by Chris Culver
“You know, I think I will file that complaint. It’ll help me sleep better at night.”
“I’m glad,” said Ash. “Before you do that, I’ve got some real work for you. I need you to find out if Kate and Daniel Elliot had a safe deposit box.”
“Why?”
Ash was tempted to respond “Because I said so,” but instead he took a breath. “Because they might have kept something pertinent to our investigation in one. It will help us make a case at trial.”
“What do you want me to do? Just call banks and ask if Kara and Daniel were customers?”
“Yeah, and ask about Commonwealth Financial Products, too. They might have gotten one under a company name.”
Smith squinted at him. “You doing this just to waste my time?”
“No. I’m ordering you to do this because it could help our case. Like me or not, I’m still your superior officer. If you keep questioning me, I’m going to write you up for insubordination. That complaint, I guarantee you, will stick.”
“And while I’m wasting my time with this, what are you going to be wasting Greg’s time with?”
“I’m going to call him and ask him to talk to a prisoner in Hancock County.”
“Who?”
Ash was growing tired of the questions, but answering them beat arguing about them. “A guy named Marvin Spencer. The Hancock County Sheriff’s Department picked him up yesterday at a bordello full of underage girls outside New Palestine. Daniel Elliot took one of those girls out and was then shot. I think Spencer knows something. ”
Smith sat up straighter.
“Then why should I waste my time on this safe deposit thing? I should interrogate him with Greg.”
“Spencer’s got a lawyer, so he won’t talk to us anytime soon. We know Palmer killed the Elliots, but if we go after him in court without looking at other viable suspects, his lawyers will tear us apart. I’m sending Greg out there to cover all our bases. He won’t be able to get anything, but we’ve got to go through the motions.”
Smith seemed to weigh that for a moment before settling back down and turning to his computer. “At least I won’t be the only one wasting my time.”
Unfortunately, he was probably right.
* * *
Greg Doran sounded neither surprised nor annoyed when Ash called. The veteran detective simply thought for a moment and agreed that somebody needed to go. Ash, meanwhile, had another idea. He called the Hancock County Sheriff’s Department and made arrangements for Doran’s visit. While he had someone on the phone, he also asked about Spencer’s personal information, ostensibly for IMPD’s own records. Ash wrote the information down and hung up.
Spencer lived on the twentieth floor of a high-rise apartment building just two blocks from the Central Library. When Ash drove to the address, he found an apartment building that appeared to have been built in the late seventies or early eighties. Balconies jutted from the structure like legs on a centipede while twin radio towers extended from the top floor like antennae. Ash parked in a private lot on North Alabama Street and looked to the west. He could see the bell tower of the Scottish Rite Cathedral a couple of blocks away. Rebecca hadn’t been far from his mind since her death, but seeing the cathedral where he should have picked her up brought her to the forefront. That, in turn, made him want to get a drink.
He climbed out of his car to take his mind off things and walked into the building. The lobby had low ceilings, a marble floor, and a bank of steel mail slots on one wall. He found the elevator and took it to Spencer’s floor. No one tried to stop him; with as many apartments as the building contained, its residents probably saw a lot of unfamiliar faces. Gray carpet flecked with black covered the ground of the public areas on the twentieth floor, while crown molding adorned the ceiling. That high up, each floor had four apartments, one on each corner of the building. The tenants probably had two or three thousand square feet each. Not bad for a simple man who helped out at a bed-and-breakfast.
As soon as he arrived at Spencer’s door, he knocked hard, hoping to find a helpful girlfriend or roommate. That’d be the ideal situation. If Spencer had a girlfriend who stayed at the apartment and kept her stuff there, she would have common authority over the entire place and could let him search whatever he wanted. It wouldn’t matter if she had signed the lease or not. A roommate, while not quite as helpful because he wouldn’t have common authority over Spencer’s bedroom, could at least let Ash inside the apartment to search the common areas. He waited for a moment when no one answered and knocked again.
“I’m a police officer. If anyone is inside, please open the door.”
A door down the hall opened and a short young man with glasses and wavy hair stuck his head out. His eyelids drooped and his shirt appeared wrinkled. He looked as if he had been woken from a nap. Ash nodded in the young man’s direction and unhooked his badge from his belt to show him the ID.
“Sorry to disturb you.”
“Marvin isn’t there. He was arrested yesterday.”
Ash hadn’t planned to talk to the neighbors, but it would seem out of place if he didn’t say something. He walked toward the man’s door.
“I’m Sergeant Ash Rashid with the Indianapolis Metro Police Department. Are you free to talk for a few minutes?”
“I guess. I’m Ben.”
“Thank you, Ben.” Ash pointed over his shoulder at Spencer’s door with his thumb. “How’d you know we arrested your neighbor?”
“Because you guys knocked on the wrong door and woke my girlfriend and me up last night. It was like four in the morning. She was pissed.”
A knock at the door at that time of morning would piss most people off. “By ‘you guys,’ you mean police officers?”
“They were with the FBI, I think.”
