The Bone Riddle, page 19
Not technically, she thought, but she knew what he meant. It wouldn’t be proper to shack up with the active DI. Still, she was sad. “Why won’t DI Steele be coming back?”
His eyes, sapphire in the dim light, were serious. “It’s confidential.”
She was about to argue, but tacked in a different direction. “Why didn’t you mention Constable Cooper was joining the case?”
“Did I not? Most likely because you distract me.” His knee nudged her into forgiveness. “She’s an asset. Her whānau extends into this area.”
“We had an encounter with some gang members and she stood up to them. She was so brave.” Alexa told him what happened. “After the guy with the tatted fangs left our table, the others barked. Coop, I mean Constable Cooper, made sure a table of teenagers left safely.”
Bruce nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Did she fill you in on what we learned about Katrina Flores?”
He wiped his fingers with a napkin and cleaned up the table. “She did. I look forward to interviewing Ms. Flores in the morning. I find it interesting that she admitted an affair but wouldn’t consent to be fingerprinted.”
“First Quinn cheated on his wife. Then he cheated on his girlfriend. What a sleaze.”
Bruce’s eyes darkened. “In our last case together, you cautioned the team against demeaning the victim.”
A doctor had been killed, and Alexa hadn’t like the way the team had made comments about her sex life. “She wasn’t married,” Alexa pointed out. “Why get married if you’re going to cheat?” When he didn’t respond, Alexa said, “Amit Gupta is staying at The Retreat. I saw him in the bar tonight.”
“I’ve talked with Chief Petrie in San Jose. He’s digging into both Quinn and Gupta’s histories. We know they cofounded Q&G Biologics. They worked together three years, mostly conducting drug trials. Quinn left to start another company, BioMatic. He took along several employees.”
“Gupta probably didn’t like that. Maybe he came here to exact revenge.”
Bruce laughed, surprising her. “Sometimes I forget you’re a CSI and not a police officer. Your instincts are helpful. I think I’ll swear you in.”
Alexa preened. “I’ve been writing a paper on how crime scene investigators should be incorporated into the criminal justice…”
Bruce leaned over to kiss her quiet. “You know what’s happening between us, don’t you?”
Alexa stilled.
He saw her face and backed off. “Early start tomorrow. Lock the door behind me.”
She did, and then fished for her phone and checked her messages. Katrina Flores had left a voicemail: “I’ve remembered something important. Call me.”
There was no answer when Alexa called back.
MONDAY
Chapter Thirty-One
Alexa wanted to review her lab findings before the team meeting, so she drove into the station parking lot early. As she got out of the Vitz, she spotted DI Steele ushering Joe toward the entrance. What were they doing here? Alexa hustled to catch up, but a reporter blocked her way.
“Detective Inspector Steele, what’s the latest on the bunker body? Is it true Harlan Quinn was murdered?”
DI Steele didn’t alter course. Joe, head down, stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“What about the weapons?” the reporter called out.
“Christ,” DI Steele said. She pushed Joe through the doors and had disappeared by the time Alexa passed through security, the reporter’s question about weapons ringing in her ears. Maybe Scraggly Beard had let the cat out of the bag. However it happened, the news was loose.
Her phone rang as she entered the lab. Maybe it was Katrina. She dropped the crime kit and fished her phone from her tote, careful not to spill the take-out coffee she’d picked up. “Hello?”
“This is Dr. Li. I have results for you regarding Mr. Quinn.”
“Great,” Alexa said.
“There are three ways to measure CO postmortem,” Dr. Li said with no preamble. “I went with the quickest: automated spectrophotometry. There was a slight problem since the sample wasn’t fresh. I told the technician to filter it with a reducing agent to remove debris.”
Alexa wanted Dr. Li as a BFF.
“Carbon monoxide reduces oxygen supply and becomes severe at numbers thirty percent or higher.”
Alexa remembered the headache she’d had in the bunker.
“Fatality generally occurs at fifty percent or higher.” The pathologist paused. “Mr. Quinn’s was seventy-one percent. Cause of death is carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Her pink tooth suspicion was right. Alexa couldn’t wait to study the phenomenon more closely, maybe write a paper. “Thank you, Dr. Li.”
