Bleed (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (5 page)

“No.”

“No, you haven’t, or no you can’t tell us?”

“The latter, Detective.” Dr. Lukens didn’t smile, but there was a small lift to the corner of her mouth. “I am sorry.”

As they walked out the exit into a carpeted hallway that led discreetly to the parking lot, Carl heard Ellie mutter, “Is there anyone involved in this damn case that
will
cooperate with us?”

*   *   *

“Guns don’t lie. People lie, but guns don’t.” Metzger tapped his finger on the report. “Greta Garrison does not deny shooting her ex-husband, there was a restraining order and yet he traveled to Wisconsin from California with what seems to be the sole purpose of paying a not-so-friendly visit, and it appears he is the one who shot the two men who broke into her home. I am certainly not going to tell you it is cut-and-dried, but I am going to tell you that the deductions, which by the way, the two of
you
have made, come across the table in a cohesive manner that is going to make a very good argument of self-defense for Ms. Garrison.”

Ellie contemplated the top of the conference room table for a second. “Sir, I agree.”

“Well, hell, Detective, we haven’t worked together all that long, but I already know that tone means you don’t agree at all.” His sigh was pure exasperation. “What is it?”

Grasso said nothing, but she knew he held the same opinion. It was hardly like they were kindred souls, but there was still a basic level of understanding, and he’d already pointed out it didn’t feel … right.

Looking for the correct words, she said slowly, “The facts align. Sam Garrison would know they were going to break in if he hired Cranz and his friend to kill Greta, so he could certainly be waiting. He doesn’t have an alibi for the shooting either, though we can’t prove he was in Milwaukee; he did make threats and his staff and mutual friends have confirmed it. The same gun was used, and three men died. If she shot the first two, she did an excellent job of covering it up, and she freely admits to killing her ex-husband.”

“MacIntosh, you are making a very good case. I believe that was my point. What do you not get about a job well done?”

“There’s a sticking point for me.”

“Like what?” Metzger lifted his hands in exasperation. “He hired out a hit, thought about it and changed his mind, and then, after all was said and done, tried to kill her himself. I don’t get this love/hate bullshit, but we all know it exists, and I think we can close the books on this one.”

“Except for a few loose ends.” Grasso was the one who responded. Elegant in a pressed shirt, pleated slacks, and a tan tie, he simply looked reflective. “Garrison didn’t break in. She had to have let him in the house. Why would she do that? If the restraining order is part of the argument, it makes me wonder why she’d let him waltz right in.”

“Part of the pattern. I know you worked domestic violence cases in your career, Carl. Women do that. They believe the ‘I’m so sorry, it will never happen again’ routine.”

It was true. Absolutely. But Ellie said stubbornly, “We also have a call from a purchased burner phone to Sam Garrison’s cell the day before yesterday. Who called him? His two boys were already dead.”

Metzger inclined his head. “And he’s been ostensibly on vacation since the production of his last show was suspended several weeks ago. If he used cash, we may never know where he was staying. Obviously somewhere near Wisconsin since he made it to Greta’s house fairly quickly after the murders. Look, the guy’s career was tanking, he was jealous of his ex-wife, decided to kill her, chickened out, and then changed his mind again and went after her himself. If he was still alive, he’d need one hell of a defense team. If we can trace that gun back to him somehow, he’d be dead in the water even if he wasn’t dead already.”

It does make sense
.

“No serial numbers,” Ellie said quietly. “Filed off. Bought illegally is my guess. I doubt we can trace it back to anyone.”

“The press is starting to rock on this case. Ms. Garrison looked particularly beautiful in court on the last segment I saw on the news.” Metzger rubbed the heel of his hand across his chest as if massaging away a possible heart attack.

“Sir…” Ellie stopped, hesitated, and then blew out a breath.

“Sir what?” Metzger gazed at her without giving a quarter. “Where are we? Do we agree it is solved? That’s the difference between a sensation, and a siege. If you two aren’t comfortable, fine, keep the investigation open, but I think all the pieces fall neatly into place.”

They did. There was no arguing it.