“Really?” asked Ash. “I didn’t know they had come by. Was it a big team?”
“Two guys in suits.”
Ash looked over his shoulder at Spencer’s door. Normally, when an officer finished searching an apartment, he’d tape a notice of entry across the door and sill. Anyone who tried to enter the apartment afterward would break that notice, informing the police that their crime scene was no longer secure and that any evidence taken from the room from that point would be inadmissible in court. Marvin’s door didn’t have any such notice, which didn’t make sense.
“Did you get a good look at the men who came by?”
“It was late,” said Ben. “They both wore suits, and they had FBI badges. They said they had a warrant.”
If Ash had to guess, that was what they told the officer assigned to watch the girls at the hospital, too.
“Did your landlord let them in?” asked Ash.
“They had a key. They tried to open my door with it first. Almost scared me to death. I thought someone was trying to break into my apartment.”
“Okay,” said Ash, nodding as he removed his cell phone from his pocket. He dialed Agent Havelock’s number but kept his eyes on Ben. “Are you going to be around today?”
“For most of the day.”
“Good. I think there are going to be some people interested in talking to you.”
Ben started to protest, but Havelock had picked up his phone. Ash held up his finger, silencing the younger man.
“Hey. This is Ash Rashid, and I’m following up on a few things related to Daniel and Kara Elliot’s murder. Did you or anyone from your office serve a search warrant on Marvin Spencer’s apartment?”
“Not yet.”
Ash scratched his brow and exhaled. “That’s what I thought. You’re going to want to get down here. I think Palmer may have broken in.”
* * *
In most burglary cases, a home’s occupant would grant the police permission to search the building for evidence of the crime. Ash doubted Marvin Spencer would be so accommodating, so he waited in the hallway for Havelock’s team to arrive. The first members, a four-person team of forensic technicians, arrived about ten minutes after Ash place
d his call. They said Havelock and Clair Eckert were drawing up the warrant application and would likely arrive within half an hour. Not wanting to waste his time, Ash walked to the apartment next door and knocked. Ben, the young man Ash had talked to a few minutes earlier, answered within just a minute.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up. We’re going to search the apartment next door shortly, so you might hear some noises.”
“Okay,” said Ben, looking over his shoulder. “Is that it?”
“Not quite,” said Ash. “I wanted to ask you a couple of general questions about Marvin. Is that okay?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course you have a choice,” said Ash, nodding. “But if you don’t talk to me, the FBI agent I’m working this case with will be here next. Neither of us can compel you to answer questions, but he can really ruin your day. If you talk to me now, I’ll share my notes with him and hopefully we won’t have to disturb you again. That’s the best offer you’re going to get all day.”
“Do we have to do this in my apartment? Because it’s a mess. I don’t even have anywhere for you to sit.”
“We’ll talk right here,” said Ash, reaching into his jacket for a notepad. “Is that all right?”
“All right,” said Ben.
“Great, thank you,” said Ash. “So what’s your full name, Ben?”
“Uh, Benjamin William Richardson.”
Ben’s voice almost cracked. Ash was tempted to smile at his nervousness, but he kept it off his face. “And you live here, right?”
“With my girlfriend.”
Ash wrote that down. “Have you ever been interviewed by the police before?”
Ben hesitated. “I got busted for pot in college.”
“Well, we’re not interested in marijuana, so you don’t have to be nervous. Even if you’ve got some on you or in your apartment, I really don’t care. As long as you don’t smoke up in front of me, you’re not going to get in trouble.”
That seemed to relax him a little. He took a breath and nodded. “Okay.”
“So, did you know Marvin?”
“Not really. I saw him some, but just going in and out of his apartment. We didn’t usually even say hello to each other.”
“Did Marvin live alone?”
Ben started to answer, but then caught himself and leaned against the door frame, his arms loosely across his chest. “I think so. I didn’t really pay that much attention, though.”
“Did you ever see him bring a girl home?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know if they were girlfriends or what. Like I said, we didn’t really know each other.”
Ash nodded. “You’re doing fine. The girls you saw, how old do you think they were?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Twenty-five, thirty.”
Probably not girls from the Dandelion Inn. “Has he had anyone over lately?”
Ben shrugged. “He had a girl over three or four nights ago. She was a soprano.” He reached into his apartment and knocked on the nearest wall. “Cheap construction. I can hear every time my neighbor farts.”
“Aside from me and the guys who came in early this morning, has anyone else come by?”
“No. It’s been dead.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me about Marvin?”
“My girlfriend thinks he’s creepy. I think it was just the tattoos, though.”
Marvin trafficked young women; vile was probably a better descriptor than creepy.
“You can at least tell your girlfriend not to worry about him. He’s going to be in jail for a while,” said Ash. He gestured to the door across the hall with his head. “Are your other neighbors usually home during the day? I might talk to them if they are.”
He shook his head. “No, everybody’s at work or school. I work out of the house.”
