He hit the “Fast Forward” button and the tape speed increased, though not dramatically. “You want to go faster, man?”
“No, this is good for now,” Del said.
After several minutes, Faz said, “Wait. Go back.”
“You see something?” Del asked.
“I don’t know.”
Tanny rewound the tape.
“Right there. Stop it. Now go forward,” Faz said. “Stop. You see?” he said to Del. He pointed a finger at the right corner of the screen where someone had appeared, though the image was fuzzy.
“Yeah, I see,” Del said, not sounding impressed.
“Play it,” Faz said, leaning closer to the screen. The person jogged into the picture and across a patch of lawn, toward the street, too far from the camera for them to see any features. “Stop it,” Faz said. He leaned in closer. “What’s he wearing over his face?”
“I see him,” Tanny said, pointing with his index finger. “That’s a hoodie, man. You know, a sweatshirt. He has the hood up. You see?”
“Yeah, I see,” Faz said. “I think you’re right.”
“He’s got it pulled tight around his face,” Tanny said.
“It had to be ninety degrees today,” Del said.
“Eighty-five,” Tanny said. “It’s crazy, I know, but they wear them all the time around here. Hoodies and tank-top T-shirts.”
“Tied shut like that?” Del asked.
“That I don’t see so much,” Tanny said.
Faz looked for identifying characteristics—a team logo, something to distinguish the hooded sweatshirt. If there were any, the distance was too great for them to see clearly. He glanced down at the time in the lower right corner of the computer screen, then up at Del. “Right time.”
“Right location,” Del said. The path to the street would have been from the back of the apartment complex.
Tanny looked between the two of them. “You think this could be your shooter?”
“Hard to tell,” Del said. “Might be nothing.”
“How you going to identify him wearing a hoodie like that?” Tanny said.
“Don’t know,” Faz said. “Continue playing it.”
Tanny hit the button and the man stepped from the curb. He stumbled, as if he’d twisted an ankle and, to maintain his balance, placed his left hand on the hood of a parked car. Then he righted himself and limped across the street, dodging southbound traffic. He nearly ran out of the picture frame before he climbed into the passenger seat of what looked to be a white SUV or truck—Faz couldn’t tell—a split second before the vehicle drove out of the camera frame.
“Did you see that?” Faz asked.
“I saw,” Del said.
Tanny hit “Stop” and looked to Del and Faz. “So what you think, Bruddah?”
Del spoke to Faz. “I doubt we can get a license plate on the white SUV even if we get the tape enhanced. It’s too far and not enough frames for them to work with. But we might be able to get the plate of the parked car he put his hand on.”
“Maybe,” Faz said. “Traffic cameras could have picked up the white vehicle he got into. And just in case we should check local hospitals—see if anyone came in with an ankle injury.”
“Doubt it, but worth a shot,” Del said.
Faz pulled out his cell phone to contact the video unit detective. He turned to Tanny. “I’m going to have somebody come down here and retrieve the video.”
“No problem, man.” Tanny shrugged.
Faz held out a business card. It looked as small as a postage stamp in Tanny’s hands. “I know you’re not afraid of Little Jimmy, and I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I’d keep this quiet,” Faz said. “Little Jimmy might be a punk, but if he’s running the Sureños, that could quickly become a problem for you.”
Tanny smiled. “I ain’t stupid, man. What you seen out there?” He pointed with his thumb to the door leading to the interior of the store. “That was just for show, man. You can’t show fear around here. You show fear and people will steal you blind. But in here, yeah, Bruddah, I understand. I ain’t looking to take no bullet. Like I say, Little Jimmy, he’s crazy loco.”
CHAPTER 7
Tracy hung up after speaking to the prosecutor, Adam Hoetig. They’d discussed her testimony, as well as possible areas that Leonard Litwin would attempt to attack her in his restructured cross-examination. She also told Hoetig she had a bladder infection and would appreciate a break midmorning—if Litwin planned to go longer than an hour. Since Tracy was the last witness scheduled to testify, and Hoetig didn’t anticipate rebuttal witnesses, he begged off meeting in person so he could work on his closing argument.
