Without Sin (An Owen Day Thriller)

by Rachel Ford

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Jason.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “But people died, because of me. Innocent people. Civilians.”

  He nodded again, slowly, like he was trying to comprehend. “It’s a war zone. That happens, right?”

  “Yeah. But this was different. This was because of me. My algorithm. It predicted with near one hundred percent certainty some bad people were going to show up at a place we’d been watching. A place we thought might be a rendezvous.

  “We didn’t have the kind of intel to justify a strike. But when that prediction came through, command went ahead anyway. They didn’t wait on confirmation. That would have taken too long, and the bad guys might have got away.

  “Except, the algorithm got it wrong. The bad guys weren’t there. It was just women and kids. A whole extended family of women and kids. And they died.”

  “I’m sorry, dude. That’s rough.”

  I half-snorted and half-laughed. “Yeah.”

  “But it’s war. That kind of stuff happens. Doesn’t it?”

  “Too often.”

  “So it’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it? It was my algorithm.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “And the guys pulling the trigger didn’t give the command.”

  “So it was your boss’s fault. Not yours. Not theirs.”

  I nodded. I’d been through all of these rationalizations before. There was blood on everyone’s hands, and blood on no one’s hands. It all depended on how you looked at it.

  As for the truth? There was no truth in war.

  “So Wagley’s got you all wrong,” he went on.

  “Wagley’s a sack of shit.”

  Jason started to say something, but my phone dinged. I picked it up. I had a text message from Detective Clark. Need to speak to you.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Oh, this is not good,” Jason said. He was pacing the room, chewing at his thumbnail nervously. “This is so not good.”

  “She’s a cop, Jason. She’s not going to buy into that crap. She’s smarter than that.”

  “Okay, but the timing is suspicious. You got to admit that. He puts this video up and then, bam, she needs to talk to you? Urgently?”

  That’s what the second text message said. Urgent. Please let me know a time that works for you.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Oh man,” he said again. “This is not good.”

  I texted back that I could meet her at the hotel at her convenience. In a sense, she’d done me a favor. It meant I could give Jason my keys, and not have to worry about driving Megan anywhere. And I didn’t want to be alone with her. Not in a room, not in a car, not at all.

  Of course, I also didn’t want to end up getting hauled off in cuffs either. Especially not with my sister-in-law and niece and nephews watching. So I really hoped Jason’s doom and gloom predictions were off base.

  And he was all doom and gloom. Cops wanting to talk to you was bad news, he said. Cops needing to talk to you urgently was the worst news. “Whatever you do, man, do not get in her car. Not unless she’s arresting you. You don’t have to go with them. You don’t have to answer questions.”

  I decided to ignore him and his predictions. I got dressed and headed downstairs. Breakfast was still being served, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and a seat at the far end of the lobby.

  Clark showed up about fifteen minutes later. She was dressed in fresh, dark clothes, and her hair was shiny clean and pulled back into a neat ponytail. But her eyes looked like she hadn’t slept in half a week.

  She spotted me and flashed a half-smile. She did not take a seat, though. She stopped on the other side of my table and said, “Hey. Let’s go for a ride.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  She frowned. “The case.”

  Whatever you do, man, do not get in the car. I grimaced but nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  She gestured to the cup. “We can get some good coffee somewhere, if you like. Or another matcha.”

  I shook my head. It was way too early in the morning to be drinking anything green. “Coffee’s good.”

  She smiled. “Okay. There’s a place near here.”

  There was. A chain place, with a lot of frou-frou coffee concoctions, all of them with a week’s worth of sugar per cup. But they had a good Sumatra that paired perfectly with just a splash of whole milk. Which is what I got.

  She got a French roast with creamer and a bagel. She paid, and I got us seats by the window. Away from everyone else.

  I figured the fact that she paid was a good sign. She wouldn’t be buying me coffee if she thought I was some kind of murderer.

  Unless, of course, it was a bluff, and she wanted to convince me that I was in the clear.

  I was considering the point when she came over, balancing her bagel over her cup of coffee. She handed me my mug and took a seat. “So you probably know why I wanted to talk.”

  “Not really.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Really? Well, the video. You know, Wyatt Wagley?”

  Whatever you do, man, do not get in the car. “Ah.”

  “I’m assuming you did not let him into your house?”

  I snorted. “Of course not.”

  She nodded. “So I don’t know who you thought broke into the place, but I think it’s probably fair to say they’re innocent. Yes?”

  I nodded. “Agreed. Of breaking in, anyway. They still torched the truck.”

  “And your sister-in-law’s place?”

  I considered for a long moment. “Maybe.”

  She shrugged. “This guy you have in mind…he drive a black Ram? Or maybe dark blue?”

  I said nothing.

  She smiled. “You don’t need to look that surprised, Owen. I talked to the detective leading the investigation at your sister-in-law’s place. One of the neighbors saw a dark Dodge pickup truck crawling up and down the street a few times earlier in the day. She remembered it because it looked ‘out of place’ in the neighborhood. She saw the same truck speeding away that night.

