Killing Justice

by Allison Brennan

  John wondered if they'd named the room for Senator Maddy because he had been one of the few likeable people in politics. He doubted it. John hadn't met a politician he himself liked, Senator Lara James excluded. Could be his job, of course. He didn't meet many politicians until they broke the law.

  Senator Bruce Wyatt sat alone at the table talking on his cell phone. He was in his mid-forties, physically fit, and he still had a full head of graying light brown hair. The sleeves on his white Oxford shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up just below the elbow, his burgundy tie loose around his neck.

  Wyatt had been in elected office for twelve years, John knew. Six years in the State Assembly, he was now in the middle of his second senatorial term. That meant Term Limits loomed up ahead for the senator and because of this, Wyatt was now running for Congress, his opponent Assembly Member Kevin Andersen. It had so far been one of the most talked-about and bitter primaries in the state. Wyatt and Andersen had a long-time rivalry and a scandal wasn't in Senator Wyatt's best—or even worst—interests.

  John motioned for the cop to leave him alone with Wyatt and closed the door. Wyatt jumped up, snapping his cell phone closed. “Who was she?” he demanded. “What happened?”

  John motioned for the senator to sit. Wyatt hesitated, then complied. John pulled out a tall-backed chair opposite him and sat comfortably into the soft leather.

  “You didn't recognize her?”

  “I—I couldn't tell. I may know her, but I'm not sure. Maybe she's someone I've seen on occasion? Familiar, but . . .”

  Wyatt knew her. John would swear to it, but he didn't push. Not yet.

  “Let's go back to the last time you were in your office.”

  “Today?”

  “Before today.”

  “I drove back to the district—my hometown of Shasta—on Thursday. Early afternoon. I had an evening event and a full schedule there on Friday. I spent the weekend with my family.”

  John made note. “I need a copy of your schedule for the last week.”

  “I'll have my scheduler print it out.”

  “Who has access to your office?”

  Wyatt leaned back. “My staff. Department of General Service. The CHP, the Sergeants, janitorial staff, rules committee. I think State Parks has a master key because the building's a historical landmark.”

  Great. Who didn't have a key?

  “How did you find the body, Senator?”

  “During a meeting with Senator James, she thought smelled something coming from the armoire. The key wasn't there so she picked the lock.”

  “How long has the key been missing?”

  “I don't know. I put a clean suit in there Monday. But I always leave the key in the lock. I’d planned to wear the suit on Thursday, but I was running late and didn’t have time to change.”

  Easy enough to verify. But it still didn't clear Wyatt of murder.

  “Did you touch anything in the armoire?”

  “I don't think I've touched it since I put my suit in there on Monday. And I can assure you, Detective, there was no dead woman in the armoire then.”

  III.

  State Senator Lara James paced her office, running her hand impatiently through her short dark hair. She didn't want to be stuck in here, but the CHP officer had told her to sit tight until Sacramento PD talked to her.

  Patience was not one of her strengths.

  The face of the dead was imprinted on her mind. Not just the dead woman upstairs in Wyatt's office, but every dead soldier and civilian Lara had faced during her nine years of military service.

  A bullet to the leg had ended her career two years earlier, and she didn't want to see any more death. Wasn't that one of the reasons she'd run for public office in the first place? To work her way up to a position where she could do more good than harm? How laughable. What had she been thinking?

  She was neither a warmonger nor a peacekeeper. She was a soldier who believed in right and wrong, who knew the threat and was willing to fight for freedom. But she'd seen far more evil during her time abroad than she'd known existed. For it was one thing to read textbooks about mass murders and war atrocities; it was quite another to dig up a mass grave of women and children.

  A voice popped into her head, followed by a distinct memory.

  “Women and children first!”

  It was a familiar voice followed by a woman's laughter, and Lara recalled the swish of a door and more voices. The California Restaurant Association had converted an old bank into their offices, and the main floor still had heavy, old-fashioned glass doors. Why would she think of that building now? When was the last time she was there? It was a fundraiser, she hadn’t wanted to go because she didn’t like glad-handing and small talk, but her colleagues talked her into it.

  Lara rolled her chair over to her bookshelf and pulled out the most current edition of the Lobbyist Directory.

  She sat behind her desk and flipped through the pages, each quarter-page included a photo and bio of a lobbyist registered with the State of California.

  And there she was. The woman in the armoire.

  Lara stared at the woman with short, slick blond hair and vibrant green eyes, her smile sweetly seductive for a canned shot.

  Lara realized that she hadn't immediately recognized the lobbyist because not only had her face been partially obscured, but she'd only met her a few times. Wyatt had introduced them at a fundraiser. He'd offered them both a ride home, and Lara had gratefully accepted. Her sore leg had been bothering her, and she'd been too proud to use a cane.

  “Women and children first,” Bruce had said when he pushed open the heavy door for Lara and the lobbyist, Tiffany Zaren. Tiffany had laughed.

  Lara's secretary Bonnie knocked on the door then opened it and said quietly, “John Black from the Sacramento Police Department is here to see you.”

