Court of Killers, page 5
The bakery hadn’t been closed for that long. And it hadn’t been completely out of operation. On more than one occasion, he’d noticed smoke billowing from the rooftop stacks. The oven appeared to be in use. The word on the street was that they were closed for repairs, maybe a little renovation. If there were imminent plans to reopen, they probably wouldn’t mind having this noxious stink eliminated.
Dietrich used wire cutters to snap the relatively flimsy padlock on the front door. Sorry, mysterious owner, but you can get a replacement at Walmart for five bucks. He pulled the front door slowly open. It creaked like something out of an old Universal horror film.
The fetid air hit him with such impact it almost knocked him to the floor. No exaggeration—he felt as if he’d encountered a wall of putridity, something mere mortals were not meant to experience, much less inhale. He pulled a handkerchief out of his uniform pocket and pressed it over his nose and mouth. Didn’t help that much, but with something this foul, even a minor assist was welcome.
Did he say a family of skunks? More like a nation of skunks.
He took a tentative step inside. The lights were off, but large overhead windows admitted some light into the gloom. It was warm in here. In fact, it was hot. Too hot, given the mild temperature outside. And there could only be one explanation for that.
The oven had been on. Recently.
He shone a flashlight into the gloom. A counter where the baked goods were sold, and lots of tables where the patrons could sit while they consumed. One of the tables was overturned. Someone got rowdy? Hard to imagine anyone being able to stay in here for long with that smell. And eating? Impossible. They did still have a problem with street drugs in this town. Crystal meth was on the rise, and he supposed if the kids were sufficiently hopped up on Ecstasy or MDMA, they might be oblivious to odors.
He could use some good sense-numbing drugs right now. He pushed past the counter and located a door that led to the kitchen. In the rear, he found what had to be the oven. The iron door was huge, almost as high as he was. He supposed it needed to be. An operation like this could do a brisk weekend business, producing doughnuts and cragels to compliment the coffee.
As he approached the oven, the smell became vastly more intense.
Had the skunks gotten into the oven? That could be a disgusting mess. Maybe he needed to call animal control. But first he should lay eyes on the critters, whatever they were.
He placed a gloved hand on the door handle. It was warm but not so hot he couldn’t touch it. He suddenly felt woozy. He could feel himself tottering. Maybe Marjorie was right. Maybe it was time for him to get into another line of work. He still hoped to get his pension, but right now, a cozy security job sounded pretty good.
Better get it over with. He drew in his breath, held it, and pulled open the oven door.
The air gushed from his lungs like someone had tackled him. Waves of nausea cascaded across his entire body. His lips trembled.
Oh no. Oh dear God, no!
Chapter 8
Dan parked his Bentley in front of the Snell Isle office/mansion with a dramatic screech. He felt seriously pumped. Great morning. He’d risen with the sun and hit the water early. Kitesurfing was fantastic—he managed two 360 loops and a new, personal-best speed. Thought he might get in a little paragliding later, but he wanted to check in with Garrett first and see how he was coming with the campaign finance investigation. His early take was that they could beat the charges, but ultimately, cases like this always came down to the details. He hoped to meet with Jazlyn before the end of the week and put this problem to rest before it did Camila any great harm.
He stepped through the front door wearing a tank top and swimsuit. “Hey, beach buddies. Today is a great day to be—”
He stopped short. Three faces stared back at him. Maria, Jimmy, Garrett. They did not appear to be high on life.
He didn’t blink. “Something has gone horribly wrong.”
Maria nodded. “Cops are at the mayor’s office. They say they’re arresting Camila.”
“Called it.” They were moving much faster than he expected. He did an about-face. “Tell the client I’m en route.”
Maria looked appalled. “You’re going dressed like that?”
“No time to waste. I’ve got four suits in my office upstairs. Jimmy, would you mind bringing one over?”
He didn’t. “Superman always helps those in need. So shall I.”
“I’m coming with.” Maria ran to the door.
“Garrett,” he shouted as they exited, “send your report to my phone. Whatever you’ve got.”
Garrett nodded. “Already underway.”
He slid behind the wheel of his car. He wasn’t sure what disturbed him most—that the DA was rushing ahead with charges without conferring with counsel, or that his peaceful at-one-with-the-universe mood had been shattered.
He shifted into first. “Apologies, Maria. You’re probably embarrassed to be seen with someone who’s dressed like this.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad to be with someone who knows how to respond to an emergency. Camila needs us. Drive.”
* * *
Dan found no parking outside City Hall, or for that matter, anywhere nearby. News media trucks not only took most of the prime spaces but also prevented access to the front door. He had to park almost a block away, and even then, he wasn’t sure the spot was legal. If his Bentley got towed, he would blame the press. Why not? All the best people did it.
He and Maria jogged to City Hall. A uniformed officer held everyone at bay. He wondered how long that would last. Technically, this was a public building, a government office.
“I’m sorry, you have to stay out until the police finish their business.” The officer looked seriously stressed. Probably hadn’t expected to be fending off a pack of reporters this morning.
