Relative Malice (5 page)

6

Sunday

Carrying a bag of bagels and an assortment of spreads, Kendall entered the meeting room well before eight; she’d learned preparation was the ultimate cure for pre-meeting nerves. The whiteboards were filled out, she had her list of the things they had yet to cover, and detailed assignment schedules were ready.

The chief was scheduled to do a press release at nine and wanted their input. She’d have to keep everyone on track in order to be done in time to meet with him before his speech.

When everyone was in place, Kendall announced, “Diane Whitehouse called to tell us the doctors are operating on Hank this morning. He’s having a bypass that’s considered routine surgery. They don’t expect any complications, but he won’t be able to have visitors for a few days. His secretary is taking up a collection for flowers, so anyone who wants to chip in, see Joanne.”

The first order of business was to review everything they already had, including the little they’d gotten back from forensics. When they concluded, Alverson spoke out. “How long are we going to concentrate on the Glaussons? Seems to me this was a stranger invasion. They took cash and credit cards. We need to be working it from that angle—looking for the perps.”

“Gene Tarkowski from the FBI stopped in last night,” Kendall responded. There was no need for body language training to read the negativity in the room at the mention of the FBI. “Tarkowski said the FBI believes our murders are related to two other home invasions in Green Bay and Stillwater. You probably all remember the one in Stillwater last winter. The one in Green Bay was about a year and a half ago. The FBI got involved because the second one was Stillwater, Minnesota, which crosses state lines. Tarkowski’s going to be here sometime today with more information. If our invasion is related to the others, his input will save us a lot of preliminary work, so let’s hold off on going in the direction that these murders were a one-time stranger thing. I’ll get back to you with whatever he has by the end of the day. We’ll regroup later today and see where we are.”

Joe Monson stood. “We’re still going to be searching the woods behind the house again today, but what about the river? Their house is right on it.”

Alverson took the question. “We know all about the Chippewa, Joe. Bodies get carried downstream—fast. The riverbanks near the house were searched yesterday. If the kid ended up in the river, she would be a long way downstate by now. If we get lucky, someone finds the body along the way.”

They were dehumanizing the child, as if it were a given she was dead. Kendall stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “The baby’s name is Phyllis and the family called her Philly. Let’s quit referring to her as ‘the kid’ and stop assuming she’s dead.”

When the room went quiet, Alverson said, “In case Philly Glausson
is
dead, we’ve put a notice out to departments south of here to be on the watch for her body. Meanwhile, I think the search teams should move south along the river in case her body ended up on a riverbank somewhere south of here.”

From the back of the room, “What’s the chief going to say to the press about the baby?”

“I don’t have any details, but I’d expect him to say something like ‘We’re cautiously optimistic the baby is still alive.’”

“Have we put out an Amber Alert?”

Kendall wasn’t happy with the answer to the question. “Not yet. We’re short in criteria—we have no description of an abductor or his vehicle. The baby’s face will be all over the news; for now that’ll have to be enough.”

The discussion continued. When they were winding down, the subject of the Glausson baby came up again.

After stuffing half of a cream-cheese covered bagel in his mouth, Alverson stood and approached the whiteboards. “I think we’re wasting our time looking for the baby. We need to be looking for the perps.” He pointed to facts on the whiteboards. “First, we found the baby’s blood on the floor. Why would they hurt the baby if they were going to take it with them? It’s not like the kid could have been resisting. And if someone just wanted to take the kid, why knock off the whole family? There’d be easier ways to get their hands on it. The baby’s dead, nothing else makes sense.”

Patience,
Kendall cautioned herself. “You’re probably right, Ross. But if there’s even the smallest chance Philly Glausson
is
alive, we have to keep searching for her.” Kendall knew she should add “or for her body” but wanted everyone to maintain enthusiasm for the search. It would wane quickly if they didn’t find her soon.

Kendall went over the assignments for the day, then wrapped things up by saying, “We have to make sure we’ve done everything possible to rule out a family connection. If there is one, the most likely intended victim was the girl, since she’s the only one they abused. Ross, when you and Joe interview her friends, get names of anyone else in her social circle or at school we need to talk to. Schoenfuss said overtime won’t be an issue for now, so let’s meet back here at five.”

An hour later, Kendall looked up from her desk as a tall, well-dressed man approached. She did a double take. From the few photos she’d seen of Mark Glausson, it was obvious Graham Glausson looked enough like his brother to be a twin.

