by Neal Griffin
“You yourself said those pictures are shit. Cell phone camera in the dark with no flash.” Ben didn’t give up. “Or what if the spatter was super-high velocity? Microscopic? Maybe your camera just didn’t pick it up.”
“Excuse me?” Tia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Super-high … what are you even talking about?”
Finally opening his mouth, Travis said, “Or how about this? What if—”
“Jesus, enough already!” Tia chopped the air with her hand and raised her voice. She needed to get these guys back on point. “What’s with all the damn what-ifs?”
The Chief and the sergeant both stared at her, silent. She said what she knew to be the obvious truth. “What if somebody put the gun under his chin and pulled the damn trigger?”
After a long silence, Ben spoke, sounding as if he was mostly talking to himself.
“Occam’s razor.”
“Exactly,” Tia answered, relieved that he seemed to be coming around. “Right up there with ‘keep it simple, stupid.’”
“Okay. I’ll bite,” Travis chimed in. “What razor you talking about?”
“Occam’s razor,” Ben repeated.
“Who’s Occam?” Travis asked, looking confused.
“Some dead guy. It’s not important.” Ben explained, “Occam’s razor is the idea … the principle, really, that when you’re trying to solve a problem or figure out an occurrence, and you’ve got different possible solutions, pick the simplest one. The fewer assumptions, the better odds you have of being right.”
“Really?” Tia looked across the desk, doing her best to come off dull-witted. “So, like, don’t assume he took his shoes off and put a stick between his toes? Or somehow created invisible, microscopic blood spatter with a twelve gauge?”
Ben and Travis exchanged a look of respectful exasperation that Tia was more than familiar with. She liked it when she could shut them down.
“Bottom line,” Tia leaned back on the couch and did her best to convey the argument was over, “Henry’s stature and the dimensions of the gun add up to an indisputable physical obstacle to suicide.”
“Okay,” Ben said. “But I’m getting calls from city hall. I’ve got to tell the mayor something. What I hear you guys saying is that this is murder. A well-crafted and staged one at that. Is that what we’re going with?”
Tia looked at Travis and gave a deferential sort of shrug, but said nothing. She looked back to Ben. “That’s where we’re at, Chief.”
“Fine,” Ben said. “Then we best kick this thing into gear. What’s the plan?”
“We’re getting a list today of all staffers and volunteers who were at the retreat,” Travis explained. “So far, they’re pushing back on giving up the names of the attendees. I get that. I mean, they’re all minors, so the church has parents all up in their grill about it. Eventually we’re going to need those names, too.”
“I can start with the staff list,” Tia said, checking her phone for missed calls or texts. “Reverend Mills is supposed to call when he has it ready.”
“Ezekiel Mills?” Ben sounded intrigued by the idea. “He still talking to you?”
“No,” Tia said, “he’s not. But his son is. Sam Mills.”
“There’s another Reverend Mills?” The Chief sounded surprised.
“He’s a preacher at a smaller church in Milwaukee. Seems like a reasonable guy—more than his old man, at least. I guess you could say he’s our emissary. That’s a religious thing, right, TJ?”
“Yeah, and we need one.” Travis looked at Ben. “Somehow that whole ‘do what I say or I’ll arrest you’ thing plays hell on a man’s spirit of cooperation.”
Ben moved on to a new issue. “So what all do we know about our victim? Known associates? Priors?”
Tia nodded. “He definitely had some run-ins with the law down in Rock County. Mostly nickel-and-dime stuff. Spent some time up at the Lincoln School. According to the deputy I talked to, he’d only been out a few months. I’ll follow up on it.”
“What about next of kin?”
“Not a pretty picture. Dad’s dead. Mom’s got a heroin habit. Looks like Henry was her hook-up. Kept her in H.”
“I swear,” Ben said. “If you had told me ten years ago that there would be a heroin epidemic in Wisconsin farm towns, I never would have believed it. It’s like Oakland in the early nineties, just with cows, corn, and white people.”
