Dangerous Passage

by Lisa Harris

  “Tell us what happened, Bear.” Carlos let go of the cup, still pressing for an answer. “We need you to tell us, because when you lie, it makes us believe you’re hiding something.”

  “I . . . she was laying in the alley. Every night I go by that alley. I never saw her there before.”

  Good. They were making progress. Avery touched the edge of the file. “She was there because someone killed her. We want to find out who killed her. Did you kill her, Bear?”

  “No. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  Avery tried to read the man’s expression. Fear. Panic. “But you’ve hurt people in the past, Bear.”

  “Only once. That man . . . he hurt my wife.”

  Avery weighed each word, not wanting to cross the fine line that pushed a suspect too far. But not pushing enough would give her nothing.

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Bear.” Avery couldn’t help but wonder what had gone wrong. Two years ago, the man had been a professor at the local community college. Then he’d lost everything. Had anyone even noticed? “I know you must miss her very much, but right now I need to know about the girl from Sunday night. What can you tell me about her? Someone hurt her, and it’s my job to make sure that the person who did it is brought to justice.”

  Bear clasped the table with his fingers again. “She . . . she was laying on the ground. By the Dumpster in the alley. I . . . I thought she was sleeping, but she never woke up. I tried to wake her up.”

  “What time was it?”

  “Time?”

  “What time was it when you found her, Bear?”

  He looked at his watch and slowly moved his fingers around the dial. “One o’clock. Three o’clock. Four. Four thirty.” Bear looked up at Avery for the first time. “It was four thirty.”

  “Good, Bear. You’re doing good.”

  “What did you do when you found her?” Carlos asked.

  “I didn’t hurt her.”

  “What about her purse?”

  “There wasn’t a purse. I never saw a purse. Just a sweater.”

  Avery struggled to put the pieces together. What had the girl been doing out in the middle of the night without a bag or money? “Are you sure you didn’t see a purse, money, a telephone, or identification?”

  “Yes.” Bear’s gaze dropped again to the table.

  “Bear? What is it?”

  “I was trying to save her. To see if she could breathe, but . . . her hands were cold.”

  “Is that when you found the letters?”

  He nodded. “There was a pocket. Hidden inside her shirt. I was only trying to save her. I didn’t hurt her.”

  “And you found the letters inside the pocket?”

  “My wife liked to write me letters. Not . . . not computer letters . . . not emails. She wrote me letters on pretty paper.”

  “Handwritten letters?”

  “Yes, like the letters I found. I couldn’t read them, but they smelled like perfume and reminded me of my wife.”

  Carlos took a step toward the table. “What else was in the pocket, Bear?”

  “There was a picture.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “There were two girls in it. Pretty girls wearing white dresses.”

  “There was something else in the pocket, wasn’t there?”

  Bear avoided Carlos’s gaze. “No.”

  “I think you’re lying to me.” Carlos dropped a key onto the table in front of him. “Can you tell me about this?”

  No response.

  “We found it with your things.”

  Bear simply shrugged.

  Carlos wasn’t ready to give up. “You’ve been to prison before, and I’m assuming you don’t want to go back. But if you refuse to cooperate . . .”

  “It’s a key to a storage unit.”

  “What’s inside it? We’re waiting on the warrant right now, but helping us will help your case.”

  “My wife . . . they’re Laurie’s things. I paid two years up front after she died. Put all her personal things in storage, because I-I couldn’t deal with them.”

  “We know you’ve been there recently.” This time Avery dropped a photo in front of him. “The storage unit surveillance places you there at nine thirty Monday morning.”

  “Why did you go to the storage unit?” Carlos rested his hands against the table and leaned forward. “I think you found something on the body.”

  “I didn’t hurt her.”

  “Maybe this will help jog your memory. We also found a receipt in your things from a nearby pawnshop, dated Monday morning for the sale of a ring. Forty-five hundred dollars. Tell me where you got the ring, Bear.”

  “There was a ring in her pocket.”

  “What kind of ring?”

  “Blue sapphire. 18-karat white gold. Diamonds. Expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “Custom made. Worth ten, maybe twelve thousand dollars. My father was a jeweler. He taught me what to look for. But she was already dead. She didn’t need the ring.”

  “Or you killed her for the ring.” Carlos’s voice rose. “Forty-five hundred dollars will go a long way for a man who’s been out of work the past year, and since we didn’t find the money on you, we’re assuming it’s stashed in the storage unit. Is that right?”

  Bear said nothing.

  “We have your fingerprints on her photo. Her letters in your bag, your own confession that you were there . . . Everything points to you.”

  Bear slammed his fists against the table. “I didn’t hurt her.”

  Avery signaled to Carlos. “Bear, we’ll be back in a minute.”

  Carlos followed her down the narrow hallway toward their offices. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. He’s clearly adamant it wasn’t him, but he’s got motive, means, and opportunity, so I’m certainly not ready to take him off our list of suspects. But if he’s telling the truth, the only crime he committed was selling stolen goods.”

