A Deadly Development (17 page)

Williams strode in confidently. His demeanor
left no question - he was pissed. He sat down next to Michaels,
looked up and scowled at Thurber and Burke, then looked back over
to Michaels.

“How in the hell did this just happen, on
my
police force, Michaels?”

Michaels shrugged. “Chief, I had no idea
these two would pull something like this.”

“Not good enough, Michaels! NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”
Williams thundered, his voice echoing across the office.

“Boys,” he went on, “we’ve got a
major
problem. We’ve got an unsolved murder from six days ago, and now
we’ve got a suicide, from the very same office, after two of my
investigators decided to question him.
And
, all of this was
done without my prior knowledge.”
Williams got up and stopped only a foot in front of Burke. His
shoes were almost touching Burke’s. They were so polished, Burke
could see his reflection in them.

“Burke, what in God’s name were you
thinking?” he said in disgust. “You decide to question the Mayor’s
private attorney,
in her office,
without notifying me
first?!”

“Chief, Pete Knaak killed John Vithous, he
told me, I…”

“Allegedly, Burke, allegedly!” Burke could
feel some of Williams’ warm spittle on his face. He decided not to
wipe it off just yet.

“Chief, it all added up, and like Tom said,
the man himself said he did it,” Thurber said.

Well, I’ll be,
Burke thought.
Jack
is all right, I don’t care what anyone else says.

“Says the man who he himself sneaked into
this very office and stole a bookend without permission and
certainly without my ok!” Williams thundered.

Fucking Michaels,
Burke thought,
he
told Williams about the bookend. How else would he have
known?

Williams was staring at Thurber. “Oh yes,
Detective, I know,” he snarled, “You’ll find I know
everything
that goes on in this department.”

Williams stopped. He strolled over to the
window on the south wall and stared into the night.

“Like I said, we have a major problem. To say
the Mayor is upset would be a
major
understatement. She told
me in no uncertain terms to fix this mess-- your mess,” he turned
and pointed at Jack and Tom, “and that’s what we are going to do.
Right now.”

He walked over to Michaels. “Didn’t you tell
me that junkie who got run over on I-70 was a suspect? That these
two morons were the ones who chased him into traffic?”

Michaels nodded and simply said “Yes,
sir.”

“Well,” Williams went on, “looks to me we
know who killed Mr. Vithous.”

“You cannot be serious,” Tom said, not
believing what he was hearing. In all his years on the force, he
had seen corners more times than he could count. But he never heard
of – much less seen – the wrong person purposely fingered for a
crime he didn’t commit. His father was right,
trust no
one
.

“You’re god damn right I’m serious. We’ve got
a police safety sales tax coming up for a vote this fall, an
incredibly important vote that we need Mayor Hughes not only to
endorse, but to campaign for with all her might.”

Williams was staring right through him.

“You two are going to write up in your
official report that you found a laptop stolen from this very
office in the junkie’s apartment.”

“But Chief, he had nothing to do with it,”
Burke complained

“You’re not hearing me, Sergeant,” Williams
countered, his face reddening. “You’re going to file a report this
very evening that will attest to that very thing.”

Williams paused for a moment, plotting his
next scheme.

“Then, we will have someone else write up the
report saying Pete Knaak, for no apparent reason, decided to leap
from the top of the City Hall observation deck,” he continued.

“Unofficially, we will let the press know
that Knaak was distressed by the failing health of his beloved
wife.”

“With all due respect,” Thurber interrupted,
“I ain’t signing shit, and I know Tom ain’t signing shit
either.”

Williams moved close to the bookcase, and
gazed upon the remaining bookend, speaking in a whisper. “Don’t be
so sure, Thurber. You might be right about Burke. I’ve heard that
being a hardheaded asshole runs in his family, and that walking the
beat back in uniform might not be enough to dissuade the Burke
clan.” He stopped for effect. Burke returned the stare. He wasn’t
intimidated easily, and certainly not now, with the rage building
within.

