The Equalizer (24 page)

Chapter 34

W
hen I asked Tiffany to
come to the department, she said she was home with Jeremy’s sick children. We agreed I should drive over to interview her alone—less intimidating.

I forced my eyes to stay on Tiffany’s narrow face and away from her double D’s she shows off with low-cut tops. Tamika thought I had a type. I guessed Jeremy did too because Tiffany and Naomi certainly resembled one another.

I hadn’t seen the Moberg kids in a while. They’d grown. Both had Jeremy’s red hair and Naomi’s eyes and chin. They were in the great room watching cartoons and seemed oblivious to my presence. Jackson, the five-year-old, was playing with Legos on the floor. He coughed then swiped at his nose with his pajama sleeve. Yeesh. Maggie, three, was lying on the sofa. In between her deep rattling coughs, she stuck her thumb in her mouth holding a tattered blanket under her nose. I wish I’d worn a mask.

“Those coughs sound awful,” I said, wondering why Naomi would let Tiffany care for her sick children.

“Actually, Jackson’s better, but Jeremy thought he should have another day home.”

I nodded, thinking the sooner I got out of this germ-infested environment the better.

“I’m asking those who knew the Kohlers and Petersons a few questions,” I said, turning on the recorder.

She looked confused. “I didn’t know them.”

“But Jeremy knew Ted.”

“Yes.”

I gave the case information, and then said, “Seems like everyone remembers where they were when shocking events take place—like 9-11.”

She made a snuffling laugh and nodded.

“Where you were when you found out about the murders?”

“I was at work.”

“Jeremy too?”

“Well, yes, a large crowd was in the executive lounge where we watched the coverage.”

“What do you remember about the night before?”

“What do you mean?”

“How was Jeremy?”

“Preoccupied. Worried about some project that was due. I don’t know what time he got to bed—got up extra early that morning for a run, but I met him for lunch and he seemed fine. Why are you asking this?”

“What time did he leave for work?”

“I don’t exactly know, I was still sleeping.”

“How do you know that he went for a run early?”

“Because he wasn’t in bed?”

“You didn’t see him in running clothes?”

“I didn’t see him period.”

“Did you hear him in the shower?”

“I heard him shower downstairs. He sometimes does that.”

“The time?”

“I don’t know. Early.”

“Did he ever talk about Ted Kohler?”

“He was real sad he died.”

“How about before?”

“Before? Well, he mentioned how Ted took advantage of Naomi’s mom, talking her out of the inheritance. He didn’t think Naomi did enough . . .”

“Did enough?”

“To let her mom know she needed the money. Shocking he was killed like that.”

“Yes.”

“Jeremy owns a rifle?”

“Yes, he has two.”

“May I see them?”

“I guess so.”

She grabbed a set of keys from a drawer and I followed her down to the basement to a gun cabinet in a room I could safely call Jeremy’s man cave. Jeremy had a Browning 12-gauge shotgun and a Winchester .30-30 rifle. I thanked her and went back to the office.

When I arrived back
at the department about ten o’clock, Troy already had Jeremy waiting in an interview room. Before he went in, he listened to Tiffany’s interview. I observed as Troy questioned him. (Never mind Troy was bopping Jeremy’s ex.)

Jeremy said Thursday, October 6th, he went to bed after Tiffany and got up before she did. The next morning, he went for a run, showered downstairs so he wouldn’t wake Tiffany and the kids, and was at work by seven-thirty. No one, other than Tiffany, could verify his story. He says he knew nothing of the murders until he heard it on the news that afternoon. He denied throwing Adriana’s crystal paperweight, being angry when speaking with her or the priest—all exaggerations, and he wasn’t worried about anything, including financial problems. Yes, he had hunting guns, but hadn’t used them for a few years. No, he wouldn’t surrender them for testing. When Troy was tired of badgering him, he came out and we discussed our options. Until we had concrete physical evidence to back the charges, we could not make an arrest. Ralph said to release him.

But the inconsistencies between Tiffany and Jeremy’s accounts convinced Ralph we should do the paperwork for a warrant for Jeremy’s home, computers, and phone records. Judge Evans signed it—with reservation, and Ralph said we had better be right.

We drove over to the Moberg’s mid-afternoon. Tiffany seemed reticent, but let us in. I’d just put the rifle in the Explorer when Jeremy arrived home, in a very foul mood. He ordered Tiffany to take the kids and leave.

