Once we had the names and addresses for each victim’s immediate family, we headed out. Renz and I took Tamara Kent’s case. Since the mayor was a high-profile politician in Milwaukee, we needed to address his daughter’s murder immediately. We’d found out that he had left his office and returned home, but I wasn’t sure who we should speak with first—him or Tamara’s friends and coworkers.
Since the police had already called on and interviewed the people who had worked during Tamara’s shift last night, Renz suggested we head to the mayor’s home instead. We would follow up with everyone else later.
The Kent’s were expecting us, thanks to Taft’s earlier conversation with the mayor where she’d mentioned that FBI agents would be calling. Renz turned onto the driveway and pulled up to the intercom next to the gate. He pressed the call button and waited. We weren’t sure who answered, only that the woman said it was the Kent residence. After Renz explained who we were, she told him to park next to the portico and released the gate. He pulled ahead.
Mayor Kent and his wife, Marie, lived on the swanky east side. Their estate, like the others in that neighborhood, had sweeping views of Lake Michigan. In front of us stood a traditional redbrick colonial home with stately white pillars and beautifully manicured gardens. The mansion appeared to be one of the originals on that block by the looks of the neighboring homes that were also gated and just as stately.
“Wow. How much is the mayor’s annual salary?” I asked, stunned by the opulence.
Renz shrugged. “Couple hundred thousand a year, I’d imagine.”
I huffed. “You aren’t going to own this compound on that income.”
“I’m pretty sure Mayor Kent comes from old money. If I remember correctly, his grandfather started one of the local breweries well over a hundred years ago.”
“Humph.” I pointed at the portico. “Guess that’s where you’re supposed to park.”
“Yep, I see it.” Renz parked, and we got out. I grabbed my briefcase from the back seat, then we headed up the brick sidewalk.
I clacked the brass lion’s-head door knocker against the thick wooden door, and we waited. A woman who appeared to be in her late fifties pulled open the door. I assumed from her swollen red eyes that I was staring at the face of Marie Kent.
“Mrs. Kent?”
“Yes, that’s me, and apparently you’re the FBI agents.”
“That’s correct, ma’am. I’m SSA Jade Monroe, and this is my partner, SSA Lorenzo DeLeon.”
Marie backed away from the door to allow us through. “Please come in, Agents. Michael is in the library.” She pointed to her left. “Right this way.”
We followed Mrs. Kent into a well-appointed library, where her husband, the mayor, sat at his desk with the chair facing the window. He stared out over the expansive lake. As I knew well, the water was hypnotizing with its tankers, barges, and sailboats passing by. On a windy day, seagulls rode the whitecapped waves.
“Michael, the FBI agents are here to speak with us.”
He rose from the chair. I noticed a bottle of bourbon on the desk and an empty glass sitting next to it. I hoped he hadn’t already begun drinking that morning—it was only ten o’clock. We needed him sober and coherent, but we did have Marie, too, and although she was a mess, she seemed completely sober.
The mayor rounded the desk and shook our hands as Renz made the introductions.
He tipped his head toward the door. “Let’s sit in the living room where it’s more comfortable, shall we?”
We walked with them to the living room, two rooms away. That room also faced the lake, but luckily, the sheer curtains were still drawn. I was glad there wouldn’t be outside distractions as we asked our questions.
We sat across from the couple, on a matching leather sofa, and began by offering our condolences. The mayor nodded his appreciation.
“Do you have any information yet, Agents, and please call me Mike. I prefer to be informal in my own home.”
Renz took the lead. “Mike, I don’t know if you were notified of the brutal murders of homeless people that happened around the two a.m. hour Saturday morning.”
He stared at us with a bewildered expression. “No, I don’t know anything about that, but what does it have to do with Tamara? She was our only child, for God’s sake. We need to find her killer and bring him to justice.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, sir.”
“How? Don’t police detectives and FBI agents find murderers all the time?”
I spoke up. “There are many murderers roaming the streets who have never been apprehended, Mayor Kent.”
