Relative Malice (3 page)

She gritted her teeth. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll check it out.”

3

After leaving her father, Kendall started putting all the information from the case on a whiteboard. Since she couldn’t very well do an end-run around Whitehouse’s plan to put off a meeting until the next day, she talked to the other officers and added everything they had accumulated. It wasn’t much, but it would keep things organized and would look like progress to the lieutenant.

When her phone rang, she saw the call was from her uncle. She opened it, certain more pressure to move into the apartment above The Rat Pak was imminent.

“Kenny, I know your dad told you about the apartment. Listen, Morrie is a good guy, and he’s real fussy about who he rents to. A cop living there would be cheaper than an alarm system for him. I think he’d give you a break on the rent.”

She acquiesced. “I’ll take a look at it when I have a chance.”

“Your Dad and I are going to our Sons of Norway meeting tonight. We can stop in there when we get done. Maybe I’ll see you there later?”

“Don’t plan on it. I have to talk to a witness at eleven.”

“Morrie said he’d be around till closing.”

“All right. I’ll stop in if I’m done before then.”

Kendall closed the phone and saw Gene Tarkowski, an FBI agent out of Milwaukee who covered northwestern Wisconsin, walking toward her. Would the FBI try to muscle in on them?

“Hi, Kendall. Whitehouse around?”

Kenny wondered how long it would be before she’d be respected as half of an equal partnership. “No, he left for the night.”

The agent walked over to the board she’d filled in. He studied it for a minute. “Don’t have much, do you?”

“It’s a start. Nothing links the crime to anything personal with the family yet.” She resisted asking him the purpose of his visit.

Tarkowski’s bushy, gray-threaded eyebrows met over narrowed eyes. “What do you think?”

Asking her opinion. That was a start. “My gut says personal, but I couldn’t give you a concrete reason why. The girl, I suppose. The perps—or perp—spent a lot of time on her. It was ugly, with a lot of damage done to her face. She appeared to have been fiercely raped in every possible orifice.”

He studied the photos of Sienna. “Without anything else to go on, I’d have to agree with you. Have you looked into similar invasions?”

“We’re short-staffed—haven’t had a chance. The chief called a couple guys back in from vacation—deer hunters. They’ll be here in the morning, kicking and screaming.”

Tarkowski chuckled. “We’re in Wisconsin and it is November, isn’t it?” He took a seat in the chair next to Kendall’s desk. “There were some break-ins over the past twelve months or so that are similar to this one. The first was in Green Bay, the other one happened over in Stillwater last March. We got involved on the second one because it crossed the state line. I wasn’t on the case, so I don’t know any details off the top of my head.”

“I remember those. Were they the same doers?”

“There’s a possibility the Green Bay attack was drug related. There were never any strong leads on either one, but there were similarities. The same gun was used in both of them, which makes it pretty certain there’s a connection.

“I’m on my way up to the casino in Hayward to take some statements on an illegal gambling situation. I’ll see what I can get for you on the other invasions and stop back in tomorrow on my way home.”

The attitude among most of Kendall’s coworkers was not positive when it came to the FBI wedging themselves into one of their cases. But considering her partner’s abrupt dismissal of the case, Kendall figured they’d need any help they could get. She’d never heard anything negative about Tarkowski himself.

She watched him walk out, his stride long and purposeful, his reddish hair graying, his tall body still fit. Although younger than Whitehouse, probably in his early fifties, Tarkowski was just as close to retirement.

Kendall noticed the lieutenant moving in her direction; she thought he’d left for the night. Things just kept getting better and better.

Lieutenant Ray Schoenfuss ushered Kendall into his office and shut the door behind them. He faced her without taking a chair or offering her one. “Kendall, Hank just had a heart attack.”

“What?” That was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Diane just called me. He’s going to be okay, but they’re doing a bypass on him tomorrow.”

Kendall felt shallow realizing she wanted to ask Schoenfuss how Hank being gone would affect
her
. “That explains why he was in such a hurry to leave; he wasn’t feeling well. I’ll go see him. Which hospital is he in?”

“Diane said they didn’t want him to have visitors tonight. Not until after the surgery.”

Kendall didn’t know what to say. Was he going to make her ask him what he planned to do about Hank’s absence from the case? “We have a meeting set for tomorrow morning. I have everything outlined on the whiteboard, and I’m going to interview a friend of Chelsea Glausson’s tonight.”

“Good. Hank would want you to keep everything going as if he were still here. He won’t be back for some time, of course, and I’ve decided to let you take the lead until then.”

