Eleven Days (22 page)

Hal flew by as I was pushing the male subject against the wall, and headed for the bedroom. Hester cuffed my man, while I held him at gunpoint.

As soon as the cuffs were on, I heard Art’s voice.

“She’s secure.”

I turned toward the door and could see Sally’s head peering around the corner.

“Hey, Sally? Wanna see if you can find the light switch?”

A second later, the overhead light came on.

“Are you Kenneth Mills?” I asked my prisoner.

“Yes.”

Whew. I mean, it’s always nice to know you’re at the right place.

Art and Hal came around the corner, accompanied by a woman I prayed was Elizabeth Mills. She was wearing a red and white T-shirt, with the slogan “Best Head” in yellow letters. Probably not referring to her intellect. She was cuffed in front. She looked sleepy, and pissed off.

Art had a small, transparent sealable bag in his hand, with some white powdery stuff in it. He held it up for me to see and grinned all over himself.

“Look what she was trying to hide,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Crystal.”

Methamphetamine. Good deal.

“Is this Elizabeth Mills?” I asked of nobody in particular.

“You bet your ass, stupid,” said Elizabeth Mills. “You better have a fuckin’ warrant!”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “we do.” I pulled it from my hip pocket. “Elizabeth Mills, I have here a warrant for your arrest on a charge of Murder in the First Degree, pursuant to Chapter 707 of the Code of Iowa. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a criminal prosecution, you have the right to have an attorney present during questioning, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the court. Do you understand those rights?”

Silence.

“With those rights in mind, do you wish to give us a statement at this time?”

“Yeah, asshole. Fuck off!”

“Thanks, ma’am.” I smiled down at her. “I, too, find courtesy always helps in a tight situation.”

“Piss off.” Sullen. Good. She would be talking in a few minutes.

By this time, Kenneth Mills was getting his act more or less together and had taken a cue from his wife. He also was getting a little braver, because his name hadn’t been on the warrant.

“Get your fucking hands off my wife!” He seemed proud of himself.

“Shut up,” said Hester.

“
I said, get your fucking hands off my wife!
”

Hester leaned close to him and said in a soft voice, “What’s the matter, can’t Dusk take care of herself?”

“Better than you can, bitch! But she’s my wife, and you can’t treat her like that!”

Dusk, huh? Now, that’s the sort of thing a defense
attorney will try to have thrown out, because his client just made an idiot of himself, and they don’t like that. Trickery, you know. My client couldn’t be that dumb unless you helped him, you bad people. That kind of thing.

The newly revealed Dusk just about took his head off with a shriek. “Stupidfucker!”

“What?” He still hadn’t realized what he’d said.

“Now, honey,” said Hal in a sweet voice. “I can’t have you talking to Shaman like that.”

Startled silence. She, at least, was smart enough not to take the bait. But that was okay. Now they knew. Let them think about it.

“Okay,” said Hal, inordinately pleased with himself. “Let’s get organized. Call Mike, have him come up and secure the apartment. Get Maitland PD in here for that, too. Let’s get these people to the office, and Art and I will get a search warrant based on the dope, and we’ll come back and search the place.” He turned to Kenneth Mills. “By the way, you’re under arrest for possession of a Schedule One controlled substance.” He advised him of his rights.

When he was done, he turned to Elizabeth. “You, too, sweetie. You’ve already had your rights.”

She said nothing.

“Okay,” said Art. “Let’s get ’em to the SO.”

We headed out as Mike came in the door. Art and Hal took Kenneth downstairs, after allowing him to put on a pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes and throwing a jacket over his shoulders.

Sally had to go to the bedroom with Elizabeth so she could put on her jeans in privacy. I was just around the door frame.

There was a muffled thud, and Sally hollered “Carl!”

I was in the door in an instant and saw Sally bouncing on the bed, with Elizabeth just starting to swing both fists at her. Sally caught the blow with her hands as I grabbed Elizabeth by the hair and jerked her head back. Hard.

“That’s an assault charge, sweetheart.”

She tried to spit at me but missed. Bad angle. Pissed me off.

I pulled on her hair slowly but hard. Lifted her up on her tiptoes. I half whispered, “I’m gonna tear off your head if you ever do that again.”

