Consulting Detective Read online

  “That would be a good location,” Andrea mused as they headed up to their bedroom and started to get ready for bed. “Jacob’s murder won’t cause them to want to move and possibly lease their current building, will it?”

  Mihdí glanced at Andrea to see if she was joking. “Actually, they’ve already talked about selling it, and they even have an offer on the table. We don’t really have the money to buy a center, do we? We need support from surrounding communities just to afford the rent on our current location.”

  Andrea nodded as they finished putting on their nightclothes and got into bed. “Yes, that’s only a fantasy, I guess. But it would be really cool to transform it into a Bahá’í Center, wouldn’t it!”

  “It would be great!” Mihdí agreed. “I wonder if a Bahá’í Center there would get the same kind of vandalism as a synagogue?”

  “It’s not likely we’ll ever find out, is it?” Andrea said as they snuggled under the covers.

  Friday, Day 3

  First thing Friday morning, Captain Sterling sent for Mihdí. When Montgomery arrived in his office, Sterling asked him to close the door and sit down.

  “The FBI has been monitoring your progress through me, Mihdí,” the captain told him as Mihdí sat down. “I’ve been feeding them information but also trying to keep them off your back so you can conduct your investigation. But I think they want something pretty concrete the week after Thanksgiving or they’re going to take over. They think it’s a hate crime, and we really don’t have anything that indicates otherwise at this point. They’re happy to leave it to us for now, but they have ultimate jurisdiction for hate crimes.”

  Mihdí shook his head. “Honestly, other than the graffiti, we don’t have anything that points one way or the other on that. Nobody saw or heard anything, and there’s no physical evidence. At this point, it could have been somebody who just pulled up, entered the synagogue, killed the rabbi, and then left. It’s frustrating as can be.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sterling said. “Where’s CSI when you need them, eh? What leads are you currently working on?”

  “Actually, I’ve got several things to follow up on. I need to check on Charlie Richardson’s alibi, and I need to speak more with Scott Craig, who discovered the body. His fiancée broke up with him in order to date Rabbi Klemme, so there’s some potential for that to be more than just coincidence. I want to meet with the older Sapp boy and find out more about this skinhead connection. Kurt has talked to the other occupants of the block, but I’d like to have a conversation with those I haven’t met yet.”

  “Where’s your money right now? Still look like the work of an interrupted vandal?”

  “I have nothing to go on, but I don’t like it. Just a gut feeling so far.”

  “You mentioned Charlie Richardson. Is that the real estate guy? What’s his connection?”

  “Two things. His office is right behind the synagogue, so there’s the proximity factor. He made an offer on the building about a year ago and says he’ll still honor the offer if the congregation wants to sell.”

  “Any reason to suspect him?” the captain asked.

  “Not much, but I suppose if Congregation Beth Shalom were to leave,” Mihdí explained, “Richardson would be in a pretty good position to partner with the city on a large redevelopment project. That’s thin, but it seems to be at least some kind of motive.”

  “Check out if he’s been talking to anyone on the village council,” Sterling said. “A lot of city business is done behind the scenes before things go public. If Richardson is hoping to partner with the city, he’d probably have to be talking to someone at city hall. Try to get the back story on this if you can.”

  “OK, boss,” Mihdí replied as he stood up and turned to leave.

  “Montgomery?”

  Mihdí turned to look at the captain, still sitting behind his desk.

  “You’re doing a fine job. Hang in there.”

  Mihdí gave him a half smile, then walked out the door.

  Mihdí wasn’t friends with any of the members of the Pine Bluff Village Council, but he did know the Village Clerk pretty well, so he gave her a call later in the morning, after he caught up with his paperwork and e-mail.

  “Jill Bartholomew,” the voice at the other end answered.

  “Jill,” said Mihdí, “this is Mihdí Montgomery.”

  “Great to hear from you, Mihdí,” replied Bartholomew. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve heard a little about a proposed redevelopment plan,” Mihdí said. “Do you know who is talking to whom about it?”

  “Just about everybody’s talking about it, trying to influence the council,” Jill said. “But if you mean who might actually be involved in the project, it basically boils down to three developers: Mark Shipley, Charles Richardson, and Susan Sharp of Southwest Suburban Development. I guess the three of them all have viable proposals. I believe Shipley has two different possibilities he’s floating.”

  “Any scuttlebutt related to these three?” Mihdí inquired.

  “Word has it that Sue Sharp is in the best position right now,” Jill told him, “but at least some on the council like Richardson’s location the best. I believe he is still in the process of finalizing his proposal, so he might yet come out on top.”

  “That’s the block downtown where his office is located?” Mihdí asked.

  “That’s right,” she confirmed. “He has apparently been buying up the properties there for a while because they’re close to downtown and easy for him to administer since they’re so close by. He’s put a good bit of effort into this over the last year or so. His agency used to be just Richardson Real Estate, but he recently added ‘Development’ to make his offering sound better to the council.”

  “So he isn’t really a big-time developer?”

