A Killing Fair (16 page)

Ramsey County Attorney Lawrence Brigham, appearing for the people, read the charges against the two men. Both were charged with first-degree murder and of depriving the deceased of his human rights. Frankie was also accused of aggravated assault in the clubbing of Tommy Grayson and with the theft of the Fairchild costume. I smiled at the possibility of Frankie being found not guilty of murder but doing time for stealing the big round head of a gopher.

Brigham gave a quick summary of the events at the State Fairgrounds on the day of Vinnie Luciano's murder and added an intriguing tidbit. He said that during a warranted search of Louie Luciano's premises, a container with a small portion of strychnine had been found in the garage. In my mind, this was damning evidence against Louie. Case closed.

When asked for their pleas, both Louie and Frankie said not guilty in loud, decisive voices. Riley then asked that his clients be released without bail on the grounds that all the state's evidence against them was circumstantial and neither man was a flight risk. Judge Thomas gave Riley a look that said “you must be kidding” and set bail at $250,000 for Frankie and $500,000 for Louie. The Bulldog started to respond, but the judge stopped him by banging the gavel and calling for the next case.

Al was shooting photos at the back of the courtroom when the prisoners were led out, and I saw Louie say something as he passed him. As we left the courthouse, Al told me about the encounter. “Louie said to tell you that he is gonna beat this rap, and then he's gonna beat your goddamn head in,” Al said. “So I guess you'd call this giving you a heads-up.”

“Think I should buy a helmet?”

“I think you'd better watch your head and your back if he's not put away for life.”

“I can't see either my head or my back. How the hell can I watch them?”

“It's all done with mirrors,” Al said.

 

Chapter 22: Quick Turnabout

I
was trying to put some life into a story about coyotes invading the posh suburb of North Oaks Wednesday morning when Al arrived at my desk. “I got in without having to dodge Willow this morning,” he said. “She got hit with the restraining order while she was standing out by the parking ramp. She just sent me an e-mail asking how I could be so mean and cruel. She says all she wants to do is be my bosom friend.”

“Did she include a bosom friendship photo?” I asked.

“She sent both the bosom buddy and the crotch companion shots. I deleted everything and I'm considering burning the laptop to make sure they're gone.”

“Be careful where you burn it. You could be fined for air pollution.”

“I'd gladly pay a fine to have Willow pollution burned out of my life for good.”

After I finished the story, I went to the cafeteria for a doughnut and a cup of coffee. Al had been sent out to shoot a seventeen-car pileup caused by a guy texting on Interstate 35, but there were several other slackers in the cafeteria with whom I could kill some time between assignments.

When I returned to my desk I found I'd killed nearly a half-hour. It was time to call Detective K.G. Barnes and try to coax her into leaking some more information about the case against Louie Luciano and Frankie Garcia. For one thing, I was wonder­ing how big the strychnine container was and how much poison remained inside it. For another, I wanted to know if they had any evidence against Frankie beyond his presence—and denial of same—at the fairgrounds on the day of the murder. To my surprise, I was transferred to KGB immediately.

“How can we help you, Mr. Mitchell?” she said. Her tone was less antagonistic than usual. In fact, it was almost friendly. My guard went up immediately.

I asked about the strychnine and she said the details of all charges would be discussed at this afternoon's media briefing.

That startled me. “I didn't know there was a media briefing this afternoon,” I said.

“Didn't you get our e-mail?” she said. “We thought that's what you were calling us about.”

“When did you send it?”

“Five minutes ago. You're slipping. You usually respond in less than three.”

“Sorry. I just got back from, uh, an assignment and I haven't checked my e-mail since early this morning.”

“Read our e-mail,” KGB said. “We think you'll agree that it could turn this whole case around.”

“Sounds like I'll be calling all of you again as soon as I've read it.”

“We'll be here.” There was a disconcerting smugness in her voice. I said goodbye and started calling up my e-mails with one hand while I was putting down the phone with the other.

The Falcon Heights police e-mail, which was signed by Chief Victoria Tubb, said there would be a media briefing at 1:30 p.m. at the police station today to discuss a new development in the Vinnie Luciano murder case. A report to Falcon Heights police from the FBI fingerprint laboratory had identified some prints found on the purloined Fairchild costume as belonging to a male St. Paul resident with a criminal record. This man had been taken into custody late Tuesday night and was being interrogated. His identity would be revealed and the results of the interrogation would be discussed at the afternoon briefing.