  Lara looked up. She couldn't believe . . . “Black?” she repeated.

  “Hello, Lara.”

  John smiled at Bonnie and walked around her. Bonnie shrank back and closed the door, leaving Lara alone with him.

  He didn't sit, and in her position, Lara felt unusually vulnerable. Not because she was a woman, but because John was tall and broad, and at times, hulking. A ruggedly handsome detective whom she'd slept with on more than one occasion. Some might have called it a relationship.

  “Can't avoid this call, can you?” he said as he slid into the chair across from her desk and crossed his legs.

  Lara bit back a nasty comment and flipped the lobbyist directory toward the detective. She tapped her finger on Tiffany Zaren's picture. “I think she's your victim.”

  John snatched the book and examined the photograph. “You could be right.”

  “I am right.”

  He kept the directory. “You discovered the body, I'm told.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “How?”

  “I smelled it.”

  “Senator Wyatt said you smelled a rodent.”

  “I said I smelled a dead animal. But I knew that wasn't accurate.”

  She didn't need to elaborate.

  “And you just opened the armoire?”

  “I took out my trusty-rusty Swiss Army knife.” She cracked a half smile and waved the knife in front of her. “The file is a multi-use tool.”

  John grinned. Damn, but was he sexy when he smiled. “What else did you touch?”

  “Wyatt's desk and probably the conference table. The armoire. I didn't touch the body or anything inside.”

  “Where was the key?”

  “Wyatt said he noticed it missing last week.” John wrote something down. Lara leaned forward. “Okay, what's going on?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “Did you notice the position of the body?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the legs. They were broken. I think the body was moved.”

  “There's no proof”—”

  She waved her hand. “Look, I may not be a cop, but I've been
around enough dead people in my life to know what happens when you move them. Rigor mortis had set before she was crammed into that space. So my question is, where was she until she was moved into that cabinet?”

  He didn't answer her question. Instead he asked, “What do you know about Wyatt?”

  “Bruce is one of the good guys,” she said without hesitation. “He served in the first Gulf War. He's the one who talked me into running for office in the first place.”

  “And that makes him a good guy?”

  She laughed. John was one of the few people who amused her.

  “I know him, John. Murder? No. He'd be a congenital idiot to kill someone in his private office then stuff the body in a piece of furniture.”

  “He's looking at a congressional seat.”

  “This is America. You don't kill the competition. Lie about them, maybe; kill them, no.”

  “Could have killed her in a panic, planned to dispose of the body later.”

  “That's ridiculous.”

  “You know as well as I do that killers don't always think ahead.” He made a note. “What about Wyatt's staff?”

  “I really don't know any of them, except Rob Douglas, Bruce's right hand man. He seems okay.”

  John's cell phone went off. He answered it, said two words, and hung up. “Let's go identify the body.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  “You have the photograph.”

  “Maybe I just want more time with you, Lara.”

  “You could have called.”

  “I did. You ignored me.”

  Touché.

  IV.

  John introduced Lara to the investigators in Wyatt's office as he signed her into the log. “Don't touch anything,” he admonished.

  She slipped on latex gloves nonetheless. She'd done five years as military police after two tours of duty in Iraq.

  Wyatt's office now looked like a crime scene. The body had been removed from the armoire and now lay on an orange plastic tarp to preserve evidence.

  The victim was indeed Tiffany Zaren and the first thing Lara noticed was that lividity was set on her left side.

  “So she was moved,” Lara said.

  John turned to a uniformed officer standing near the door and handed him the lobbyist directory. “The victim is Tiffany Zaren. Get her address, employer, associates, the whole nine yards. Call her office and find out the last time anyone saw her, if she's married, has kids, elderly parents living with her, a boyfriend, an ex—”

  Lara interrupted, “She's divorced, no kids, and lives in one of those new lofts downtown. 16th and J. She’s a lobbyist with Nygrant, Prescott and Zaren. Her biggest clients are Indian gaming.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn't know her well.”

  “I've talked to her a couple times. I have a good memory.”

  John caught her eye. “So do I.”

  She turned back to the victim, flustered, and hating being flustered. She'd been avoiding John for the last couple of months. The intensity of their relationship unnerved her, and she thought a break was in order. He just didn't know when to give up.

  And she didn't know if she wanted him to.

  “You're correct, Senator James,” Simone Charles said. The criminalist turned to John. “The M.E. confirmed it. She was on her left side for at least twelve hours. But she had to have been moved in a fairly narrow window—twelve hours after her death up to twenty-four. There's no ID or purse in the armoire or the office. She's missing a garter and a shoe.”

  John asked, “Have you finished sweeping these offices?”

  Simone shook her head. “We're still collecting evidence,” she said “We'll be done here in an hour, then can expand the search to the rest of the floor.”

  “I'll check into”—” John began before the CHP officer interrupted.

  “Detective, we have some sensitive issues here”—”

  “We have a dead body here.”

