Dunn ignored her and quickened her pace to the quad.
Bernadette ran to keep up. “What do you think happened? You have a motive in mind?”
“I have some possible scenarios.”
“Such as?”
“Here’s one possibility. Kymer Thompson was stealing ibogaine from the Freshie to get it for the church’s rituals. Maybe he started blackmailing her.”
“We’ll need to check the logs at the Freshie.”
“Logs can be forged.”
“So how do you think we can prove—”
“I said it’s a possible scenario, Becker. I don’t have the answers. This is all speculation.” Dunn thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Besides, you’re the one who asked.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“If my wild guess is right,” Dunn mused, “Kymer Thompson sees the priest’s nice expensive home, her Mercedes, he figures he’s taking the risk of getting kicked out of the program if he’s found out. Then he ups the price. Maybe negotiations get out of hand.”
“And how does that explain the syringe?”
Dunn shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”
“And how does Eddie Taysatch play into this?”
“He notices the missing ibogaine. He threatens to go to the cops.”
“Does he threaten to blackmail her too?”
“It’s one possibility. I bet after we talk to Roundhouse, we’ll have a better idea where to focus our resources.”
“I shouldn’t have asked,” Bernadette said. “We both need to go into this with an open mind.”
Dunn scoffed. “Now you sound like you’re advocating the use of iboga bark. If I put a little pinch between my cheek and gum, it’ll open my mind, is that it?”
Bernadette barked a laugh. “That’s exactly it, Detective. Me, an investigator with the Controlled Substances Analysis Bureau, encouraging a police detective to get high on a schedule 1 narcotic.”
Dunn grunted.
They found themselves at the front door of the chapel. A sign hung on the door reading No Tours Today. Dunn reached out and knocked.
The chapel docent—the one Bernadette had interviewed—opened the door a crack. “Sorry, ladies,” she said, “we’re not offering any tours—” Then she saw their faces. “Oh. It’s you again.”
Dunn held up her badge. “We’d like to speak with Vivian Roundhouse. Is she in?”
The docent stepped back and pulled the door open.
Chapter Thirteen
They walked into the chapel, Dunn leading the way. Bernadette removed her knit cap and, as she stepped into the aisle, a shiver ran down her back. It was hard to tell if the chill in the Winterstone was real—or if it was a product of the cold March day and the open chapel door.
Vivian Roundhouse knelt beside a wooden table in the apse, taking tall red candles off the table and placing them in a long, squat box on the floor.
“Good afternoon, Reverend Roundhouse,” Bernadette said.
Roundhouse glanced up but continued with her work. “You were at my house yesterday. You’re the federal agent.”
“Investigator,” Bernadette corrected. Oof, she sounded so pedantic. “This is Detective Kerrigan Dunn from the Milwaukee Police Department.”
“I hope these candles aren’t a problem for you,” the reverend said. “I’d hate for there to be some controlled substance in the wax.”
“We have a few more questions.”
Roundhouse cackled. “I didn’t think you came here to get on the guest list for Tommy’s anchor ceremony.”
Bernadette cocked her head. “Anchor ceremony?”
“His memorial service,” Dunn said to Bernadette.
“I am not she that list my anchor to let fall,” Roundhouse recited. “Anne Askew believed her journey through this life was as a ship crossing the sea. Our Tommy has crossed.”
“When is the ceremony?” Bernadette said.
“Friday evening.”
“Is it all right if we pay our respects?”
Roundhouse looked into Bernadette’s eyes. “Are you serious?”
“If it’s not appropriate—”
“No, it’s fine,” Roundhouse said. “We’d be happy to have you.”
Roundhouse set down the two candles in her hand, grabbed the edge of the table, and pulled herself to her feet. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No.” Bernadette cleared her throat. “Were you looking for Tommy on Monday night?”
Roundhouse knit her eyebrows. “Monday night? No.”
“You didn’t visit Tommy’s girlfriend looking for him?”
