The Killing: Uncommon Denominator

by Karen Dionne

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Goddard said as he paid the cashier for their meals and scanned the room looking for an empty table.

  “Nothin’ I like better’n hospital food.” The undercover winked. “Long’s you understand this is off the record, we’re cool. I can’t swear to anything I’m gonna tell you in court.” “I understand. Let’s sit over there.” Goddard pointed to a table in the corner, away from the large plate-glass windows that were open to the hospital’s main corridor. The undercover wasn’t likely to run into any of his street pals here, but you couldn’t be too careful.

  Holder must have been thinking the same, because he sat in a chair with a view of the door. The lunch crowd was dwindling; maybe a couple dozen people, mostly hospital workers, remained in the room. The undercover kept his hooded sweatshirt on. Keeping it real. The look he was cultivating, scruffy hair, neatly trimmed goatee, cigarette tucked rakishly behind his ear, was definitely working for him. If Goddard had tried to wear the same get-up, he would have looked like a clown. Goddard noted the charge nurse from the burn unit who had given him Holder’s business card eating nearby, looking at the undercover. Holder saw it too, and winked.

  “What I really need is information about four people,” Goddard said after he’d finished half his burger and Holder had wolfed down all of his. The undercover had thrown the cafeteria staff for a loop when he’d asked for a burger with no meat. “Tiffany Crane, Lance Marsee, Guy Marsee, and Neil Campbell. Tiffany owns the trailer where her boyfriend, Lance Marsee, was killed. Campbell’s the guy from the meth fire next door—you know he’s dead, right?”

  “Yeah, I got the word.”

  “And Guy Marsee is Lance’s brother.”

  Holder nodded. “I know who they are ’cept the last one.”

  “You might have seen him. We have reason to believe he’s been to the trailer park. Guy Marsee is blond like Lance and about the same height and build. Drives a white Prius.”

  Holder brightened. “Yeah, I seen the car. Not too many Priuses at Rainier Valley.”

  “So what can you tell me about these four? I’m most interested in their relationships, how well they knew each other, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, let’s see. Campbell was a cooker, but I ’spose you already know that. Tiffany’s his girlfriend. They’ve been together ’bout three years now. I haven’t been working the park that long, but that’s what they tell me. She spent a lot of time at his place. Said she was babysitting the boy, but a lot of the time, Campbell was there too, so you know.” He shrugged. “Actions tell a different story.”

  “But she found a new boyfriend, right? Lance Marsee? The guy who got shot in her trailer?”

  “Nah, he wasn’t her boyfriend. He thought so, but she still had a thing for Campbell big time. That girl had it bad. She’d do anything for him.”

  “Even murder?”

  “Nah, I didn’t mean that. Just that she was his drudge, his gofer. Like those Manson girls. When Campbell said ‘jump,’ she didn’t ask how high; just climbed onto the nearest bridge and flew.”

  “What do you figure Campbell got out of their relationship? Besides the obvious.”

  “Control. That’s what he got off on. Dude was one cold mother. Getting people to do what they didn’t want to made him feel big. Like Tiffany. All she wanted was him, but he made her come on to the rich guys at the casino. He didn’t care about the stuff they gave her. Just that he’d made her do something she didn’t want to. That’s how she hooked up with Lance. Campbell picked him out for her himself.” Holder laughed. “Only I guess he never figured on her bringin’ the dude home. Man, I never seen him so mad. It was the first time she’d ever really stood up to him. He got back at her, though. Turned her into a meth head. One taste and she was gone. Like I said, control.”

  “And you’re sure about all of this?”

  Holder nodded. “I keep my ears open. A lot of what people say is bull, but I got eyes. I know what I see.”

  “So Campbell was a control freak. What about his boy, Hugo? Was he rough with him?” Linden had filled him in on what she’d learned about that particular detail. They made a good tag team.

  “Nah, he loved that little man. Campbell was one mean mother, but you’d never know it when he was around his kid. Kid’s bedroom was a regular Toys R Us. And whenever he cooked up a batch of meth, he always put the kid in the car.”