Reporters shouted questions the cop couldn’t begin to answer. He felt sorry for the man, though that didn’t stop him from creating more problems for him.
He pushed his way to the top of the stairs. “Daniel Pike, attorney-at-law. I represent the mayor.”
A flurry of photos followed his announcement.
“I’m sorry,” the officer said, “we’re not admitting—”
“I represent the accused and she has a right to have her lawyer present.” Probably. “You cannot prevent me from representing my client. That’s a constitutional violation that could taint the entire prosecution or even lead to a dismissal.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“Yeah.” Why, was he thrown by the sweaty tank top? “Wanna see my bar card?” Which he didn’t have on him, but it sounded like something a lawyer would say.
“I don’t know...”
“Do you want to be the reason they have to dismiss the charges? I’m sure Internal Affairs will love that.”
The creases across the officer’s forehead intensified. “Ok, you can go. But only you.”
“And my trusty co-counsel.” He and Maria surged ahead without further discussion. The officer blocked access behind them, creating another flurry of complaints.
He raced up the stairs, making his way to the mayor’s office. The first person he spotted was Camila’s Chief of Staff, Benji.
“Thank goodness you’re here. I was—”
He cut her off. “Brief me.”
“They showed up about twenty minutes ago, no appointment, no advance warning. The mayor was outside and it took a while to track her down. They say they’re arresting her. Why didn’t they make an appointment? I don’t function well when people don’t have appointments.”
“They hope if they catch people off guard, someone will do something stupid.”
“I tried to get the mayor to duck out the back door, but she refused.”
“Thank goodness.” He pushed past her into the office. A uniformed cop moved to stop him. He cut the man off before he spoke. “Daniel Pike. I represent the mayor. All discussions stop now. All questions go through me.”
About three feet away, in the middle of the office, he spotted Camila—in handcuffs. She was talking, fast, loud, and forcefully. Three plainclothes officers surrounded her. He knew one of them—Jake Kakazu. “Seriously, Jake? Handcuffs?”
Kakazu shrugged. White undershirt. Ill-fitting suit—he’d lost weight. Missed a spot shaving. “Standard procedure.”
“Good thinking. She might overpower you. Did you hear the part about no conversations?”
“Loud and clear. But of course, the mayor can still talk if she wishes.”
Camila almost snarled. “The mayor wishes to speak to someone in charge. Whoever sent the flunkies out to smear me.”
Getting angry wasn’t going to help anything—especially if the press saw it. “And that’s the last word you say. No discussions with anyone about anything. Not the case. Not the weather. Not with the cops, and not with the other people in lockup. Assume they’re all snitches. Because they probably are. Understood?”
Camila was holding up better than most people in this situation. But he could still see the stress lines. Her eyes were redder than they had been the day before. She looked as if she hadn’t slept. “Understood.”
He addressed Jake. They had history, even if most of it was as opponents. If they both treated each another like professionals with a role to perform, he was much more likely to receive reasonable behavior. “This is unnecessary, Jake. Do you think she’s a flight risk? Let her come in voluntarily.”
“Sorry. No can do.”
“Because someone is yanking your chain?”
“Nobody yanks my chain, Pike. Including you.”
“Are you trying to create a show? Hoping to get on the evening news?”
“I don't want to be on the news. My good suit is at the cleaners.”
“You have a good suit?”
“Hey, watch it.” He put a thumb under his lapel. “My wife bought me this.”
Maria frowned. “Does she hate you?”
“No.”
“Do all her influencers work for J.C. Penney’s?”
“Says the woman working with the guy in shorts and a tank top. You look more like a homeless person than a lawyer, Pike.”
“That’s how I stay under the radar. Look, there’s a legion of reporters outside. Can we take her out a back exit?”
“Too risky. She might make a run for it.”
“You’re joking, I assume.”
“I’m not. Desperate people do desperate things.”
“And once she’s busted loose, you’d never find her again. Because who would recognize the mayor of the city.”
“Look, Pike, just stay out of the way. Once we have her booked and processed, you can meet her in lockup and make all the smartass remarks you want.”
“Isn’t this a little over-the-top for a white-collar charge? You’re not dealing with El Chapo here. She’s the duly elected mayor of St. Petersburg.”
Kakazu’s eyes narrowed. “Now...what?”
“I said—” He stopped, recalculated. His brain was trying to tell him something, but he’d been talking too much to hear it.
All these cops. Media already present. Handcuffs. Jake Kakazu, top detective on the squad.
The homicide squad.
“Let me clear the air, Pike. These charges have nothing to do with campaign money. Your client is being charged with murder. The cold-blooded torture-murder of her former employee and lover, a man named Nick Mansfield. And three other men, as yet unidentified. Cooked to death in an oven. In a bakery she owns. We’re talking about murder in the first degree. And then some.”
Chapter 9
“Murder?” Dan felt a hollow clutching at the base of his stomach. “The mayor?”
“Yes, I am aware of who I’m arresting, thank you very much.”
