by Karen Rose
Joseph glanced at the wall of drawers that held victims’ remains. ‘Officer Mancuso will be put in one of those drawers once his wife says goodbye. We need to make a change here, JD. Our plan isn’t working.’
No, it wasn’t. Dammit. JD looked around. ‘Who’s here, Neil?’
‘At the moment, right here? Just us,’ Quartermaine said, his irritation clear. ‘Three other pathologists are working today, but they’ve gone out to lunch. What’s this about?’
‘Valerie Jarvis was beaten to death four weeks ago,’ JD began.
‘I know,’ Quartermaine snapped impatiently. ‘I did her autopsy.’ He looked away, his jaw clenching. ‘I’m sorry. It was a difficult one. Her face . . . was just gone.’
‘I know,’ JD said quietly. ‘It was my crime scene. Some things you just can’t unsee. And when I think about her kids seeing her that way . . .’
‘That’s all I could think about after finishing her exam,’ Quartermaine said with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. Continue, please.’
JD was actually reassured by Quartermaine’s outburst. The man was a damned good ME, meticulous and sharp-eyed. Almost as good as Lucy had been when she’d had Quartermaine’s job, before Jeremiah was born. That a brutal homicide had affected him demonstrated that he retained his connection, his commitment to the dead. His humanity.
‘Nothing to be sorry for. It appeared to be a robbery gone wrong. The house had been thoroughly searched. Torn up. Valerie’s sister, Lilah Cornell, went searching for her after Valerie didn’t pick up her younger daughter from day care. Janie, who is five, was with her aunt when she discovered Valerie’s body. According to her aunt, so was Jazzie, the older daughter, who is eleven. All that’s in the police report. What isn’t in the official report – yet – is that we found drying bloody footprints at the scene, leading from the body to behind a chair in the corner. They matched the size and shape of Jazzie’s shoes.’
‘Oh hell,’ Quartermaine whispered. ‘She got home first? She found her mother?’
‘We think so,’ JD said. ‘Her aunt found her hiding behind the chair when she got there a few hours later.’
Quartermaine’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. ‘I didn’t think I could imagine worse than those two girls finding their mother, beaten like that. But imagining the older one alone with that body for hours? Yeah, that’s worse. Still, why the secrecy?’
JD grimaced. ‘Because we think we have a leak somewhere in the system. If that little girl saw something . . . I can’t let it get out. The killer left believing no one had seen him. If he finds out?’
‘He’ll come back for the child,’ Hector said heavily. ‘We all saw the mother’s body. We know what he’s capable of doing.’
Quartermaine gave a short nod. ‘Yeah, we know. But why do you believe there’s a leak?’
‘We put in the preliminary report that there was an estranged husband and we were looking for him,’ JD said, ‘because a man caught on the Jarvis apartment security video was about the right height. The husband’s name is Gage Jarvis and he has a history of domestic abuse. We put a BOLO out on him. Within twenty-four hours, we had an alibi. A sheriff’s deputy out in Texas called to say that he’d seen Gage on the day of the murder, but no one had seen him the day after or any time since. We kept the BOLO active, and two days later, one of the items stolen from the Jarvis apartment shows up in a pawnshop. A brooch. Worth about fifty bucks. On the shop’s security camera, selling the brooch, is Toby Romano, looking carefree. He told me he’d found it on the ground where he slept. He got ten bucks for it and used it to buy meth.’
‘You believed him?’ Quartermaine asked carefully, and JD shrugged.
‘I believed he didn’t kill her. I didn’t believe he’d found the brooch on the ground. There was some connection to the killer. I just never found out what it was.’
‘If Romano had killed the woman,’ Hector said, ‘he probably wouldn’t have sold the brooch in a pawnshop with a camera. He was smart enough to ditch us, so it’s clear he was too smart to incriminate himself like that.’ He looked down at the body on the table with a sigh. ‘He’d have traded it or taken it to a seedier shop, done a back-alley sale.’
