Killing Zone (30 page)

1109 Hours

The remnants of last night’s activity still marked the littered ashtrays and trash baskets of the C.A.P. offices, and an occasional desk held a weary cup of cold coffee, left behind when its owner was pulled away in a rush. The weekend had only a skeleton crew of janitors and they hadn’t worked their way up to the third floor yet. Wager nodded to Theresa, the civilian who sat at the reception desk, thumbing through the Sunday comics.

“Morning, Sergeant Wager. Were you in on that riot last night?”

“Yes.”

The woman’s straight, short hair wagged with sympathy. “Papers make it sound pretty bad. Have you heard about Officer Wunderlicht?”

That was the cop who had the heart attack. “How’s he doing?”

“Intensive care, still. But they think he’ll make it.”

“I hope so.” Wager didn’t know Wunderlicht, but he was a cop, and he was suffering one of a cop’s favorite diseases. When any cop went down, it was like someone in the family: sometimes a distant cousin who was only a name, sometimes a brother. Wager flipped his name to the
IN
column and glanced at Stubbs’s tag. It still said
OFF-DUTY
, and Wager, thinking of Wunderlicht, felt a twist of irritation and wondered if the man would bother to come in today.

“Paper says it’s supposed to be worse tonight. That kid getting shot and all.”

“We’ll find out.”

Theresa called down the hall after him, “You have a message from Councilwoman Voss—it’s in your box.”

He lifted a hand thanks and paused to take a small stack of papers from the pigeonhole above his name. The while-you-were-out note simply said, “Councilwoman Voss,” followed by a telephone number and an X in the box for “Call Back.” Other papers were the routine notices and queries that steadily accumulated like dust and were just about as important. Wager dialed the number and listened to the rings while he glanced over the page of his notebook that listed words and phrases cueing possibilities in the case. There were still too many of them for any pattern, and they still led in no special direction.

“Mrs. Voss?”

“This is Elizabeth Voss.”

“Detective Wager. I have a note to call you.”

“Oh, yes!” Her voice warmed with recognition. “Thank you for returning my call. I wanted to say how grateful I am for your protection last night. I’m afraid I didn’t realize what you and the chief were warning us against until that gang came out of the alley. It was so sudden—so … ferocious and mindless …”

“Yes, ma’am. I hope you’re not planning on being down there tonight.”

“Well, yes, I am. But not to drive into the neighborhood. I want to be there, but I’ll stay at the command center.”

“Your husband doesn’t care if you go there again?”

The question made her pause. “My husband’s dead, Officer Wager. And even if he weren’t, I would not need his permission to go anywhere.”

She didn’t sound as if she would. “Have you talked to Mrs. Green this morning?” The councilwoman and Lieutenant Elkins had taken the shivering woman home last night.

“I called earlier. Her mother told me she was still sleeping. It’s the best thing for her.”

Wager thought so, too, especially with the funeral this afternoon, which would be another drain on emotions. “When you talk to her, tell her we’re doing the best we can.”

“I know you are, Officer, and that’s a second reason I wanted to talk with you.”

He waited.

“Are you there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You were so quiet I wasn’t sure.” The momentary lightness left her voice. “Have you learned anything more about the possibility of Horace selling votes?”

“No, ma’am. That’s one of the things we’re working on. Are you ready to tell me who your informant was?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to the person, Officer. I probably will this afternoon.” She added, “I understand you asked Councilman Albro about it.”

“That’s right.”

“He called me this morning. He was quite upset.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“I understand he complained to the chief.”

“That he did.”

“Please know, Officer Wager, that I intend to make the chief fully aware of the professionalism and cooperation you’ve shown in your investigation of the case.”

“Thank you.”

She wanted him to know that, she said once more before hanging up; and Wager, gazing at the telephone his hand rested on, wondered why.

“Hi, Gabe.” Stubbs, a fresh scratch of blood under his chin from a shaky morning shave, came in holding a cup of coffee. “I thought I’d find you down here. What’s new?”

Wager told him about Green’s love nest and his real estate venture.

“But Sonie Andersen didn’t find any money laundered through the company?”

“That’s what she says. I don’t want to subpoena the books yet. That’ll bring in the D.A. and open up the malfeasance crap.”

