The Killing Tide, page 10
Alexa answered. “Hello?”
“Deputy Marshal Chase, sorry to wake you.”
“Actually, sir, I wasn’t in bed yet.”
“Good. There’s been another murder.”
Alexa perked up. “Where?”
“A state prosecutor in Phoenix named Kurt Billings was murdered just an hour ago. Multiple stab wounds. It looks like our man.”
“We’ll get right up there.”
“No need. The police and CSI are going to be busy most of the night. Come up first thing in the morning.”
“It would be better if we saw the scene.”
“The Phoenix homicide squad is perfectly capable. You know that. They can handle it and give you a complete report in the morning.”
“But—”
“You’ll be sharper if you have some sleep, Deputy Marshal Chase.”
That came out as an order. Alexa bit her lip, stopping herself from saying anything. She had gotten worn out on the manhunt for Drake Logan, close to the breaking point. It must have been obvious to everyone, especially someone as experienced, and as caring, as her boss.
He didn’t want her to get worn out on this one.
He probably didn’t even want her on this one. What had he said when she had started her two-week personal break? Take as much time as you need to. If you need more than two weeks, just ask.
Had that been more of a hint than an offer? Did he think she wasn’t ready to work?
All these thoughts and doubts flashed through her mind in an instant, and her boss heard only the briefest of pauses as she answered, “Yes, sir. We’ll be up there first thing. I’ll fill in Agent Barrett.”
“Thank you. Get some rest.”
As soon as he hung up, she dialed Stuart.
“Erm?” came a sleepy voice on the other end of the line.
“You awake enough to drive a hundred down the freeway?” Alexa asked.
“Sure. Why? Has there been another murder?”
Alexa blinked. He had gone from asleep to alert in less than two seconds.
“Yes there has.”
“I’ll meet you at the car in five.”
Alexa got to the car in four. Stuart was already waiting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alexa fumed. Despite Stuart nearly giving her a heart attack with his driving, the murder scene had been mostly cleansed by the time they got up there.
While the car was still there, and the entire parking lot sealed off with police tape, the body had been taken. Once again she had to rely on police photos.
At least they had already printed out a preliminary report, knowing she and Stuart were coming. Marshal Hernandez was right. With Phoenix’s high murder rate, the homicide squad was efficient and all too experienced.
She and Stuart stood next to the Lexus with the tinted windows. The driver’s side door hung open. The front seats and floor were soaked with dried blood. Splashes of it marked the inside windows. Another furious stabbing. On the pavement next to the open door was a dried patch of blood and a couple of bloody partial footprints from where the perp had stepped into the puddle with the front half of their shoe and then tried to wipe it away on the pavement. Their first solid clue.
But was this their man? The timing and method of murder were the same, but the killing had taken place outside, not at the victim’s home. If this was the same killer, why the change?
There were only three policemen standing at the crime scene, posted there to keep anyone from interfering with it. They hadn’t been the officers who took the call the night before. CSI was due back any minute to recheck the parking lot. The team had collected the body and escorted it to the morgue, and would now come back to finish up. So at the moment, she and Stuart were left without anyone who had actually been there.
Anger bubbled up inside her. Marshal Hernandez wanted her to wait until morning. She would have really missed everything then. He should have more faith in her.
Then a sudden worry came to her mind. What if he had heard about her visit to the Jersey Devil? While it was perfectly legal for her to visit a convict in prison, he would think that didn’t look good for her mental state.
If he only knew how bad it was.
Focus. You need to focus if you want to crack this case and prove to him you’re still capable.
You need to do that to prove it to yourself.
“Looks like this whole area is well covered with security cameras,” Alexa said. “We should get some images of our killer.”
“The cops will be getting those first thing. It’s at the top of the to do list here. Wish they hadn’t moved the body, but with someone that important I’m not surprised. Hey, look at this.” Stuart flipped to another page of the initial report and pointed at one of the photographs, showing State Prosecutor Kurt Billings lying twisted and bloody across his front seat.
His finger indicated a slightly open mouth filled with blood. The lower lip was cut deeply.
“Looks like he forked Billings’s tongue,” Alexa said. “He cut the lip too. He didn’t do that in the previous two. I bet it was because of the exposed murder site. He felt nervous and got in too much of a hurry.”
Stuart nodded, then tapped a small, rolled up paper crunched into one nostril.
“The report says this is a hundred dollar bill. They found some cocaine in the car. I bet when toxicology runs their tests we’ll see that Billings had been using.”
“Killed in the act of taking illegal drugs. I wonder if that’s part of the motive. Punishing someone who was sending people to jail for something they did themselves.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s just incidental, though. Judges Warburton and Rodriguez seem to have been clean. I called the FBI and our agency wasn’t investigating them for anything.”
Alexa looked around the parking lot, hoping the empty stretch of concrete and the surrounding glass and steel high rises might give her an answer. On the street opposite was a line of TV vans, already putting up their satellite hookups. One male reporter had already positioned himself next to the police line, where a cop had gone to make sure no one jumped it, and was preparing to speak into a camera his crew had set up.