I let her down and looked at Sally. “You all right?”

“Yes.” She sounded a little pissed herself.

“What happened?”

“I leaned over to help her get her shoes, and she kicked me.” She sounded thoroughly disgusted.

“Where?”

“Never mind where!”

“Okay.” I turned to go, taking Elizabeth with me. No shoes. I turned to ask Sally to pick them up for me and saw her rubbing her backside.

She saw that I saw, and turned red.

“Have to get you a Kevlar billfold,” I said.

Dirty look. I chuckled.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny, pig?” said Elizabeth Mills.

Back to business. “Just thinking of how long you’re gonna be away, ma’am.” I sort of lifted her by her arm and propelled her toward the door. I was getting a little tired of Elizabeth.

Back at the office, we started the booking procedures on both prisoners. Sally and I did Elizabeth, and we called Quint in off the road to book Kenneth.

When it came time to change Elizabeth’s clothes from her blue jeans and statement shirt to an orange jail uniform, I was having second thoughts about sending Sally into the changing room with her. I needn’t have worried. Sally wasn’t about to put up with any more nonsense from Elizabeth. I left the door open, just in case. Sally was the only one I could see. She was standing with her hands on her hips, slowly raising and lowering herself on the balls of her feet.

Elizabeth came out in her orange uniform, glancing occasionally at Sally.

“Sit down, Elizabeth,” said Sally. “Right there,” pointing to the chair across the desk from me.

“I want to talk to my attorney.”

“Fine,” I said, “just give me his name and number, and we’ll call him.”

“I ain’t giving you shit, buddy.”

“Then you ain’t talking to your attorney. We need his name and number. That’s all.”

“Screw you.”

I pulled a three-page form out of a folder.

“Okay, Elizabeth, this is a booking form that we’re gonna attempt to fill out. I’m going to ask you several questions, such as your date of birth …”

“I’m not answering anything until I talk to my attorney.”

“Well, Elizabeth, all you have to do is give me a name and we’ll call. You can do all the talking.”

She thought for a second.

“All right. My attorney is Oswald Traer, lives in Cedar Rapids. I don’t have his number.”

We looked it up and placed the call.

“Oswald, this is Elizabeth. I’ve been arrested for murder!… Yeah, okay … No, I didn’t do it … How could I kill four people?… I don’t know, the bastards kicked in our door while we were asleep … Yeah … Yeah, the cop shop here in Maitland … Well, they got some stuff in a bag they think is dope … Can you come up—just a minute …”

She looked at me. “Am I being charged with anything else?”

“Other than what?”

“Murder, you bag of shit.”

“Yep. Possession of a Schedule One controlled substance, and assault.”

“Assault!”

“You assaulted a matron.”

“Shit!”

She went back to the phone. “Oh, they’re charging for dope and assault … No, I didn’t … I don’t know, just a minute …”

Back to me. “What’s my bond?”

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Cash only.”

She sneered.

Back to Oswald. “Son of a bitch, it’s two hundred fifty thousand, and cash only. Can you believe that shit?… Yeah, they want to talk to me … No, I won’t … No … Sure, just a second.”

“He wants to talk to you.” She handed me the phone.

“Deputy Houseman.”

“Yes, Deputy,” said a suave, self-possessed voice. “My client has told me what she is charged with, and the bond. I’ve instructed her to say nothing to anyone until I can get there. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes.”

“You are insisting on cash?”

“Policy, set by the court.”

“I see. Tell me, Officer, if you can, just why she is being charged with murder?”

“Apparently there is sufficient evidence.”

“I see. Can you tell me the name of the victim?”

“As a matter of fact, I can’t. I don’t believe the name of a victim is specified on the warrant.” The truth.

“One count?”

“That’s what it says here.”

“Thank you, Officer. Now, if you could, is Mr. Mills in custody at this time?”

“Yes, he is.”

“I see. Is he charged with murder, too?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Just the narcotics possession charge, is that right?”

“To the best of my knowledge.”

“Thank you. Would you let me talk to Mrs. Mills again, please?”

“Before I do, would you please tell her to cooperate in filling out the booking form? The boss really wants those filled out.”

