afton said, “then Sunny is also a suspect. Sunny could have had her husband killed out of sheer rage.”
“Wait a minute,” Thacker said. He gazed at Afton as if he was just seeing her for the first time. “Tangler. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home resting.”
“I had to meet with Steve Drury first thing and do the Identi-Kit,” Afton explained. Drury was the resident sketch artist for the MPD, although now everything was done on computer and Drury mostly manipulated a plug-and-play program.
“So you’re still tailing Max around?”
“That’s what you asked me to,” Afton said. “You wanted me to take notes and organize all the information.” Police officers, detectives, even deputy chiefs all loathed writing reports. It was the one common denominator that was a prickly thorn in their side. Afton, on the other hand, was a whiz at writing reports and could whip them out with all the necessary details. She could “subject claimed” this and “incident” that circles around the rest of them. Which was one of the reasons the homicide detectives loved her and secretly (and not so secretly) allowed her access to their cases.
“I must be losing my mind,” Thacker said. “If Chief Peters knew I was letting you sit in on this meeting, he’d serve my head on a silver platter to the city council.”
“Tasty,” Dillon chuckled.
“You know what the governor asked me?” Thacker said, focusing on Afton.
“No sir,” Afton said.
“He called me at six o’clock this morning, before I even had benefit of my morning caffeine, and said, ‘What’s this I hear about a chase last night?’”
“That’s good,” Max said with a straight face. “It means he’s showing some serious interest in our case.”
“It is not good,” Thacker snapped. “It means he’s going to rattle some cages in city hall. And you know what that means. When it comes time for funding . . .”
“We’ll be shit out of luck,” Dillon said. “So what else is new?”
“Just so they keep their hooks off my pension,” Farmer muttered.
Thacker ran his hands through his hair and then seemed to pull himself together. “All right, people. We have to focus.” He turned toward Wheeler. “Was there anything you guys picked up at either scene? The shooter’s nest or the hospital?”
Wheeler shrugged. “We lifted a partial print from the doorjamb at the hospital, but it doesn’t match anything we’ve got so far. We have some other stuff, too, but we’re still busy processing.”
“So who are these killers?” Thacker asked. “And where are they holed up? We have basic descriptions—we’re fairly sure it’s a man and an older woman—so we need to get this information out immediately. We need to alert every unit in Minneapolis, Saint Paul, and the surrounding suburbs, as well as all the TV and print media. The airport for sure, in case they decide to make a run for it, and even hotels they might be staying at. The whole enchilada.”
The door opened and a tentative female voice called out, “Deputy Chief?”
“What?” Thacker yelled.
Darlene Allman, Thacker’s temporary administrative assistant, came creeping in. She looked like she was about fourteen years old and acted as if Thacker jabbed her with an electric cattle prod every time she ventured near him. “Chief Thacker, um, excuse me, but I have those composites you asked for?”
“Good. Thank you, Darlene.” Thacker held up one of the sheets for everyone to see. “This is the suspect we’re looking for. Afton refined the initial descriptions we got from that guy Zhang and Sammy Mah. So now we have a fairly decent composite.” He looked at the group. “Who wants to honcho this, get it out ASAP?”
“I’m on it,” Farmer said.
“Getting back to Sunny,” Afton said. “What are the chances she hired some sort of Chinese assassin?”
“I don’t know,” Max said. “Maybe twenty to one?”
“Maybe Fan Ling hired the assassin,” Thacker said.
“That’s always a possibility,” Max said. “Which means we better go jack her up. Push her hard to see if she gives us anything.” He drummed his fingers against the table. “The other thing we need to do is have a talk with Jay Barber, Odin’s partner at DSN. The
way I see it, he’s the man in charge now.”
“Do it,” Thacker said. “In fact, let’s do him first.”
“I’ll get Barber on the line,” Afton said. She grabbed her notes, jumped up, and walked to the back of the room, where a bunch of landlines were located. As she dialed the number at DSN, she could hear Thacker ranting about a call he’d taken earlier from Governor Lindsay. He was relating all the ugly details and didn’t seem one bit happy.
