Justification for Murder (22 page)

D
arcy was going to say something when he saw Virago come out of her office. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was tied into a tight ponytail.

“I know it’s not eight yet, but I want to know where we are,” she announced to the room.

Her eyes rested on Saffron for a second, but she didn’t say anything.

About a dozen detectives gathered closer to Sorensen and Lynch, who used the whiteboards to center everybody’s attention. Jon stood by them, but about a step or two behind. Nobody wanted to start. Virago set eyes on Lynch, her patience running thin.

“Care to illuminate us with anything worthwhile, Detective?”

“Harper Johnson has been identified as the person who tried to kill Saffron Meadows on Tuesday.”

“I thought you never saw his face,” the captain said, addressing Saffron directly.

“I didn’t. But I became very well acquainted with his Timberland boots. The left boot had an inverted V-type scratch on the tip, toward the inside. I saw it on Tuesday when he dropped the bat on the floor, before he cut the seat belt, and then I saw it again at coffee shop. It was the same boot.”

“On it,” Jon said before Virago could say anything. He pulled his phone and quietly instructed Rachel to check for the scratch on the boot.

Lynch continued. “When we went to his house, we didn’t find anything except a Ruger Redhawk gun in the safe and a hunting knife, which could have been used to cut the seat belt, but we’ve found no evidence that it was actually the same one. The ME’s checking to see if it was the murder weapon used on Emma Hughes.”

“This guy didn’t have much. He didn’t even have a TV. Well, he’d had one. There was discoloration and a hole in the wall where one had been mounted but—” Sorensen started.

“This is important because…?” Virago interrupted.

“The point is that this guy had no money. There were discarded McDonald’s bags in the trash.”

“Hey, I eat Big Macs. What’s wrong with that?” Detective Ramirez said, stroking his Fu Manchu. Everybody laughed, and the tension subsided a little.

“Jesus. The house was Spartan, that’s all I’m trying to say. We didn’t find anything there except the trash can with the burnt papers.” When he had everybody’s attention back, he continued: “Rachel was able to pull two out of the three names. Emma Hughes and David Jameson. Both dead and killed with different MOs.”

“Which throws away the initial theory we had about Hughes being killed because Johnson thought she was Meadows,” Darcy went on and looked at Saffron. She had lifted her feet onto the chair and was hugging her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She seemed to be concentrating on what she was hearing more than on being sad or scared.

“The neighbor, Alton Lane, told us Johnson gave him a key that he should give to Elena Fernandez if anything happen to him,” Darcy continued. “Fernandez runs a support group for people who have lost a loved one to cancer. Johnson started going several years ago, after his mother died of liver cancer. The key opened a public storage unit in Saratoga that contained three envelopes with money totaling seventy-nine thousand five hundred dollars.”

Somebody whistled.

“Not so poor after all,” Ramirez said, as if they were talking about himself.

A few detectives laughed, but their laughter was mostly forced.

“Two envelopes had three sets of initials, one had two. Jon matched them to victims we had and new ones we’re just learning about.”

Virago nodded for him to continue.

“Meadows’ initials were not there. We believe these were payoffs for hits. Since he never completed the hit on Meadows, he never got paid for it.”

Saffron looked at Darcy as he said this. Her face was blank, stern, but her eyes shined with fear mixed with relief.

“We also cross-checked all of Dr. Leavenworth’s patients with our known victims. All of our victims, including Meadows, are patients. Additionally, there are another five people dead under suspicious circumstance from that list that we didn’t know about because the deaths occurred in other jurisdictions. And we’re still cross-referencing some of the other names with the initials.”

“Why the hits? What’s the connection with the doctor?” Virago asked.

“We have no clue,” Lynch said.

“Any theories?”

“We don’t have any evidence that it was the doctor who ordered the hits.”

