Relative Malice (9 page)

Kahn couldn’t care less about Philly Glausson. It was time to back off. Kendall followed Alverson out the front door and handed him the car keys. “I think you’d better drive.”

“You okay?”

“I will be if I don’t puke. That fucker’s rant was hard to take.”

“Yeah, but at least we know what happened to the kid.”

Too upset to argue with Alverson, she knew Jordan’s disgusting words could have been nothing more than payback for being taken into custody or for being confronted with the Glausson photos. She hoped so. The alternative was too ghastly to contemplate, even for a cop.

13

Wednesday

When Kendall came to work early the next morning, Shchoenfuss paced in front of her desk.

“Halsrud and Alverson—in my office.”

They seated themselves across from the lieutenant, who’d taken the chair behind his anally neat desk.

“Halsrud, care to explain why you two went to Stillwater without my okay?”

Kendall said quickly, “It was my idea, sir. And I never told Ross we didn’t have your permission.”

“That doesn’t sound like an explanation.” He addressed Ross Alverson. “Is that true?”

Alverson hesitated. “Partially.”

“Partially?”

“She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. I figured we were on our own. I wanted to go. You know it’s hard to give up an important case.”

Schoenfuss rocked back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “I understand that. Which is why just this once I’m going to overlook it. Keep in mind it’s no longer our case. Unless we’re asked to assist, we’re out of it. That’s a direct order.”

“But Kahn’s ignoring the fact that the baby could still be out there somewhere,” Kendall protested. “He’s only searching for her body. And there might have been an accomplice. He’s not pursuing that, either.”

“Halsrud, you’ve done a good job on this case, but your involvement is over. If the child is alive, the Feds will find her; they’re still searching. They have more funds and manpower than we do. If there was an accomplice, it’s their problem, not ours. And there are still groups here searching for the baby.”

He raised his hand to Kendall’s objection. “No arguments. Ross, your partner is back tomorrow, and you can return to what you were working on before this hit the fan. Halsrud, you’ll be on your own until Hank either comes back or gives his retirement notice. I’ll have new assignments on your desk before noon. Are we clear on all that?”

“No, sir, we aren’t,” Kendall said. “I want to keep looking for the baby.”

Schoenfuss clenched his teeth. “Which part of a direct order don’t you understand?”

“It’s just that I hate giving up on the child. The media will be asking about her, and we’ll look bad if we aren’t doing anything.”

Kendall knew she’d gotten to him. He sighed. “All right, but it’s secondary to your other assignments. And don’t piss off the Feds.”

As they walked out of the office, Alverson said, “You’re a glutton for punishment, Kenny.”

Kenny.
Kendall, relieved by the reprieve from Schoenfuss, let it go.

________

Kendall’s new assignments sucked. The first one, a rape case, possibly a serial, wasn’t even in their jurisdiction. But Chippewa Falls PD was asking for help; they believed the rapist might reside in Eau Claire. The other case was a follow up on the virgin emails. Kendall had no idea what she’d do with that one. Even the Feds hadn’t been able to trace the website advertising for virgins.

Two sex crimes. Alverson would be the first to label her the Panty Police, a term passed around to any detective who happened to be working on a sexually motivated crime. Kendall hated to complain about it since that was the area she wanted to work someday, in a bigger city as part of a special victims unit.

The phone on her desk rang. It was the front desk. “Halsrud, there’s someone here to see you. I’ll send her up.”

Kendall watched Ruby Rindsig walk toward her. In jeans and a navy blue peacoat, a red backpack slung over one shoulder, Rindsig had the whole student look going. Contrary to the popular flat-ironed hair trend, she wore her fiery curls in a red mane that tumbled over her thin shoulders. Pink-cheeked from the cold, her face was bright with unexplored youth, causing Kendall to wonder if she, herself, had ever had anything remotely resembling that quality.

“I heard you were looking for me,” Rindsig said.

“That’s right. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

She took Ruby into the small conference room and offered her coffee. When they were seated across from each other, Kendall asked, “Are you aware that a while back, emails went out to high school girls offering them money in exchange for their virginity?”

The girl didn’t bat an eyelash. “Sure, I knew about it.”

“You received one?”

Rindsig’s hesitation gave away her first sign of uncertainty. The girl would be smart enough to know they might find out if she lied about it.

