Killer Dreams Ch. 11-15

Talia Devine's POV

St. Paul Homicide Division

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

Background investigations were boring as hell. I'd rather be in the field doing interviews, but I was the junior detective. The shit jobs flow downhill.

I opened up a Word document, then started with a basic internet search. The browser selected the most recent and popular articles first, in this case, a tabloid article from an hour ago. "Bestselling Author Plays while Ex-Wife Lays In Morgue," the headline said. I clicked on the link, and up came a photo.

Damn. David Hardin was freaking HOT! His bio headshots were all right, but this telephoto shot showed him as he exited Lake Superior after a morning swim. David's body matched that of an Olympic swimmer; broad and muscular shoulders, V-taper to a narrow waist, and powerful legs. His arms showed evidence of lifting weights, the bicep clearly defined as he lifted a towel from the rock. I could see the scars on the right side of his torso, a hands-width from the visible six-pack. They were the only faults on the Adonis emerging from the water.

It was the perfect clickbait.

I shook my head, reminding myself that he was thirty-seven years old and the prime suspect in a violent murder. I scrolled down while my subconscious reminded me how long it had been since I'd had a proper screw.

The article said very little; it focused on the 'sheltered' author having fun as the investigation into Tracy's murder continued. The rest was nothing new; a photo of Tracy outside the courthouse and how the police were 'baffled' by the case. They played the real-life murder mystery up.

David's name got mentioned in almost all the articles on Tracy's murder, but only in the background paragraphs. The pair divorced in 2014 after six years of marriage. David's side wasn't quoted, but Tracy said in a 2019 interview that the divorce was amicable, and she was pleased he'd done so well since then. "I speak to him a few times a year, but I haven't seen him since the divorce. He wants me to find happiness without him," she said. I found the divorce decree in county records to back that up. David kept his entire police pension and a third of the settlement with the city, with no alimony.

David then disappeared to the North Shore to write his books while Tracy made her reputation as a county prosecutor.

Working my way back on the timeline, I didn't find much going back to his divorce that wasn't book-related. Property records showed he lived in a cabin west of Tofte for a few years before building his current home. Google Earth and Zillow showed his lakeside home on five acres with 750 feet of waterfront north of Two Harbors. He'd done well for himself as a writer. County records showed a 2021 valuation of $1.987 million, up $300,000 from 2020, with no mortgage. Zillow had the property doubling in value since 2018.

Last year, an article about "North Shore Most Eligible Bachelors" estimated David Hardin's net worth at ten million dollars. Tracy Hardin was engaged to a professional hockey player who just signed a three-year, twenty-five-million dollar extension. Money wasn't an issue, and neither was jealousy. David hadn't even seen her despite living only a few hours away.

I found a few articles on the lawsuit they settled with the City of Minneapolis over the shooting. The city denied wrongdoing but paid out $500,000 and made changes to their officer training. By all accounts, David was a good police officer who lost his career in a tragic incident. I'd have to talk to his fellow officers to get the real story.

Lunchtime was approaching, and I still didn't have a thing worthy of further investigation. I wasn't the only one frustrated with progress. When James Maloney took a call and yelled for everyone to shut up, we did.

"Hardin's on the way to the hospital with a cut to his hand?" I was paying attention. "Drunk off his ass and breaking things. Lake View Hospital emergency room." He looked at me, and I started looking up the phone number. "Thanks for the call, Sheriff."

Things moved quickly after that. Anna had started preparing a warrant application for David's home, using the similarities to the book as the basis. It wasn't enough probable cause, but with David having a severe cut to his finger and trashing his house in a drunken rage? It was a high-profile case, and this might be the break we needed. If we matched a single spot of blood at the crime scene? Or found her blood on his clothing or shoes? That would be enough to make an arrest.

The local judge bought off on it. We got two search warrants. The first was for his person for photos and a DNA sample. The second was for his home, seeking any electronic communications, dirty clothing, or potential blood evidence. Captain Cullen wasn't taking any chances with local law enforcement; he called the Minnesota BCA and asked their Duluth office to handle the search of his home. He called together the group for a quick meeting once it was all in play. "We're crossing the Rubicon with these warrants, and it's a gamble," he told the room. "The search warrant is going to cause significant media interest. Captain Lewis will handle the press. As of now, David Hardin is a person of interest. Our job is to find probable cause for an arrest."

