by Elin Barnes
“You win, Detectives.” He got off of the stool. “And I was going to get laid tonight too,” he said, eyeing a petite blond as he passed by her.
Darcy saw her return Blake’s smile and wondered why women could not spot douche bags a mile away.
Chapter 71
Higgins must have texted his lawyer, because by the time the three of them got to the station, a man in a crisp suit and a gorgeous tie was already waiting for them. Darcy reached the counter first but didn’t introduce himself.
Sorensen cursed under his breath and leaned close to Darcy. “It’s either going to be a long night or a very short one,” he said.
“Why?” Darcy asked.
“Blake, have you said anything?” was the first thing the lawyer asked.
“Of course not, Dad.”
“Oh,” Darcy said, looking at Sorensen, whose expression said, I told you.
“Blake Higgins Sr. I’m representing my son.” When nobody bothered to acknowledge him, he asked, “Why are you bringing him in for questioning?”
Neither detective answered. Darcy logged both the attorney and suspect in, and led them to the elevator without saying a word.
The bullpen was deserted. Even Virago was gone.
“The coffee is probably cold and stale. Do you want some?” Darcy asked as soon as they’d entered the interview room to wait for Sorensen.
“We’re not going to stay long enough to taste it. Detective, you have to tell me what’s going on right now.”
Only Darcy sat down.
Sorensen came in carrying a couple files. He leafed through some photos. Settling on one, he put it on the table. Blake looked. A couple seconds later, he jumped out of the chair.
“That’s gross. Why are you showing me this?” he asked, pushing the photo away. He couldn’t stop looking at it, so he turned it over.
“The leg belonged to Suresh Malik,” Sorensen said. “He was a patent reviewer at McKenzie & Shaw. But you knew that already.”
“Don’t say anything, Blake,” his father told him.
“Dad, I’m not stupid.”
Sorensen opened another file and took out nine different pictures. Spreading them over the table, he said, “These are all the people who were killed in Lost Altos two days ago.”
Each photo was more gruesome than the previous one. Blake started looking a little green.
“Can I have some water?” he asked.
Neither detective moved.
“I would like some too,” the lawyer said.
Sorensen got up and left the room.
Darcy owned the Los Altos case, so he took over. “Blake, we know you were there.”
“He was not.” His father’s voice sounded indignant but genuine.
Darcy realized that the lawyer didn’t really know his son.
“We know you contacted a Madam X and asked to be invited to the party. We know he provided you with the companionship of a call girl.”
“Detective, none of this is true.” Blake’s father pounded on the table and stood up.
Sorensen walked into the room with a couple glasses and a pitcher of water. He sat next to Darcy and didn’t serve anybody.
“You have no proof.” Higgins Sr. ignored the water, even though his voice was now raspy.
“Blake knows it’s true.” Darcy took the pitcher and poured himself a glass. He looked over the rim at Blake while he drank half of it.
He thought very carefully about his options. If he accused him of anything that wasn’t true, he would lose his credibility, and Blake would know they had nothing concrete on him yet. He really wanted to tell him they’d found evidence but decided against it.
“Madam X confirmed this.”
“Who’s that?” Without waiting for the answer, the lawyer said, “That sounds like a pimp’s name. You’re going to believe the word of a pimp over that of an outstanding citizen?”
Sorensen scoffed. The lawyer looked at him.
There was a knock. There hadn’t been anybody at work, so the interruption was more than unexpected. Sorensen got up to open the door.
Darcy heard whispers but couldn’t make out the actual conversation. After a couple back-and-forth sentences, Sorensen said, “Lynch,” and motioned for him to leave the interview room with him. Once outside, he said, “Your sister’s downstairs.”
“What? Why?” Darcy asked.
“Apparently she needs to talk to you right now.”
“Did she say what about?”
“No,” the officer said, almost looking embarrassed. “She was very insistent that she needed to talk to you right now, though.”
“Can you bring her up?” Darcy asked the officer.
He nodded and left.
“What do you think that’s all about?” Sorensen asked.
“With my sister, you never know.”
She walked into the bullpen escorted by the same uni who’d been there just moments ago. She was tall and thin, and her shoulder-length hair had been styled with soft curls. She was wearing an evening gown and a fur coat.
“Pretty risky wearing that in California,” Darcy said, pointing at the coat.
“It’s cold out,” she said, and leaned in to kiss Darcy on the cheek. She nodded at Sorensen. “Detective.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Darcy asked.
“Do you know who Blake Higgins Sr. is?”
“Oh boy,” Sorensen said, looking away.
“You do,” she said to Sorensen.
“I don’t,” Darcy cut in.
“He was the best man at the mayor’s wedding.”
“And?” Darcy asked.
“Don’t be obtuse.”
“I don’t care who he is. His son is a person of interest in the multiple homicide in Los Altos, in which, may I remind you, several of your friends were murdered. And this guy is connected to Jon’s shooting.”
“I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding somewhere.”
Darcy looked at Sorensen, who seemed to be enjoying the exchange.