“Of course not. Why would I have done that?”
“We have a witness who puts you at Annika Nakrivo’s door shortly before the murder.”
Roundhouse shook her head firmly. “I was nowhere near the campus that evening. You heard Suzanne—I was with her all evening.”
“Yes,” Bernadette said, “and since I received conflicting information, I’m trying to clarify where you were. You didn’t go to campus first and then come back to your house?”
“No. I worked on my sermon in my study all afternoon. Suzanne arrived about six o’clock.”
“Where’s your study?”
“It’s one of the spare bedrooms in my house.”
“So you didn’t leave the house after midday?” Dunn asked.
“No.” Roundhouse glared at the two of them. “Is that all?”
“One more thing,” Bernadette said. “Does Agios Delphi own a light blue van?”
Roundhouse pursed her lips. “May I ask what this is about?”
“Can you answer the question, Reverend?” Dunn said, a touch of menace in her voice.
Roundhouse paused. “The church does have a van, yes.”
“Where is it now?”
“One of our members has offered to garage it for us.”
“Garage it for you?”
“That’s right. You may have noticed that there’s no room for our church materials at the Anne Askew Chapel,” Roundhouse said. “Many of the items we need for our services can go in boxes in my trunk, but the van—when we need it—can’t be kept here.”
“Who’s storing the van?”
“I told you—a member of the church.”
“Which member?”
Roundhouse looked from Bernadette's face to Dunn’s and crossed her arms. “I don't believe I’m obligated to provide that information to you.”
“Listen, rev—” Dunn began.
Bernadette interrupted. “That van was involved in a shooting earlier today, Reverend.”
A pause. Roundhouse blinked rapidly. “Is—is Suzanne okay?”
“Suzanne?” Bernadette said. “That’s Suzanne Thao, who I met at your house yesterday?”
“Is she okay?”
“No one in the van was shot, Reverend,” Bernadette said. “We believe someone shot a gun from the van and injured a co-worker of Kymer Thompson.”
The Agios Delphi priest reached for the edge of the table and leaned against it. “But Suzanne’s okay?”
“We don’t know who was there,” Dunn said. “I didn’t get a good look at the driver. You’re saying that Suzanne Thao stores the van at her residence?”
Roundhouse shook her head. “Not at her residence. She owns a commercial property in Walker’s Point. We keep the van there.”
“Does she rent out the property?” Dunn asked.
“Not yet. She bought it cheap after Superior Salt & Feed went out of business. But it’s been sitting empty for a while. She plans on renovating the property before she offers it for lease again.”
“And she lets the church keep its van there?”
“Yes, and we’ve put some items in storage in the warehouse. She’s working on retrofitting part of the building for a conference room so our elder board can meet.”
“Do you know where Ms. Thao is?”
Roundhouse scowled. “No.”
Bernadette stepped f
orward. “Your church is listed as the registered owner of that van, Reverend, so we have to ask. Where were you at ten thirty this morning?”
“On my way to the chapel.”
“Were you in the van?”
“We keep the van at the warehouse. I was in my own car.”
Bernadette turned to Dunn. “All right,” Bernadette said, “let me confer with my colleague.”
“Ask anyone,” Roundhouse said. “I got here at ten forty-five. Walked straight in.”
Bernadette nodded and she and Dunn walked together into a corner, behind the pews. “What do you think?”
“The apartments are only a few blocks away,” Dunn said. “She could have shot him and gotten dropped off here. An accomplice could be getting rid of the van right now.”
“Maybe we need to go to the salt warehouse. See if the van’s there.”
Dunn shook her head. “I don’t think it is. The way the shooter’s probably thinking, we could have officers there before the van could get back.”
“You think if the shooter is Vivian Roundhouse and the driver is Suzanne Thao, they’re actually taking all of that into account? Maybe they didn’t think anyone would see them, and that Suzanne would get back to the warehouse without any problems.”
Dunn shook her head again, more adamantly this time. “No. I don’t buy it.”
