Authors: Teri Riggs
“Already working. I got the phone records for Campenelli’s home phone and cell, and Phoebe Mixer’s cell.” He passed her the printout. “Nothing jumps out at me from either of Campenelli’s phone records. Looks like he was at home when he made his two calls the night of Phoebe Mixer’s murder, just like he said.”
“Yeah, but right now we’ve got about a four hour window for TOD. He could’ve run out in between calls and killed her. Let’s push the ME to pinpoint a more exact TOD.”
“Ms. Mixer’s records were more interesting. The john she called the night of her death really was a John, a man named John Tully, who just happens to be Campenelli’s campaign manager. Allegedly, he was home sick at the time. The witnesses I’ve called verified he left the dinner earlier, claiming he was ill. That was her last call before her murder.”
Kennedy shuffled through the list of calls the dead woman made. “Do you know what she and Tully talked about?”
“Not yet. I thought we’d have a chat with him today.”
“No calls made from Campenelli to Phoebe or vice-versa?” “None.”
“I guess that helps support Campenelli’s claim he never met Phoebe before the night she was killed.”
“Just because there’s no proof they spoke on the phone doesn’t prove he didn’t know her.”
“True, but we haven’t yet proved he did know her.” She laid the printout down.
Both of Wilder’s brows arched. “Are you defending him? A suspect?” “No. I’m just pointing out a fact. You got anything else?”
“As a matter of fact—” He dug through the stack of paper on his desk and came up with his notebook and thumbed through it. “Yep, here it is. Earlier, I was going over Phoebe Mixer’s autopsy with Jack-Off. He says she was killed in the same manner as the first two victims. He’s got nothing new to add. And Forensics says the gum wrapper and light bulbs from the garage were negative for prints. I’ll put in a call and follow up on a more exact time of death.”
“You needed your notes to tell me that?”
“Nah. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t misplace it.” He leaned forward and put the notebook in a back pocket. “Jack-Off reminded me we’ve still got plenty of DNA and could use a good solid suspect to match DNA samples with.”
“Like that’s late breaking news?” She moved to the coffee pot and poured them both a mug full. She handed Wilder his, blew on hers and took a first sip. “I think it’s time to ask Campenelli and
St. Louis
to give us DNA. Give them a chance to clear their names off our suspect list.”
“Do you seriously think our Bible-thumping religious freak would give up DNA without a court order?”
“No, probably not. He’s more likely to demand a court order. He’s a prick. Threw me off his porch and told me not to come back without a warrant.”
“What about Campenelli? You think he’d be willing to cooperate?”
She took another drink of the hot coffee. “He just might—especially if I ask nice.”
Wilder smiled. “If being nice is part of the deal, we might as well kiss that idea good bye. Nice and Detective Kennedy O’Brien are words together that just don’t compute.”
“Why, Detective James, I’m crushed at your insinuation that I can’t be nice.”
“It’s no insinuation. It’s a fact.” He turned his mug up and drained it.
“Listen up, Mr. Know-It-All, I made real nice with Campenelli over the weekend. While you were off in some nice air-conditioned courtroom, I was at the River’s Edge campground having dinner with none other than the Batman Billionaire himself.”
Wilder was speechless.
“After a meal of grilled fish and cordial conversation, Campenelli and I said our goodbyes and slept like babies.”
Kennedy decided there was no need to mention that Campenelli’s end of the conversation was cordial while hers was not quite up to Miss Manners’ level of proper etiquette. She most certainly wouldn’t mention that she was a crybaby and he was a super hero who’d rescued her from a hellish nightmare. Or that she woke up practically on top of him.
“You spent the weekend camping with Campenelli? Christ Jesus, Kennedy. The Lieutenant is going to kick your ass. If he doesn’t, I will. Hell, he’ll probably bust you back to patrol, or worse, sentence you to a day working the Citizen’s Police Academy. What the hell were you thinking?”