After the call, Tracy made her way to the outer offices. She wanted to catch Nolasco before he went home. She wanted to ask him about Ron Mayweather, and about Arroyo’s apparent impending retirement, as well as get a feel for whether Nolasco knew about her pregnancy and had told Gonzalez. The blinds to his office windows were lowered and pinched shut, preventing her from seeing inside. Tracy knocked on a closed door, heard Nolasco say, “Enter,” and pushed the door in.
Nolasco sat behind his desk holding a mug of tea. Across from him, Andrea Gonzalez sat in one of two chairs. She turned to look at Tracy.
“You two have met?” Nolasco said.
“Yeah,” Tracy and Gonzalez said at the same time.
Tracy looked to Nolasco. “I’ll come back.”
“No.” Gonzalez stood. “I’m just on my way out. Thanks, Captain. I’m on it.” She smiled at Tracy as she stepped past her.
“You need to hear this too.” Nolasco spoke before Tracy had taken a step inside his office. “You heard about the shooting in South Park?”
Tracy nodded. “Yeah, from Kins when I got in from court.”
“Someone shot into a playground at an apartment complex and killed a mother of two. She’d been outspoken against the drugs and gangs down there. The news is all over it, which means they’re all over us. I’m sending anyone I can to help Del and Faz canvass the area. Where are you at in your trial?”
“Back on the stand tomorrow morning.”
“Who’s after you?”
“No one, unless Hoetig calls someone on rebuttal, or Litwin changes his mind overnight. Hoetig thinks he’ll give closing late morning or early afternoon.”
“Del and Faz are going to need your help as soon you’re finished,” he said. The lead detective in a homicide trial typically sat with the prosecutor at counsel table from pretrial motions until the jury delivered its verdict. It was intended to give a human face to the state’s case.
“Are we operating under the premise that the killing was retaliatory?” Tracy asked.
“We are.”
“That’s Sureño territory down there,” Tracy said. She’d had two gang killings in South Park.
“I want you to call Del and Faz as soon as you’re done and find out what they need.” Nolasco lowered his head, apparently thinking their conversation had concluded. He looked up when Tracy didn’t leave. “Something else?”
“Did you provide Gonzalez a password to get on to my computer?”
“No. I told her to check with IT for a temporary password.”
“You know she has a computer back in administration, right? She didn’t have to use mine.”
“With Del and Faz gone, and you and Kins in trial, I wanted someone in the bull pen. And I wanted her to get familiar with your files so she could hit the ground running.”
“Yeah, but using my computer with a temporary password she could access my privatized files, my report files.” Detectives could all access the unit files, but only the lead detective on any particular case could open the report files, or “privatized” files. Any unauthorized access of those files was reported to the lead detective in a V-mail, which stood for Versaterm.
“All of you are too attached to your terminals. Files are supposed to be open so the work is collaborative. I don’t understand the problem,” Nolasco said
.
Tracy couldn’t be sure if Nolasco was pushing her or not. She decided to push him. “Ron knew what was going on?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ron was our fifth wheel and he was up to speed on our files.”
“Yeah, and we had an opening on C Team. Arroyo is retiring end of the year.”
“I heard.”
“Did you hear that Ron wanted the position, which left an opening for a fifth wheel on A Team?”
“Ron wanted to move teams?”
Nolasco stared at her. “Anything else?”
“You hired Gonzalez awfully quickly.”
“No, I didn’t. That took place above me and has been in the works since Arroyo told the brass he was leaving.” He paused. “You know, most detectives would have thanked me.”
Tracy said, “For what?”
“For putting the quality of your team first and getting someone quickly up to speed.”
Tracy nodded. “Well, then, thank you.”
“Anything else?”
Tracy shook her head. She wasn’t going to get anything more out of Nolasco, and Katie Pryor was waiting for her at the Park 95 complex.
