The task force. Carl hadn’t asked, but he’d been invited anyway. Metzger viewed the old case as relevant, and quite frankly, Carl had put his heart and soul into it, so even though it had taken this long and he wasn’t back on homicide, he was at least working a homicide case.
The meeting was over and they all walked out of the conference room. He followed, deliberately trailing Santiago and MacIntosh, the tension between them palpable. They didn’t exchange even a word. He waited until they gained the utilitarian hallway before he said, “Detectives, can I have a word?”
Both turned, their gazes similar at least in that they were sharply inquiring. Santiago said curtly, “About?”
That was Jason Santiago. Never all that hung up on the niceties.
Carl raised both hands in a gesture of parley. “I just wanted to say I think I might know something you don’t about this case.”
Up close, MacIntosh had incredible eyes, he’d give her that. That unusual not brown and not quite green, and even without much in the way of cosmetics, they were striking. “I sure as hell am listening. What is it?”
It was impossible to resist being a little theatrical and he was entitled if he was giving up this information, so he cocked a brow before he said, “Have you had a chance to read the file I gave you? The murder I just mentioned?”
Of course they hadn’t had a chance to really go over it. That was several murders ago. This case was on a swift path and he might just be the gatekeeper.
“I think I might have made a connection that could help us,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Buy me an ice cold beer and I’ll tell you about it.”
Chapter 18
A
marathon is a journey. 26.2 miles to be exact, a run that tests the spirit of human endurance, the compulsion of competition, and of course, the will to survive.
It might be pure arrogance to think so, but I have all of the above. Maybe some of those characteristics in too much abundance, but I do possess them.
I am a marathon runner, not a sprinter. That I realized long ago, which is why this has all been so hard. It needs to be done swiftly and then left entirely alone.
Patience.
Stealth.
A sense of the enemy. Remorse had a place, but it depended on the situation, like just about everything else in life.
Let’s not forget that by the time I was ten I’d already killed two people.
* * *
The place was
a pizza joint on a busy corner, loud enough but not too boisterous, good for a conversation that wouldn’t be overheard. Grasso asked for a beer and it was delivered, frothy and in a cold, frosted glass, just minutes after they were seated in the booth. The way the waitress flashed him a smile implied he was a regular. Ellie opted for iced tea, but Santiago had no trouble ordering a beer for himself—technically he really wasn’t on the job. They were off the clock and working on their own time.
Seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.
She studied the man sitting across from her. He had nice enough features, was maybe a little older than she was—could be more, and his chestnut hair was starting to show tiny flecks of silver just at the temples. Otherwise, unless she counted his expensive suit that he wore as if it wasn’t a million degrees outside, and his silk tie, he was decent looking but unremarkable.
Except for his eyes. They were the color of a summer storm, gray and ominous and held a clear, unmistakable intelligence.
“Tell us,” she said as a couple took the opposite booth, both of them laughing, obviously not worried about murder, just wanting dinner and a drink. The young woman was plump but pretty, and her husband … no, boyfriend, she corrected automatically in her mind, taking in the way they looked at each other, was also a little overweight, but they were relaxed, enjoying the evening …
She was really hoping she’d have a night like that soon.
“I just think we’re missing the trigger to your case. Ralph Cameron was a pastor at a local church.” Grasso picked up his beer, took an appreciative sip, and set down the mug on a little napkin that was never going to save a table that had multiple rings on it anyway. “Upright. Sermons on Sundays, that sort of thing. Loving wife and supportive family. Gave back to the community in multiple ways.”
“But someone killed him and stuck his body on a table and set it on fire five years ago.”
Table. Fire. When he’d spoken up during the briefing, she’d wondered how he felt about them working his old case, but she wasn’t quite yet convinced it was. All the loose ends bothered her. The case five years ago with the similar theme, Matthew Tobias and his suicide, the multiple murders in different places …
“I hear Metzger put you on the task force.” Jason folded his arms on the table and Ellie suddenly had the feeling that maybe she was in a situation that involved two males that were circling each other like wolves outside a ring of fire.
