Bleed (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (3 page)

Silence on the other end. Finally she said, “They were robbing her? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Not necessarily.” That was true. He’d thought about it sitting by the pool last night, feet up on a chair, a glass of scotch in his hand. The lights had shimmered, the clouds had moved overhead like spectral shadows, and he had come to a couple of conclusions. “Two of them, through the window … that’s robbery, right? But it took some planning, and the system needed to be disabled, but it was done in way she wouldn’t notice. So either she has something really valuable we don’t know about, or they were there for her.”

“It just sounds like the husband.” MacIntosh spoke in brisk words.

He planted his elbows on the desk. “That worries me too. Deflection is the mark of an excellent criminal.”

“Who said that?”

“I think I did just now.”

She laughed. It was spontaneous and lovely and for a moment he experienced a pang for the lost relationships in his past. There had been a few women … possibilities, but he’d never been in love quite
enough
.

“Let me know what Garrison has to say.” He gently pressed the button and ended the call.

3:00
P.M.

It was the waiting that scraped along her mind like a knife on a raw bone. They would come sooner or later, she knew it.

The window showed a peaceful afternoon, with blue skies and high clouds that moved in slow horsetail formations, and there was just a hint of red and orange in the leaves on the maple tree right outside.

The killings had to be done.

That really wasn’t the question.

The introspection centered around what exactly she would say when—if—they figured it out. Self-defense would not work.

Maybe not work. There might be a 40-percent chance if there was a prolonged trial and every single bit of evidence dragged out and plastered across the news, but it wouldn’t matter. Premeditation was a deal-breaker.

Rules were rules. It was simple enough in the judicial system. You can do this in self-defense, but not that.

She’d definitely done
that
.

And it had worked.

Only if she didn’t get caught.

*   *   *

The house was very quiet, and Ellie could swear the metallic smell of blood still hung in the air, though it was doubtful that was the actual odor.

It was more, she decided as she stepped through the doorway, an aura of disuse. This was a house, not really much of a home. Spacious, well-decorated, modern, and … sterile.

She thought about Bryce’s house, which was in an affluent suburb. Shady trees. Green lawn. Older and comfortable.

Not quite the same.

Bryce Grantham, her lover, and though she wasn’t used to it working this way, a friend as well.… Their relationship was evolving slowly but surely into something more and more serious and she could never decide if it just plain scared her a little.

“Come in, Detective … MacCray, is it?” Greta waved a hand airily and walked back down a tiled hallway toward a huge kitchen done in dark granite counters and pale gray cabinets. Outside a set of French doors, a pool shimmered in the middle of a slate patio. She looked better than she had the day before, but it was artificial, like maybe there were drugs involved. Her eyes were a shade dilated, and though she wore fitted jeans and a soft blue shirt of some material that draped her breasts and clung to her torso, the latter wasn’t quite properly tucked in.

A little high. Definitely.

“MacIntosh.” Ellie followed, “I just have a few more questions. I won’t stay long.”

“Drink?”

She eyed the bottle of wine that the actress pulled out of a shining refrigerator. “No, thank you.”

Greta already had a glass on the counter. She shook back her long red curls. “Yeah, I forget. On duty and all that. Have a seat.”

“More that it is a little early in the day.” Ellie chose a barstool and rested her elbows on the counter. “Can you tell me if you have ever heard of anyone named Hugh Cranz?”

Chardonnay splashed against crystal. “I don’t think so.”

“He was killed in your dining room night before last. Think on it and tell me if for
sure
you don’t recognize the name. I’ll wait a minute. Take a drink and mull it over.”

The admonishment seemed to sink in and Greta leaned a hip against the polished counter, her beautiful face in an introspective frown. Then she shook her head. “No.”

“Do you think we can connect him with your ex-husband?”

“Sam?” There was a short laugh and the actress took a small abrupt sip. “I have no idea. Ask him, but good luck. He isn’t the most cooperative man in the world and doesn’t have a lot of respect for the police.”