“As soon as you’re free, give Faz and Del a hand,” Nolasco said.
Tracy drove to the Park 95 complex, the department name for the concrete buildings on Airport Way that housed much of the Seattle Police Department’s forensic units, CSI, and specialty units such as SWAT. She made her way to the missing persons unit. Well after six o’clock, most of the building’s cubicles were empty, without voices, telephones ringing, or the tapping of keystrokes.
Tracy knew the missing persons unit from her time working with CSI in the same building. She’d also worked with Talia Greenwood, Katie Pryor’s predecessor, on several missing persons cases. Greenwood had told Tracy that the unit never considered a case hopeless or closed. Greenwood either found the missing person, or the case lingered in an open file on her computer. Tracy thought that a depressing and thankless task—a job you brought home at night; a job that could consume you each time you read or heard that another person went missing or a body was found; a job you could never escape.
Greenwood once told Tracy she was only partially correct.
As emotionally taxing as the job could be, Greenwood said she’d also experienced many good moments. Most people reported to be missing weren’t actually missing; they’d often been arrested and sent to the county jail, or they’d been hurt and taken to a hospital. Others just wanted to get lost for a short while, when everyday life became too much for them to bear, which was perhaps insensitive to those who loved them but not illegal. And therein lay the first problem. How long did a young woman need to be missing before she was considered missing? What circumstances had to exist for a person to be missing and not just taking a break from life? SPD constantly seemed to be refining the answers to those questions.
“Knock, knock,” Tracy said.
Pryor swiveled her chair, stood, and gave Tracy a smile and a hug. “Tracy. Hey. Thanks for coming down.” Her voice was soft, high-pitched, and reminded Tracy of a schoolgirl’s. It had only been a few years since Tracy met Pryor at the shooting range to help her to pass her qualification exam, but already Pryor’s laugh lines were a bit more pronounced and her hips fuller.
“Sorry it took longer than expected. How’re the kids?” Tracy asked.
“Everyone is doing well. Can you believe my oldest will be starting middle school in the fall?” Pryor shook her head the same way Kins had when he’d told Tracy that his oldest was leaving for college.
“You ever think about that, where the years went?” Tracy asked.
Pryor laughed. “Only on special occasions—like birthdays and Christmas. On a day-to-day basis, my husband and I are just trying to keep the ship afloat. This job has really helped. I can plan around my kids’ schedules, be home to help them with homework, and pick them up after their practices. It’s been a godsend; it really has.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Tracy said, and then, maybe because they’d broached the topic of kids, she added, “Because I’m going to be faced with that problem soon.”
“You’re pregnant?” Pryor asked, her voice rising with disbelief. Tracy knew that part of Pryor’s surprise related to Tracy’s age, and likely a perception that Tracy had either chosen not to have children or couldn’t conceive.
“I just completed my sixteenth week.”
Pryor smiled. “Oh my God,” she said. “That’s fantastic.” She looked down at Tracy’s belly. “I never would have guessed. You look terrific.”
Coming from a mother of two, Pryor’s comment made Tracy wonder again how Gonzalez had so quickly deduced her pregnancy. “I don’t always feel terrific,” she said. “And I’m keeping it quiet for now.”
“I won’t say anything. Do you know the sex?”
“No,” Tracy said. “Dan doesn’t want to find out. He said it’s the last real surprise in life and I guess I agree with him.”
Pryor smiled. “I’m happy for you.”
“It will complicate things,” Tracy said. It already had.
“Don’t worry about work, Tracy. You’re not the first woman with a job who has had a child. Did I tell you the story about the time when I was seven months pregnant with my second and still working patrol?”
“I don’t think so.”
“My sergeant, who had a gut out to here,” Pryor said, extending her arms and hands to simulate a bulging stomach, “actually had the nerve to ask how I was going to put on my gun belt. You know what I told him?”
“No,” Tracy said, though she was already laughing.
