Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission Page 3

  Chapter Five

  Sara was wiping chocolate from her mouth when I dropped her at school before returning to Salt Lake City. I stopped at the Salt Lake Roasting Company, where I ordered a large cup of French roast and perused the morning Salt Lake Tribune looking for news of the Vogue murder. There was only a small breakout piece, since it had occurred too late at night to receive full coverage. It would be the story of the day and probably the story for weeks to come.

  After downing the coffee, I used my cell phone and called the number I’d found in Levi’s wallet. On the third ring, a male voice answered, “Starlite Motel; how can I help you?”

  “How much is your rate for a single for one night?”

  “Forty plus tax,” came the reply.

  “Okay, and what’s your address?”

  “3640 South State Street.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you back. Thanks.”

  I wondered what Levi Vogue was doing with the phone number to a motel on South State Street. While I didn’t know anything about the Starlite Motel in particular, I knew the area well enough to recognize that it was located in a part of town devoid of upscale hotels, and that it was well known for its hookers, pimps, and drug dealers.

  ***

  It was still early as I headed for the Board of Pardons office in South Salt Lake, a few blocks from the headquarters of the Department of Corrections. The Utah Board of Pardons and Parole had five full-time members appointed by the governor, each serving staggered, renewable, five-year terms. As the result of Vogue’s murder, the board had lost not only one of its members, but also its chairman.

  My reasons for visiting the Parole Board office were twofold: I wanted to interview any available board members. I also wanted to search Vogue’s office and seal it so that nothing could be removed without our knowledge. I wouldn’t need a search warrant as long as I received permission from Lawrence Gallagher, the Board’s administrative secretary. By the time I arrived, three board members were sequestered behind closed doors in executive session, while the secretarial support staff appeared noticeably subdued. I found Gallagher in his office sitting behind his computer, clustered behind two large stacks of parole files. Gallagher was a politically well-connected Democrat with a strong desire to be appointed to the Board of Pardons himself. Unfortunately, members of the Democratic Party in Utah were about as common as white tigers in North Dakota.

  He glanced up from the e-mail message he was preparing and said, “Sam, I hope you’re coming with good news. I’ve got a group of very nervous parole board members meeting in executive session right now trying to figure out who’s going to run this place in the absence of the chairman, and wondering whether they might be next in line for a surprise visit when they go home tonight. I stopped fielding calls from the media more than an hour ago. They’re hungry for information, any information, and they’re driving us nuts.”

  “Sorry, Larry. My quota of good news ran out as of this morning, and don’t tell the press squat.”

  “Then to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit—never mind, I know. You want to search Levi’s office, right? And I’ll bet you don’t have a warrant?”

  “Very good, Larry. You’re right on both counts—I don’t have a warrant, and I do want to search Levi’s office.”

  “I locked it this morning as soon as I heard. The office looked undisturbed. As to your search, I don’t see a problem as long as the rest of the board members approve.”

  I found myself pleading my case for the search before a stunned and visibly nervous group of parole board members. So far, there was little to tell them about the murder of their colleague and friend. In the end, they gave me permission to search his office and saved me the time and trouble of obtaining a warrant.

  A cursory search of Levi’s office turned up little of value. I rummaged through his four-drawer file cabinet and desk but found nothing out of the ordinary. A search of his computer hard drive and several discs provided no clues that might help us solve his murder. All of the computer files contained information pertinent only to his work on the Board of Pardons. The only thing of significance I found occurred when I examined his Rolodex. When I got to the letter “S,” I found the initials SLM and the phone number to the Starlite Motel. The motel was going to be my next stop. On my way out of the office, I snatched a small desk photograph of Levi and Margaret that appeared to have been taken fairly recently.

  Three board members had agreed to immediate interviews. The fourth was vacationing and not scheduled to return for two weeks.

  I began with the board member with the least amount of seniority. Judith James-Hyde was serving her first term and had been on the job a mere nine months. She had been a career prosecutor, first with the Salt Lake County Attorney’s Office, and most recently, a deputy attorney general with the Utah State Attorney General’s Office.

  “Judith, how are you holding up?”

  “Like everybody else, I’m in a state of shock. It’s hard for me to accept that Levi will never walk through that door again. He’s gone for good.”

  I nodded. There seemed little to say.

  “Tell me Judith, how well did you know Levi?”

  “Reasonably well, considering that I’ve only worked here for a few months. I knew him slightly before because of my assignment in the Attorney General’s Office, where I represented your department as well as the Board of Pardons. Other than an occasional business lunch, I never saw him socially outside the office. I did meet his wife, Margaret, at our office Christmas party last December.”

  “Do you have any idea about what kind of relationship Levi had with his wife and children?”

  “Not really. I mean he seemed highly devoted to his family and the Mormon church. He talked nonstop about how proud he was of his two sons. I never heard him say anything that would lead me to think there were problems at home. I recently overheard him talking with another staff member about being active in a Boy Scout troop, and I also think he coached a youth soccer team. But that’s about it.”

