“How do you know that?” Bannister asked.
Ron smiled. “Because we found it later when we found the body. Our CSI team did a search—more thorough than the one the killer did—and we found a half pound of very pure cocaine strapped way up under Judie Lawton’s vanity.”
Bannister thought about this for a minute, then he nodded. A half smile appeared on his face. “Cocaine, huh? I get it. You guys aren’t here because Josh is missing and you’re worried about him, are you? You guys, being the bright cops that you are, got yourself assigned to a case, and you put two and two together and the answer popped out: seven! You think Josh is involved.”
“We have our reasons.” Ron held up a hand with one finger: “He’s got a history in the drug trade.” Second finger: “He was Judie Lawton’s boyfriend.” Third finger: “His prints are all over her apartment, and—most importantly?” Ron paused, then flipped up a fourth finger: “Tuesday afternoon—just after the time we think Judie Lawton was murdered—your brother announced suddenly that he needed to go on a two-week vacation, effective immediately. No one’s seen him or heard from him since. He wasn’t at his apartment when we checked yesterday. Pretty interesting set of coincidences, wouldn’t you say?”
Bannister shrugged. Ron changed the subject. “You talk to your brother often?”
Bannister looked at him for a second, then he shrugged again. “Once a week or so.”
“When’s the last time?”
Bannister leaned back, thinking. “Last week, I think.”
“Haven’t heard from him this week?”
“Nope.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Fuck you, man,” he said in a calm voice. “You asked, I told you.” He jerked his head toward a video camera and shrugged. “You can check it out with these guys. They got everything on tape, you know. After that lady guard got strangled last year, you can’t take a crap in this place without being on camera now.” In the summer of 2011, an inmate strangled a female guard in the chapel of the same unit where Bannister now served his time.
“Relax,” Ron said. “No offense meant. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Well, I’m sure.” He looked at the clock and started to stand up. “You know, I’m not happy about where this is going, and I sure as hell don’t need this shit. I just remembered I got an appointment. If that’ll be all . . .”
I looked up at him. “Hold on there,” I said. He stopped, turning to look at me. “You can leave if you want. You don’t have to help us. For that matter, you don’t have to do anything at all, here. You can walk on out of here and go back to the laundry, and that’ll be that. But you strike me as someone who’s pretty smart.
“You’re smart enough to know you got nothing to lose by sitting down and listening to what these guys have to say. Might piss you off, but who knows? There might something you like—something that might help you or your brother.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s going that way,” he said.
I shrugged. “They just got started. I don’t think they’re done yet.” I turned to Ron. “You done?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
I turned back to Gabriel. “There. See? What’ve you got to lose?”
He looked at me for a second, then he nodded and sat back down. “Alright. You’re right. Nothin’ to lose.” He leaned forward. “Just don’t expect too much from me, understand?”
I nodded. “Deal.”
He turned to Ron. “So just jump over all the bullshit and get to the point, man. What do you want from me?”
“We’re trying to find your brother.” Ron said. “We were hoping you’d help us out.”
Bannister laughed. “No sense fuckin’ staying for that shit. Help you out? Help you what? Help you find my little brother so you can bust him? Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
“We didn’t say we were going to bust him,” Ron said.
Bannister was about to say something, but apparently what Ron said surprised him. He froze for a second or two, his mouth open. Then he relaxed and leaned back.
“We want to talk to your brother, hear what he has to say,” Ron continued. “We’re looking for answers. With that in mind, let’s look at the possibilities. Basically, he either killed her or he didn’t. You agree with that?”
Bannister just looked at him.
“I’ll take that as a yes. So let’s look at each of the possibilities in turn. First, think about this. If your brother killed Judie Lawton, eventually we’re going to find him, probably sooner rather than later. We already have his ID—we know who he is. The only ones who ever get away from us are the anonymous ones. Once we ID a guy, we always get him—it’s just a matter of time. And we’re on the hunt right now. Meanwhile, what I’ve already learned from people I’ve talked to, Josh seems like a likable guy. But one thing I haven’t seen is anything to show me he’s got any particular skills that will help him evade us.” Ron shook his head. “Nothin’. So, keeping all that in mind, here’s a question for you. You ever have reason to believe that your standard-issue, garden-variety cop might get a little amped up sometime? Maybe even a little what you’d call overzealous?”
Bannister leaned back and laughed. “You think?”
“That’s right. And when’s that likely to happen?” Before Bannister could answer, Ron continued, “I’ll tell you when. It mostly happens in high-stress situations. Like when you’re confronting a murder suspect.” Ron paused and let this sink in before he continued. “So let’s put it together, then. One: We got a likable guy—your brother—who fucks up, makes a bad mistake and finds himself on the run from the cops. He’s got no tradecraft, no kind of skills that would keep him one step out in front of us. Two: We got overzealous, amped-up cops all over the state hunting for him. They’ve all been trained, they’re all good guys, but, God love ’em, they do get excited when they think they’re about to capture a murderer. Makes sense, right? Put these two things together, and I ask you, does this little combination of things sound like a recipe for a mistake? Maybe a tragic one? A pointless one?”
