by Elin Barnes
“Again, none of your business. But since you’re here being nosy, I will tell you that I have a trust fund and spend the money as I please. I’m in the Marines because I enjoy the challenge. As soon as I get bored, I’ll do something else.”
“Of course you will,” Sorensen said under his breath.
“Have you ever seen this man or this woman?” Lynch pulled the pictures of Carlos de la Rosa and Aislin.
“They don’t ring a bell.”
“Funny, because your guard downstairs said he saw you coming in with this woman a few days ago,” Lynch bluffed.
Sorensen knew they were risking it, so he added, “She was pretty out of it. What is it, they’ll only come home with you if you get them drunk?”
“Ah, very funny, Detective Sorensen. I guess you would know all about that from Sarah,” Mitchell said, standing by the kitchen counter.
Sorensen felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut. “How the fuck do you know my daughter’s name?”
“The Internet is an amazing thing. You have no idea the kinds of things she posts online.”
Sorensen launched himself off the sofa and got in Mitchell’s face. He was about twice his size, but he knew he would lose in a fight with Mitchell.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Lynch asked, and wandered off down the hallway without waiting for a response.
Sorensen didn’t move an inch. He stood still, tensing his body, staring at Mitchell, breathing on him and hoping that he would make a peep so he could punch him.
After a few seconds, Mitchell slid away from under Sorensen. He walked to the fridge and took a beer.
“If I catch you less than a hundred yards away from my daughter, I will arrest you.”
“For what?”
“I’m a very resourceful man. Don’t push me.”
“You have to understand, Detective, I have nothing against you, nor do I want anything with your daughter. But you come into my home, you don’t tell me what you want, and instead you accuse me of lying when I tell you I’ve never met any of those people . . .”
Lynch returned before Sorensen could say anything back. “The prank—whose idea was it?”
Mitchell shifted his attention to Lynch. “I’m not sure. I think a group of us came up with it over beers one day.”
The silence became almost uncomfortable.
“But why?” Lynch asked.
“Our gunny is a dick, and we thought it would be great to teach him a lesson. We knew we couldn’t do it ourselves, so we talked to the other guys.” He finished his beer but didn’t take another one. “It was supposed to be harmless really. In hindsight, of course, I can see that it was stupid and shortsighted to think the police wouldn’t get involved.”
“You think?” Sorensen snorted. A small bubble of spittle flew from his mouth, landing on an orange.
“As I said. We should have known better.”
“You’re going to face disciplinary action,” Sorensen promised.
“I’m sure.”
“You don’t care?”
“Not really.” Ethan shrugged his shoulders, each muscle flexing, each tendon stretched.
“How do you know Blake Higgins?”
“That name doesn’t ring a bell either.” His face didn’t show any indication that he was lying.
“You guys did boot camp together. I thought you were all brothers once you went through boot camp.”
“Apparently not.” Mitchell turned around and, checking the time on the microwave, said, “Now if you excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
“You need to come to the station with us,” Sorensen said. “We have more questions.”
“Are you arresting me?” When neither detective said anything, he continued: “Exactly what I thought.” He moved toward the door and held it open. “When you have probable cause, come back, and I’ll meet you with my lawyer.”
Chapter 85
Darcy and Sorensen got a report that things were quiet at Higgins’s place, so they decided to stop by the station before going to visit him. They didn’t talk much on the ride back to San Jose, except when Darcy shared the news that they were going to keep Saffron sedated for at least another twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Once they were in the bullpen, they both stood in front of the boards, which were filled with a growing amount of information leading nowhere.
“I don’t know what it is about this guy—”
“He’s a dick.” Sorensen spat. “What the hell was that about my daughter? He was bluffing, right? How can he know anything?”
“Social media.”
“Shit. Yes, of course.” Sorensen’s face suddenly drained of color.
“Anybody can know everything about everybody nowadays. You know that—you’re the one from Silicon Valley.” Darcy was tapping on his keyboard. After a few strokes, he said, “Mitchell doesn’t have a trust fund.”
“He lied.” Sorensen threw an empty Red Bull across the room into Detective Ramirez’s trash can, missing it. “Crap, I never make that shot.” He got up, picked up the can and let it fall into the trash.
“And he lied about knowing Higgins. I mean, even if the coward didn’t make it past boot camp, Mitchell would remember everybody he did it with.”
Sorensen plopped back in his chair.
“He possibly lied about the girl too, but when I took a peek, I didn’t see a sign of her,” Darcy said. “The problem is the evidence we have is at best circumstantial, and not strong enough to really tie him to any of this.”
Sorensen shifted. “We need to follow the money.”
“I wish we could. There’s nothing on this guy. I mean, not even a basic checking account.”
“How does he get paid?”
“He probably cashes the checks.”
Sorensen looked through his notes, and after putting the phone on speaker, he punched in a number.
“Sergeant Major Williams, I have a quick question for you. Are all Marines required to have a bank account for payroll purposes?”
“It didn’t use to be. But it is now.”
“Can you find out if Ethan Mitchell used to get paid via check, and how he’s getting paid now?”