I went back to research after eating my lunch salad. By mid-afternoon, we'd given David Hardin more reasonable doubt than ever. The knife cut? It was no more than a few hours old, and his body showed no other injuries. The doctor said he'd removed a glass fragment, which matched up with the bloodstains on a broken picture frame in David's office. The BCA technicians found bloody clothes in the sink, but the blood type didn't match the victim.

The loser of this all was Captain Lewis, our press liaison. He had to stand in front of a wall of cameras and answer questions without saying anything. The story was a perfect storm of celebrities, sex, and murder. He couldn't comment on the status of the investigation, of course. That honor went to the talking heads and politicians, and boy, were they talking.

The 6 PM newscast was on in the corner when the press conference started. Yvonne turned the volume up while the entire office watched David Hardin get ready to speak live from the lobby of a Two Harbors office building. "Who is that in the background," Hank asked.

"The black guy on the left is his old partner on the Minneapolis Police, Larry Miller. He's a Sergeant in the Fourth Precinct and was the one who took him to the Emergency Room." He was also on my list of people to interview for background. "I don't recognize the guy in the suit."

"On the North Shore, if you're in a suit, you're probably a lawyer," James replied.

The lawyer stood to his left side as David approached the lectern. He kept his bandaged left index finger by his side. He looked confident as he waited for his lawyer to start. My mind drifted to the photo from this morning, imagining the muscles playing under that plaid shirt and windbreaker.

"My name is Gerald Costley, spelled C-O-S-T-L-E-Y, and I am Mr. Hardin's attorney." I could envision the advertisement; 'I'm Costley, but I'm worth it.' I kept watching David as he stood there. "David will make a short statement followed by a question and answer session. If I ask him not to answer, it is because he remains under unfounded suspicion of a crime, and I am protecting his legal rights. With that, Mr. David Hardin."

"Good evening. Late Sunday night, someone brutally murdered my ex-wife Tracy in her apartment. Words cannot express the sorrow and shock I felt upon hearing the news. My thoughts and prayers go out to her fiance, parents, family, and friends as they deal with this tragic loss." I could see tears forming in his eyes, and it didn't seem fake. "Tracy Hardin was a wonderful person and a tireless advocate for the victims of sexual violence. Her killer must be brought to justice, adding one final conviction to her sterling record of public service. To this end, I am announcing a one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of her killer. The St. Paul Police tip line is at 651-555-8787. I will now take questions."

Holy shit! That was a curveball right across the plate!

A female reporter from a Duluth station got the first question. "Mr. Hardin, do you know why the police served a search warrant on your home today?"

"I do not know their justification for the warrant, as the court sealed the affidavit supporting the search. If you can find out, let me know. My lawyer has a copy of the warrants and a list of items removed. They won't find anything because I had nothing to do with her death. I loved Tracy and only wanted her to find happiness in her new life. Hell, I haven't been south of Duluth in five years!" That got a chuckle. "I'll give them the benefit of the doubt on this one."

"Do you have any ideas about who the killer may be, Mr. Hardin?"

"If I knew, I'd already have provided that information to the police. I solve mysteries in my books, not in real life anymore," he answered. "I have faith in the professionalism of the St. Paul Homicide detectives and their ability to solve the case."

He answered questions for five more minutes. Yvonne turned the volume down as he walked away. "That could have been worse," she said.

"He's enough of a cop still to avoid throwing us under the bus," Maloney replied. "We gambled and lost with the warrant. Him offering the reward? It ramps up the pressure to solve this case."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and get a decent tip from the reward," I replied.

James rolled his eyes at me. "If an honest person knew anything, we'd already have the information. Big rewards result in thousands of bullshit tips to go through, and they rarely result in finding the guy. All he did was bury us in phone calls."

And the phones were already ringing.