I sat in stunned silence for a moment before reaching for the phone. I didn't know the Fairchild costume had been found, let alone sent out for fingerprint analysis. This could be a major break in the case against Louie Luciano and Frankie Garcia, and it was a major break the wrong way from my point of view. I punched in the Falcon Heights police number.

“That was quick,” KGB said when I was transferred to her line. “Figuring in the time it took you to read the e-mail, we'd say that you're back in form, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I said. “What kind of game are you playing with the press? This is the first time you've told anyone that the Fairchild costume had been found, much less sent out for analysis.”

“We didn't go public with that because we didn't want the perpetrator to know we'd found the costume,” KGB said.

“Where was it?”

“That's part of this afternoon's discussion.”

“This could take Frankie Garcia off the hook,” I said.

“And possibly Louie Luciano along with him,” she said. “Depending on what our present guest tells us under interroga­tion this afternoon.”

“Will you be water boarding him?” I wasn't serious, but I could visualize KGB doing this.

“We don't think it will be necessary to go to that extreme.”

“Who is this guy? What kind of record does he have?”

“You'll hear all that in a couple hours with the rest of the reporters. All we're saying at the moment is he has an arrest sheet several pages long. Basically he's a thickheaded thug who gets looked at every time there's assault or armed robbery in the area.”

“You mean when they round up the usual suspects?”

“You could put it that way.”

“This could knock a huge hole in your case against Louie.”

“And also your case against Louie,” KGB said. “Remember, you're the one who convinced us to take a closer look at Louie because you're so absolutely sure of his guilt. Maybe this is why everything we turn up about Louie turns out to be circumstantial.”

“I guess I'll see you this afternoon,” I said.

“One-thirty on the dot. Have a nice lunch, Mr. Mitchell.” She sounded much too cheerful, and I could see why. She was now one-up on me, and she would actually be pleased to shoot down my Louie and Frankie theory. It occurred to me that she'd be even more pleased if she had heard Louie's courtroom exit pledge.

I tucked my tail between my legs and went to the city desk to tell Don about the new development.

“That was a quick turnaround,” Don said. “What does this do to yesterday's charges against Louie and the other guy?”

“It could blow them completely out of the water,” I said. “If this new guy is really the one who cold-cocked Tommy and stole the suit, Frankie Garcia is a free man. I just hope the new guy says Louie is the one who hired him.”

“Well, the best you can do for now is to update your story with as much as you've got for the running electronic edition,” Don said. “Take your twin with you to the briefing. Have him get a decent mug shot of that detective you call KGB.”

I wrote the update, sent it to Don, found Al in the photo department and told him about Chief Tubb's surprise announce­ment.

“Holy shit, if this guy confesses to clobbering Fairchild and delivering the poison, Louie's pal will walk,” Al said.

“And if this guy does not ID Louie as the person giving him the poison, Louie will also walk. I'll see you in time to get to the briefing. I'm going out for a while.”

“Where to?”

“I'm going to buy a helmet,” I said.

 

Chapter 23: Suspect on the Square

I
was only half kidding about buying a helmet. I was actually going to lunch with Martha Todd and the head of her firm, Linda L. Lansing, but if there had been a bicycle shop between the Daily Dispatch and the restaurant I might have stopped in to pick up a piece of protective headgear.

I've been having occasional lunches with Linda ever since she represented the defendant in a major murder trial I covered about eight years ago. Linda is a woman who draws the attention of every man in the room when she walks in. She is tall (six-two), slender (but curvaceous in all the proper places) and blonde. Our friendship has always been platonic because she has always lived with a female lover. In fact, they were among the happy couples to be officially united on the first day that same-sex marriage was legal in Minnesota.

Linda and Martha were already seated when I arrived. I'd barely settled into a chair after kissing Martha when Linda said, “Andy Morris sends his thanks to you for taking Louie Luciano out of circulation.”

“Why does Andy care about that?” I asked.

“Don't you remember? Andy is representing Vito Luciano in Louie Luciano's suit to get Vinnie Luciano's most recent will thrown out. With Louie in jail on the charge of killing Vinnie, maybe the suit against Vito will go away.”

