by Rick Reed
“Indiana State Police?”
“Is my traffic ticket book showing?” she asked, and smiled. “Special Investigations Unit. On loan from Indianapolis.”
Jack was surprised by her last remark. Chief Pope said the state police were being called in, but Trent must have called her in even before the attack on Liddell. The man-who-would-be-governor hadn’t wasted any time.
“Long drive from Indy,” he remarked. “You must be tired. Why don’t you freshen up and I’ll take care of things here?”
She laughed, not taking offense. “Actually, I was just about to suggest the same thing. I thought you would want to be with your partner, Liddell, and his wife, Marcie.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at their mention. Brooke had done her homework. This whole arrangement reminded Jack of a spaghetti western, where one of the gunfighters would say, “There ain’t enough room in this town for the both of us.” And then the other would say in a menacing tone, “Draw, partner.”
“If you two are done sparring, I need to get this body ready,” Lilly said, stepping in between them.
Brooke promptly pulled on latex gloves. “What can I do to help?”
“Both of you can get out of the way,” Lilly sighed. She began washing the body down with a length of garden hose attached to one of the faucets of the double stainless steel sink.
Dr. John slipped into a surgical gown, complete with hood and plastic visor. He pulled on a pair of mint-green latex gloves and approached the table as Lilly finished removing the mud caked to the pale body. A foot pedal operated a microphone suspended above the table, and Dr. John stepped on this and began the examination.
In the next hour, he collected the samples of liver, stomach content, heart, and lungs that would be saved or sent for toxicology.
With the physical part of the postmortem completed, Lilly pushed the remainder of the organs back into the body cavity and stitched the T-shaped opening shut with coarse twine. Then she pulled a sheet over the body.
Jack kept an eye on the state detective’s face. She had turned a little green around the gills during the removal of the internal organs, but if she had never attended an autopsy before, she hid it well. He knew veteran street cops who had thrown up or passed out under similar circumstances.
“So, no sign of sexual interference?” Brooke asked.
Dr. John pulled the facemask and hood off, wiping away the accumulated sweat. “The rape kit will tell for certain, but off the record, I would say she was not the recipient of a paramour’s attention.”
Brooke didn’t respond to the pathologist’s attempt at humor.
“No obvious sign of sexual activity,” Dr. John confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean the lab won’t find something.”
“I’ll get the lab to put a rush on the samples.”
“You buying?” Lilly asked. She hoped the state would absorb the cost of all the tests that would be needed.
“How can I say no?” Brooke said.
“Well then . . .” Lilly said, her mouth twisting into a smirk, “how about those tests we asked for on the other victims? Any chance of getting those expedited?”
“I can get things done,” Brooke said, and gave Jack a challenging look.
Afterward, Jack went outside to make a call. He had to shove his cell phone hard against his ear to hear over the sound of heavy truck traffic lumbering past on the Lloyd Expressway.
“What’d you find out, pod’na?” Liddell asked.
Jack wanted to tell him to forget about the case and rest, but he knew that was pointless. Staying involved was how cops survived.
“Brooke is rushing the toxicology and DNA results on the bodies the fishermen found in the creek. With her connections I’m hoping she gets the tests back pronto.”
“Brooke?” Liddell asked.
Jack was sorry he’d slipped out with the name. He didn’t feel like telling Liddell about the political backlash that had wormed its way into their case. He glanced at the open garage doors to see if anyone was listening. “Brooke is with the state police,” Jack said. “Special Investigations Unit from Indianapolis. Ever heard of them?”
“Sure,” Liddell said. “Special Investigators, as in, they wear bicycle helmets and ride the short bus?” Jack was glad to hear his partner joking around again.
“She’s driving a smoking hot black Charger, Bigfoot.” And she’s smokin’ hot herself.
“Interesting,” Liddell noted. “Is she cute?”
Jack didn’t want to get into that subject. “So, when are you going to quit stealing sick time from the city and come back to work?” He secretly hoped the Liddell would take a few days off.
“I see my doctor tomorrow. Captain Franklin won’t let me come back without a medical release.” Liddell didn’t sound pleased.
“Oh? That’s too bad,” Jack lied. “But I guess it proves what I’ve always said. You are the most hardheaded person I’ve ever known. Anyone else would be in the hospital for a month.”
“Listen, pod’na. Katie was at the hospital this morning, and I think she was hoping you’d be there. Is there any chance?”
Jack was glad Katie was there for Liddell and Marcie. “Any chance I’ll be at the hospital?” Jack asked, as if he were confused by the question.
“You know what I mean, pod’na.”
“How is Marcie?” Jack asked. He knew where Liddell was going with this, and he wanted to stop him before it got started. Katie was engaged to someone else.
“The doctor took his sweet time discharging me, so Katie got Marcie some hospital scrubs to wear home. They have little animals all over them. They’re kind of hot.”
“You are one sick man, Bigfoot,” Jack said. Then he smelled cigarette smoke. “Gotta go. Someone’s coming.”
He hung up just as Brooke came out of the garage. She was startled to see Jack there.
“Those things will kill you,” Jack said, nodding at her cigarette.