Bannister didn’t answer, just kept looking at Ron.
“I’ll give you the other reason,” I said. Bannister turned to me. “It’s the race.”
He looked at me, confused. “Race? What race?”
“Exactly. The race. Think about this. Let’s say your theory is right, and your brother didn’t have anything to do with the murder, but he’s scared and he bails. At that point, it’s a simple race, isn’t it?”
He looked at me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a race. A race to find him. The cops are already looking. If they win the race and find him first, and if your brother’s lucky, they’ll arrest him. ’Course if he’s not so lucky, why, then he’ll fuck up and get shot when they close in.”
“Yeah,” Bannister said, “but what happens if Josh wins the race?”
I smiled. “Dude, the cops aren’t racing against Josh—that’s not the race.”
He looked at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Your little brother took off, right? He didn’t take off because of the cops. If your theory is right, he took off because he was scared. The cops aren’t racing Josh. If you’re right, they’re racing the guy who killed Judie Lawton to see who can get to Josh first. If your theory is right, that guy’s after Josh too. Right now. You better hope that the cops get to Josh first, because I got news for ya—that other dude’s not looking to arrest your brother. He’s gonna kill him.”
Bannister was quiet for a moment. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at Ron. “You really think he killed Judie, don’t you?” He sounded halfway amazed, like the very notion was about as likely as Brooklyn Decker walking through the door and saying hello.
Ron waited a second, then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. I gotta go by what the evidence says. Right now, the evidence we have points to your brother. That means I
gotta bring him in. He can tell his story then.”
“You know, I never knew Judie Lawton. I was in here when Josh met her. But when he’d come see me, he talked about her all the damn time: ‘Judie did this’ and ‘Judie said that.’ He was really into her. Apparently, she was really something.” He looked down for a second, thinking, and then he looked at Ron again. “First time in his life he ever hooked up with someone like that.” He shook his head. “You guys are after the wrong guy. He’d never do anything to hurt her.” He looked back at Ron, a determined look on his face. “And I hear what you’re saying about running from Judie Lawton’s murderer—the real murderer. But if my little brother wants to turn himself in, that’s up to him. If he wants to stay out, that’s up to him too. I would never rat him out. You must think I’m the lowest son of a bitch in the world if you think I’d turn in my own brother.”
For a couple of minutes there, I thought that the logic of our argument might have been sinking into Bannister’s thick skull. Apparently, I was wrong.
Ron looked at him for a few seconds, then said, “Alright. One other thing before we go—a completely different subject.” He turned to Yoshi. “Give me that date, Yosh.”
Yoshi referred to a file. “December twelfth.”
“December twelve,” Ron said. “You got a parole hearing coming up, right?”
Bannister leaned back and laughed. “Oh, yeah! I been wonderin’ when you were going to bring this up. Here it comes.” He leaned forward. “You slimy son of a bitch. Now comes the part where you threaten my parole hearing, right? That’s fuckin’ blackmail. I’m surprised you waited so long to mention it.”
“Blackmail?” Ron said. “Threats? I’m offended. We’re not talking blackmail, are we Yosh?”
Yoshi shook his head. “No way, man.”
Ron shook his head too. “No, I didn’t think so. See, we would never do anything to get in the way at your hearing. That’s between you and the fine folks who run this place.”
“Then what—?”
“It’s just that an endorsement by the Seattle Police Department at your parole hearing could make a big difference, you know? In your favor. I mean, think about it. Don’t help us at all? No problem; we won’t be against you. But on the other hand, having us on your side? In your corner at your parole hearing?”
“Oh, hell,” Bannister said, “why didn’t you say so. An endorsement?” He glared at Ron. “Then you guys will stand in my corner. Great. And for that little stamp of approval, all I have to do is rat out my little brother.”
“Help us talk to him,” Ron said. “Help us get the opportunity to hear his side of the story before he does something stupid and gets himself killed.”
Bannister nodded. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, clearly thinking about his options. Besides an occasional muffled clank of a metal door closing somewhere beyond the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound.
After a couple of minutes like this, he sat up. “Okay. You want an answer? Here’s what I think.” We sat up straight in anticipation, and leaned forward slightly. “You want to know where Josh is, right?”
Ron nodded.
“And in exchange, you’ll help me at my parole hearing.”
Ron nodded. “We’ll put in a good word.”
Gabriel nodded. “Good word. Okay. Here’s a word for ya.” He leaned forward. “Go fuck yourself. I don’t know shit. And as to my parole,” he shrugged, “I’m almost done anyway. I don’t need your fuckin’ endorsement. I’ll take my chances.”
Ron stared hard at Bannister, who stared right back. They looked like a couple of prizefighters in the center of the ring before the bout begins. Finally, still staring at Gabriel, Ron waved his hand in the air.
Immediately, the intercom light glowed red and the overhead speaker crackled to life. “Yessir. Something you want?”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “We’re done here. Come and take him away.”
Chapter 14
TO SAY THAT THE MOOD ON the drive home was a little subdued would have been an understatement. Disappointment was part of this job—not every good idea panned out. Still, it sucked. We needed to get over it and get back to work. “No sweat, guys,” I said, trying to pump us back up. “This was a long shot, anyway. Forget about it. We’ll just do it the old-fashioned way. Solid investigation techniques. Old school. Works every time.”
