Smoke Screen (The Darcy Lynch Series Book 2)

by Elin Barnes

  Chapter 88

  Carlotta Cece, the DA, spent almost two hours talking with the Higginses. Darcy, Sorensen, and Virago watched the entire time from the other side of the one-sided mirror. Darcy wondered how somebody like Blake could sink so low. He had it all. He was smart, good looking, had a lot of money, a great education, and yet . . . here he was.

  “It really pisses me off when we have to compromise,” Virago said when Higgins Sr. managed to work a deal where he would serve no jail time. He would have to give up his law license, but he could happily retire and spend the rest of his days playing golf.

  “At least we got what we needed to go after Mitchell and Bishop,” Darcy said.

  “On that note, what are you guys still doing here?” she asked, checking her watch. “If you’re going to catch them, you won’t be doing it from here.” She arched her right eyebrow and stared at them until they moved.

  “Mitchell first?” Sorensen asked, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

  “He’s the big fish, yeah. He should be home. It’s almost 10:00 p.m.”

  “Man, I can’t remember the last time I was home for dinner.”

  As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and Darcy laughed.

  “Let’s grab some food on the way there. In-N-Out?” Darcy suggested.

  “You got it.”

  The line was short at the In-N-Out drive-through off of Coleman Avenue. Darcy felt more like a venti coffee from the Starbucks next door but went for a Protein Style with fries. Sorensen got two 4x4s.

  While they ate, Sorensen took Taylor to Highway 87 and then merged into Highway 101. When they got to Mitchell’s place, they parked in the visitor area and found the security guard they’d met before eating a pepperoni pizza.

  “Late dinner?” Sorensen asked, not feeling so bad for having just finished his.

  “No, these are leftovers.” Jamal wiped his greasy mouth with a wrinkled paper napkin and, putting both hands on his stomach, said, “You have to work hard to look this way.” He laughed, jiggling his fat belly.

  “That’s what I keep telling this guy,” Sorensen said, patting Darcy’s shoulder.

  “You here to talk to Mr. Mitchell again?”

  He threw the rest of the pizza into the garbage can below the reception desk.

  Sorensen nodded.

  “You just missed him.”

  “You know where to?” Sorensen asked.

  “No. But he told me he’s expecting a package and that I should call him the minute it gets here.”

  “Tonight?” Darcy asked.

  “No. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Would you let us know when Mitchell gets back? And when the package arrives?”

  “You got it.”

  Both detectives shook hands with Jamal and left.

  Darcy zipped his jacket while he walked to the car. “I have no idea where to go looking for this dude.”

  “I’m beat, man. Let’s call it a night. We have an APB out and all eyes on him. I don’t feel like going on a wild-goose chase for nothing.” He opened the car. “I miss my wife.” Sorensen sighed.

  “Can you drop me off at the hospital?” Darcy asked.

  “Yep.”

  Chapter 89

  Saturday

  Ethan was the first to arrive at the warehouse. Mac had given him the lock code, so he let himself in and brought inside all the supplies he’d bought the night before. He cleared a space on the tiny office’s desk and got to work. When he finished the package, he called the messenger to come and pick it up.

  Just as the messenger van pulled up in front of the warehouse, Mac’s car appeared on the other side of the street. Ethan gave the young kid specific instructions for the delivery and watched him leave before he opened the loading gate. Mac drove in and parked next to Ethan’s M3.

  Mac was alone. Ethan looked at his friend and tilted his head slightly while he waited for an explanation.

  “Bishop’s not coming,” Mac said as soon as he was out of the car.

  “Why not?” Ethan kept his voice level.

  “Man, you’re really asking?”

  Mac walked up and down the loading area. His hands seemed sweaty, because he kept rubbing them against his thighs.

  “This has gotten out of control. I’m not even sure why I came.”

  “Really?” Ethan’s tongue rolled out the word.

  Mac stopped pacing and leveled his eyes with Ethan’s. Then, he said, “No. Well, you know what I mean. It’s just that I don’t know how things have gotten this fucked up.”

  “Actually, no, I don’t know what you mean. In fact, I think we’re quite okay. We have full knowledge of what the rich asshole’s doing, we have the two million wired already into the account, and now that Bishop’s out, we only have to divide it in two parts.” When Mac didn’t look fully convinced, Ethan added, “What’s he gonna do? Tell the police?”

  Nothing came out of his mouth, but Mac’s expression said, He can do that.

  “Mac, if he talks, by the time he tells the police anything, we’ll be long gone.” Ethan could see his reassuring tone wasn’t working as well as he expected.

