The Shut Mouth Society (The Best Thrillers Book 1)

by Unknown

  She looked out the side window. “Because I’ve been attracted to you since yesterday.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it.”

  “Self-defense. Men hit on me, so I’ve built a shield to keep them at arm’s length.” She returned her gaze to him. “When I was young, I went for the macho type. More to piss off my parents than anything else, I guess. But they always disappointed, so I switched to academics. No luck there either.”

  Evarts cursed to himself. If only this conversation had occurred under normal circumstances. He knew that emotionally distraught victims often turned toward someone in authority for protection. He sighed. “This is not a good idea. You’ve been shocked and you’re scared. Suddenly you find a guy with a gun attractive. It doesn’t take someone from your psychology department to figure this one out.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation to a relationship.” Her voice had regained a testy note. “I just didn’t want you to have the wrong impression about me and Marston.” She leaned her head against the heel of her hand and looked out the side window again. After a long moment she added, “Besides, I’m not good at relationships.”

  “Work comes first?”

  “First or instead. I haven’t worked that out yet.”

  Evarts needed to halt the direction of this conversation, but he didn’t want to preclude future possibilities. He was similarly unconnected, and Baldwin so far appeared to be someone he would like to get to know; at least when she wasn’t biting his head off.

  “Listen, we’ve both been emotionally rocked. After things calm down, I’d love to take you to dinner, but I should tell you I have my own warning label. It also says ‘Caution, Bad at Relationships.’ Only I’ve worked it out. I get absorbed in my cases. It’s not a professional hazard—it’s my personality. My partners say I withdraw emotionally, but to be honest, that’s not exactly true. I seldom get emotionally engaged in the first place.” He glanced at her but couldn’t read her face. “If you want, we can talk about this later, but right now I have a job to do.”

  Her silence extended for several miles. Just before he pulled off at the Santa Barbara exit, she said, “If that was an invitation to a date after this is over, I accept.”

  Chapter 9

  When Evarts pulled up to the Douglass estate, the gate was open but blocked by an unmarked police car. He ran the window down to stick his head out, but the duty officer recognized him through the windshield and backed up to give him entry. He navigated the narrow access road but couldn’t pull up to the front of the house because police vehicles of every sort blocked the path.

  He turned to Baldwin. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Deep breaths if you get nervous, but it’s all right if you’re shaken. Abe was a colleague and friend. Don’t make up anything. Just stick with the facts.”

  “But not all the facts.”

  “Stick with the facts, not the insinuations or gossip. Let’s go.”

  Evarts opened his door and came around to the front of the car to wait for Baldwin. He took her by the elbow and led her up the drive to the front door. A patrolman stationed at the door said in a cheery voice, “Commander, the chief will sure be glad to see you … oh, damn; I forgot … you and Mr. Douglass were friends.” He looked embarrassed. “My condolences.”

  “Thanks.” Evarts reminded himself to stay professional. If he allowed his emotions to surface, the case would be taken out of his hands. Keeping his tone businesslike, he asked, “Is Detective Standish on the scene?”

  “Yeah.” He spoke into his shoulder mike and got a response in his ear. “She’ll be right out.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  In less than twenty seconds, a woman appeared at the door, wearing a dark skirt and matching jacket over a white blouse. Evarts gave her a welcoming nod. “Detective Standish, I’d like you to meet Professor Patricia Baldwin. She and Abraham Douglass went over to UCSB together this morning. Could you take her someplace private and get her statement?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. Were you and Mr. Douglass friends?”

  “Close acquaintances. Colleagues, actually.”

  “Well, you have my condolences. Could you step this way? I’ll make this as easy as I can.”

  After the two of them went into a sitting room off the entry, Evarts turned to the patrolman. “Where’s the body?”

  “Bodies. This was a double homicide. Mr. Douglass is on the back patio. They strangled his servant in the pantry.” The patrolman looked puzzled. “You don’t know?”

