A Deadly Development Read online

  Burke got the fun duty of accompanying the body to the morgue. He had watched the coroner from Truman Medical Center formally declare Vithous dead, watched the evidence technicians carefully bag Vithous’ hands to preserve evidence that might be under his finger nails, and then watched as they zipped him up in a body bag. For some reason, that part always seem absurd to him, it was akin to sealing up leftovers after a meal.

  When they was about to wrap it up for the night, Captain Michaels’ cellphone rang and it was instantly evident that it was a serious call. Michaels’ put a finger in one ear and walked into the hallway for a few minutes. He reappeared with the phone outstretched and said “Chief Williams wants to speak with you.”

  Williams was the relatively new police chief. He had been on the year for a little over the year, and unlike many of his predecessors, Williams was an outsider. He had been Chief of Police in Cincinnati and the word was his innovative programs on crime tracking, and a holistic approach to law enforcement had impressed the Mayor and Council. Burke didn’t know if Williams was full of shit or the real deal. He had only seen him a few times and only in large settings where he never had actually talked to the man.

  The new Police Chief of Kansas City had come in and almost immediately began to make changes in how the department operated. Many of those changes irritated the regulars within the force. Williams was considered not part of the fraternity; he had an MBA - he looked like he could be in an ad for shampoo or maybe an upscale country club. In fact, there were jokes that he looked like he came out of central casting. Those who had worked on the force for years, and toiled on the streets of Kansas City, in the cold, the heat, and fighting the same fights year after year without any discernible progress, found Williams to be a know-it-all full of charts, computer printouts, statistics and vapid promises. In short, many couldn't stand him.

  Burke wasn't nearly as hard on the Chief. Partly it was his nature not to instantly judge people; years of experience had taught him that often things are not as they seem. Part of it was due to the fact that Burke was tired-- tired of the cronyism, tired of the old-boy network, tired of the underlying racism that permeated the KCPD. Many of his brethren were honorable people who worked in the best interest of the city. But many -and in Burke's estimation way too many - were cynical, bitter pissers who instead of providing a service, actually were a detriment to the force, and indirectly, to Burke himself. Williams coming in and shaking things up, looking for accountability, pressing for benchmarks, holding division commanders personally responsible for results might not be a bad thing. If he could keep the group from completely revolting, perhaps many of the bad seeds would be weeded out over time and more dedicated officers would replace them. If not, it would be at least interesting theater for the next few years.

  Williams wanted to touch base. Burke gave him all the information he had, not leaving out any specifics. He had heard through the grapevine that Williams had an amazing memory and would not forget anything and if he left it out he probably would pay for it in the future. They then talked at length about the Mayor; she apparently had already called the Chief and in a very stern manner laid out exactly how she wanted this case to be handled. She wanted it to be thorough, but not sensationalized. She wanted it be a high priority, but not so much that it looked as she was asking for special treatment. She also wanted Burke to visit her personally at her house tomorrow morning at eleven.

  “I assured her you were the right man for the job, but she still wants to meet you. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just show up, assure her we are on the case and don’t linger around long.” Williams conveyed.

  "That shouldn't be any problem at all," replied Burke who caught his reflection in a mirror and noticed he was smirking while saying it. How could Williams think he was the right man for the job? He doesn’t even know me. His eyes moved from the mirrors to a window overlooking the north lawn of City Hall. He could see the cadre of television reporters - beginning to tear down their equipment. What a circus, he thought.

  Lastly Williams wanted to talk about perception. Professionalism was the key, Williams emoted. No leaks-- not to the paper, not to radio, not to blogs, not to anybody. “We’ve got a public safety sales tax that is going to come up for a vote soon. We cannot afford any negative publicity. In these tough times, no tax increase is going to be easy. So, we need to be careful. At the moment, we control the message, Burke, remember that.”

  “Yes sir,” Burke replied before hanging up. With that, the conversation ended and Burke found himself on an elevator with two EMTs and a gurney moving slowly to the basement at City Hall

  He had arrived back at his apartment around two. He couldn't sleep; not because the murder itself was shocking to him, he had seen plenty of bodies over his career. Rather, the thought that someone was out there, somewhere in his city had done it and at for the moment, gotten away with it. They were going to get a huge head start on him, and he didn’t like it.

  He thought about that the entire ride home. He let things gnaw at him, even though he tried not to. Once home he ate a cold piece of pizza he found in the mostly empty fridge, crawled into bed and picked up a Civil War history - to get his mind off the case.(You have him unable to sleep before he eats pizza & reads—might want to rewrite the paragraph

  It apparently had worked, because Tom Burke felt the same book jammed up against his rib cage as the beeping of the delivery truck being placed in reverse reverberated throughout his apartment.

  He tried to spend as little time as possible there. It wasn't a bad apartment, but it wasn’t a home either. It was the area of 39th Street also known as "restaurant row". It was easy to get to work, and obviously gave him lots of choices for food. He couldn't cook worth shit, and with the long days and odd hours he liked having options.

  But, the apartment signified something to him. It signified the failure of his marriage. No forty-one year old man should live in a one bedroom apartment. It made him feel empty, sad and all together miserable to be there.

