Love 'Em or Leave 'Em Dead Page 8

  “Did you have any issues with her?” Tamika asked.

  “Nope, she was more ’an fair with us.”

  “Detective Sheehan, do you have any questions for Mr. Moore?”

  “Not at this time.”

  Tamika pulled out her business card and said, “Well, thanks for coming in, Mr. Moore. If you think of something you believe would be helpful in the investigation, please give one of us a call.”

  I put a finger up. “Mr. Moore, one more thing. Have you gone inside the Donovan house within the last few months?”

  He lowered his head as he thought. “I don’t remember. Why?”

  “If you have, we’ll need to get your fingerprints and DNA,” Tamika said.

  With the goofy grin plastered on his face, he said, “Well, better safe than sorry, I always say.”

  Tamika stood, walked around, then asked him to open his mouth. He complied. She scraped the inside of his cheek with more vigor than necessary.

  “Deputy Frank will take you down to the area where they’ll fingerprint you,” I said.

  Before he left, he turned and said, “You do your own mowing and plowing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, you look the type. Well, if you ever need my services, give me a call. And I’m real sad to hear about Mrs. Donovan and her daughter. It’s just terrible.”

  “Yes.”

  He lost the smile as he said, “I’ll pray for their souls.”

  9

  WHEN TAMIKA RETURNED she said, “Is Marv a racist or sexist?” “Probably both. Since you’ve already done some work on Della and Marvin, why don’t you check into their financials? I’ll take Gary Williams, Sonya’s cousin.”

  We worked silently and diligently at our computers for fifteen minutes before Tamika said, “Sheehan, the Moores’ property taxes and water bills are in arrears.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “What if Sonya named them in the will?”

  “Highly unlikely, but we’ll know soon enough.”

  “What did you find out about cousin Gary?”

  “He’s in the import business and has three stores in the Midwest called Sojourns. The closest is in the Mall of America; others are located in Chicago and St. Louis. According to his driver’s license, he’s fifty-three. As far as I can tell, he has no siblings. I’m about to check the database for a criminal record.”

  “Does Marvin Moore look deranged to you?” Tamika asked. “Man, I wanted to slap that ridiculous grin off his face.”

  “Did you see him wink at me?”

  “Yeah, you’re definitely his type.”

  I threw an eraser at her. She chuckled. It was good to have her and her sense of humor back.

  I made us each a mug of coffee on the Keurig we’d purchased together. As I set the cup on her desk, she asked, “Are you going to support Matt or Patrice for sheriff?”

  “Why is everyone talking about this already? It’s a year and a half away.”

  “Because the candidates have to begin to get their campaigns together. Remember how Troy’s campaign failed because he started too late?”

  “Also, he’s a prick.”

  She gave out a little giggle. “Okay . . . the real reason I brought it up is that Patrice asked if I’d work on her campaign. I didn’t know what to say.”

  “What did you?”

  “I said yes, damn it. I haven’t had my review yet.”

  “That’s not a good reason.”

  She made a face. “Oh, yeah? You aren’t brave enough to say who you’ll back.”

  “You’re right. Now back to work. What did you find out about the Moores?”

  “Google netted zero hits on them—it’s like they don’t exist. Wanna bet they belong to a cult?”

  “Is there one operating in Dexter Lake?”

  “I’ll ask around.”

  “Gary Williams doesn’t have a criminal record, either. Okay, let’s split the list Patrice gave me.”

  We worked for another ninety minutes, then shared what we’d learned. No one on our lists had a criminal record, and their presence on the social media sites showed them to be ordinary people with normal lives. But I wasn’t naïve—appearances could be deceiving.

  I signed out a department vehicle for our trip, and I went home to pack. Bullet greeted me at the door.

  “He’s just been out,” Clara said, looking up from her knitting. She was sitting in the great room watching a soap opera on television, her fingers expertly dipping and swirling the needles around the red yarn.

  I said, “I really don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ve made reservations for two nights, but I’m hoping we can wrap things up earlier.”

  Her fingers grew still. “Patrice is very upset about Sonya and Justine.”

  “I know.”

  “You do what you have to do to solve the case.”

  Much to my dismay, my boss and Clara had become friends after they met at a party I threw. I didn’t like the idea they’d discuss my personal business, but I was sure they did.

  “She and David are not getting along lately, then this business is—”

  I raised a hand. “I don’t want to know anything about it.”

  She shrugged and resumed knitting.

  MY CLOTHES HAD BEEN LAUNDERED and put away. I didn’t know how Clara did all of what she did or what I would do without her.

  I made the decision not to pack uniforms. Shortly after Patrice took office, she decided we investigators were to wear them instead of plain clothes, like most detectives in most jurisdictions. I packed for three days, just to be safe, changed into jeans and a white shirt, holstered my Smith & Wesson M&P, put on my tan suede sport coat, grabbed my badge, and went downstairs with my carry-on.

  “I bagged some Christmas cookies for you,” Clara said. “While you’re gone, I’ll mix up another batch of those peanut blossoms you like.”

