We had our work cut out for us. Michael Kent had been the mayor of Milwaukee since 2008 and was dug in deep. He had a lot of personal and political clout, and the chances of us learning the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of his life were great. Because any city issues that arose during his years in office were public information, news archives would have a record of them, and the media would have been sure to create a buzz. Private matters would be more difficult to uncover. Personal dirt about public officials was usually swept under the proverbial rug.
As we were about to pass Taft’s office, Renz and I stopped in to give her a quick update. We told Maureen that we’d spoken with Derrick Hunt, who had been the second in charge on the evening shift at Dalia’s but was taking Tamara’s place.
I repeated what Derrick had said. “He told us that Tamara was worried, not for her own welfare but for her mother and father’s. She had mentioned how stressed her mom was about her dad, but she didn’t tell Derrick if the problems were personal or political.”
“Interesting. Okay, what’s your next step?”
Renz took over. “We’re heading back to our office to begin looking into Michael Kent’s background to see if there’s ever been grievances filed against him and, if so, by whom. Political issues would be news fodder and publicized, but if there were personal improprieties, they may be harder to dig up. There’s always the chance that he’s being blackmailed, and maybe that’s why Marie is stressed. The other murders are connected, and as soon as we figure out how, we’ll be able to follow the bread crumbs to the root cause.”
“Good. We need to nip this in the bud and fast. The mayor has his own security detail and lives in a walled and gated compound, but as far as the families of the other victims are concerned, and because we don’t know the connection yet, they’re kind of on their own.”
I had to agree, although people generally took extra precautions when tragic events affected their lives.
Renz and I settled in at our desks and got busy reviewing archived newspaper and internet articles. We wrote down the names of anyone who came up as having a beef with the city administration or the mayor.
After an hour of digging, I stood, stretched, and grabbed a couple of bucks out of my purse. “Want a soda?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Renz looked at me and tapped his pen against his desk as if it helped him think.
“For God’s sake, just say what’s on your mind.”
“This doesn’t feel right.”
I sat back down. “In what way?”
“We aren’t going to find the connection like this. That’s telling me this isn’t a political matter because the victims didn’t have a political connection to the mayor.”
“Right, but someone in their six degrees might have.”
“Let’s wait for everyone to get back with their results. We’ve already spent an hour that I think was a waste of time.”
“So in the meantime?”
Renz’s phone rang, and he raised his hand. “Hold that thought.” He lifted the receiver from the base and answered the call. “DeLeon speaking. Yeah, we’re on our way.”
“What’s going on? Something good, I hope.”
“Not sure, but Taft wants us back in her office right away.”
We charged down the hall to our boss’s office, and she waved us in before Renz had a chance to knock.
“What’s up, Boss?”
“You two spent more time with Erik Smalley than anyone else, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“Okay. I was just sent this grainy video from District Six, and it shows somebody leaving the alley in the time frame of Brandon’s murder. What I need to know, since the footage is from a half block away, is if you think that person is Erik Smalley.” She waved us to her side of the desk. “Give it careful consideration and don’t say yes just because it would fit the narrative. Take your time.”
Renz scooted the roller chairs closer, and Taft moved out of our way. We had seen Erik on the bank’s video and had watched it numerous times. The man leaving the alley wore a windbreaker like Erik did on Saturday, and his hair was black like Erik’s. I studied his mannerisms and gait. He looked down as he walked and had a long stride.
I voiced my opinion. “I think it’s him.”
Taft looked at Renz. “Lorenzo?”
“I agree. That search warrant is still good on Erik’s apartment and belongings, right?”
Taft said that it was.
“But nothing of importance was found there,” I said.
Renz palmed his forehead. “If you recall, Erik didn’t seem all that nervous when I said our agents were already going through his apartment. That’s because if he was the shooter, he’d already offloaded the gun. The only evidence was that windbreaker he grabbed when we hauled him in for questioning. His smug self thought we wouldn’t find a video of him leaving the alley that showed he had on the same jacket he wore Saturday. The agents searched the duplex and found nothing because their focus was on the gun. We should have ripped that jacket off Erik’s body during his interview and had it tested for GSR, but we were only thinking of the gun. If we’re going to prove that Erik is the shooter, then we need that jacket.”
I groaned. “If it’s not too late. He may have washed it already.”
“Or maybe not. Narcissistic people who think they’re smarter than the cops tend to let their guard down. We need to pay him another visit and grab that jacket.”
Taft jerked her head toward the door. “Go ahead and do it now.”
We returned to Erik’s West Allis apartment and banged on the door. We knew somebody was there since the lights were on and sounds were coming from inside. They likely thought we’d just go away if they didn’t answer.
Renz pounded harder the second time and yelled Erik’s name. We were ignored.
“Looks like the door is going down.”
“I’ll give them one more chance, and then I’m kicking it in.” Renz yelled that we still had a warrant and if somebody didn’t open the door immediately, it would be kicked down. A grin spread across his face when we heard footsteps running down the stairs.
“All right, already. Damn cops just don’t stop, do you?”
We pushed our way past Cole, the other roommate, as he opened the door. “We aren’t cops, and where is Erik?”
“He isn’t here.”
Renz and I continued up the stairs then searched every room. Cole was right—Erik wasn’t there.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
Cole shrugged. “Who knows? I’m not his mommy.”
I glared at him. “That’s the best you’ve got? Which room is Erik’s?”
The kid tipped his head to the right. “The messiest one—over there.”
I walked in, looked around, and saw the windbreaker lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I pulled my phone from my pocket, took several pictures of the jacket, then slipped on my gloves and picked it up. I took several more pictures, gave it a once-over, and walked out of the room with it. I handed my phone to Renz and stood next to Cole with the jacket held up. “Take a few more pictures, Renz, so nobody can deny this jacket came from this residence.”
“Smart thinking, Jade.” Renz took the pictures with Cole in the frame. “Okay, we have what we came for. Let’s go.”
Before returning to our headquarters, we dropped off the jacket at the county crime lab and told them we needed it tested for GSR as soon as possible. Hal said he would call with the results in a few hours. Time was of the essence, and if any residue remained on the jacket after a full day, it would be tiny particles, but between that and the alley video, we would have all we needed to arrest Erik Smalley for murder.