  “What about the days and weeks leading up to the murder? Did his behavior change, or did he seem upset about anything?”

  “I’ve been in here this morning thinking about that. I didn’t see any changes in his demeanor or mood. Nothing.”

  “Were you aware of anyone he might have been having problems with—anybody he might have been afraid of?”

  “Well, there are always inmates. As you know, some of them can be downright scary. But if he was afraid of someone, he never mentioned it to me. And that’s something I would’ve remembered.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure you would. Who did Levi socialize with outside the office? Anybody come to mind?”

  “Not really. I imagine he had friends in the church. That wouldn’t be unusual. Come to think of it though, since I joined the board, Levi seemed to be spending more and more time with Bill Allred. Almost like they’d become pals.”

  “You mean hanging out together away from work?”

  “Well, both actually. We’re all thrown together in the office, so that’s a given. But, yes, I had the impression that Levi and Bill were spending time together away from work. Several times I heard them talking about working out at one of the local health clubs, although I don’t know where or how often.”

  “When was the last time you saw Levi?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon. I left for home at about five-thirty and Levi was still in his office.”

  “Thanks for your help, Judith. If you think of anything else, no matter how trivial it may seem, you know where to find me.”

  My next interview was with William Allred, a retired prison warden who had been employed by the Department of Corrections for twenty years prior to his appointment to the Board of Pardons. Allred was nearing the end of his second term. As I recalled, his appointment had been a controversial one. Many people believed that his selection had less to do with ability, and more to do with his reputation as a tough prison warden. He had always
projected an attitude that said, on his watch, inmates would not be running the asylum. That attitude resonated well with Utah politicians and probably played a major role in his hiring.

  Allred invited me into his office. I glanced around the room thinking that I’d never seen a dirtier, more cluttered space. Files were scattered everywhere and piled on everything. I moved a two-foot-high stack from an office chair to the floor so I’d have a place to sit.

  Allred glanced up from a file and said, “Sorry about the mess. One of these days I’ll get around to straightening it up. I hate to rush you, Sam, but we’re going to have to keep this short. I’ve got a full docket of parole grant hearings scheduled for this afternoon, and I’m still not finished reading the files.”

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll try to keep it brief.”

  “I sure hope I can help. Levi’s murder has shocked and devastated everybody in this office. How are Margaret and the children holding up? Has she returned from California?”

  “I don’t really know. I haven’t had any contact with her. My guess is that she’s on her way back to Utah.”

  “And how is the investigation proceeding?” he continued. “Did you find any physical evidence at the crime scene? Any suspects yet?”

  I started to wonder who was interviewing who. Before I could answer, Allred apologized. “I’m sorry to be asking all these questions, Sam. It’s just that the rest of us are feeling a little jumpy. I know everybody will feel a sense of relief once somebody’s in custody.”

  I treated Allred’s questions the same way I would had they come from the press. That means I used my standard line of evasive bullshit and didn’t really answer any of them.

  I asked Allred the same questions I’d previously posed to James-Hyde. And with one notable exception, I received almost the exact same responses.

  “Away from the office, who were Levi’s friends?”

  The question seemed to momentarily catch him off-guard. For a split second, his facial expression registered surprise. “Well, I really haven’t any idea about that. There was this guy from his church ward. Levi once told me that he and this guy, and, sorry, but I can’t remember his name, sometimes attended Jazz games together. Other than that, my sense is that Levi spent most of his time with family.”

  “Did you and he socialize outside the office?”

  “Once in a great while, but not very often.”

  “And when you did go out, what kinds of things did you do together?”

  “When we did go out, and it wasn’t often, we’d usually go to lunch. That’s really about it.”

  “Seems like I heard from somebody that the two of you spent time together lifting weights. Is that true?”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. On rare occasions, Levi and I have lifted together. I maintain a membership at a Gold’s Gym in Midvale and Levi attended a couple of times as my guest.”

  For whatever reasons, Allred wanted to distance himself from any personal relationship with Vogue. I wondered why. While he didn’t outright deny the friendship, he certainly downplayed it.

  The third member, Gloria Perez, was a former law school professor at the University of Utah. She was three months shy of finishing her second term. From what I’d heard, she badly wanted Governor Strand to appoint her a third time, and rumor had it, he wasn’t going to do it.

  Perez looked tired and drawn. Her mascara had run, and it was obvious that she’d been crying. As the board’s senior member, I had hoped my interview with her might lead to some startling revelation that would shed light on Levi’s murder. But it didn’t. About the only interesting answer came when I asked if she could identify any of Levi’s friends. She gave me three names. Bill Allred’s was the first.

  The picture of Vogue that emerged from his three colleagues was remarkably similar. They respected him as a highly capable parole board member and administrator. In his personal life, the picture they painted was of a man of high moral character, devoted to family, church, and community.

  None of his colleagues recalled Vogue being upset or distracted by anything in the days preceding his murder. They were unable to identify anyone who disliked him or who might have wanted to see him dead.