  “Thank you. You are marvelous.” I threw her a kiss.

  “Oh, pish. Did you have lunch? I can whip up something for you.”

  “No, thanks. We’ll grab something on the way.”

  I PICKED TAMIKA UP FROM her house and drove to Highway 10 heading toward the Twin Cities. Tamika chattered about her family until she stopped mid-conversation when we went by a small ramshackle church all by itself in the country.

  Tamika said, “I don’t know how that little church survives. I called my friend Franny and asked her about cults in the Dexter Lake area. She’s the wife of the minister of the First Lutheran Church. She teaches at the high school and says she thinks the Moores are members of the Church of the Everyday Apostles. It’s conservative evangelical, not associated with any traditional denomination. They have really strict rules about what the kids can do in school—they have to leave the classroom for certain subjects and if a teacher shows a movie or plays music.

  “Did you ask her if she knew any of the Moore children?”

  “She says she’s had three of them, and they’re all good students, well behaved.”

  Then she jumped back to talking about her own. I tuned out and started thinking about Zabrina. I hoped she could give something to MPD, so they could find the shooter.

  “Sheehan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just said I told Anton we were sharing a room.”

  “Say what?”

  “He said I should go for it.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “He said he didn’t think you could handle this much woman, anyway.” She burst out laughing. “Oh, get that scared look off your face. He knows I was kidding.”

  “He’d better.”

  She pointed to the bag of cookies in between us. “Can I have a cookie?”

  “Give me one, too.”

  She took a bite. “Mm-mm. These are tasty,” she said.

  I grabbed two more.

  “Are you gonna see Adriana while we’re down here?”

  I threw her a crusty look. “Why would I?”

  “Why not? Ar
e you afraid to see her?”

  “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to.”

  She gave me a sly smile. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Don’t care. I’m with Dallas.”

  “And you’re a one-woman man.”

  “I am.”

  I hadn’t seen or heard from Adriana Valero in months, which was fine by me. Way back when we were still together, she took a job at a Minneapolis high-powered law firm without telling me she’d applied. She assumed I’d just pack up and go with her, but I didn’t really want to live in Minneapolis, plus, at the time there were no openings in law enforcement anywhere. She said she made enough for the both of us—and with that completely emasculating notion, our relationship amicably ended. A scant five months later she married an old rich dude she’d previously dated. Within months they separated and she was back in Prairie Falls hoping to rekindle our relationship, but by then I was already engaged to Shannon.

  Adriana then took up with my partner, Troy, who was totally wrong for her. She got pregnant and delivered their son soon after the Twinks were born. Adriana talked Troy into applying for positions in Minneapolis. He got a job with the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office, and off they went to the big city. When they broke up, Troy blamed me. Last time I saw him, he came at me fist first. We rolled around on the ground beating the crap out of each other until my neighbor called 911. But he was justified—Adriana and I had just spent the night together. That was when she proposed the idiotic idea we meet periodically to have casual sex. She never called, but I would have turned her down.

  NEAR ST. CLOUD, I TOOK the turn toward Waite Park to get to I-94 with its seventy-mile-per-hour speed limit. Once in Maple Grove, I turned south on 494, than east on 394 until we reached County 73. I took the north frontage road to the La Quinta. We checked in, then made our way to Abbott Northwestern Hospital on Twenty-eighth and Chicago in Minneapolis.

  I had to drive around the ramp for a while before we found a spot to park. We walked briskly through the frigid air to the front door and into the lobby. Tamika pointed to the sign reading “PATIENT INFORMATION.” Two women who appeared to be octogenarians were seated behind the desk: an orange-haired woman of advanced years and a gray-haired lady with a ponytail. They continued their conversation for a minute before they noticed or acknowledged our presence.

  Tamika clicked her long nails on the counter. Orange-hair looked up. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. If you would be so kind as to tell us what room Zabrina Bennett is in, please,” I said, tossing her a big smile.

  She turned to the computer in front of her, did some typing and then, gazing up at me with a concerned look, said, “There’s a no visitors notation here.”

  I pulled out my badge. Tamika followed suit. “Detective Cal Sheehan and my partner, Detective Tamika Frank. We’re here on official police business.”

  “Well, let me do some checking.”

  She spent the next ten minutes on the phone and finally got an okay from someone, somewhere, to give out the room number.

  Flashing another smile, I said, “Zabrina’s safety is our primary concern at this point, so thank you for being cautious.”

  She smiled back and handed us a slip of paper with the room number, then instructed us on how to find it. We found an elevator and Tamika pressed the button for our floor.

  “Thanks for promoting me to detective.”

  “Trying to keep things simple for the girls.”

  As we exited the elevator, we followed the signs and turned down a hallway, where an officer sat on a chair at the end of the corridor.

  “I’d bet your life savings our pal there is guarding Miss Zabrina,” Tamika said.

  “You’re all about easy money, aren’t you?”

  The uniformed Minneapolis PD officer stood as we approached. He was short and looked twelve. I flipped open my badge case and said, “Birch County Detective Cal Sheehan, and this is my partner—”

  “Detective Tamika Frank,” she said.