  As if that made him a good father. Though it did prove, Goddard supposed, that no one was either all good, or all bad. He thought about his own soon-to-be-born son. Kath had the nursery set up. Blue wallpaper with teddy bears on it. Teddy bear lamps, teddy bear bedding in the crib, teddy bear mobile. Goddard had wanted to do up the room with a baseball theme, but Kath preferred teddy bears.

  “What about the boy’s mother? Does she come around?”

  Holder shook his head. “She took herself out of the family photo when Hugo was a baby. Decided she didn’t like being a moms and just walked away. Gave Campbell full custody before she disappeared. I dunno what’ll happen to the little dude now. Doubt she’s gonna be there for him, you feel me?” Holder looked pensive as he took a long slug of diet Coke. “Anyways, we done? I got places to go, people to see.”

  “Just one more thing. That Prius. You wouldn’t happen to remember where it was parked when you saw it? Which trailer?” Trying to nail the detail Linden had gotten from the woman across the street, that on at least one occasion, Guy’s Prius had been parked in front of Campbell’s trailer.

  The undercover raised his eyebrows. His forehead creased and his brows furrowed as he tried to remember. “Hells, I dunno. On the street. In front of Tiffany’s trailer, I guess.”

  “Was it always parked there? In the same spot?”

  Holder shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know there was going to be a quiz.”

  “Okay,” Goddard said. He couldn’t fault the guy for not noticing. It was an obscure detail. Possibly not even important. “Thanks for meeting with me. Appreciate your help.”

  Holder touched his finger to his forehead, picked up his tray, and carried the contents over to the trash. Goddard noted he chose the trash bin closest to the attractive charge nurse. He shook his head. Holder, Louis… these young guys with their hormones, always thinking about just the one thing. Goddard sighed and picked up his tray to follow. He wasn’t that many years older than Holder and Louis, but sometimes it felt like a million.

  32

  Goddard was already in his office when Sarah got back to the station. His office looked a lot like hers: standard-issue furniture, whiteboard, wooden coat rack in the corner, cardboard filing boxes stacked three-high on the side table and on the floor. Family photos on the shelves behind him instead of on his desk. Looking down on him rather than looking back. Sarah wondered if the “out of sight, out of mind” placement had been done consciously, or if there were bigger issues in play. Decided it didn’t matter as long as he could stop checking his phone for messages every five minutes.

  Still, nobody was perfect, Goddard was an okay partner; they’d accomplished a good day’s work. And the day wasn’t yet over.

  Lieutenant Oakes appeared at the door. “You got your warrant,” he said, handing Sarah the folded paper. “Happy hunting.”

  She turned to Goddard. “We still have a couple hours of daylight. Ready to head back out?”

  “Why not? Let’s go.”

  Sarah slid the warrant into her jacket pocket while Goddard put on his coat. Even in death, Neil Campbell retained his constitutional rights, but she and Goddard had established the likelihood that Campbell had known about the Marsee brothers’ PKD project solidly enough to list him as a possible murder suspect on a warrant application. Now that they had the warrant in hand, they could legally search the sections of his trailer that hadn’t been destroyed by the meth fire, perhaps turn up some more evidence to link the two halves of the dysfunctional family.

  The lines of investigation they were f
ollowing were not as neat and tidy as Sarah would have liked. If the two Marsees and Campbell were working together using their unique genetic material to develop a treatment for PKD, why did Guy’s computer show only himself and Lance with access to their Google Doc? And if the three men weren’t working together, how had Campbell found out about the project? She hoped a search of his trailer would turn up answers. At the very least, there should be something about the project on Campbell’s computer. Although finding the murder weapon would also be a much-needed break.