She would make the announcement at the team meeting. She heard footsteps in the hall and figured it was Pamela. Instead, Bruce and DI Steele stepped into the lab.
“Can we interrupt?” Bruce said.
Alexa nodded; she was confused again at seeing DI Steele. And where was Joe?
Bruce handed her a tenprint—a complete set of fingerprints on a single sheet. “We need you to compare these to the one you took from that fingertip left in the bunker.”
“Now?”
Bruce nodded.
Alexa glanced at DI Steele, who averted her gaze. She scanned the new prints onto the computer and focused on the left ring finger. She suspected the finger nub was left ring as well. She adjusted for better contrast and found a right slope loop with a clear core. She zoomed in and used the computer pencil tool to mark an upward ridge and then a bifurcation. It faced upward and was followed by a downward bifurcation. She methodically counted features, barely aware of Bruce and DI Steele hovering close by.
Satisfied, she brought up the fingertip print, which she had scanned yesterday. Now the two prints were side-by-side. Did they match? She took a deep breath, aware her analysis was subjective. Match or no match, she would have Pamela or another examiner verify her findings.
The first thing she noticed on the comparison print was a right slope loop with a clear core. She realized she was holding her breath. She let it go as she marked ridges and bifurcations, and then compared them to the first print. She felt like there were enough matching features. She looked up.
“I believe they are made by the same finger.”
“Bloody hell,” DI Steele said.
“Another examiner will need to verify,” Alexa said.
Bruce made sure the lab door was closed and said, “Mic, how old is your lad?”
“Joe is only fifteen,” she said. “I had no idea he had left the house.”
Alexa looked at the two prints. Jeez. The fingertip belonged to the kid. He’d been in the bunker. But the set Bruce had given her included clean prints of ten fingers—no lopped-off tip. “Where did you get the comparison set?” she asked.
DI Steele scoffed. “I had the police education officer fingerprint Joe and Adam when they came to live with us. As a safety precaution. We were worried the lads’ father might abduct them. I keep the prints at home.” Her eyes got bigger. “Now I’ve implicated my own sister’s boy.”
“We’ll have to hold him,” Bruce said gently. “You know that, right? I’ll get someone from Youth Court to sit with him during the interviews.” He paused. “You’ll want to contact a solicitor.”
DI Steele sank into a desk chair and pulled out her phone. “I need to call Kersten.”
Bruce stepped toward her. “Is there a chance the weapons are at your house? In Joe’s room? Do you have a garage?”
“Joe wouldn’t bring weapons to our house. Not with Adam around.”
Alexa hung her head. That poor younger brother, as if he hadn’t experienced a lifetime of loss already. His mother. His father. Now he might lose his brother.
“It will look better to a judge if Joe tells us where the weapons are,” Bruce said.
DI Steele looked at her phone screen; it was a picture of Joe and Adam, arms around each other. “I don’t know why he was out there, in the bunker.”
Alexa suspected she did know. DI Steele had said she thought Joe was being recruited by the Curs. The bunker could have been an initiation challenge.
DI Steele started tapping on her phone.
Bruce held up a hand. “Hold off calling Kersten until we send someone out there to search the premises.”
DI Steele dropped the phone to her lap. “So you don’t trust me now?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The knowledge of Joe’s participation in the burglary sat like a rock in Alexa’s stomach. Don’t some birds swallow rocks to grind their food? She wondered how Sergeant Atkins and Constable Gavin, their heads together looking through a stack of papers, would react to the news. Coop met her eyes. Alexa figured she knew something was up. Ten minutes later, Superintendent Parker and Bruce entered.
“Sorry for the delay,” Bruce said. “There’s been a development.”
“Is DI Steele coming back?” Sergeant Atkins asked. “I saw her earlier.”
Bruce looked at Superintendent Parker. She gestured with her hand. “All yours.”
Here it comes, Alexa thought.
“We’ve learned DI Steele’s nephew is involved in the break-in at the bunker,” Bruce said. “She’s off the case permanently.”