  As I left the Board of Pardons, I asked Gallagher to secure Vogue’s office and not let anyone in without obtaining authorization from me or Kate McConnell. He agreed.

  Chapter Six

  My next stop was the Starlite Motel. Before I got there, my cell phone rang. It was Kate.

  “I wondered if I might interest you in a front-row seat at Levi Vogue’s autopsy? It’s scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”

  “Chicken?”

  “Absolutely.” I had long since developed a strong aversion to attending autopsies. I’ve never gotten used to the smell of a ripe corpse. When I couldn’t avoid them, I always attended smoking a strong cigar. And I don’t even smoke.

  I agreed to meet Kate later in the evening so we could review what we had learned that day.

  ***

  I arrived at the Starlite Motel and contacted the manager, Frank Arnold. The motel was not one I considered upscale, but it wasn’t bad either, considering the surrounding neighborhood.

  Arnold was an older man with a ruddy facial complexion that probably belied years of serious drinking. The one thing that stood out about him was a voluminous nose. It looked like it have been broken on more than one occasion, but nonetheless, would have made Karl Malden envious.

  I introduced myself, showed him a picture of Levi Vogue, and asked if he recognized the photo.

  “I wondered if you guys might be coming around. It sure as shit didn’t take you long.”

  “So you do know him?”

  “Well, not exactly, but I have seen him come in a few times. He usually doesn’t stop here at the front desk. He typically drives in and goes straight back to one of our guest rooms.”

  “To meet someone, I presume? You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the fair maiden?”

  “You know,” replied Arnold, “I ain’t under any fuckin’ obligation to talk to you, am I?”

  “No, sir. You surely aren’t.”

  “In that case, you come back later and talk to the lady who owns this place. She comes in around three in the afternoon. Her name is Lou Ann Barlow. She knows a helluva lot more about this than I do.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because the young lady you’re referring to happens to be Lou Ann’s daughter. I live with Lou, and I ain’t gettin’ involved. Christ, she’ll toss my sorry ass out on the street if she thinks I’ve been talkin’ outa school.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that, and I’ll be happy to come back later. But, surely you can give me her name—not much harm in that.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Her name is Sue Ann Winkler. She works as a dancer in a club called Satin & Lace.”

  “How did she meet Levi Vogue?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but they probably met at the club. That’s how Sue Ann meets most of her male friends. And I don’t have a clue whether an exchange of money was a regular part of the friendship, if that’s your next question.”

  Unlike most of the Salt Lake strip clubs that served alcohol and required the dancers to wear pasties and a t-bar on the lower extremities, Satin & Lace didn’t serve alcohol. It was a nude club. Strip joints like this are known as “pop shops” in the trade. The dancers perform on stage and are encouraged to sell customers table dances and private sessions in private rooms. The rooms are monitored with cameras to provide security for the dancer and to enforce the no hanky-panky rule. Of course, whatever arrangement a dancer makes with a customer outside the club usually goes unnoticed. That’s not to say that the hanky-panky rule is always enforced by the club’s management. Police vice squads know that the private rooms provide safe harbor for hand-jobs, oral sex, and even intercourse.

  I recognized that Vogue’s appa
rent involvement with a local stripper might be completely unrelated to his murder; however, I couldn’t ignore it. Perhaps there was another side to Levi Vogue—a more insidious side that belied the public image of the successful, happily married, church-going family man.

  Chapter Seven

  It was late in the morning and I hadn’t made an appearance at my office. Actually, I have two offices. The Department of Corrections requires that I maintain an office at central headquarters in Salt Lake City. My staff in the SIB, however, is housed in one of the administrative buildings at the state prison twenty-five minutes south of Salt Lake City. That’s the location of my other office. In reality, much of what we do require our presence at the prison.

  I knew I would return later in the afternoon to the Starlite Motel, so rather than driving south to the prison, I headed to department headquarters. I had a tentative plan, and I wanted to assign my most experienced investigator to do some of the legwork.

  Terry Burnham had been a Salt Lake City police detective for twenty-four years until his retirement three years ago. Like a lot of cops, the adjustment to retirement did not come easily. In less than a year, he concluded that evening bridge groups and weekly golf outings with his fellow retirees left him empty and unfulfilled. So two years ago I offered him a job in the SIB. He was a good hire, and adapted quickly to the prison environment and the world of the inmate. He was the best investigator in the SIB.

  ***

  Burnham hadn’t been in my office for more than five minutes when we were interrupted by Norm Sloan’s administrative assistant, Brad Ford. He wanted an immediate update on the investigation so he could run the information back to Sloan. As soon as Sloan told me he expected daily briefings on the investigation, I sensed that Ford might become a nagging pest. My instincts appeared to be correct.

  Ford stood nervously in front of my desk, unsure of whether he should sit down in the empty chair across from Burnham or remain standing. I didn’t invite him to sit. “Brad, what can I do for you?”