Stubbs nodded and tried not to look uncomfortable about that issue. “What about forensics going through his apartment?”

“Give them a call. I don’t think they’ll get much, but it has to be done.”

The younger detective paused, his finger on the telephone’s cradle. “I found out where that receptionist for K and E Construction lives. I thought she might have some idea of her bosses’ whereabouts on the eleventh.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Not yet. I figured I’d ask you first.”

Wager nodded and glanced at the wall clock. “Let’s check out the restaurants first, then we’ll talk to her.”

1241 Hours

The glossy coating on the reprint of Green’s photograph was beginning to show the mark of Wager’s sweaty thumb. Mrs. Green had given him the names of a dozen restaurants where her husband liked to eat—“He tried to go to a lot of different ones; he didn’t want to favor any particular one”—and they were spread all over Denver’s north side. Most were in his district and many were close to his headquarters. But a few were nearer his furniture store, and they started with those. Wager showed the photograph to yet another manager who recognized the man and said what a tragic thing his death was.

“Do you remember if he ate here on the afternoon or evening of the eleventh?”

“That would be Wednesday?” Again the shake of a head. “I’ll ask, but I don’t think so. He came in, what, two weeks ago. I remember seeing him around then. But not last Wednesday.”

Back in the car, Stubbs sighed. “That’s five?”

“Yeah.” Wager crossed off that name and looked at the next address. It was a small place that served only barbecued ribs, beef and pork, and Wager drew a line through it, too. No chicken and vegetables there.

“We’re pretty near Gail Haney’s place,” said Stubbs.

“Who?”

“The secretary for K and E. Gail Haney.” He told Wager the address.

“Might as well break the monotony.” He glanced at his watch as he swung onto Colorado Boulevard and headed south. The funeral was at two, and the chief had called a staff meeting at four to prepare for tonight’s festivities. Turning onto Seventeenth Avenue Parkway, he followed it to Jersey and then turned and slowed to look for the number. If Wager wanted to make the funeral, he’d have to move a little faster.

“That’s it—the four-plex.”

Wager pulled the car to the curb of the quiet street. It was one of those settled neighborhoods whose trees and hedges seemed to keep the rest of the city at a distance.

The young woman who answered their ring wasn’t the long-haired blonde, but she nodded when Wager identified himself and asked if Miss Haney lived here.

“Can we talk to her, please?”

“Just a minute, I’ll call her.”

“Must be a roommate,” Stubbs murmured, watching the glimmer of the girl’s legs beneath the rise and fall of her shorts. “She’s not bad, either.”

Gail Haney, minus the bright makeup that she wore at work, seemed much younger and the straight blond hair that came down each side of her face and dangled over the tips of her breasts emphasized her girlishness. “You want to see me?” Her blue eyes were round with surprise and innocence.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Can we come in?”

“Sure.” She wore a thin cotton shirt with tiny blue checks, sleeves rolled up and tail out, and a pair of yellow shorts creased tightly where creases should be. The roommate disappeared to leave the small living room to them. Miss Haney gathered up the scattered Sunday paper and carried empty coffee cups into the kitchen. “I’ve never talked to a detective. It’s kind of exciting.”

Stubbs smiled. “It can get real exciting—depending on what we talk about.”

She giggled, pulling her chin nervously against her neck. “I’ll bet!”

Wager showed her Green’s photograph. “Have you ever seen this man around the K and E offices?”

She looked at the picture. “Councilman Green? The one who got shot?”

“Yes.”

“No. I’ve heard Mr. Kaunitz talk about him, but as far as I know he never came to the office.”

“What did Mr. Kaunitz say?”

“I’m not sure. That he had a meeting with him. That he needed the councilman’s OK for a project. Things like that.”

“Did he meet often with the councilman?”

“It varied. When a zoning request was going up for a vote, they’d meet and either Mr. Kaunitz or Mr. Ellis would present it to the councilman or his committee. Otherwise, I don’t think they saw much of him.”

“Did you ever hear either Kaunitz or Ellis mention any private business with Green?”

“Private business?”

Wager nodded. “Dinner meetings, accounts, personal messages, that kind of thing.”