“I said, ‘The same way you do, Sergeant.’” They both laughed. “We never had that conversation again,” Pryor said. She looked up at the clock on the wall. “Okay, I know you’re pressed for time. We can talk more about babies later. I got you a seat.”
Tracy wheeled the chair closer to the computer and sat beside Pryor, who handed her a multipage document, then turned to her keyboard and typed. Tracy studied the missing person’s report, which also appeared on Pryor’s screen. Soft music played from Pryor’s computer.
“The missing woman’s name is Kavita Mukherjee,” Pryor said. “Twenty-four years old, a graduate of the University of Washington with a degree in chemistry.”
“I like her already,” Tracy said. She’d been a high school chemistry teacher before joining the police force. “So, no dummy.”
“Definitely not. Her former roommate, Aditi Dasgupta, sent me the photograph you’re looking at.”
Pryor enlarged the photograph on her computer screen, which was clearer and less grainy than the printed copy. Mukherjee reclined on a couch. She wore a black T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. Her toenails were painted a bright red.
“Beautiful girl,” Tracy said.
“She’s five feet, ten inches tall and a hundred and thirty pounds with dark-brown hair and blue eyes.”
“Blue eyes? That’s got to be rare for her nationality.”
“I thought the same thing. It’s uncommon for someone of Indian descent, but it does happen.”
“You said she and the roommate were friends?”
“Since childhood. The past four years they’ve been roommates.”
Tracy sat back, content to let Pryor tell her what she’d learned.
The front door to the apartment opened slowly. Kavita Mukherjee, reclining on the sofa in the living room, slapped closed the novel she’d been reading, tossed it into the air, and shouted, “Aditi!”
She jumped from the couch and rushed the door, ignoring Aditi’s suitcases and embracing her best friend in a bear hug. Aditi had left earlier that summer to attend a cousin’s wedding in India, then had stayed several months, traveling. She and Kavita had rarely been apart since childhood.
“It’s so good to have you back,” Kavita said. “Was it really twelve weeks? It feels as if you have been gone forever. And look at you!” She touche
d the silk of Aditi’s green-and-yellow sari. “You look so different. Did you buy this over there? Let me guess. Your mother bought it for you.” Kavita laughed and rolled her eyes. “She never gives up, does she?”
“No,” Aditi said, smiling. “She never does.”
They were both twenty-four years old, Kavita the older by a couple of months, and already their mothers were harping on them to “settle,” which meant “get married.” Forget that neither had a serious boyfriend. In fact, that was preferred. It made Kavita and Aditi that much more attractive to the list of suitors their mothers had started to compile even before they’d completed their undergraduate education. Not that Aditi or Kavita were having any of it.
“Here, let me help you.” Kavita picked up the last of three large suitcases still in the hall.
“No. It’s—”Aditi said, reaching for the case.
“It’s so light,” Kavita said. “Someday you’ll have to teach me to pack.”
She set the suitcase down beside the two in the entryway and pulled Aditi into the living room. They’d rented the apartment in the University District after their sophomore year at the UW. They lived in the dorms their first two years but wanted something of their own. The furnishings were a hodgepodge of borrowed and gifted furniture and what they could get for next to nothing—a gray leather couch, a brown cloth chair, and an assortment of lamps, which they rarely used in the summer months when it stayed light past nine at night. From their fifth-floor, eastern-facing apartment, they had views of the UW campus, Lake Washington, and, on clear days such as this, the snowcapped Cascade mountains. Tonight, the sound of buses and cars filtered up from the Ave through the open windows.
“So, come on.” Kavita sat, folding her bare feet beneath her. She wore jeans with holes in the knees and a purple University of Washington T-shirt. “Tell me all about your trip. How was your cousin’s wedding? Did you get sick from the food? I’ll bet it was hot. You must have been out of Internet range because I didn’t get any of your messages the last two weeks. I’m just so glad to have you back.” She leaned forward, and the two women embraced.
“It was nice,” Aditi said. She looked understandably tired after traveling halfway around the world.
A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6) Page 4