The room went quiet with the stark reality, until Ben spoke again. “Well, if you need to, reinterview her. But we’re going to need a full profile on our victim.”
“I have to give it to the woman,” Tia said. “She wasn’t buying suicide. Screaming murder all the way.”
Ben nodded, then asked, “What about the nine-one-one call?”
“I’ve listened to the recording,” Tia said. “I’m guessing white male adult, but it sounded like he was trying to disguise his voice. Low tone, muffled. Called himself Henry, which tells me he knows our victim.”
Ben nodded. “Didn’t want to give his own name, so he panicked and used the victim’s.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Tia looked down to her notebook. “Phone is dead. Doesn’t even go to voicemail.”
“Burner outta minutes?” Chief asked.
“Most likely,” Tia said. “But it was two o’clock in the morning in the middle of the woods. Only one tower to ping off of out there.”
Travis spoke up. “We’ll write a warrant for a tower dump. See if the caller made calls to any other numbers. Even without subscriber info, we can work it backwards from there.”
“Makes sense,” Ben said.
“I’d like to get at least a week’s worth of data. Track the activity for the days leading up to the shooting.”
Travis nodded. “Only problem is judges don’t like us getting our hands on a lot of personal data that isn’t crime related.”
Ben looked to Tia. “You know a friendly judge?”
“I know a few. And if I can’t get a judge to sign off, I know some black hats. I can get the info one way or another.”
Ben shook his head. “Don’t go there.”
“Didn’t bother you when it was your ass in a sling,” Tia said, smiling.
“Yeah, it did, you just never bothered to ask. Keep it legal. Write the warrant and get it signed.”
“You got it, boss.” Tia wasn’t going to argue the point. She was pretty sure that based on the latest developments indicating homicide, she could justify a legitimate search warrant for a tower dump. That way, if whoever dialed 911 used the phone to make any other calls, those numbers would be listed.
Ben stood up, his way of signaling it was time for them to get at it. “All right. Sounds like you guys have plenty to do. Get the list from Mills, go at the mom again, get the medical records confirmed, and write paper for the cell records.”
The detectives got up and Travis opened the door just as Mortimer Kowalski reached for the doorknob from the other side. The ME practically fell into the office.
Carrie was right behind him. “Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but Dr. Kowalski said it was urgent.”
With a nod to Carrie, Ben said, already looking at Tia, “Hello, Mort. What brings you over?”
“I need to meet with you, Chief.” Kowalski looked at Tia. “Privately.”
Tia smiled at the doctor then turned to her boss. “I can stay if you want.”
“I said privately.” Kowalski glared and Tia then turned back to Ben. “Please, Chief.”
“If this is about the Hayes boy, I’ll need Sergeant Jackson in here. He’s supervising the investigation.”
“Fine.” Kowalski glanced Tia’s way and she saw his look of satisfaction. “Perhaps it would be best if the sergeant stayed.”
The Chief nodded his head toward the door. “Tia, you know what needs to be done. Get started. We’ll brief again soon.”
Tia stopped in the doorway and turned, not at all certain she liked the idea of the doctor being allowed to tel
l one side of what had been a dicey situation. She took a step back toward the office, ready to object to the arrangement.
Travis looked sheepish but Ben seemed to read her mind. His tone left no room for discussion. “Close the door on your way out, Tia.”
EIGHTEEN
Tia sat alone at her desk in the bullpen office she shared with the three other Newberg PD detectives. She’d been trying to work on the search warrant for nearly an hour, but her mind kept wandering down the hall. She wanted to walk down to the Chief’s office and find out firsthand what sort of bullshit Kowalski was peddling. If one thing made her crazy about working in this hick town, it was the good old white boys’ club. Every politician, every city department head, every mover and shaker of any sort was part of the clique. A clique that Tia was excluded from by more than one obvious disqualifier. Ben wasn’t exactly an active member, but there were times he benefited from the network. Then again, she reminded herself, he had never disrespected her and he sure as hell had never stabbed her in the back.