“So will a head-on collision at high speeds, but I still drive fast.”
He gave her a grudging smile, and she offered him one back.
“I don’t smoke,” Jack said, and started back inside.
“Maybe we got off to a rocky start, Detective Murphy,” Brooke said before he could get away.
Hearing the signs of a truce, he carefully chose his words. Nothing was ever as simple as it looked, nor as innocent. The prosecutor had called her in for one reason, and that was to get Trent off the hook politically. Therefore, her interest in the case was tainted. She might be a great detective. But he didn’t trust her.
“I promised my chief I would cooperate. You’re welcome to look through my case files, but I don’t have the time to catch you up to speed without slowing down the progress of the investigation.”
“What progress?” she said testily. “You don’t have a motive. You don’t have a suspect. In fact, you don’t have any evidence except a bunch of bodies in the morgue’s freezer.”
Jack didn’t have to put up with sidelines calls. He was turning his back when Brooke put a hand on his arm. “We should work together.”
He pointedly looked at her hand until she removed it.
“We are working together,” he said. “And when I catch these guys, you can have all the credit, Brooke.”
She feigned a disinterested look, but he could tell his remark hit a nerve. The last thing he needed was another agency meddling in the case. She might be pissed off, but that was okay as long as she kept her distance.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Seeing yet another press conference being held at police headquarters, Jack climbed the back stairs that led to the squad room. When he opened his office door he found Moira perched on the edge of his desk. Smiling, she held out a CD-ROM.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I talked to Marcie this morning. She said the flash drive was stolen.”
Jack raised an eyebrow as he took the silver disc.
“That’s a backup of the flash drive
,” Moira explained. “I copied it to my laptop before you came over last night. And before you give me a lecture, you already know I’m not going to stay out of this. I can’t. It’s my job.”
Jack didn’t know whether to be angry or hug her. “Come with me,” he said, and led her down to the basement, carefully avoiding any news people. After several twists and turns Jack led her into an office where a sign on the outside of the door said VICE UNIT.
Inside, a woman a few inches shorter but not much older than Moira set behind a desk covered with computer equipment and two laptops. Her flawless skin was the color of yellow coal, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and even darker eyes that bordered on black.
Jack made the introductions. “Moira, meet Angelina Garcia. Angelina, this is deputy prosecutor Moira Connelly.”
Garcia smiled and reached across the desk. “I was wondering when I’d get to meet you.”
Moira took her hand and said, “Me, too. Jack says you are the genius behind their work.”
Garcia’s dark eyes grew wide at the compliment. “Funny, he never tells me that.”
Jack handed Garcia the disc. “This is a copy of the flash drive I told you about. Moira found the thumb drive in Nina Parsons’s office, and this is the only copy. It doesn’t exist. Understood?” After what had happened with Liddell last night, he didn’t want to take any chances, and he didn’t want to get Moira into worse trouble for not turning the copy over to Eric first.
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on it,” Garcia said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Is Detective Jansen still on this?”
Good question. Jack hadn’t seen or talked to Jansen since Tuesday, when Liddell had forced him to give them the name of the dancer, Samantha Steele.
“I’ll find out, but my guess would be no, he’s not working with us anymore,” Jack said.
Garcia inserted the disc and started scanning files. “If you’ve got a minute, I think I can give you something. This doesn’t look too difficult.”
Jack and Moira traded a look. They had both been stumped last night.
He asked Moira, “Did you get in trouble for taking the flash drive home?”
Moira’s face flushed at the memory of the dressing down she had received from Eric Manson in front of half the office. She had to wonder if Katie had seen this side of him.
“Eric’s being at the office last night is kind of odd now that I think about it. He accused me of snooping, but wouldn’t say what he was doing there so late. And when I first got there, I found my office door open and I’m sure I closed and locked it when I left work earlier. He and Trent both gave me the loyalty speech, about how we’re one big family, and if I come across anything in Nina’s office I should let them know immediately. Why do you think that is, Jack?”
“Maybe Eric was in the office late working?” Jack suggested.
Moira made a face at him. “Not dressed like a roadie for Lynyrd Skynyrd he wasn’t. You should have seen him, Jack. I had the feeling I surprised him when I came out. He gave me an ugly look, and insisted on walking me out. Which makes me wonder how he knew I had found the flash drive in there. I said it was my flash drive.”
Jack had the sheepish answer for that. “It’s my fault he found out. I’m sorry. I told Captain Franklin about you and the flash drive last night, and I’m sure he told Eric.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I should have told him myself.”
She was right, but he was still glad Moira had given him the flash drive first. If Eric or Trent had known about it, they might have held it back until they were sure there was nothing embarrassing on it or, worse yet, given it to Brooke.
“Any idea who the two guys were who attacked Liddell?” Moira asked. “Or why?”
Jack shook his head. “Liddell didn’t see it coming. He remembers getting out of his car. He vaguely recalls the beating and then waking up in the hospital. He didn’t even hear the gunshots.”
Moira’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did Marcie really shoot one of them?”
“There was a lot of blood in the gravel, but Liddell did take quite a beating.”