“Some particular reason for that?”

“If you are asking if he has a record, no, not that I know of anyway. My ex is definitely a self-made man. He’s from Milwaukee too, you know. He grew up in a kind of rough neighborhood. It was funny at first, since we actually met each other out in L.A., to realize we were both from the same hometown. The difference is, he hates it here and I hate it there. I go when we film, and then I come back home. It didn’t help our marriage, but that was hardly the whole problem.”

The information was useful. Cranz was also a Milwaukee native and roughly the same age as Sam Garrison.

“Considering what happened here in this house, may I ask what
was
the problem?”

“Because he has absolutely no subtlety in his soul.” Greta eyed Ellie above the rim of the glass. “I don’t know if you’ll get this, but he’s … larger than life in some ways. What you see is what you get, Detective. I found it fascinating for a while, but then it gets tiresome. Have you ever met a man like that? It can be like being run over by a freight train. If he didn’t like what I was wearing or, for instance, a meal in a restaurant, he was blunt to the point of rudeness, and I got tired of having my feelings hurt or being embarrassed in his company.”

She had met someone exactly like that, hands down. Jason Santiago, her injured partner, was about as subtle as a swarm of flesh-eating ants. “I believe I have. Is there any chance your husband knew the victims?”

“I take some exception to them being called the victims. After all, they were illegally in my house.”

“Until it can be established that they harbored ill-intent, they were technically only breaking and entering. They weren’t armed.”

“Still.”

Ellie went on deliberately. “Your alarm was disabled. There is nothing to prove you didn’t do it yourself. I could see, if we had a viable suspect who could possibly be arraigned, that the defense attorneys involved might point out there was nothing to prevent you from setting these two men up. After all, the moment they entered your home, they were essentially gunned down.
Someone
waited for them. That part no one is going to argue unless you can come up with a more plausible explanation.”

“That’s backward, isn’t it?” Those signature green eyes stared at her across the counter. “I didn’t think it was my job to come up with an explanation, but yours to prove there was any sort of intent. My doctor can tell you that my medication makes me sleepy and I was in bed when it happened. That’s really all I know. Sam doesn’t have keys, by the way, or the code to the alarm.”

“Someone did.”

“So catch them.”

This was a different Greta than the shell-shocked woman they had interviewed the day before. Flying a little high, but also with a defiance that was unexpected.

Ellie smiled in a conciliatory way, all the time assessing the change. “We want to. Are you protecting him?”

Greta’s chin went up another notch. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, whoever shot those men protected you, didn’t he?”

She didn’t fall for it, but it had been worth a try. The actress shook her head and fingered her wineglass. “I don’t know.”

But there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

The first faint crack. Ellie put her elbows firmly on the island and clasped her hands. “You know, we could use some help here. I should hope that if there was a homicide involved, much less two, you would volunteer any information you might have. Loyalty is a difficult dilemma when someone might have saved your life, even if they broke the law. I am not really asking you to give up your ex-husband if he is involved. All I really want from you is a nudge in the right direction. The ironic thing is this: If you are afraid to talk to us because you might have information that could lead to an arrest, I promise you the guilty party is very afraid of that too. He will be sitting there, wondering just what you said, and at some point—here is the kicker—feel the need to find out.”

She’d thought of that already. It was in her eyes.

Oh shit
. Grasso was right. She knew something.

“He might come after you.” Ellie was pragmatic and getting tired of the dance, and as a double murder was no picnic a little cooperation would be nice. “At least that is my guess, because that is what I would do if I thought you could link me to a crime that would put me behind bars for the rest of my life. You know how the media is going to handle this. There will be no mercy for you or for us. I’ve been through it before myself. Neither of us want any part of it.”

The bravado faded then, like the air going out of a punctured life raft adrift above a coral reef.

Greta said quietly, “I have nothing to tell you.”