When Afton reached the receptionist at DSN, she said, “Could you please put me through to Mr. Jay Barber’s office? You can tell his secretary that Detective Max Montgomery would like to set up a meeting with Mr. Barber.”
“Tell her we’d like to meet with him around eleven,” Max called out to her.
But when Afton was routed through to Barber’s secretary, she was told that he wasn’t in yet. “He’s not?” she said. “Well, have you heard from him? Nothing?” She dropped the phone to her chest. “Barber’s not at his office yet and nobody’s heard from him.”
“Not even his secretary?” Max asked.
“That’s who I’m talking to right now.”
“Better call him at home.”
“Gotcha,” Afton said. She checked her notes for Barber’s home number, dialed it, and when it rang, heard it snatched up immediately.
“Is that you?” a woman asked urgently.
“This is Liaison Officer Afton Tangler from the Minneapolis Police Department. Is this Mrs. Barber?”
“Yes?” said a querulous voice.
“We’re trying to get hold of your husband.”
“So am I,” Mrs. Barber cried, and now there was real anguish in her voice. “He hasn’t come home and I’m worried sick!”
• • •
THAT set the wheels in motion for Afton and Max to make a quick trip over to Jay Barber’s home. It was located on a prosperous-looking block just west of Lake Harriet. Though it was still early spring, a few crocuses and tulips bloomed in front yard gardens.
“Nice place,” Max said as they pulled up in front of Barber’s modified Tudor-style home. The place had decorative half timbers, stone masonry, casement windows, and a slate roof. Afton figured it had to go for at least a million dollars in this tony neighborhood.
Barber’s wife, Shelly, met them at the front door along with an aging brown dachshund with sad eyes.
“Are you the police?” she asked. Then, before they could answer, she said, “Come on in.” Shelly Barber was in her early forties with short brown hair that had been streaked a honey blond, striking green eyes, pointed chin, and what was probably a pretty good figure camouflaged inside a slightly-too-large brown velour tracksuit.
Shelly led them through a small music room, where a Steinway baby grand sat collecting dust, and into a large, well-furnished family room. That is, flagstone fireplace, two expensive-looking red brocade sofas, four leather chairs, and a gaming table. She settled in one of the chairs with the dog on her lap and indicated for Afton and Max to take a seat, too. Afton noticed that the dog’s fur matched the color of Mrs. Barber’s tracksuit.
“So where do you think your husband went?” Max asked. Driving over here, he and Afton had entertained the possibility that, for whatever reason—fear, business problems, sheer craziness—Barber might have just bolted.
Shelly Barber blinked. “The lake?”
“Wait. What?” Max said. “You mean . . . ?”
Shelly gestured frantically. “Lake Harriet. Two blocks over. Jay went for a jog first thing this morning, right after he got the phone call about Odin being killed. He was very upset and wanted to go somewhere by himself and clear his head. He was wearing shorts and his blue Macalester sweatshirt, so I don’t think he planned to go anyplace else.”
Afton threw a startled look at Max. No way had Barber just boogied on out of town on his own.
“Not good,” Max said.
“Not good?” Shelly said. “What does that mean? You’re scaring me.”
“I’ll call this in and get a couple of squads rolling,” Afton said. “Have them circle the lake and then fan out into the neighborhood.”
“You think he’s gone?” Shelly asked. The terrible reality of the situation was starting to sink in for her.
Max stretched a hand out to her. “Give us a minute.”
Shelly waited nervously while Afton made her call. Max, meanwhile, put in another call to DSN, just in case Barber had turned up there. No dice. Barber hadn’t come storming into his office dressed in his jogging clothes.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” Afton said gently, once they’d made their calls and put things in motion.
“Like what?”
“Like does your husband go running every morning?”
“Maybe three times a week. Otherwise he does Nautilus at the Calhoun Club. I called over there to the front desk, but they said they hadn’t seen him this morning.”
“When he goes for a run, how long is he usually gone?” Max asked.
Shelly squinted one eye closed. “Jay’s more of a plodder, so . . . maybe fifty minutes? Certainly not this long. I mean, it’s been almost four hours!”