“He did.”
“Good. If you can help we want it.” She wiped condensation off her glass. “We ran everything through the database but came up with nothing pertinent, or at least pertinent to us. Your case went cold. Go ahead, your turn.”
He took another drink and the corner of his mouth lifted. “We
thought
we solved it. Actually, that’s not quite true. We found someone who fit the profile of who might have done it, we found evidence it was possible because they had opportunity and motive, and we arrested them. It went nowhere, which was fine with me because I was never convinced for several reasons. Not then, and obviously not now or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Santiago’s elbows rested inelegantly on the table. He’d already drunk half his beer in about thirty seconds flat. “I hate that kind of crap. Tell us why you weren’t convinced. Why’d you arrest her then?”
Her?
Ellie had to admit that caught her attention. Santiago had taken the file and she hadn’t had time to read it yet. “A woman?”
Grasso nodded, his eyes direct. “Love triangle with Cameron’s wife. Not a him, but a
her
. Get my drift? Juries often aren’t sympathetic in that sort of situation and she was pretty young, barely legal. The grand jury decided not to hand down an indictment because there wasn’t enough evidence and they were afraid she might get wrongly convicted. She was the best suspect we had, but that really just meant we didn’t have much. The scandal was plastered across every television in Wisconsin and even the country.”
Maybe—it was a glimmer—she did remember it. Ellie had been a newly promoted detective then way up in the northern part of the state, and had been pretty damn busy, but the case now sounded familiar. “She was barely old enough to be tried as an adult, right? I think I remember the arrest on the news.”
“Oh, you got it. The works. Preacher’s wife and a barely consensual young woman having a same-sex affair, not to mention Lisa was a troubled teen. The press was all over the murder, but the sex part was the titillation. However, since at the time I didn’t believe it, now I have to say I’m more skeptical than ever with these new murders. Sure, the affair gave our suspect at the time a motive, but the method really is almost exactly the same. The table, the house goes up but the body is the point of origin … and it can’t be Lisa Martin.”
Good call. And they had more of a confirmation now that the murderer was a man thanks to the eyewitness in the form of a county deputy.
Ellie nodded, her mind busy.
Still
…
“Why can’t it be her?” Santiago was as blunt as ever and Ellie could hear just a hint of resentment in his voice. He really did not like sharing these cases.
“She’s in prison for something else entirely. Best alibi on earth. Bars, guards with guns … But you know, if I were you, I’d go talk to her. At the time, she was a sullen, rebellious young woman who refused a lawyer, refused to talk to us, and pretty much almost got herself tried for murder.” Grasso picked up his beer and finished it, standing to set the empty glass on the table. “It’s nice to have a drink with my colleagues. Thanks.”
They both watched him go, elegant in his suit, his movements efficient, and Ellie waited to hear Santiago’s opinion, because if there was one thing she could say for her partner, he wasn’t shy about speaking his mind.
Part of his dubious charm.
“So?” She caught the eye of their waitress and gestured for another tea.
“I’m not sure.” He stared at his empty beer mug, tight lines around his mouth. “What if he’s fucking with us?”
“What does
that
mean?”
“Grasso is good, but you know it’s no secret he wants back on homicide.”
“After the past few days, he can have the job. How good? Do you trust this lead?”
“Not sure. He should have planted a gun on the second guy before he called the shootings in.” Santiago shook his head in evident disgust. “But Metzger took care of him, or at least sort of. He still got demoted but he kept his job.”
The clink of glasses, the televisions propped in the corners, and the hum of conversation kept her from having to comment at once, but she finally said, “Tamper with evidence? Yeah, that’s a good idea. What shootings? Everyone talks around this. What did he do?”
