Relative Malice (18 page)

“The vic said it felt like a small hoop earring.”

“That’s it. Gold, 14k, a half-inch in diameter.”

“He’s probably Carlee Somerfelt’s rapist, unless penis piercings are becoming the new fashion statement for idiots.”

Teed didn’t laugh. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I’d like his prints run against the partial from the Glausson case.”

“Interesting. I’ll get one of the techs on it right away.”

“It’s probably a long shot, but the rapes have similarities.”

Frustrated, Kendall drove back to the office. The Cottingham adoptions checked out. She called Nash and filled him in on what happened with Fostvedt and Cottingham. For once, he had nothing to add. His lack of interest didn’t improve her mood.

30

Kendall stopped for groceries, intending to cook her first meal in the apartment now that it was going to be hers for at least the next thirty days. It felt good to have her own place; it had been a long time. And since Alverson and his partner were working Fostvedt’s murder, she’d be able to spend time on the Glausson case.

She checked in with Brynn, who was glued to the huge screen of the new iMac. Apparently at a critical point, Brynn waved her away.

Kendall made herself a quick grilled cheese and heated a can of tomato soup. Not much for a housewarming meal, but quick and comforting. When she finished, she fried another sandwich and took it over to Brynn, who grabbed it like it was a lifesaver.

“Have you even taken a break today?”

“No. Thanks for the sandwich. I forgot to eat.”

“Any breakthroughs?”

Brynn’s pale eyes sparkled. “I’m pretty sure I’ve found the right chat room. One of them got sloppy and I was able to track her username. She’s the woman from Cameron, that Jennemen. I can’t tell who the others are, but there are four of them that meet in a private chat room.”

Four accounted for those they’d talked to, Jennemen, Iseroth, Traynor and DeForrest. “Can you tell what’s going on?”

“They’re talking about a package they’re going to pass around. It couldn’t be the baby, could it? Would they do something like that?”

“Hard telling what monsters like them are capable of.”

The cheese sandwich Kendall had eaten turned leaden in her stomach. What had they stepped into? It was possible they were talking about photos or videos, which would be most likely. But passing a baby around? It didn’t get worse than that.

Later, deep in much-needed sleep, Kendall woke with a start. Through slitted eyes she saw a figure standing next to her bed.

“Kendall! You have to wake up. There’s another one talking to them; I think she’s the one getting the package. She calls herself Mia.”

Kendall slowly grasped what was happening. Brynn had found something important and let herself into the apartment. She had to get her key back from that girl. Brynn was shivering despite the heavy bathrobe covering her thin body.

“You didn’t answer your phone, and I knew you’d want to know.”

Kendall had forgotten to charge her phone. As soon as her muddled thoughts registered the enormity of the news, she crawled out of bed. Mia. Where had she heard that name recently? She had to make coffee and clear her head.

She read the chats and had a cup of coffee before it hit her—the name Mia—TJ, Conlin’s girlfriend, had mentioned it to Nash. Something about the landlady in Waukesha. Crap, the landlady. Why hadn’t she put it together? Especially after the Jennemen-Iseroth connection to Waukesha. She plugged in her phone to call TJ.

It was nearly one when Kendall got off the phone. She’d been in touch with the Waukesha police through TJ and Detective Conlin. WPD had started a stakeout on “Mia,” aka Tanya Porter, the former prostitute. They’d quickly pinpointed her as a member of the predator ring, possibly its ringleader. The Cameron police were watching Jennemen and Iseroth, and the county sheriffs had a bead on DeForrest. In Minnesota, the Greenfield police had called in the state BCA to watch Traynor. If the chatter was what it appeared to be and the members of the ring were going to share a purchased child, the pedophiles were all covered in order to save the child.

Kendall wanted to leave for Waukesha. She needed to be part of the takedown and be there when they got Philly out of the hands of those animals.

Schoenfuss had no idea any of this was going down and wouldn’t look kindly on being left out of the loop. Should she call her boss and piss him off by interrupting his sleep, or suffer his wrath the next day? A successful outcome could nix any penalty, however. Since she didn’t have any new cases, and with the Somerfelt and virgin email cases wrapped up, she opted for putting it off until the next day. She’d call him from Waukesha.

She looked over at Brynn, who was still glued to her computer screen. “I’m going to Waukesha.”

“Aren’t you going to call Nash?”