Elated, Kendall’s tightened diaphragm relaxed. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“You can’t work it alone, so I’m assigning you a new partner. Ross Alverson. He’s been around for a while and he’ll be an asset with this kind of thing. This case will be everyone’s top priority. Keep me in the loop, and remember I’m here if you need anything.”

Ross Alverson.
Fighting for control, Kendall excused herself and went back to her desk. Alverson was a scene-stealing, limelight-seeking, pain-in-the-ass womanizer. Kendall despised the man, but if she played her cards right, she’d be able to stay as independent of the slimy bastard as possible. She figured the one advantage of being a woman less than jaw dropping in the looks department was she didn’t have to worry about the Ross Alversons of the world hitting on her. She missed Hank already.

Her reports were finished forty-five minutes before her appointment with Chelsea Glausson’s friend, Betty Ruffalo. She wouldn’t have to deal with Alverson until the next day; he was one of the detectives who’d been called in from deer hunting. She’d have just enough time to hit a drive-through and eat a burger on her way to the interview.

“Detective Hall-shrood,” a voice said behind her, dragging out the pronunciation of her name. “I hear rumors it’s going to be the Ross and Kenny show from now on.”

Kendall’s nerve centers knotted. Alverson—back already. Dealing with him in her present state of mind wouldn’t be easy. Difficult to be diplomatic when you’ve been working for more than fifteen hours. “That’s Kendall to you, Detective.” At least she’d been able to control herself enough to add “Detective” rather than “asshole.”

“I hear we have an interview at eleven. Ready to go? I’ll drive.”

“Just so we’re on the same page, Alverson,
we
don’t have an appointment—I do. If you’re interested in what we have so far, I’ve outlined it all on the whiteboard. Acquaint yourself with the case. We’re having a joint meeting in the morning. I’ll talk to you then.”

Still wearing a camouflage suit with an orange vest on his tall, spare frame, Alverson held out his hands as if to ward off blows. “No prob. I’ll get right on it, sir.” He turned away, but she could swear he muttered something that rhymed with witch.

Kendall felt like she’d hit a brick wall as she drove to her appointment with Betty Ruffalo. Food would have to wait; by the time she left the station, there’d been no time for a drive-through. Her black suit felt like it was decaying on her body, and her feet were as numb as her overworked brain.

She hoped Alverson had gotten the message she was top dog in the investigation. He wasn’t a bad cop, really, just someone she didn’t like to be around. The dirtbag had even managed a lecherous eyebrow wiggle in her direction before she’d finished her speech.

Emilio’s Pizzeria sat on a side street near the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire campus south of downtown. Unable to forget her hunger, Kendall recalled the fare was especially good.

A few diners lingered in the small dining room that featured the ubiquitous red-checkered tablecloths and wine bottles topped with melted candles. The inviting scent of baking dough and tomato sauce trumped the cloying odor of hot candle wax. The background music sounded like the Three Tenors.

A teenage boy with spiked hair and dark circles under his eyes worked the register. He must have been looking for Kendall; he directed her to a back office where Betty Ruffalo, in a rumpled, tomato-stained white apron, sat behind a desk piled with papers and pizza boxes. Her face was tear-stained, and her makeup looked like the morning after a bender. She stood and offered her hand to Kendall.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kendall said.

Nearly as tall as Kendall, Ruffalo looked to be in her late forties. Her grip was warm and strong. She returned her generous body to the chair behind the desk and gestured for Kendall to take a seat across from her. “I can’t believe this is happening. I just saw Chels yesterday.”

Kendall had her notebook out. “And where was that?”

Betty raked her fingers through a head of thick, dark-brown hair a shade removed from black. It fell in loose waves that brushed the top of her shoulders, with only a few gray strands glistening at her temples. “Mark wasn’t working at the hospital last night. He offered to stay home with Evan so Chels and I could get together. She was housebound with her work, and with Evan, of course. We did a little shopping at the mall, then had dinner at Red Lobster.” She sniffled and reached for a tissue. “Good Lord, I would never have imagined it would be our last time together.”

Kendall waited while Betty wiped her eyes. “Ms. Ruffalo, can you think of any reason the family might have been at risk?”

“No, not at all. And call me Betty, please. I’ve been searching my memory all day. Chels didn’t get out much because of her son. You know about Evan?”

“Yes. He was autistic.”

“He was a handful, but Chels was devoted to him. She refused to consider institutionalizing him even when Mark tried to convince her it could make a big difference for the boy.”

“What about the baby? How did she have time to take care of her?”

