FBI Agent Jade Monroe: Live or Die 03-Blood Reckoning

by Sutter, C M

  “Sounds like a plan.” I headed to the passenger door.

  “Jade?”

  “Yep?”

  “Good job seeing the car.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, partner.”

  We pulled through our headquarters’ secured gate at two o’clock. After going through our security process to enter the building, we took the elevator to the third floor. Renz turned left at the hallway, and I turned right.

  He looked back. “Where are you going?”

  “To grab us some coffee. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  He gave me a thank-you nod and continued on.

  After pulling the hot cups from the vending machine, I secured sleeves around both of them and carried them to our office. “So, what’s the word?”

  “I told Taft that we were here, and she’ll start the meeting as soon as everyone is back. She’s figuring in a half hour.”

  “Good enough. So should we assume the perp was waiting outside Dalia’s for Tamara to leave work last night?” I blew over my coffee and took a sip.

  “That’s how I see it. Is there any other way?”

  “Well, sure. He could have been waiting on a side road near her house. Or it could have been a road rage incident.”

  Renz shook his head. “Nope, not with garrote marks on her and four other people’s necks.”

  “Yeah, there is that. So he waited outside her work because he wasn’t absolutely sure she’d go straight home.”

  “Yep, and then once they were back in the boondocks where nobody was around, he struck. I guess instead of hitting her and having to get rid of her car later, it was easier to have it go over the edge. Luckily, you saw the sun reflecting off the metal.”

  “That was pure luck. Guess I was just enjoying nature’s beauty when I saw that, so don’t ever complain if I’m rubbernecking out the window.”

  Renz chuckled. “I promise I won’t.”

  By the time I’d thrown my Styrofoam cup in the wastebasket, it was time for our meeting. I grabbed the standard notetaking tools, and we headed down the hall. Fay, Kyle, Tommy, and Charlotte were already there. We were still waiting on Carl and Mike to show up. Taft walked in seconds later with Carl and Mike on her heels.

  With the go-ahead from Taft, I began with what we’d learned that day. We already knew from the police report that Tamara Kent was an only child, unmarried, thirty-one, and lived alone in a cottage on the bluffs of Lake Michigan.

  “We paid a visit to her parents, Mayor Michael Kent and his wife, Marie, who told us that Tamara worked hard as the night shift manager at Dalia’s, went on a two-mile run every morning, and was taking business classes at UWM in hopes of opening her own restaurant one day. She had no enemies that they knew of, and unfortunately, we didn’t have the chance to interview any of her workmates because of time constraints. We’d gone to Tamara’s home with her parents’ permission, did a walk-through, and found nothing amiss. As we left to continue on with the interviews, Renz drove the running route Tamara took every day from her house. As he made the final turn, I saw a flash from the sun bounce off something metallic or mirrored in a ravine that we’d just passed. Renz backed up, parked, and we walked to the shoulder’s edge to check it out. At the bottom of the ravine was a car, and it appeared like it had just gone down. Renz made the phone call to ask the Kent’s the color of Tamara’s car. Marie said it was cranberry red, and so was the car in the ravine. Long story short, the car was Tamara’s. Forensics has already taken it back to the crime lab’s evidence garage. We’re assuming the killer followed her from the restaurant last night but possibly scouted out her neighborhood first and realized he could use those ravines to his advantage.”

  Kyle huffed. “No need to get rid of her car. It was well-hidden, at least for the time being.”

  “Exactly. Unless Forensics finds the killer’s palm or fingerprints on the car, it won’t do much good as far as evidentiary value, but it does tell us a story.”

  Tommy agreed. “Yeah, that the killer likely knew where she lived, where she worked, and the time she ended her shift. The question still remains, why her?”

  “Or why any of them?” Taft said. “We learn that and half the battle is over.”

  Renz took his turn. “Anyway, we’ll try to make the other interviews tomorrow. Somehow, some way, those people are connected, at least in the killers’ minds.”

  As we went around the table with everyone’s reports, we learned that Pete Lawrence had a twin brother, Paul, who was a bartender. The mother was deceased, and the father walked out on the family when they were kids. Other than his wife and children, Pete’s best friend was Paul, and they had done everything together. Kyle said they’d interviewed the wife, but Paul was still too distraught to talk. He said the wife couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Pete.

  “I’ve heard that a twin really has a hard time when something happens to the other one,” I said.

  Taft nodded at Carl. “What did you guys learn?”

  “That Sheila Kam was a divorced woman with an adult son and daughter. We spoke with the daughter, who lives on the east side. She’s married to some high-profile attorney in town, so she was home when we came calling. The brother lives in New Mexico but is flying in tomorrow. Same answer most everyone else is getting—they can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt their loved one.”

  Taft put eyes on Tommy and Fay. “Go ahead.”

  Tommy began. “We spoke with Amanda’s parents, who own the resort she worked at as a server. Of course, they’re beyond devastated. We also spoke with a few of Amanda’s friends, who couldn’t think of anyone who would harm let alone kill her.”