“Where should I go?” she asked as he practically pushed her out the door with little Maggie in her arms.

“I don’t give a shit. I don’t want them here seeing this.”

I followed her out. “The lab’ll contact you, Tiffany, get fingerprints, etcetera.”

She nodded. I looked at the kids and shook my head. He was protecting them from us? Two officers calmly doing their business while he was behaving like a lunatic? He really was an asshole. As we continued our search, he followed us through the house, growing more and more belligerent, repeatedly shouted, “You’re violating my constitutional rights.”

I walked up to him and whispered in his ear, “Shut the hell up, Jeremy. Your behavior will go in the report, and it doesn’t look good when you act like a guilty asshole. If you’re innocent, we won’t find anything, right?”

I thought I’d gotten through to him because he temporarily shut his trap, but within a few minutes he again started up. I always knew he was a hot head, but I didn’t expect him to carry it to this extreme. Eventually, Troy lost patience and had a back-up unit come to contain him.

In the end, we only took the Winchester .30-30, gloves, boots, one field jacket, and his home computer. If it contained anything criminalizing, Samantha Polansky find it.

The deputy who held Jeremy in his back seat said he settled down immediately—nothing like the threat of going back to jail. As we let Jeremy out of the squad, I said, “This evidence could clear you.”

“Could? Are you
kidding
me?”

“We’ll be in touch.”

“Yeah, and I’m getting in touch with my attorney.”

After submitting everything
into evidence, Troy went to search Jeremy’s office while I went back to Mobergs’ neighborhood to question neighbors. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary or saw anyone coming or going at unusual times. I handed out cards and asked then to call me if they thought of anything. We would anxiously await the ballistics tests and Samantha’s findings. I was sure this was going to be another dead end.

Naomi was sitting up against the wall next to my door with a bottle of wine in her hand.
Oh, perfect.

“That’s not a happy-to-see-me look,” she said

“Isn’t that a line from a Michael Douglas murder mystery?” I asked, as I unlocked the door.

“Is it?” She followed me inside. “Joyce said you wanted to talk to me, but you haven’t you returned my calls.”

“Does Troy know you’re here?” I asked.

“Ah . . . no.” She smiled faintly and held up the bottle. “I brought wine. How about you open it and we have a talk.”

“Okay, “ I said. I took the corkscrew and opened the Shiraz and poured us each a glass.

She took a gulp then smiled.

“Have a seat,” I said, motioning toward the living room. She sat on the sofa, while this time I took a seat in the easy chair across from her.

“Have you spoken to Jeremy?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

He hadn’t told her. “We’ve questioned him and obtained a search warrant for evidence in the Kohler/Peterson case.”

She narrowed her eyes and wiggled her head in confusion.

“
What?
Is he under arrest?”

“Not at the moment.”

“But you think he will be?”

“I’m not sure, Naomi.”

“This is upsetting to me. I don’t understand why he’s a suspect. You know Jeremy, Cal. Surely, you don’t think he could
kill
anyone.”

“Then the evidence will clear him.”

“Well, of course it will.” She studied me. “Are you mad at me for some reason, because you look mad.”

“No, I’m just leery—of having you here. You’re with Troy now and I have to work with him.”

Her fingers traced the edge of the couch pillow. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh, shit.
“Naomi, You’re a beautiful, smart woman, but you seemed really confused about what you want. I stopped by this morning to make it clear to you it wouldn’t work for us.”

“Because of Troy?”

“Mainly. He really likes you . . . but the truth is, I’m still in love with someone else.”

“Victoria.” she said with resignation.

“God no.”

It took a few seconds before recognition crossed her face. She nodded. “Adriana? For gods’ sake, Cal, she’s married.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not ready for another serious relationship.”

“I’ll wait for you,” she said, her eyes pleading.

I stood. “Don’t.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I thought when you’d stopped by this morning, that you . . . well, silly me.” She wiped the tears away, picked up her purse, and walked out.

Shit.

“That didn’t go so well,” I said to Bullet. I fed him then refilled my glass. I needed a woman like I needed a root canal.

Chapter 35

DAY TWENTY-TWO

I
sat at the counter at
the Sportsman’s Café on Saturday morning, ordered coffee and two cinnamon rolls, and reached for the copy of the Birch County Register that lay nearby. Couldn’t wait to see how Robert Webber was going to slam the department today. And there it was: the editorial entitled “Three Weeks and Counting.” Webber expressed concern about the pace of the investigation and the lack of experience of the investigators—now that pissed me off—even though a part of me was starting to question the very same things myself.