“You’re sure there’s a misunderstanding? Are you kidding me?” Darcy squared his stance in front of his sister.
She sighed. “All I’m saying is to tread carefully. He’s a very powerful man and can make your life miserable.”
“Thanks for stopping by. Tell your husband we’ll make sure to do our jobs.”
She locked eyes with him, turned and started walking toward the door. She stopped and walked back. When she was really close to Darcy, she winked and said just loud enough for Sorensen to hear it too, “He’s a scumbag. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so nail him if you can. Just be careful. He has a lot of friends.”
Kate hugged her little brother and gave him another kiss on the cheek, leaving a crimson mark on it. Then she left.
“Didn’t see that one coming,” Sorensen said.
“She’s funny that way.” Moving back to the interview room, he said, “Let’s get this guy.”
The moment they opened the door, father and son stood.
“It’s late, Detectives. We’re going home.”
“Not so fast. We’re not done here.” Sorensen’s bulk filled the door frame.
Darcy noticed that all of the photos had been turned upside down. He wasn’t sure if Blake was feeling guilty, ashamed, or was just squeamish. Darcy took one of the photos and turned it over. It was the close-up of the black call girl, Sandra Howell. Her eyes were open but lifeless. They’d been ebony dark. There was a bullet hole in her forehead.
“You were here, Blake. You either saw this happen, or you did this,” he said, waving the photo close to Blake’s face.
“That’s ridiculous,” his father said. “Come on, let’s go.”
Blake met his dad close to the door, which was still blocked by Sorensen.
“Stop wasting your time with my son, and figure out who did this to those poor people.”
“We just want his help,” Sorensen said. “If he knows something, he should tell u
s, or we’ll arrest him for obstruction.”
“You try that,” the lawyer said, challenging Sorensen until he moved over.
After the two men left, Sorensen sat facing Darcy in the interview room. Neither said a word for a few minutes.
Sorensen picked up the photos and put them back in the appropriate files. “Do you think he’s good for this?” he asked.
“No. Did you see his face when he was looking at the photos? But I think he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”
“We can probably get a warrant.”
Darcy checked his watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. “You’ll get a new enemy if you knock on any judge’s door right now. Let’s do it tomorrow. I don’t think he’s going anywhere, and I need to go back to the hospital.”
Chapter 72
His dad wouldn’t stop talking, but Blake tuned him out immediately. He insisted on taking him back to the house, but that would have only led to more preaching. So when Blake Higgins Sr. dropped him off at the front door of the Omega tower in downtown San Jose, Blake was relieved.
“Thanks for coming to the station,” he said, getting out of the car.
“Blake, really. Please think about what I just told you.”
“I will, Dad,” he said but had no idea what his old man had yapped about. “Say hi to Mom. I’ll be there for Thanksgiving, okay?”
In the middle of his dad’s reply, he closed the car door and walked up to his building. As he entered, a sudden rush of heat engulfed him. He hadn’t realized until that moment how cold it was outside.
“Good evening, Mr. Higgins,” the security guard said.
“Hi,” he responded, mostly dismissing him.
Blake waved the fob over the reader, then pressed the button with the number sixteen. When he reached his floor, he walked the long corridor to his condo. The only sound in the quiet hallway was the rattling of his keys. The walls were burgundy, and the doors a light shade of sage. Those colors always made him feel as if he lived in a high-end hotel rather than a tower in San Jose.
His door was the very last one. When he was still several feet away, something caught his attention, and he almost tripped on his own foot. Regaining his step, he walked faster to see what was leaning against his door.
The yellow envelope was about two and a quarter by three and a half inches. The words “Watch Me” were printed in black letters. He took it, opened his door and set the keys on the kitchen table. He looked at the envelope, not wanting to open it. His mouth felt dry. He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth to generate some saliva and noticed that he had started to sweat even though his condo was not warm.
He felt the envelope. Turned it around a few times. There was something small and rectangular inside. A thumb drive? He didn’t know what it could be about, or who could have left it there. He thought about his regular encounters with the call girl, but nowadays, who really cared about that? He doubted that was material for blackmail anyway.
Blake pulled his Mac out of his workbag and fired it up. As soon as it booted, he ripped the envelope open and dropped the contents onto the counter. It was a thumb drive. He plugged it in.
A video file opened. He immediately recognized the setting and froze.
Chapter 73
“Sorensen, in my office,” the captain yelled through her open door.
Lynch had just left, and the bullpen was a ghost town, so there was no need to yell. He put down the marker he was using on the board and walked in, but didn’t sit. Virago took one more bite of her Chinese salad and threw the rest in the garbage.
“I thought you were already gone,” Sorensen said, recalling the empty office when he and Lynch came with Blake Higgins.
“How is it going, Detective?” She chewed and ignored his comment.
“Not so good. It must be a full moon or something, because we got too much stuff going on these past couple of days.”
“Want to talk about it?” she offered.