“Yeah. I got one.”

“Do you have any idea who was sending them?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. I thought it was gross. I deleted it right away.”

Kendall studied her for a moment, wondering what it was about the girl that kept bugging her. She remembered feeling Ruby was trying to move in on Jeremy Dahlgren, Sienna’s boyfriend. “Have you seen Jeremy lately?

“Sure. I see him at school; we’re in a lot of the same classes. We belong to the same study group. We told you about that.”

That didn’t give away much, although Kendall hadn’t missed the fact she’d said “we.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Pretty good, I think.”

“You haven’t asked him?”

“No. I guess if he wants to talk, he will.”

“Have you thought of anything else about Sienna that might help us?”

Rindsig shook her head.

Kendall had the feeling the girl knew more than she was telling but didn’t think it was the time to press her. “That’s all for now, Ruby. We may need your computer. In case you find that email on it somewhere, don’t delete it again.”

The computer comment broke through Rindsig’s posturing. Her green eyes shifted nervously as she stood to leave.

Kendall wanted that computer. “You could just leave it now. We’ll check if the message is still there.”

“Sorry. I have a paper due tomorrow, and everything I need is on it. I’ll drop it off some other time.”

Just then Joe Monson called over to Kendall as they left the conference room. “Kendall, the medical examiner called. He wants to talk to you. Something about the Glausson baby.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right on it.”

Ruby asked, “The baby? They said on the news the baby’s dead.”

“They say a lot of things on the news.” Kendall had been afraid once a public announcement revealed the baby had also been murdered, public interest would wane, making it harder for her to convince the lieutenant to keep the case open.

Kendall gowned up and entered the autopsy suite. Franklin Teed was dissecting the body of an elderly man while Zydeco music played happily in the background. Maybe that’s what it took for Teed to set aside the morbidity of his work—the upbeat music and years of working at the autopsy table.

He looked up from the open chest cavity. “Detective Halsrud. I left a message for you, but I didn’t expect a house call.”

Kendall wondered how he’d recognized her when only her eyes were visible over the mask and gown she wore. “I needed to get out.”

He reached over to a Bose sound system on the shelf behind him and turned off the music. “I finished my report on the Glausson infant’s blood. I wanted to talk to you before I turned it in. I hear the baby is dead?”

Kendall sighed under the mask. “That’s the general opinion.”

“You aren’t convinced?”

“No, but that might be wishful thinking on my part.”

“I’m almost done here. I have an intern who’ll finish up for me, then we can talk.”

Teed’s office, a genuine hole-in-the-wall, was packed with folders, professional magazines, and glass jars, the contents of which Kendall didn’t want to speculate on. He cleared off the solo guest chair and offered her a cup of coffee. She declined.

“I’m afraid what I have to tell you won’t give you any additional hope for the child. The DNA results on the blood from the child’s room confirms the initial report; the blood belonged to the Glausson baby.”

Did Travis Jordan’s rant in Stillwater tell the real story? Or was it still possible there was another explanation?

“There wasn’t a lot of blood in the child’s room,” Kendall said. “Travis Jordan claimed he raped and killed the child. Wouldn’t you expect there to be more blood if that were true?”

“Possibly. However, if such a young child were raped by an adult male, most of the blood would have been on his clothing.”

Kendall felt nauseous. Again. The sight of the autopsy she’d just seen was nothing compared to the mental snapshot of an adult male raping a baby.

“I’m sorry,” Teed said, softly. “I know this discussion doesn’t make your day any easier.”

Kendall picked up the offered report and stood to leave. “No, it doesn’t.” Schoenfuss would see the report and be even more determined to close the case. As she walked to her car a thought occurred to her; —what if someone
wanted
them to think the baby was murdered? A stretch, of course, but not impossible. Maybe she’d have to consider the murders were all about the baby.

14

Kendall moved a few boxes stacked in the second bedroom, looking for her running shoes, hoping some exercise would relieve her frustration at having to turn over the case. She couldn’t help thinking Travis Jordan’s outburst had been a spiteful retaliation at being arrested. She still believed there was a good chance Jordan hadn’t acted alone. If the man had an accomplice, Kendall was determined to find him; he could be the key to finding Philly.