  “Not at all. He really just has a standard real estate agency, although it does have a specialty in commercial properties. But if he gets this deal, it could launch him into the big leagues. Say, is this related to the murder at the synagogue? That’s on that block, too, isn’t it?”

  “I’d rather not start any rumors or speculation,” Mihdí said. “Anything else you happen to know about the project?”

  “I think I’m out, Detective,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Thanks, Jill, but I think that’s it,” Mihdí said. “I won’t hesitate to call on you if I think you can help.”

  Mihdí decided it would be a good idea to check in on Charlie Richardson at some point to follow up about the development project. But first he thought it would be worth talking again to Scott Craig, the man who had discovered the rabbi’s body, so he called the number he had for him, and Craig picked up on the second ring.

  “Scott Craig here,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Mr. Craig,” Mihdí replied. “This is Detective Mihdí Montgomery. I just wanted to follow up with you on some of the things we discussed previously. Is there a convenient time for us to meet today?”

  “I’m booked up pretty well until about noon or so,” Craig answered. “Would you be able to come here at 1:30?”

  “Sure,” said Mihdí. “That time will work for me.” He made sure he had the address of Craig’s office and disconnected.

  Mihdí decided he would check in on Andy Sapp. He drove by the Sapp house but found that everyone was gone. So he drove to the high school and checked in at the main office. He waited in the small office the principal offered him while a page went to Andy’s classroom and brought him back to the office.

  Mihdí had not seen Andy previously, and he would not have recognized him as part of the Sapp family. Andy’s father gave the impression of being large and solid, but Andy seemed as wispy as his father seemed sturdy. He was wearing a dark t-shirt with the name of a heavy metal band in dark letters. He had black jeans with no belt. He was also wearing beat-up running shoes with white socks.

  Andy looked with barely veiled disgust at the bla
ck detective as he was ushered into the room. He slouched down into the office’s other chair with his chin on his chest and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

  “Andy,” Mihdí began, “I’m Detective Montgomery of the Pine Bluff Police. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  Andy didn’t respond in any way.

  Mihdí continued, “I have learned that you have some friends that believe that white people are superior to others. Is that correct?”

  Andy looked up briefly, then returned his gaze to the floor before answering. “I guess that’s one of the things they say,” he said.

  Mihdí paused a moment before resuming. “For what might be obvious reasons,” he finally said, “I don’t share that belief.”

  Andy snorted.

  Mihdí ignored the sound and continued, “But really, I don’t care that much about what your friends believe. There are lots of people in the world whose beliefs I don’t share, and that’s to be expected. And I’ve also noticed over the years that if you check with the members of any group, you’ll find that even within the group not all of their beliefs line up. People join groups for different reasons, and knowing that someone is a member of a group doesn’t mean you know their beliefs.”

  Mihdí had been watching Andy carefully as he spoke and could tell that despite the boy’s fixed stare at his feet, he was listening to every word. Mihdí laughed, and Andy looked up.

  “Sorry for the lecture,” he said. “I suspect you must get enough of those from your teachers and your Dad, and don’t need another one from me. So, let me get to the point. While I don’t care what people believe and not much about what they say, it’s very important to me what they do, particularly if it’s against the law. What I need to know from you is if this group of friends you’re involved with has ever asked you to do anything illegal or if you know of any illegal activities they have organized.”

  Andy didn’t answer for a while. Mihdí waited quietly.

  “They’ve never asked me to do anything illegal,” he finally said.

  “This would include things like vandalism of a Jewish synagogue or intimidation of Jews, Black people, or others,” Mihdí clarified. “They haven’t asked you to do anything like that?”

  “No,” Andy replied firmly.

  “And you’re not aware of others in the group doing this sort of thing?” Mihdí pressed.

  “No,” Andy said again.

  “Okay,” said Mihdí, relaxing back into his chair. “I guess that’s okay then. That was really my only concern. I imagine it’s pretty nice to find a group where you’re accepted for who you are, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Andy. “They treat me like an adult there. My opinion matters. They listen to what I have to say.”

  “Wow, that’s terrific,” said Mihdí. “You don’t have formal meetings, do you?”

  “Nah,” Andy replied. “We just hang out at somebody’s house and talk.”

  “Sounds great,” Mihdí said. “When I was in high school, I had a group of kids I hung out with, too. I never would have made it through high school without my friends. Are there other guys from the high school or is it all older guys?”

  “They’re all older,” Andy said. “But they don’t care about my age.”

  “They’re like a bunch of older brothers, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Do you ever talk about trying to get more guys involved? It might be nice to have some other guys your age.”

  “I don’t care about guys my age,” Andy said. “It’s not like anybody here in the school cares about me.”

  “That must be hard,” Mihdí said. “It would be really nice to have the guys from your group right there in your classes, wouldn’t it? Then you wouldn’t have to wait for your weekly group get-togethers.”

  “We get together more than once a week,” Andy scoffed. “I hang out with them lots of times after school.”

  “Oh, that’s even better,” Mihdí said. “Once a week would be a long time to wait. How did you meet these guys, since they’re not from school? I always felt like I was stuck with friends from school because those were the only guys I ever saw.”

