by Coyle, Matt;
Bingo. Finally, the reason I’d been forthwithed. Weaver must have come crying to headquarters about our chat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to ambush Detective Weaver?” Grimes jumped in and stared me down before I could answer Mitchell.
I looked at Grimes, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his show.
The door opened and Captain Kessler, in uniform, stepped inside and closed the door. He gave everyone his politician’s smile. “Please, proceed.”
“Mr. Cahill has it out for this department and is going to do his damnedest to make us look bad in the investigation of Detective Landingham’s death.” Mitchell back in charge.
“I don’t give a shit about this department.” I was already tired of the inquisition. “I’m here to do a job, and from what I’ve seen so far, you could use the help.”
“Does your help include accusing a decorated detective of your wife’s murder?” Flora got hers in.
“My help is to find the truth. And the truth is that Tom Weaver was in Santa Barbara at the time of my wife’s murder, but he told everyone he was still in Fresno working a case. I’m guessing he falsified his expense report for that night or never turned one in.”
“I’m confused.” Captain Kessler from the front of the room. “What does Colleen Cahill’s murder have to do with Detective Landingham’s hit-and-run investigation?”
“Not a thing, Captain. Rick here is just trying to stir things up for personal reasons.” Mitchell put his hands on his hips. “And he thinks he has the right to throw around false accusations about good cops.”
“I didn’t accuse Weaver of anything. I just stated the facts and wanted to know what he did after he saw me in bed with his wife on the night Colleen was murdered.” Time to see what everyone knew and what Weaver’s story had been when he complained to Mitchell about me.
“What!” Grimes’ face flared crimson.
Mitchell’s left eye staccato-blinked six or seven times and his jaw tightened. Kessler frowned and Flora gave nothing.
“What’s this about Weaver seeing you and Krista?” Grimes still apoplectic.
“That’s enough, Jim.” Captain Kessler walked into our contentious circle. “You don’t have a badge anymore. We’ve been more than accommodating in letting you piggyback on this investigation. We’ll take it from here.”
“All due respect, Captain, I worked Colleen Cahill’s murder for three years and I just learned from Krista two weeks ago that this asshole had an alibi all along.” Grimes pointed at me. “That’s two people, one a good cop and one shitty one, who could have saved me valuable time and resources from going down a rathole investigation to nowhere. Now I’m finding out another cop knew Cahill couldn’t have killed his wife and never said anything?”
“And is a possible suspect,” I said.
“Shut up, Cahill.” Mitchell’s eyes cinched down on me and his lips turned white. “Tom Weaver didn’t have anything to do with your wife’s murder. He stayed at my house that night.”
“You knew, too?” A flick of saliva flew from Grimes’ mouth.
“Anyone not wearing a badge better shut their mouths right now.” The politician in Kessler morphed into mob boss. “Or I’ll find a reason to give them a two-night stay in jail.”
Grimes’ eyes bulged and he mashed his lips together. I didn’t need to be told twice. I’d spent a week in the Santa Barbara jail fourteen years ago. That was enough for a lifetime.
“Now,” Kessler continued with order restored, “Detective Mitchell, please explain your last statement.”
“I will, but after the civilians leave the room.” Mitchell eyeballed Grimes and Leah and me. “This is police business for police ears only.”
“Unless what you’re going to say jeopardizes an open investigation, Detective Mitchell, I suggest you proceed right now,” Kessler said. “We have one very agitated ex-homicide detective here, who I think you know, will use all his resources to get to the bottom of this even if I throw him in jail. Proceed.”
“I didn’t know Tom had found this asshole in bed with Krista. He told me that he saw someone with his wife and split before he went crazy and killed them both. He didn’t stick around long enough to get a good look at the guy. He got drunk and I gave him a place to stay and dry out.”
“What time did he get to your house?” Grimes couldn’t help himself. I suddenly respected the guy more than almost anyone I knew.
“Jim.” Kessler was back to smooth politician. More dangerous than crime boss. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my command? I just did you a favor by letting you stay and now you choose to disrespect me this way?”