  Which unfortunately was a crime that far too many got away with. Pawnshops were supposed to send daily reports to the police on what they’d bought, but the department was weeks behind in updating the database of identified stolen goods. The cracks in the system meant that often stolen items were long gone before they made it into the system. But selling stolen goods was a far cry from murder.

  Mitch and Tory were back from their interview with Mr. Sourn and were now working at their desks.

  “What else were you able to find out about the Sourns?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Mitch leaned back in his chair. “They’ve lived in Atlanta for the past twenty-five years. Started Sourn Import and Export back in the late nineties.”

  “What do they import?”

  “Mainly things from Asia. Furnishings, home décor, gifts, and accessories. They have a warehouse in northeast Atlanta, as well as a store open to the public.”

  “Arrest record?”

  “Nothing on record other than a couple traffic tickets, though their business has been under investigation in the past for tax fraud and money laundering. No arrests were ever made. I’m looking into that now.”

  “Good. And Mr. Sourn? What about your interview with him?”

  Tory shrugged. “Basically, he was cooperative. Seemed a bit distracted, but also appeared to be genuinely upset about his niece’s death.”

  “Alibi?”

  “Said he was asleep at home with his wife. Last time he saw Tala was around dinnertime Sunday night. She went out with friends and never came home.”

  “That matches his wife’s story.”

  “What about the Sourns’ friends?”

  “Several knew that their niece was living with them, but none of them had met her yet.” Tory clicked on her computer. “I’ve been researching their business holdings and found something interesting, though it’s probably nothing.”

  “I’m taking any lead at this point, no matter how slim.”

  “Their imp
ort/export business isn’t the only place they earn their money.” Tory handed Avery a printout. “They’ve invested heavily in dozens of nail and hair salons across the Midwest.”

  “Any red flags on Tala’s diploma or other documents?”

  “So far, everything I’ve dug up has been aboveboard. And I’ve finished translating the letters.”

  “Anything?”

  “They’re letters from a friend . . . maybe her sister? From what I can tell, there doesn’t seem to be anything significant about the letters themselves except sentimental value.”

  They were back to far more questions than answers. “So Tala keeps a couple letters, a photo, and an expensive ring—something Mr. Philips just confessed to taking—in a hidden pocket in her sweater. Why? Then our Mr. Philips finds her dead body—or kills her—and takes the letters and the ring, but leaves the photo.”

  “Maybe I can answer that.” Tory leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I saved the best for last. I don’t think our Mr. Philips is as innocent as he’s trying to appear. There are no traffic cams in the immediate vicinity to the alley, but the bar beside it has a camera set up.”

  “You’ve got footage of the alley?”

  “Unfortunately, no, but there is one at the entrance. It picked up James Philips walking out of the alley, away from the murder scene.”

  Avery shook her head. She needed something more. “That just proves what we already know. He’s confessed to being there and we have his fingerprints on our dead girl.”

  “Oh, there’s more. Mrs. Waters told us that she saw him the night of the murder about four fifteen.”

  “Right. That’s about the same time he just told us in the interrogation room.”

  “But here’s where things get interesting. The video catches him leaving the alley not once . . . but twice.”

  Avery smiled. Now Tory had her attention. “Twice.”

  “The time stamp verifies that he was there at four thirty. But he was also there two hours earlier, exiting the alley.”

  “Two hours earlier? That would place him there around the estimated time of death.”

  “Two twenty-four, to be exact. Which means at four thirty, our Mr. Philips had already been there.”

  “But why return to the crime scene?”

  “That I don’t know. But we know that, one, he’s not telling the complete truth, and two, while we probably can’t narrow down the time of death any further, Mr. Philips was there during that window.”

  Avery’s mind began to spin. “Did the cameras pick up anyone else exiting the alley?”

  “Not during our time frame, but if Mr. Philips isn’t our killer, they could have exited from the other side of the alley. There were no camera angles on the other side.”

  “Good work.” The pieces were finally starting to come together. Avery pulled out the receipt from the pawnshop. “Tory and Carlos, I want you to find me this ring. I want to know why Tala was hiding it. Maybe it was the Sourns’ and they’d turned in a claim to their insurance or filed a police report on it recently. Mitch, see if you can find any connection to James Philips and the murder of our last Jane Doe.”

  Tory pulled her bag out from under her desk, then paused. “So you think Tala stole the ring from the Sourns?”

  “That’s something I intend to find out.” Avery grabbed her car keys off her desk. “Which is why I’ve got a couple more questions for Mrs. Sourn, then I’ll be ready to go another round with Mr. Philips.”

  11

  Mrs. Sourn. I appreciate your willingness to speak to me again.” Avery sat on the same place on the couch as her last visit, this time without Mitch.

  The paleness in the woman’s features hadn’t left her. “You know I want to do everything I can to help find my niece’s murderer.”

  “I need to ask you about a ring.” Avery handed Mrs. Sourn a photo of the ring they’d gotten from the pawnshop. “Do you recognize this piece of jewelry?”

  Mrs. Sourn fingered the photo. “I . . . yes. My husband had it custom designed. How did you get this photo?”