“When was this...Mansfield murdered?”
“Yesterday, apparently. Baked alive.”
“Why would you accuse the mayor?”
“Because they had some kinda thing goin’. Plus she fired him. And oh yeah—the victim fingered her.”
“How?”
“By writing her name—in blood.”
He and Maria exchanged a glance. Their little accounting matter was worsening by the second.
Kakazu motioned toward his officers. “Let’s get the suspect downtown. The sooner we get this show on the road the better.”
He spoke directly to Camila. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
She seemed dazed, almost as if she had disconnected from reality. Perhaps her way of coping was to disassociate, to act as if she were an observer rather than a participant.
Maria leaned in. “No one is going to believe these charges, Camila. They’re trying to destroy your reputation, but it won’t work.”
He heard Kakazu chuckle. “Lady, you better read the report before you go talking about what people will believe.”
He was probably right about that. Some people always chose to believe the worst.
“No one downtown has any doubt about what happened here,” Kakazu continued. “And once the facts are made public—neither will anyone else.”
The officers led Camila out the door. He followed close behind, even though he knew there was nothing he could do.
He nudged Maria, who already had her phone out. “Text Jimmy. Find out what’s been filed. Then call Garrett. We want to know everything there is to know about a former employee of the mayor’s office named Nick Mansfield.”
“Already on it. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Find me a damn suit. They’ll never let me into the holding cells dressed like this.”
* * *
As it turned out, the quickest solution was to stop in at Sartorial Inc. and buy a new suit. Make the best use of the time Camila spent in Processing and Booking. He’d been wanting something in pinstripe anyway. They had his measurements and a charge card on file, so he didn’t have to try anything on and the fact that he lacked a wallet wasn’t a problem. Didn’t mind having Maria there to help choose, either. The woman did know her clothes. He’d come back for alterations later.
Jimmy had been the first to introduce him to Frank, the elderly man who oversaw the holding cells and apparently had done so since the dawn of time. He hoped that some of the positivity Jimmy incurred wherever he went rubbed off. He wanted to get in as quickly as possible.
As it turned out, he didn’t even have to identify himself. “You’re here to see the mayor, aren’t you?”
“You’ve heard I’m on the case.”
“I’ve heard she’s in jail. Only other person who’s arrived in the last four was an indecent exposure, and I doubt you’re repping him.”
“You think I attract a classier clientele.”
“That guy could never afford you.”
Defense lawyers always took crap from law enforcement—and more or less everyone else. “Would it surprise you to learn that I don’t charge my clients at all?”
“Would it surprise you to learn that I can fly like a bird?”
He smiled. He kind of liked the old guy, even if he probably shouldn’t. “How soon can I see my client?”
“I believe she’s entertaining gentlemen callers now.”
About ten minutes later, an armed and uniformed officer escorted Maria and him into the interview room. They put the inmates on the opposite side of a Plexiglas screen and allowed them to speak through old-style telephone receivers. The whole setup seemed at least forty years out of date, but he supposed renovating the visitation room for arrested felons wasn’t a municipal priority. Maybe that was something the mayor could put on the agenda at her next city council meeting. If she had one.
About five minutes later, a female officer led Camila into the room. She sat on the other side of the screen and took the receiver. Her face was almost entirely expressionless. She looked like a pale revenant of the firecracker who had previously inhabited that body. She wore ill-fitting coveralls and her hair was disarranged.
Her first question took him by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. “Are there reporters outside?”
He nodded. “They can’t get in here.”
“Those vultures would love a photo of me in prison garb.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“It will. They took lots of mug shots in here. Someone will leak one. The money will be irresistible.”
Sadly, there was probably some truth to her paranoia. “How are they treating you so far?”
“As you would expect. Sniggering, patronizing, superior attitudes. My, how the mighty have fallen. All those who feel insecure about their own accomplishments, or lack of accomplishments, can comfort themselves, thinking, ‘At least I’m not behind bars.’”
In his experience, most jailhouse personnel stayed cool and unemotional. But having the mayor around might make it hard to act as if this were business as usual. “They printed you?”
“And took a DNA sample. Blood. Hair.”
“I didn’t authorize that.”
“Guess they don’t think you need to. Forced me to change clothes. To strip in front of two female officers. Who did not look away, not for one second. And then searched me. Made sure I wasn’t carrying contraband into the jail.”
He closed his eyes. “Because that was likely.”
“They did not do this because it was likely. They did this because they enjoyed it.”
“They have to be careful. You’d be amazed what people have tried.”
“I am the mayor of this city, not a common criminal. And I have been humiliated. Threatened. I am not safe in here.” She paused, fighting back her anger. “And perhaps that is the point. Someone sent me here, where it will be so much easier to eliminate me. How quickly can you get me out?”
He drew up his shoulders. Here’s where the conversation got unpleasant. “I’ll ask for bail at your arraignment. But I can’t make any guarantees.”
“I am the mayor!”
“But you have been charged with first-degree murder. That’s as serious as it gets. The DA could ask for the death penalty.”
