“It’s an interesting thought,” Thacker said slowly. “I could make a call.”
Afton turned to Max. “Looks like we’re off to a funeral. Ain’t it lucky that I wore black?”
“Yeah,” Max said. “But, unfortunately, you still got pig poop on the soles of your shoes.”
• • •
THEY caught the tail end of Leland Odin’s funeral, which was being held at St. Philip’s church. This gray granite bastion of Protestantism and old money was located on Hennepin Avenue, adjacent to Loring Park and just down the block from the Walker Art Center.
“This place looks like a movie set,” Afton said as they climbed the low marble steps. At least ten black limousines were parked outside and she could hear the strains of Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Prelude No. 1” hammering out from a pipe organ.
“Yeah,” Max said. “Like they’re shooting one of the final scenes from The Godfather. So if you hear any real shooting, get low.”
Inside, the enormous church was practically packed with mourners. Candles flickered on the altar, prisms of light shone through an enormous stained glass window, and the minister was just stepping back to the podium. Dozens of extravagant floral bouquets adorned the altar, while small bouquets of white lilies were looped on the end of each pew, making the whole place smell like a flower shop.
“This is a big deal,” Max whispered as he looked around. “I see, like, major politicos in attendance. The governor, a couple of state senators, even a judge or two.”
“There’s probably a huge contingent from DSN, too,” Afton said.
They slipped into a pew at the very back of the church.
“There’s no casket,” Afton said, staring up at the altar. “Do you suppose Odin’s already been cremated?”
“If he was, it was better than Barber got. And that other poor shlub.”
They studied the guests while the organ played, the choir sang, and the minister delivered a somber, heartfelt eulogy, making a big point of calling it a memorial rather than a funeral. Afton couldn’t help but wonder if the killer or killers might be here right now. Probably not the Asian man, but the older woman could have easily slipped in unnoticed. If she was intent on bringing DSN to its knees, then she may very well have come to gloat and survey her handiwork. Sitting there in the dark, cool church, she was chilled by the notion.
Because they’d arrived so late, they hadn’t been forced to sit through the entire service. Now, as the minister said his final words, a less somber tune rang out from the choir loft overhead. Afton recognized it as Mozart’s “Sanctus.”
Max nudged her with his elbow. Sunny and Terrell had stood up and were walking down the aisle now. Both of the women wore stunning black outfits and jaunty black hats. And, sure enough, Sunny had a shiny bronze urn cradled tenderly in her arms.
Sunny and Terrell were followed by the attorney, Bob Steckel, who walked alongside Governor Mark Lindsay. The governor was accompanied by what had to be two press secretaries, since they’d already pulled out their mobile devices and were tip-tapping away. Then there was another contingent of at least four dozen people, all dressed in black, but very stylish, Neiman Marcus–type black.
There was a gate-crasher, too. Hack sat on the opposite side of the church from Afton and Max, perched in the second to last row. He’d pretty much slept through the long, boring service, but now that the processional was taking place, he was suddenly alert. His eyes followed Sunny and Terrell as they walked somberly down the aisle, and he took a good long look at them. Both women struck him as being extremely classy and moneyed, especially Terrell, the daughter. She was young, very attractive, and projected that rich-bitch up-your-ass attitude, a not-so-subtle warning that she thought she was better than everybody else. Hack studied the women carefully and wondered what use they might be to him. Not right now, but perhaps eventually.
• • •
WHOA,” Max whispered in Afton’s ear as they scanned the exiting crowd. “There’s Fan Ling.”
Dressed in a skintight black sheath dress and carrying her coat, Fan Ling was ghosting her way down the side aisle just to their right.
“Let’s stop her,” Afton said, jumping to her feet. “Talk to her again.” She was out of the pew and ducking around the back of the church, dodging a marble baptismal font and grabbing Fan Ling by the elbow just as the girl was about to escape out the side door.
“What do you want now?” Fan Ling hissed.
“Please. Just a quick conversation,” Afton said as Max hastily joined them. They stepped outside into cool sunshine and Afton said, “You heard about Jay Barber?”
“Yes,” Fan Ling said, looking fearful. “It’s terrible.” Then she seemed to muster her anger and said, “Can’t you people catch these killers?”
“We’re working very hard at doing exactly that,” Max said.
Fan Ling’s jaw tightened. “Work harder.”
“What’s going on at DSN?” Afton asked. “Are they taking any extra precautions?”
“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you take it up with the security detail out there?” Fan Ling said. She pulled away from them and tossed her coat on over her shoulders. “Now please stop pestering me. I have to go on the air in two hours.”
“That was productive,” Afton said. Fan Ling had given them nothing. Then again, her expectations had been low. Did Fan Ling have anything new to give them? Probably not. Just more attitude.
“Let’s hurry up and grab Sunny,” Max said.
“Shake her up a little,” Afton said.
They pushed their way through a crowd of mourners over to where the line of black limos was parked. Two limos were already pulling away and Afton surmised that the governor and his contingent were being whisked off to some important meeting. Or maybe it was just lunch.
Sunny was standing next to a stretch limo, getting ready to climb inside.