“But still,” she said out loud. “This is bullshit.”
Her mind made up and ready for a fight, Tia was halfway out of her chair when her phone chimed with a text from Sam Mills. He had her list and was offering to drop it off at the PD. Tia had a better idea. Some fresh air and time away from the building would do her good. After a quick back and forth, Tia headed out, making sure to pass by the admin wing on the way. The door to the Chief’s office was still closed. Her slow burn went up a few degrees but she kept walking.
On the sidewalk, headed for downtown, Tia forced herself to reassess. There were times she was ready to say the hell with it and walk away. But the obvious question was, then what? Tia knew the truth. She was no Travis Jackson, a great catch for a more prosperous department. After two high-profile shootings, a well-documented psychiatric breakdown, and a department-wide reputation for hitting the bottle, Tia Suarez was damaged goods. Skills or no skills, no PD would even think about bringing her on. In some ways, when it came to the law enforcement job market, Rich Puller had better prospects. If she wanted to be a cop, the only place for her was Newberg PD under the watchful but protective eye of Ben Sawyer.
So, what then?
The hell with Kowalski. The disclosure of Henry’s condition, plus the physical measurements of the gun, sealed the deal. Livy had been right all along. Henry was murdered and the killer was devious enough to stage the scene as a suicide. There was no denying it. It was time to stop talking, stop analyzing, and find out who killed him.
The coffeehouse was filled with the usual midday crowd, drawn by the aroma of the daily roast. Tia scanned the room and saw Alex Sawyer near the back of the shop, where several shelves were stocked with collectible hardcover books.
Tia walked up behind Alex, who was sorting through a box of new arrivals. “Hey, you. Anything good?”
Alex was already smiling when she turned and gave Tia a hug. “Hey, stranger. Where’ve you been?”
The two women embraced. The Chief’s wife, Alex, was Tia’s closest female friend and Tia typically stopped in at the shop every morning before heading to work. It had been several days since she’d last visited. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Alex smiled. “I caught your onstage performance on the news. Nice job.”
“Oh, you saw that?” Tia scrunched her face and waited.
“Sure did. I thought you handled the good Reverend very well. He’s a pompous ass, from everything I hear.”
Tia laughed. “I wish you were chief, because that’s not how your husband feels about it.”
Alex laughed in return. “Because when it comes to dealing with the press, he should talk, right?”
Tia smiled. This was why she’d told Sam to meet her at Books and Java. She and Alex shared a bond no one else could fully appreciate. When Alex had been accused of murder and faced the possibility of spending her life in prison, Tia had stepped up and helped set things right, nearly getting shot to death in the process.
More than that, she and Alex shared another level of intimacy, one that flowed from the relationship each of them had with Ben Sawyer. For all his flaws, they knew he was a good and honest man. Seeing Alex now reminded Tia that while Ben was her boss, he was also her friend. The bitterness she’d carried into the store faded away.
“Definitely.” Tia spoke with warmth. “Ben Sawyer. King of media relations.”
Before she could say anything else, Alex looked past her. The smile on her face shifted to one Tia called her “professional hostess look” and she said, “Hi. Can I help you with something?”
Turning, Tia found Sam Mills standing immediately behind her, a thin manila envelope in his hand. Sam nodded toward Alex but spoke to Tia, extending the envelope toward her.
“Hi, Detective. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve got that list for you.”
“I told you, Sam. It’s Tia.” She took the envelope and gestured at Alex. “This is my friend Alex Sawyer. Alex, Sam Mills.”
“Hi, Sam.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. Any relation to the police chief?”
“Which one?”
Sam looked confused. “I don’t follow.”
“My husband, Ben, is the current chief. My dad, Lars Norgaard, is the former chief.”
“Really?” Sam sounded genuinely interested.
“Sam’s got the legacy thing going on in his family, too,” Tia said. She figured she’d better let Alex in on the relationship. “His father is Ezekiel Mills.”