‘Exactly,’ JD said with a nod. ‘We think someone set him up to take the fall. He’s about the same height as the man we saw on the camera in the Jarvises’ apartment lobby. But Romano was playing basketball with some friends during the last half of the time-of-death window. His pals vouch for him. Of course, they’re junkies too. So . . . alibi by junkies versus a Texas sheriff’s deputy. It’s clear which one you’re going to want to believe.’
Hector grunted. ‘The alibi from the deputy is damned convenient.’
JD shrugged again. He’d been around and over it so many times. ‘The deputy’s got a good rep out there. We’d need evidence to accuse him of lying.’
‘Like the little girl telling what she’d seen,’ Quartermaine murmured. ‘I take it she isn’t talking?’
‘Would you?’ JD asked soberly.
Quartermaine flinched. ‘No. I’m amazed the child isn’t catatonic.’
‘She nearly was,’ Joseph said with a sigh of his own. ‘We got her into Daphne’s equine therapy program, hoping we’d shake something loose. So far, nothing. The child hasn’t spoken since finding her mother.’
‘And we don’t have much else besides flimsy alibis and a hocked brooch,’ JD admitted. ‘No physical evidence in the apartment itself. Valerie’s killer was smart. He poured bleach all over the kitchen, where he washed up and wiped down the surfaces he’d touched. Mostly I’ve got my gut, which is saying that it doesn’t make sense that Toby would beat the woman to death. I’ve known him for years and he’s never been violent.’ He sighed. ‘Was never violent,’ he corrected himself. ‘He had no connection to Valerie Jarvis that I could find. And the beating . . . it was personal. Her killer broke every bone in her face. He broke her fingers, one of her arms, and several ribs. This was a crime of passion. Of rage.’
‘And the husband?’ Quartermaine asked. ‘You said he had a history of domestic abuse. I found evidence of old breaks in Valerie’s arms. All that was in my autopsy report.’
‘I know. Valerie filed a complaint against him almost three years ago, but withdrew it. He disappeared shortly thereafter, leaving his job. His boss insisted that Gage left for personal reasons. That he’d been given a stellar recommendation and would be welcomed back.’
‘But you didn’t believe him?’ Quartermaine asked, his brows quirking up.
‘No. The boss was way too smooth, which didn’t surprise me, since he was the senior partner of Stegner, Hall and Kramer. Ritzy criminal defense firm,’ JD added when the ME looked confused.
Hector’s jaw tightened. ‘They’re notorious for representing anyone with enough money to pay, including known drug kingpins. The prosecutors’ office suspects they’ve bought off jurors in the past, but they’ve never been able to prove it. Gage Jarvis was one of their up-and-comers before he “quit”. He had a rep for getting his clients off when it looked like the prosecutors had a slam dunk, and he was one of the firm’s most productive junior partners.’
Quartermaine made a sour face. ‘And if it got out that he’d been fired, they’d have a shitload of appeals or civil suits because all the other firms would smell blood in the water.’
‘Exactly,’ JD said grimly. ‘Plus Gage Jarvis specialized in defending murder suspects, so he’d know how to frame an innocent man.’ He looked down at Toby Romano. ‘I don’t think Toby killed Valerie Jarvis. I’ve been watching him for weeks to see if he met with anyone who might have been involved. Or to see if he tried to pawn or trade any other items stolen from the apartment. Or if someone tried to deepen the frame, since I hadn’t arrested him yet. I thought Valerie’s killer might try to corner him, but I didn’t expect him to OD on meth.’
�
��He didn’t,’ Quartermaine said, surprising him. ‘He OD’d on coke. There was meth in his system, but it was only a fraction of what he’d have needed to OD.’
JD frowned. ‘Toby Romano didn’t use coke. To my knowledge he never had. It was too pricey for him.’
‘Unless he sold some more stolen items,’ Joseph said. ‘That he just happened to find on the ground beside him.’
Quartermaine checked his notes. ‘He had some items on him when he was brought in. A watch and a pair of earrings were sewn into a hidden pocket inside the waistband of his pants. We took an inventory by X-ray and sent it all to Agent Brodie in CSU. She opened the pouch and confirmed the items were on the list of things stolen from Valerie Jarvis.’
