If anyone other than the eyewitnesses at the May event knew what had gone down that night, it could be the mayor’s personal assistant or his attorney. There was a chance that the assistant had spoken with Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy or the function coordinator and arranged for the mayor to make an appearance and a speech at the fundraiser. His showing up would definitely increase attendance and help fund the new fire station being built at that time.
I passed my suggestion on to Taft, and she said to go ahead and make the call. I also mentioned that if something involving Paul Lawrence and the mayor did occur at the event, there was a chance that the attorney had been briefed about it. I would call him, too, and request records of phone calls or appointments between him and the mayor over the last six months. Chances were he’d deny us access and a warrant would have to be issued.
Renz and I returned to our office and settled in. He would call Douglas Blake, the attorney, and I would contact the mayor’s assistant, Julie Beckett.
We knew the mayor was taking the week off because of his daughter’s death and that the deputy mayor, John Branford, was filling in for him. The funeral service for Tamara Kent wouldn’t take place until Saturday, when all of the city employees could attend. Meanwhile, for the rest of the week, Julie Beckett was reporting directly to John Branford.
After dialing city hall and going through five prompts before I got to the mayor’s office, I finally reached the automated assistant who asked for the name of the party or extension I wanted to reach. I said the name Julie Beckett since I didn’t know her extension. I waited as the phone rang in my ear three times before it connected to a voice. My excitement faded quickly when I realized it was only a voicemail greeting. Disappointed, I left a message and hung up. Most requests for a return call went without a reply. I’d always assumed that people weren’t curious enough to return a call to the FBI, and whether that was from fear, guilt, or the thought that they were being pranked, most people didn’t want to talk to us, and that meant more work in chasing them down. I set my phone timer to remind me to try again in thirty minutes.
From the phone conversation Renz was having, it didn’t sound like the attorney was too excited about handing over phone records or his appointment calendar. I heard Renz use the word warrant more than once before he hung up.
I groaned in frustration after he placed the receiver on the base. “No luck either?”
“Nah, he’s playing hardball with me, but that’s okay. I know how this back-and-forth thing works, but in the meantime, we’ll ask for the warrant anyway. No skin off my back, and he knows it. He either gives me what I asked for, or the warrant will cover anything and everything we want to look at. Doubt if he wants that to happen.” Renz glanced at the clock. “I bet I’ll get a callback in less than an hour.”
“And the warrant?”
“I’ll let Taft know we need one.” Renz picked up the receiver again and dialed our boss.
He set the phone to Speaker, and I listened as they talked. Taft said she’d had enough. The APBs were taking too long, and she was ready to post all three faces and descriptions on the news channels. Anyone affiliated with Erik, Lucas, or Cole would likely go underground, which would make finding the ringleader tougher, but if we captured any of those three, we would convince them to talk one way or another. The cards were stacked against them, especially Erik since we had proof of his murdering Brandon thanks to the GSR evidence on his jacket. Cole was also looking at plenty of time behind bars for slugging me in the face. Taft said the TV stations agreed to run their mug shots and descriptions on the air—every hour on the hour—as breaking news. Some concerned citizen would see them, do the right thing, be in the limelight momentarily, and enjoy their fifteen minutes of fame—I hoped.
I looked at the timer on my phone again. Still seventeen minutes to go.
“What about the Kam brother, Jeremy? Isn’t he supposed to arrive from New Mexico today?”
Renz said he was, but he didn’t know when. During his conversation with Renz, Douglas Blake hadn’t mentioned his brother-in-law, or when Jeremy was scheduled to arrive in Milwaukee, at all.
George Patrick’s mom and dad were flying in from Florida, and they still needed to be talked to. Chloe, Brandon’s sister, was also on my mind, but she’d said they weren’t close. Because she lived halfway across the country and was married and seven years older, I didn’t much hope that she knew anything about Brandon’s acquaintances. We were running out of people who could give us information that we didn’t already have.
My phone’s buzzer sounded, and I made the second call to Julie Beckett. That time, she picked up, and I fist-pumped the air. Renz gave me a reassuring glance and a thumbs-up. I was stoked, and there was no way I would let her slip out of answering my questions. If we had to issue warrants for every person the mayor knew and every document that might give us the answers we needed, then so be it. I began as soon as she said hello.
“Ms. Beckett?”
“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”
“This is SSA Jade Monroe from the FBI’s serial crimes unit.”
“Serial crimes? Are you sure you’re calling the right person?”
“I’m more than sure, ma’am.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old. So what can I do for you, Agent Monroe?”
“I’m calling about the fundraiser that took place at Silver Shores Resort in May. It was a benefit and silent auction to raise money for the new firehouse on the east side.”
“Yes, I recall that fundraiser. What about it?”
“If I’m not mistaken, the mayor attended that event. Did you set that up?”
“No, I’m not his PR person. I don’t set up his calendar of appearances.”
Her response took me by surprise, and I wasn’t quite sure what to ask next.
“Is that it? I’m rather busy.”
Her tone irritated me, and I couldn’t understand why she was trying to get me off the phone. “Actually, no, that isn’t it. You were aware that the mayor attended that event, even if you aren’t his PR person. Am I correct?”
She huffed into the phone. “If you had any idea how many functions the mayor attends every year, you wouldn’t ask that question.”
“Well, I did, and I’d like an answer.” I went quiet and waited. Silence filled her end of the line for a good fifteen seconds before she spoke.
“I’m aware he attended that event.”
“Good, and what kind of records are kept for every function the mayor goes to?”
“I couldn’t say. Like I told you before, I’m not his PR person.”
“Then I’ll need the name of the person who is.”
She huffed again, and for whatever reason, I seemed to be getting on her nerves. “His name is Noah Cummings. Now if—”
I interrupted before she had the chance to hang up on me. “One more thing.”
She groaned. “What is it?”
“Since you’re his personal assistant, what exactly are the duties you perform for the mayor?”
“Emergency services, errands, and cleaning up messes. Things that go beyond his daily role as mayor.”
“Cleaning up messes? Would you care to expand on that?”
“No. Now I really have to go.”
The phone clicked in my ear, and the line went dead. “Wow.”
Renz frowned. “Want to explain wow to me?”
I shook my head. “I guess I’d envisioned Julie Beckett as a sweet, heartfelt human being when Charlotte and Kyle described their interview with her.”
“And she isn’t?”
I pulled back. “Not from the conversation we just had. She strikes me more as having a pit bull personality.”
“That’s odd.”
I raised my brows. “Get this. She said one of her roles was to clean up the mayor’s messes.”
Now it was Renz’s turn to pull back. “Wow.”
“I told you, and it was more than apparent she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“But she was forthcoming when she was interviewed at home.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, and now I’m understanding why. That interview was on her own turf, and the mayor wasn’t brought up. The interview was about George. Then I called her at work with questions about the mayor, and it instantly put her on the defensive.”
Renz jotted down notes. “That’s interesting.”
“Damn straight it is, and she hasn’t heard the last from me.” I read through my notes. “So there’s George’s parents and Sheila Kam’s son to interview in the next twenty-four hours, and we still haven’t found any salacious news articles from the fifth of May that involved the mayor.”
“Nope, we sure haven’t.”
I stood and headed for the door. “Come on. We need to have Taft set some priorities for the day. There’s also the mayor’s uncle and cousin who contested the latest family will. That had to cause bad blood.”
“Right, and we need that warrant for the mayor’s attorney’s records. How much do you want to bet that the mayor’s personal assistant and personal attorney know each other?”
“That’s a sucker bet if I ever heard one. Of course they know each other, and we’re going to find out why.”