Ellie glanced at Grasso. He had the same resigned expression on his face.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think we’re good.”

“You know”—Metzger rubbed his face—“why is it when you tell me that I think we
aren’t
good?”

MacIntosh asked, “Are you looking for justice, or closure, sir?”

One week later

The light blinked and, since she already knew what that meant, Ellie rose and tucked her phone away before she pointed at the innocuous door. “Like last time?”

The receptionist nodded, incurious. “Yes.”

“Thanks.”

Dr. Lukens looked up at her entrance, her gaze unreadable, a finger clicking off the laptop screen in front of her. “Detective MacIntosh. It is a surprise to see you, I admit. I’ve been following the story, of course, and as Greta is still my patient, it is only natural she and I should discuss it, though it doesn’t change what I can discuss with you. Have a seat.”

It was difficult to decide what she thought about the woman, Ellie mused as she accepted the offer. Smart … yes, she got that. Georgia Lukens was a physician, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was compassionate—plenty really weren’t, which was surprising. Understanding physiology, and even psychology, did not make you an empathetic person. Graduating from medical school did not necessarily give a person any skills to practice, despite the diploma on the wall. It gave you permission, but the effective skill of compassion … not necessarily.

It was, in short, kind of like becoming a detective. Good ones, bad ones, they all started the same way.

The psychiatrist took in her casual skirt and short-sleeved sweater with no more than a speculative glance, but the informal attire was noted. Yes, she was off-duty.

This was definitely not the easiest conversation to start, and though she’d thought about it, Ellie was still winging it. In the end, she said simply, “Tell me why you killed them.”

Dr. Lukens barely moved a muscle. “I’m sorry?”

Ellie got up and walked over to examine a painting on the wall. It was original, if the artist’s signature in the corner was any indication of authenticity, and of a beautiful tree with a woman walking under it with a basket on her shoulder. “Let me rephrase. I think—and I have my reasons—that you were the one waiting for those two men in Greta’s dining room.” She reached out and touched the gilt of the frame with just a light brush of a fingertip. “Cranz was not your patient, but the other man we’ve identified as Paul Jayson. He has been seeing you for three years now. My guess is that he told you he had some fairly unpleasant fantasies about Greta Garrison and maybe even he gave you a timeline. Cranz was his friend … and maybe this is not a technical term, but just as crazy. They decided to do it together.”

The tree in the painting was really remarkable. So lifelike Ellie could almost hear the leaves rustle. A sycamore, maybe.

“I think we’ve established I cannot break confidentiality.”

“Jayson was a troubled young man from a well-to-do family. His mother admitted that, which was why she was paying for him to see you. Very into pornography and recreational drugs, which is probably how he met Cranz.”

“It is no secret that he’d been through rehab twice. We talked about it, but there needs to be a genuine desire to give up addictive behavior.”

Ellie turned. “He told you, didn’t he? What he was going to do. When he was going to do it. And you couldn’t dissuade him. So you took the next logical step. I keep trying to decide how much privacy laws annoy me. Would two men—no, let’s make it three—still be alive if you had decided to just pick up the phone and call the police?”

Dr. Lukens didn’t as much as flinch “I am not a politician, Detective. Maybe you should write to your congressman.”

That did wring a reluctant laugh. Ellie ran a hand through her hair. Damn, she was tired. “I think I can get a judge to look at the possibility that you are withholding evidence in a capital murder case, but I am going to guess those notes about Greta are long gone.”

The other woman just watched her with steady dark eyes.

“Did it occur to you to trust us to protect her?”

“The police? You do know your particular expertise is cleaning it up, not stopping it from happening?”

“Okay.” Ellie moved to stand in front of the desk, balancing a hand on the surface. “The system is imperfect, I don’t deny that. You were the one, however, who brought up duty to warn the other day. Once again, think of telling us?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Georgia Lukens didn’t blink an eye. “But hypothetically, tell me, what would law enforcement have done? It isn’t feasible to protect a single citizen night and day for any length of time … that’s ridiculous, Detective. If, as you are speculating, he did indeed have a rape fantasy.”

Not an admission, but close.