Moira’s innocent question flipped a switch in Jack’s brain. He’d been so worried about Liddell and Marcie, and dealing with the prosecutor’s interference, that he hadn’t really concentrated on his questions from this morning.
If the motive for the attack was to obtain the flash drive, how did they know about its existence? How did they know Liddell had it? And how did they know where Liddell lived? They must have been waiting at Liddell’s. So, it was an ambush. And that brought up a new thought.
If the recent killings in Harrisburg were connected to Evansville’s, there had to be more than one person involved. How could a lone killer subdue and dismember both Hope Dupree and her pimp? And how was Nina’s body carried through the fence and buried in pieces in the landfill? That was almost impossible for one man to accomplish. Just the fact that all that had been accomplished over a seven- or eight-hour period made the scenario of two or more killers involved more likely.
In light of all that, the attack on Liddell by two men armed with only baseball bats didn’t make sense. The other victims were killed with a cutting instrument. They could easily have killed Liddell before Marcie came out, but they didn’t. Why not? Was it really a robbery gone wrong? Was the flash drive taken by coincidence? Or did the two guys who “moved like a military team” have something else in mind? These guys are too good to be pulling street robberies. They went after Liddell and the only thing he had was the flash drive.
The thumb drive was the key. He didn’t know what all those numbers meant, but he had learned to trust his instincts.
“Done,” Garcia said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Most of these are Vanderburgh County Superior Court files. Drug and prostitution cases. Others are from counties where a special prosecutor was requested. I’ve sorted the cases into local ones and those that are from other jurisdictions.” She switched to another laptop and punched up another set of files. “These are the cases from other counties.” Garcia gave Jack a significant look. “All the cases from other counties had a special prosecutor from Vanderburgh County assigned to them.”
“How can you tell that?” Moira said, awed.
Garcia pointed at a letter at the end of the case file number. “This column are the cases where a special prosecutor was assigned to another county. This number here tells me who the prosecutor was. Trent Wethington tried all the cases until about five years ago. After that, Eric Manson was special prosecutor on everything.”
She indicated another set of numbers. “This column of numbers all represents cases within Vanderburgh County. Once again, Trent did the older cases, and Eric took over about five years ago. And the last two cases show Nina as the prosecutor.”
“Is there any way to get a list of the defendants and victims in those cases?” Jack asked.
“The Indiana statute code is part of the case number. Here,” she said, pointing at a list of numbers. “I can’t tell from this who the victim and suspect were, but I can tell you that all these cases were drug or prostitution cases.” She asked, knowing what Jack would say, “You want me to give you a list of names?”
“Drugs, prostitution, and Eric and Trent,” Jack said. That didn’t tell him anything.
“Maybe Nina was doing some research for Trent?” Moira suggested.
Jack shook his head. “So why tape the flash drive to the underside of her desk? And why just Trent, Eric, and herself?”
Moira shook her head. “Maybe there was some special way these cases were handled. Eric or Trent assign all the cases, so the two that Nina had were given to her by one, or both, of them.”
“I’ve heard Trent doesn’t take cases to court unless it’s a high-profile defendant,” Moira said. “Eric’s the same way. Eric does most of the case assignments. Trent spends most of his time with Bob Rothschild. It’s a joke around the office that Eric is
the real prosecutor and Trent just works on his campaign for governor.”
“Angelina, get the names from those cases,” Jack said. “Let me know what you find.”
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“You’re the computer genius,” he said with a smile. “Sort them and call me.”
“I have your permission to hack the court database?” she asked.
Jack thought about using Moira’s computer authority, but he didn’t want her to get any more involved. If her name came up flagged, she would be in deep shit.
“Use my name and password. I’ll take the heat.”
Before Jack even finished speaking, she had typed in some commands. She snapped her fingers and said, “Okay, you’re in.”
Moira looked surprised. “You already got in the court database?”
“Not me. Him.” After a few more keystrokes she sat back.
“These local cases”—she pointed at the monitor—“were dismissed, had a finding of not guilty, or were pleaded out to probation,” she said. “Drug charges. Prostitution and a smattering of theft cases. It’s just the kind of mix you would expect from drug addicts. The common denominator is that all the cases involved female plaintiffs. Eric or Trent were involved in about all of them.”
“What about the cases where a special prosecutor was involved?” Jack asked.
“The same. Drugs, prostitution. All women defendants. All were pleaded out or dismissed.”
“Maybe these women were confidential informants?” Moira suggested.
“Any of our victims listed in there?” Jack asked, and Garcia shook her head.
Female confidential informants. Was that what Nina was looking into? Could she have known Hope Dupree or any of the others? She and Eric had only served with the prosecutor’s office for five or six years, and some of these cases went back almost twenty years. Eric’s philandering wasn’t likely a connection to all of them. And Trent? Not much chance.
But if Eric or Trent were involved with any cases involving Hope Dupree, or Sammi Steele, Garcia would have found out. The records check on both women didn’t show any arrests for prostitution or drugs, but Hope was well-known in Harrisburg for drugs and prostitution, and Sammi could have moved here from somewhere else. If that was the case, why didn’t Jansen find anything? Of course, if they were confidential informants, maybe the records were sealed. That would explain the lack of information.