  “Brent said he saw me a couple of times after school and that I looked more mature than the other kids. Eventually, he asked me if I wanted to come to his house and hang out.”

  “This is Brent Wiegand we’re talking about?” Mihdí asked, making a connection with the name that Darla Brownlee had mentioned for the skinhead recruiter.

  “That’s right,” answered Andy. “How did you know that?”

  “Somebody else mentioned his name to me just yesterday in a completely different context,” Mihdí said. “So you and Brent sort of hit it off immediately? He probably remembered his own high school years and could tell you were a kindred spirit. Did he go to your high school when he was younger?”

  “Yeah,” said Andy. “It wasn’t that long ago. I don’t know exactly how old he is, but he’s not that much older than I am.”

  “Is Brent kinda like the leader of the group?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “Seems like we’re always doing whatever he comes up with.”

  “You ever play basketball or anything like that?” Mihdí asked.

  “Nah, we’re not into sports.”

  “Do any of the guys play in bands or anything?”

  “Sometimes we play a little bit,” Andy replied. “Damon and I both play guitar, and Dylan has drums, so we’ve jammed a little a couple of times. Brent’s not really that into it, so it’s only been a couple of times.”

  “Sounds like you might want to do that a bit more?” Mihdí queried.

  Andy nodded. “Maybe,” he said.

  “There’s a group of guys that get together down at the community center on Saturday mornings. One of their guitarists moved away a few months ago. They might be really happy if you brought your guitar over there now and then and played with them. Wouldn’t have to be any commitment, of course, since you already have your own friends. But it might be fun for you now and then. I actually have gone down there and played with them myself a couple of times. But I’m more of an acoustic guitarist, and they’re all electric.”

  “You play guitar?” Andy asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Mihdí replied. “I’ve been playing since I was about twelve. Don’t have much time for it now, because I have a couple of young kids. But I wasn’t too bad back in college. I played in a band back then, and we did a couple of gigs.”

  Andy looked at Mihdí with more curiosity now and had dropped the antagonism.

  “Well,” said Mihdí. “I should let you go. I’ve been yakking away long after I found out all I needed to know. I just don’t get much chance to talk to interesting kids, so it’s been a nice treat. Thanks for indulging me. It’s been a real pleasure to meet you.”

  He shook Andy’s hand and put an arm around his shoulder as he ushered him out of the small room. He smiled as Andy left the office area to return to class.

  Mihdí returned to his car and made some notes of what he had learned about the group that Andy had been hanging out with. He called Darla Brownlee to give her the names of the people involved: Brent Wiegand, Damon, and Dylan. She promised she’d look into it, although she commented that it didn’t sound like a very serious threat once he had described the group to her.

  After his talk with Andy Sapp, Mihdí drove back to Kaminer Avenue and parked a few buildings south of the synagogue, near Hoffman’s Deli. He looked around a bit and checked some of the notes that Kurt Childs had written up about his initial inquiries on the block. He decided to drop in on the HisStory Christian Bookstore.

  Mihdí identified himself to the young man working there and said, “I see from your nametag that your name is Matthew. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “I guess not,” said Matthew.

  “May I ask your surname, Matthew?” Mihdí began.

  “You don’t have to call me sir.
”

  “I . . . what? Oh, no, I just wanted your last name.”

  “Skefton,” Matthew replied. He spelled it, “S – K – E – F – T – O – N.”

  Mihdí observed the young man as he made a show of writing down his name. He judged Skefton to be in his early twenties. His blond hair was cut short over his entire scalp. He had no facial hair. He wore a maroon long-sleeved polo shirt with the HisStory Christian Bookstore logo on it, and Mihdí suspected this was a required uniform for the staff. Skefton was also wearing black jeans, black socks, and black athletic shoes. He gave off a very odd vibe, as if he were expecting to be attacked somehow and was working to fend it off in advance. He looked at Mihdí only in passing and never met his eyes.

  “I understand that you were working here last Tuesday,” Mihdí stated. “Is that correct?”

  “Yeah,” Matthew said.

  “I imagine Detective Childs already asked you if you had seen or heard anything suspicious on that day, particularly in the afternoon?”

  “Yeah, some guy interviewed me,” Skefton said. “I told him I didn’t see nothin’ unusual.”

  “Was it busy that day?” the detective asked.

  “I don’ think so,” said Skefton. “We had a few customers that day, I think, but nothing much.”

  “Would you have a record of any sales made that day?”

  “I don’t,” Matthew said. “Mebbe Mrs. Plante’s got somethin’.”

  “That’s the owner, I suppose,” Mihdí inquired.

  “Yeah,” Matthew replied. “Her number’s here on this card. She’ll probably be in about noon. She usually comes in for an hour or so so’s I can have my lunch.”

  “Is that right?” Mihdí asked. “Did she do that last Tuesday?”

  “I don’t really remember that day,” said Matthew, “but I probably would remember if she hadn’t come in, since that would have required some special arrangements.”