Constable Gavin’s mouth dropped open.
“Senior’s boy?” Sergeant Atkins said. “He’s but a kid.”
“He’s old enough to be charged with a serious crime.” Superintendent Parker’s face was rigid. “No one. Says anything. To the press.”
“But what happened?” Constable Gavin asked. “How do you know?”
Bruce nodded to Alexa.
“Fingerprints,” she explained. “The DI’s nephew left a print in the bunker.” Nubby and bloody.
“Was Joe alone?” Constable Gavin asked.
“I lifted a couple partial prints,” Alexa said. “They’re inadmissible as evidence but indicate Joe wasn’t alone.”
“Detective Inspector Horne is now in charge,” Superintendent Parker said. “Is this clear?”
Constable Gavin frowned. “Does Joe have the weapons?”
“The weapons are still missing,” Bruce said. “The Organized Crime Unit is on their way to search DI Steele’s house, with her permission.”
“So that’s why Festinger ran out of here,” Sergeant Atkins said.
“OCU Festinger is leading the search,” Bruce said.
“God forbid assault weapons are found at the DI’s crib.” The superintendent glared at the officers. “If this leaks, there will be a media scrum. We’ll look bad all over the globe. Our public’s trust will be nil.”
Alexa expected steam to spout from her ears.
“There will be no leaks from this room,” Bruce assured her. “DI Steele has declared a conflict of interest.”
“To say the least.” The super turned to leave.
Alexa half-rose. “I’ve just learned Quinn’s cause of death is carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Remind me to never set foot in a bunker,” the super said. Even the clack of her heels sounded angry as she left.
Bruce looked from Constable Gavin to Sergeant Atkins. “DI Steele is following all procedures.”
Constable Gavin shook his head. “Super will can her.”
“DI Horne said she’s cooperating,” Sergeant Atkins said. “It’s not her fault Joe is a muppet.”
“She’s hardly been right, ever since Joe,” Constable Gavin said.
“Not true.” Sergeant Atkins’s voice was as spiky as her hair.
Bruce wrote COD: CO poisoning next to Quinn’s photo on the whiteboard and kept his back turned. Alexa suspected he was giving DI Steele’s officers time to assimilate the news.
“Yeah nah. What about when she left in the middle of that hit-and-run because the school called her?” Constable Gavin said. “Did a runner herself.”
“I took care of it,” Sergeant Atkins said. “Didn’t need a DI to take witness reports, did I?”
“And bringing the kid to Black Reef. That’s probably when he cased the bunker.”
Was it? Alexa wondered. Had it been Joe who turned off the lights, leaving her, terrified, in the dark?
Bruce turned and hung his blazer on a chair. A whiff of his woodsy aftershave distracted her; there was a reason office romances were detrimental to productivity. He cleared his throat. “I’m in charge now. Everyone clear on that?”
Alexa nodded, as did the three others.
“Here is how I look at a murder case.” His blue eyes roamed the room. “A murder investigation is a road trip. DI Steele drove the first leg, now I’m taking the wheel. A direct route is quickest. There’s a problem, though. We don’t have Navman, right?”
Alexa’s car didn’t have GPS. She could relate.
“If we work smart, if we keep each other informed—that’s key—if we pay attention to detail, we’ll encounter fewer wrong turns, judder bars, dead ends. Are you with me?”
The road trip metaphor worked for Alexa. Except judder bars. That sounded like a honky-tonk.
Bruce uncapped a marker and circled CURS on the suspect list. “The big funeral is today.”
“A tangihanga,” Constable Cooper said.
“Thank you. The tangihanga is today. OCU Festinger has two plainclothes working the field. I doubt a full-fledged gang member would let a kid take possession of those weapons. Steal them, yes, but store them?”
“They won’t find anything at Senior’s house,” Sergeant Atkins said.
“The undercovers will ask around.” He tapped the list of suspects. “Yesterday I asked for alibi verifications. Anything to report?”