Chapter 12

Talia Devine's POV

St. Paul Homicide Division

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

"We've gotten seven hundred phone calls on the tip line," Detective Maloney said as he kicked off our morning roll call meeting. Two days after the murder and the brass were still here. When the Chief of Police sits in on your roll call, you know the pressure is on. "Six hundred and ninety-seven are bullshit. If I don't give you a specific assignment coming out of this meaning, you're working down that list. Sort through the crap to find the gems." Wonderful. I finished my research last night, and I'm the junior detective. I'm sure 'Talia Devine' was the first name on the list for this crap detail. "Talia, let's start with you. What came up in the background check on David Hardin?"

"The short answer is that he's clean as fresh snow," I started. "He was a real boy scout growing up; hardworking, athletic, and driven. He was all-state in baseball and all-conference as a quarterback in high school. The Gophers recruited him as a pitcher, but he blew out his shoulder during his redshirt year. He never got his fastball back and lost his scholarship. He started dating Tracy during his junior year, Tracy's freshman year. Friends I talked to said it was love at first sight, a real fairy-tale romance. He proposed a month after they met, and she accepted. David finished his degree in Criminal Justice, went to the Law Enforcement Academy in Alexandria, and joined the Minneapolis Police in late 2008. He married Tracy a week after he got his badge."

"She was still in school?"

"Yes. Tracy finished law school a few months before David got shot. I've talked to a half-dozen Minneapolis officers about David. They all said he was a great cop. There was some resentment over suing the city, but no big deal. Honestly, the biggest worry they had was how he withdrew from everyone after they retired him. He was depressed, drank a lot, and eventually drove Tracy away. A lot of people worried he'd eat his gun."

"Is he mentally ill?"

"His medical retirement was for his hip, and I can't access his health care records without a warrant."

"We don't have probable cause for that warrant, especially now," Captain Cullen replied.

"Agreed, Captain. Look, David went through a lot of shit. He loved being a cop, and then it was gone. I'd say his depression was understandable."

"Do we know if he saw anyone about it?"

I nodded. "Tracy and her parents urged him to see someone, but he refused. Her Mom said they tried everything, but he wouldn't cooperate. Their marriage went to hell, and Tracy eventually agreed to the divorce after concluding she couldn't help him anymore."

"The divorce was his idea?"

"Yep. Tracy's mom, Tori, couldn't understand why he filed for divorce and moved out. He still looked at her with love in his eyes as he pushed her away. Craig, her father, had some heated arguments with him. He wanted him to get help, and David refused. After the divorce, he moved to a cabin up north and withdrew from the world. The next time they heard from him was when she got a signed copy of his first novel in the mail. He'd dedicated it to her."

"What about after he became an author?"

"He built his house and kept writing. He wasn't lying when he said he hadn't been south of Duluth in five years. He doesn't do book tours, rarely is seen in public, and doesn't date. He's got plenty of money and little to spend it on. Tori can't imagine David doing anything to hurt Tracy, much less killing her. Honestly, if not for how the murder scene matches his book, I'd rule him out as a suspect."

Maloney looked at me. "If not him, who?"

"The book sold over six million copies when you include paperbacks and Kindle," I replied. "That sounds like six million suspects. All it takes is one whack-job so obsessed with the book that he tries to make it come true."

"Wonderful. Justin, anything from her coworkers?"

"Nothing. Everyone liked Tracy. No names of likely suspects."

"I've got my list down to five possibles," Amanda said. "Since they were all in the system, we can compare their DNA to the samples found at the crime scene. Those results won't be complete for another week, even with a rush. There are hundreds of pieces of evidence for the state crime lab to analyze."

"I know," Maloney said. "For a bedroom, it's got as much DNA as a train station."

"I'm still running down the threats she's received, but nothing stands out."

"Ferguson, anything on the cameras?"

Lewis didn't look hopeful. "I got the computer guys to take stills of everyone coming through the area between 2300 and 0300. We're running facial recognition with the DMV database, plus I'm checking everyone Amanda has. No leads thus far."

"Keep working it down," Maloney said. "Hank, what did you find out from the fiancé?"

"Nothing useful. Nobody could think of anyone who would do this to her, and we already ruled Lars out as a suspect."

No one else had much to add, so I asked the question. "Hank, what did Lars say about their sex life?"

"I didn't ask for details, but he said their relationship was strong. Why?"