‘Does that account for everything that was stolen?’ Joseph asked.
JD shook his head. ‘It’s hard to say. Valerie’s jewelry box had been emptied, but her sister said she’d been selling stuff off to pay the bills. The victim had once owned many valuable pieces, but Miss Cornell was pretty sure they’d all been sold long ago.’
Quartermaine pointed to the still-covered body of the second man. ‘Well, John Doe had one of the items, too – a wedding band that had belonged to the victim’s mother. It was gold plate. Not worth a lot.’
‘He must have found it in Romano’s pocket before Officer Mancuso stopped him from searching,’ Hector said.
JD shook his head. ‘Why wouldn’t Toby hide the ring with the other items?’
‘Maybe he was planning to sell it for more coke,’ Joseph said. ‘Maybe he showed it to John Doe there, and John Doe decided to take it from him.’
‘But it was worth less than the brooch,’ JD pushed back. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
Quartermaine’s brows had crunched, like he was thinking hard. ‘But other things might. Things you need to know about John Doe,’ he said, lifting the sheet from the man’s face.
JD sucked in a startled breath. ‘Wait. I know him. His name’s . . . Clyde? No. No, Cleon. He’s a dealer. But not Toby Romano’s.’
Three
Baltimore, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 3.25 P.M.
Gage flinched at the knock on the door of his room, his back going ramrod straight as his fingers fumbled the slide of the Glock he’d been cleaning. Recovering quickly, he began to methodically – and quickly – reassemble the gun while tilting his head toward the door to better hear the rattle of the doorknob in case his visitor got a little impatient.
He was on alert, his senses acute. Hyperaware. He glanced at the cupboard where he’d hidden the stash he’d found.
He wasn’t expecting anyone. He’d already paid his rent for the week. In cash, of course, because it was that kind of place. No lease, no credit check, no signature, no trail.
His neighbors kept their heads down, just like he did. Nobody wanted anybody else to know they were there. Because it was that kind of place.
His landlord never came inside this building, probably because of the rats. Gage couldn’t say he blamed him. He’d lived in places like this off and on for the past few years, once his money had run out. At least the rats in Baltimore were smaller than the ones in Florida, where they truly were the size of chihuahuas.
The landlord collected the cash at the back door on Mondays, between seven and eight a.m. ‘Be there with the green or be evicted by eight fifteen’ was his motto. Gage didn’t even know the guy’s real name and he didn’t care.
Gage racked the Glock’s slide as he sidled up to the door. There was no peephole, because the tenants rarely, if ever, had visitors. Other than the landlord, only one other person knew he was there.
‘Yeah?’ he grunted, lowering his voice.
‘It’s Denny,’ came the quiet reply. ‘Open up.’
His brother, Denny, was that one other person and had only come to see him once before – the day Valerie got what was coming to her. That had been the only time Gage had physically seen Denny in the month that he’d been home.
Well, if you didn’t count all the times Gage had planted himself down the street from Denny’s house so that he could observe his brother’s routine and, importantly, his family’s. One never knew when such things might come in handy.
Especially since Denny was the only one who knew what Gage had done that day. Denny probably wouldn’t tell, but Gage knew he could turn that ‘probably’ into ‘definitely’ with the right threat. A man’s family was an easy target.
And if Denny got brave all of a sudden? Then he’d die. It was as simple as that.
Holding the Glock at his side, Gage opened the door enough to be sure that Denny was alone. He was, so Gage let him in, sliding the pistol into the back of his waistband.
‘Arms out,’ Gage snapped before Denny could say a word.
‘What? Why?’ Denny demanded.
‘Just do it.’ Gage stared down at him until Denny complied, sticking his arms straight out with a roll of his eyes. Gage ignored him, focusing on patting him down, making sure he carried no weapons. He even checked Denny’s ears. ‘Damn wires are getting so small.’