  “No, but I’ll find out soon.” Evarts retraced his steps from the previous evening. Before he stepped out onto the patio through one of the atrium doors, he saw the scene through the glass and stopped in shock. He was still standing there when his chief and Deputy Chief Damon approached him.

  The chief said, “Are you okay?”

  “No. That was my friend.”

  “Damn it, Greg, I need you,” Damon said. “The shit’s gonna hit the fan on this one.”

  Evarts gave his boss a hard look and let irritation creep into his voice. “Just give me a sec, will ya?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Damon didn’t look sorry.

  Evarts tried to get his emotions under control. Abraham Douglass hung naked from a cross that faced his prized view of the Pacific. Several forensic specialists worked on the remains, but Evarts could see around them enough to know that he had been set on fire. He winced as his nostrils pick up the stench of charred skin.

  He took a deep breath and faced his boss. “Has a time been determined?”

  “Early this afternoon. Probably close to 2:00 PM. A neighbor called the fire department at 2:27 because she saw smoke on this ridge. We’ll get a better fix after the autopsy.” Damon suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry you had to see this, but the chief thought you better see the scene as we found it.”

  Evarts turned to the other man. “Right call, Chief.” He took another look at the scene and then turned back to the chief. “Anything I should know before I talk to my men?”

  “There’s something I need to know. Can you handle this?”

  “Yeah. The scene just startled me for a minute. I want the bastards who did this, and I’m the best you got, so let’s get on with it.” He held the chief’s eyes until he saw him nod. “Now what do I need to know?”

  “Okay. We can’t find any evidence of robbery, except for a small amount of cash missing. Lots of valuables in the house left untouched. Looks amateurish. There’s some vandalism. Tore up some stuff, but it appears haphazard. Right now, it looks like a hate crime. Probably youths.” The chief stole a glance at the corpse and then returned his eyes to Evarts. “Were you here last night?”

  “Yeah. With Professor Baldwin, the woman I picked up at UCLA yesterday. The two of them went to UCSB this morning, so she may have been the last person to see him alive. I have Detective Standish taking her statement.”

  “Good. I want to see the report. Tonight.”

  “You will. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, the FBI will arrive in a little over an hour. Get as much of a head start as you possibly can, but don’t fuck up. Also, don’t move either body until they give the okay. It’s going to be their show.”

  “Civil rights?” Evarts asked.

  “Yeah. I hate to bring them in, but I had no choice.”

  Evarts bet the chief and city officials welcomed the opportunity to dump some of this political mess onto a federal agency.

  “I better get to work” Evarts said. He turned away from his two bosses and stepped out onto the patio. In the open air, the awful smell grew stronger. Before going to the body, he walked the perimeter of the patio. He knew it had already been examined, but he wanted to look for himself. He found nothing and realized he had been stalling.

  As he approached the corpse, the stench made him wince. The forensic team had positioned a six-foot ladder in front of the body so they could examine the remains without disrupting the crime scene. Evarts
leaned around the ladder and peered up at the corpse. It hung limp from a cross that had been screwed together from galvanized pipe. Fire had charred nearly all the flesh, and the loss of body fluid had shrunk the skin to reveal the skeletal form. Despite a monotone coal black hue, Evarts could still recognize the face of his friend, Abraham Douglass.

  Evarts turned and walked to the edge of the patio, looking out to sea. Countless evenings he had sat here with Douglass and a glass of scotch to watch the sun set. Never again. He took one deep breath and then another. At first he felt an overwhelming loss, but he was able to get his emotions under control by reminding himself that he had a job to do and that job made him the one responsible for catching his friend’s killers. He told himself to mourn after arrests had been made.

  He returned to the makeshift cross and motioned the lead forensic specialist over. “What have we got?”

  “Dead before the burning, but it looks like he was tortured. We found lacerations around the scrotum and face. Appears to be death by strangulation, but I can’t be sure yet.”