  “Charlotte? You and Kyle interviewed the foreman’s neighbors, too, correct?”

  Charlotte nodded at Taft. “Yes, ma’am. We spoke with a few of George Patrick’s neighbors and workmates. He was a quiet guy but a good and fair boss. His mom and dad live in Florida, but they’re flying in today. We talked with them on the phone, and they said George never spoke poorly of anyone, not even the employees who reported to him.”

  Taft squeezed her temples. “So we have five exemplary people who had great relationships with everyone and nobody has ever heard anyone speak badly of them? Is that where we’re at?”

  I cleared my throat. “It looks that way, ma’am.”

  Taft rattled her fingertips on the table. “This case doesn’t jibe one bit. We’re missing that big picture we spoke of a few days ago. Every victim so far except Tamara is an average, everyday person who isn’t related to a high-profile individual like the mayor. Tamara doesn’t fit in with that demographic other than the fact that she worked nights at a restaurant and not in the political field like her father. What if her murder didn’t have anything to do with Tamara but was aimed at Michael Kent, to either send him a message or to break his heart?”

  “Then what about the others?” I asked. “Why were they killed? Were their loved ones meant to suffer, too, and for what reason?”

  “I can’t explain it, Jade, but I think we should start with the mayor and work our way backward. Maybe it’s really about him and everyone else is just a smokescreen.”

  I needed to change the subject for a minute and asked if the police had had any luck finding cameras around Erik’s duplex or anywhere near the alley where Brandon was found. Taft said she hadn’t heard back but would contact the police chiefs as soon as our meeting was over.

  Maureen stood. “I’ll follow up with the Erik business. What I want all of you to do first is see if any of the murder victims from last night had a relationship of any kind with the mayor. Then dig into chatter of who may have had a beef with the mayor over the last year. Start compiling names.”

  “But that could be anyone from all walks of life,” Renz said. “They could be politicians, administrators from dozens of programs and committees, neighbors, extended family, you name it.”

  “And there’s eight of you and an entire county of law enforcement personnel. I’d im
agine every homicide detective could pitch in and lend a hand.”

  After Taft walked out, I stared at the door. “How in the hell are we going to perform a task that overwhelming and get any definitive answers? Everyone gets pissed at city officials. It’s a fact. Then if we’re working with all sorts of officers and detectives, it’s going to end up being a shitstorm of monumental proportions.”

  Tommy took his turn. “That’s why we aren’t. We can handle this case ourselves. We’ll go back to the families and friends of all five victims and really press for more information and find out if any of them or anyone they know has an affiliation with the mayor.”

  I grunted. “Well, Renz and I may as well help you guys out because we already know Tamara had an affiliation with the mayor—he was her dad.”

  “No,” Carl said, “go press the mayor himself. If he’s honest with you, he’ll tell you if somebody previously had or currently has an issue with him.”

  Renz cocked his head. “I have to agree with Carl. Let’s go back to”—he air quoted—“Kent Manor and have a very serious and candid discussion with the mayor and his wife. Especially if he realizes that Tamara’s death might have been a warning to him, I’d think he’d want to be as open and helpful as possible.”

  Chapter 27

  Everyone left and went back to speak with the same people as before. They had to dig deeper and ask tougher questions, and they would expand their interviews to even more family and acquaintances if necessary.

  I made a courtesy call to the Kent home to say we were coming back with a different line of questioning for them. Mrs. Kent agreed but didn’t sound enthused that we were returning. I understood mourning as much as the next person who was going through that pain. In a time of sadness, having people pry and prod for information was annoying but a necessary part of law enforcement’s job.

  I hung up and let out a sigh. “I don’t think they want us back there.”

  Renz shrugged. “Do they want their daughter’s killer apprehended or not?”

  “I know, and I understand their feelings, but I also know what’s necessary for us to do our job. It isn’t always easy to find that balance.”

  “Well, we aren’t going there to coddle anyone. I can sympathize with them, but we still have to ask the tough questions.”

  Twenty minutes later, Renz pulled up to the intercom for the second time that day, and Mrs. Kent buzzed us through. When she pulled open the door, I did a double take. Marie looked like she had aged ten years since that morning.

  “Mrs. Kent, we’re sorry to barge in again, but we have very important questions to ask the mayor.”

  She tipped her head toward the living room. “He’s in there.”

  Renz and I passed by her and walked into the living room, where we found the mayor on a recliner with his chin resting on his chest. What appeared to be the same bottle of bourbon from that morning—with substantially less inside—sat on the table next to him along with a half-full glass. He was already well on his way to inebriation, and his head bobbed up and down like seagulls on waves as his wife called out to him. She got no response.

  I looked from him to her. “Mrs. Kent?”

  She shook her head. “He has a right to mourn any way he chooses, Agents.”

  “But we have very important questions to ask him.”

  “Then you should have asked them this morning when he’d only had one drink.”

  I sighed. “Ma’am, is there a possibility that someone has been threatening your husband? A politician, a city or county worker or administrator, a disgruntled employee, or someone who does or doesn’t want a building to go up or a permit to pass? Has someone blackmailed him?”

