Lack of Jurisdiction

by G. K. Parks

  “Does this whale have a name?” Jacobs asked, sipping the coffee.

  “Rodney Wheeler.”

  “The former senator?” Thankfully, he swallowed before I spoke, or I might have been sprayed with coffee.

  “That’d be the one.”

  “Shit.” He snorted. “That explains a lot.” He typed a few things into the computer and then returned his full attention to me when the magical box didn’t provide the answers he was seeking. “What charges are they hoping to bring?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How does Eastman fit into this if he doesn’t know anything about Hodge and Costan?”

  “I have some suspicions, but nothing substantiated.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “Frankly, it still isn’t adding up. Off the record, Paul lets everyone push him around. He attempted corporate espionage with Hodge’s help, but nothing that resulted in a big payday. My gut says perhaps that tracks back to Costan or Wheeler. Maybe they invested and used the impending corporate leaks to buy and sell stocks to make millions more. Hodge was working with Costan and informing to the FBI about it, but I don’t think Eastman was aware of this. Oh, and in case you don’t know, Wheeler is part owner of the hotel, so he also had access to Hodge.” I let out a breath, and Jacobs swallowed, attempting to digest these facts. “But when Eastman was in custody, he insisted I speak to Oster to get him out of trouble. So I’d say he’s running something on the side with Jason. I just don’t know what that is or if that tracks back to the Costan/Wheeler/Hodge triangle.”

  “Does Eastman know Wheeler?”

  I was certain I was red with embarrassment. “I didn’t ask.” Forest for the trees, Parker, and I couldn’t see the forest for the goddamn trees.

  “Afraid of the answer?” Jacobs asked.

  “Actually, I didn’t think about it. I was too busy determining Wheeler’s connection to Costan and Hodge, and then I was more concerned with figuring out who could be responsible for the two deaths and how Eastman and Oster fit into it.”

  “Someone should really ask Mr. Eastman about Senator Wheeler,” he pointed out unhelpfully. “Want to borrow a pen and make a note? Or can I have another chat with your client?”

  “Only if his attorney’s present.” I didn’t necessarily want to play hardball, but it came as second nature.

  “Fine. But when you find out, call me.” He rubbed his face. “Since you’ve been so forthcoming, I’ll let you read through the interviews from Tuesday night into Wednesday morning when everyone was questioned.”

  “So my punishment for my helpfulness is being sentenced to death by boredom?” I teased.

  “There are a few things you might find useful. Hell, if you let me speak to Eastman again, I’ll even clue you in as to what parts of the interview logs might be particularly pertinent.”

  “Careful, Detective Jacobs, you’re this close to becoming my new best friend.” I held my forefinger and thumb close together, and he rolled his eyes and led me down the hallway to another room equipped with dozens of monitors.

  Twenty-seven

  “Where are you?” Mark asked over the phone.

  “I’m in hell. How did your morning with Agent Walton go?” I asked.

  “It went. We have some things to talk about concerning the Wheeler angle. Are you at the motel with Eastman?”

  “No, I’m at the precinct in transcript limbo. Weren’t you paying attention?” I feigned annoyance. “Paul attempted to fire me again this morning. Well, not fire me so much as redefine my entire job role, again.”

  “Oh, I see he told you he thought the bodyguard thing was a joke.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “I know that. And you know that. He isn’t smart enough to know that.” There was a brief pause. “But you were willing to leave him alone anyway.”

  “He should be safe. No one has any idea where he is. And if he’s stupid enough to blow the location of the safe house we set up, that’s not my problem.”

  “I’ll swing by and make sure he’s okay. Want to meet me there, or do you need a badge to get you out of the precinct?”

  “I’m okay. I’ll free myself once I finish reviewing this new information.”

  “Take plenty of notes. We’ll exchange info in two hours.”

  “Sounds good.” He hung up, and I closed the file from Kenneth Anderson’s interview.

  Rolling my neck from side to side, I stared at the stack of files I already read. One was the report from the Secret Service, claiming there was no suspicious activity prior to the discovery of Alvin Hodge’s body. The other two were from the PDN employees that discovered Hodge. From the way Anderson and Talbot answered the questions and my own recollection of how they acted in the immediate aftermath, I was fairly certain neither of them was involved. So far, reading through the transcripts was a complete waste of my time.

  Paul Eastman’s interview was the most interesting, and from the notes Jacobs scribbled, it made sense why the police believed he was involved. It was also why I believed he was involved. He was hiding something, and anyone with half a brain would realize it with his cagey responses. Unfortunately, if everything Paul said to me in the last week was to be believed, then what he was hiding wasn’t necessarily relevant to Hodge’s murder. Sure, it might lead to other suspects and more appropriate questions to ask, but it wouldn’t paint him as a killer or directly lead to whoever was.

  “Find anything I missed?” Jacobs asked, returning to the room.

  “No, but you have excellent penmanship.”

  He snorted and pulled up a chair. “I want access to Eastman, unprotected, non-privileged access.”

  “It’s a waste of your time. He’s not the killer, and he shouldn’t be expected to waive his rights so you can put the screws to him again.” Frankly, not that long ago, I would have been happy to take a phonebook to the side of Eastman’s skull, but that was neither here nor there.