“But, I am going to guess that if we were to
dust this bookend for prints, we would find only one set on it -
yours,” he smiled directly at Thurber. “And I’m sure that I could
get the Mayor to sign an affidavit that would say that there was
only one bookend in this office, not two.”

Burke looked over at Thurber. Jack looked
like he was about to throw up. Burke knew that Jack was only two
years away from a full pension. Thurber didn’t speak for a long
time, but Burke could tell by his body language he was defeated. He
stared over his large belly at the tips of his shoes.

“Fine,” Thurber sighed, “I’ll sign all the
official reports, but on one condition.”

“Do you really think you are in the position
to be asking for favors?” Williams asked, looking contemptuously at
Thurber.

“Tom doesn’t have to sign nothing, keeps his
stripes and can stay on the murder squad.”

Burke tried to interject, “Jack, don’t do
that!” but it was too late.

“Deal,” Williams said to Thurber, his hand
already out for a handshake. Thurber shook Williams hand, but he
couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Tom, I suggest you use some of that built up
vacation time you’ve got,” Michaels said. “Starting tonight. I
don’t want to see you or hear anything about you for the next two
weeks.”

Williams opened the office door, looking
pleased. “Well, I think we’ve put enough lipstick on this pig for
now. Thurber, you come back with us to HQ to get all that paperwork
filled out. I want this investigation finalized tonight.”

Williams walked up to Burke, his mouth up
next to Burke’s ear. He could feel the Chief’s hot breath. “Burke,
I don’t want to see your face anywhere until at least April.”

Friday, March 17, morning

The hardest part had been finding the pay
phone. Burke hadn’t looked for one for years, and when he needed
one, they had been elusive. He finally found one outside of a
grocery store in the old northeast neighborhood. He left Bethany a
rather lengthy message. Her cell phone must have been off because
it hadn’t rung; it went straight into her voice mail.

“Hello, Ms. Edwards, we met last Saturday
evening at the Thai noodle restaurant. I have some information that
I think you will find incredibly interesting and could be the story
of your career. Please meet me at the corner at the southeast
corner of 39
^th
and Stateline Road at 7 a.m., tomorrow.
That’s 39
^th
and Stateline on Friday, March 17 at seven.
Bring your notebook.” He had cringed at that last part; it sounded
incredibly lame, but his brain was fried.

The sun was now above the horizon. Burke
walked the three blocks from his apartment to the corner. Would she
show? He hoped so, but he couldn’t be sure. About the time he was
getting nervous that she hadn’t taken him seriously when an older,
blue Honda Civic slowed to a stop, with Bethany Edwards at the
wheel. She rolled down the window.

“Sergeant Burke,” she said, “I hate getting
up early on Saturdays, but I must say, you have me intrigued.” He
opened the passenger door and got in.

“Believe me, you won’t be sorry. Are you
ready for an inside scoop, all off the record?”

“Absolutely,” she said as they started
heading north.

Burke asked her to drive to somewhere where
they could park. Bethany said there was a park close by, and Burke
said that would be fine. They parked in the empty lot, and Burke
decided it was best to start with a bang. He unzipped his coat, and
pulled out the missing bookend, zipped up in an evidence bag.

It hadn’t been hard to find. The biggest
problem was waiting long enough for the area to clear out so he
wouldn’t get caught. After the warning from Williams, he had gone
home for a long period, his body pulsing with anger and adrenaline,
wondering what to do next. He was so mad, so in shock about how
things had gone so terribly wrong, that he had left his car in the
City Hall garage and had walked the entire way home. If he hadn’t
had dress shoes on, he would have sprinted home, just to burn off
some of the rage he felt, but that wasn’t feasible, so he walked.
The rhythm of his steps kept the beat of the thoughts swirling in
his head, over and over again. Knaak, Vithous, Hughes, Williams.
All of it. What a mess.

Eventually he arrived at his apartment. As he
walked up the stairs and pulled out his keys, he decided that he
wasn’t going to let them get away with it. He was going to wipe
that smug smile off Chief Williams Ken doll face. He was going to
make Captain Michaels regret siding with Williams. And he really
was going to make them regret sullying his family’s name.
Fuck
Williams
, he thought. Then he realized he needed the missing
bookend. Only he and Pete Knaak knew it existed. And Pete Knaak was
in the morgue.