“Excuse me!” Afton called out. She stuck an arm up and waved at her.
Sunny hesitated, then turned and looked. In her black sheath dress, black cashmere wrap, and dark glasses, she looked impressively widowed. She also wore a large-brimmed black hat that looked like something Alexis or Krystle would have worn in the old TV show Dynasty.
“Mrs. Odin,” Afton said, “may we have a word with you?”
Sunny practically snarled. “Now?”
“Please,” Afton said.
“You want to talk to me on the day of my husband’s funeral?”
“It’s pertinent to the case,” Max said.
“Which case?” Sunny asked. “The helicopter crash or my husband’s murder?” She slid her sunglasses up onto her forehead and stared at them with red-rimmed eyes. “Or maybe you’re talking about Jay Barber’s murder, which I just found out about a few hours ago. Have you solved either of those murders yet?”
“Not yet,” Max said. “If we could just ask you a few more questions . . . ?”
Sunny put a hand to her throat. “Can’t you see that I’m absolutely heartbroken? My husband is dead and now I learn that poor Jay’s body was discovered at some horrible pig farm!”
“There was another body found there, too,” Afton said.
Sunny looked stunned. “What?”
“It was discovered very close to Barber’s body. We’re fairly sure this person worked at the university hospital. That he might have been the inside man, the one who alerted the shooters as to when the helicopter was coming in for a landing.”
“You mean this person might have been a kind of lookout?” Sunny asked.
“That’s right.”
“And now he’s dead?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Afton said.
“Well, good.” Sunny’s mouth twisted harshly. “It sounds like he deserved to die.”
“Momma?” Terrell called from inside the limousine. “Come on, we need to get going.” She sounded both annoyed and bored.
“Please,” Afton said, reaching out to gently touch Sunny’s shoulder to try to con
nect with her. “We really need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Today?” Sunny asked. She looked completely unstrung. “Now?”
“If you could manage it, yes.”
“All right.” Sunny heaved a loud sigh. “Follow along to the house, then. We’re having a catered luncheon for family and friends. You can . . .” She gave a tired finger wave. “Whatever. Come along and I guess we’ll find someplace to talk.” From her expression, Sunny looked as though she’d rather gargle strychnine than talk to them.
33
SUNNY seemed genuinely surprised when Afton and Max showed up on her doorstep.
“Oh,” she said, meeting them at the door. “You did come after all.”
“We appreciate your taking time to speak with us again,” Afton said.
Sunny fingered the strand of baroque pearls at her neck and frowned, as if she’d just had second thoughts. Then she (not very graciously) invited them to come inside.
“We’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” Max said, looking around. “Since it looks as if you have a fairly large group to entertain.”
“Friends,” Sunny said of the fifty or so people who were crowded into her home. They were all talking animatedly and sipping drinks. “Some of Leland’s coworkers are here, too.”
Sunny’s hands fluttered nervously as she led them through a crush of people and into the library, where an enormous buffet table had been set up. Because there were so many people milling around, Sunny was doing her best to put on a fake cordial face.
“And please, Detectives, do help yourself to a bite of lunch,” she trilled. “La Dolce handled all the catering, and they’re particularly known for their fabulous scones, smoked salmon, and goat cheese quiche.”
“Appreciate it,” Afton said. “But we’re really here to talk.” It was as if Sunny had popped a Xanax or something. A happy pill. Five people were dead and she was suddenly smiling, acting like the bountiful lady of the manor.
“If we could go somewhere a little more private?” Max suggested.
Sunny got a little less happy. “I suppose.”
They moved from the library into a crowded sitting room, finally ending up in the butler’s pantry amid shelves lined with Rosenthal china and Waterford crystal.
“Mrs. Odin,” Max said. “First your husband was murdered and now Jay Barber. Someone seems to be picking DSN apart piece by piece.”
“We’re worried that you could be next,” Afton said.
Sunny looked panicked. “Me? Why would I be next?”
“If you were somehow complicit,” Max said.
“Excuse me?” Her blue eyes shone with fear. “What are you talking about?”
Afton decided to go in for the kill. “Mrs. Odin, did you set your husband up to be murdered?”
Sunny was practically speechless. “Wha— Absolutely not! Why would I do a dreadful thing like that? I . . . I loved Odin.”
“Even though he was bopping Fan Ling?” Max asked, rather inelegantly. “You know she visited your husband at the hospital the night he was killed.”
From the look on Sunny’s face, Afton could see that this information came as no great shock to her.
“That bitch!” Sunny said, her face transforming into a feral snarl. “I’m going to have her fired. For all I know, she’s the one who killed Leland.”
“We don’t think so,” Afton said. “But we still believe you might be privy to some important information.”
“What are you talking about?” Sunny asked.
“Is there something stored in the DSN warehouse that we should know about?”
“Like what?”
“Drugs?” Afton said. “It could be the reason why your husband was killed, why Jay Barber was kidnapped and murdered.”
“How would I know anything about that?” Sunny cried. Then, “Drugs? Leland wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs. Believe me, he was a straight arrow. Just last year he contributed over a hundred thousand dollars to the Republican Party.”
