Revenge of Innocents (7 page)

Wednesday, October 13—2:05
P
.
M
.

C
arolyn strode into the homicide bay at the Ventura Police Department. She said a few words to a detective named Gabriel Martinez, and then made her way to Hank Sawyer’s office. He was on the phone. He covered the receiver with his hand. “Mary’s in the conference room. I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m free.”

Carolyn found Mary Stevens with her head down, seated at the end of the long table, partially hidden behind stacks of papers and books.

When the detective looked up and saw her, she gathered up a bunch of photographs. “They’re crime scene,” she said, her brows furrowed. “You might not want to look at them.”

“In case you haven’t heard, I’ve been assigned to your task force,” Carolyn told her. “If I’m going to be involved in the case, I need to see everything.”

“Good,” Mary said, handing her the pictures. Behind her was a large bulletin board. “I was about to put them up. I guess you might as well desensitize yourself to them. We’ve got them on a CD, but we’ll have to make you a copy.” Her eyes went to the notebook Carolyn was carrying. “I can give you mine and you can load them onto your hard drive if you’ve got enough memory.” She stopped speaking abruptly. “I don’t know where my head is today. Of course you don’t want them on your computer.”

Mary glanced at a clean-cut young man sitting a few chairs to her left. “Oh, this is Keith Edwards. He’s going to do a lot of the grunt work for us. Keith, Carolyn is a supervisor at the probation department. She was a close friend of the victim.”

Edwards appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. He had sandy blond hair and greenish eyes, and was dressed in a starched white shirt, a striped tie, and a pair of tan slacks. He had the air of a new guy trying to make an impression. He circled to the other side of the table and pumped Carolyn’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said with a southern drawl. “I’m sorry about your friend. This must be hard for you.”

“Keith is on loan from patrol,” Mary explained. “He relocated here six months ago from Atlanta. Gary Conrad is also on the team, but he’s out beating the bushes for leads. Gabriel Martinez will pitch in whenever he can.”

Gary was a seasoned detective. Carolyn didn’t know him that well, but she’d heard Hank and Mary talk about him. Gabriel was a good man as well.

“You can set up anywhere you want.” Mary moved a stack of thick books aside. “These are mug shots. We’ve got the motel clerk coming in later today to see if he recognizes anyone.”

“Did the lab have time to process the letter I got at the morgue?”

“I’m glad you brought it up,” Mary told her. “We need to get the four morgue attendants to come in and look at mug shots.” She shuffled through her paperwork, and then punched numbers into her cell phone. While she was waiting for the call to go through, she said, “Just so you know, I take care of things whenever I think about them. That’s how I make certain I cover all the bases. My weakness is that I’m not good at delegating. If I do it myself, I know it’s done. Hank mentioned it on my last performance review, so I’m trying to improve.” She turned to her right. “Keith, call the lab and see if they’ve had time to process the envelope and letter yet.”

Carolyn took a seat at the opposite end of the table, not wanting to be disturbed while she went through the crime scene photos. After she set them down on the table, she placed her hands in her lap and leaned forward. The first picture showed Veronica on her back in a bathtub, fully clothed. A large splatter of blood was visible on the back wall, the streaks heading downward. She must have been sitting partially upright when the killer shot her. Carolyn assumed the bullet had propelled her head backward, and then her lifeless body had slid down. Because of the tub’s curved sides, her neck was twisted at an awkward angle. Her legs were open as if she were about to give birth. Seeing her like this was worse than seeing her body at the morgue.

Carolyn bit down on the inside of her lip, tasting her own salty blood. Whoever had done this to her sweet friend didn’t deserve to live. If she found him, she would kill him, regardless of the consequences.

Her mind drifted into the past. She was seven years old, standing in the kitchen of her old house, peering into the oven at the chocolate chip cookies she and her mother were making. The doorbell rang and her mother went to answer it, returning and telling her it was Veronica.

“Close your eyes,” the girl said, giggling.