He stopped at her desk. “I’m Graham Glausson. Where can I find Detective Whitehouse?” The request sounded like a command; Glausson was a man used to giving orders. He eased off a pair of deerskin gloves, stuffing them into the pocket of a full-length, black leather coat.

“Unfortunately, Detective Whitehouse is in the hospital.” She stood, offering her hand. “I’m Detective Halsrud—I’m in charge of your family’s case.”

He ignored the offered hand, making no effort to hide his displeasure. Apparently the man disapproved of a woman handling a murder case. Kendall immediately dropped him into her “arrogant prick” file. Still, the man had just a lost a brother.

“Mr. Glausson, I’m sorry about your brother and his family. I assure you we’re doing everything possible to find out who’s responsible. Our entire force is working on it, in addition to the county sheriffs, the FBI, and the state police.”

Glausson’s expression didn’t change. His face, a shade away from handsome, retained its lines of resentment. “What do you need from me?”

“I’ll have to get a statement from you, but we can do that later. If you’re up for it, we need someone to make a formal identification of the victims.”

“I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Relieved that was settled, Kendall wished she hadn’t sent Alverson out with Monson. His male presence would have reassured Glausson. Ironic.

Franklyn Teed, the county medical examiner, ushered Kendall and Graham Glausson into a room where four bodies covered with pale blue sheeting lay on gurneys. Teed offered his condolences and asked if Glausson was ready to view his brother.

Glausson’s lips stiffened. “Go ahead.”

Teed pulled back the sheet covering the first body, exposing Mark Glausson’s face, his features remarkably similar to those of Graham’s. Except for the neat bullet hole in his forehead, he appeared at peace; he could have been enjoying a quiet nap.

Glausson exhaled pent-up breath. “That’s my brother Mark.”

The ME quickly lowered the sheet and moved on to the others. Glausson contained himself well; he might have been observing strangers. Until finally Chelsea Glausson, his brother’s wife was exposed. His face crumpled. Kendall nodded to Teed and led Graham out into the waiting area, where they took a seat on a seasoned, red-leather couch.

“I’m sorry we had to put you through this,” she said.

He stood abruptly. “It had to be done.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief. “But where’s Philly?”

Crap. Whitehouse talked to him the night before. Hadn’t he told Glausson about the baby?

“I thought you knew. We haven’t found her body. A team has been searching for her since yesterday afternoon.”

“I’ve been avoiding the news, Detective. I assumed they all died the same way.” As he choked back a sob, Kendall stood and reached to console him. Unexpectedly, he clung to her, his large hands tight on her back. His body against hers felt warm, solid with maleness. She berated herself for enjoying the feel of him at a time like this. Her dalliance with Nat must have stoked her sensuality. He released her a moment later.

“My apologies—I don’t usually fall apart.”

“Anyone would under the circumstances,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. We can stop for some decent coffee on our way back to the station.”

Sunglasses covering her eyes and a hood over her white hair, Brynn stepped out into the hallway carrying a bag of trash. An animal carrier sat in front of the door across from hers, the garbage bag beside it filled to capacity. She noticed a note taped to the top of the carrier.

When she came back up the steps after her trip to the dumpster, she couldn’t resist reading the note.

Kenny,

I’ve been trying to call you all morning. I can’t keep the cat—turns out I’m allergic. Hope you can find it a good home. If you want, let me know and I’ll take it to the shelter for you.

Love, Dad

The cat mewed softly when Brynn looked through the latticed door of the box. Her mother had never allowed pets. “Too messy,” she’d always said. Brynn opened the door and scooped out the big white cat, which began a fierce purring when she cradled it in her arms.

“What’s your name, kitty-cat?” She turned over the animal’s tag. Malkin.
A malkin was a witch’s familiar.
Brynn was a card reader. It was fate—this cat was meant to be hers.

Kendall and Graham Glausson sat across from each other in an interview room.She began, “Detective Whitehouse told me you were at a meeting Friday night?” He hadn’t really, but he’d left his notebook.

“Yes. Our plant in Wausau is negotiating with the union. I’m spokesperson for the company. I told the other detective that we didn’t break up until sometime after one. My team went out for breakfast, so I wasn’t home until about four a.m.”

Graham Glausson was VP of a paper company with locations scattered about the state. “We’ll need verification of that. Names and phone numbers.” She passed him a notepad.

“You don’t think I had something to do with this?”