  “Detective Ryan said to expect you,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “I’m Officer James Kimmel,” he said.

  We shook hands.

  “For real? Like in Jimmy Kimmel?” Tamika said.

  He nodded. “I go by James, but yeah, that’s my name.”

  “You should use Jimmy to get restaurant reservations,” Tamika said.

  “No, because they’re always so doggone disappointed to see me as it is.”

  They shared a chuckle.

  “Has Ms. Bennett had any visitors?” I asked.

  “Just the detectives on the case.”

  “Okay if we go in?”

  “Sure. Sign in first.”

  He picked up a clipboard propped up beside the chair and handed me a black Bic pen. We signed in, then went in the darkened room. A dim lamp above the sink in the open bathroom cast enough light to show an empty bed; the curtain was pulled around the bed closest to the window. I sent Tamika around the curtain to make sure Zabrina was presentable. She waved me in.

  Zabrina was sound asleep and hooked up to a monitor and an IV. Her left shoulder was bandaged. We took the two chairs at the foot of the bed and waited. We spoke quietly, going over our interviews for tonight and tomorrow, thinking she’d hear our voices and wake up. But she didn’t flutter an eyelash. Twenty minutes passed before a nurse came in to check on Zabrina. When she saw us, she scowled.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Detectives Cal Sheehan and Tamika Frank,” I said. “We’re here to ask Zabrina a few questions.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. We’ve given her something to help her sleep.”

  I glanced at Zabrina. Her eyes had popped open. I stood and moved to her side. “Hi, do you remember me?”

  She nodded. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She looked so grief-stricken that it got to me, and I was afraid I’d have to blink back my own tears.

  “Patrice asked us to check on you. She’ll be here as soon as she can,” I said.

  “I need her here with me now,” Zabrina said through her sobs. “She’s the only family I have left.”

  “She’s family?” Tamika asked.

  “She’s my godmother.”

  I said, “We think there could be a connection between your grandmother’s death and your mother’s.”

  “They tried to kill me, too,” she said, and let out a shuddering sob. “I’m really scared.”

  “There’s a guard posted outside your door,” I said.

  “Can’t this wait a day?” the nurse asked sternly. She pointed to the monitor as if we could interpret its beeps.

  “Sure,” I said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Grand idea,” the nurse said sternly.

  As we started to move out of the room I heard the nurse say, “Zabrina, I’m Gretchen. I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

  As we walked out, Kimmel looked up from his book. He probably pulled this duty because he’s on the bottom of the seniority list. This kind of duty was filled with long, boring days . . . unless something big happened. Then it was critical to be on your toes. Was this baby-faced kid up to the task?

  “We’ll be back tomorrow,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “How long is your shift?”

  “Twelve hours.”

  “What about breaks?”

  “I notify the desk when I take them.”

  “There’s a breach in security then?”

  He shrugged. “My sergeant said we were doing this as a courtesy to your sheriff. That it was overkill.”

  “Overkill? Her grandmother and mother were both murdered, and she was seriously wounded.”

  “Right. Look, I don’t know about that. I just do as ordered.”

  “Well, just be vigilant. If something happens to this girl, it’s on your head, and that ain’t good for your department . . . or your career.”

  “I see your point.”
/>   “Good.”

  As we walked away from young James, I muttered, “Maybe we should take turns guarding Officer Kimmel guarding her.”

  “She looks so frightened and fragile. Why the hell would someone want all three of them dead?”

  “Our only job is to find out who killed Sonya. It’s Minneapolis PD’s job to figure out the rest of it and to protect their only witness. I’ll call Patrice and tell her the situation. Then she can do what she wants.”

  10

  ON THE WAY BACK to our vehicle, Tamika said, “It’s five o’clock and all I’ve had to eat today is cookies. I need real food.” She typed something in her phone, her phone dinged, she typed again.

  “We’re going to Broders.” She looked up at me brightly.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Fiftieth and Penn. I’ll put it on the GPS.”

  “We could go to Wayzata, where we have to be for tonight’s interview.”

  “You’ll love this place.”

  We spoke little as we made our way in heavy traffic to the restaurant. Fifteen minutes later, we parked on the street a block away. Tamika practically skipped to the door.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “We’re late.”

  “For what?”

  “Dinner with Adriana.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Damn it. When did you set this up?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Did you not hear what I said earlier about not wanting to see her?”

  “Oh, chill. I haven’t seen her for an age.”

  “You should have consulted me.”

  “Do you want me to cancel?”

  “Tamika, we’re here. Man, you must drive Anton up a goddamn wall.”

  She shrugged. “That’s my job.”

  “You owe me big time.”

  “Fine, I apologize.”

  Waving madly, Tamika scurried off toward the back of the room. My muscles tensed as I followed. I abhored being manipulated like this. Adriana stood to give Tamika a hug, then wrapped her arms around me. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.

  When the waiter, who introduced himself as Jamie, showed up with waters and menus, Adriana ordered a bottle of wine.