“Get a court order for her bank records. Make sure to check everything.” She was talking to Sorensen. “You have a good relationship with Judge Fox, and I believe he still owes you a favor. Hit him as soon as we’re done here.” She paused and checked her watch. “Okay, no, wait until tomorrow. He’s finicky about late-night work.”

“You got it,” he said.

“Anything else?” she asked the room.

Detective Carmichael started talking about the shell casings found at the coffee shop and the state of the surviving victims. Only one died at the hospital. The others looked like they would make it.

“Has anybody wondered why he shot the coffee shop from the outside?” Virago asked.

Nobody answered.

“If I wanted to kill someone, or even a lot of people, I would have opened the door and started shooting with a good view of what I was doing.” She looked at her detectives, almost one by one. “Instead, he started shooting from the outside, hitting the windows, then the glass door. Only after he had shattered them he went inside.”

“The other thing that doesn’t make sense is that he must have known that at least some of the cars driving by would figure what he was doing. It’s not that he was using a silencer.” Darcy added.

“Death by cop?” Jon suggested.

Nobody said anything, but they all exchanged glances.

“Let’s try to find out what was going on in this man’s mind.” Virago shook her head. “Good work, people. Keep it up,” she said, wrapping up.

When she walked by Sorensen, she added, “Don’t wait for the court order. Go and talk to the doctor tonight.”

D
arcy picked up his jacket from the chair and put it on. He was just about to talk to Saffron when Virago said, “Sorensen, I want you to take Jon.”

Lynch stopped in his tracks and looked back at the captain. He felt a rush of heat and sensed all eyes on him. He met Saffron’s. She asked what that was about in silence. He shook his head and took his jacket off and put it back on the chair.

Darcy watched Sorensen leave the room. He was always surprised at the man’s agility, given his bulk. He walked with the spring in his step he always got when heading out to get a bad guy. After Sorensen disappeared, Darcy looked back at the captain. He passed a hand over his face and kept his eyes closed for a second.

“Lynch, a word.”

He looked at her but was slow to move.

“Now,” she said, heading for her office.

Darcy glanced at Saffron for a second, seeking some support. Her smile was warm, and she winked when she said, “Let me know if I need to go with you to the principal’s office.”

A few lines formed around his eyes as he sneered back. “Yes, Mom.” He winked.

Virago was waiting for him inside her office.

“What’s up?”

He closed the door behind him but didn’t sit. She pointed to the chair and remained silent until he took it. He sighed, knowing what was coming.

“I appreciate you coming back to work on this case.”

He nodded.

“You said it was bigger than it seemed, and you were right. I don’t think we could’ve ever imagined it was going to be a case of this magnitude.”

She grabbed her reading glasses but didn’t put them on. She started playing with them. He waited for her to continue. He knew there was no point protesting before she said what she wanted to say.

“I need you here, Lynch. You need to be full-on in this case. I need you qualified.”

He shook his head and got up from the chair.

“Detective Lynch, sit down.”

He did and stared back at her. He rubbed his left temple and clenched his jaw, the muscles tight, grinding his molars back and forth.

“When I got the word from the assistant sheriff that you were joining my department, I was not happy. I’ve always prided myself on getting the best people because of their merits. I have a lot of personalities here, but they are the best of the best.”

Lynch didn’t say anything, didn’t move a muscle, except for the grinding.

She continued: “I then checked you out. Everybody said you were a rising star in Seattle until—”

“What’s your point?” He interrupted in a low voice.

Virago paused for a few seconds. “I need another good detective in my department. You are too good to be on desk duty or doing hit and runs.”

“I told you many times I’m not interested. That’s the job I want. If it’s not available, I’ll find another one.”

“What’s your problem?” She slapped a pile of files on her desk. The thump passed through the office walls, and Darcy saw some heads turning their way to see what was going on. “Is it just the fucking qualification?” she yelled. “Is that it? You think you won’t pass?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he shouted. “How the hell do you expect me to pass with one eye? I don’t need the humiliation. Not from you, not from anybody.” He stood but didn’t walk out. “I’m not asking you for any favors or special treatment. There’s either a job for me here or there isn’t.”