  “There are one hundred and twenty elected officials in this building, plus the governor’s office—”

  “Ms. Zaren's body was moved. We don't know if she was killed in this room, or in another part of the building. Or outside the building and brought in. Did you get the security tapes I asked for?”

  “For the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Make it for the last week,” John said. He glanced around the office. “There's no security in here?”

  “Not inside the offices. Most public areas are covered, entrances, elevators. It would be virtually impossible to pass through the halls without being caught on at least one camera.”

  “What about security to get into the building?”

  “All entrances have cameras, metal detectors and X-ray machines. Staff and guests are required to pass through them.”

  “Not after hours,” Lara interjected. “Any staff can come in using their I.D. card. Legislators can walk around the screening or come in through the garage.”

  “I want all security tapes of everyone who has come in and out of this building, from elected officials to janitorial staff,” John said. “Are there cameras in the garage?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want those tapes, too. Get it all to Officer Smiley here.” John gestured toward a dour-looking cop standing by the door. The two left, and John turned to Lara. “What else do you know about the victim?”

  “She went to all the fundraisers, which isn't surprising for a lobbyist for Indian gaming issues. She knows I'm not one of her votes, so I don't see her much.”

  “Detective?” Simone said. “The M.E. is bringing up a gurney to transport the body. He shared his preliminary findings.”

  “What do you have?”

  “She was stabbed once in the chest. The weapon hasn't been found, but it's likely a narrow, non-serrated knife. She's been dead over seventy-two hours, less than one week. She was moved close to twenty-four hours after she died.”

  “A full day? What about smell? Why didn't anyone notice her earlier?”

  “The building is air-conditioned. That’s going to slow the rate of decomposition. And the cedar lining of the armoire masked the smell. The victim wasn't killed in this room,” Simone added. “The only blood we've found is dried”—”

  “She's been dead for more than three days. Why wouldn't it be dry?”

  “I should say flaked. If she were killed here, I would expect to see blood in the carpet or on the furniture, even with a thorough cleaning job. If the killer tried to clean with bleach or another caustic chemical, that would show. Everything is pristine. But there are some blood flakes all around the armoire, and several just inside the secondary entrance into this office.”

  “Secondary entrance?” John questioned.

  Lara pointed to the door across the room. “That’s the main entrance. It leads to the staff area and where visitors would come in.” She turned and gestured to another door, this one closer to the senator’s desk. “The secondary entrance is used primarily by the senator to come and go without having to pass through the waiting area. For privacy and security.”

  John said, “So the victim was brought in through that door.” He opened it. A narrow hall led to the main thoroughfare.

  Simone said, “I can’t rule it out.”

  “Someone would certainly notice if a dead body was being carried through the building,” John said. “Are you certain she wasn't killed in this room?”

  Simone shrugged. “There's an odd mark on her back.” The criminalist rolled the victim to her side and lifted her white silk blouse. On Tiffany Zaren's flesh was an impression, almost like a white stamp, in a perfect 2x3 rectangle. There appeared to be small letters within it.

  “I can’t make out the words,” John said.

  “I think her back was against some sort of embossed metal plate for several hours. I'll work on it and get back to you, but so far we haven't been able to find anything in this office or the adjoining offices that match this shape and size.” She r
olled the body back over. “The knife pierced her lung and she probably suffocated, or died of bleeding into her pericardium. There's not enough blood here for her to have bled out. But look at her hands”—” Simone lifted one arm. Dried blood coated Zaren's hands with more streaks and marks on her arms, skirt, and blouse.

  “She was trying to stop the bleeding.”

  “Either she pulled the knife out herself, probably stunned or in shock, or the killer pulled it out and she grabbed her chest. Wherever she was killed, there's going to be blood evidence.”

  Lara interrupted. “You don’t need me here. I'm going back to my office.”John glanced at her over his shoulder. “Good. Then I'll know where to find you.”

  V.

  John went back down to talk to Wyatt. Two men in crisp suits were arguing with the haggard-looking senator. “I'd like to speak with Senator Wyatt in private,” John said.

  “This is an embarrassment to the institution!” one of the men exclaimed.

  Wyatt had gone pale. “But what happened? How did she get into my office?”

  John escorted the two men to the door, closed it behind them, then sat on the corner of table, his height giving him an additional psychological leverage over the sitting Wyatt. He hadn't decided whether Wyatt was guilty or not—Lara was right, only an idiot would stash a body in his own office. But Wyatt wasn't acting as John would expect an innocent man to act.

  “You know the victim,” John stated.

  “I just found out. Tiffany Zaren. Of course I know her. I'm carrying one of her client's major bills.”

  “Indian gaming?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the bill controversial?”

  “Anything related to Indian gaming is controversial,” he said. “That doesn't have anything to do with this.”

  “Then what does her death have to do with?”

  “I don't know. I—I still can't believe it.”

  “When was the last time you saw Ms. Zaren?”

  Wyatt paused, as if thinking. But John suspected that he knew exactly the last time he saw the pretty lobbyist, just as John was positive Wyatt recognized her when he first saw the body. Was he trying to protect himself or someone else?