Very close
.

“It is.” She had to concede that point and went on conversationally. “We enforce the law, but until it is broken there isn’t much we can do. It is not, by the way, dissimilar to what you do for a living. You pick up the pieces too, don’t you, Doctor?”

“I suppose.”

“How did she get ahold of the gun?”

“What?”

“I’m a pretty good investigator, so let me give this a shot.” Ellie smiled thinly. “You were the person waiting for Cranz and Paul Jayson. Greta would do anything you told her to do—I’ve seen her with her lawyer and her manager. She was asleep upstairs just as she told us. You killed the two of them, and then you left.”

“What an interesting theory. Prove it.”

Ellie ignored the challenge. “But, here’s a problem for us. She’s an actress. A fairly talented one, at that. What is real and what isn’t? Maybe you gave the weapon to her so she could kill her ex-husband … but I don’t think that is exactly what happened. I can see it. You have a patient who has sick fantasies about what he wants to do to a famous star. Well, big conflict of interest, the star is also your patient. You like her. You want to protect her. And you do. Did you leave the carefully wiped clean gun behind … maybe one you got from one of your suicidal patients? They gave it to you for safekeeping because with it in the house they were too tempted, so you thought it would never be traced. You were right. We haven’t managed that, by the way.”

Lukens just looked at her.

“But I’m unclear on how Greta got the gun. Her story about her ex-husband setting it down is implausible to me, but not impossible, I suppose.”

“He obviously was not rational if he wished to kill her.”

“Yeah, kind of a big ‘if’ in my mind.”

“What is it you think happened between Greta and her husband?” Lukens asked the question very evenly.

“Fair enough.” Ellie smiled humorlessly. “I think she called Sam and said she needed him, and she’d hid that weapon somewhere. He flew out to rush to her side because he’s wanted that all along. By her own admission, he was obsessed with her. So she let him in the house, and she killed him in the kitchen. There is no perfect crime but this is pretty close.
You
can’t turn her in without confessing what you did, and when it all comes down to it, Sam Garrison is not a great loss to this earth.”

The doctor leaned back and lifted her brows. A light flashed on the desk and Ellie assumed that meant a patient was waiting.

It took a moment, but then the other woman smiled with visible effort. “That is one incredible story, Detective MacIntosh.”

“How close is it to the truth?”

“It doesn’t matter, if you can’t prove it.”

“True. I was interested to discover with a little probing that your ex-husband was a sharpshooter in the military. I think it was your expression when we came to talk to you the first time. I can completely see how you would not expect the gun you so carefully wiped and left behind—good call, by the way, disposing of it involves all kinds of risks—was going to be used again by Greta in a third homicide. Did you underestimate her?”

Lukens turned her head, her dark hair glistening in the sunlight coming in the window. “Are you looking for a confession? If so, I am afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“That remark seems like one to me.”

“Have you ever been in an abusive relationship, Detective?”

Ellie shook her head and answered quietly, “No. But I have answered domestic violence calls.”

Lukens rubbed her nose and dipped her head, laughing softly. “So when you arrived you had a badge, and a gun, and were not that terrified woman cowering in the corner of the kitchen.”

“Tell me about that terrified woman.” Ellie studied her expression. “I want to know.”

“I assure you, you don’t.”

The glimmer of truth was enlightening. “
You
were a battered wife. The military husband? The one who taught you to shoot?”

“I never said that.”

“Is that why you feel such empathy toward Greta?”

“I’m not going to play your game.”

“As far as I can tell, it isn’t a game. Three men are dead. It is my job to find out why. Tell me, Dr. Lukens, do you have any knowledge of how those two victims ended up in Greta’s house, or how the third one was shot in her kitchen? Give me a decent answer, and I’ll be on my way.”

Dr. Lukens looked at her steadily. “I have never met Mr. Cranz and I cannot discuss my patients with you.”

Ellie knew a brick wall when she came up against one. “I will make a note of that. And I doubt Greta can be charged; she was surprisingly thorough.”

“It was self-preservation.”

“I am more inclined to think it was premeditated murder.”