“I apologize, Captain. It’s just that I worked that case for—”
“Enough.” Kessler put out his hand. “Now, Detective Mitchell, what time did Detective Weaver arrive at your house on the night Colleen Cahill was murdered?”
“Sometime after one thirty in the morning.”
Grimes vibrated but kept his mouth shut. I had to fight to do the same. Using Mike Richert’s earliest time estimation of what he saw on East Beach, after one thirty gave Weaver just enough time to leave Colleen’s body on the beach and make it to Mitchell’s house. Richert had said somewhere around one a.m. But there were two people on that beach. One in civilian clothes, like a detective might wear, Weaver, and one in a police uniform.
My stomach dropped and I glanced at Leah. She had no reaction. She’d missed what was jackhammering in my head. Two people on the beach. One dressed as a cop. The other not. Mitchell worked on SET when Colleen was murdered.
In a uniform.
“Sometime after one thirty doesn’t give Detective Weaver an alibi, Captain Kessler.” I hoped there was still some cop in Kessler underneath the politician.
“That’s enough, Cahill,” he snapped at me.
“Captain, this is really only for our ears. This concerns a man’s reputation. A good cop,” Mitchell pleaded.
“Judging by what I’ve heard today, his reputation is already in jeopardy.” Kessler stared down Mitchell. “Speak up, Detective.”
Mitchell blew out an angry breath. “Tom was in the Santa Barbara Jail in the drunk tank from eleven p.m. until I picked him up and brought him to my house.”
“How did he end up in the drunk tank?”
Mitchell didn’t say anything. He gave Kessler a look most cops wouldn’t have the guts to point at a supervisor.
“Answer me, Detective.” Kessler returned the look.
“He was pulled over by a sheriff’s deputy for a DUI in Carpinteria.”
“Hmm.” Kessler pursed his lips. “I think I’d remember a detective from SBPD getting arrested for a DUI. That would constitute a suspension and possible dismissal.”
“SBSO didn’t charge him. They gave him a break because he was a cop. He gave them my name to call. He’d just seen his wife screwing another man, Captain. He blew a gasket like we all would. Please don’t jack him up over this.”
“Is there a record of this?” I couldn’t help myself. It was all too convenient.
“I warned you, Mr. Cahill.” Kessler, playing the bad cop.
“And does anyone know where Weaver was when Krista was run over?” I asked.
Kessler glared at me. “Detective Flora, handcuff Mr. Cahill.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DETECTIVE FLORA TWISTED my right arm behind my back and slapped a cuff on it so quickly she must have anticipated Kessler’s command before the captain even said it.
“May I speak with the editor, Ms. Davidson, please?” Everyone looked at Leah. “Leah Landingham and I’d like the Free Press to know that the Santa Barbara Police just arrested a man for simply asking a question about the unsolved murder of his wife.”
Detective Flora held onto my left bicep and looked at Captain Kessler. Just like everyone else in the room. Leah held her phone up to her ear.
“Detective Flora.” Kessler raised his eyebrows and gave Flora a quick nod. Five
seconds later my hands were free. “Ms. Landingham, please explain to whoever is on the phone that you were mistaken.”
“I’m sorry. False alarm,” Leah said into the phone. “I misread the situation.”
She hung up after reading the situation perfectly. She’d been calm and smart under pressure and probably saved me from a night in the iron bar hotel.
“Detective Mitchell.” Kessler, calm, like he was at a meet and greet with constituents, which was doubtless in his future. “Please escort our guests out of the station.”
Mitchell squished his face into a fist. He was lead detective on a homicide. Not an errand boy or a gofer. Detective Flora looked at her shoes. Mitchell’s face relaxed but he didn’t move.
“Something on your mind, Detective?” Now an edge to Kessler’s voice.
“Sir, no sir.” Mitchell clicked his heels together and turned to us. “Come with me.”
Mitchell hurried through the halls and down the stairs with Grimes, Leah, and me in tow. Santa Barbara PD’s MIU was supposed to be their best of the best. Right now, it looked like a dysfunctional unit with command and morale problems.