Brynn was right to remind her—Nash should know she was going and what was happening. She went back to her apartment and took out her phone.

He answered as if he’d been waiting for a call. “What’s happening?”

She brought him up to speed on the pedophile ring.

“Damn! We should have figured it out.”

“Guess we weren’t able to sink to their level. Don’t forget, you suspected they were in touch with each other,” Kendall said.

He grunted. “At least now they won’t get their slimy hands on the kid.”

“I’m going to Waukesha.”

“Don’t the locals have it covered?”

“They do, but I want to be part of it.”

“So do I,” Nash said, “but I have no business being there. You don’t, either.”

“I couldn’t sleep now, anyway. I may as well go.”

“Your boss doesn’t know any of this, does he?”

Kendall’s excitement vanished. “No, he doesn’t know yet.”

“You’ll get your ass in a sling if you go. I’ll make you a deal—stay put and I’ll go. I’ll give you regular reports of what’s going on. They can’t do anything to me for showing up.”

He was right. It didn’t matter if she and Nash were the ones who’d uncovered the pedophile ring. Schoenfuss would still be angry and even more so if she didn’t show up for work the next morning. And if she were being honest with herself, there wasn’t anything she could bring to the bust except her ego.

TJ made it possible for Nash to be in touch with the team surrounding Tanya Porter’s house. He spoke with Detective Tom Zabel of the WPD. Zabel, along with three other officers, was stationed in an old motor home parked in a driveway three doors down from Porter’s place.

The efficiency of Waukesha’s placement was impressive. Zabel and his crew masqueraded as visitors to an elderly woman who lived in a neighboring home. Determining Tanya Porter was not in her residence, they’d furtively surrounded the house after getting the news via the chat room that the
package
would be changing hands late that night and would be picked up by Tanya Porter.

The local forensic units replaced Brynn’s duties as cyber lookout, and were searching for a money trail that would confirm Tanya Porter as the ringleader. The others, Jennemen, Iseroth, DeForrest and Traynor, remained under digital and physical surveillance. The goal? To take the rest of the pedophile ring into custody at the same time they intercepted Porter with the baby. If the Feds found a money trail among the freaks, along with the chat records, it would put them all behind bars for a long time.

Nash parked in the lot of a local motel as close to Tanya’s house as prudent considering the surveillance. At five a.m., he got the call from Zabel; they’d picked up Tanya after she’d entered the house with the baby. It was over.

I’m coming over there to pick up the kid,” Nash said. “I have permission from her uncle, Gray Glausson.” Not really true since he’d opted to hold off on contacting Gray until he knew something certain, but worth a try.

“Sorry, man. You know I can’t let you do that. The baby has to go with family services first. It’s protocol, my hands are tied.”

He knew Zabel was right, but sometimes protocol sucked. “After all that kid’s been through?”

“Hang on. They’re bringing the baby out.”

An endless minute passed while Nash waited for word that Philly was unharmed.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Zabel said.“

Were they too late? “What did they do to her?”

“Nothing. The child looks fine, but it’s not the Glausson baby. This kid is Asian.”

31

Tuesday

Schoenfuss called Kendall to his office. He met her with his arms akimbo, his face red.

“What were you thinking?”

He didn’t let her answer. “I told you to work on your other cases and leave this the hell alone, didn’t I?”

Kendall fought to keep her next words non-confrontational. “You did, but you also said I could work the Glausson case in my spare time. Every hour I put in was on my own time. The other cases you gave me are put to bed.”

“That might be impressive if you hadn’t had help. Civilian help, I might add, and you know that’s not acceptable.”

“I had to use whatever means I could to find Philly Glausson. I told you I had a strong gut feeling she’s alive. I still do.”

“Right. That and five bucks will get you lunch at McDonald’s.”

“With Adam Nashlund’s help I saved a child’s life and exposed a pedophile ring. Those animals will be put away for the rest of their lives
because
I went out on a limb.”

Her boss’s expression hardened. It was time to shut up and let him do the talking.

“I got a call from Agent Kahn. I thought I also told you to stay away from him.”

Technically she had stayed away; they’d communicated by text message. “I haven’t talked to Agent Kahn since the day I went to Stillwater.”
Was texting talking?

Schoenfuss took a deep breath. “He commended your work, actually. He called right after the Chief did the press conference.”