“We think there’s some sort of connection with Asia,” Afton said, a little more gently this time. “With a company called Kantana Industrial Group in Thailand.”
Sunny looked puzzled. “Thailand? We traveled there once, but that was years ago.”
“If you can think of anyone at all who might be behind this. A business contact in Asia perhaps?”
“I suppose it could be anyone my husband did business with,” Sunny said. “He flew to China, India, and Thailand at least seven, maybe eight, times a year. Right up until the time he got really sick and his doctors wouldn’t allow him to travel anymore.”
“Did he ever mention any problems that he encountered in Thailand?” Afton asked.
Sunny pressed her lips together tightly, then said, “Everything in Asia was a problem.”
“You mean there was a disgruntled vendor?” Max asked.
Sunny made a rude noise. “They were all disgruntled. Always on the take. Leland used to fly over there with duffel bags full of gifts. Rolex watches, Louis Vuitton wallets, Cartier pens. It’s called guanxi in China. I don’t know what they call it in Thailand and India, but I know it exists there, too.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Afton said. “What is that? What exactly does guanxi mean?”
“Tea money,” Sunny said. “A bribe. The price for doing business.”
Max did a sort of double take. “Your husband had to bribe people?”
“He had to bribe everyone just to do business. Government officials, factory owners, factory foreman . . . they were all on the take.”
“I had no idea,” Afton said.
“No . . . well,” Sunny said. “Maybe we were just used to it.” She gave a small, involuntary shudder and said, “Now I’m really getting scared. Everything you’re telling me . . . this is really bad. I’m starting to fear for my life. For my daughter’s life, too.”
“We’re going to park a plainclothes officer outside your house for the time being,” Max said. “Until we catch these people.”
“Not on the boulevard,” Sunny said “You can’t park on the boulevard.”
Max rolled his eyes. “We’ll work it out.”
• • •
AFTON and Max also wanted to talk to Terrell. They found her at the buffet table high-grading the chicken salad, picking out the most tender bits of chicken and the plumpest pecans.
“If we could have a minute with you?” Afton asked.
“Now?” Terrell said. “In case you didn’t notice, this is a funeral luncheon. With guests.” She glared at them. “Besides, I’m busy eating right now.”
“This won’t take long.”
“Whatever.” Balancing her plate, Terrell led them into the living room, heading for the solarium.
“Is there someplace more private that we can talk?” Afton asked.
“Not really.”
Afton nodded toward a closed door. “What’s in there?”
“I don’t think . . .” Terrell began.
Afton pushed the door open to find a small, well-furnished office, what she figured had to be Leland Odin’s home office. “Okay,” she said. “This looks perfect.”
“Sure,” Terrell said. “Whatever trips your trigger.” She slipped past Afton and plopped herself down behind a large rosewood desk that had papers strewn all over it. She tidied the papers into a stack and set them aside. “Now. What’s so damn important that it can’t wait?”
Max went through his routine, asking her the same basic questions he’d just asked her mother. Had she ever heard of Kantana Industrial, blah, blah, blah.
Terrell gave mostly monosyllabic answers, scraping at her plate, never really meeting his eyes.
“So you don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” Max said finally.
Terrell put one elbow on the desk and cupped her chin. “That’s about right.”
“You’re quite positive?” Afton asked. “Because the bodies are starting to pile up.”
Terrell gazed at them, the insolent look of a poor little rich girl. “And you think that’s my fault?”
“No,” Max said. “Certainly not.”
“Then get back out there, will you, and . . .”
“Let me guess,” Max said. “And do my job.”
“Whatever.”
• • •
BACK in Max’s car, they cruised around Lake of the Isles Parkway. Lake of the Isles was basically a swampy, soggy parcel of land that had been drained back in the eighteen hundreds. Today it shimmered in the faint midday sun with two small islands poking up in the middle of the lake. Refuges for returning birds.
“Terrell’s a pain,” Afton said. “But Sunny was a lot nicer to us today, don’t you think?”
“Maybe she thought we were pro-swan.”
“Cygnus,” Afton said.
Max turned up Kenwood Parkway, driving past a fountain that was dedicated as a memorial to the horses that died in World War I, then past the much-photographed mansion that would forever be known as the Mary Tyler Moore house.
“Do you think I should get some of that Grecian Formula stuff?” Max asked.
“What?” Afton said. This had come shooting out of the blue. “You mean for your hair?” She turned to look at him, thinking he must be making a joke, but seeing that he was dead serious.
“No, for my armpits. Of course for my hair. I’m worried that I’m starting to bear a slight resemblance to Father Time.”
“Trust me, you don’t.” Afton wondered what had prompted that concern? Max was much more into humor than vanity.
“My kids told me I looked old.”
“Not at all. You look . . . seasoned,” Afton said. Max was what she’d call a scratch-and-dent kind of guy. A little banged up on the outside, but still plenty of life packed inside him. He’d be a great catch for a woman who liked a certain type of silver fox and didn’t mind the baggage of stinky teenaged boys.
Max cut over to Hennepin Avenue and hooked a right on Twenty-fourth Street. “Listen, I’ve got an idea.”
“What’s that?”
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