Missing Justice sk-2

by Alafair Burke

  scenario."

  "I hate to be the party pooper " The four detectives' shared chuckle

  cut me off. "OK, playing my usual role of party pooper," I revised,

  "maybe it's just paint. Plain, generic taupe-colored paint. I mean,

  how precise can the paint geek get it? The stuff's not DNA, right?

  Griffey still could've come across it wandering around the

  neighborhood."

  It was too soon to begin connecting all the dots. Walker and Johnson

  needed to get out there and talk to the men whose names had come up and

  see if anything shook out.

  "One last thing," Johnson said. "I called the husband today about the

  condom, and it wasn't his."

  "Did you tell him the ME found spermicide?" I asked.

  "No way. I just told him we were still running some tests, and it

  would help if we knew the last time they had intercourse and whether

  they'd used any kind of barrier method of birth control. Turns out the

  doctor had his tubes tied. They hadn't had sex since the Tuesday

  before she disappeared, though, which explains why the autopsy didn't

  find anything."

  "Was he all right with the questions?" I asked. I still needed to

  talk to Johnson about the polygraph request.

  "Actually, he seemed pretty thrown off by the whole thing. He was sort

  of out of it in general, though. I guess no one wants to think about

  something like that happening to their wife. Anyway, when I found out

  the condom wasn't his, I was thinking sex offense. But it fits with

  what Chuck and Mike got, too. Maybe the vie was using condoms on the

  side with Caffrey."

  "Doesn't mean Caffrey did it, though," I said. "It would just explain

  the spermicide."

  We were stuck again.

  As we broke up, Chuck tried to get my attention. I raised a finger in

  his direction as I ran to catch Johnson alone.

  "Griffith got a call today from Susan Kerr," I said. He looked at me

  but didn't say anything. "Did one of you ask Townsend Easterbrook to

  take a polygraph last night?"

  The look on his face said So that's what this is about. "Yes. As a

  matter of fact, I did."

  "I thought we were going to talk before you did anything on that."

  "You weren't there, Sam. Am I supposed to stop everything and call you

  before I make any kind of decision on one of my investigations?"

  I ignored the rhetorical question because, like most rhetorical

  questions, it was stupid. "If this was just another procedure, why

  didn't you mention it to me this morning?"

  "If you want me to say I'm sorry so you can tell your boss you did what

  you needed to, then I'll do it, Sam. I know how your thing works over

  there at the courthouse. But the guy had just gotten the news and was

  being cooperative; the moment was right to ask him to help us eliminate

  him. If I turn that into a DA decision and I mean any DA it gets

  political and never would've happened. No offense against you

  personally, but I just needed to do it."

  "So you admit you intentionally went behind my back." I'd nearly

  gotten killed going out on a limb on one of Johnson's cases. I

  couldn't help but sound indignant.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, it wasn't like that."

  My stare must have told him I wasn't buying it.

  "OK," he said. "Maybe I could have brought it up with you at the crime

  scene yesterday. But I could tell when we were riding up to Kerr's

  house that the subject made you nervous, so I decided to play it by

  ear. Honestly, last night at the house, it seemed like the right move

  to make."

  "Well, it wasn't," I said. "From everything I've heard, this guy's on

  the verge of losing it. I don't need you pushing him over the edge by

  asking for a poly the minute after he learns his wife was murdered. And

  don't tell me you would've done it with another DA, because that's

  bullshit and we both know it."

  He bit his lower lip and avoided my gaze. Maybe we didn't know each

  other as well as we'd assumed.

  I finally broke the silence. "What's your problem with the guy anyway?

  If he didn't do it and I don't think any of us really thinks he did how

  could you put him through that?"

  "It's not about suspecting him, Kincaid, it's about doing the

  investigation right. He was being so cooperative, I thought, if I

  asked, he'd say Sure, let's do it right now, whatever I can do to help.

  As it turned out, that's not how it went, so it probably wasn't worth

  getting you so fired up."

  "He won't take it?" I asked. I had assumed from the conversation with

  Duncan that Townsend was put off by the request but would nevertheless

  humor the police.

  "I overstated that."

  "What exactly did he say?"

  "The question seemed to catch him off guard not like he was threatened

  by it, but more like his feelings were hurt. You saw how out of it he

  was that first night at the house. It was the same thing. Then he

  finally said he didn't see a problem but would let me know today."

  "And what did he say today?" I asked.

  "Nothing. I had to call him about the nonoxynol. He didn't mention

  the poly, and I held off on pressing him. See, now that really

  would've pissed you off."