Kendall knew he was getting around to dropping the other shoe. How much trouble could she be in, for God’s sake? She’d staked her hopes on her “commendable” solve-rate outweighing the problem of Nash’s involvement.“Channel 17 called. They’ve been doing a series on women in law enforcement and want to interview you about the pedophile-ring case. The Chief accepted for you.”

Kendall’s face burned. She hated media attention and he knew it. “Can’t someone else do it?”
Someone who loves the limelight?

He glared at her. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Deflated when the FBI took over monitoring the pedophile ring, Brynn switched to searching through adoption ads. It was a time-consuming chore.

When she heard a knock on her door, it was a welcome distraction. She’d been given the green light on safety measures once Kendall found Fostvedt and identified him as Carlee’s rapist.

A teenage boy stood at her door. “Hi. I’m looking for my dad.”

She would have asked who his dad was if he hadn’t borne an amazing resemblance to Adam Nashlund. Except for nearly a head’s difference in height, and his auburn hair, he was a replica of his father.

He grinned. “I know you know him. Adam Nashlund.”

“He’s not here.”

“I got back early, and I don’t have my key to the house, just the car key.”

What did he want from her? “Did you call him?”

“Don’t have a cell phone.”

She remembered the day he took off with his father’s car. “Are you supposed to be driving?”

“I have a license,” he said, ignoring the implication of her question. “Hey, it’s cold out here. Can I come in for a minute?”

Kendall was about to leave the office when she got a call from Gene Tarkowski.“Nice work on the Porter case,” the agent said.

“The Porter case?”

“Tanya Porter, the pedophile ring.”

“Right. I’d forgotten her name. Did you get all of them?”

“We did. It’s going well, too. They’re pointing fingers at each other.”

“That’s great, although it isn’t helping me find the Glausson child. Did you find the parents of the baby you rescued?”

“Not yet. There haven’t been any reports of a baby missing in the area. If the parents sold their baby, they might not want to be found. But about Philly. Kendall, our people went over the entire area again, re-interviewed neighbors, and friends of the Glausson’s. There’s nothing else there.”

She groaned. “Pretty soon I’ll be the only one who believes she’s still alive.”

“I understand. I’ve had a few of those cases myself, the ones you can’t get out of your head. But that isn’t why I called. I wanted to give you a heads up on this before it hits the news. Travis Jordan’s attorney filed a motion to suppress the gun from evidence. She’s claiming the search of his car was illegal. It’s on the docket in Stillwater tomorrow morning.”

An ice-cold wave of dread swept through her. “Is there a chance it’ll stand up?”

“Hard to say, Kendall. You know how these things go. In a court of law, there are never any sure things.

Fighting discouragement, Kendall went to see Alverson and his partner, who were working Fostvedt’s murder and talking to Chippewa in an effort to identify him as their rapist.

“While you’re at it, would you look for anything connecting him to the Glaussons or to Travis Jordan?” she asked.

She stopped Alverson’s protest with a raised hand. “I know we don’t have enough evidence to support a connection, but the techs are comparing his prints with the partial we found on the Glausson girl. The results of a partial match may not hold up as evidence in a trial, but if Fostvedt was an accomplice, it could help us find Philly Glausson. The invasion here was the only one where there was a rape, and what Fostvedt did to Carlee was similar to what was done to Sienna Glausson.

“And remember to check him with Sienna Glausson and see if there’s any connection there. You’ll have to question her friends again.”

Ignoring their unenthusiastic expressions, Kendall left the station. She wished she knew for sure if Philly Glausson was alive, not decomposing in a wooded area or being sold to an unidentified pedophile. And there was the possibility Travis Jordan could be released. What else could go wrong?

She drove home feeling like she must have missed something. They’d interviewed everyone who’d known or worked with Mark Glausson. And everyone related to or acquainted with Sienna had been interviewed more than once because of the virgin email case. What little they knew about Chelsea Glausson had come from her friend Betty and her son Evan’s therapist.

The only things taken in the home invasions had been cash and credit cards. The money from the Glausson home had totaled a meager $580. What had Jordan been after? Was Gerald Fostvedt his accomplice? At least in the Glausson invasion? There were just too damn many questions and no answers.

Secrets. They had a way of coming around to haunt you. Was there something in the Glaussons’ background she’d missed? Something that had made them a target for Travis Jordan? Neither the locals nor the Feds had found anything connecting the families in the three invasions.

Chelsea’s friend, Betty Ruffalo. She’d try talking to her again. Before starting the car, Kendall punched in her number.