When Carolyn opened them, Veronica handed her a beautiful doll, dressed in a sparkly silver evening gown with a fake fur jacket. Earlier that afternoon, they had fought over the doll, and Veronica’s mother had sent Carolyn home in tears. When Carolyn had taken it from the shelf in Veronica’s room, she knew it was a special doll, the kind you weren’t allowed to play with. Veronica’s grandmother had sewn all the clothes by hand. She pushed the doll back toward Veronica. “I’m sorry I touched it.”

“It’s yours now, silly,” her friend told her, refusing to take it. “Granny said I could give it to my most special friend in the world. We’re going to be friends forever. That means I’ll always be able to see it.”

Carolyn surfaced from the past and forced herself to pick up another photo. Veronica wasn’t wearing panty hose, so the crotch of her white cotton underwear was exposed. One shoe was still attached to her foot, the other resting on the floor by the tub. She noticed what appeared to be a tan-colored cloth lying on her chest near her neck. She wasn’t certain if the crime scene officers had placed it there as a marker or the murderer used it during the crime. She sorted through the rest of the pictures, selected ten, and laid them out on the table as if she were playing a game of solitaire.

Something looked wrong.

Carolyn opened her notebook and powered it up, then returned her attention to the images. The tub was too clean and Veronica’s clothes didn’t appear to have any bloodstains on them. How was that possible? Mary saw her bending over the photos and sent a magnifying glass sliding across the slick surface of the table. “Thanks,” she mumbled without looking up.

She recalled Veronica wearing an emerald-green blouse, but in the photographs it appeared darker. A moment later, she realized the blouse was wet. “The killer cleaned her up, didn’t he?”

“Looks that way,” Mary said, holding the phone against her ear. “I’m on hold with the morgue. After he shot her, he must have soaked her in the tub to get the blood off her body and clothes. Weird, huh? He didn’t wash the blood off the wall behind her head, so why worry about the rest?”

“Does that mean anything?”

Mary held up a finger when the person came back on the line.

Carolyn picked up another photograph. Veronica’s body had been turned on its side, and her blouse pulled up. It looked as if there was some kind of rash on her back. The next image showed a similar rash on her buttocks and legs.

Mary concluded her phone call and addressed Carolyn’s question. “Charley thinks he scrubbed her with Comet. The motel maids use Comet to clean the bathrooms. He probably stole it off one of their carts.”

“Didn’t someone hear the gunshot?”

“The volume on the TV was turned up full blast,” Mary said, propping her head up with her fist. “As far as other guests went, most of them had either checked out or weren’t in their rooms at the time of the shooting.”

Hank burst in, taking a position at the front of the table. Behind him was a large viewing screen. The room was also equipped with teleconferencing capabilities. Cameras were mounted along the ceiling, and in the center of the table was a microphone shaped like a pyramid. “I was going to wait and address everyone after Conrad came back in, but I wanted to make certain Carolyn was here. Veronica may have committed suicide.”

“What?” Carolyn said, bolting to her feet at the end of the table. “If this isn’t a homicide, I don’t know what is.”

“We obviously thought the same thing,” he said, “or we wouldn’t have put together a task force. Veronica’s gun was found in the Dumpster behind the motel. Ballistics just confirmed it’s the murder weapon.”

“You can’t kill yourself and then go walking around,” Carolyn said, raising her voice. “Who’s the idiot who thinks it’s a suicide?”

Mary was tapping her fingernails on the table. “I think you better explain, Hank.”

“If you guys will stop interrupting me, I will,” he snapped. “Maria Lopez, the maid at the motel, called and changed her story. I had to get Gabriel to interpret because she doesn’t speak English. She’s here illegally and was afraid she’d be deported. She touched the gun when she bent down to see if Veronica was still alive. Instead of wiping her prints off or just waiting until we got there, she panicked and took the gun out of the room, tossing it in the Dumpster with the rest of the day’s trash.” Hank paused to catch his breath. “Lopez was planning to leave town when her neighbor talked her into coming forward.”