“The only job for you here is the job of a homicide detective.”

“Then I’ll officially quit as soon as this case is solved.”

He walked out of her office without waiting for a response.

L
ynch walked to his desk and saw Saffron looking at him. He stopped. He wanted to leave, to not care, but he couldn’t. He knew she wasn’t his responsibility and he couldn’t make it so. None of this was. And yet he felt it. He wished he could just go, but instead he said, “I’ve had enough. I’m going home.”

“Without me?”

A few heads turned to look at them, and Saffron blushed.

“I can arrange for a safe house for you until things clear up.”

She stood and put her hand on his arm to stop him from moving. “A safe house?” Her voice was grave, the look in her eyes so intense, so full of fear, that he understood she was his responsibility.

“I know. We’ll think of something else. Come on.”

They walked toward the elevators.

“What happened in there?” she asked when they got to his car.

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

The night was cool, he saw her shiver when they left the parking lot.

He drove in silence. She didn’t speak either. They were driving on surface streets. They stopped at a few red lights, but it was mostly smooth and light with traffic. There was no radio or music, just the roaring of the engine and the night sounds.

“I have some good wine at home. Feel like having some?” he finally asked.

He wasn’t sure it was even a good idea, but he didn’t feel like driving all night without getting anywhere.

“Can we order pizza, or maybe Chinese? I’m starving.”

He smiled for the first time in hours. “Sure. Actually, let’s order now so we can pick it up on the way.”

He searched through his contacts and handed her the phone.

A little later, they arrived at his house with two full bags of square cartons containing almost everything on the menu. It was too cold to sit by the pool, so Darcy set everything up on the kitchen table.

“Whoa, this is a nice house for a bachelor,” Saffron said, looking around. “Oh, wait, maybe you are not. I’m sorry.”

He smiled but didn’t respond. He took a bottle of Shafer and poured two generous glasses.

“Do you want real chopsticks?”

“Absolutely.”

She took the wooden ones inside the bag and threw them into the garbage.

“Plates?”

“Not if you don’t mind sharing containers.”

He nodded and sat on the table across from her. A loud bark came from the backyard. They both looked at the patio door and saw a snout pasted to the window for a split second. Then there was another bark, sadder than the first.

“You have a dog?” she asked.

He opened the door, wondering why the cleaning crew locked the dog outside. She pounced, wagged her tail and licked his hands.

“I just got her yesterday.”

“Rescue? She looks neglected.”

“She sure was.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.”

The dog came to check Saffron. She kneeled and petted her rubbing her tummy as the mutt rolled back and forth, loving every minute of it.

“You need to pick a nice name. This dog’s great.”

“Maybe I’ll name her Dog,” he said and looked back at Saffron playing down on her knees.

“No, you can’t,” she said, still concentrating on the dog.

“Your cat’s name is Cat.”

“That’s different.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“I came up with it first.”

She stood and punched him on the shoulder.

“That’s how you treat somebody who feeds you?”

She punched him again and sat down on the table. Chopsticks in hand and with her mouth full of chow mein, she said, looking around the room, “I thought cops didn’t make a lot of money.” She choked. “Jesus. You would think the trauma has made me lose all my manners. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He interrupted her, first with a dismissive wave of his hand. Once he swallowed, he said, “I inherited some money from my crazy uncle, and I got a nice settlement for what happened to my eye.”

“Was it an accident? At the end, you never told me.”

“And whose fault was that?” he joked.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said, pointing at him with finely crafted black wooden chopsticks.

“It wasn’t an accident.” He fought the urge to rub his temple.

She chewed slowly and looked at him as if she were trying to decipher what he was trying to hide from her.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

He poured more wine and leaned back on the chair.

“Okay. But if it gives you nightmares, don’t come crawling in my bed because you’re scared.”

“Yeah, you wish. I’m only here because of the food.”