‘Really, Gage?’ Denny said, exasperated and angry. ‘I’m not wearing a fucking wire. I got you your alibi, for God’s sake. I’m not going to turn you in.’
Gage couldn’t care less if his brother was annoyed. Hell, Gage couldn’t care less if his brother was breathing. But Denny had gotten him the alibi, so that counted for something.
At least his brother wasn’t a complete waste of skin.
Gage wished for the ten millionth time that he hadn’t called Denny in a near panic after leaving Valerie’s place that day. He’d instantly regretted it. In hindsight, he could have handled it himself. Denny had loaned him some money, enough that Gage could rent this place and feed himself for a few weeks. He’d then tried to help Gage look innocent, but had fucked the situation up even more, which was typical of Denny. Having a deputy sheriff in Texas voluntarily call to say he’d seen Gage on the day of the murder had made BPD suspicious.
Still, Gage had an alibi and he’d built the rehab story around it to account for where he’d been in the interim. He’d say that it hadn’t been a fancy rehab facility this time, because he’d been penniless and homeless. This time rehab was in the home of a friend, a junkie who’d gotten sober. He’d gone online and researched the towns in the vicinity of the deputy who’d given him the alibi. He’d found one such do-gooder – a junkie turned mega-church pastor who’d been very helpful once Gage had paid him a personal visit. He’d had to steal a few old clunkers for transportation, but it had been worth it.
It had taken a week of his time and most of the money he’d taken from Valerie’s jewelry box, but it was worth it. One cleverly picked hooker to seduce the former junkie and get him into her hotel room plus about a hundred photos Gage had snapped on his phone of the two going at it like weasels on the hotel bed made for one very desperate mega-pastor.
He’d thought Gage wanted his cash, and Gage had taken some of it. But what he had really wanted was for the preacher to vouch for him, to spin a tale of Gage’s detox and recovery. A reformed junkie would have all the lingo right, so his description would be spot on.
There would be no medical records and no money trail for prosecutors to follow. The combination would stand up in court were he ever to face a grand jury. There was plenty of reasonable doubt. He’d defended and won cases that were far flimsier than his.
He stepped back, satisfied that the only thing Denny carried was a few extra pounds. ‘Why are you here?’ he snarled, and his brother shook his head.
‘I always forget how much of an asshole you really are,’ Denny said, actually marveling at what everyone else in the universe already knew to be fact. Everyone except their mother. She’d never believe Gage to be anything but an angel.
‘Why are you here?’ Gage repeated,
even more annoyed.
‘Why are you here?’ Denny hurled back.
Gage looked around the shabby little room. It barely fit a twin bed, and the bathroom was so small he had to practically straddle the toilet to pee into the bowl. He deliberately misunderstood the question. ‘Because it’s all I can afford right now.’ Until he got his first paycheck. Which would hopefully be in two weeks.
Denny’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t get smart with me, Gage. Why are you still in this city? I gave you an alibi.’
‘And I’m grateful,’ Gage said mildly.
‘So be grateful in another city. Another state. Better yet, another fucking country!’
Gage raised a brow. ‘There are fucking countries? Hell, that’s where I want to go. God knows I haven’t had any in a while.’
Denny’s nostrils flared, his breathing sharp and hard, like a bull ready to charge. ‘For God’s sake, be serious.’
Gage leveled him a look – the one he’d given as a defense attorney to clients who were guilty as hell but not properly grateful that he’d taken their case. The one he’d given as a customer to the dealers who’d tried to rip him off. And, at the very end, the one he’d given to any other addict foolish enough to try to take his cot in the Miami shelter where he’d finally hit rock bottom.
That look had had the same effect then as it was having on Denny right now. His brother visibly paled and took a step back. But to Denny’s credit, he wasn’t pissing his pants. Not yet. His little brother was meeting his stare with one of his own, level and . . . honest. Above all else, Denny had been honest.
Wrangling that alibi from the Texas lawman must have cost his brother a part of his soul. Because Denny was also a loser. Which was why his brother worked at a Legal Aid office when Gage had been a junior partner of the most prestigious firm in the city.