“But it’s enough for a search warrant for her property, isn’t it?”
“Roundhouse’s property? No. It’s probably enough for the warehouse, but not where Roundhouse lives.” Dunn flexed the fingers of her right hand. “You have anything else you want to ask her?”
“Not right now.” Bernadette frowned. “But if it’s not Roundhouse or Thao, why use this van?”
“Could be someone else at the church.” Dunn squinted. “Maybe someone’s trying to put the blame on the church. Or one of the members.”
“Roundhouse has to be our prime suspect. She doesn’t have a good alibi. She’s the head of the nonprofit that owns the van.”
“It’s all circumstantial. Besides, you saw her react when she heard there was a shooting involving the van. She wanted to know if Thao was okay.”
“Right,” Bernadette said, “but even so, given the evidence, and having Eddie Taysatch in the hospital, with his life still in danger, we can’t let her go.”
“If we bring her in, the clock starts ticking on when we can formally charge her,” Dunn said. “I’m not confident we can build a case against her in forty-eight hours.”
Bernadette was silent.
“We could get a couple of uniforms to watch her after we check out the salt factory,” Dunn said. “Can’t be a big priority—we’re already getting slammed by the chief for all the overtime this month—but it’s better than nothing.”
“We can’t let Roundhouse leave, though, can we?” Bernadette asked. “I mean, she might have shot Eddie this morning.”
Dunn shook her head. “If we can’t place her with her van, we can’t place her at the scene of the shooting.”
“I don’t like it.”
Dunn clenched her jaw. “Unless you want to get her on some fake federal domestic terrorism charge, we can’t bring her in. We could ask her to come down to the station with us, but what exactly would we ask her there that we didn’t ask her here?”
Bernadette stared out the passenger window of Dunn’s cruiser on the drive back to the District 5 station. The snow had lightened into occasional flurries.
She couldn’t get Eddie’s pleading eyes out of her mind, the incredulity that he’d been shot. She closed her eyes for a moment. Eddie would be all right, wouldn’t he?
She figured, when she’d gotten demoted to case analyst, that her days of excitement in the field were over. Then a flash of Sophie’s face—only a what if—but she saw Sophie’s face crumple when in her mind she was told that her mother had been shot in the head and wasn’t coming back to Virginia.
Bernadette’s phone rang, and her head snapped up as her eyes popped open. She hit Answer and put the speakerphone on.
“Becker.”
“Hi, Bernadette. It’s Maura.”
“Oh, hi, Maura. You’re on speaker—I’ve got Detective Dunn here with me. Any word from Dr. Woodhead?”
“Not since he said he’d meet up with you and Dunn later.” Maura paused. “How are you two doing?”
“We believe the shot came from the Agios Delphi van. But we’re not able to connect Vivian Roundhouse to the vehicle. It wasn’t stored near Roundhouse’s residence or the Anne Askew Chapel.”
“I asked some of my officers to go to the warehouse where the van was stored,” Dunn piped up. “It’s the old Superior Salt & Feed in Walker’s Point. Out of business for a few years. Roundhouse’s girlfriend keeps it there.”
Maura was silent.
Bernadette glanced at Dunn, but her eyes were on the road. “What is it, Maura?”
“Didn’t Annika Nakrivo say that Vivian Roundhouse had visited her on Monday night?” Maura responded. “The night of the murder?”
“That’s right.”
“Roundhouse drives a Mercedes.”
“Right,” Dunn said. “Neighbor across the street took her dog outside about nine forty-five. Swore the Mercedes was in the driveway.” A note of uncertainty hung in her voice.
“What is it?” Maura asked.
“Probably nothing—but most of the people in that neighborhood are well off.”
“So?”
“It’s winter. If they can, they put their vehicles in their garages.”
“There are many good reasons not to have a car in a garage,” Bernadette said. “Even in winter. Even if you’re rich. And you don’t have to be a murderer for any of them.”