  Burke parted the blinds to look out his window across the alley to look at the delivery truck. Yesterday's cloudy, windy day had given way to sunshine filled morning without a hint of even a breeze. Kansas City in spring time was always a mixed bag when it came to weather. Burke could tell the day was to be much colder; the visible breath from the delivery driver as he got the invoice signed for showed that. He had hoped to get more of a respite from what had seemed to been an endless winter. It seemed that his hopes were not to be.

  Burke rolled back over in bed grabbed his cell phone and scrolled down the list until he came to the name ‘Bobby’ and hit the send button.

  "I was hoping you'd call."

  Tom smiled. He and his cousin seemed to read each other's minds.

  "I want to pick your brain,” Tom replied, "I want to know who this guy’s enemies were."

  "Well, we'd better sit down and have some coffee because it's a long fucking list, including yours truly."

  They agreed upon a coffee shop in the Crossroads district. Tom took a quick shower, got dressed and hurried out the door. As he left his apartment he grabbed the local paper that was at his apartment door. MAYOR’S AIDE MURDERED was the huge headline. "John Vithous found shot in the Mayor's office" was the sub headline. He took great glee in that –they already had the key elements of the murder wrong. Burke - briefly considered - reading the entire article, but then thought better. He knew the real details better than anyone, and at the moment, those details didn't add up to much. He threw the paper inside his apartment and shut the door.

  It was only a ten minute drive to the coffee shop. Burke parked right in front; there wasn't much business on a weekend.

  Bobby Sullivan was already sitting in the corner booth sipping on his coffee, reading the Kansas City Star while he was waiting. Like his cousin, he had thick dark brown hair that was beginning to gray at the temples. He was wearing a sweater and jeans, which for him constituted a casual outfit.

  T
om slid into the booth, and ordered coffee for himself. Bobby Sullivan was not only Tom's Burke's cousin, he was his best friend. They were only five months apart in age, and had grown up and done everything together. Family events, holidays, all the same schools from kindergarten through high school, the two were inseparable. Countless late night bull shit sessions, keg parties, and god knows how many girls and finally each other's best man at their respective weddings. It seemed odd that they were now in their 40s and much of the carefree times seemed only a distant memory.

  They had drifted apart very briefly when Bobby had left Kansas City to attend Northwestern Law School. But much to Tom's surprise, Bobby actually came back to town after graduation. Most never left, but when they did, even fewer actually came back. Burke had spent his whole childhood dreaming of leaving, but yet here he still was, dealing with the lowest scum of the city. The fact was, however, Tom loved Kansas City. Once Bobby came back, they fell back into their old routines, although the partying aspects died off pretty quickly.

  Robert James Sullivan passed the bar and began work doing development law for Thomas, Wilford, L.L.P. As he rose up through the ranks, he got more involved in public policy and Kansas City politics. He had made partner by thirty, and now was living comfortably in a big home off - Ward Parkway.

  "Well, there goes my theory of only the good die young, shot literally to hell,” Bobby said with a smile. They both laughed at that, although Burke felt a small twinge of guilt for doing it.

  “They got that shit wrong already, he was bludgeoned not shot,” Tom corrected him. "The guy was no Boy Scout I assume" He took a large gulp of coffee and promptly burned his tongue.

  "The guy was a total prick, but I guess even a prick doesn’t deserve to be shot,” Bobby retorted.

  “About the mistake in the paper, that happens all the time,” Tom replied, “I don’t really care about that though, what I want to know is why he was killed.”

  "He was a believer in the 'scorched earth policy,” Bobby began, "he didn't believe in doing anything half way. Once he started in on someone, he did everything within his power to destroy them. He lied, deceived, spread rumors, innuendo, you name it."

  "Sounds like a real humanitarian."

  “You don't know the half of it, " Bobby explained. "Remember Don Murray? The rising star in the City Council? Ever wonder why he didn't run for mayor against our esteemed mayor? Vithous got wind he was seriously thinking of it; Murray had even put together an exploratory committee to look into it. All of the sudden Vithous is spreading rumors that Murray has a love child with some woman who works in the Parks Department. Next thing you know, Murray pulls the plug on the committee, and we haven't heard from him since."

  "Was it true?" Tom probed, "Was he screwing around on his wife and got somebody knocked up?"

  "Does it matter? All that mattered was there was a rumor. Even if it is later proved to be totally untrue, the guy’s life is ruined and his wife probably never talks to him again. Vithous was smart, too. He never would say he heard the rumors, he'd always say he heard it from someone else, who he never identified."

  Tom Burke thought about it for a minute. Would that make someone kill Vithous? If it had been him, he probably would have at least wanted to beat the crap out of him.

  "This guy has been pulling that kind of shit for over twenty years," Bobby continued, "Just this spring he sprung his talents on the Regan family."

  Tom knew the Regan's well. The Regan family had gone through school with Bobby and him. There were a total of eight of them; Jimmy Regan had been in Tom and Bobby's class. Their father owned a construction business, in the parlance of the Brookside area of Kansas City, the Regans were rich.