  “Any physical evidence?”

  “None out here. Still dusting inside.”

  “Who’s chasing down the galvanized pipe?”

  “Matthew’s working on that, but so far it looks like generic pipe available at a half dozen plumbing supply houses.”

  “It won’t be local. Tell him to make inquiries throughout the L.A. basin.”

  “Greg, that’ll take—”

  “Damn it, I don’t give a shit! Just tell him to do it.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  The man appeared to be shaken at his outburst, so Evarts patted him on the shoulder and said, “Okay, thanks. You can get back to work.” The specialist started to turn when Evarts asked, “The lacerations?”

  “Razor sharp. Probably was a razor … or an exceptionally sharp knife.”

  “Find out.” A razor might mean kids, but a honed knife could hold other implications.

  When he turned toward the house, Evarts saw Damon alone at one of the atrium doors. He started with a routine question. “Who’s doing the house to house?”

  “Four patrol officers. No one’s radioed in yet. The property’s pretty isolated.”

  “Yeah. What bothers me is that kids don’t leave a clean scene, and that pipe looks premeditated.”

  Damon looked over his shoulder to see who was behind him. “The chief hopes it’s kids. I don’t think so.”

  “Professional or cult?”

  The deputy chief shrugged. “All the visuals point toward amateurs or a cult, but the lack of evidence looks professional.”

  Evarts waved at the scene behind him. “The torture may have been to gain information, not just for cruelty. Douglass was rich. We’d better get someone looking into his financial holdings in case this is a diversion for an identity theft.”

  “Shit. I should’ve thought of that. You check the teams in the house, and I’ll get Haden on it.”

  Evarts first headed to the other murder scene. Peter had been strangled in the pantry, obviously caught unawares. The second forensic team had no enlightening information, so Evarts left to check the rest of his teams’ work. He found everyone carefully going by the book. No one wanted criticism from the FBI.

  If the perpetrators tortured Douglass for financial access information, they had already cleaned out his accounts. Identity thieves were increasingly controlled by organized crime, and they moved fast. Evarts wanted to eliminate the possibility of either youths or organized crime. If neither could be implicated, it lent credibility to Douglass’s shadowy allusions of the prior night.

  He found his key subordinate, Lieutenant Clark, blocking the door to the master bathroom. Evarts nodded toward the room. “Torture site?”

  “Yeah. Only a cursory examination so far. Not enough technicians. I’m keeping anyone from disturbing the scene.”

  “Anything obviously unusual?”

  “No.” Clark looked back into the room. He evidently decided to share his concerns. “Except this is the innermost room in the house, and the scene looks clinical. I, uh, closed the door and yelled. Standish said she could only hear my screams from inside the bedroom.” He looked over Evarts’s shoulder to make sure no one had entered the bedroom. “I know the chief thinks kids did this, but if so, they were better prepared and smarter than the average punk sickos.”

  “I want that in your report. Don’t worry about the chief. He doesn’t want us to look like a bunch of rookies to the FBI.” When Clark nodded, Evarts made a sideways motion with his head. “I want to get a sense of the scene.”

  When Clark moved aside, Evarts stepped across the threshold. A straight-back chair sat in the middle of the blood-splattered bathroom. Nothing else looked out of order, except for some apparently crazed destruction. Mirrors had been broken and some toiletries swept onto the floor, but cabinets remained closed, and the walk-in closet beyond didn’t look rummaged.

  He saw an open wallet next to the washbasin and a pile of clothes in the corner. He used his pen tip to lift the edge of the wallet. No cash, but credit cards remained in place. He then used his pen to lift the slacks by the belt loop so he could check the pocket. No remote control.

  “Rope?” Evarts asked.

  “Assume they used the same rope to tie him up outside.”

  “Doesn’t look like the closet’s been disturbed.”