“Offed a couple suspects. He might have saved his ass if he’d just planted a gun.” Santiago drained his glass and set it aside, but he didn’t really answer the question. “But who cares, that’s water under a bridge you or I have never stood on, or at least I haven’t. I suppose I can’t speak for you. What do
you
think about his information?”
How, even when he was giving a compliment, did he come off all wrong?
“Interesting,” she said shortly.
“Damn straight it’s interesting,” he said in return, his gaze riveted on her face. “And might be the best lead we’ve had so far. Tomorrow I say we visit a women’s prison.”
* * *
Carl knocked lightly.
When Rachel answered the door of the condo, he could see she’d obviously been grading papers because they were strewn across the dining room table.
“Did we have a date and I forgot?” she asked, and self-consciously smoothed back her hair even though she looked good in shorts and a sleeveless tank.
“No, I just dropped by to bring this as thanks.” He held up a bottle of wine.
It didn’t take her long, but then again, it never did. “The Burner story? Hey, I owe you in a way because my old station manager is now offering me a consulting position. I might even take it.” She stepped back. “Come in.”
“I hope cabernet sauvignon is okay.”
“If it’s French.”
He glanced at the label. “California. Shall I go?”
He didn’t want to. He took in the perfect sweep of her hair and thought about the last time they had slept together. Stupid probably, but there it was. After the shootings and the internal affairs investigation, he realized that her interest in him was tied to that incident and he had second thoughts about her, about
them
.
But he’d come anyway. Carl walked past her and set the bottle down on the kitchen counter with the ease of someone who had been there before, walking around the bar to pull out the drawer where she kept the corkscrew. “Glasses in the same place?”
“Yes.”
As she watched he deftly took them out of the cabinet and set them down, then opened the wine.
Mildly, she asked, “Do I need fortification for what you have to say next?”
“Probably not.” His gaze was direct as he looked at her. “In the great scheme of things this means very little except to the families of the victims, and to Cameron’s wife and children, but certainly MacIntosh and Santiago have some limited choices now that there is a task force. It turns out I’m going to help them out.”
She understood. “Really? Congratulations.”
“That’s a little too early, but thanks.”
When he splashed wine into a glass and offered it, she took it and seemed to consider her next comment. Finally, she just asked simply, “I thought you wanted to be a star and win Metzger’s attention.”
“Now I think I just need to be useful. I think he’s been to the wall for me.”
“I’d say. But you paid.”
Oh, yeah, he’d paid. If they had tossed him in prison it would not have cost him more emotionally than his place in homicide. Carl took a stool by the granite countertop and regarded her over the rim of his glass. “If there is one flaw in law enforcement, and there is a lot more than one by the way, it is a tendency to think that more men will make a more effective solution. In this case, it works to my advantage. He put me on it.”
“I believe I did a piece on that once.”
She had, he remembered when she’d written it, and it hadn’t thrilled anyone. Her boss had liked the idea until it had passed on to editorial review, and then he had pulled it.
“I remember.” His gaze touched hers briefly. “You weren’t too happy.”
That was all in the past. “So you suddenly decided to help? I thought what you wanted was to solve this yourself and take all the glory.”
“Glory? That’s an overused phrase if I’ve heard one. I never quite said that anyway. There is no glory in homicide unless you are like MacIntosh and manage to get famous by a fluke. We catch them quietly and usually with boring facts. Detectives are really about as glamorous as frozen French toast. I like the new curtains, by the way.” He looked out over the skyline and envied the view.
“Trust you to notice a detail like that. And thanks, I’d suggest we sit out on the balcony, but in this weather, we’d roast.”
Almost immediately she regretted her choice of words. “In a figurative sense.”
“I pointed them to Lisa Martin.”
“Stop feeling guilty about that girl. You didn’t want to arrest her.” She sank down on the chair nearby in the living room and folded a leg comfortably under her. “All you did was bring her in for questioning, and the decision to arrest was not your call. That was your only lead and she didn’t help her case when she admitted to the affair with Margot Cameron.”