“Since you’re here in the day, I’m going to ask you for another favor. It’s possible someone will come back to Marvin’s apartment, and if that happens, I want you to stay inside your apartment and call the police. Can you do that?” Ben nodded, so Ash slipped his notebook into his jacket pocket and removed a business card from his wallet. “This is my card. If you have any questions for me, or if you think of anything about Marvin, give me a call or send me an e-mail. I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can. That sound good?”
“That sounds fine.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Ben nodded and shut his door. Havelock still hadn’t arrived yet, so Ash knocked on the doors of the two other apartments on the floor, but no one answered either place. He expected that in the middle of the day. On the off chance that the other neighbors had more information, Ash tore two pages out of his notebook and wrote a quick note on each requesting a call. He slipped a note and a copy of his business card beneath each door. After that, he sat down on the floor beside Marvin’s door and closed his eyes to wait.
Agent Havelock, Clair Eckert, and the building’s manager, a woman named Tonya, arrived about twenty minutes later, their warrant in hand. Tonya opened Spencer’s door and stepped back while Agent Havelock and Ash walked in, their firearms at their sides. The apartment had a galley-style kitchen and living room combination immediately in front of the door. Picture windows overlooked the city, giving him a nearly unobstructed view of the Scottish Rite Cathedral and the park near which it stood. Palmer very well could have stood beside that window and watched with binoculars as Ash got into the van.
“This is the FBI serving a search warrant,” said Havelock. “If anyone can hear my voice, please come to the living room immediately.”
No one emerged, so Ash crossed the threshold that separated the marble entryway from the living room and felt his shoes sink in the plush gray carpet. The builder may have skimped on the soundproofing between apartments, but he had gone all out on the interior finishes. Crown molding ran around the entire ceiling in the living room, and the kitchen cabinets were topped with a thick slab of black granite. Havelock motioned for Ash to follow him through an open doorway on the left. It led to a bedroom that had been turned into a home office. Ash checked out the walk-in closet while Havelock threw back the shower curtain in the attached bathroom. Neither found anyone, nor did it look as if anyone had searched the room.
They went to the bedroom on the other side of the apartment next. It had a king-sized bed, a dresser, and a chest of drawers. Clothes overflowed a laundry basket on the far side of the room, but nothing appeared to have been rifled through. When burglars break into a house to search for something, they usually pull out drawers and dump their contents on the ground, overturn the furniture looking for hidden compartments, and occasionally even cut some holes in the walls. Marvin’s apartment didn’t have any of that. Havelock and Ash checked the few places big enough to hide someone before declaring the apartment clear and allowing the civilian forensic technicians inside. As the technicians set up to work, Havelock motioned for Ash to follow him into the hallway. He pulled the door shut slightly, leaving just a crack, and leaned close to Ash.
“I know you play fast with the rules, but tell me you actually had a report that someone broke into this apartment. It will look bad for all of us if you lied so we could get in here.”
Ash motioned toward Ben’s door with his head. “The neighbor told me. I wouldn’t have called you if he hadn’t.”
Havelock stared directly into Ash’s eyes, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Eventually, he looked back toward the door. “If you’re going to stay, get some gloves. I don’t want you disturbing the scene.”
Ash followed Havelock back inside and got a pair of purple polypropylene gloves from one of the evidence technicians. While the techs tried to fingerprint the door, Ash walked back through the bedroom and opened the drawers on the end tables. He found a package of condoms in one, but no pictures or other personal mementos that would indicate Spencer had a real relationship with anyone. After that, he went to the kitchen and flipped through a s
tack of mail on the counter. Bills and catalogs, mostly. He stopped when he glanced at the phone in the kitchen. A red light on the answering machine blinked over and over, indicating that someone had left a message. Ash looked up. Havelock and Clair Eckert were conferring with each other near the far window, while the evidence technicians looked busy cataloging fingerprints near the door and windows.
Ash hesitated and then waved over one of the technicians.
“Can you do me a favor and take a look at this phone?”
The tech looked at Agent Havelock for permission, and only then did he start dusting the exterior for prints. That hadn’t been what Ash had in mind, but he waited anyway while he lifted a set. Once that was done, he let Ash pick it up. He didn’t bother checking the messages—Spencer likely kept his voice mail password protected. Instead, he looked at the phone log. Someone had called Spencer from the same number eight times in the past three days. Ash entered that number in his cell phone and noted that he should call it when he had the chance.
All in all, the apartment disappointed him. If Palmer had really broken in, he probably knew exactly what he wanted and left everything else alone. Aside from the phone log, Ash doubted they’d get anything from it. They were going to have to do better than that. He put the phone back on its cradle and then walked toward Agent Havelock.
“Spencer had some messages that might be worth checking. I don’t know if your warrant will cover them, though. Unless you need me further, I’m going to head out.”
Clair narrowed her eyes at Ash. “You said you talked to a neighbor. What was his name?”
Ash reached into his jacket and flipped through his notepad. He hadn’t gotten much from Ben, so he just tore out the pages with his notes on them and handed them over. “The guy’s name is Ben Richardson. He didn’t seem to know much.”
Havelock flipped through the notes and nodded. “Thank you for the call, Sergeant Rashid. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
