by David Archer
Sam glared at him, but a part of him was starting to understand Burton’s position. As a prosecutor, he had a job to do whether he liked it or not, and Sam had known many who didn’t like it at all. Still, it was an important part of the American justice system, and any lawyer in that position had no choice but to do the job to the best of their ability. After a few seconds, he softened.
“Yeah, I can,” he said. “But tell me this. Is there anything you can think of that I can do to get through to the DA? Anything that might get him to realize Karen wouldn’t do this?”
Burton shook his head. “I wouldn’t have any idea what it might be. To be honest, I don’t think he believes she’s guilty either, but he’s not going to back down because of the political pressure.”
Sam stared at him, glumly. “Okay,” he said. “What sort of evidence can you imagine would be sufficient to at least cast enough doubt on her guilt that he’d be willing to sit down and talk to me?”
Burton leaned back again and closed his eyes and thought. “If you can come up with a witness who can say she was elsewhere at the time the shots were fired, that might do it. I know that she claims she talked to somebody on the fourth floor just before that, but we couldn’t find anyone who remembered her. There’s only a couple of old people up there, and neither one seems able to remember what they had for breakfast, let alone who they might’ve talked to.” He opened his eyes and sat forward. “The only other thing I could think of would be a witness who could state believably that they saw someone else do it. Those are the only two possibilities I can come up with, Sam. Other than that, you’d have to find out who the real killer was and bring them in.”
“Which would be the best situation all around, anyway,” Sam said. “Will, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me at least. When is the next hearing?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Burton said. “Nine a.m.”
“All right. Then I’ve got to get busy.” He stood and left the office, tossing a friendly wave at the receptionist on his way out the door.
Sam drove out to the jail and arranged to speak with Karen. Since she was his client, the jailers were happy to comply. One of them led Sam to the interview room where the two of them could speak alone, while another went to fetch Karen and bring her.
“Mr. Prichard,” the jailer, whose name was Darrell, said as they walked along the hallway. “You don’t believe Detective Parks did this, do you?”
“Not at all,” Sam said. “I’ve known her for years, and she’s not a murderer.”
Darrell nodded. “That’s pretty much how we all feel,” he said. “We’re trying to treat her decently while she’s here, but a lot of us are just pissed off that she’s in here at all.”
Sam grinned. “Trust me, I know the feeling. How’s she holding up?”
“Oh, she seems okay. Laughs and cuts up with us, but this has got to be hard on her. She’s got kids, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I went to talk to them last night, let them know what was happening. I promised them I’ll do my best to get her out of here, and I’ll make you the same promise. You can spread the word to the rest of the jailers, let them know I’m doing everything I can.”
They arrived at the interview room and Darrell opened the door. Sam stepped inside and took a chair, and a moment later Karen was brought in. Sam noticed that the jailer hadn’t even bothered to handcuff her, even though it was part of the standard jail rules.
“Good to see you, Sam,” Karen said once the door was shut. “Any good news?”
“Not enough,” Sam said as they sat down at the table in the room. “Were you told about the victim yet?”
Karen nodded. “Yeah, the jailers got a message from Carol last night and told me to call her. She filled me in, but I’m hoping you can tell me more about this. The victim was FBI?”
“Yep. He was undercover, working with Samara to try to get close to the people above him. Turns out Samara works with the Greek Mafia, and he’s been helping terrorist organizations smuggle people and things into the country. Kingsley, the FBI agent, was posing as a Greek American and working with him. I just found out from my old friend Harry Winslow this morning that Samara might have been jealous of Kingsley, because he seemed to be moving up in the organization. The bosses out in Los Angeles specifically asked for Kingsley to do something Samara normally handled. Right now, that puts Samara at the top of my suspect list.”
Karen looked at him for a moment, then scowled. “You’re thinking that he somehow stole my gun and used it to kill Kingsley, so that I’d be framed for it? I hate to say it, Sam, but that’s a little far-fetched even for me. He didn’t know I was coming there yesterday morning, and if I’d seen him in the crowd around me, I’m pretty sure I would’ve known him.”
“Yeah, probably,” Sam said. “Still, somebody got hold of your gun and used it to kill Kingsley. As far as I can tell, the only one with a motive that stands up would be Samara. It could be nothing but the jealousy I mentioned, or it’s possible he might’ve found out that Kingsley was undercover. Either one of those could be enough motive for a guy like Samara to kill him, don’t you think?”
Karen sighed and nodded slowly. “I’ll grant you that, but there’s still the matter of how he got hold of my gun. Sam, the worst part about this is that I didn’t even know it was gone until I reached for it, and that was after I heard the shots. How in the world could I not have realized my holster was empty? That thing weighs damn near two pounds, I should’ve felt it missing.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “You said you were surrounded by Devils when you first got there, right? You do realize that some of them are expert pickpockets, don’t you? People like that could lift the gun without you ever realizing you’d been touched, so you wouldn’t notice a weight difference.”
She looked at him for a moment, pursing her lips as she ran her tongue over her teeth while she thought. “I guess that’s possible. And then, whoever it was just handed the gun off to Samara? Still kind of a big stretch, Sam.”