  “Why are you protecting him? He fired you, and the guy’s a huge pain in the ass.”

  “Because someone tried to kill him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t particularly enjoy being in his company, but,” I shrugged, “he’s a victim. And you guys didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “How many POIs did you give the benefit of the doubt to when you were on the job?” His question held merit, but I chose not to answer.

  Picking up the interview notes, I found the one line that still irked me. “Did you even bother to check out the identity of the caterer that showed up Monday afternoon? The one Eastman reported as a security risk because of his lack of I.D.”

  “We’re looking into it.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means everyone was accounted for on Monday. The caterers weren’t short a person.”

  The implication crashed into the forefront of my thoughts. The killer was inside the hotel on Monday. “When was the last time anyone saw Alvin Hodge at work?” I asked, tossing a disgusted glance at the dozen other pages of notes and interviews that the PD conducted of the hotel employees.

  “Monday morning.”

  “And Hodge’s TOD?”

  “Monday.” He blew out a breath. “We’re looking into it.”

  “Look faster. The killer was already on the premises. And one of the hotel co-owners probably gave him the heads up on the employees, the security protocols, the hotel schematics, and the whole fucking plan that PDN devised. That I devised.”

  “Parker,” Jacobs began as I stood and slammed the chair into the table.

  “Don’t.” I held up my hand. He was either going to say I wasn’t responsible, or he wanted more information. Either way, his usefulness expired two seconds ago when it became apparent he was dragging his heels on bringing in the actual party responsible for the killings. “You want to find a killer, then go find a killer, Detective. It sounds like he was hired to do the job. Subpoena someone’s financial records. I gave you a name. Get to work.”

  “Oh, so now I ta
ke orders from you?” he asked, amused.

  “Well, it looks like you need some pointers since you have yet to identify the caterer or the killer.” I stomped to the door, but a single thought kept eating away at me. “Have you been dragging your feet because you were hoping I’d give you Wheeler and you could score a really grand collar for yourself? Has this just been about posturing?”

  “Watch yourself, Parker. You’re speaking to an officer of the law, and the last time I checked, you aren’t even lucky enough to call yourself that.”

  “Fuck you, Jacobs.”

  Storming out of the room, I wasn’t certain he wouldn’t arrest me. Things between us started out civil. We were working on the give and take, but somewhere along the line, everything went to shit. That partnership we had forged just blew up. Mark would be pissed, and I’d be forced to listen to the ‘play nice with others’ speech again. I hated that speech. And I wasn’t certain that I wasn’t to blame.

  But the police department’s method of investigating wasn’t actually getting to the bottom of anything. They wanted to keep me in the dark, accuse Eastman of everything, and not bother to track down the actual culprit because they were hoping to steal the more lucrative collar out from underneath the FBI. And somehow, I would end up being accused of withholding evidence or, at the very least, causing waves. It wasn’t fair, especially when I was the only one without a dog in the fight. And that thought was what made everything fall into place.

  When I returned to Eastman’s motel, Mark was inside, and the two were talking. He looked up, expertly reading my facial expression and body language. He didn’t say anything but stopped the conversation and waited patiently.

  I let out a bitter laugh and brushed the hair out of my face. “Politics. Goddamn politics. This entire shit situation is because of a pissing contest. Detective Jacobs, Agent Walton, probably that jerk we talked to from the Secret Service, they all want some fantastic collar. And me, being a total idiot, gave the police department Wheeler’s name.”

  “Well, they should have it. Wheeler was behind the two hits,” Mark said. Obviously, his meeting with Agent Walton must have resulted in an exchange of factual information. “The accountants are still monitoring his financials. His phone and internet records are being pulled, but Walton’s certain he ordered the two hits. The techs are running everyone from inside the hotel through facial rec. Our killer was one of the caterers and bypassed the security. With any luck, we’ll be able to find him and use him against Wheeler. The FBI just gained access to all the security footage from the hotel for the last month. It won’t be long before arrests are made.”

  “The killer wasn’t really a caterer. Someone misappropriated one of the security passes from a caterer.”

  “But the badges have photos on them,” Eastman piped up, wanting to be part of the discussion.

  “Because a razor blade and access to a laminator couldn’t fix that in two seconds,” I retorted.

  “Alex,” Mark said my name sharply, and I fell silent, “take a breath. You’ve helped the police department get to the bottom of this.” He bit at his thumbnail. “Do you think the PD and FBI will botch each other’s mission? Maybe I should give Walton the heads up.”

  “No. We’re not picking sides. Let the FBI and PD fight it out. If the Secret Service wants to get involved, maybe they can referee.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” Paul asked, defusing some of the animosity and tension.

  “You approved the security provisions, provided the passes, and you were colluding with Hodge.” I swallowed, squinting at him to make sure I didn’t miss something. “Do you know Rodney Wheeler?”

  “No.” Paul shook his head, but I was too preoccupied to decipher if I believed him or not.