  Her expression changed, and the color drained from her face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t know anything about what goes on behind closed doors in the mayor’s office.”

  “Even to the point where your daughter’s death might have happened because of an unanswered threat?”

  She shrugged. “No, there’s nothing you can say or do to make me believe Tamara died because Michael ignored a threat of violence or retaliation against his office or our family. He would have notified the police.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, and if you’d like to speak with Michael going forward, please give us twenty-four hours’ notice. I’ll show you out.”

  We thanked her and left. After she closed the door and we were out of earshot, I felt comfortable speaking freely. “She’s hiding something.”

  Renz grunted. “Damn straight she is, and we’re going to find out why. I need to run this by Taft. I think we should keep everything we find out close to the vest, leave the other agencies out of it for now to avoid a possible leak, and figure it out between the eight of us. You know the saying about six degrees of separation?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s like the small world syndrome.”

  “Exactly. We need to find out if any of last night’s victims knew the mayor, knew somebody who knew the mayor, or were somehow related to or worked for the mayor. That can’t be too hard to do.”

  “Should I call everyone so they press those particular questions?”

  “Let me explain our theory to Taft first.”

  Ideas rolled around in my head like the steel balls in a pinball machine as Renz spoke with our boss. He had her on Speakerphone, but I was in my own world and knew he would explain the conversation to me later anyway. Was there really a chance that the other four victims had some connection to Michael Kent and they all died because of it? Was Marie hiding that information to protect her own ass as well as the mayor’s?

  Another theory popped into mind as Renz hung up. I needed to explain it to him before he began with Taft’s suggestion.

  “Okay, so Taft—”

  “Hold up. I need to verbalize this before I forget.”

  “Yeah, go ahead, then.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “This idea just occurred to me while you were talking with Maureen.”

  “So you weren’t listening?”

  I swatted away his comment. He knew damn well that I wasn’t listening. “Just hear me out.”

  He nodded.

  “So we know Marie is hiding information. The only reason would be to protect her and Michael, especially with what just happened to their daughter.”

  “Exactly, and I’m assuming Tamara’s murder was meant as a warning to the mayor.”

  I held up my finger. “But what if Marie’s silence isn’t about protecting them physically?”

  “I’m not following.”

  “What if it’s about protecting the family integrity and Michael’s mayoral position? What if it’s about a scandal? Can you imagine the damage a scandal would do to the family dynasty, to their name, to his position in the city? He’d become a pariah, and so would she. They’d lose their standing in the community with their highfalutin friends.”

  Renz raised his brows. “Okay, so you mean like impropriety with an assistant or something of that nature? An employee might have witnessed an illicit deed and now wants to blackmail the mayor or extort favors or money?”

  “Maybe. He does seem to drink a lot. Maybe he drinks in his office, came on to one of his staff members because he was half in the bag, and didn’t think of the consequences of his actions.”

  “Or maybe people have seen him drinking on the job. He could be making bad decisions because of it.”

  I sighed. “But you’d think the deputy mayor or Michael’s personal assistant would step in, fix whatever he might have messed up, and go about their day.”

  Renz groaned. “Maybe we’re going overboard with these speculations.”

  “Okay, maybe we are, but something was serious enough for their daughter to be murdered over it, and I believe the others were killed to make a point. That would mean they’re all connected to the mayor, one way or another.”

  “Yeah, the six-degree thing. Anyway, Taft s
aid to let the others know to press on the questions about knowing the mayor and that you and I should go to Dalia’s and try to interview a few people there. We don’t have time to wait until tomorrow.”

  Chapter 28

  We headed to the east side, where Dalia’s was located. Renz found street parking, and although it was getting close to their suppertime rush, we needed to talk to at least a few of Tamara’s closest employees.

  We entered the restaurant, and a smiling hostess asked our names. Renz explained that we didn’t have reservations but needed to speak with whoever was filling in for Tamara Kent. He discreetly showed the hostess his badge.

  She looked around then pointed at a young man who had stepped behind the bar. “That’s Derrick, and he has the most seniority. He was Tamara’s second in command, so he would be the person to talk to.”

  We thanked her, approached Derrick, and asked to speak with him privately. He led the way to the manager’s office and pointed at the set of guest chairs that faced the desk. “Please, Agents, have a seat and tell me what I can do to help. We’ve all been interviewed by the police already.”

  “We’re aware of that and don’t intend to ask the same questions. We know you’re doing your best, and I promise we won’t take up too much of your time.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Did Tamara ever mention feeling like she was in danger, not because of anything she had done but due to her father’s position in the city?”

  “Because he’s the mayor?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  We waited as Derrick thought. After twenty seconds or so, he answered. “I don’t think she ever worried about being in personal danger, but she had mentioned on several occasions that her mom seemed stressed.”

  “Did she say why?” I asked.

  Derrick scratched his cheek. “No, but it had something to do with her dad. I don’t know if she meant in a personal way or in a work capacity, though.”

  “Okay, anything else?”