“No,” Dunn said carefully, “but you’ve met women like Vivian Roundhouse before. You saw how meticulous her house is. She’s a control freak.”
“Maybe the garage is where she lets it all hang out,” Bernadette said, a smile touching the corner of her mouth. “Maybe it’s crammed to the brim with old magazines and broken file cabinets and trash she refuses to throw away.”
“Or maybe,” Dunn said, “she parked it outside in the driveway specifically so people passing would think she was home.”
“Hang on,” Bernadette said. “Didn’t she say she was over at Suzanne’s?”
“No. Suzanne was at her house. Not the other way around.”
“She still could have been at Annika Nakrivo’s dorm,” Maura said. “She could have gone in Suzanne’s car. Or in the van, for that matter. Maybe she parked it near campus Monday night. Then she took it to shoot Eddie Taysatch this morning.”
“It’s all speculation,” Bernadette said. “No real motive, no sign that she was at any of those places.”
“I’m telling you this so you don’t rule her out,” Maura said.
Dunn snickered. “Oh, there’s no chance of that.” Her phone rang and she answered it, holding it to her ear with one hand as she drove with the other. “Dunn.” A pause. “Okay. Let’s keep the APB. Widen the search area to neighboring counties.” She pulled the phone away from her face. “Officers arrived at the old salt warehouse. Gate’s open. No sign of the van.”
“Any cameras in the area?” Maura said.
“We’re checking, but the warehouse didn’t have cameras, and there aren’t any businesses near that area—not near enough to get a good look at the property.”
“Still, maybe we can see the van drive by at some point.”
“It’s a long shot,” Bernadette said.
“Better than the shot we have now,” Maura said. “Where are you heading?”
“Back to District 5,” Dunn said.
“Did you get a statement from Douglas Rheinstaller?”
Dunn hesitated.
“Oh,” Bernadette said. “The guy who punched Eddie Taysatch a couple of days ago.”
“I know.” Dunn glanced at Bernadette. “Send his address.”
“He lives in Bay View,” Ma
ura said. “I’m texting the address to Bernadette. Bring him in to the district office. If he won’t come voluntarily, arrest him on suspicion of assault. It’ll give us some leverage.”
“We’re heading through Bay View right now.” Dunn cleared her throat. “I did some background on Rheinstaller yesterday. This guy’s been a commercial fisherman twenty or thirty years. Do you think holding him on suspicion of assault will make him talk? He’s used to being on a boat, confined in a tiny space, for days on end.”
Bernadette’s phone dinged; it was the address.
“Being in open water is a lot different than being confined in a cell,” Maura said.
“True.” Dunn sighed. “I want him off the streets too. He punched a scientist who was trying to do his job, and now that scientist has been shot. But I want you to know—I don’t expect him to talk.”
“Of course, Detective Dunn,” Maura said. “We’ll support your decision.”
“Thank you,” Dunn mumbled.
Bernadette gave Dunn the address and Dunn nodded.
“If you do bring Rheinstaller down to the station, try to do it in the next hour. We’re talking to the IT worker responsible for the lab—Nick LaSalle. He’ll speak with Curtis about the keylogger programs found on Kymer Thompson’s machine. Bernadette—you may want to sit in.”
“Are we talking to the LaSalle at the Freshie?”
“We’re still negotiating the location.”
“Are you going to call Dr. Woodhead again?”
“As soon as I hang up with you,” Maura said.
The cruiser turned onto a residential street with small, one-story homes set back from the street. About a hundred yards away on the right side of the street, a man in a parka, a Boston Bruins winter hat, and a light blue scarf covering his face stood stoically on a shoveled driveway.
“Never mind,” Bernadette said. “We found him.”
“It’s about time you got here,” Kep Woodhead said. “I was losing confidence that you’d arrive at this address.”
“What are you talking about?” Bernadette said, closing the patrol car door behind her. “You’re the one who’s gone AWOL for the last few hours.” Her boots crunched on the snow.
Ceremony Page 14