“Where was the gun before she picked it up?” Carolyn asked.

“On the floor next to the tub,” the detective said. “Charley Young is one of the idiots who thinks there’s a possibility it was a suicide.” He paused, waiting for the officers to mill over what he’d told them. “We didn’t find Veronica’s prints on the gun. The prints we assumed were the killer’s must be the maid’s. She doesn’t have a driver’s license, so she’s never been printed. Gabriel is on his way to Lopez’s house to bring her in so we can confirm those were her prints.”

“If Veronica shot herself,” Carolyn argued, “why weren’t her prints on the gun? You just said Lopez didn’t wipe it down. It was Veronica’s gun, so her prints had to be on it. They weren’t there because the killer cleaned the gun.”

Mary spoke up. “We found a washrag in the tub with the body, Carolyn. It was the brand and color the motel used, so I didn’t think it had any significance. I thought it just fell in the tub from the towel rack when the killer shot her. Veronica could have wiped her own prints off, and then wrapped the washrag around the gun when she shot herself. She may not have wanted people to know that she took her own life, especially her children.”

“Bullshit,” Carolyn said, refusing to accept it. This was a sensitive issue for her. Her father had committed suicide, and during a trying time in her brother’s life, he had also threatened to kill himself.

Her last conversation with Veronica had occurred only hours before her death. She’d criticized her recommendation in the Patricia Baxter case. Asking an officer of Veronica’s stature to rewrite a report was like slapping her in the face. But Carolyn had let too many things slide already. Her friend’s work had become sloppy, and many of her reports were filed late. Preston had called her on it, as it reflected on the entire unit.

Had Carolyn been the one to push her over the edge?

Veronica had also been vague about whether or not she was going to be her maid of honor. She was shattered enough by the woman’s death without thinking she might somehow be responsible. Perhaps being involved in the investigation was more than she could handle. “How did Veronica get that rash on her back and legs?” she asked. “It looks like carpet burn. And the person who rented the room was a black male using a stolen credit card. How do you explain that?”

“Let’s try to deal with one thing at a time,” Hank said, taking a seat and placing his hands on the table. “Forensics found traces of Comet in the tub and on Veronica’s clothing. We originally thought the killer scrubbed her with the stuff to make sure he got rid of all the evidence. Charley says there’s a possibility that Veronica may have been allergic to some of the ingredients in the cleanser. All she had to do was sit in the tub and she would have experienced the same reaction. If the killer scrubbed her, there’d be a rash on the front of her body as well the back.” He stopped and ran his finger underneath his nose. “The Motor Inn isn’t exactly the Ritz. They still use actual keys. Veronica could have rented the room in the past with the intention of killing herself, then chickened out. She could have kept the key intentionally or by accident.”

“So she drives by the place yesterday,” Mary said, “notices the parking lot is empty, and uses the key to enter the room. I hate to admit it, but it makes sense.”

Carolyn continued to pace.

Hank looked down at the table, then raised his eyes and focused on Carolyn. The Motor Inn was built thirty years ago. A credit card or a driver’s license would have opened the door. Veronica’s husband had her insured for a million dollars, Carolyn. In a suicide, her family would get nothing. If she was murdered, the double indemnity clause would kick in. Leaving two mil to your husband and kids might be worth staging your own death.”

“Okay,” Carolyn said, linking eyes with Hank, “tell me how she got the blood out of her clothes after she allegedly killed herself.”

“She filled the tub with water,” Hank speculated. “Or it might have been full from an earlier bath. She could have released the plug just before she pulled the trigger. As to the blood on her clothes, the forensic guys didn’t want to spray them with Luminol until they tested for other chemicals. I’m sure the lab will find blood in the fibers of the material.”

Mary slipped out of the room, returning with four cans of Coke. She gave one to Keith and Hank, then walked down and handed one to Carolyn. Sitting down on the edge of the table with her back to the men, she said in a hushed voice, “I’m sure you had a rough day yesterday. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”