Sorensen checked his watch. It was past 11:00 p.m. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m wiped. So what’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’ve thought more about the proposition of going over to SJPD.”
Sorensen breathed in and then exhaled for a long time while he looked down at his hands. “I don’t know, Captain.”
“I’m trying to see if I can transfer your pension or make a similar arrangement.”
He didn’t say anything. He knew how close to impossible that was, but he appreciated her trying.
“I’m glad Jon’s doing well,” she said.
“Me too. You really think you can bring him on with you?”
“They won’t let me hire him here. And I want to get him on the payroll before he graduates, or we’ll lose him to the next hot start-up. I already put that in as a condition for the transfer.”
“Wow, you feel that strongly about it?”
“Absolutely. It’s total bullshit that they won’t let me bring him in full-time.”
“What about Lynch?” He didn’t really want to ask. He felt conflicted.
“What about Lynch?” She eyed him.
“You’re really taking him with you too?”
“That’s what I said.”
There was a dare in her eyes. He decided to take the bait.
“If I may speak freely, I think he’s a liability,” he shared before he could convince himself that it was better not to.
She interlaced her fingers on top of her desk.
“I don’t know how they do things in Seattle, but the shit he pulled chasing the van and getting Jon almost killed should have got him suspended, if not fired.” There was more bitterness in his voice than he cared to show, but he wanted Virago to know how he felt about the fact that she hadn’t disciplined him.
“Do you think I’m giving him special treatment?”
“You said it. Not me.”
“Do you really?” Her right eyebrow arched, her voice showing surprise for the first time.
“Come on, Captain. Anybody else would have been buried with interviews, paperwork, and Internal Affairs. But this guy gets to go back into the field and work as if nothing had happened? What the fuck’s that about?”
“He is going to talk to IA. But we need to get these cases solved.”
“We were doing just fine before he came on board.”
“He saved your life.”
“So what? He almost got Jon killed because he had to prove how macho he is. Honestly, he shouldn’t even be in the field with only one eye.” His voice was rising. He looked out into the bullpen and was glad to see that it was still empty.
“He passed the qualification. He’s good police.” Virago removed her reading glasses from the top of her head and set them on top of a pile of files. “I thought you guys were getting along.”
“We were. We are. Whatever. You partnered us, so we have to work together. We’re learning to get along better, and we complement each other sometimes. But this is not about that. He has a chip on his shoulder. He has a need to prove that he’s like the rest of us, or better. He’ll put himself and others at risk to show how fearless he is. That’s a walking liability if I ever saw one.”
She looked at him. Sorensen knew she was gauging him. He felt he needed to explain himself.
“Yes, I think he’s receiving special treatment. I don’t know if that’s because of his sister being married to the sheriff, or because you feel pity for him—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she interrupted.
Sorensen put his hand up, stopping her, and went on: “I know you feel bad for him. What happened to his eye is fucked up, but we’ve all had close encounters. You do whatever you want. I won’t question your motives. I’m just telling you what I think.”
Chapter 74
Blake was staring at Carlos de la Rosa’s living room on his computer screen. The angle was close, so it must have been shot by somebody who was in the house.
Blake hit Play. The video was raggedy, amateurish
, and definitely shot from a phone. The frames moved from one person to the next, showing the fear that turned their faces white and wet with tears. The women covered themselves as best they could. The men looked as if they wished they still had their robes on.
Mouths moved, pleading for their lives, but there was no sound on the video. Blake saw himself. He was the only one who wasn’t tied up. Or crying. The video had been edited to not show any of Ethan’s men, just the victims and every once in a while, him. There were a couple instances in which he actually saw himself smile. His face showed a certain air of excitement mixed with anxiety.
He felt weird watching the events, while his brain filled in the blanks with the memories. The video showed the group of people staring in the same direction off-camera. Blake remembered one of Ethan’s men bringing de la Rosa and Belle into the room. He remembered the buffed black man pushing the hooker and telling Ethan that he’d found her talking on a phone. They exchanged a couple more sentences, but their voices had been too hushed for Blake to hear what they were saying. He hadn’t been totally surprised when they took Belle with them later.
The camera focused on the victims again, showing the terrified glares of eleven people who had no idea what was going to happen next. All eyes followed the action off-camera: one of the other goons was taking the black pro to another room. A few moments later the camera showed them jumping backward, as if hit by an invisible blow.
Blake knew it had been the shot from the Sig P226 that caused them to retreat. He watched them whimper and read their lips as they started pleading for their lives. They tried to move away, but duct tape prevented everybody from moving very far from each other. Then the video showed the tip of a Beretta pointing at one of the attorneys, and the subsequent bullet entering his head.
The man’s eyes bulged in surprise, but he was dead before he fell on the white leather sofa behind him, almost dragging the woman by his side down with him. The rest retreated as far as they could, as if trying to avoid getting soiled with the blood spatter. The actress look-alike, who was taped to the deceased, knelt over him and cried over his naked torso. She looked up and her lips asked, “Why?,” and she continued to sob for her dead husband.