  “And the fire investigator talked to your neighbor, across the road. She saw a dark blue or black Ram pull into your driveway and leave right before she noticed the fire.”

  I said nothing.

  “It’s not my case, so I’m not going to press you. I’m not entirely sure what you’re into here. Or, what Jason is into. So I don’t know why you think you’ve got to be so secretive here. But if it was me, I’d tell them. Especially when someone came for my family.”

  “Noted,” I said. “Thanks for the coffee, Detective.”

  “That’s not why I wanted to talk.”

  “Then why?”

  “Wagley. Look, he broke into your place, right? There’s no way he got that footage legally?”

  “None.”

  “Good. Then maybe we can nail the son-of-a-bitch for breaking and entering.”

  I nodded. “By all means, please do. Forget him in the back of your squad car for a week, if you’re so inclined.”

  She smiled. “Careful, Owen. He hears you talk like that, he’ll have another video out.”

  “What do you need from me? I assume you do, since I’m here.”

  She nodded. “I want to sweep your place for prints, top to bottom.”

  “They already dusted for prints.”

  “Yes. But I want to sweep the whole place.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you never let him in, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Exactly. So they were looking for prints in the obvious places. I want them to look everywhere else, too. If we find a print, anywhere, we’ve got a case.”

  I considered for a long moment. “Alright,” I said. “Do what you need to.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. And Owen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s som
ething else you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be in charge of this investigation.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?”

  She studied me for a long moment, as if making up her mind on some point. Then she spoke. “You remember the Dandridge killing, the nanny?”

  “Terri Lange.”

  “She was shot in the yard. The killer lured her away from the patio, just out of range of the security cameras – the Dandridge’s had security cameras on their property – and shot her.”

  “What was she doing outside?”

  “She took her breaks out on the back patio when the weather was nice. She liked to get the air. She’d already got the kids to sleep, but she was spending the night that evening.”

  “Because the parents were out of town.”

  “Right. But that’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is, the forensics on the bullet that killed her? They match the forensics from an unsolved homicide in Missouri, three years ago. A drug deal gone bad.”

  “You think it’s the same guy?”

  “No. I think it’s the same weapon. But it’s an unsolved murder that happened across state lines with the same weapon. Which means it could be the same guy.”

  “Which means the FBI has jurisdiction,” I said.

  She nodded. “The chief wants to keep the case, for now anyway. But for how long, I don’t know. If there’s another killing…well, we’ll see.”

  The case, though, had to wait. I hadn’t really had time to figure out who had come after Megan and the kids. But now I knew. Which meant, now I had to take care of it.

  Clark hadn’t been wrong about talking to the investigators. That would be the sensible thing to do. Except Tiny would lead to Travis who would lead to Jason. And right now, Tiny was working on his own, outside of his boss’s authority.

  Involving the cops would mean we’d have a bigger problem. It would mean Travis, and all of his goons. Even if he went to prison, he’d be out someday. So it could mean a lifetime of looking over our shoulders, not just for me and Jason, but for Megan and the kids too.

  Which was unacceptable. So I let Detective Clark drop me off back at the hotel. My vehicle was no longer parked in its spot. Jason and Megan were out doing whatever needed to be done, then.

  I decided to wait outside. We were going to get rain, but not for a while.

  Clark had only just left the parking lot, and I’d barely seated myself at the bench by the front door when I saw the dark sedan roll by. The same guy, the graying cop, was at the wheel.

  I wondered if I’d done the right thing in giving her clearance to sweep my place for prints. I wanted to believe Wagley really was the target.

  But for all her earnestness, Clark had assigned me a tail. I didn’t doubt that the video had sparked this latest conversation. But maybe not in the way I’d been thinking. Maybe it had nothing to do with catching Wagley, and everything to do with catching me.

  Not that I had anything to hide. Not really. The cat was out of the bag as far as just how much energy I was focusing on the case. And she knew I had an interest in cold cases. She’d known just how much interest since the break-in.

  Still, I hadn’t had anything to hide with Wagley either, and he’d done a good job of painting me as a deranged serial killer with a history of violence. And Clark was under a lot of pressure. That was clear. The feds wanted in on her case. Her boss’s patience was running out.

  Even if she knew I wasn’t the killer – and she was smart, so I figured she had to know that – having a suspect in mind might help. As to whether or not she was the kind of cop to do that, I didn’t know. Sometimes smart people did stupid things under pressure. Sometimes good people did bad things in the wrong circumstances.

  Time would tell. I hoped time was kinder to me in that instance than it was in waiting for Jason to return. I gave it half an hour, and when he didn’t show up, sent him a text message and headed back upstairs.

  I waited another half hour before I heard anything from him. He said Megan needed help packing some of her and the kids’ stuff. They were working with the fire investigator to pack up and get out without interfering with the investigation. He’d let me know when he was on his way.

  And he did, about two hours later: they had their stuff. Megan had taken her own vehicle. She and the kids would be staying with the Rathe’s until the house situation was sorted. They’ll stop by the hotel first, though.