“Do you think your husband could have taken another route?” Afton asked. “I mean, after hearing about Mr. Odin’s murder, your husband could have been feeling extremely upset and decided to take a longer run. Maybe he needed time to think, to pull his thoughts together.” She knew her rationalization sounded weak even as she said it.
Shelly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” Her lower lip trembled. “I have to tell you, after hearing what happened to Leland, I’m worried sick. I mean, something terrible might have happened to Jay, too.” She rocked back and forth, cradling the dachshund, who gazed up at her with its sad, rheumy eyes as if to confirm that he was worried, too.
• • •
AS they were leaving Barber’s house, a black-and-white squad car rolled up to the curb. They walked down to meet it as the two officers climbed out.
“Pogue and Gilliam,” Max said. “Good guys.” Then a little louder, “You see any sign of our guy?”
Gilliam, the older, gray-haired officer who’d been driving, shook his head. “Not yet. But we haven’t finished looking, and a couple more units have been called in. We’ll keep searching for him.”
Pogue was younger. Tall and rangy, cheekbones that jutted out like the edge of a knife blade. He poked a finger at Afton. “Are you the one who chased that shitheel through campus last night?”
“That was me,” Afton said. Was he going to give her a lecture, too? But no, he wore a faint trace of a smile on his face.
“Too bad you weren’t carrying,” Pogue said. “Save us all a lot of trouble.”
“Not that she didn’t want to,” Max said. “C’mon.” He and Afton walked back toward his car. “Mmn, look at you,” he said under his breath. “Got some swagger going, huh?”
“Thacker’s mad at me, but those guys think I did okay,” Afton said.
“Yeah, well . . .”
“What do you think?” she asked. “Now that you’ve cooled down some.” Max’s opinion was the one that mattered to her. She was thrilled to have been assigned to him and knew she could learn a lot from him.
“Don’t tell anybody I said this, but . . . you did okay. Still, you gotta be careful not to overstep your bounds. You’re not even technically on the force, not even a rookie.”
As Afton pulled her seat belt across she said, “Where do you think Barber is? Besides out there in the wind?”
“I don’t know,” Max said. “But I’m worried as hell. These people—whoever these people are—don’t screw around. They might have taken him. And if they have him, for whatever reason, it’s probably not going to end well.”
“What about Sunny?”
“What about her?”
“What if we went over there and pushed her hard? Maybe she knows more than she let on. Maybe she knows why her husband was killed and Barber was . . . kidnapped?”
“You want to beat up a woman less than twelve hours after her husband was murdered?” Max asked.
“If I can get beat up, so can she,” Afton said. “Besides, if Sunny wants us to find Odin’s killer, she’s going to have to dazzle us with some serious information. Not just some bullshit about a bunch of marauding geese.”
19
SUNNY wasn’t home.
“She went to the funeral home to make the arrangements,” Terrell said. “Wenger and Wainwright Funeral Home over on Hennepin.” She touched a tissue to her nose and sniffled loudly. “Jesus, this is terrible. Just so damn depressing.”
“You think murder is depressing?” Max asked. “Really?” He was feeling the pressure and coming on a little too strong.
“Hey,” Terrell said, her eyes flashing, her mouth pinched into an unflattering grimace. “I don’t have to take any crap from you. I happen to know you guys were there last night. At the university hospital. And that you didn’t do squat to stop that murdering asshole. That you can’t even figure out who’s causing all this misery!”
“Are you freaking nuts?” Max cried. “Afton got hurt chasing that asshole.”
They were standing in the foyer, shouting, practically hissing and spitting in each other’s faces. Even in the heat of the moment, Afton noted that Terrell was wearing a well-tailored jacket, designer jeans, and Manolo Blahnik heels. She looked like she was ready to jump in her Mercedes and hit the Mall of America for a serious shop.
Afton held up a hand. “Let’s all take a deep breath here, okay? We all want the same thing. We want to catch these crazies as soon as possible and put an end to this nightmare.”
“Whoever’s behind this really is crazy,” Terrell said. She suddenly looked sorrowful and was slowly backing down from her hissy fit.
“We need to talk to you about a few things,” Max said. Now his tone was lighter and much more reasonable as well. “We have a few questions for you.”
Terrell put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “What now? What the hell else has gone wrong?”
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