She left at a slow jog, running along the street parallel to the river, and as she ran, planned her solo investigation. Since her time would be limited, she’d have to use it wisely. The image of Philly Glausson’s bright little face kept her thoughts on the case she’d been told to restrict to secondary status.

Kendall moved north and then looped around after about thirty minutes, heading back to the apartment when the first snowflakes speckled her face. A car slowed down next to her as she passed the hospital complex on Belvedere.

The driver called out to her. “Detective! Kind of cold for a run, isn’t it?”

She recognized the voice. Nashlund. His car crept along at the side of the road, window down, annoying the traffic behind him. “Take a break, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

Kendall raised a middle finger, pointing it toward his car.

He chuckled. “I want to talk to you.”

Not stopping, she yelled, “Bite me!”

He must have found out about Jordan.
She wondered who told him, but the media had likely broken the story by now. Ignoring Nashlund, Kendall picked up her pace cautiously as the snow glazed the sidewalks just enough to make them slippery. Eventually, his car gained speed and vanished from her line of vision.

When she got back to the Rat Pak’s parking area, he was standing under the small overhang above the back entrance, leaning against the building.

“I heard about the arrest. Good news, right?”

Kendall couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “Get lost.”

He blocked her entry. “It’s over, then. They got the perp. Finite.”

She knew he was baiting her, but said, “It’s over for ECPD, anyway.”

“FBI taking over the whole thing now?”

“Yeah. I have permission to work it in my downtime, as long as I don’t ruffle any Fed feathers.” Kendall couldn’t believe she was whining to Nashlund—a new low on an already sucky day.

“Maybe now I can convince you to join forces so we can find out what happened to the Glausson baby.”

Kendall could use an ally, but Adam Nashlund? “I’ll think about it.”

“Could you think any faster if I told you what I found?”

“What?”

He grinned. “I haven’t got squat.”

She kept a straight face. “That’s what I thought.”

He stepped closer. “Here’s what I’m thinking. There were no traces of the kid found anywhere but in the house. No blood, no body, no clothing. Well, the blanket, but that wasn’t anything, right?”

Admitting it gave up nothing. The blanket held no trace elements and was sold in every discount store in the city. “Right.”

“If she’s still alive, why? Did they sell her? Give her to a pedophile? If they sold her and she was illegally adopted, it’d be difficult, but we could try to find out where and when. If there’s a perv angle, baby-pervs are a minority in the short-eyes community, so there wouldn’t be that many to check out. We’d have to get names of known ones in the area and find out if one of them has the kid before he destroys her.”

Kendall winced, still having a hard time dealing with the thought of a pedophile who preferred babies. She wasn’t ready to share Jordan’s admission with Nashlund. “Those would be two angles to work,” she admitted. “I’ve been thinking it’s possible the whole thing was about the baby.”

“See? All the more reason to go after it on that assumption and try to find the kid. One problem, though.”

She suspected his arrogance assured him that she’d agree to work with him. “What’s that?”

“Access. We’d need computer access, someone who knows how to pull a needle out of a cyber haystack. Especially on the adoption theory.”

“I can try tomorrow.”
Crap, am I agreeing to work with him?
At ECPD they only did the basics; anything complex and they had to go begging to a larger department for help. Those were usually backed up, creating an ongoing dilemma.

He must have taken her answer as agreement. “I had a friend who could find anything you wanted. Not necessarily legally, though. Too bad he’s not around anymore.”

Kendall hadn’t realized how badly she wanted the Glausson murders solved, not just handed over. And more importantly, Philly Glausson found alive. But did she want those things badly enough to risk her career by cooperating with Nashlund?

Eerie in the hush of the snowfall, his cell phone sounded the theme song from
Dragnet.
He explained, “My son put that on my phone,” and pushed the power button. He listened for a few seconds, had a brief exchange with the caller, then said, “I’ll be right there.”

“It’s Glausson. Someone took a shot at him.” Nashlund hurried toward his car, then turned back to her. “Coming with me?”

Kendall had a nanosecond’s hesitation. He wasn’t being a smartass tonight; maybe she’d seen his irritating side first. Or he could be making an effort because he wanted something from her. But they both wanted to find the child—it was all that mattered. She climbed into his car. He pulled out like a shot, but grabbed her wrist when she took out her phone to call it in.