There was silence on the other end.
“Please.”
“I can’t access that information. Give me a second to reach out to Personnel.”
Darcy could hear the sergeant major tapping on a keyboard, and then there was silence. She’d put them on mute.
After a few minutes she got back on, “Most of his old checks haven’t been cashed. And since we went to direct deposit, he hasn’t been paid, because we’ve had no account to send it to.”
Sorensen thanked her and hung up.
“Great, we now have even less,” Darcy said, and sighed.
“Is there anything at all we can use to bring him in?” Sorensen asked, thinking out loud.
At that moment Darcy’s phone rang.
“Detective, you asked us to notify you if we saw any air traffic activity for Mr. Higgins’s plane.”
“Yes, what’s up?” Darcy urged.
“A flight plan was just filed. Destination Belize.”
Chapter 86
The Gulfstream G650 was supposed to leave San Jose International Airport at 2000 hours. Darcy and Sorensen hurried there, but Sergeant Marra and a few of his men got there much faster. The pilot hadn’t started the preflight check yet, so they didn’t have to rush into the runway with the spinners and full sirens blowing, which Marra confessed had been disappointing.
The first thing Darcy saw was Blake in handcuffs with a couple unis by his side. His mouth was moving but Darcy couldn’t hear the words. When they finally reached him, Blake was demanding a phone call to his lawyer.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll see him soon enough. We’re going to arrest him for aiding and abetting you,” Sorensen told him.
Blake stared at him, his expression a mixture of defiance and fear.
Sorensen wasn’t kidding, though
. “You may want to call your sister to give her a heads-up,” he told Darcy.
“I’m sure she already knows.”
“Let’s all go back to the station, where we have bad coffee and very uncomfortable seats,” Sorensen said, turning away from everybody and dragging Blake by the arm, hands handcuffed behind his back.
“The pilot is over there. I’ll bring him in too,” Marra said.
Sorensen looked over his shoulder and said, “Thanks, man. That was some fast work. I appreciate it.” Then he pushed Blake into the car, not caring if he hit his head on the way in.
“You got it.” Marra headed in the opposite direction toward the pilot, who was in a corner, biting his thumbnail.
When the detectives got to the station, Virago was waiting for them.
“Trying to escape. How cute,” she said, redoing her ponytail.
“Yeah, not sure who advised him to do such a stupid-ass thing,” Sorensen said, shoving Blake into the first interview room.
Virago went next door to watch him in action. Darcy followed her.
Once Blake was sitting, his cuffs still on, Sorensen left the room and came to see them.
“I’m going to go all the way.”
“As you should,” Virago agreed.
He went to the kitchen and grabbed two cups of coffee. The stale smell made his nose wrinkle.
“This,” Sorensen said, placing one cup in front of Blake, “is the best coffee you’re going to have for the rest of your life.”
He pushed the cup closer to him and watched as Blake looked at it but couldn’t drink it, since his hands were still cuffed behind him.
“Oh, right, you’re going to want to savor it. Let me remove those for you.”
As soon as he did, Blake rubbed his wrists. The metal had left red marks on the skin.
“Go on, enjoy it,” Sorensen pushed.
“Where’s my father? I asked for my lawyer,” Blake said, looking at the steaming cup but not taking it.
“I bet he’s being arrested right now. If I were you, I would start looking for a replacement in your contact list. But in the meanwhile, I’m not here to make you talk. I’m not even going to ask you any questions. I’m going to tell you what we have on you and how you’re going to rot in prison.”
Blake leaned against the chair and crossed his arms. A smirk grew on his face, and his eyes dared Sorensen to entertain him.
Darcy watched through the one-sided mirror, rage building inside him until he spotted a sheen on Blake’s temple that beaded into a single drop of sweat. The room was not hot. That was when he knew they had him.
“But first,” Sorensen continued, “let’s make sure you understand your Miranda rights.” Sorensen recited them, and Blake wrote his initials by each one and finally signed on the dotted line.
The smirk was gone.
“We know McKenzie & Shaw filed a lawsuit against your company for patent infringement. The company you’ve built from the ground up with your buddies. The same company that Karsum Conglomerate is about to pay you a hundred sixty-eight million dollars for. Of course you couldn’t let the suit go forward. So you went to your buddy Mitchell to kidnap Malik, but the poor bastard died of a heart attack before you could coerce him to drop the suit.”
Sorensen took his own cup of coffee and brought it close enough to sniff. The smell was so bitter he almost gagged. He hated coffee, so he put it back on the table without tasting it.
“Now, I’m curious. He was just a reviewer—what did you think he could do for you?”
As soon as Blake started to talk, Sorensen stopped him: “Oh no, wait. You invoked your lawyer privilege. You can’t say anything.”
Blake protested, but the detective talked louder until Blake shut up. “Anyway, whatever you hoped to get from this Malik, he couldn’t do, because he died. By the way, this is the first felony murder I’m charging you with.”