Alexa’s eye ran along the line of vans until she saw, to her dismay but not surprise, the red and white logo of Action News. Her brother Wayne’s wife, Melanie, worked as a reporter for Action News. Alexa couldn’t see her in the crowd and hoped someone else had come to report on this story. While Alexa had made it clear on many occasions that Melanie could not use her as a source, that hadn’t stopped the reporter from trying.
A much more welcome sight was the CSI lab truck pulling up. Cameras rushed to film it, and several reporters hurried over, wielding their microphones and asking questions to the crew even before they made it out of the van.
Alexa’s heart sunk when she saw Melanie among them. She turned away and studied the crime scene again. She didn’t see any of the telltale chalk circles the CSI team left when they found items that might be clues. Whoever this killer was, he was careful to leave a minimum of evidence.
So once again, why kill someone in an open parking lot with cameras? Desperation? An escalation of emotion? If the latter, he might kill again, and soon.
On the other hand, it also might make him slip up. They were drawing closer to the killer.
Stuart’s face looking over her shoulder and taking on a sudden male interest told her who was leading the CSI team.
She turned to see Annette Guevara approaching at the head of three male assistants.
Alexa had no idea what the general population’s stereotype of a CSI investigator was. Probably a slightly creepy older man with thick glasses and unfashionable clothes.
Annette Guevara certainly did not fit that description. A petite Mexican-American who looked ten years younger than her thirty-two, she had long brown hair, an oval face, and eyes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Bambi. It was hard to remember that this beautiful, childlike woman had already earned a Ph.D. in biology, several commendations from the city, and the reputation of being the best criminal investigator in the entire state.
It was doubly hard for men to do so.
“Hi!” Stuart said, obviously delighted. Alexa resisted the urge to jab an elbow in his ribs.
“Hello,” Annette’s eyes flicked over Stuart, who tensed a little at the scrutiny. “FBI?”
“Um, yes. Special Agent Stuart Barrett.”
“What happened to your usual suit?”
Stuart blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re wearing your backup suit. I can tell because it’s been in a suitcase and not been properly pressed afterwards. Your first suit, which certainly was properly pressed given your overall tidy appearance, must have gotten dirty and you had to quickly replace it with this one. You tackled someone in a sandy area. A wash, perhaps?”
The other members of the CSI snickered. So did Alexa. She’d seen Annette pull this before.
“Uhhh … ”
Not one of your more intelligent replies, Stuart.
Annette pointed to his fingernails. “You washed your hands well enough, but there are a trace amounts of sand under your nails. Probably had to hurry in the bathroom to get out here this soon. I bet you got your man, though. College football and a stint in the armed forces makes you fitter than most criminals.”
“Who are you?” Stuart managed to say. “Mrs. Sherlock Holmes?”
“No. My name is Annette Guevara.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Miss Annette Guevara.”
“Oh.” Stuart got himself together. “So what can you tell us, Miss Guevara?”
“Or Doctor Guevara, if you like.”
“Um. Right.”
Alexa smiled. Annette liked to bowl over male officers with a display of her brilliance. It stopped most of the flirting and replaced it with respect. Annette usually didn’t reduce the effect with flirtation of her own. That “Miss” bit was not like her. Nor was the admiring look she gave Alexa’s partner.
Could we get to the murder now? Alexa just managed not to say that out loud.
Luckily, that appreciative look didn’t last long. The CSI official turned to her.
“Hi, Alexa! Collaborating with the FBI now, eh? Well, to answer your cute partner’s question, we don’t have much yet although the labs are still working on some stuff. Near as I can make out, the victim was snorting some coke on the dashboard of his car here when the perp opened the door, slammed his face down on the dash, which jammed the hundred dollar bill he was using right up into his sinuses, and then slashed and stabbed the guy to death. Once he was down, the perp slit his tongue, cutting the lower lip as he did so. Righthanded, strong, enraged. Not too tall considering the angle of the cut wounds while taking into account that he had to be hunched halfway inside the vehicle. So you’re looking for a shorter male, maybe about the height of Agent Barrett here. So short but not unattractively short. Still looking like a man should.”
Stuart made a little strangling sound. Doctor (or Miss) Guevara went on.
“We dusted for prints, of course, and we already got those back. None but the victim’s. The perp wore gloves. The big clue is these shoe prints. As you can see, he stepped in a little puddle of blood and got the front half of his right sneaker—size ten and a half, big shoes for a shorter man—stained with blood. He wiped it all around to try and get rid of it, but he still left enough of a print to identify the shoes as Adidas Performance Bounce, this year’s edition. They’re running shoes with a mesh top for better breathability. Considering the splash, some blood might have soaked through to his sock. Certainly his pants and shirt would have been covered in it. As you can see from this faint blood print here, made after he wiped his foot and too faint for him to have seen at night under streetlight, he moved away and crouched, then repositioned his foot again. Most likely he was doing a quick change out of his bloody clothes, putting them into a duffel bag or something before making his way off downtown.”
No, Alexa didn’t see that, but she trusted Annette’s expertise.
“Thanks, Annette. Anything more for us?”