“No, but it’s part of the process—we have to rule you out.”

“I’d have no reason to do such a thing—nothing to gain. Mark and I didn’t get along, but our differences were nothing that would provoke either of us to murder.” Glausson started writing.

Kendall wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her. She waited a bit, then asked, “Can you think of any reason someone would have a grudge against your brother or a member of his family?”

He pushed the tablet back to Kendall, his eyes a deep shade of blue-gray. He had a prominent nose, but it fit well with his features. Like his brother, his hair was thick, pecan brown. “Not that I’m aware of. But I didn’t know them very well. I helped Chelsea out a few years ago when Mark was overseas and she needed a hand when Evan broke his legs.”

“Any drug use in their background?”

“Not that I know of. Chelsea had a tough life as a kid, but she never said anything about using drugs. And my brother wasn’t the type. Mark believed addictions were a weakness, not a disease. A surprising attitude really, since he was a doctor.”

Kendall heard his cell phone vibrate, but he ignored it. She handed him one of her cards. “That’ll do it for now, Mr. Glausson, but I’ll be talking to you again. Call me if you have questions or think of anything else. I’ll keep in touch, let you know whatever I can about how things are going.”

She caught a glimpse of him through the window as he walked to his car, phone to his ear, deep in conversation. Work? Or a woman?

7

Alverson gave Kendall the name of a therapist who came into the Glausson home two afternoons a week to work with Chelsea Glausson’s son. Kendall decided to talk to the woman herself. Having spent time with Chelsea, Rachel Jennings could be an excellent source of information.

Jennings’ address wasn’t far from The Rat Pak, so she’d be able to make a quick trip to the apartment first, drop off her dry cleaning and more of her clothes. She arrived to find the cat carrier, along with a bag of cat paraphernalia, parked in front of her door, a note from her father taped to the top of the carrier. She’d forgotten about the cat. Shit, what was she going to do with an animal when she was gone sixteen hours a day? She’d forgotten to ask Glausson if he wanted it.

After tossing an armful of dry cleaning on the kitchen counter, she went to get the cat and read the note from her father. The carrier was empty. Kendall turned to see Brynn standing in the doorway behind her, the white cat cradled in her arms, purring loudly. “He was lonesome.”

Despite the dark glasses she wore, Kendall could see Brynn was barely out of her teens, if that. “No problem.”

“Morrie charges more rent for pets.”

Not my concern. A week and I’m out of here.
“He’s not mine; I’m only going to be keeping him temporarily.”

“Are you taking him to the shelter? I’m sorry, I read your note.”

I don’t have time for this—the cat or this conversation
. “I’m not sure yet.”

Brynn held the cat closer. “I’ll keep him.”

Glausson might take the cat, but somehow she didn’t see him as a cat person.

Before Kendall could respond, Brynn asked, “Did he belong to those people who were murdered?”

No reason to hide the obvious. “He did. I’m not sure yet if anyone from the family wants him. If you’re sure you want him, I could find out and let you know.” It was hard to judge the girl’s emotions behind the dark glasses, but Kendall thought her face brightened.

“Can he stay with me for now?”

Kendall would be happy to see the orphan get a good home, not to mention she wouldn’t have to be the ogre responsible for taking it to the shelter. “Uh—sure. That would be good, I’m not around very much.”

“All right, then.” Brynn picked up the bag of cat supplies and moved toward her door.

Odd little duck
. Kendall put the carrier inside Brynn’s door. “Don’t forget this.”

She wanted to ask Brynn about the card they’d found at the Glausson house, find out if Brynn was Callandra, but it would have to wait.

________

Rachel Jennings’ house was in a neighborhood of single-family homes whose origin probably dated back to the ‘70s. Sided in a soft yellow, Jennings’ small bungalow had what looked like the tail end of a rummage sale going on in the detached garage. A sign, “Everything 50% off,” was posted in front of the door.

A tall, gray-haired man wearing a red and white Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt stood at one of the tables, deep in conversation with a woman deliberating over the purchase of a set of dishes.

“Excuse me.” Kendall flashed her ID. “I’m Detective Halsrud. I’m looking for Rachel Jennings.”

“That’s my wife. She’s in the house.” He pointed to a side entry. “She’s pretty shaken up,” he warned.

In answer to Kendall’s knock, a blonde woman in jeans and a bright orange sweater came to the door. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her hair hastily tied back into a short ponytail. Kendall produced her ID and introduced herself.