“Not that I know of. When they needed to meet with him, I’d call his office and make an appointment. Sometimes they did meet for lunch, though. I guess that’s kind of private.”

“You called the furniture store?”

“No. His council office—I figured it was council business so it seemed right to call him there. It just seemed more businesslike, don’t you think?”

Wager did. “The request for zoning changes—do you keep a record of those?”

“Sure. I keep a record of all correspondence—it’s on the computer. We have a main disk and a backup that we run off at the end of each day.”

Stubbs asked, “Do you keep both of their appointment books?”

“For company business, sure. Their private appointments, they keep themselves.” A worried look came into her eyes. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions about the firm. Is there some kind of trouble?”

“No.” Stubbs smiled. “The law wouldn’t let us ask questions like this if we were looking for evidence. We’re just trying to get a sense of Councilman Green’s activities. It helps to see him through the eyes of people he did business with.”

“Oh.” She smiled brightly back at Stubbs. “I guess that makes sense.”

Wager asked, “Do you know if either Kaunitz or Ellis had a meeting with Green last Wednesday?”

She thought back, the white of her teeth nipping at a full lower lip. “I don’t think so. I’d have to look at the appointments, though, to be sure.”

“Do you know what Mr. Kaunitz or Mr. Ellis did on Wednesday evening?”

Eyebrows lifted, she stared at a corner of the room; a long inhale tightened the checkered cloth. “I think Mr. Kaunitz went to the symphony. That would have been the second Wednesday—he has season tickets, so I can’t book any meetings on the evenings of the second Wednesday of each month. I don’t know about Mr. Ellis.” She went on, “I’ve never been to the symphony, have you?”

“Not yet,” said Stubbs.

“Maybe your wife’ll let you go someday,” said Wager. Then to the girl, “You don’t know what time Ellis quit work?”

She stopped smiling. “It was late, I know that. He came in close to five and was pretty upset about something.” Then she smiled again, this time only at Wager, a dimple in each cheek. “He gets upset a lot, but he doesn’t really mean it. Mr. Kaunitz is the calm one.” The blue eyes blinked as they remembered something. “It was Councilman Green! I mean, not him exactly—not by name. But Mr. Ellis was upset over something to do with the zoning for the Tremont project.”

“The parking garage being put up over on Tremont Street?”

“Yes. Mr. Ellis said something about it being too late to do anything about it now and that if the Zoning Committee tried, he—Mr. Ellis—would pull the whole thing down.”

“Pull down what?” Wager asked. “The parking garage?”

“I guess so. Mr. Kaunitz shut the door. I didn’t think much about it at the time—Mr. Ellis always goes off like that and gets all excited.” She smiled widely at Wager. “Is it something important?”

That was the question Stubbs finally asked in the car, and Wager could only shrug. The importance was there—he felt the weight of it. But exactly why it was important, he had not yet figured out. There were pieces—fragments—that wanted to fit together, and he didn’t know yet what pieces they were or even how many.

SUNDAY, 15 JUNE, 1356 Hours

“You sure you want to do this, Gabe?” They sat outside the large home in the Country Club neighborhood. Its wings were hidden behind thickly growing spruce that filtered out the last of the faint traffic noise from busy First Avenue, a block away. A brick walk curved up to a front door recessed into the stone façade like the gate to a castle. Only a few cars were parked, like theirs, along the curbs beneath the tree-shaded street; cars belonging to the sprawling homes went through alleys to parking space on their own grounds. “We may not have enough for an arrest,” said Wager, “but we sure as hell have probable cause for a talk.”

“On just what Gail Haney said?”

“That and the rumors of payoff. And that boot heel.” He opened the car door. “Let’s find out what he says.”

They had to wait a few minutes in the entryway while a blond youth—apparently Ellis’s son—called the man to the door. Stubbs’s feet nervously scraped the gray slate as he craned his neck around at the wood and mirrors and lamps of the hall.

“Looks like a goddamned hotel lobby.”

Wager was listening to the distant murmur of voices from somewhere beyond the large living room that he glimpsed through an archway. Then heels thudded on the carpeting and Ellis came through the arch to ask, “What can I help you people with?”