“Of course.”

I handed the phone back to Elizabeth.

We finished booking the two of them shortly after Art, Hester, and Hal came back in, having obtained their
search warrant from the now sleepless magistrate. So far so good. I told them that good old Elizabeth’s attorney would be up in about an hour. We decided that Hal, Hester, and Art would execute the warrant, while I and Sally and Mike stayed at the jail to handle the prisoners and their attorney.

The hour and a half that it actually took for Attorney Traer to get to Maitland from Cedar Rapids was a tense time. I was really beginning to worry.

It all hinged on the arrest warrant for Elizabeth Mills. Everything. The dope, her Dusk alias, anything that was found in the apartment … it could all be lost if, upon review, the district court found that we didn’t have probable cause for her arrest in the first place. And that was looking a little shaky.

We had her ID’d as Dusk, secondhand, by Lori the nurse. Same for the connection between her and Phyllis Herkaman. We also had her ID’d as Dusk by Helen Bockman, but her testimony was possibly questionable. Not in content, but in getting her to repeat anything to a judge. Okay, though. We did have our notes.

Dusk being present at the homicide of the child was substantiated by the book Phyllis kept. If a judge would buy that. And it would have to be done without the presence of Saperstein, who would probably be back in New York by that time. An affidavit might not do it.

We needed a corpse. Kinda hard to prove that a murder happened without one. And even if we found the body of a dead baby in the Mills apartment, it would be discovered as a consequence of the arrest warrant, and couldn’t be used to reinforce the grounds for the warrant.

Not that we expected to find the body, of course. The Mills apartment or anywhere else.

Well, we knew we were taking a chance on the arrest. Calculated risk.

And for all that trouble, we would solve one homicide.
Maybe. And not even directly related to the four murders we needed to solve.

Oswald Traer arrived at our office at 04:09, and was logged in.

He was about six feet tall, dark hair, about forty-five, and looked like he’d just stepped out of
People
magazine. He was obviously in a casual mode, considering the hour and all. Gray slacks, blue sweater vest, white shirt with blue pinstripe. Navy pea coat. No hat. A briefcase that probably cost more than my home office.

We introduced ourselves, and he shook hands with all of us, including Sally.

“I appreciate being notified, Deputy,” he said to me.

“No trouble.”

“I really am concerned for my clients. I have dealt with them before, regarding investments. I trust them, and they assuredly aren’t the type of people to murder anyone.”

“Well, you know, Mr. Traer, nobody ever is.”

“I would like to know more details, if you would, before I speak with my clients.”

“Certainly,” I said. “Mike, would you call Art and see if one of them could come up here and brief Mr. Traer?”

“Sure.” He picked up the phone.

“Could I get you a cup of coffee?” asked Sally.

“Yes, please.”

As she opened the second door to the kitchen, behind Traer, I could see Saperstein sitting at the table with several notebooks spread out around him. Good. If he was here for the interviews, if there were any, we were in good shape.

Mike hung up the phone. “Hester is coming right up.”

“May I ask,” said Traer, “who this Hester is?”

“Sure. Hester Gorse, DCI.”

“She is, then, the officer who orchestrated this arrest?”

Wow. “Orchestrated.” This guy was going to be aggravating. Just what he wanted, because he made you want to
take the wind out of his sails. To do that, you would be tempted to reveal some things that you shouldn’t. He was good.

“ ‘Orchestrated’ may be a little off the mark,” I said. “Maybe ‘scored’ would fit a little better.”

Traer looked me up and down. Noting all the details of my uniform. No tie. Long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up. Light tan splatters from the alley on my black shoes.

“Ms. Gorse must be quite the detective.”

The temptation to go into an “Aw, shucks, Mr. Lawyer” routine was almost overwhelming. I resisted. I think.

“She’s pretty good.”

Sally came back in with the coffee. She offered one to Traer, and he thanked her. I got mine, and she had one for Mike, too. As well as herself. Traer looked at his cup.

“Interesting cup,” he said.

We scam coffee cups from wherever we can get them, and they usually contain advertising. His said “Sherman Hog Flooring” in orange and brown letters on a white background on a yellow cup.