Spending a day lecturing at the Las Vegas Citizen’s Police Academy was one of the harshest punishments a cop could receive from their commanding officer. It was dealt out for the biggest screw ups—major screw ups like fraternizing with a murder suspect. Nothing short of shooting yourself in the foot with your own service revolver was as blatantly unacceptable.
“I didn’t spend the weekend with Campenelli.” Only one night—like I’ll try to explain that one. “We just ended up in the same place at the same time. Pure coincidence.”
“Kenny, you know what the Cop’s Law of Coincidences Handbook says— there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
“Give me a break. It really was a coincidence.”
He looked skeptical, but she could work with that.
“Okay, let’s just call it a fluke. And if it makes you feel any better, I really wasn’t all that nice to him. I was my usual un-charming self. I don’t see why that should earn me a day lecturing a bunch of civilians on police procedures. I’d rather be demoted back to uniform. Hell, I’d rather be demoted to school crossing guard. If people want to play cops, let them go to the academy like we had to. Anyway, I wouldn’t have even been there if Hazelwood hadn’t forced me to take time off.”
He cut loose with a deep laugh. “Be sure to tell the Lieutenant how you feel about that.”
A loud voice boomed from behind her. “Tell the Lieutenant what, Wild Thing?”
Kennedy turned to see a tall, heavyset man with skin the color of dark mocha standing next to her desk. His top lip had completely disappeared beneath a thick mustache. His head was as bald and shiny as a bowling ball, possibly polished with a pint of Turtle Wax. On some days, from the right angle, Kennedy could see her reflection.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. Wilder and I were just shootin’ the shit.” He looked furious, and she wondered how he’d found out about her unplanned camp-out with Nicolas Campenelli so quickly.
“O’Brien!” His voice grabbed the attention of every detective in the pit. “Where’s that copy of LVTVS’s film of Nicolas Campenelli’s argument with Ms. Mixer? It should have been in the Electronics’ Division Friday.”
“Sir, the warrant hasn’t come through. LVTVS has their lawyers blocking it. But, I’ve been promised it’d be available today.”
“I don’t like excuses, Detective.”
“Yes sir, I realize that.”
“I’ve got Campenelli’s legal department breathing down my throat and climbing up my ass, both at the same time. Sheriff Taylor’s dogging me. Worst of all, I’ve got the press making us sound like we’re a department of half-wits. I need some answers. I want some suspects. I want...”
Hazelwood narrowed his eyes at Wilder. “O’Brien, I see your dead-beat partner has finally decided to try cop work again. Did you enjoy your vacation over at the courthouse, Wild Thing? It’s been kind of lonely around here without you. O’Brien couldn’t manage to get shit done while you were off playing.”
“Yes Lieutenant, it’s good to be back. Lazy days viewing pictures of a dead, bloody, carved-up nun, describing the murder scene while her family sat in front of me horrified...well, what can I say? I was just having too much fun. I’ve decided it’s time to get back to the real world.”
The Lieutenant gave a growl-like grunt and turned to walk back to his office. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Get that film. Today. And I expect an updated murder book on my desk at the end of shift.”
He paused, turned to face them again. His voice was softer. “Wilder, I’m glad you got your conviction. It’s good to see the bastard’s going to pay his dues.”
“Damn straight, Lieutenant. Sister Margaret Mary is going to have her justice.”
Kennedy smiled to herself. Lieutenant Hazelwood wasn’t so tough. He had a heart buried deep underneath all that gruff and hot air. She knew he realized just how hard sitting in court was for his cops, after all, he’d done it a gazillion times himself.
The Lieutenant’s door closed and Wilder let out a deep breath. “Lucky you, Kenny. Hazelwood doesn’t know about your camp out. The Gods of Keep-Your-Ass-Out-of-Deep-Shit must be smiling down on you this morning.”
Kennedy flipped Wilder off and got back to business. “You know, four nights have gone by without a body showing up.”
“Think our killer is retiring already?”
“No chance. I think he’s finally taking a cooling off period.” “What do you want to do now?”