“And then again, maybe not,” I said. I told them about the arrest of a new suspect in the Vinnie Luciano murder case.

“Oh, god, what a circus this is turning into,” Linda said. “If this new suspect really did deliver the poison he'll probably give up the person who hired him in turn for a lighter sentence.”

“That's exactly what I'm thinking,” I said. “And the person he names might not be Louie.”

“Ouch,” Martha said. “That would sink your theory and put Louie back where he could make trouble for Vito.”

“For me, too,” I said. “He's promised to beat my head in when he beats the murder rap.”

“Maybe you should buy a helmet,” Martha said.

 

* * *

 

As I always do at briefings, I slid in behind Trish Valentine at the Falcon Heights Police Station. In addition to always standing in the front row, Trish is aggressive and almost always attracts enough attention to be called on for the first question. And because the speaker is looking toward Trish when I wave my hand, I usually get to ask the second question.

“Good to see you, Trish,” I said.

“Trish Valentine, reporting live,” she said. “Always first with breaking news.”

The briefing area was packed with print and electronic reporters and photographers when Chief Victoria Tubb and Detective K.G. Barnes entered. The chief began by reading her statement, which covered what KGB had told me about the fingerprint leading to the arrest of a man with a long police record.

The chief said the Fairchild costume had been found in a dumpster two blocks from the fairgrounds, and that a fingerprint on the head led to the arrest of Mathew Grimes, also known as Grubby Grimes; age thirty-eight, whose last known address was in a rundown neighborhood near the river in St. Paul. I wondered if there was really a house at that number or if Grubby slept under a bridge.

“Do you know where that address is?” Trish whispered.

“It's where you don't want to go without company,” I said. “And I don't mean just one cameraman.”

“Always first with breaking news,” she said.

“Or a broken head if you go there,” I said. I turned my atten­tion back to the chief in time to hear her say that Mr. Grimes was cooperating with investigators and would be arraigned the next morning.

As I'd hoped, Trish was the first person called upon when Chief Tubb asked if there were questions.

“You said Mr. Grimes is cooperating,” Trish said. “Does that mean he has named the person who hired him to deliver the poison?”

“It does not,” the chief said.

“Has he refused to name the person who hired him?” I asked while Chief Tubb was still looking at Trish.

“He claims not to know the identity of the person who hired him. On the advice of his attorney, he has declined to say anything further about the transaction.”

I wanted to say, “You call this cooperating?” Channel Five's reporter did it for me in a more diplomatic manner by asking in what other ways Mr. Grimes was cooperating.

“Mr. Grimes has offered to provide more information in return for further consideration of the nature of the charges to be brought against him,” Chief Tubb said.

“What are the charges?” another reporter asked.

“As I just said, the charges are under consideration at this time,” the chief said.

“So you're making a deal?” Trish said.

The healthy pink color of the chief's face was instantly replaced by angry red. “I wouldn't categorize our negotiations as making a deal, and neither should you. Thank you all very much for coming and have a good day.” She spun and walked out, followed so closely by KGB that I suspected a Velcro attachment.

“Nice going,” I said to Trish. “You drove her out of here before I could ask if they were letting Frankie Garcia out of jail.”

“Oh, that's a good question. I'll have to call the chief and ask her that one.”

I should have known she'd jump on that. “Always glad to help.”

“Always first with breaking news.” With a queen-like wave, Trish followed her cameraman out of the room.

Al met me at the door. “Is this a get-out-of-jail-free card for that Garcia character?” he said.

“Trish Valentine reporting live is going to find out for us,” I said. “Thanks to my big mouth, she'll be first with breaking news.”

In the car on the way back to the office I called the Falcon Heights Police Department on my cell phone. I wasn't about to wait for Trish Valentine reporting live to find out about Frankie Garcia's potential freedom. The duty sergeant answered and informed me that Chief Tubb was not taking any calls from the media. “She says to tell you she believes she said everything that needs to be said at the press conference,” he said.

“How about Detective Barnes?” I said. “May I speak to her?”

“She's not available neither,” he said. “Have a good day.” He hung up before I could correct his “neither” with “either.”

Well, at least Trish wouldn't have it in her breaking news.