As an actress, Ms. Garrison failed miserably. The lie was obvious.

*   *   *

Metzger rubbed his broad forehead. “We could charge her with obstruction of justice. We have no proof of collusion. We can’t even get her on conspiracy to commit. There’s no evidence she knew anything, except you and Ellie think she does.”

Carl took a sip of tepid coffee and tried not to wince. The chief liked it strong and pedestrian, and out of a grocery store can was his style. He set it aside. “The initial interview told me she knew something. Can we get a warrant to search the house?”

The chief rested his beefy arms on his desk. “The house was processed once already. Maybe you remember the two dead men? I need something more concrete for a warrant than you wanting to look through her underwear drawer.” Metzger sent Carl a direct look. “I appreciate how you handled the media attention, but no one will like that idea. Not me, not a judge, and every reporter from Madison to Duluth might love to watch you going into that house and come up with nothing, so you are going to have to give me more to convince me to go to bat for it.”

“We could search her financial records. I don’t know how we can prove it, but I’m convinced Ms. Garrison has a fair idea of who pulled that trigger. So is Ellie.”

MacIntosh wore some sort of silky dark blue shirt tucked into jeans, and she shook back her blond hair in a signature movement he was coming to recognize. Not conscious, but habitual when she was thinking hard. “If her ex has an alibi, and if we can’t break it, he’s out. Plain and simple. I’m a lot more inclined to look at Jeff Sharpe. Greta is like a cottage industry in some ways. If something happened to her, he’d be out a lot of money. There is a whole list of people who rely on her celebrity and income. Besides her ex-husband, there’s her manager, she has a publicist, two assistants, several financial advisors, the producer of her current show, a therapist she sees three times a week, a lawyer … for all we know the housekeeper would kill to protect her. If something happened to her, they would all lose.”

Metzger wasn’t impressed with the argument. “That’s all fine in theory, and I don’t disagree with any of it, but you need to give me something I can take to a judge if you want to do another search.”

Ellie’s jaw hardened. “Sir, she refused to answer questions, and had obviously looked into burden of proof.”

“She’s entitled to do that, Detective.” Metzger leaned back. “She can claim harassment if we push too hard, and it will be splattered on every news station across the entire country if we aren’t absolutely sure of what we’re doing and where it is headed. Every department makes mistakes, but we can’t afford one right now, or at least I can’t. I don’t like the political part of this job, but it exists.”

Carl said with conviction, “She’s lying.”

“Okay, prove it.” Metzger stood. “Look, there has to be some sort of physical evidence for a warrant, you both know that. You’re currently wasting my time. Detain her if you think it will get you anywhere, but I believe all three of us know it won’t. She’ll bring in counsel, walk out of here without saying a word, and we will be right back in this same room, having this same discussion. You’re both good investigators. If you weren’t, you would not be working for the Milwaukee police department. Switch tactics.”

Some things never changed, Carl thought as Metzger stalked away. The chief didn’t ever deal in subtlety, not even with the press, even though he was a pretty good politician. Former military, he usually saw everything in black and white.

MacIntosh rubbed her forehead and gave a muffled sound that might have been a sigh. “You know, I haven’t worked here a long time and I already so wish he wasn’t right sometimes. Okay, let’s adjust. Thoughts?”

Before he could answer, his cell phone beeped. At the same time, so did MacIntosh’s. They exchanged a glance even as they both answered within a moment of each other.

“Grasso.”

“You might want to take a look at this, Lieutenant.”

“I might like to take a look at what?”

MacIntosh was taking down notes across the desk, a pen her hand, her posture tense.

“We have another call at the Garrison residence.”

“What the hell is it now?”

“Another body, sir.”

6:00
P.M.

It wasn’t like this was an easy story to understand. It was made up of bits and pieces. There was the beginning. And a soggy middle. And of course, as with anything, the end.

She didn’t yet know what it would be.