“I say we get out there and ask Campenelli and
St. Louis
for DNA samples. Then we go park our asses at the DA’s office until we get the warrant for the missing film and see if we can’t get that court order for Hershey’s DNA at the same time. Maybe get one for Frank Curtis while we’re at it. They both seem a little too pumped about these murders.”
“You’re presuming Campenelli and
St. Louis
are just going to hand their DNA over to us?”
“Of course they will, if they’re innocent. Ready? In the meantime, we get started on warrants for their DNA.”
“Sure. How about we divide and conquer? I’ll tackle
St. Louis
. You take your sparkling personality and go charm the DNA off Campenelli. You take the Tully interview too, he’s in the same office building. I’ll meet you at Jack-Off’s afterward and we can turn in our samples and beg him to put a rush on getting back the results.”
Before Kennedy was able to grab her purse, her cell phone rang. She saw the caller ID and motioned for Wilder not to leave.
“Detective O’Brien.”
“Detective, it’s Ed Hershey at LVTVS. I received another AFTER photo this morning. Why haven’t you and your fellow cops converged on the newsroom as of yet?”
“We haven’t had a body turn up. Are you trying to pull something? It’s not funny or appreciated. It’s against the law to file a false police report.”
“I’m not bullshitting, Detective. If you’re not interested, I’ll just open the envelope myself. Maybe put the contents on air for our viewers to have a look. I’m sure they’d be interested. And just imagine how my ratings would soar.”
“Listen, Hershey, I know you’ve already opened it, and if you so much as touch that photo again before my partner gets over to LVTVS to retrieve it, I’ll cut off your testicles, stuff them up your nose and haul your sorry, no balls body to jail.”
“When you put it like that, I guess I’ll pass on airing the picture. When can I expect you? I’m curious to know if this is a real dead hooker or a hoax. If you have no body and no BEFORE picture, the chances are slim this is an AFTER picture.”
“Detective James will be there in fifteen minutes. I repeat, do not open that envelope. By the way, Mr. Hershey, he’ll be bringing the court order for you to hand over the tape of Campenelli and Ms. Mixer.”
Kennedy hung up before Ed could complain.
Wilder said, “Okay, tell me what that weasel is up to now.”
She repeated the story and added, “We need to get some extra patrols searching the Hooker Haven area for a body that maybe hasn’t been found yet. Get a few checking the ERs and missing person reports too.”
“I’ll put Jimmy and Sparky on it and then swing by LVTVS and see what Hershey’s got. It’s on my way so I’ll pick up the court order for the tape. The DA should have it ready by now. I’ll double check, but I doubt he gave us the one we requested for Curtis and Hershey’s DNA. You go on to Campenelli’s, pull your pleasant act.”
“Give my best to Ed—my best kick in the balls.”
“Right, I’ll do that.” Wilder gave her a wink. “Let’s rock and roll.”
After
stopping at LVTVS and picking up the envelope, Wilder put in a call to Kennedy. “It looks to be the real deal. Somewhere out in the streets is another body.”
“So much for the cooling down period. Where the hell is she?”
“There’s no clue in the photo. Like the other AFTER photos, it’s a close up with no background to ID.”
“All we can do is wait and hope the body shows up soon. Did Hershey cough up the film of Campenelli?”
“I’ve got it. Amazing how it showed up like magic. That court order was the magic wand. I’ll pass the tape on to the Electronics’ Division so they can look for tampering and make copies for us. I’ll bring the picture of the dead woman with me to the coroner’s office so you can have a look.”
“Did the DA give us the DNA warrants?”
“Nope. Insufficient cause. Being slime balls doesn’t count. And of course Hershey and his boss both refused to volunteer their DNA.”
“Figures.”
Wilder disconnected and headed towards
St. Louis
’ neighborhood by way of the Strip. It was another typical day on the Vegas Strip, bursting with tourists. No matter how high the temperatures crept, the boulevard was packed with day trippers from all over the world, tourists busy doing their tourist thing.