Once home he showered, picked at some
leftovers and waited. He drifted off for a while, but only for an
hour or so. He hadn’t checked his home messages for the day, so to
pass the time, he did. Two messages from his mother; and one from
his real estate agent.

“
Hey Tom, it’s Seth. Julie signed the
offer this afternoon. She said you two talked. Anyway, I need you
to sign them, too. Any way you could stop by after work? I will be
in the office until six.”

Tom checked the time on his cable box. It was
11:45 pm. He got his phone out and texted Seth.

Late day at office. Can I sign on
Monday?

To his surprise, he got an immediate
response.

We need to move sooner than that. Can stop
by office in a.m. Say nine?

Burke texted a quick response.

Make it eleven? See you then.

He then turned his cellphone off and put it
in his top desk drawer. He wouldn’t be using it for a while.

Burke got out his computer and started to
search. He looked at a variety of flights, LA, San Diego, and
Miami. Then he saw a destination that was a good fit. He got his
credit card out, entered his information, and booked his flight.
Burke turned his printer on and waited for it to print out his
boarding pass. After a few seconds, the boarding pass slid out.
Burke took it, folded it into his wallet, then turned the printer
and the computer completely off.

Next, he dug around his closet for a
flashlight and a crow bar out of his toolbox, put on a black
turtleneck, black gloves, and the darkest jeans he could find. He
shoved an evidence bag into his front pocket, and drove his
personal vehicle back towards City Hall. He purposely took side
streets, taking his time. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but
he didn’t think so. Upon entering downtown, he drove to the east
side and parked in a surface parking lot that was almost completely
empty. His heart was in his throat when he got out of the car, but
he was determined. He was going through with it.

He walked with purpose; fast, but not too
fast to draw attention. Downtown was almost entirely deserted. It
was Friday morning now -- his watch said 1:32. The bars wouldn’t
close for another half hour, so anyone leaving after last call
wouldn’t be around yet. He was careful to avoid KCPD headquarters;
instead he walked two additional blocks west of City Hall on
10
^th
Street, then circled back using alleys whenever he
could. Cutting across a parking garage, he walked across Oak
Street, and to the western entrance of City Hall. The crow bar felt
heavy and awkward in his hand; he could feel some sweat on the back
of his neck and in his gloves. He realized he was nervous. Thinking
about doing something like this was one thing. Actually doing it
was entirely different.

He was in luck; the bookend was in the
second storm drain he opened. It was less than a hundred feet from
the basement level of City Hall. Burke figured Knaak most likely
had forgotten he was even carrying it until he stepped out and had
realized it was still in his hands. Knaak had disposed of it
quickly. Burke dropped carefully into the sewer with the flashlight
in one hand. Using his other hand, he pulled out the evidence bag
–and with extreme care—dropped the bookend into the bag. Burke
realized he hit the jackpot. The bookend was in pristine condition
since it hadn’t rained or snowed since Friday. As he looked
carefully at the bookend through the bag, he could see some of John
Vithous’ hair, along with blood and even small amounts of
flesh.

“Bingo,” Burke whispered to himself. He
moved quickly to exit the sewer and placed the manhole back on.

He was circling back now, almost at a trot,
but not quite. He had slid the bookend into his coat pocket and
could feel it rub against his stomach with every step. The crow bar
had been harder to conceal. Burke decided to just slide it in the
back of his pants, but it was too hard to walk with. He decided to
do what Pete Knaak did – he threw it down a storm sewer.

Burke had taken about three steps when the
blue and red lights came out of the darkness.

“Stop right there!” the voice behind the
light shouted.

Shit,
Burke thought. His gut was a
knot; he had no idea how he was going to talk his way out of this
one.

“Hands where I can see them!”

Burke raised his hands slowly, hoping the
bulge in his jacket wouldn’t be noticeable. But, he knew that if he
was the cop, he would frisk him the second he got a chance.