“Not really. Think it through, Karen. You’re standing there demanding to know where Samara is staying, and somebody lifts your gun. You get sent on a wild goose chase up to the fourth floor, what do you think the person who took your gun is going to do?”
Karen stared into his eyes for a couple of seconds, then nodded again. “He’s gonna go straight to Samara. He tells him there’s a detective looking for him, and for whatever reason, he hands over my gun. Samara takes it, probably says something about using it on me.” She blinked. “If Kingsley was there at the time, he may have tried to interfere, and that would piss Samara off. That gives you a whole new motive, Sam. Samara wants to eliminate me, the detective who’s after him, so if Kingsley tried to stop it…”
“Samara shoots him,” Sam said. “Kingsley falls back and gets shot again, then turns and tries to run but that’s when Samara fires the fatal shot to the back of his head. He was probably holding the gun with gloves on, or maybe just with something wrapped around it, so he tosses it into the closet and takes off.” Sam shook his head. “Imagine his surprise when he hears that you’ve been arrested for murdering him. As it stands right now, Samara thinks he’s legally dead, because the FBI is keeping Kingsley’s identity and death a secret.”
“Of course,” Karen said. “If they let it get out that he was undercover, their targets will start eliminating anybody new that’s come into the organization, just in case he had a partner. Standard procedure.”
“Okay, so let’s go with this theory. Somebody stole your gun and took it to Samara, who then used it on Kingsley. Karen, it’s the only thing that really fits.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t going to help me much. The DA is still pushing to hang me for murder, regardless of who the victim turned out to be. On top of that, I won’t even be able to go to trial until the FBI is ready to acknowledge Kingsley. The only hope I’ve got at the moment is to pray you can convince a jury that the theory you just came up w
ith is enough to cast doubt on my guilt.”
“Not necessarily,” Sam said. “We can leave Kingsley completely out of it and let them charge you with murdering Zeno Markakis, which is the identity Kingsley was using. The theory still holds up, that Samara killed him because he didn’t want to be involved in the murder of a police detective. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince a jury that Samara would have considered Zeno a witness he couldn’t afford to leave alive.”
Karen grinned and shrugged. “Okay, that might work. Carol would have to agree not to mention Kingsley in court, or make any reference to the undercover investigation, but that would only strengthen the argument. Think the DA would go along with it?”
“I’m pretty sure he would. It gets you on trial sooner, rather than later, so he’s making his big statement about fighting police brutality.” Sam reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “You just hang in there, and I’ll see what I can do. I hate the thought of you going on trial, but it might be the only way to save you from this.”
10
She nodded. “How did the kids take the news?”
“David wanted to try to help me,” Sam said, “but Katie just seemed shocked. I told him to call me if they need anything, but I’m going to make a point of stopping by to see them after school this evening.”
“Thanks,” Karen said. “They’re pretty tough, but they’re still kids. They both know where I keep the cash stash, so they shouldn’t need money for a little while. I just hope we can get me cleared sometime soon, because I don’t like sitting in here. Hell, I got cases out there I should be working.”
“Well, for now it’s me that needs to be working this case. And that reminds me, you said you were on the fourth floor when you heard the gunshots, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Do you know who you were talking to at the time? The police say there’s only a couple of old people who live up there, and they claim they don’t remember you ever being there.”
“Old people? The guy I saw wasn’t old, he was maybe in his early thirties. Blonde hair, blue eyes, about five ten, the kind of muscles that suggest a football uniform and perfect teeth. He was just coming out of the apartment on the right, I think it was 4A.”
Sam’s eyes had lit up as she spoke. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you got his name? If I can find him and get him to testify that you were with him when the shots went off, you’re out of here.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t. When the shots went off, the only thing I could think of was finding my gun and praying I would get out of there alive. I left him standing right where he was and took off running down the stairs.” She scowled. “I understand somebody is now claiming they saw me shoot the victim.”
Sam waved a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, but he’s not a threat. He’s an alcoholic who couldn’t be a credible witness if his life depended on it. He claims he saw you in the hallway knocking on the door, and that you opened fire as soon as the door opened. Blood patterns in the apartment make it clear that the shooting happened much further inside. I’ve already spoken to Carol about him, and she’ll have no trouble discrediting him.”
“What about the pregnant girl? I mean, all she saw was me checking the body for signs of life, but she still started screaming that I killed him.”
“I’ve actually spoken to her,” Sam said, “and she admits that when she saw you, you did not have a gun. I’m pretty sure she’ll stick to that if she has to testify, but that’s just another indicator that you’re telling the truth.”
Karen chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “I’m going to tell you something,” she said after a moment, “but I don’t want Carol to know anything about it. Okay?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay,” he said.
“You might try talking to Snake, boss of the Devils. Nobody knows this, but he’s one of my informants.”
