age didn’t fit with long-term, however; he had to be in his early thirties.
Detective Olson made the introductions.
Agent Gerald Kahn stood about an inch under six feet and had a long, narrow nose, its profile as triangulated as a wedge of gouda cheese, above a pair of nearly nonexistent, colorless lips. “Detectives. What can I do for you?”
Kendall reminded herself of her own advice to remain subservient. “We’re here to help in any way we can. Our priority is to find out what happened to the Glausson baby. Can you tell us what you’ve gotten from the suspect?”
Kahn ran one hand over a bristly buzz cut. “I can’t help you, Detective. Jordan didn’t tell us anything before or after he lawyered up, and now Bellamy’s monitoring our questions. If we’re going to pin him to these murders, we’ll need solid evidence because we aren’t going to get a confession anytime soon.”
He stopped talking when a woman wearing a fitted, navy blue suit entered the room. Kendall recognized Lucille Bellamy from a news clip on a Minneapolis TV station several months ago. In her fifties, the woman was distinguished by an asymmetric face whose muscles on one side appeared to have been destroyed by a stroke, although the deformity was reported to be the result of an unusually severe attack of Bell’s palsy. The left side of her face sagged, the eyelid nearly covering one blue eye. When she spoke, only one side of her mouth moved.
“Am I missing a meeting of the minds?”
No one in the room spoke. Lucille Bellamy, despite her odd appearance, exuded authority and intelligence. Kendall wondered how Bellamy ended up in Stillwater representing Travis Jordan.
Kahn introduced her to Kendall and Alverson.
Bellamy faced Agent Kahn head on. “If you’re finished questioning my client, Agent, I’ve got better things to do than wait for moss to grow on my ass here in Stillwater. Arrest him or cut him loose.”
Kahn’s thin lips flattened into a straight line. “Sorry, Counselor. We’re holding him until ballistics on his illegal, concealed weapon is completed. If you prefer, we’ll book him on a weapons charge for the time being. Your client broke the law. He’s not going anywhere.”
Kendall was beginning to enjoy their barbed repartee when Kahn’s cell phone buzzed. He excused himself and left the room.
She turned to Bellamy. “I’d like to question your client, Ms. Bellamy. One of the crimes he’s suspected of took place in Eau Claire. It’s imperative that we find the missing baby, a girl not even a year old.”
Bellamy’s mismatched eyes followed the direction Kahn had gone with his phone. The functioning corner of her mouth raised in amusement. Clearly, she was aware Kendall would be going in without Kahn’s approval.
“All right, Detective, come with me.”
Travis Jordan looked younger than his twenty-five years. His aqua-green eyes, high cheekbones, and mocha complexion hinted of a mixed ethnicity and lent his face a unique handsomeness. It always surprised Kendall when a perp turned out to be attractive, rather than some kind of horned monster.
“Travis,” Bellamy said sweetly, as if she were talking to the boy delivering her groceries, “these are Detectives Halsrud and Alverson from Eau Claire. They would like to ask you some questions.”
Jordan could well remain mute as he’d done for Kahn, but this would be Kendall’s only chance to confront him. She didn’t have time for preliminaries. She identified herself and Alverson for the record, then reached into her briefcase and pulled out photos of the Glaussons. She spread the death photos on the table, facing Jordan.
Her voice was cold, her words sharp as razor-blades. “I’m sure you recognize the Glausson family. Their home was invaded last Friday night.” She waved a hand over the photos. “This is what’s left of them.”
Under a neatly trimmed Afro, Travis Jordan’s blue-green eyes remained emotionless as they scanned the
Detective Olson made the introductions.
Agent Gerald Kahn stood about an inch under six feet and had a long, narrow nose, its profile as triangulated as a wedge of gouda cheese, above a pair of nearly nonexistent, colorless lips. “Detectives. What can I do for you?”
Kendall reminded herself of her own advice to remain subservient. “We’re here to help in any way we can. Our priority is to find out what happened to the Glausson baby. Can you tell us what you’ve gotten from the suspect?”
Kahn ran one hand over a bristly buzz cut. “I can’t help you, Detective. Jordan didn’t tell us anything before or after he lawyered up, and now Bellamy’s monitoring our questions. If we’re going to pin him to these murders, we’ll need solid evidence because we aren’t going to get a confession anytime soon.”
He stopped talking when a woman wearing a fitted, navy blue suit entered the room. Kendall recognized Lucille Bellamy from a news clip on a Minneapolis TV station several months ago. In her fifties, the woman was distinguished by an asymmetric face whose muscles on one side appeared to have been destroyed by a stroke, although the deformity was reported to be the result of an unusually severe attack of Bell’s palsy. The left side of her face sagged, the eyelid nearly covering one blue eye. When she spoke, only one side of her mouth moved.
“Am I missing a meeting of the minds?”
No one in the room spoke. Lucille Bellamy, despite her odd appearance, exuded authority and intelligence. Kendall wondered how Bellamy ended up in Stillwater representing Travis Jordan.
Kahn introduced her to Kendall and Alverson.
Bellamy faced Agent Kahn head on. “If you’re finished questioning my client, Agent, I’ve got better things to do than wait for moss to grow on my ass here in Stillwater. Arrest him or cut him loose.”
Kahn’s thin lips flattened into a straight line. “Sorry, Counselor. We’re holding him until ballistics on his illegal, concealed weapon is completed. If you prefer, we’ll book him on a weapons charge for the time being. Your client broke the law. He’s not going anywhere.”
Kendall was beginning to enjoy their barbed repartee when Kahn’s cell phone buzzed. He excused himself and left the room.
She turned to Bellamy. “I’d like to question your client, Ms. Bellamy. One of the crimes he’s suspected of took place in Eau Claire. It’s imperative that we find the missing baby, a girl not even a year old.”
Bellamy’s mismatched eyes followed the direction Kahn had gone with his phone. The functioning corner of her mouth raised in amusement. Clearly, she was aware Kendall would be going in without Kahn’s approval.
“All right, Detective, come with me.”
Travis Jordan looked younger than his twenty-five years. His aqua-green eyes, high cheekbones, and mocha complexion hinted of a mixed ethnicity and lent his face a unique handsomeness. It always surprised Kendall when a perp turned out to be attractive, rather than some kind of horned monster.
“Travis,” Bellamy said sweetly, as if she were talking to the boy delivering her groceries, “these are Detectives Halsrud and Alverson from Eau Claire. They would like to ask you some questions.”
Jordan could well remain mute as he’d done for Kahn, but this would be Kendall’s only chance to confront him. She didn’t have time for preliminaries. She identified herself and Alverson for the record, then reached into her briefcase and pulled out photos of the Glaussons. She spread the death photos on the table, facing Jordan.
Her voice was cold, her words sharp as razor-blades. “I’m sure you recognize the Glausson family. Their home was invaded last Friday night.” She waved a hand over the photos. “This is what’s left of them.”
Under a neatly trimmed Afro, Travis Jordan’s blue-green eyes remained emotionless as they scanned the
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