  “There’s one thing that’s still bothering me in all of this,” Goddard said once they were settled in Sarah’s car. “Our man Rutz. First he tells us he doesn’t know Guy Marsee outside of work. But it turns out that he’s Marsee’s godfather. After we catch him out, he narrates a six-volume book about the family history and tells us about the half-brother. He insists the two halves of the family don’t know each other, but then we find out that they do. He’s a smart man. Surely he doesn’t think he can hide this stuff forever. So what’s his game? Is he just trying to mess with us? Slow down our investigation? If so, why?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “But I’m sure we’ll find out.” “Game” was the right word to describe Rutz’s behavior. He was toying with them. Like he thought he was smarter, or perhaps he shared Campbell’s obsessive need to be in control, as described by Goddard’s undercover source. But the reasons for his behavior didn’t matter. Persistence on their part along with careful detective work would bring him down. It always did.

  She pulled out of the parking lot and turned toward Rainier Valley. As she did, her cellphone rang. She handed it to Goddard without checking the display. The rain had been intermixed with sleet all day, and the roads were slick. She didn’t need to get into an accident when they were getting so close. “Can you take this?”

  “Sure. Detective Goddard,” he answered. “Uh-huh… right… Yes, please.” A pause. Then, “That’s great. Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

  He closed the phone and handed it back. “That was Dr. Preston, from GenMod. Remember when you asked her if GenMod was working on a cure for PKD, and she said she’d look into it? Well, it turns out, they are. Or rather, they’ve just started. The project is still in the application stage because it hasn’t yet been approved.”

  “Let me guess: Guy and Lance Marsee’s names are on the application.”

  “You’re half right. Their names are on the application, but the application was submitted on their behalf by our good friend, Dr. Nelson Rutz.” Goddard grinned.

  “So that means—”

  “He knew about their project. And because he also knew about Campbell, that means—”

  “—Rutz is the connection. That’s how Campbell knew about the brothers’ plans: Rutz told him. So Rutz was lying when he said he hasn’t been in contact with Campbell other than that one phone call.”

  Goddard nodded. “So that brings us back to the same question. What’s his game?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said again. “But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

  * * *

  Campbell’s trailer had been one of the nicer homes in the park. The kind that was called a “double-wide,” hauled to its final destination in halves and then joined together. With a pitched roof built over both, the result was a reasonable approximation of a house. Sarah had seen the two halves of a double-wide being pulled down the highway once when she was a kid. The idea of a house traveling down the road had been novel enough all on its own, but the fact that she could see right through the plastic sheeting stapled over the opening to the inside was utterly fascinating. Like looking into a life-sized dollhouse. Living room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Hallway. She remembered wondering if there were dishes in the cupboards and clothes in the closets. She’d giggled when they drove past the bathroom and she saw the toilet. The foster couple hadn’t appreciated bathroom humor and had washed Sarah’s mouth out with soap.

  Campbell’s front door was again covered with a sheet of plywood. Sarah wondered how long this second sheet would last. Either the explosion had blown the door out or the firemen had broken it in. Someone was bound to pry the plywood off before long. After that, the whole trailer would be picked clean. Assuming the non-Marsee half of Campbell’s family didn’t lay claim to his belongings first and empty the trailer before the vandals had their way with it and the squatters moved in.

  Sarah and Goddard picked their way through the charred debris and frozen puddles to the back yard. The back door was unlocked. Campbell hadn’t exactly been planning to leave his home for the last time on a stretcher.

  The odor inside the trailer was appalling. No telling what toxins they were breathing in. The blaze had started in the kitchen, but it looked like it had taken the fire department a while to get the fire under control, because the flames had done a number on the living room as well. Most of the fake-wood paneling was either charred, or missing, and the ceiling had fallen in. Broken and blackened asbestos ceiling tiles blanketed the remains of a blue leather sofa and a plate-glass coffee table.

  The melted carpet stuck to Sarah’s shoes. It felt like she was walking in quicksand. She picked up a framed photograph from the floor. It showed a man and a boy holding hands, Neil and Hugo Campbell. Now she came to think about it, she hadn’t known what Campbell looked like. She’d only seen him after the fire, his face mummified in hospital bandages. The picture showed a blond man with the same sturdy build as the Marsee brothers. More athletic, like he’d spent less time in front of a computer and more time working out. The boy was also blond, about two or three, and definitely Campbell’s son. Sarah could tell not only by the physical resemblance, but by the way the boy looked up at his father’s face.