Rachel Jennings opened the door. “Come in. I’ve been expecting someone from the police department. You’ll have to excuse the mess. There are some things you can’t give away.”

The kitchen, although clean, was stacked with boxes and every surface covered with family treasures. Rachel took Kendall into the living room, where they sat across from each other on matching, blue-plaid sofas.

“I know this may be difficult for you, Mrs. Jennings, but I have to talk to you about the Glaussons. Not many people seem to have known them very well.”

Rachel wiped her eyes. “That’s true. The family didn’t have time to socialize much, I suppose. Mrs. Glausson, Chelsea, was devoted to Evan. She rarely left him. And Dr. Glausson worked long hours at the hospital.”

“Do you know where the Glaussons were going yesterday, why a nanny was coming?”

“Priscilla Olson? She babysat occasionally, but she wasn’t a full-time nanny. Chelsea told me she got along beautifully with Evan. I believe they were going to Sienna’s cheerleading competition in Chippewa Falls.”

“Did Mrs. Glausson confide in you?”

“She seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to, so I stayed late when I could. I wouldn’t really say she confided in me.”

“Did she ever tell you anything indicating she might have reason to be afraid? Maybe someone bothering her or her daughter?”

Rachel blinked back tears. “No. Nothing like that.”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

“She didn’t talk about anything very personal. We discussed Evan mostly, then subjects like current events, books, even politics.”

Discouraged, Kendall struggled for more pertinent questions. “Did she ever talk about her marriage—how she and her husband got along?”

“I know she would have liked him to be home more, but she said that’s the kind of man he was, dedicated to his work. She never complained about him.”

“What about their daughter? Did you get to know her at all?”

Rachel smiled sadly. “Sienna was a popular girl. Chelsea said she had activities every day of the week and still pulled good grades. I didn’t see her very often, and when I did, she’d come in, grab a snack and head for her room. Your typical teenager.”

“And the boyfriend, Jeremy, did you see him there?”

“Once or twice, but I never talked to him. I know Chelsea and Mark liked him, approved of the relationship.”

“Did Chelsea ever mention Mark’s brother Graham?”

“Yes. I met him after Mark left for Iraq; he helped out when Evan broke his legs. He was around quite a bit at the time. She didn’t say much about him other than she hoped he and Mark would mend their fences.”

Maybe Alverson was right—the break-in had nothing to do with the family. She’d forgotten to ask Graham why he and Mark were on the outs; all she had was Betty Ruffalo’s hearsay from Chelsea. His alibi checked out, so maybe the issues between the brothers weren’t important. But she’d have to ask, get his spin on it. She couldn’t believe she’d overlooked it. Stress and lack of sleep were taking their toll.

“I noticed they didn’t keep photos of the baby around the house. Do you know why?”

Rachel frowned. “No. I never thought about it. Now that you mention it, that is unusual, isn’t it? She showed me the digital photo frame she kept in Philly’s room, though. Philly was such a beautiful child. And so good-natured.”

“One more thing—we found a business card from a psychic on Chelsea’s bulletin board.” Kendall glanced at her notes. “Callandra. Was Chelsea seeing her?”

“I forgot about that.” She sat up with a look of surprised remembrance. “Callandra warned her—she told Chelsea and Sienna to be careful, but Chels didn’t take it seriously. I didn’t either when she told me about it.” Rachel covered her face with her hands. “God, why didn’t she listen?”

Kendall gave her a minute to blow her nose. “Did she see her often?”

“No. Just the one time. Sienna and her friends were into the whole occult thing—you know, with all the vampire stuff so popular with the kids, that was the next step for them, especially the girls. She wanted to go to the psychic fair that was in town last spring, but Chels wouldn’t let her go. Chels finally broke down and went with her. Sienna had a reading, then insisted Chels have one, too.”

“And Mrs. Glausson didn’t take the warning seriously?”

“No. But her daughter did. Chels told me Sienna was afraid to be in a car after the reading and constantly bugged her about keeping the doors locked.”

“Were they in the habit of leaving the doors unlocked?”

“Always. But to pacify Sienna, Chelsea started locking them when she was home alone with Evan and Philly.”

Was this a bizarre coincidence? Could Callandra have known about the murders by some method other than psychic foreshadowing? If Brynn were Callandra, she hardly seemed like the type who would have any connection to the kind of monsters who would execute an entire family. But you never knew. Kendall had to talk to her.