  He walked up to Mac and made him stop pacing. Taking him by the shoulders, he waited until he had his full attention, then said, “Staff Sergeant MacAlister, I have never failed you. I have in fact saved your life a couple times.”

  “Yeah, but that was in Afghanistan. This is here.” Mac looked down at his feet. “I can’t go to prison, man.”

  “As I said, I’ve never failed you. I will not let you go to prison. Do you understand me?” Ethan said, drilling into Mac’s soul with his black, piercing eyes.

  When the man’s tense body seemed to ease a little, Ethan punched his shoulder just hard enough to let him know he was playing with him.

  Mac shared a forced smile and finally relaxed enough to take a full breath.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Now I want to discuss the plan with you,” Ethan said.

  Mac nodded but didn’t move.

  “Can you get the duffel bag from my trunk?” he asked, as if it was easier for him because he was closer.

  Mac turned and started walking toward it.

  Ethan pulled his Sig P226 with the suppressor and shot his long-time friend. He eased his index finger off the trigger as the bullet entered Mac’s skull.

  “You’re not going to prison. You’ll never be as miserable as Gomez is,” Ethan apologized.

  Just as the blood started pooling on the concrete floor, his cell rang.

  “Mr. Mitchell, your package has arrived. You wanted me to call, right?”

  “That was fast. Can you tell me who it is from?”

  “It says Detective Sorensen, from the Santa Clara Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Yep, that’s the one,” Ethan said, pulling the burner phone out of his bomber jacket.

  He dialed a number he’d memorized a while back and held the cell he was talking on a foot or so away from his ear. Then he heard a split second of the explosion before the line went dead.

  “Tying up loose ends,” he said, wiping his prints from the burner cell and cupping Mac’s fingers around it.

  Ethan popped open the trunk of his car and took out two cans of gasoline. He walked into the office and started pouring it over the open file cabinets. While he did that he wondered what he would do to Detective Sorensen now that he’d had to use his little present on the security guard at his building.

  Chapter 90

  Darcy spent the night in the hospital with Saffron even though it didn’t make sense, since she was still sedated. He’d asked every doctor in the ICU about what they might expect, but the consistent message he got was, “We have to wait and see.” Not very reassuring.

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was warm, almost feverish. He moved a strand of hair away and tucked it behind her ear, as she often did herself. Then he left the room to meet Sorensen downstairs.

  “This chauffeuring around is getting pre
tty old. Any news on your car?” Sorensen asked as soon as Darcy got inside.

  “No. Maybe a couple more days. How’s Shelby?”

  “Your dog’s fine. I’m this close to taking her to my house, though.” Getting back to the car conversation, Sorensen added, “As soon as you get the Cobra back, I’m going to the shop with mine, so you’ll have to drive me around.”

  Darcy nodded. Sorensen had a point. He should have rented a car.

  A few minutes later they both walked into the bullpen. Virago saw them and raised both eyebrows.

  “What on earth are you guys doing here empty-handed?” she asked, marching in their direction.

  “We need to regroup. Mitchell’s not home. Instead of driving around a city of one million people hoping to run into him, we decided to come here and be strategic about it,” Sorensen said.

  Virago started responding, but her cell rang. She held up a finger, as if she were asking two little kids to hold tight to be reprimanded, and answered. Darcy watched her expression go blank. She turned sideways, nodded a few times and finally said, “On our way.”

  She hung up and faced her detectives.

  “Didn’t you say Ethan Mitchell lives in a high-rise in Mountain View?” she asked them.

  “Yep, at the High Sights. Why?” Darcy asked.

  “There was an explosion there.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Sorensen said. “You think he blew up his own building?”

  “Any casualties?” Darcy asked, fishing through his drawer for the extra magazine. It was full, and he slid it in his pocket.

  “Too early to tell, but the security guard is unaccounted for.”

  “Yeah, that’s no coincidence,” Darcy said. “Mitchell killed him.”

  “You’re reaching.” Virago looked to Sorensen for confirmation.

  “I’m one hundred percent sure,” Darcy said, already heading out the door.

  “Mountain View PD has this,” Virago yelled after him.

  “I’m sure. I’m just going to see if I can help.”

  Darcy noticed that Sorensen wasn’t following him. That was okay with him. He needed some time alone.

  “Can I take your car?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Take mine,” Virago said when Sorensen didn’t reply. “The keys are on my desk.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

  “You better.”

  Darcy retraced his steps, grabbed the keys and left the bullpen alone.

  Darcy found Virago’s Chevy Malibu parked close to the parking entrance. It was black and in dire need of a wash. He started the car and was not totally surprised when the radio was tuned in to NPR.