I opened the file of crime scene photos and started flipping through them. "We know there were no signs of forced entry. And the coroner's report showed no signs of a struggle except for the marks on her wrists and ankles." I found the photo I was looking for; it showed the contents of her bedside drawer. "In addition to the usual vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, and lube, she had some bondage gear."

"Usual sex toys, Talia?" Hank snickered in amusement.

"Most guys couldn't find a g-spot with a map and a guide dog, Hank. I bet your wife has some in hers." That got him to shut up. "Handcuffs, wooden hairbrush, nipple clamps, collar, and leash."

"Fifty Shades fan? Pretty tame stuff."

"Maybe. Lots of people play around with light bondage and spankings these days. We should ask Lars if he got the stuff for her or if she had it from previous relationships," I replied. "It's possible she knew her killer and let him in for a booty call with Lars out of town. She could have gone into those cuffs willingly, only to find out the guy wasn't playing the same game."

Hank's jaw dropped. "Jesus Christ, Talia! Do you know what will happen if we raise questions about the victim's kinky sex life? Or insinuate she was cheating on her fiancé? She was a sex crimes PROSECUTOR!"

"Then be discrete about it. We must ask the questions when the evidence leads that way, right? See if any previous boyfriends will tell you. They are all potential suspects, Hank. We know she didn't leave the building, and she didn't hit the bar downstairs. Whoever came up here, she let in for a reason."

"The coroner found no traces of semen," Yvonne argued.

"The actual sex isn't the focus of BDSM play," I responded. "Dominance and submission are all about the power exchange. The Submissive finds pleasure in giving up control, while the Dominant seeks to exercise it. The sex isn't the point; the thrill of acting out the scene is. Whoever did this was a sadist. They get their sexual thrill from inflicting pain. If Tracy were a masochist, she would get off on receiving pain. She died when he went too far."

"Then why didn't we find semen?"

"He could have worn a condom, or he might have jacked off thinking about it later," I replied with a shrug. "The scene was messy, and the killer was careful not to leave evidence behind. Plus, David's book didn't have any references to penetration. I'm not an expert on kink, Yvonne. I've seen some sick shit on the job, though."

"She's right, Hank," Maloney said. "Talia, I want you and Yvonne looking into this. Talia, you search her phone records, emails, and text messages for potential hookups. Obtain a warrant for her internet provider, and check her search history for the past year. Yvonne, go back through the Coroner's report and look for anything that might be evidence of previous BDSM activity. Hank, talk to Lars again. Try not to push too hard, but find out how wild she was in bed."

Could I get in more trouble? Let's find out. "Hank, ask if she mentioned any ex-boyfriends into bondage. Maybe they invited someone into their bed to play." His eyes got wide. "It's not illegal, Hank."

"And for God's sake, keep this shit discreet," Captain Cullen said. "The last thing we need is for this to get out."

That warning didn't work past lunchtime.

Chapter 13

David Hardin's POV

Shores of Lake Superior

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

I'd finished my morning swimming routine and was soaking in the hot tub when Rocky joined me. The little traitor had abandoned me last night, staying with Larry in the guest room instead. Larry emerged from the back hallway entrance a minute later, coffee cup in hand. He'd been up for twenty-six hours by the time we got home from the press conference, so I'd let him sleep. "You're up too early," he told me.

"Habit," I told him. "You're the one who told me to stay active and develop a routine, you know."

"Well, you needed it," he said. "How's the water?"

"Good." I was standing in the deep part of my custom hot tub, letting the jets work my back and hips. "You coming in?"

"Nah, I'll sit here and look out the window. I heard we might get rain today." He sat in a chair near the tub, and Rocky sat next to him to get his ears scratched. "I caught the headlines on the news this morning. You're still the lead story."

"What are they saying?"

"It's better than when I drove up here. Husbands and ex-husbands are always suspects. Offering the reward was genius."

"I didn't do it for poll numbers, Larry. I want this asshole found."

He nodded. "You made that abundantly clear. I'm not sure how Saint Paul Homicide feels about it. Those poor bastards are getting their asses torn up for not finding this guy already." He kept looking out the window and sipping coffee as I climbed out of the tub, drying off and grabbing a robe. "What's the plan for today?"