Alvie rolled down her window and downed the first bottle of water with the pizza. She’d save the other bottle for later. She didn’t want to have to leave to pee in the middle of it all and lose her tail on Kelton.
That was fast. Kelton was back in his truck by five thirty-five. He took the same route Alvie did to her own house. Past the golf course, on the south edge of town, Kelton took a right, then an immediate left into the first driveway. Alvie continued driving, did a U-turn at the next intersection, and parked. Kelton had pulled into the garage, so it had to be his place. A townhouse: another surprise. She’d figured he had a big house and token wife. Not much traffic on the street at all. Good. She waited awhile then drove home. Surveillance was a tiring job.
19
Marion McIllvery arranged a Sunday afternoon memorial service in Oak Lea for Arthur Franz three days after his death. Then his body would be taken to Duluth for a funeral at his home church and burial in the family plot. Maybe Marion could keep the details of her intimacy with Arthur from his mother, her aunt. They were attorneys and perhaps provisions had been made in the event Arthur died before his mother. That scenario seemed likely since he had chosen the time of his death.
Sara reached me on my cell. “Are you planning to go to Arthur’s service?”
“Yes, but I’m working, so barring an emergency—”
“Will you be lining up with the sheriff’s department?” she asked.
“No, I may have to leave, so I’ll sit in the back.”
“I’ll get there early and save you a place.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Sara.”
Two funeral services in less than two weeks. Both Judge Fenneman and Arthur Franz had died unexpectedly, leaving unanswered questions and unresolved issues. I sat in the second pew from the back next to Sara and scanned the sea of county employees, from the black clothing the county attorneys had chosen collectively to wear, to the block of brown, crisply-pressed uniforms of the sheriff’s department deputies. I felt proud to be among them, united in their support of Arthur, his work and his life, despite the circumstances of his death.
Arthur’s death. The thought sent chills through me, and I had the same weird feelings, both that something was wrong, and that I was being watched. I fought against turning around to see who was behind me. When the service ended, I whispered goodbye to Sara and scooted past her before the procession of mourners began down the center aisle.
I glanced sideways down the pew behind me and was a little shocked, but somehow not surprised, to see Ms. Eisner looking at me. She gave me a half-smile. How odd. Did she make a practice of attending funeral services? Probably right up her creepy alley. At least Rebecca wasn’t with her. The more time spent away from her grandmother, the better.
I was barely outside the church when my pager buzzed. Communications. I depressed the call button on my portable radio.
“Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”
“Six oh eight, are you clear to take a call?” It was Robin.
“Ten-four.” I opened the door to my squad car.
“We have report of a home burglary. The party just got home from a weekend at his cabin and found his back door jimmied open. Ready to copy the address?”
“Ten-four.”
“One fourteen, that’s one-one-four, Stony Creek Way, Rockwell. You’ll be meeting with Max Cromley.”
“Copy that and show me en route.”
“At eighteen thirty-five.”
Rockwell sat ten miles southeast of Oak Lea on the Crow River, the eastern border of Winnebago County. Cromley lived in an upscale neighborhood overlooking an upscale golf course. It was the first home burglary I could recall in the area, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the start of more. I asked him all the usual questions. The only person he suspected was a young man who cleaned his pool once a week. Cromley had refused to give him a requested raise, and he’d quit. I took pictures of the damaged door lock and dusted for latent prints.
Investigation was becoming a favorite part of my job.
Nick called me on my cell phone a little after ten. “How is work going tonight? Busy?”
I had finished writing a fix-it ticket for a broken taillight a minute earlier. “Pretty steady all night. And, you know, Arthur’s service was this afternoon.”
“How was that?”
“Okay, I guess. Arthur was a very private man, personally, but he had lots of professional colleagues and contacts. There were hundreds of people. Very sad.”
“A real shame.”
“How was your weekend with the family?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m glad we went. Faith and her grandmother are crazy about each other. They get too lonesome if we don’t make the trip at least monthly.” Nick’s voice quieted to a near whisper. “Corky, I miss you. Why don’t you stop over after work?”
“I’d love to, but it could be late, and you need your beauty sleep.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” he invited.
“You know, if you start getting all tired and haggard looking, the little old ladies on the board who have a crush on you might blame me,” I kidded.
I was falling in love with his baritone laugh.
“Who says the little old ladies on the board have a crush on me?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
He laughed again. “How about lunch tomorrow, before you go to work?”
Monday. “Sure, sounds good. Where and when?”
“Come to my office at twelve thirty, I’ll order from the deli. Sure you won’t stop by, at least for a goodnight kiss? I’ve never kissed a woman in uniform before, and I want to see what it’s like.”
“I’ll wear my uniform to lunch tomorrow, so don’t order sloppy joes or juicy fruit,” I instructed.
“Yes, ma’am. Goodnight, dear Corky.”
“Night, Nick. Sleep well.”
Dear Corky. What was I going to do about that man?
I was pulling into the sheriff’s department lot shortly before eleven when my personal cell rang again.
“Corky, it’s me.” Sara on the other end of the line. “In the middle of something?”