“If you’re coming with me, you’re unofficial.”

Gray Glausson’s lake house faced the east side of Lake Wissota, a few miles northeast of Eau Claire. His place, the last house on a small, side street perpendicular to the lake, was a rambling, log and stone one-story that looked like it had been added onto many times over the years. The other houses on the street were dark, possibly owned by residents who’d left for the winter.

A black SUV sat in the street in front of the house and Glausson’s Escalade was parked in the driveway, the window on the passenger side framed with shattered glass. A dusting of snow lined the seat.

The front door opened as Kendall and Nashlund walked up to the house. Gray Glausson filled the doorway, backlit by flickering light from a fireplace.

“Detective Halsrud. I didn’t expect to see you here.” He turned to Nashlund.

“Long story, chief. She’s here unofficially.”

Glausson stepped aside for them to enter a large room casually decorated in leather furniture, warm pine paneling, and rough, wood-hewn floors strewn with carefully placed forest green throw rugs.

A man stood in front of the fireplace holding a brandy snifter. Fifty or so, he was dressed in a corduroy sport jacket over a pair of well-pressed jeans.

Gray said, “This is William Hinz. He’s our union’s national bargaining representative from New York. He’s in town until our contract expires in Wausau.”

Hinz stood a few inches shorter than Kendall, but she felt his strength when he took her hand. He had a stocky build, but not an ounce of fat lapped over his tooled leather belt. After the introductions, he retreated to a chair next to the fire.

Kendall wondered what a union bigwig was doing at the home of the company’s VP. “You think this shot at you resulted from another contract negotiations problem?”

Before Glausson could answer her snide question, Kendall moved toward the door. “I’m going to take a look outside.”

Nashlund trailed behind her, then reached in his car and tossed her a heavy, hooded sweatshirt. “Kind of abrupt with him, weren’t you?”

Shivering in the damp cold, she pulled the sweatshirt over her nylon running clothes and walked over to the Escalade. “I didn’t have anything to say to him.” She hesitated. “We should have him come out here, though and show us where he was standing when the bullet hit the car.”

“Nah. He said on the phone he’d just gotten out of the car when it happened. You could cut him a little slack; he just wants to find his niece.” Nashlund stood at the driver’s side with the door open, mimicking the stance of a person exiting the car.

“It didn’t hit Gray, so where’s the bullet?” he asked.

He sat in the driver’s seat, his dark hair dusted with snow and highlighted by the interior light. “Asked and answered. Here it is.” He pointed a small flashlight at the dashboard, where a ragged opening centered the screen of the navigation system.

Kendall looked around at the deserted neighborhood. “Let’s try to get a bead on the angle. Maybe we’ll be able to tell where the shooter was standing.”

Nash slid a pencil into the hole. “The bullet’s in there pretty far. We’ll need a mechanic to get it out for us.” He angled the pencil in an effort to trace the trajectory of the bullet. “What do you think?”

Kendall estimated the line of the pencil and walked toward the street. “The first driveway on the left. The shooter parked there.”

“Let’s take a look. Not that we’ll find anything in this snow.”

“He could have parked somewhere else and just stood over there.”

“I don’t think so. Do you?”

Kendall tried to put it all together. Glausson believed both incidents, the note and now the shot, were an outcome of difficult negotiations with the union. It seemed awfully extreme that they’d try to kill the man, or even risk firing a warning shot in his direction.

“Go ask him if either of them noticed any strange cars around. They might have; all these houses look like they’re empty for the winter.”

“He already told me that when he called me. He was talking to Hinz on his cell when he got here tonight; he didn’t see anything. Hinz came over from his hotel after it happened.”

Kendall wished she hadn’t agreed to keep the incident quiet. “I’m not convinced this has anything to do with union stuff, are you? And if Hinz is the union honcho, why are he and Glausson so damn cozy if they’re on opposite sides?”

“Guess you don’t know anything about union negotiations. A lot of contract deals are wired. The big dogs reach a private agreement, and then try to manipulate the negations toward the deal. Private sector bargaining is nothing like the cops’ negotiations.”

He was right. She didn’t know much about it. The cops in Eau Claire had a union contract, but it settled amicably every year.