“Stonewalled again?” Al said as I shut off the phone and shouted an expletive.

“I've been stonewalled so much I've got rocks in my head.”

 

* * *

 

Thursday morning found me once again standing behind Trish Valentine. This time we were in the courtroom, waiting for Mathew (AKA Grubby) Grimes's arraignment. “No luck asking Chief Tubb about Frankie, huh?” I said.

“My contact at the jail says they're letting him out, but I can't get anybody to go on the record,” Trish said. “When it happens I'll get it first.”

When Grimes was brought in wearing the usual orange jumpsuit, handcuffs and leg shackles, a man in a dark suit stepped up beside him. “Your honor, I am Daniel Ballew, Mr. Grimes's court-appointed attorney.”

“Is Mr. Grimes not in a financial position to hire an attorney?” said Judge Anthony T. Thomas.

“That is so, your honor,” Ballew said.

“Given the serious nature of the charge against Mr. Grimes, it would seem that he should have the best possible represen­tation. Do you have any prior experience of this nature, Mr. Ballew?”

Ballew's face turned a light shade of red. He pursed his lips and stood a little straighter. “I do, your honor. I have successfully defended a person charged with manslaughter.”

“Very well. Let us continue,” said the judge.

The clerk read the charges, which were theft of material valued at more than $200, aggravated assault and accessory to murder. Grubby Grimes pleaded not guilty to all three.

After bail was set and Grubby was led away, reporters and photographers blocked the front steps, surrounded the two attorneys and bombarded them with questions.

As usual, Trish was first. “Mr. Brigham, is Francisco Garcia being released.”

“Mr. Garcia will be released on reduced bail, amount to be determined, later today,” said Assistant Ramsey County Attorney Andrew Brigham, who had appeared for the people.

“Has Mr. Grimes admitted delivering the food that killed Vinnie Luciano?” I asked.

“Mr. Grimes admits delivering the item but denies knowledge of its contents.”

“Has Mr. Grimes identified any other suspects?” I asked.

“Mr. Grimes claims not to know the identity of any other suspects,” Brigham said. “We have surveillance film of a man who looks very much like Mr. Grimes meeting a man wearing a ski mask at night in a parking lot but the masked man is not identifiable.”

“Does he look anything like Louie Luciano?” the reporter from Minneapolis asked.

“I can't comment on that,” Brigham said.

“Where's the parking lot?” Channel Seven's reporter asked.

“I can't comment on that either.”

“Has he given you information in exchange for a plea bargain down from murder-one to accessory?” I asked.

“We have reached an agreement with Mr. Grimes and his attorney on the charge.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It's all I'm going to say.” He spotted a crack in the circle of reporters and, like a slippery Vikings running back, he slid through the narrow opening and accelerated toward his BMW in the parking lot.

Our attention turned to the defense attorney.

“Just what is your agreement with the prosecution?” Trish asked.

“I've been asked not to discuss the details at this time,” said Daniel Ballew.

“Who asked you not to do that?” I asked.

“The court.”

“Judge Thomas?” In court, the judge had seemed unaware of Ballew's existence, much less a plea agreement.

“Well, not exactly,” Ballew said. “The prosecution, actually.”

“So the prosecution is keeping the plea bargain a secret,” said the Minneapolis reporter.

“You could say that,” Ballew said.

“I will say that,” said the reporter.

“We all will,” I said. “And we'll challenge it.”

“You have the right to do that.”

“Yes, we do. So what's the defense of your client going to be? Temporary poverty?”

“As the prosecutor told you, my client had no knowledge that the material on the stick was lethal,” Ballew said. “He fully believed he was being paid to deliver an item of food to the man on the platform.”

“Lucky he didn't sample it along the way,” Trish said.

“Yes, it is fortunate that my client is a thoroughly honest man.” This brought a chorus of laughter, during which Ballew ducked through the same opening the prosecutor had used and turned on the jets toward the parking lot.

“I've got the perfect headline for my story,” I said to Al on the way to our car. “Square meal killer gets square deal.”

“Meanwhile, we're back to square one on who hired Mr. Grubby,” Al said.

“My guess is that it wasn't Louie Luciano.”

“So who are you squaring up on next?”

“My money is now squarely on cousin Vito.”