“Please, Karen. There’s got to be something you can tell me.”
“She had a meeting with some insurance reps that day, and an office powwow. Nothing unusual. Just looks like a normal—” Karen squinted into the computer screen. “Well, I’m not sure . . . this may be . . .” She opened a drawer and pulled out a book, running a finger down a list of names, then she looked back at the screen as if confirming a match. She wrote a name and phone number on a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk to me. “She’s not a patient, so I’m okay to share this. Her name was on Jenni’s day planner on the day she died. I don’t know if it means anything.”
I read the name. “Farrah McKinney?”
“She’s an interpreter—Russian, and I think a couple other languages too. I’ve met her a few times. She’s really smart.”
“I appreciate this, Karen,” I said. “You were always one of Jenni’s favorite people. I wish I’d gotten to know you better when she was alive.”
“Me too, Max.” Karen’s apprehension gave way to a warm smile. “Jenni was one of my favorite people as well. And, Max,” Karen folded her hands together as though she were going to pray. “I hope you find what you’re looking for and that it brings you peace.”
I was taken aback by both her words and her knowing tone. I could do little more than nod my thanks and leave. I was pretty sure that when I found what I was looking for, peace would be the last thing on my mind. I was hunting wolves. Did she understand that? Did she see that in my face? No, I was reading too much into it.
I left the Social Services Office and made my way to the Burn Unit, showing my badge to get buzzed through the locked doors. Just inside the unit, I found a young, uniformed officer leaning against the counter at the nurse’s station, chatting up a pretty young woman in scrubs. I’d seen the patrolman around before, but I couldn’t remember if I’d ever known his name. He straightened up when he saw me coming.
“He’s sleeping,” the officer said as I got within earshot. He pointed at a door just a few feet ahead of me. I walked into that room and saw a man, bandages covering most of his torso and face, an intubation tube taped across his lips. He had an IV in his left forearm, the only part of his body without gauze wrapped around it, and a pulse oximeter on his index finger. I could tell that he was Caucasian, and, according to the light hair on his arm, probably a blond. Beyond that, he could have been just about anybody. I was about to leave when I saw a small tattoo on the back of his wrist, a circle with the points of a compass around it.
When I left the room, the young officer was standing in the hall, almost at attention. The name bar on his uniform read Fuller. I nodded for him to follow me, and we walked to the end of the corridor. “Did he say anything when they brought him in?”
“No, sir. He—”
“Max.”
“What?”
“Max. That’s my name. Not a big fan of ‘sir.’ Wasn’t a fan of it back when I was in uniform, so I don’t see why I should go by anything other than Max now.”
“Okay . . . Max.” Fuller seemed to relax. “He was in pretty bad shape. All he did was howl and moan.”
“I’m going to get a search warrant for his clothing and his phone. I’ll need you to sit tight until I get back with that. Once we have his stuff, you can head out. I don’t expect him to try and make a break for it, but if he does, you place him under arrest.”
“Arrest? What for?”
“Didn’t Martinez tell you what was in the van?”
“No. He just said to get down here and make sure the guy doesn’t leave. He said to stay here until I hear otherwise.”
“If he tries to leave, tell him to go back to bed or you’ll place him under arrest for setting a fire without a permit.”
CHAPTER 6
The corridors of City Hall seemed eerily quiet as I walked toward the Homicide Unit, almost as if the structure itself were holding its breath, a spectator waiting for a fight to start. The sound of grit crunching under my shoes filled the hallway and pinged off the granite walls around me. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, taking a moment to absorb the emptiness of the room, the closeness of the silence pressing against my skin. I was glad to be alone that day. I had a warrant to write up, yes, but I had other business to tend to, business best performed in secret.
No more half measures.
First, I contacted Dispatch to see where I could find the on-call judge and was told that a Judge Krehbiel had called in to let them know that she was in her chambers, working on an order that she needed to get out the next day. If any warrants needed to be signed, she would be in the Government Center, which meant I could walk across the street to get a signature instead of having to drive to her home.
I pulled Farrah McKinney’s phone number from my pocket. I’d never heard of her, or, if Jenni ever mentioned her name, it had gone right past me. I dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Ms. McKinney?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Max Rupert. I am a homicide detective in Minneapolis. Do you have a moment?”
A slight hesitation, then, “Um . . . sure. What’s this about?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you on a holiday like this, but I’m looking into a cold case. Your name came up and I was hoping I might be able to meet with you to ask a few questions.”
“On New Year’s Day?”
“If I could have just a minute of your time. The victim was a social worker attached to the emergency room at HCMC. She was killed in a hit-and-run about four and a half years ago. The case has been reopened and—”
“Yeah, I remember. Her name was Jenni, right?”
A spark of excitement flickered inside me. “Yes, that’s right. Your name was in her day planner. I was wondering—”
“That was terrible, what happened to her.”
“Yes, it was. Can I ask how you knew her?”
“I didn’t know her. I mean, I didn’t know her personally. I worked with her on a case. I’m an interpreter. Russian and Baltic languages.”
“Were you working on a case with her on the day she died?”
“Yes. That’s the first time I met her—that day.”
“Ms. McKinney, could we meet? I’d like to ask you a few more questions. Just some routine, follow-up stuff.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I promise, I won’t take up to much of your time.”
“I guess. Sure, when?”
“Today, if that’s possible. If not—”
“Today? Um . . . sure. We can meet today. What did you say your name was again?”
“Detective Max Rupert.”
“Rupert? Wasn’t that . . .”
“Yes, that was Jenni’s last name. She was my wife.”
“I’m sorry. She seemed really nice. If I can help in any way—”
“I appreciate that. Would you like me to come to your house?”
“No, I need to make a trip downtown anyway. You know where the Hen House Eatery is?”
“I know it well. Noon?”
“That works. I’ll be wearing a bright yellow coat.”
“I’ll be the guy with a badge,” I said.
Silence.