I’d eaten one roll before I realized I hadn’t even tasted it. I shut the newspaper and savored the warm, soft cinnamon flavor of the bread smothered in frosting. I had just taken my last bite when I received a text from Ralph to come directly to his office when I got to work.

Ralph was sitting at his desk. He had the paper in front of him.

“Hey, boss, what’s up?”

“Sit down,” he said sternly. I was being taken off the case—sent back to patrol.

He pointed to the newspaper. “Tomorrow’s headline’s going to be a whole different story.”

“Why so?”

“Just got a call from Betty. Ballistics tests confirm the bullets were fired from Jeremy Moberg’s rifle and Sarah Polansky says the Bible quote found in Kohler’s vehicle was created on Moberg’s home computer one week before he was killed.”

I did an arm pump. “Yes!”

But Ralph’s demeanor remained dour—like the case really hadn’t been solved.

“Why the glum look, Boss?”

“Jeremy’s parents, Allan and Pat, are good friends. They’re going to be devastated.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to influence my investigators on the case.”

“So what do you think of Jeremy? Did you ever think him capable of something like this?”

“Not at all, but I always thought he was a spoiled little jerk. Allan and Pat are good people, but they never let the kid suffer consequences.”

“Unfortunately, he will now,” I said.

He sighed. “Yes. This is quite the turn.”

“So where’s Troy? We need to make the arrest.”

“I’ll try calling him again,” he said as he dialed then put the call on his speakerphone. After six rings Troy’s cell went into voice messaging. Ralph left a message: “This is Ralph. Call me ASAP. It’s important.”

After continuing to try for ten minutes, Ralph said, “Screw it. Don’t wait. Take two patrol units with you to Estelle’s Candies and arrest Jeremy. He may not go easy.”

I picked two of the youngest and strongest deputies on duty and we made our way in three different vehicles over to Estelle’s Candies. After getting instructions from a reluctant young receptionist in the first floor lobby, we took the elevator to the third floor of the business office. As the doors opened, a middle-aged woman wearing a boxy navy-blue jacket looked up from her oversized desk. The nameplate said Suzy Hansen. She didn’t look like a Suzy. She was a substantial, mean-looking woman.

“May I help you?” she asked, and not in a friendly way.

I flashed my badge. “Deputy Investigator Cal Sheehan. I’m here to see Jeremy Moberg?” I asked.

“He’s
not
in,” she said, her lips pursed.

“We’d like to check for ourselves.”

When I told the deputies to start searching the floor, Suzy stood. “Stop! I
said
Mr. Moberg is not in today.”

The deputies obeyed her and looked to me for instructions. I gestured to go ahead.

“Deputy, listen to this,” she said. She went back to her desk and punched a button on her phone.

It was a recording of Jeremy’s voice: “Suz, I’ve got to handle a family matter today so I won’t be in today. Cancel my meeting with Edwin James. Thanks.”

“I have a search warrant for his office,” I said, showing it to her.

Big sigh. “Be my guest.”

She showed me to an office down the hall. His nameplate was near the door. The office was empty. His desk and file cabinets were all locked. Suzy was in the doorway.

“Where does Tiffany Howard work?”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “She’s down on
second
floor
now
.”

“Was that a demotion?”

“Of sorts. Do you want me to send for her?”

“No, just give us directions to her.”

I asked Suzy to keep this between us but I had a feeling that was like telling a coyote not to howl.

But second floor receptionist said Tiffany had also called in. I correctly assumed they wouldn’t hand out her cell phone number, so we drove directly to the Moberg residence. However, no one was at home and neither car was there.

The thought crossed my mind that Jeremy packed up his family and made a quick exit to Canada or Mexico last night. Not wanting to hold up the deputies from their patrol duties, I told them they could check back in with dispatch. I could recall them, if need be. Curious where Troy was, I drove to his house on the north side. The small cape cod was dark and his Tahoe wasn’t in the garage. Then I drove past Naomi’s where I saw Troy’s truck in driveway. I pulled up behind and went to the front door. I rang the bell, then knocked several times.

“Come on, asshole, answer!”

But no one did. I thought about kicking the door in but the door opened and Troy poked his head out. He looked like shit—hung over and angry.

“What the fuck you doing here?” he asked.