Ron sighed. “That’s right.” He may have agreed, but he still sounded disappointed. “Solid investigation techniques.” He turned to me and shook his head. “In other words, we’re right back to square one.”
“We’re way past square one, man. So let’s suck it up and start coming up with some ideas. Like here’s one: we can start by interviewing the people Bannister works with at the Four Seasons. Maybe one of them knows something about where he’s hiding out.”
“Great idea. So good, in fact, that Yoshi organized it before we left this morning. Our people should be wrapping up at the hotel as we speak.”
I smiled. “Good. Next, how about relatives? Are there any others? Where are his parents?”
“Parents are deceased,” Yoshi said. “Only one sibling, and that would be the oh-so-helpful brother Gabriel. There is an aunt in Pennsylvania. We haven’t talked to her yet. But she’s next on my to-do list.”
“Good.” I paused, thinking, before I came up with anything. “Okay. Here’s another idea. How about we sit on his apartment? Maybe he’ll come back for something.”
“Why the hell would he do that?” Ron said, swerving to miss a box in the road. “If Bannister’s on the lam and laying low, his apartment will be the last place he’ll visit.”
If he’s a pro, I thought. Pros might not make a simple mistake like going back home when people are hunting you, but Bannister was no pro, and laymen—ordinary people? They make mistakes all the time. “Not even worth a try?” I asked. After all, the way I see it, when you’ve got nothing, anything is worth a try.
“Didn’t say I wouldn’t try,” Ron said. “I’ll have to get the captain’s approval first. He’s catching a lot of shit for no results, and he’s starting to get pretty sensitive about requests. Besides, it’s what, just after noon now? It’s getting a little late in the day for us to organize an impromptu stakeout mission today. Even if I get approval, I’m not sure I could get things organized until tomorrow. We’ll have to shift a lot of schedules around.” He thought for a second. “Maybe tonight late. But probably tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “Better than nothing, right? But ultimately, you think the captain will go along?”
He nodded. “Yeah, probably. It makes sense and besides, ’less he’s been holding out on me, he doesn’t have any better ideas. We can’t just give up.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “Unfortunately, the rest of the bad guys in the city aren’t sitting on their asses waiting for us to solve this case before they get back to work. If we don’t start producing some pretty compelling leads, I think I’ve got about a week before the captain reassigns probably most of my task force back to their original positions. I’m going to be down to a half-dozen people, counting me and Yoshi here. Fuckin’ bean counters run the place downtown. Everyone else has to get in line.”
I considered this for a second. “I understand. Good to know our constraints. So that means we’ve got ourselves a deadline then, right? We need to wrap this thing up in a week?”
“At least come up with something,” Ron agreed. “Got to have something to give the captain. Anything.”
It was a beautiful Friday night in late October in Seattle—a tiny little sliver of a moon serving as a backlight to partly cloudy skies. It was cool, but not yet what I’d call cold. Earlier this afternoon when I’d returned to the office, Toni and I talked about staking out Bannister’s apartment. We could cover for SPD while Ron got his approval.
“Friday night . . .” she said, smiling seductively, “two young people in love . . . after a hard week at work . . . and your idea of romance i
s to go sit on a stakeout.”
“It was just a thought.”
She smiled again, this time more of a sly little grin. “Gotcha. I’m up for a little nighttime surveillance if it helps the cause. What else did we have to do tonight anyway, right?”
I could actually think of a few things, yet here we were, parked across the street from Josh Bannister’s apartment in our dark green Ford Econoline van with a “Ryan’s Quality Plumbing Service” sign slapped on the side. We even had a ladder strapped to a rack on the roof to add to the effect.
Bannister’s neighborhood was one that doesn’t seem so bad in the daytime, but it gets a little sketchier when the sun goes down. Not a ghetto or a slum by any means. But not Queen Anne either. The streets are pretty much wall-to-wall with apartments four, sometimes five stories high. Toward the corners, most of the ground floors had been converted to commercial uses with beauty salons, coffee shops, and sushi restaurants being the most prevalent. Midblock, where we were parked, the only streetlights were mostly blocked by trees and largely ineffective. The streets were quite dark.
The van’s windows were tinted so no one could see in, but we could still see out. We sat at a small built-in desk in the back of the van in comfortable chairs, a heavy blackout curtain shielding us from view from the front. A small refrigerator was located beneath the desk while an enclosed compartment at the back of the van held, of all things, a port-o-potty. Talk about your luxury stakeout machine. We actually have two vans like this—the one we’re in plus a white one, in addition to an old Winnebago motor home—all similarly equipped for surveillance. Compared to sitting in the cramped front seat of a car, they’ve revolutionized stakeouts for us.
Toni manned the binoculars and the cameras on lookout while I fiddled with the laptop. I was logged on to a search program trying to dig something out of Josh Bannister’s background that might give us a clue as to his whereabouts.
Mona Lisa Eyes (Danny Logan Mystery #4) Page 18