Sorensen brought the cup to his lips as if he was going to finally take a sip and looked at his suspect over the rim of the paper cup. Blake’s eyes looked more red than white, and sweat beaded his forehead, wet hair falling in limp bangs.
This is just the beginning, Darcy thought, always impressed by Sorensen’s skill.
“With Malik dead, you had to go to plan B, which was to get the big fish—de la Rosa—and persuade him to change his mind about the lawsuit. It would have been simpler to get some compromising pictures at that party or something, but no, you had a different idea. You wanted to terrorize him so badly that he would do anything for you. That’s why you killed eleven people.
“That’s not what happened!” Blake yelled, and stood, pushing the table into Sorensen.
The detective pushed the table back. “Mr. Higgins, sit down right now. You’ve invoked your right to a lawyer, and I cannot allow you to say a word until your attorney is present. So shut the hell up.”
“No, you don’t understand, I revoke it. I don’t care. You need to listen to me.” He managed to sit but bounced in his chair as he said each word.
“Let me get this straight: Are you agreeing to talk to me without your attorney present?”
“Yes, yes, whatever. I just need to tell you I didn’t kill those people. I shot the gun but it didn’t hit anyone. He made it look like I did. I know what the video shows, but it’s manipulated. It’s not true.”
Darcy looked at Virago. He had no idea what video Blake was talking about. He knew Sorensen was thinking the same thing but couldn’t let Blake know he didn’t know about it. Darcy called Mauricio and asked him to get the evidence they’d just collected at Higgins’s place ASAP.
“Well, you’re right. It doesn’t look like that at all. Why don’t you explain it to me.”
The door opened, banging against the wall. Blake’s father walked in and didn’t bother to close the door behind him.
“I’m going to sue you. This is totally unacceptable behavior for law enforcement. You should know better than this, Detective.”
Virago walked into the room. Darcy watched the show from the other side of the one-way mirror.
“And you should too, Captain.” Higgins Sr. stabbed his finger too close to her face.
“Unfortunately, you should have taken a refresher in criminal law, because aiding a criminal to escape is a felony,” she said, putting both hands on her hips, blocking the exit route.
“What are you talking about? I did no such thing.”
He was much taller, so she had to look up a good foot to meet his eyes.
“Your plane, your son, for God’s sakes. We very clearly said yesterday that we needed him available and to not leave town. A flight plan to Belize? Unless there’s a city with that name I’m not aware of within a few miles from here, this is not looking too good.”
“Yeah, you try to prove that,” he said. “I need a minute with my client. I will appreciate it if you leave us now.”
They left father and son in the room.
Once outside, Virago said, “There’s a huge conflict of interest here, but let’s see what happens next before we worry about that, okay?”
They both nodded and turned to watch them talk. They were facing each other, so even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t have been able to read their lips.
“You know what video this moron’s talking about?” Sorensen asked Darcy.
“No clue, but Mauricio is going to send us the files in his computer right away.”
“Have Mauricio send them to Jon,” Virago said.
Darcy called Mauricio and asked him to have the computer and any data-related equipment transferred to the hospital immediately. Then he talked to Jon and instructed him to look for any video of the party first.
Before they had time to get back to the kitchen for a freshly brewed cup of coffee, Blake’s father came out of the room.
“We have some information, but we want to talk to the DA first.”
Chapter 87
“Ethan, we have a problem,” Mac said on the phone.
“
Give me a sec.” Ethan looked at the worn body of Aislin in the panic room. He put the phone on mute and instead of going back into the room to rinse the new blood off the floor, he shook his head and closed the door. When he got to the kitchen, he asked, “What’s up?”
“Your boy’s singing.”
Ethan wasn’t surprised, but he still punched the polished countertop. He ignored the pain, which reached his shoulder. He shook his arm and then pressed his palm against the cool surface.
“What do you know?”
“Not much, but my buddy at the station told me they brought your boy in handcuffs, and then his dad came. A little later the DA showed up. I don’t think we can assume anything else.”
“Okay. Is your uncle’s warehouse available?”
“Probably, but I’ll confirm.”
“Do that. Make sure he stays away tomorrow. We’ll meet there at 0900 hours.”
“I’ll see you there.”
Ethan looked back at the fake wall hiding his playroom. He really hated it when he had to leave the room dirty, but duty called, and he needed to take care of the mess they were in. He made a mental note of what he needed and headed out.
In the elevator, Ethan pressed the button for the garage but then decided to make a quick stop on the main floor. The doors opened, and he saw the security guard who ratted on him to the police at the end of the short hallway.
“Hey, Jamal,” Ethan called out still a few feet away. The large man looked up and recoiled. Ethan despised men who had no balls.
“Mr. Mitchell. What can I do for you?”
“I’m waiting for a package. Can you let me know the moment it arrives? It’s very important.”
“Absolutely. I’ll call your cell.” Jamal checked his watch. “Tonight?”
“No, it should be here sometime tomorrow morning. You working then?”
“Yes. Sure, no problem. I’ll call you as soon as it gets here.”
Ethan pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into his hand with a handshake, then turned and headed for the elevators. We do have great service in this building, he thought.