  "Don't push it, Ray."

  "Look, I'm sorry I went around you, but I know what it's all about with

  you guys and Duncan Griffith. I didn't want to put you in a bad

  spot."

  I wanted to be able to say that I was different from all the other MCU

  deputies he'd seen over the years, impervious to hierarchical

  pressures, but I couldn't begin to articulate the subtle distinctions

  that I found so important.

  "No, you didn't want me to tell you to back off. And, in the process,

  you made me look like an idiot in front of my boss when I defended you.

  Do anything like that again, and I'll forget you're my friend and start

  acting like all the other MCU deputies you never would have pulled this

  on."

  "Yep, friends. Got it."

  "Ray, I meant that, but I also need to do my job."

  He was biting his lip again, but at least now he was looking me in the

  eyes. He finally smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, we'll be all

  right. Go wait for your bus or whatever it is you do after work."

  "I drove today, as a matter of fact, but, sorry, we're not quite done

  yet. When do you plan to talk to the councilman?" If Griffith gave me

  a sit-down based on Susan Kerr s concerns about etiquette, I'd really

  be in the doghouse if Johnson accused an elected official like T. J.

  Caffrey of murder under my watch.

  "I figured I'd go by his house tonight and ask him whether he's been

  keeping a little piece on the side. I'll make sure the wife's nearby

  when I get to the Trojans. Kids, too, if he has any." He placed his

  hand on my shoulder to make sure I knew he was kidding. "Don't worry,

  Kincaid, this is me we're talking about. Tough stuff won't work on a

  guy like that anyway."

  True, and tact was right up Johnson's alley. As long as he agreed that

  some diplomacy was called for, I couldn't be in better hands.

 
With work wrapped up, I was more interested in getting into the hands

  of another detective. I stopped by Chuck's desk just long enough to

  tell him to meet me at my house. I was going to my father's for

  dinner, but I could spare an hour or so if he wanted to catch up.

  "Catch up" is precisely what I meant when I said it, but his expression

  when he said, "Leaving right now. An hour might be enough," had me

  scrambling out the door, sucking down Altoids as fast as I could take

  them. Damn that Greek Cusina. By the time I got to the Jetta, I had

  broken into a full sprint and was sweating garlic. Very attractive.

  I used the wonder of cell technology to multitask in the car, calling

  Griffith with the update while I maneuvered various body parts in front

  of the air vents in an attempt to cool off. The commute was remarkably

  quick. Drivers in front of me would look in their rearview mirrors and

  immediately yield the lane. Apparently jerking around like a

  strung-out freak pays off when others practice defensive driving,

  When I rolled past Chuck's '67 Jag to pull into the driveway,

  I gave him my best come-hither look. I placed both feet on the ground

  before stepping out of the car. Slinkier than my normal spread-eagle

  hoist.

  I bent purposefully and ever so seductively at the waist to reach my

  suit jacket in the passenger seat and then flicked it over my shoulder,

  one New Balance thrusting to the side with a determined hip. I parted

  my lips and let my tongue linger at the break before I spoke. "You

  coming in with me or not?"

  He returned my blistering gaze. Then he started laughing. A full-on,

  eyes shut, hands-to-the-face bust-up.

  I fought competing urges to run away and cry, or to punch him in the

  head and then run away. "That wasn't the response I was looking

  for."

  He tried to regain his composure but couldn't help himself. "I'm

  sorry. But I just left you fifteen minutes ago at the precinct. What

  the hell happened to you?"

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the driver s window. The

  combination of the air vents, my sweaty head, and that damn mud Grace

  had given me had left my hair in a state of Rocky Horror. Throw in the

  white Altoid powder sprinkled across my clothing, and I was totally

  pathetic. I draped my jacket over my arm, pulled in my thrusted hip,

  and tried to explain.

  "I was running to my car and got a little warm and "

  What was this? Maybe Grace was right when she said I didn't understand

  men, because this one was racing up my walkway steps, straight toward

  me, and he wasn't laughing.

  I ran ahead of him into the house and let him catch me at the end of my

  upstairs hallway. Just outside the bedroom.

  If there is a mathematical formula to calculate sex maybe intensity

  times duration then the next hour could very well have brought us back

  to par despite the two-week break.

  Six.

  I see Clarissa Easterbrook in a pink silk sweater on Taylor's Ferry

  Road, holding Griffey by his leash. A man in an ankle-length duster

  and brown leather hat has stopped to pet the dog. The man asks if she

  has seen the view of Mount Hood and begins to lead her to a crest

  through a clearing in the trees.