He swatted the air. “Was that comment supposed to make me feel confident in law enforcement’s ability?”
Marie frowned. “Michael, please, they’re trying to help.”
I instantly regretted making that comment.
Renz took over. “Sir, those five innocent people were murdered during the early hours of Saturday, and then five more people were killed last night, including your daughter.”
“My God, what are you saying?” Marie asked.
“We’re saying that Tamara wasn’t the only person murdered, and once again, it was five people who lost their lives.”
“How did they die? Were they together? Did they all die at once, in the same manner? Tell us what’s going on.”
“Sir, we believe the ten people killed in the last forty-eight hours were at the hands of at least two individuals, maybe more. They have an agenda, a wrong to right, and this is the time they decided to act on that vendetta, if you will.”
“A vendetta against our daughter? She was a restaurant manager. Did somebody dislike the food at Dalia’s?”
“No, ma’am. We don’t believe any of the victims were acquainted with each other, and we don’t believe the murders had anything to do with their occupations. The only people who knew why they were chosen were the killers.”
“What about witnesses?”
“Because none of the cars have been found and all the bodies were located in less than desirable neighborhoods, we believe the killers are doing their best to make our investigation as difficult as possible. There are four other families who are grieving, too, and we need to find out if the victims had connections with each other that none of us are aware of. That’s why we’re here. We need to know everything about Tamara’s life that you can think of.”
Marie frowned. “You mean her daily activities, where she went, who she talked to?”
“We realize you wouldn’t know all of that, but anything you can give us will help put the puzzle pieces together.”
“Okay, well, Tamara called me every morning around ten a.m. as she cooled down from her morning run.”
“And she ran alone?”
“She did as far as I know.” Marie rubbed her forehead. “I always worried about that since she lives in a rural area north of here along the lake. Mostly weekend cottages tucked back in the woods. Did someone—”
“Ma’am, we don’t know where Tamara was killed since we have no idea where her car is at. We have BOLOs out for every victim’s vehicle. There could be evidence of a deliberate hit to the car, which is a ruse criminals often use to either abduct people, rob them, or carjack the vehicle.”
Marie pulled a tissue from the dispenser on the coffee table and dabbed her eyes.
“What else besides the daily phone call after her run? Did she go to a gym too?”
Mike said she didn’t. “She does take business classes at UWM twice a week, though. Eventually, she wants to open her own restaurant.”
Marie covered his hand with her own. “She wanted to open a restaurant, but now that will never happen.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she sobbed openly.
“Did Tamara have a steady boyfriend or someone who might have been more than just a friend? Also, was there anyone she spoke of who was angry with her—an employee or a neighbor, maybe?”
Marie shook her head. “Nobody that she spoke of to us.”
I glanced down at my notes. “Okay, so she ran every morning, and she took business classes at UWM. Anything else?”
“Other than having a normal social life, no. She went out with her friends on occasion, whether they were work friends or people she knew from her classes. She traveled, she obviously loved to cook and entertained now and then, but that’s all I can think of,” Marie said.
“How often did you see her?” Renz asked.
Marie shook her head. “I probably saw her more than Michael did since I don’t work outside the home. I guess I saw her twice a week. Sometimes, she’d come over for supper on the weekends if she wasn’t working since that’s about the only time she’d see her dad.”
I nodded as I wrote. “Do you have a key to her cottage?”
“We do.”
“May we borrow it? We’d like to take a look inside to see if there are any clues before you start going through it.”
“I suppose so.”
“Also, do you know her running route?”
Marie nodded. “Yes, it was a two-mile loop around the street she lived on from her house on Lake Vista to Oak Ridge Drive and then a right on Hidden Cove Way. That circles back to Lake Vista Road.”
“Okay, thank you. I guess that’s everything we need for now except the key. We’ll make sure to get it back to you in the next few days. Again, we’re so sorry for your loss,” Renz said.
“Agents?”
Renz looked back. “Yes, Mike?”
“When can we see her?”
Renz rubbed his chin. “Give us a few days. I promise we’ll reach out when the time is right.”