  “What a mess, huh?” Goddard remarked. “Let’s check the bedrooms.”

  The first bedroom they came to had clearly belonged to Hugo. Even knowing that Campbell had indulged his boy with every toy and gadget imaginable, Sarah wasn’t prepared for the sheer quantity of toys and stuffed animals. If a father’s affection could be measured by his offspring’s possessions, Hugo had been well loved. Most of the techno-gadgets were for an older child. The Marsees had been raised by university professors, plenty of intellectual stimulation, at least according to Rutz. Apparently Campbell was continuing the tradition. She hoped that whoever was looking after Hugo would come back to the trailer and box up a few of his things before they were stolen or thrown away. Everything in the trailer smelled of smoke, but stuffed animals could be washed. She hoped they’d pick out the ones that were the most worn.

  Campbell’s bedroom was at the end of the hall. The bedroom where he and Tiffany had been a couple. Up to the day that Campbell blew himself up, according to Goddard’s information from the undercover. Sarah couldn’t stop thinking about her interview with Tiffany. The woman had cried through the interview, cried when she identified Lance and Guy’s bodies. Naturally, Sarah had assumed her grief was for her murdered boyfriend, Lance. But all along, her tears had been for her real lover, Campbell. It was hard to accept that Sarah had been so completely deceived. All she could offer in her defense was that Tiffany was a consummate actress. She’d convinced Lance and who knew how many other high-rollers that she loved them. Now that she knew the truth, Sarah couldn’t wait to talk to the woman again. They’d call both her and Rutz back to the station as soon as they’d assembled their evidence.

  The bed was made, an interesting indicator of Campbell’s personality. How many single dads took the time to do that? Sarah herself couldn’t claim to be so tidy.

  “Check the closet,” Goddard said as he pulled on a set of gloves and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand. Sarah put on her own gloves and opened the closet’s bi-fold doors. Campbell had evidently favored jeans and polo shirts. The jeans were pressed and hung on hangers. She took a flashlight from her pocket and shone it over the shelf above the hangers. Folded sweaters and baskets that turned out to contain socks and underwear sorted by co
lor and rolled neatly into balls. Goddard’s report had said that Guy was a neat freak. Apparently the neatness gene ran in the family.

  “You finding anything of Tiffany’s?” she called over her shoulder. Placing Tiffany in Campbell’s bedroom would give Sarah leverage at their next interview.

  “Not yet. Room’s pretty clean. But I’ve got Campbell’s laptop. It was in his nightstand.”

  On the floor of the closet were two cardboard boxes with the flaps folded and tucked. She pulled one into the middle of the room where the light was better. Old textbooks: Introduction to Physical Anthropology, Appreciating Diversity, What Does it Mean to Be Human? Probably belonged to Campbell’s anthropologist mother.

  She pulled out the second battered box. It contained family photos, and Sarah pulled out a handful. At first, she thought she was looking at pictures of Campbell when he was a child. But most of the pictures showed two blond-haired boys, not one. She picked out another handful. Boys playing at the beach, on a swing set, coming down a park slide. They looked to be around four years apart. Guy and Lance.

  In the bottom was a clear Ziploc bag full of yellowed newspaper clippings and faded report cards. She opened the bag, paged through a few. Sat back on her heels. All of the clippings pertained to Campbell’s half-brothers. Not a single one of them mentioned Campbell himself.

  She spread the clippings out over the bed. “Goddard, come here. Look at this.”

  Goddard studied the assemblage. “What am I looking at?”

  “These clippings. Science fair projects, awards won, report cards and SAT results and—” she picked up a more recent clipping “—an announcement of Lance Marsee’s induction into the National Academy of Sciences. These are all about the Marsees. Campbell has been watching them, monitoring them, stalking them for years. Decades. He knew everything about them.”