  He reaches his hand out behind him to guide her, but now it's my hand

  he grasps. When he turns his head to smile down at my trusting face, I

  recognize Tim O'Donnell. My expression changes from confusion to

  shock, as I open my mouth to scream for help.

  "Babe, wake up, what's wrong?"

  My right elbow flew out instinctively, and Chuck bolted upright,

  holding his ribs where I jabbed him.

  "Oh, God, are you OK?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "You just took me by surprise."

  "I guess we fell asleep."

  "You fell asleep. I watched."

  "That's more than a little disturbing."

  "Tell me about it. Your hair's even worse than it was when we started;

  you snore; and a spindle of drool was working its way from your lip to

  the mattress."

  "I'm really going to hurt you this time," I said, reaching over and

  poking my fingers into his side.

  With one swift move, he had my hands above my head. "Stop it, I was

  kidding. You weren't drooling, you don't snore, and your hair well,

  you're cute as hell, Kincaid." He gave me a kiss and let me go. "I

  woke you up because you looked like you were having another one of

  those dreams. I've seen cops after a shooting, and it can take a long

  time to get over."

  "I'm over it. Just one of those weird naked-in-front-of-the-classroom

  dreams."

  "Was I there?"

  "No, that'd be one of your dreams. I hate to kick you out of bed,

  stud, but I really need to get a move on. I promised Dad that Vinnie

  and I would come over for dinner tonight, and I can't show up with bed

  head."

  "That poor impersonation of a dog over there is invited, but I'm

  not?"

  Vinnie was spread out like a bear rug in the hall, still looking

  annoyed that he'd been locked out of the bedroom during playtime.

  Vinnie's got bug eyes, bat ears, and a face that looks like it was

  flattened by a steel plate. I couldn't tell if the snort he emitted

  was in response to Chuck's comment or just one of his everyday

  snorts.

  "When your date's a French bulldog, you can talk about boring family

  stuff without being rude," I said.

  "I don't mind if you talk about your boring family. I just want to be

  fed."

  I did feel guilty running out on him, and Dad would enjoy seeing Chuck.

  "Fine. But I need some time alone with Dad. Give me an hour's head

  start, and we'll have dinner on the table right when you get there."

  The last thing I needed post-vacation was one of the bricks of beef my

  father feeds me whenever he cooks, so I had e-mailed a list of

  ingredients in the morning and promised to cook if he'd pick them up.

  New to computers, he was still so impressed by the technology that he

  didn't even complain about the menu.

  "You look great," I said, adjusting the collar on the blue shirt I'd

  given him for his most recent birthday. He had complained that it was

  too young for him, but it brought out the blue in his eyes and the

  silver of his hair. "You didn't have any problems printing out the

  shopping list?"

  "I've turned into a real computer whiz since you left." I had helped

  him hook up his Dell right before my trip. "It's so easy I was even

  thinking of telling Al to get one."

  Al Fontana is my dad's ninety-year-old neighbor and checker partner.

  He's also a dirty old man.

  "Dad, you put that man on the Internet, and he'll be dead in a month

  from Viagra and porn."

  Point taken.

  It wasn't long before Dad got to the heart of things. Apparently I

  wasn't the only one who spent the day uncomfortable with where we left

  things the night before. "I know we talked about this, but I want to

  tell you in person that I'm sorry I got you so upset last night."

  "You're making me feel worse. I was a total jerk."

/>   "Fine, let's put last night behind us, and I won't make any apologies.

  What I'm trying to say is that I'll try not to let my own hang-ups get

  in the way "

  "Dad, you don't have any hang-ups "

  "Please, Sammy, let me finish. All I was saying was that this woman

  was surrounded by powerful people. I may not have stuck it out as a

  cop, but I saw enough to know you'll be looking long and hard at

  everything she was involved in. If you wind up stumbling onto

  something, they'll make your life a living hell."

  So that's what this had been about. Dad wasn't afraid I'd get chased

  around the city again by a wing nut he was worried some cabal of

  "powerful people" would target me for annihilation. As long as I've

  known him, Dad has had an almost delusional distrust of those who find

  themselves at the top of the hierarchy of influence. I typically find

  this characteristic endearing, but occasionally it makes me crazy. Like

  at my rehearsal dinner in Manhattan, when he was so cold to my now

  ex-husband's "blue-blood" parents that I was afraid Roger was going to

  call off the wedding. OK, in retrospect, that wouldn't have been so

  bad. But now he was letting his paranoia get in the way of his pride

  in my career.

  I shook my head in disbelief. Part of me wanted to unleash to tell him