Sam grinned. “That explains a lot,” he said. “He’s the one who took me to Nikki, the pregnant girl, and to Booker, the alcoholic. I got the distinct impression he doesn’t want to see you go down for this crime.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because we’re old friends. I busted him back when I was still in juvenile division, after you left. He surprised me with how intelligent he was, so I cut him some slack. It was just a pot charge anyway, so it wasn’t like he was getting away with much. He ended up joining the Army and was gone for a few years, but then he turned up back here as a dealer. I ran into him and found out he was only messing with light stuff, and he offered to feed me information. Ever since then, he’s called me up when he came across information about any of the other gangs, especially when somebody got killed. We have a little quid pro quo arrangement; he keeps the Devils out of any serious crime and lets me know about what the other gangs are doing, and I convince gang division to go easy on the Devils. Whatever information he gives me gets passed along to the boys at gang or vice, but nobody knows where I’m getting it. I have to keep it that way, so you can’t ever ask him to testify for me, no matter what he knows. Deal?”
Sam nodded. “Deal,” he said. “I think I’ll pay him another visit today.”
Karen grinned. “Tell him he knows just how grateful I’ll be if he can help you find proof I didn’t do this. He’ll know exactly what I’m saying, don’t worry.”
“Okay. You need anything?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Today’s commissary day, I get to order candy bars and instant coffee. What else could a girl want?”
Sam chuckled and tapped on the door. The jailers appeared a moment later to take Karen back to her cell block and let Sam out of the building. He thanked them for doing what they could for Karen, then headed back out to his car.
He had just gotten the car started when he remembered the text he had gotten from Carol the day before. He took a look and saw Officer Wilson’s phone number, then tapped it with his thumb. The phone dialed automatically and he put it up to his ear.
“Pete Wilson,” the officer answered.
“Officer Wilson, this is Sam Prichard. I’m sorry it took me so long to give you a call, but I’ve been pretty busy.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Wilson said. “There’s a rumor going around that the guy Karen is supposed to have killed was really an undercover fed. Is that true?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Sam said, knowing that was an answer in itself. “Carol Spencer said you wanted me to call.”
“Yeah. Listen, there’s a bunch of us who don’t believe Karen murdered anybody. The problem is that jerk Rivers is determined to try to hang her for this whether she’s guilty or not. He claims it’s because the chief is wanting to crack down on police brutality, but there’s a bit more to it than that.”
“Okay, I’m listening. What have you got?”
“I’m gonna give it to you, but I have to ask you not to use my name anywhere. Rivers is bad news, and I can’t afford to be on his bad side.” He seemed to take a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to do. “Carl Rivers is a bully. He pushes uniforms like me into doing a lot of what should be his legwork, and sometimes he even forces some of us to make statements that aren’t entirely true. It’s a matter of doing anything he has to do to make his case, but a lot of us are starting to wonder if he might be dirty. The reason I’m talking to you is because of this guy that we thought was dead, Samara. He’s been coming in and out of town for years, and Rivers has been seen with him on several occasions. It’s always in the dark, somewhere, like in an alley or something. Nobody knows what they talk about, but those of us who have seen them together get the impression they’re involved in something. Something illegal, to be honest.”
“Really? Any idea what it might be?”
“None of us have any specifics,” Wilson said, “but there’s one thing we’ve noticed, and it’s that right after they get together, Rivers goes out of his way to keep all of us out of LoDo for a couple of days. There’s something going on down there, and Rivers se
ems to be covering it up.”
“Interesting,” Sam said. “Even more interesting that Rivers was assigned to this case. I talked to Barnhart, but he says it was just a matter of not having enough of the actual homicide detectives available. Do you have any kind of opinion on that?”
“I don’t know anything for sure,” Wilson said, “but I heard last night that Rivers went straight to Barnhart when he heard about the shooting and asked for the case. Something about how he’d been trying to bust Samara for years, but if there were any truth to that we’d know it. He would’ve had us trying to dig up dirt on the guy, but every time we thought we had something on him, Rivers would tell us to drop it.”
“Why didn’t you ever go over his head?” Sam asked. “You could have gone straight to Barnhart, or up to the chief’s office.”
“Donnie Plimpton tried that a couple years ago,” Wilson said. “You might not remember him, he was only on the force for a couple years, but he tried going to Barnhart with a complaint about Rivers, and he got transferred back to traffic. A month later, he was directing traffic when a light went out and got hit by a car. Now, I’m not saying Rivers had anything to do with that part of it, but we all know damn well he got transferred because Rivers wanted him out of the way. Barnhart said the transfer was just because Donnie wasn’t working out as a patrolman, but I worked with the kid. He was a good cop, Mr. Prichard.”
“Okay, I get it,” Sam said. “Is there any kind of evidence that Rivers and Samara were breaking the law?”
“Nothing but what I already told you. Whenever they got together, we were all told to stay out of LoDo for a little while. The only reason for that would be to keep us from discovering whatever was going on, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. And apparently Barnhart is either involved or stupid. Did your friend ever try going to the chief?”
“Donnie? I know he talked to the deputy chief once or twice, but it didn’t get him anywhere. He was still in traffic, and then when the car hit him it was a real mess.”