  “I walked in there and saw no evidence of a search. Professionals know people keep valuables in the closet, but a youth hate crime still doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “Could’ve been after assets Douglass didn’t keep in the house. Haden’s checking out an electronic theft motive.” Evarts had already started to move toward the bedroom door before adding, “I’ll send a patrolman to guard this door. I want you to rotate between the teams and be ready to help me brief the FBI when they arrive.”

  Evarts next went to the library. He had glanced into the room as he made his rounds and saw a few books strewn around, but nothing else to indicate that the library should be a priority. He stood in front of the movable partition and bet the remote unit that had been in Douglass’s pocket now sat inside the safe. Then Evarts remembered that Douglass had used the same remote to summon his servant. He returned to the master bedroom and used his pen to slide open the bedside table drawer. Just as he hoped, another remote sat cradled in a wood trough meant to hold change. He picked it up with his handkerchief and returned to the library.

  Although he had pressed all three buttons in sequence, the partition refused to move. He examined the edge but didn’t see any wedge or other obstruction. Standing back, he thought a moment and then tried two-button combinations. The third try worked. That was the easy part. He stared at the stainless-steel vault door for several minutes and then walked briskly to the front of the house.

  Evarts found Baldwin and Standish still in the small sitting room off the entrance. He said, “This seems to be taking a long time. Any problems?”

  Evarts was relieved to hear Standish say, “No problems, but we need a few more minutes.” If she had said ‘We’re about to take a break,’ it would’ve been a preestablished code that meant Standish needed to talk to Evarts out of earshot of the witness.

  “Professor Baldwin, when was Lincoln born? The date.”

  “February 12, 1809. Why?”

  “I want to open Douglass’s safe. I thought he might use it as the combination.”

  “Nice try, but wrong. If he used a Lincoln date, it would be March 4, 1861.”

  “What happened on that date?”

  “His inauguration. Douglass believed that date changed the destiny of this country.”

  “Thank you.” He started to leave.

  “Excuse me, Commander.” Standish stopped his progress. “Miss Baldwin had a date this evening. She said you promised to send someone to meet him.”

  “I forgot. Can you take care of it?”

  “Of course.”

  Evarts left, relieved that
the question didn’t have more serious implications. He hurried his pace, because he knew the chief would want an update prior to the FBI arriving. When he got to the library, he stared at the large dial that ranged from zero to sixty. He decided to try a four-number combination: three, four, six, one. With the last number, he heard a satisfying click, and the handle slid down with almost no effort. Opening the door, he was disappointed to find what he had expected. On the shelf that last night had held the Cooper Union manuscript now sat a remote control. Nothing else looked disturbed.

  As he thought through the implications, he heard his boss’s voice behind him.

  “You knew about this?”

  “Yes, Abe showed it to me last night. This is his Lincoln collection.”

  “Valuable?” Damon asked.

  “Exceptionally.”

  “Kind of fits with the teen gang scenario. Professional would’ve gotten the combination out of him.”

  “If they knew he kept his collection in the house. I’d like Professor Baldwin to assist in taking inventory.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a Lincoln expert. That’s why she was here last night. To look at his latest acquisition.”

  “How long will you need her?”

  “Couple of days I suspect, but I’d like her to take a quick perusal tonight. She’s familiar with his collection.”

  Damon thought a moment. “When Standish is done with her. Good excuse to keep her around for the FBI.” He looked at the empty library but still appeared nervous. “Greg, we need to talk in private. Get someone to watch this and meet me in front of the house.”

  Evarts put an idle-looking patrolman to the task and walked outside. This rendezvous made him nervous. Had Damon found out about the supposed conspiracy? At first, he didn’t see his boss but then spotted him down the lane about fifty feet.

  “What’s this about, sir?”

  “The mayor and the county supervisor are on their way. This is gonna get dicey. Douglass was a substantial figure in the black community.”

  “Abe was a substantial figure in the community, period.”

  “No disrespect meant. He was a substantial figure in our community, but he was a national figure in the black community.”