Steven James - Opening Moves

That was a little disappointing. “So she didn’t ask specifically for the ones involved in the Oswalds’ arrest?” I said.

“It didn’t sound like it, no.”

So, the killer could have found out about the cuffs from Griffin’s records and chosen Colleen that way. The connection between Adele and Colleen might not be the breakthrough clue we were hoping it would be after all.

“Does she know who threw out the catalog?”

He shook his head. “No, and she said she didn’t know who the guy was she ordered them from either, that it was all done through a post office box. The cuffs were shipped to her house.”

Another corner of the labyrinth closed off, moving us inexorably in another direction.

As far as the rest of our progress, Miriam Flandry’s stroke hadn’t seemed in any way suspicious and no autopsy had been done. The search for consulting firms had come up dry, but Lyrie had found that four people on the suspect list and tip list did live in the Franklin Heights area.

I turned to Thompson who’d arrived during our recap and had, as promised, brought plenty of chocolate cream-filled and glazed doughnuts for everyone. “Don’t you go to church in that area?” I asked him. “Over near Franklin Heights?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you follow up on those names. See what you can dig up.”

“Right.” He grabbed three doughnuts and left again. Didn’t even get a chance to sit down.

The rest of us went back to work.

It took a little while, but all three airlines that flew out of General Mitchell Airport and serviced the cities we were looking at faxed us the flight manifests we’d requested and we took our time inspecting them. In the end, however, we didn’t come up with any names that matched.

It was possible this whole airline idea was off base.

Come on, Pat, you’re missing something here!

I rubbed my head, then studied the maps on the corkboard again, thought about what Calvin had said about consulting firms, businesses that do businesses with other businesses.

Roads you can’t see…

Notice the obvious, Pat…The truth isn’t as obscure as it appears…Our preconceptions blind us to-

“Hang on,” I said. “Chartered flights. Private jets. And let’s take a closer look not just at consulting firms but at any businesses that have satellite offices in those cities.”

Agreement from the team.

We pulled out phone books and began to make some calls.

11:25 a.m.

5 hours until the gloaming

Ellen struck gold.

She found one company, High Profile Charter Service, based out of Milwaukee, that made regular chartered stops in Cincinnati and Champaign and had even done so two days before their respective murders, then returned to Milwaukee the day after them. They’d also sent a flight to Green Bay two days prior to the disappearance of a woman from nearby Appleton.

There weren’t any flights to Rockford or Madison, but again, those cities weren’t too far from Milwaukee and it made sense that the killer could have driven to them easily enough.

When we checked which company had chartered the flights in question, we found that they were all hired by Hathaway amp; Erikson, LLC, one of the biggest acquisition firms in the Greater Milwaukee area.

A business that did business with other businesses.

I remembered what Griffin had said right before he was killed, when I asked him about the Maneater: “Now there’s a man who knows how to acquire what he wants. Does it for a living.”

A man who knows how to acquire what he wants.

Does it for a living.

A guy who works at an acquisitions firm? A double entendre from the man who called Mallory “baby”?

I wouldn’t put it past him.

Oh yeah, things were popping.

High Profile Charter Service didn’t have flight manifests, but they did have a record that nine people had been on the flight to Cincinnati, seven to Champaign, and five to Green Bay.

“If we get those names from the acquisition firm,” Corsica said, “and the same name appears on all the lists-”

“We have our guy,” Radar exclaimed.

I didn’t think we could go quite that far, but I had the sense that it would certainly be one circumstantial link to the crimes that would be hard to discount.

As it turned out, only Corsica was able to leave the department with me at the moment, but I didn’t care. I was willing to work with just about anyone if it meant moving things forward.

We grabbed our things and left to pay a visit to Hathaway amp; Erikson, LLC.

A crowd of fifteen people had gathered in the West Reagan Street Mission’s cafeteria to remember Petey Schwartz.

The small congregation sat behind folding tables with Styrofoam cups of coffee in front of them.

All of the people, besides Joshua, worked for the mission or were transients who’d known Petey. And yet, because of his past involvement with the center, Joshua did not stand out.

The question that seemed so hard to answer gnawed at him: “What kind of a God could ever forgive someone who’s done the things you’ve done?”

And the answer he tried to cling to: “What kind of a God would he be if he couldn’t?”

The Reverend Hezekiah Tate, the African-American preacher who’d started this shelter for the homeless more than thirty years ago, walked slowly to the front of the cafeteria, greeted those who’d come, unfolded his weathered Bible and laid it on the antique lectern he always preached from.

After a few brief opening remarks, he started in with his “word from the Lord.” He spoke with the honest intensity, the intonation, the cadence of a veteran black preacher. “We all have choices that we face in this life. Petey had choices. I have choices. You have choices.”

Yes, and you have chosen evil, Joshua. You will have to answer for that, you will-

“Scripture is clear that we are each responsible for our own choices. No one can take credit for the godly works of another; no one will bear the blame for another’s ungodly acts. And this has been true, this is true, this will always be true. Amen?”

The small group of homeless people knew Tate, knew the way he preached, and chimed in, “Amen.”

“In Ezekiel eighteen, and verse four, we read that the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel and said unto him, ‘The soul that sinneth, it shall die.’”

It shall die, Joshua.

You shall-

“‘If a father shall beget a son that is a robber, a shedder of blood, and that doeth the like to any one of these things…’”

A shedder of blood.

Like you, Joshua.

A son.

Who is.

A shedder of blood.

“‘Shall he then live? He shall not live: he hath done all these abominations; he shall surely die; his blood shall be upon him…The soul that sinneth, it shall die.’”

Tate emphasized that last word, let it ring and echo through the room, then went on. “‘The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him. Therefore repent, and turn yourselves from all your transgressions; so iniquity shall not be your ruin. Cast away from you all your transgressions, whereby ye have transgressed; and make you a new heart and a new spirit.’”

Repent, Joshua, it’s not too late. You have to-

“And where does this new heart and this new spirit come from?” Reverend Tate asked rhetorically. “Only through faith in the grace of God , only through mercy at the hand of God , only through hope in the Son of God . Amen?”