“Philly was a little angel. Never caused a bit of trouble, a real dream child, luckily, since Evan was so high maintenance.” She dabbed at her eyes as she talked. “The only problem Chels ever had with Philly was her crawling out of bed at night. The little imp started doing it at nine months. I couldn’t believe it when Chels first told me about it. She and Mark panicked the first time Philly got out of her crib during the night. When they looked for her in the morning, she wasn’t in her bed or anywhere else in the house. They were afraid she’d been abducted, but she was asleep in Evan’s playhouse. Well, it’s not a house really. It’s a canvas cover pulled over a card table. Evan spent hours in it every day. He’s the one who found Philly, just when they were about to call the police.”

Interesting about the baby, Kendall thought. Could she be hiding somewhere they hadn’t looked?

“Detective Halsrud, I’m so sorry. I forgot to offer you something. Would you like a soda? Water? Something to eat?”

Kendall’s taste buds had been on red alert since inhaling the tantalizing smells in Emilio’s. But unlike many of her coworkers, she made it a practice not to indulge when offered a free meal. “I’ll have a water, thank you.”

Betty Ruffalo left the room. Kenny made a quick call to the officers on security at the Glausson house and asked them to go through the house once more, double-checking any place a small child might hide.

When Betty returned a minute later, she was carrying two bottles of water and a takeout box. “Are you hungry? I haven’t been able to eat all day, but maybe with some company . . .”

She opened the box, releasing a scent so inviting, Kendall would have recognized it as a pizza from a ten-foot distance with her eyes closed. But she never ate with witnesses. Or in front of them. “Sorry, I can’t. Thank you, though.”

“It’ll go to waste if we don’t eat it. Someone ordered it and didn’t pick it up. I just nuked it for us.” She handed Kendall a napkin and a bottle of water.

Hell with it.
Just this once.
Kendall reached for a slice of the steaming pizza, thick with cheese and pepperoni. Neither of them spoke as they ate, giving Kendall time to think about what she still had to ask her witness. She’d wolfed down two pieces of the pie before realizing Betty hadn’t finished even one.

“What can you tell me about their marriage?” Kendall asked. “Were they happy?”

“As happy as any, I imagine. Chels wasn’t one to complain about her husband like so many women do. I know they loved each other.”

“So, nothing stands out that was problematic?”

“I met Chels when my granddaughter was in the pediatric ward at St. Luke’s. She had lymphoma, but she’s in remission now. Evan was there at the same time; he was only about three and had broken both his legs jumping off the roof of the garage. He was a difficult patient because of his autism. Chels never left his side. We spent a lot of time together.

“The only issue I know about happened before I met them; they lived in the Twin Cities at the time. Mark worked at the VA hospital. He got the notion that he needed to make a difference—he wanted to spend a year in Iraq. Chels opposed the idea, of course. Evan was a difficult child, and she was working full-time. They moved here, and Mark left for Iraq only a few weeks after they got settled. I think her agreeing to let him go to Iraq was a trade-off for his willingness to move the family here.

“Chels wanted to raise their children away from the Cities. She wanted a simpler life for her kids. Anyway, with Evan in the hospital, and Sienna in grade school, she had a tough time coping with it all. I’m not sure she ever forgave Mark for not being there for them.”

“Why Eau Claire?” Kendall asked.

“I’m not really sure. She told me she’d done a lot of research before deciding. I suspected she hoped if they lived here, Mark would mend fences with his brother.”

“Did she tell you why they were estranged?”

“She did—in confidence.” Betty paused. “It doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose. I’m sure you’ll be talking to Gray soon if you haven’t already. His name is Graham, but Chels said he prefers Gray. I don’t know the details, but she told me there’d always been a rivalry between the brothers. After their mother gave birth to Graham, she was told she couldn’t have any more children. So when Mark came along barely a year later, he was their miracle child. When Mark entered medical school he achieved sainthood in his parents’ eyes. The real problem between them was because of money. The Glaussons paid a fortune to put Mark through medical school, and then when Graham got out of the Air Force and asked for a loan to start a business, they turned him down.

“That’s more or less the gist of it.”

Kendall felt her body aching for sleep as the heavy food hit her stomach. “Do you know if Dr. Glausson kept any drugs in the house?”

“I know Chelsea told him she didn’t want any around. He kept a medical bag with a few emergency supplies in his car, but that was it as far as I know.”

“How about money? Do you know if they kept much cash in the house?”

“I really don’t know about that. Chelsea always used a credit card when I was with her.”

Kendall closed her notebook. She’d talk to Betty Ruffalo again, but later, when she was more clear-headed and had different questions.

“I think that’s all I need for tonight, Betty. Thanks for talking to me.” She handed Betty one of her cards. “Please, call me if you think of anything that might be important.”