I keyed my way into the office. “Just about to file my reports. What’s up?”
Sara spoke in hushed tones, unusual for her. “I just got home from Brian’s, and I think someone was in my house. I would have called Brian, but there were still a few people at his house when I left.” Deputy Brian Carlson was one of Sara’s good friends.
“A break-in?”
“Not exactly. My back door wasn’t locked.”
“Sara.”
“I know, I know, don’t lecture me. I went to Brian’s after the service and didn’t plan to stay so late. He had some other friends over, and time got away from me.”
There were times I could wring her neck. “Is anything missing?”
“Not that I can see.”
“How do you know someone was there?” I asked.
“Some things are moved.”
“Did you talk to anyone else, another friend who might have stopped by? Maybe your family was down to pay you a surprise visit?” I suggested.
“They would have left a note, but they never do that anyway. It’s a two-hour drive, and they always call before leaving. None of my friends would come in my house when I’m gone and move things.” I could hear her opening and closing cupboard doors and drawers.
“Good point. You sure no one’s in the house now?”
“Gosh, I didn’t look everywhere, like the basement.”
Oh, Lord. But I spoke calmly. “Okay. Go out to your car and lock yourself in. I’ll be right over.” I ran back outside and jumped in my squad car.
“Corky, I don’t think anyone’s here.”
“Probably not, but just do what I ask. Are you on your cordless?”
“Yes.”
“Take it with you and call if you see anything suspicious.” I heard her screen door squeak open and close.
“Okay, okay.�
�
Sara didn’t live far, maybe two miles away. I phoned Communications. “Will you send an Oak Lea officer to Four-zero-two Willow Drive, Sara Speiss’s house? She came home and suspects someone was there when she was gone. I’m heading there now, and as a precaution I’m requesting back-up in case someone is still in the house.”
“Any indication there might be?” Jerry asked.
“No, but Sara didn’t go through the house. I’ll wait for Oak Lea.”
“It shouldn’t be long. The midnight officer went ten-eight a minute ago and has nothing else pending.”
“Thanks.” I was at Sara’s by the time the call ended. The development she lived in was about ten years old and had been carved out of a wooded area of maple, elm, and oak trees. It was unusual to have so many old, mature trees in a relatively young development. The residents were a mix of first time homeowners and people who had retired and downsized from larger family homes. The developer had constructed mostly ramblers, with a few split-entries intermingled. Sara had moved out of an apartment and into her two-bedroom rambler a few years before.
I spotted Sara sitting in her vehicle in the driveway. She had a detached garage without an automatic opener and rarely parked in it, except in the winter. I pulled my squad to a stop at the curb, out of sight from the house, and walked to her car. Oak Lea Officer Casey Dey joined me in less than two minutes.
We planned our entry as though a person was in Sara’s home. Officer Dey went in the back, via the sliding glass door, and Sara unlocked the front door for me. We did a sweep through the main level then met at the top of the basement steps to go down together. Officer Dey stood on my left. We drew our guns and sat on the first step, then scooted to the second and third. Sara threw on the light, and we scanned the basement for intruders. The basement was unfinished: one big open space with a little furniture and some storage containers.
I waved Officer Dey down the remaining stairs and we walked through the lower level. Sara joined us when it was evident no one else was there. “Anything out of place or missing down here?” Officer Dey asked.
Sara looked around a few minutes. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“Okay, let’s go upstairs and I’ll take a report,” Dey said.
“Is that necessary?” She shot me a “thanks a lot” look, but I merely shrugged in return.
“It’s just a formality. Only take a few minutes,” Officer Dey assured her.
Sara repeated for Officer Dey what she had told me on the phone. She didn’t think anything was missing. “But my things have been moved, and my cupboard doors have been opened.”
“What do you mean?” Officer Dey asked.
“See how you have to shut the left door first, then the right door fits tight?” She demonstrated, and we both nodded. “Two of them are closed with the right door first. And the crock on the counter?” We looked where she pointed. “I keep it here.” She slid it over a few inches.
“And that rug is pushed. I straighten it if it gets bunched up, so I don’t trip. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I know where I keep things, and since I’m the only one here, they can’t move themselves. And I never close the doors that way.” She pointed at the cupboards again.
Officer Dey recorded her words in his memo pad. “Anyone you know might have been here?” he asked.
“No.”
“Okay. Could be neighborhood kids. As long as nothing is missing, I’ll file my report as a ‘Trespass, suspect gone on arrival.’ If you discover anything else, let me know. And keep your doors locked,” Officer Dey said as he handed Sara his card. They stared at each other for a moment before he left.
“He’s pretty cute,” Sara said. “I’ve never seen him before. Know anything about him?”
“A little. He grew up here, a couple of years older than me. Let’s see. I remember he was on the football team. And I heard he enlisted in the service for a few years after high school. He worked as a cop for Saint Paul for a while and got hired here last month. I don’t know him well, but he’s a decent guy. No scandals in high school, and he passed background investigations for two departments.”
“It sounds like you know quite a bit about him, but you left out the most important part—is he single?”