Sergeant Atkins stood. “I have an update on Audrey Quinn and her yoga retreat. I spoke with the manager of Portola Valley Spa.” The sergeant pulled out her phone and read from the screen. “Her name is Elantra Lorde.”
Figures, Alexa thought.
“Ms. Lorde confirmed that Mrs. Quinn checked in on April first and departed April fifth. She said…hold on…‘Mrs. Quinn left with rejuvenation in body and clarification in spirit.’”
“Ommm,” Constable Gavin chanted.
Sergeant Atkins rolled her eyes. “I’ll verify with two more people.”
Constable Gavin stood. “I’m working arrivals. First, Mr. Quinn. Good thing you suggested I look into the private airports, DI Horne. Should have thought of that myself? I’ve got a statement from Immigration NZ and Customs, real helpful lads. They found record of a Gulfstream G700 owned by Harlan Quinn landing at Hawke’s Bay Aerodrome on April first.” He patted his cowlick.
“Did Quinn fly himself?” Bruce asked.
“No. He had a pilot and copilot. I tracked the pilot down in Auckland. Gary Fitch. He said—get this, eh?—a lady with ginger hair picked Quinn up from the aerodrome.”
Alexa met Coop’s eyes. Katrina Flores had ginger hair.
Bruce added the info to the board.
“I’m not done, sir? There’s Ms. Lockhart’s transportation trail? I called Luxury Helicopter Taxi in Auck. They spouted privacy this, privacy that, but once they heard it was about the bunker body? They confirmed her flight on Friday, April eighth, arrival time at Black Reef one forty p.m.” He bowed his head and sat.
Alexa remembered Lynn’s dramatic entrance, her hair flying as her “taxi” departed.
Bruce underlined Lynn Lockhart. “Where was she April second through April fourth? It’s only a four-hour drive between here and Auckland.”
“On it, sir,” Constable Gavin said.
Bruce pointed to Katrina Flores’s name. “Constable Cooper and Ms. Glock spoke with The Retreat’s manager, Ms. Flores. She admitted she was seeing Quinn.”
Constable Gavin whooped. “How many girlfriends did the bloke have?”
“That’s motive for murder, all these women gaga over the billionaire,” the sergeant said.
“She wouldn’t consent to be fingerprinted,” Coop said. “She’s arriving at nine a.m. to make a statement. She might have a solicitor with her.”
Alexa checked the time: Katrina was due in five minutes.
“I’ll meet with her,” Bruce said. “Ms. Glock, you’ll come with me. Maybe she’ll consent to fingerprints now.”
Alexa nodded. “Ms. Flores left me a message on my phone last night.” She avoided Bruce’s eyes. “When I called back, she didn’t answer.” She didn’t mention an hour—spent with Bruce—passed before she returned the call.
“What did it say?” Constable Gavin asked.
Alexa grappled with her phone and played the message on speaker: “I’ve remembered something important. Call me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bruce paced in the police station lobby. “You have Ms. Flores’s number. Call.”
Alexa set down her kit and dug out her phone. The call went to voicemail. “This is Alexa Glock, the forensic investigator. We expected you at the station thirty minutes ago.”
Bruce frowned. “That’s probably her personal number. What about the business number for The Retreat?” He fiddled with his phone, located the number, and called. When someone answered, he said, “I’d like to speak to the manager, Ms. Flores.”
Alexa heard a young woman’s voice but not what she said.
“This is Detective Inspector Bruce Horne. It’s important that I speak to Ms. Flores.”
He listened, cocked an eyebrow at Alexa, and switched his phone to speaker. “When did you see her last?”
“At seven, when I arrived. She was headed out for her morning walk. She goes most mornings.”
Alexa recognized Blair’s voice.
“There’s a guest wanting to check out. Ms. Flores always handles that. It’s not like her to not be here.”
“Could she have driven somewhere?” Bruce asked.
“I checked. Her car is in the parking lot.”
“When she shows up, have her call the Hastings police station.”
Two reporters showed their press cards to the desk clerk and then looked their way. Bruce turned his back to them and said, “I don’t like the sound of Ms. Flores not returning from her walk. Let’s head out there.”