“Not yet. I’ll call you when I get anything. Homicide told me to tell you they’re pulling the camera footage now, so come on down to the station in a bit and they’ll show it to you. In the meantime, Billings’s office address is in the preliminary report your partner has in his hand.” Stuart stared at it. It was in a plain manila folder. Closed. “His secretary and paralegal have been called in. So you might want to go question them while you wait.”
“Um, all right.” Talking with Annette always made her feel like standing in the middle of a dust devil, being pulled around and around faster than she could think.
“Thank you very much for your help, Miss, er, Doctor Guevara,” Stuart put in.
“You’re welcome. And no, it wouldn’t be stereotyping to ask me out for Mexican food. I’m free after nine on weeknights and anytime on weekends. Coming from back East I bet you’ve never had any of the real stuff. One rule, don’t ask if I’m related to Che. He was a scumbag. Put Cuban gays in prison camps. Yes, I’m bisexual. No, that’s not a threat to you.”
“Right. So, um, can I have your number?”
“Find it yourself, investigator. Now run along. Alexa is a workaholic and all this standing around is making her antsy.” She turned to her assistants. “Come on, guys, let’s get to work.”
Having been dismissed, Alexa and Stuart walked away.
“Wow,” Stuart whispered.
Alexa gave him an annoyed glance. “Find the address for Billings’s office and let’s go. I’m sure the police have called his coworkers in to be interviewed. But let’s go out that way.”
She pointed to the side of the parking lot opposite of where the news crews were stationed. The last thing she needed right now was having to deal with her sister-in-law.
But shaking family isn’t so easy, and they hadn’t made it half a block before the Action News van shrieked to a halt right next to them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Melanie jumped out and hurried over to Alexa. A cameraman hustled close behind.
Alexa rounded on her. “Melanie, what have I told you about trying to interview me? It’s conflict of interest and you can get me in trouble.”
Melanie, a tall, willowy blonde wearing the heavy makeup needed for television, ignored what Alexa said, the same as she always had.
“Is it true you’ve been assigned to the Billings murder?”
“Yes, but I can’t comment on it,” Alexa said, still walking. Stuart managed to get between the cameraman and her, blocking his shot.
“Is this case related to the recent murders of Judges Warburton and Rodriguez?”
“No comment.”
Alexa picked up the pace. The camera dodged back and forth, trying to get her in the frame, but Stuart showed his football skills and managed to fill up the shot with the back of his black suit. Not very interesting to television viewers. And if something isn’t visually interesting, Alexa knew, it wouldn’t make it on the news.
“Please, Alexa, this is an important case.”
“Which is why I’m not going to prejudice it by speaking to you.” Why her reserved, country-boy brother Wayne ever married someone like this was beyond Alexa’s understanding.
“Alexa, come on. I just—”
“No comment.”
Melanie turned to Stuart. So did the cameraman. Stuart put his hand on the lens.
“And what’s your role in this investigation?” Melanie asked.
“No comment.”
“The public has a right to know.”
“No comment.”
They had made it to Billings’s office building. The security guard, a hefty black man who looked like he had played football with Stuart in college, let them in and then blocked the door to the two reporters. Melanie demanded to be let in. The security guard, no doubt sensing there was no reasoning with this woman, didn’t bother to reply.
“Friend of yours?” Stuart asked as they went up the elevator.
“Sister-in-law,” Alexa grumbled.
Stuart didn’t reply. Smart man.
The elevator opened and greeting them was another familiar face from Phoenix law enforcement, Homicide Detective John Rebstock.
Rebstock couldn’t have been more different than Guevara. He was a mountain of a man. Standing six-five and weighing at least three hundred pounds, he had a florid face and red nose that told of a career of heavy drinking. He wore a wrinkled, light tan suit and smelled of cigarettes and cheap aftershave.
He did not make a good impression, but Alexa knew he was almost as good at his job as Guevara was at hers. The only difference was that he was only highly intelligent, rather than a certified genius.
“Hey, Alexa. Heard you were coming. And this must be Special Agent Barrett. Rebstock. Homicide.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Stuart shook his hand.
“I was waiting for you before interviewing the coworkers. I already interviewed the man who found him. A bartender at the Executive Lounge, where Billings was a regular. Billings stayed there partying it up until about midnight before heading out. The bartender said he was pretty drunk. When the bartender went to that same parking lot to get in his car and go home, he recognized Billings’s car still there. At first he thought the guy had fallen asleep, but as he got closer he saw the blood, opened up the door, and found the body. I can get him to talk to you if you want.”
“That’s all right,” Alexa said, trusting Rebstock to handle that himself. “Let’s go talk to the coworkers.”
They walked down the hall past a couple of brass plaques advertising a financial advisor and a tax account and came to a door marked with Billings’s name. Rebstock entered without knocking. In the waiting room, sitting stiff and nervous, was an older woman of about sixty and a woman who looked like a recent college graduate.
Neither looked sad. Shocked and nervous, but not sad. Interesting.
Rebstock gestured at them. “This is Hannah Dobbs, Billings’s legal assistant, and Geraldine Brooks, his secretary.”