  "Old man Regan wanted to move his headquarters out of Kansas City over to Overland Park. Vithous started with enticing them to stay. Told them he could get them a sweetheart of tax abatement deal," Bobby explained.

  Tom nodded. He had read some of that in an expose newspaper series on the subject.

  "Anyway you know how the old man is, he just got pissed that Vithous was sticking his nose in where he didn't need to. Regan apparently threw him out of his office. So Vithous turns his tactics -starts telling folks not to work with Regan, how they're not reputable and the city won't use them on any of their contracts."

  "That doesn't seem like a very smart tact," Tom stated as he got up, walked to a self-service counter and poured a refill into his cup. He walked back to their table and sat down.

  Regan Construction was a 125 year old business in Kansas City. They were involved in almost every large construction project in town. "Who the fuck would be dumb enough to believe that?"

  "That's what I'm getting at", Bobby explained, "Vithous doesn't- I mean didn't-- give a shit. He just stared spreading rumors and hoped just some of them stuck. All he cared that the word was out and maybe others on the mayor's team,” Sullivan made the quote signals with his hands," get the message. Don't do business with Regan Construction...."

  "If you want to do business with us,” Tom finished the sentence. That made sense. You couldn't possibly stop Regan Construction from getting work, but you could put a dent in their operation and use them as leverage to keep your minions in line.

  "Vithous was big on litmus tests -- were you really loyal to Mayor Hughes? And if so how loyal? He was always poking at people, prodding at people, he was relentless."

  “Where did he come from?” Tom asked. “And why did she hire him?”

  “He had worked on campaigns and done consulting for years,” Bobby replied. “Last year, during her re-election campaign, do you remember the big shake up after the primary?”

  Tom shook his head. He didn’t pay much attention to politics.

  “Hughes got worried when she barely beat Ralph Turgeon in the primary.”

  “The used-car salesman?” Tom vaguely remembered that Turgeon had run for mayor. In his head, he was envisioning the obnoxious TV commercials from his childhood. Ralph Turgeon, resplendent in a red polyester suit and a cowboy hat, shrieking from his used-car lot about the great deals he had.

  “Yep,” that’s the guy. Hughes won the primary, but not by much. They had done some polling; found out a lot people felt she was only concerned about ribbon cuttings. People voted for Turgeon just to send a message that they didn’t like the Mayor’s priorities. Hughes was furious; she fired a lot of her staff, including her chief of staff, Jack Houlihan. Vithous took over. He ended up running both her re-election campaign and acting chief of staff. Once she got re-elected, he continued to be her chief of staff. At some point, they dropped the “acting” part of the title.”

  Bobby slid back in the booth and started playing mindlessly with the sugar packets that were sitting in a small bin at the end of the table. He seemed to be mulling something over.

  "You mentioned on the phone that you were among his enemies," Tom inquired.

  Bobby smiled, "Am I a suspect, Sergeant?"

  Tom smiled and began to reply but Bobby interrupted him

  "My cardinal sin was to support Jim Simmons for mayor over Jane Hughes the first time she ran. Vithous called me one night, drunk as hell, yelling at me for supporting Simmons -- told me I was a piece of shit and if I wanted to do any more development law within Kansas City, I better -- how did he put it? -- Oh yeah, “change my fucking tune.” I didn't and so that was it, I was persona non grata at City Hall. No invites to their parties, no calls asking for suggestions on whom to appoint to various boards and commissions, no nothing. The prick even called up my clients directly to let them know how displeased they were that I was supporting their opponent."

  "They?" Tom probed.

  "Jane Hughes and John Vithous."

  "Our little old lady mayor? The one that smiles all the time and seems so happy? Can't be." Burke was mostly giving Bobby shit, but he was somewhat serious. Every time he had seen the mayor she had been nothing but smiles. This new description of a woman who angered easily and fired her staff capriciously
intrigued him.

  "Don't believe her carefully created facade," Bobby was agitated, Burke could tell by the way he tapped his spoon into his coffee cup has he poured in more sugar. "She is a tough as nails, and as petty and vindictive as her henchman. She just always hides a lot better than he ever did."

  Bobby Sullivan stared out the window, watching cars move up and down Southwest Boulevard. A couple of shoppers at the antique hardware store across the street were jogging into the entrance, trying to evade the bitter wind as they ducked inside.

  "Your problem isn't finding someone who had a motive to kill John Vithous,” Bobby explained. “Your problem will be weeding out all the people who had a motive, but only finding the one who truly did it."

  "That's why they pay me the big bucks,” Tommy joked, "whatever I do, I need to do it quick, Chief Williams has indicated that this is priority number one for him, and therefore, priority number one for me."

  They sat there for a moment, both deep in thought. Many people would be unnerved by such a long silence, but since they had known each other their whole lives, they were both very comfortable with it. Burke was thinking about Jane Hughes. Then Hughes and Vithous. Then an image of Vithous’ body slumped over his desk appeared. Bobby’s words played in his head your problem is weeding out all the people who had a motive, but only finding the one who truly did it. Finally, Tom Burke started to put on his coat, a cue to his cousin that it was time to ponder such things at a later time.