Mitchell held the door open from the lobby leading to the outside for us and we filed out.
“Jim? This concludes our cooperation. You can direct all further inquiries to the community relations officer.” He closed the door to SBPD headquarters.
“We need to talk.” Grimes looked at Leah and me. “All of us. You hungry?”
“No,” we said in unison.
“Well, I am.” Grimes started walking and we followed.
He finally stopped in front of a sandwich joint called Pickles and Swiss in the Paseo Nuevo Shopping Center on State Street, a few blocks from police headquarters. The sandwich shop had a large arch-cased opening surrounded by green shrubbery growing up the wall like the ivy at Wrigley Field.
Leah and I sat outside while Grimes went inside to order a sandwich. Good. I needed a minute to talk to Leah alone.
“Any way your brother can find out if Weaver really was in the county jail drunk tank the night Colleen was murdered?” I asked her, then scanned inside the sandwich shop to keep tabs on Grimes.
“I can try, but why would Detective Mitchell make that up?”
“Mitchell wasn’t always a detective. He worked the Special Enforcement Team back when I was a cop. He most likely worked nights when Colleen was murdered. In a uniform.”
“Are you telling me that you think Mitchell was the cop on the beach Mr. Richert saw and Tom was the man in civilian clothes?” Leah’s eyes went wide.
“I’m saying it’s a possibility that has to be checked out. Mitchell is heading the investigation into Krista’s death. He can steer it wherever he wants to.”
“What about Detective Flora, his partner?” Leah’s hands and eyebrows rose at the same time. “You think she’d cover for a murderer? Or all the other cops who are working the case?”
“Of course not. I’m just saying we need to eliminate Mitchell and Weaver before we move onto someone else.”
Grimes walked out of Pickles and Swiss holding a small plastic basket with a sandwich inside and a bottle of beer. He sat down next to Leah at our table.
“You wanted to talk?” I said.
“Yes, I do.” Grimes stuck his French dip sandwich into a Styrofoam container of au jous and took a bite. I waited while he chewed his food. Finally, “Why the hell were you holding out that Weaver walked in on you and Krista? This one-way information bullshit has got to stop.”
“I didn’t know about it until late last night. I found out by accident and asked Weaver about it this morning.”
“Found out by accident? What the hell does that mean?”
I looked at Leah and nodded my head.
She told Grimes what she told me about Tom Weaver’s detective car in the driveway the night I screwed his wife and Colleen died.
“And you’re sure it was the same night Ms. Cahill was murdered?” Grimes asked. Maybe using her whole name or just her first one connected Colleen to me. I guess Grimes wanted to keep us separate. The good from the bad.
“Positive.”
“But Weaver has an alibi for the TOD.” Grimes looked at me. The bad. “He would have to have killed Ms. Cahill, wash her in bleach, dump her on East Beach, then get blotto drunk and picked up on a DUI all in an hour. Not doable.”
“We only have Mitchell’s word that he was in the drunk tank.”
“What’s your game, Cahill?” He set down his sandwich. “Are you more concerned about making good cops look bad or finding out who killed Krista?”
“I don’t have a game.” I tapped my finger on the table. “I look at the facts. And the facts that we know are that on the night Colleen was murdered two men were seen carrying something that looked like a body, which they left on East Beach in the exact area where Colleen was found. One was dressed in a cop uniform. Next set of facts: Tom Weaver was at his house at the same time I was in bed with his wife. Although he lied to Leah and me and said he wasn’t, Detective Mitchell claims Weaver admitted to him that he had been home and had seen someone screwing his wife. His supposed claim that he didn’t see who it was strains credibility. Thus, the reason I don’t take Mitchell’s story about picking up Weaver from the drunk tank as gospel.”
“That’s a nice speech, Cahill, but some of your facts are in question.” Grimes air quoted “facts.” “We don’t have any corroboration of this Richert guy’s story. He waited nine years to report what he saw. What kind of credibility is that? He could have remembered something he saw months before Ms. Cahill was murdered. Or maybe it was two years later.”