  Avery ignored the woman’s question for now. “When was the last time you saw the ring?”

  “I don’t know . . . two . . . maybe three months ago. I wore it to a dinner party with friends back at the end of April.”

  “So you didn’t know it was missing?”

  “No.” Mrs. Sourn set the photo down on the coffee table between them. “I assumed it was still in the jewelry box where I normally keep it.”

  “We traced the maker’s mark on the ring to Hannah Celeste.”

  “Yes, she’s one of the best designers in the area. I fell in love with her work several years ago and always wanted one of her pieces. When my husband surprised me with it for one of our anniversaries, I was elated.”

  “Where do you keep the ring?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “It’s worth over ten thousand dollars. Why didn’t you keep it in a safe?”

  Mrs. Sourn’s gaze shifted to the floor. “My husband would agree with you, and now I suppose he was right. He always said we should keep my jewelry in a safety deposit box, but it seems silly to own beautiful pieces and then keep them locked up, never wearing them. I have a few things locked away, but most of it I keep here in the house.”

  “Where, exactly?”

  “On my dresser in an old jewelry box that used to belong to my mother.”

  “So, potentially anyone who was in your house could have had the opportunity to steal the ring.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Like Tala.”

  Mrs. Sourn shook her head. “I can’t imagine her stealing from me. Where did you find it?”

  “Tala had the ring with her.”

  “Are you telling me she stole the ring from me?”

  “It would appear that way.”

  “I just can’t believe that.” Mrs. Sourn reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. “And the person who killed her . . . do you have any leads?”

  “We’re questioning a potential suspect right now.”

  “So you might have found her killer—”

  “It’s too early to know at this point, but thank you for your help, Mrs. Sourn.” Avery stood. “I promise we will be in touch.”

  An hour later, Avery slid the picture of Tala across the table in front of Bear. Features swollen and pale . . . the photo was haunting. “Mr. Philips. You’ve been lying to us, and this time I want the truth.”

  So far he hadn’t asked for a lawyer, and she had no intention of giving him the chance until she got what she wanted out of him.

  “This is Tala. The girl you found in the alley Sunday night.”

  Bear turned away as if trying to escape the memory.

  Avery pushed the next photo in front of him. “This is our Jane Doe.”

  Carlos stood and walked around the table to the other side of Bear. “Six weeks ago, we found her dead beside a Dumpster. Just like Tala.”

  “I—”

  “Please let me finish. Two girls dead. Similar MO.” Carlos leaned closer to Bear, but kept his voice soft and nonthreatening. “They both died a horrible death that neither deserved.”

  Avery pulled the third color photo from the folder and placed it between the pictures of the two girls. “Here’s another picture.”

  Bear tipped his chair back and pushed away the photo. “That’s my wife. Why are you showing me a picture of my wife?”

  “I think you know why. It’s interesting, isn’t it? All young, pretty, Asian . . . and they are all dead. Your wife’s case was never solved, was it?”

  “You know it wasn’t, but I didn’t kill my wife. I would never—”

  “Here’s the problem, Bear.” Avery kept her voice even. Tight. “We can already tie you to Tala’s death. There’s no question about that. And as for the other girl and your wife—”

  “I didn’t kill my wife. I didn’t kill those girls.”

  Avery noted the pain reflected in his eyes and wa
nted to believe him, but no matter how much sympathy his manner evoked, the evidence was telling a different story.

  “What do you think a jury will say when they learn that your fingerprints were all over the victim’s photo found on her body? You’ve admitted that you stole not only her letters from her, but a ring worth over ten thousand dollars. And if there were still any doubts, there’s the camera footage that puts you at the scene not once, but twice. And the first time is during the projected time of the murder.”

  Bear flinched.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t find out?” Avery leaned in closer. “Why did you lie about that, Bear? Why did you lie about the fact that you had been to the scene not once, but twice?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I wanted the letters and the ring, but the picture . . . I wanted to give her the picture back.”

  “But it was too late. You’d already killed her—”

  “No.”

  “Bear, we’ve got motive, means, and opportunity. All the things we look for to convict killers. Three cases, all similar, one killer. How do you think that looks to us? How do you think that will look to a jury?”

  Avery waited for his answer. Linking all three crimes might be a stretch at this point, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “It looks bad.”

  “Yes, it does.” Carlos leaned against the end of the table. “And no matter how you’ve been living these past few months, you’re a smart man. We only want to find out the truth, but you can see how this looks to us. You and your wife got into a fight one night about money or maybe she cheated on you. Things were tense between the two of you, and something snapped.”

  “No.”

  Avery studied his reaction. Shoulders hunched, head in hands, elbows on knees. What they had to determine was if he was upset simply over the loss of his wife or if he was feeling guilt. Her department hadn’t handled Laurie Philips’s case, but she’d reviewed the evidence that had surfaced in the file. James Philips had always been the number one suspect. Lack of evidence was the only thing that had saved him, but there were still plenty of people who had worked the case who believed James Philips had killed his wife. And none of them could ignore the possibility that he’d killed again.