  “The FBI and police think you know more than you’re saying. Even though you don’t know Wheeler, I’d bet he thinks you’re a risk too,” Mark added, pondering the ramifications of that. “That’s probably what led to the attempted poisoning.” He tapped the pen against the table. “Oster’s probably working for Wheeler,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

  It made sense. Oster could work for Wheeler in an official hotel capacity and perhaps never technically get his hands dirty while still cleaning up any mess or involvement that might have been caught on tape. It’d be nice if everything was just black and white instead of a million different shades of grey.

  “What was on the memory card?” I asked.

  “It was blank. Nothing was ever on it. Oster must have replaced it,” Mark said.

  “When was Rachel…Lexie in your apartment?” I asked Paul, hoping to attack the problem from a different angle.

  “Three weeks ago. I picked her up at a bar the week before we did the final run-through at the hotel.” Some thought flitted through his mind, and he cringed. “I might have mentioned my job and the important role we were playing the following week.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Hey, dangerous shit and obvious bravery work wonders with the fairer sex.”

  “Careful,” Mark whispered to him, afraid I might demonstrate exactly how much fairer my gender was by ripping out Paul’s throat with my bare hands. I paced the room, wanting to burn off the anger and frustration of the morning but failing to find an appropriate outlet to vent. “Do you think Oster put her up to it?”

  “Probably, but without her cooperation, we have nothing on him. And I doubt any one of these moronic law enforcement officials do either.” Even as I said the words, something buzzed in the recesses of my brain. Something was off.

  Cheap motels didn’t offer much room to pace, so I flopped onto the extra bed and stared at the ceiling. Not that this position was any more productive than pacing, but something wasn’t sitting right. I just needed to figure out what it was.

  “You think Lexie poisoned me?” Paul asked.

  “What are you thinking, Parker?” Mark chimed in, knowing my habits better than anyone. “Talk it out.”

  “Paul’s date can’t be responsible for tampering with his water filter because according to his medical report, the fluoride could only have been building up for five or six days.” I bit my lip. “Rachel seducing Paul still doesn’t make sense,” I insisted. “Not with the way she talked about Alvin. It sounded like she would have stayed with him if he wasn’t involved in his under the table dealings. She talked about him like she was still in love with him. And when I spoke to her, I don’t think she knew he was dead. Plus, she’s screwing Jason.”

  “Okay, who the hell is Rachel?” Paul interrupted.

  “You referred to her as Lexie, but her real name is Rachel Romanski,” I said, watching for a reaction, but he didn’t have one. “She’s Alvin Hodge’s ex-wife.”

  “Shit,” Paul muttered, dropping his head to his hands. “I didn’t know.” He lifted his gaze off the floor and focused on Mark. “Why do you think she would use me like that?”

  Mark scoffed. “How the hell should I know? I’m not exactly a dating magnet.”

  “I assume someone put her up to it so they could gain access to your apartment, but I don’t know why. Is it possible she made a copy of your house key or you told her what your home security codes are or something?”

  “That night’s a bit of a blur,” Paul replied. “I can’t imagine that someone would do something like that. What would be the point?”

  “She could have planted evidence or taken something to plant at one of the crime scenes,” I suggested.

  Mark took the cue and put his jacket on. “I’ll be back later. I’ll see if anything damning against Eastman turned up at any of the crime scenes. But if you figure something out in the meantime, give me a call so I don’t look like too much of an ass at the precinct. I’m guessing you’ve won the award for biggest ass of the year today, and I have no desire to compete for the title,” Mark teased.

  After he left, I went prone on the bed. There was a solution. I just wasn’t sure what it was or how to find it.

  “You do realize there�
��s something you’re forgetting,” Paul said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me.

  “What’s that?”

  “I know most of the people at the hotel. I’ve heard tons of gossip, and I know the bulk of the people involved in this. Why aren’t you using me to figure this out?”

  “Because you said you didn’t know Wheeler.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t possess other useful information. Let’s take it from the top.”

  “Fine.” I sighed. “Let’s start with when PDN entered the bidding war for the security conference.”

  Twenty-eight

  Paul Eastman was aware of PDN’s role at the conference an entire month in advance. I was hired shortly after, even before the Secret Service finalized PDN’s position as a third party contractor. While I was evaluating PDN’s security protocols, emergency measures, and other operating procedures, Paul ran background checks on every single hotel employee, the catering company, drivers, valets, the conference attendees and their personal security details that were considered public knowledge. Most of the delegates kept their own security details quiet, but he had contacts at a few other personal security agencies, and they were willing to trade information with PDN.

  No one stuck out as an obvious threat. No mention of Frank Costan ever surfaced during Paul’s preliminary analysis. After all of this was complete, he turned over his findings to the Secret Service. I wondered if the point was to source out the menial labor or if they were conducting their own searches and gave this job to Paul to keep him otherwise occupied.

  Next, he went to the hotel manager, Gordon Russell, and asked for complete access to the hotel’s security system. Russell passed the request off to Jason Oster, whom Paul had dealt with in the past, and the two of them reviewed the security cams and determined the blind spots. Around this time, I evaluated the work Paul had already done, made some suggestions and modifications to the sweeps, and we began conducting our drills.