“Oh.” Alex nodded politely. “Are you a pastor?”
“Yep. Like father, like son.” Sam seemed anxious to leave the subject and nodded his head toward the envelope. “So anyway, Detective, you’ve got your list.”
“Great.” Tia looked inside the envelope and saw several sheets of typewritten names, addresses, and phone numbers. “Thanks. This is really helpful. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me. Eva put it together.”
“Uh, sure.” Tia laughed. “I’ll drive right over to the campground. Thank her in person.”
“Yeah, you did leave an impression with her, too. But we’re all moved out of the campground.” Sam gave a polite smile to both women. “Anyway, I should probably head back down to the city.”
“Where’s your church, Sam?” Alex asked.
“First Friendship Church of Milwaukee.” He seemed almost embarrassed. “Little place on the north side.”
“You’re that Pastor Mills?” Alex’s face lit up in response. “First Friendship? Isn’t that the church spearheading the social enterprise project, 53206?”
Sam seemed pleased by the recognition. “Yeah, that’s us.”
“I’ve heard great things about that, Sam. Really exciting.” Tia could hear the admiration in her friend’s voice. “Listen, if there is ever anything I can do … maybe some job training or just donate some free-trade coffee? I’d love to get involved.”
“Wow, Alex. That’s really cool of you,” Sam said, sincerity apparent in his voice. “I might just take you up on that. A coffeehouse like this? That would be a great fit. But like I said, we’re still getting things off the ground.”
“Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Sam turned to Tia and offered his hand. “Well, I guess I’ll be taking off.”
“Thanks again, Sam.” They shook. “And seriously, I didn’t mean to rock the boat with your dad or even Eva, for that matter. I was probably out of line with both of them.”
“We all could have handled this better. But no real harm done.” Sam stopped and shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that. The boy…”
“It’s okay,” Tia said. “I get what you’re saying.”
The minister nodded, said goodbye again, and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Tia turned to her friend. “Damn, Alex. You’re practically swooning. Good thing your husband wasn’t here.”
“Oh, stop.” Alex turned her attention back to the b
ox of books. “Do you know about the First Friendship Church?”
“Never heard of it. Anything like his dad’s church?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? First Friendship is all about community outreach and urban renewal. They’re heading up this crazy-ambitious social enterprise project, the 53206 Transformation Project.”
“Come again? ‘Social enterprise’?”
“Geez, Tia. Don’t you read the paper?”
“Mostly I read crime reports,” she said with a shrug.
“You should branch out. I saw an article about a year ago in a coffee free-trade magazine.” Alex looked Tia up and down. “Lefty rag. Cops probably would never pick it up.”
Tia laughed and took a seat. “Yeah, probably not. What did it say?”
“The church is sponsoring what amounts to a micro-version of Amazon, except all the products are made by people in the community. Everything would be made locally and shipped from the 53206 zip code.”
“Impressive.” Tia nodded. “To bad it has to be in Kil-town. It’s a dying city.”
“You’re a cynic.”
“No. I’m a cop.”
“Same thing.” Alex shelved two of the books. “Personally, I think he’s on to something. We all know that local is the way to go. Does he have something to do with your case?”
“Not really.” Tia looked out the door and saw Sam getting into a beat-up Toyota Corolla that made her Crown Vic look high end. “Just helping us ferret out a few leads. ID some witnesses.”
“So now you’re thinking it’s not suicide?”
“Still up in the air, but in my opinion? It’s a homicide.”
Alex stopped shelving the books. She spoke as someone who was an expert on Ben Sawyer, “Well, just remember, your opinion is the one that counts.”
“Right.” Tia nodded and grinned. “In theory, at least.”
The noise level in the shop had grown; Tia and Alex both looked toward the counter and saw the line had grown longer. Alex sighed and said, “I’d better help out. Come by tomorrow morning before the rush. Let’s talk.”
“I’ll try, Alex. Good to see you.”