“Betty, this is Detective Halsrud. I’d like to talk to you again.”

“Sure, Detective. I’m at my daughter’s right now. Do you want to come here or would you like me to meet you at the station?”

Kendall got the address and minutes later pulled up in front of a modest ranch-style home bright with Christmas decorations. Christmas. It was hard to believe the holiday season had arrived while the rest of her world went to hell. Betty opened the door and led her into a small living room furnished in the early American style popular in the sixties. Rag rugs were scattered on the wood floor, and the walls were covered with artwork ala garage sale. The air smelled of lemon furniture polish and freshly baked cookies. They sat across from each other on matching upholstered rockers.

Kendall skipped any idle chitchat. “Betty, did you know that Philly was Graham Glausson’s child?”

“I knew it was a possibility. And believe me, Detective, I wrestled with telling you about it. I didn’t think it could be relevant, because no one knew.”

“Anything could be relevant in an investigation of this magnitude.”

“I’m sorry. It was bad judgment on my part not to tell you.”

“Is there anything else you didn’t think was important?”

Betty shifted her position in the rocker. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“There wasn’t much taken in any of the invasions,” said Kendall. “I’m still thinking there has to be a personal link somewhere that precipitated all of them, but we haven’t found anything connecting the three families.”

“If I knew of anything, I’d tell you. Maybe your link lies with the other families.”

There had to be something. “I don’t think so. The ones in Green Bay and Stillwater have been examined for nearly a year, both by the local police departments and the FBI.”

Betty Ruffalo’s daughter, a tall, svelte version of her mother, entered the room to serve coffee and set a plate of Christmas cookies in front of them. Kendall realized she hadn’t eaten since the stale doughnut she’d practically swallowed whole at the station that morning. Eager for a sugar rush, she quickly bit into a cookie, savoring its sweetness.

“Betty, can you think of anyone else who might have known Chelsea well enough to be of help?”

“No. Like I told you, she and I only met because of her son Evan and my granddaughter being in the hospital at the same time. She didn’t have much time for herself.”

“That’s right. How is your granddaughter?”

Betty’s face brightened. “She’s wonderful. Still in remission and the doctors say there’s no reason to think it won’t be permanent. I’d show her off to you now, but she’s at a play date with a little friend.”

Kendall munched another cookie, realizing this was the second time she’d broken her rule about eating with a witness. Maybe cookies didn’t count.

“What about Chelsea’s past?” Kendall asked. “You said the Twin Cities had bad memories for her.”

“That’s right. Chelsea’s parents died in a car crash when she was about six. There were no relatives to take Chels, and the family hadn’t left any money that could help her out. She ended up in and out of foster homes.”

“Did she tell you if any of them were abusive?”

“Chels didn’t like to talk about them, but I think the last one was. She ran away when she was sixteen.”

“How did she support herself?”

Ruffalo hesitated. Kendall could tell they were getting into territory about her friend that Betty didn’t want to explore with the police. “Betty, you have to tell me anything you know about her past. Did she start hooking?” A question Kendall knew the answer to, but maybe it would get Betty to open up.

She exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. “Not at first. She got a job busing tables at a Greek restaurant. She finally got to be a waitress, but they went out of business. She couldn’t find anything else. When her money ran out, she ended up on the streets.”

“Did she start using drugs?”

“Heroin,” Betty whispered.

“Why don’t you just tell me everything she told you about that time?”

“She was at a party the first time she tried the heroin. Chels was one of those people who got hooked with just one use. About a year later, a friend helped her kick the habit. She got work finally and then got her GED. She put herself through school. All of that took a lot of courage.”

Could Chelsea Glausson’s drug use so long ago be connected to the present? It didn’t seem possible. “Do you know if she stayed in touch with anyone from back then?”

“If she did, she didn’t tell me about it. Chels wanted to forget about her past.”

A vision of Philly filled Kendall’s mind, quickly overlaid with the shadow of another little girl. Kendall’s eyes misted. The memory of the other child prompted Kendall’s next question.

“Betty, was Chelsea ever pregnant during those years?”

Betty’s face saddened. “Detective, why would it matter now?”

Kendall could feel it, Chelsea Glausson’s past would be the key to opening the case. “She was, wasn’t she? Something from her past could be connected to the present, especially if it involves a child. Tell me what you know about it, Betty.”