“If the shooter was standing in that driveway, he wasn’t a very good shot, was he?” she asked.

“The guy wasn’t trying to hit him. It was a warning move like the note. Supports the union contract motive.”

“But it also fits if someone’s warning him off his search for Philly.”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with the murders,” Nashlund said. “The guy responsible for killing Glausson’s family is in jail.” He looked at her through hooded eyes. “Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

After informing Glausson of their differing opinions regarding the note and the shooting incident, Kendall and Nash drove back in silence. There hadn’t been much conversation on the way over, either. Since she obviously found him irritating, Nash had decided to let her take the lead on any conversation. She’d let her guard down tonight and come with him, probably because she wanted to be on the inside of whatever was happening with Glausson.

He’d use whatever worked to gain her trust. Everything he’d heard about her told him she was a good cop. Even Alverson thought so, but Alverson wanted to get in her pants. But that guy wanted in every woman’s drawers except the real dogs. Kendall offered an offbeat type of attraction. He hadn’t remembered her much from his time on the force. Now, he admired her tall, confident posture, competent but womanly; she’d shed a few pounds since the shooting. She’d pulled her hair band off tonight after her hair had gotten wet, and her long, sand-colored hair softened her features and highlighted her eyes, the color of his favorite brandy. Not that her looks mattered to him. Nash had a rare quality for a cop—he never cheated.

Before they turned onto her street, he took a call from someone Kendall assumed was his wife, apparently asking him where he was and when he’d be home. She hadn’t pictured him with a wife, and marveled at his subservient responses.

“Yes. I’m taking tomorrow and Friday off. I’ll have plenty of time to pick them up, don’t worry about it.”

It sounded like relatives were arriving at the airport. Kendall suddenly remembered why; tomorrow was Thanksgiving. That explained all the voice mail messages—messages she hadn’t answered—from her father and her uncle. She was responsible for contributing wine and pies for the holiday feast. With everything that had been happening in the last few days, that chore had been last thing on her mind.

Jolted from her thoughts as they turned into the parking area behind the bar, Kendall saw two black-and-whites with lights flashing, parked in front of the rear entrance. A uniform stood at the door next to a small, shivering form. Brynn.

She approached them and held up her ID in case the guy didn’t recognize her. “Detective Halsrud. What’s happened here?”

“A break-in. Someone tossed her apartment.” The officer, tall and imposing, nodded toward Brynn, standing dwarfed at his side.

Kendall turned to Brynn. “Are you all right?”

Stupid question. Brynn looked nearly in shock, quivering with cold. The snow had stopped after a one-inch accumulation, but the temperature had fallen. Like Kendall before her run, Brynn must have left for her walk before it dropped; she was only dressed in a gray sweat suit.

Nash covered her with his jacket, buttoning it up for her as if she were a child. Her voice diminutive, she said, “I’m okay. But will you please find out about Malkin? They won’t let me go back up there.”

“Sure, I’ll do that right now.” Kendall started to ask Nash to stay with Brynn, but he had his arm protectively around the girl, sheltering her from the cold.

The beautiful glass panel on Brynn’s apartment was shattered on the lower side above the doorknob. Bad enough someone had broken in, but a precious antique had been destroyed. The once cozy apartment was in total disarray, all Brynn’s belongings tossed about the rooms. A patrol officer stood at the door, and EC’s other female detective, Paula Burnham, watched as a tech dusted for prints.

“Hi, Kendall. I hear you live across the hall. Nice door.”

“I’m staying here temporarily,” Kendall corrected. “Anything taken?”

“I don’t think so. The owner had her wallet with her and didn’t think there was anything missing up here on her first go ‘round.”

“Have you found her cat?”

“No cat. Probably hiding somewhere, staying away from the fracas.”

“She’s pretty worried about it. Mind if I look around?”

“Be my guest. My partner’s off tonight.”

Kendall searched for the cat, finally finding him under Brynn’s bed, squeezed back into the corner as far as possible. It took a lot of patient coaxing before Malkin got close enough to grab. She picked him up and joined Paula in the living room.

“We have to have the tech check him out. I think this guy has blood on one of his paws and I’m pretty sure it’s not his.” Kendall pointed to a brown stain on Malkin’s right front paw.