The tow truck arrived at eleven fifteen. Renz directed the driver to stop behind our vehicle, then he walked to the driver’s-side window.
“You call for a tow?”
“Not exactly. We need you to pull a vehicle up out of that ravine.” Renz showed the driver his FBI badge. “We need the car on level ground, and then we’ll take it from there. Our crime lab’s flatbed is en route too.”
“Sure. Why don’t you show me what we’ve got.” The driver climbed out of the truck and walked to the shoulder’s edge with Renz. “Damn, that car is down there all right. I think it’s doable, though. Just have to release the steel cable, go down there with it and attach it to the undercarriage. I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of condition the car ends up in since it’s pretty trashed already.”
Renz shook his head. “The least amount of additional damage the better. We have to go over the car forensically.”
“Hmm… maybe I can flip it back on its tires and pull it up. I’ll give it a try.”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
After the cable was secured to the steering wheel, the driver was able to pull the car into its upright position. He scurried down the hill and repositioned the winch to the car’s undercarriage. Once again in the truck, he dragged the car up the side of the ravine through brush, tree limbs, and over large roots.
Renz and I stared at the vehicle as it sat on the roadway. All of the window glass was broken out on the driver’s side, dents covered nearly every surface, and the entire vehicle had twigs and leaves jammed into every opening.
“Good enough?” the tow truck driver asked.
“Absolutely. I’m assuming the charges were taken care of over the phone?”
“You bet. It’s all good.”
We thanked him, and he drove away. Renz checked the time. We still had to wait for the flatbed to arrive, and hours were slipping away when we could have been interviewing Tamara’s workmates. Most of those evening employees started work at three o’clock, and noon had come and gone. I doubted that the car could tell us anything unless, by some miracle, the killer had left fingerprints behind. Even if Forensics could say with one hundred percent certainty that the vehicle was pitted from the rear driver’s side, we still didn’t know who followed her there and forced her over the edge.
We finally heard the lumbering sound of the flatbed heading our way. Renz tipped his wrist and checked the time.
“Doubt that we’ll get any interviews in today. I’ll find out what Taft wants us to do.”
Renz paced up and down the road as I spoke with the flatbed driver. I watched as he winched the car, for the third time that day, and pulled it up on the ramp to the truck’s flat surface. There, he chained it down and said he was heading to the county’s crime lab garage. I signed the release form, and he drove away.
I saw Renz walking my way. “So?”
“So, Taft said to head back. She’s calling everyone in, we’ll discuss what we’ve learned, try to make some sense of it, and go from there.”
“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 imagine 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.”