  Which they did. They collected the few belongings they’d had in the rooms. Maisie and Daniel hugged me. “Thank you, Uncle Owen,” he said.

  “Anytime, buddy.”

  “Will you be at Daddy’s funeral?” she asked.

  “Of course, sweetheart.”

  Ben stayed at his mother’s side. I said, “It was good to see you again, Ben.”

  He said nothing. Megan handed me back my keys, and said, “Thanks for putting us up, Owen. But it’ll be better if we get out of your hair.”

  “You guys are family,” I said. “Anytime you need help, I’m here.”

  She smiled wanly, and hesitated. It was an awkward movement, with her arms half raised for an embrace. But in the end, she chose a handshake. Which was okay by me. “The funeral’s Friday. Three o’clock, at the church. We had him cremated. It – it couldn’t have been an open casket funeral.

  “We’re going to spread his ashes at the church.” Her eyes welled up, and she took a few long breaths. “He would have wanted that.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She nodded, smiled, and squeezed my arm. “I’ll see you, Owen.”

  Then she left, her and the kids. Jason flopped down in an armchair and let out a long breath. “I’m not a particularly religious guy,” he said. “But I tell you what: I thank God that’s over.”

  I shot him a questioning look. He shrugged. “Tears, tantrums, more tears, more tantrums. Oh, and working around a bunch of cops and that Wagley guy.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah. The local paper had a half page article on it: street mentioned but no address listed. Somehow he figured out it was Meg’s place.”

  “Or hoped it was, anyway. That’ll play really well in his next video, I guess.”

  “Yeah. The cops shooed him away. They wouldn’t let him get close, but he was filming us the whole time. He’s a weird dude.”

  “So, not a genius anymore?”

  Jason ignored the comment. “And I talked to mom and dad. They agreed to let me set up in their garage, for a little while anyway.”

  “Look,” I said, “it’s not my business, and you didn’t ask me. But I’m going to say it anyway. You need to get your life together, Jason. You got to find a job. If they pull the same shit your sister did…”

  He nodded glumly. “I know. I know. I got to sort out the truck situation first. But maybe I can take an Uber or whatever until I can afford something of my own.”

  He considered the prospect in silence for a long moment. Then he wanted to know about my meeting with Clark. So I told him.

  He decided I was going to jail. “Oh man, she’s planning a frame. Mark my words. You need to get a lawyer, now. You need to be on the phone now, dude. Before it’s too late.”

  I didn’t contact a lawyer, though. Not by phone and not in person. Instead, I told Jason I was going for a drive.

  “You want company?”

  “Nope.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’ll be in the hot tub then.”

  I left him and headed to Hotrods on Hemlock. It wasn’t much busier during the day than it had been after hours, as far as customers were concerned, anyway. Employees were another matter altogether.

  There were two guys working in an open vehicle bay to the side, and two guys in the front of the shop. The ones in the vehicle bay were sweating and greasy. They looked like they were working hard. The guys in the shop looked like they were relaxing and shooting the shit: big grins, flapp
ing gums. They were all big guys, upwards of two-fifty, upwards of six feet. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  Travis wasn’t among either group. Maybe in a back office somewhere. Maybe not onsite at all.

  Tiny’s truck was, though, parked to the rear of the two lots with a handful of other lifted trucks and muscle cars. Some were new and shiny. Some were old enough to be older, but not old enough to be vintage, and a little banged up.

  I headed into the shop. The two guys were still there, still gabbing. One of them glanced up. “Help you?”

  “I need to talk to Trav.”

  The guy took a longer, more thorough look. “You got a name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well? What is it?”

  “Not important. Just tell your boss he’s got a visitor.”

  “You got an appointment?”

  “No. But he wants to see me.”

  The guy snorted and looked over at his buddy. The buddy shrugged, and called, “Hey Mike? There’s someone here to talk to Trav.”

  The back-office door opened, and Mike came out. The same Mike I’d met a few days earlier. Recognition spread across his face. “You again.”

  I nodded. “I need to talk to your boss.”

  “What the hell are you doing back here? Trav warned you not to show up.”

  “Things changed. I need to talk to him.”

  “Like hell you do. You need to get off this property, before someone kicks your ass.”

  “You’re trespassing, man,” one of the guys behind the counter said.

  “This is private property,” the other said. “If Trav said you ain’t welcome, you ain’t welcome.”

  “So why don’t you get to it?” I asked. “Kick my ass. You can ask Tiny how that worked out for him. Or better yet, call the cops. While you’ve got them on the line, maybe your boss can explain why his guy was seen racing away from two fires in a week.

  “Or maybe I should leave, like you boys want; and call the cops myself. Tell them I know who owns that black Ram they’re looking for.”

  A noise sounded in the back office. The three guys inclined their heads toward the door. Travis walked out, as huge and pugnacious as ever. He crossed his arms and stared at me. “I thought I told you not to let me see your face around here again.”