“I know he’s not married, but I don’t know if he has a girlfriend or not. You have his card—call him sometime.”
She tacked his card to the bulletin board by her kitchen phone. “Maybe I will, or else we’re bound to run into each other in court one of these days.”
“True. Hey, back to the reason I’m here. It’s probably nothing to worry about, but I’ll feel better spending the night here.” I depressed my radio button. “Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”
“Go ahead, Six oh eight.”
“I’ll be ten-seven.” Off duty.
“You’re ten-seven at twenty-three-twenty-eight.”
“Cork, you really don’t have to stay,” Sara argued.
I countered, “I know, but you are my best friend, and we haven’t had a sleepover for a long time.”
“Sorry, I got an early day tomorrow. I need to crash. Help yourself to food, drink, a shower, bed. And thanks, Corky. I’m glad you’re here.” She gave me a hug.
“Now, get some sleep. I’ll pull my squad into your driveway. Oh, can I borrow a pair of pajamas?” I didn’t feel like driving home for a change.
“You left some here last time. I washed them and put them in the spare room dresser.” Sara was much more organized than I.
I lay in bed wondering who had gone into Sara’s house, apparently to snoop around. There was no doubt in my mind someone had been there. Sara was particular without being a fanatic about it. I knew what it was like to live alone—your things stayed where you left them. Sometimes I wished a magic elf would come to my house when I was gone and clean up my messes, but an uninvited person in your home was another concern.
Could it be neighborhood kids, not realizing they were doing anything wrong? Or one of Sara’s probation clients? She must have one hundred, maybe two hundred cases a year. More than one of them was bound to be angry with her, but they seemed more likely to storm into her office than sneak into her home. I was more worried about someone obsessed with her, stalking her, wanting to touch her things. We’d talk to the neighbors and see if any of them had observed a stranger hanging around lately.
I needed to change the subject to relax. I turned my thoughts to Nick and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
20: Alvie
Things had started out so good. She knew the little sergeant was working and wouldn’t be in the way for once. Alvie slipped out of the church and into her man disguise and got to Speiss’s house ahead of her. She didn’t even have to hide. The back door was open, easier than she’d thought it would be. Until the probation officer didn’t come home, that is. Where could she have gone? Alvie waited two whole hours and couldn’t wait any longer.
What was the reason for these interruptions and delays? Speiss was slated to be number two, then got bumped to number three, then bumped again. What was Alvie supposed to do? What if Speiss didn’t make it home at all tonight? Rebecca was due home around seven o’clock, and Alvie had to have another one done by then. It was the twenty-fifth of July, and time was running out.
Good thing she was prepared. A smart planner was always ready. If plan A didn’t work, you went to plan B. As long as Speiss wasn’t the last one, it was okay. Jason Browne had to be last. Save the best, or in Jason’s case, the worst for last. Dirty double-crosser deserved double the punishment.
Wasn’t that the way you wanted it, son?
21
My pager went off at four minutes after seven Monday morning. My hand fumbled on the bedside stand to retrieve it as my mind struggled to remember where I was. I focused my eyes, saw it was Smoke paging, and dialed his cell phone number.
“Corky, you up?”
“No,” I groaned softly.
“The day sergeant called in sick,
and we’ve got a situation. Can you come in early?”
The urgency in his voice propelled me to a sitting position.
“How early?”
“Now?”
“I’m at Sara’s. I’ll have to go home, get a clean—”
He interrupted. “How long will that take?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m on my way over to Marshall Kelton’s. He’s dead—apparent suicide.”
“You have got to be kidding me. What is going on? Arthur, now Marshall?” The shock pushed me into full consciousness.
“I’ll know more when I get there. Officer Dey from Oak Lea is securing the scene.”
The Oak Lea Police Department investigator, Detective Garvey, was on vacation for two weeks, and the sheriff’s department was assisting with some of the cases in the city.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
I had seen clean underwear in the drawer next to my pajamas, and my uniform was clean enough to pass inspection. I brushed my teeth and hair, splashed water on my face, dressed, and donned my duty belt and gear. I heard Sara’s alarm ring, then stop. I called out a quick, “Thanks, talk to you later,” and was out the door in under seven minutes.
I depressed the talk button on my radio. “Winnebago County, Six oh eight.”
“Six oh eight?” It was Carmen, one of the day shift communication officers.
“I’m in service and en route to Detective Dawes’ location.”
“Copy that. You’re ten-eight at seven twenty.”
Marshall Kelton was a public defender and had moved in with his brother to a townhouse on the south side of Oak Lea when his wife kicked him out a few years before. He enjoyed partying more than being a family man. His wife had finally said, and rightly so, that enough was enough.
We were at the same retirement party one night and Marshall had surprised me by asking me on a date, but didn’t push the issue when I politely turned him down. Marshall was at least fifteen years older than me, divorced with teenage kids. The only thing I could see we might have in common was the time we spent together in the courtroom. As the public defender, he represented most of the people I arrested, so I was called to testify in his cases on a fairly regular basis.
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