“Colleen wasn’t Ms. Cahill, Grimes. She was my wife.” I’d had enough of him distancing Colleen from me. I’d failed her the night she died, but no one was going to erase me from her life. “And Richert is certain because he kept records of all his sails. I saw them.”
“I wasn’t finished. I let you talk; now it’s time to listen.” Grimes looked from me to Leah, perhaps in search of a better audience. “The other thing that bothers me about Richert’s story is his claim that there were two people on the beach. There was no evidence that there was more than one person involved. That’s why I think Richert mixed up the dates. The only DNA the techs found was Rick’s and that was semen inside her.”
“That’s because the killers washed her in bleach,” I jumped back in.
“Forensics is going to solve Krista’s case, Cahill, not some story from a guy sitting in a yacht off East Beach fourteen years ago.” Grimes cop-eyed me. “MIU got the forensics back on the paint from the van that killed Krista. It was a Chevrolet G20 or G30 Sports Van from sometime in the 1980s. They got every available cop tracking down owners of those make and models in Southern California. Can’t be too many of those left after thirtysomething years. That’s how they’ll find Krista’s killer. Not through whims, gut feelings, or wild speculation.”
“How did they get the results so fast?” Forensic labs usually took months.
“Apparently, the chief has an in with a private lab that uses some new Belgian cutting-edge technology.” Grimes pursed his lips. “So this case is about to be solved the right way.”
“If they ever find the van, the owner won’t be the murderer unless he’s a cop at SBPD. The van will have been stolen. The killers are cops, Grimes.”
He pushed away his sandwich and stood up. “You’ve got a vendetta against the department, Rick, and it’s blinding you to other possibilities. Ms. Cah … Colleen’s and Krista’s murders aren’t connected. The sooner you let that go, the better for you and Miss Landingham.”
“You’re letting your allegiance to SBPD blind you, Grimes. You’re too good a detective for that.”
“I’ll continue to investigate as long as you’d like me to.” He ignored me and looked down at Leah. “But I prefer to work alone from here on out. You don’t have to make a decision now. Take a day and let me know.”
He walked out of the ma
ll.
“He could have been an asset, but after today SBPD will stop feeding him information anyway.” I looked at Leah, but she still avoided my eyes. “I’m going to try to talk to Dustin Peck at Joe’s tonight and hammer down his story about which way Krista was walking.”
“Okay.” She gave me a flat smile. “Can you take me home?”
We drove up to her house in the silence echoed from last night’s drive back from San Diego. Leah opened the car door after I pulled into her driveway but didn’t get out of the car.
“Can you call Jim?” She stared at the dashboard. “And see if you two can somehow still work together?”
“Grimes? You were ready to fire him Sunday if I asked you to.”
“I know. That was before we met with Detective Mitchell.”
“And?”
“I think Detective Mitchell was genuinely surprised when you told him Tom saw you with Krista. I was watching him carefully. He didn’t know. I think he’s telling the truth about Tom and the drunk tank. Maybe Tom really didn’t know it was you with Krista.”
“That’s not the way I read it.”
“I know.” Leah got out of the car and walked into her house.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I HEADED INTO downtown Santa Barbara at five thirty p.m. to wait out Dustin Peck. I learned from Grimes Sunday that Peck drove a metallic green 2015 Kia Soul. When Grimes still had an in at SBPD and could still stomach me as a partner. I found a parking spot in front of a house a block and a half back from State Street where all the employees of Joe’s Café supposedly parked. No sign of Peck’s car. I watched and waited.
My phone rang at 5:47 p.m. I didn’t recognize the number, but it had an 805 area code. Santa Barbara. I answered.
“Is this Rick Cahill?” Man’s voice. Forties or fifties.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Apparently, you think I can do something for you. My name is Frank Cornetta. You left your card on my front door.”
It took me a second to remember that I’d left my business card at the house with the security camera across the street from Krista’s.