  He checked the map app on his phone and saw that Highway 101 traffic was red in more spots than it was green, so he decided to go via Central Expressway. As he drove close to where he and Jon had been shot, he started hearing sirens. There was a big tower of black smoke rising over the low buildings. He killed the radio and turned on the police scanner. The fire had started a few minutes ago, and it was growing rapidly. They expected foul play.

  He left the smoke behind and concentrated on speeding all the way to his destination. When he finally got there, he also found numerous fire trucks. The area was already cordoned off, and several Mountain View Police cars surrounded the building. Darcy double-parked a block away and walked over to the officer controlling the entrance.

  “Detective Darcy Lynch.” He flashed his badge.

  The uni looked at his list and, not finding his name, he said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

  “Can you call your supervisor? I think I know who did this. He’s under investigation on another case.”

  “Give me a sec.” The uni turned his back to Darcy and spoke into his radio. A second later he said, “My sergeant is coming over. Please wait here.”

  A man in his late fifties with piercing blue eyes and short salt-and-pepper hair introduced himself as Sergeant Cowan. His handshake was firm, and he wasted no time.

  “Detective Lynch, you have something for me?”

  He lifted the tape and invited Darcy to step inside with him. They walked toward the entrance of the building.

  “This was a bomb, right?” Darcy asked.

  “I thought you had information for me.” Cowan gave him a sideways look, sizing him up.

  Darcy nodded. It was only fair to share before asking.

  “We’re investigating a tenant in this building. We think he’s connected to the multiple homicide in Los Altos as well as a couple other things. My partner and I came yesterday to talk to him and got some valuable information from the security guard. We think the guard might have been killed so he wouldn’t talk to us anymore.”

  “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But we think this guy whacked eleven people at the party, and probably a couple more since then. He may be covering his tracks.”

  The entrance of the building was covered in soot and water from the sprinklers. The reception area looked like a war zone. Darcy had never seen anything like this before. The desk was blown to pieces. The artwork had dropped from the wall and fallen on top of what was left of the desk. The chair had been propelled to the opposite side of the room, and multiple body parts were peppered with the flowers that had previously sat on top of the reception desk.

  “We’re waiting on the SJPD Bomb Squad to do the thorough assessment, but yeah, it’s obviously a bomb,” Cowan said, answering Darcy’s original question.

  “Do you know the identity of the victim?”

  “We’ll need to confirm DNA, but . . .” He looked around and then said, “Gonzalez, can you show me again what you found a minute ago?”

  A young uniform, looking as if he was about to puke, came over, almost relieved to not have to look for evidence on the floor anymore. When he reached them, he handed over the sealed bag.

  Darcy grabbed it and read the name tag: “J. Johnston.” Handing the evidence back to Cowan, he said, “The guy we talked to yesterday was Jamal Johnston. Let me know when you confirm his identity.”

  “Will do.”

  “When do you think I can come back and search our suspect’s place?”

  “Give me an hour. That should give you enough time to get a warrant, unless you have one already.”

  Cowan gave the evidence back to Gonzalez.

  “Processing right now. See you then.”

  Darcy shook Cowan’s hand and walked back to the car to call Virago. He wanted to make sure the paperwork was ready by the time he got to the station.

  Chapter 91

  Virago told Sorensen the latest news from Darcy as he double-checked the warrant. He got one covering Ethan Mitchell’s condo and the Marines barracks. While he waited for Lynch to show up, he called Sergeant Major Williams at the 23rd Marine Regiment.

  “Sorensen here. Have you seen Mitchell or Bishop around today?”

  “No. They’ve been AWOL the last couple days. We’ll have to initiate disciplinary action as soon as they get back.”

  Sorensen whistled. “Things must be loosening up at the Marines.” When the sergeant major didn’t respond, he added, “I would have imagined the Marines would summon a court-martial if somebody was late more than ten minutes.”

  “Things are changing, Detective.”

  “If you see or hear from them, you have to call me right away. They’re our prime suspects in several murders, including the Los Altos massacre.” There was silence again. “You’re not surprised . . . ?”

  “When I saw the news about the murders, it never even crossed my mind.” She paused. “I’m stunned to hear that about Bishop, but Mitchell . . . I have to confess I’m not surprised. I don’t know if he did it, but is he capable of something like this? Maybe.”

  Now it was Sorensen’s turn to be quiet. He thought about her statement and how much he wished she had told him this a couple days earlier.

  “Why didn’t you say anything
before?”

  “As I said, until you mentioned it, I didn’t really make the connection. I probably didn’t really want to make the connection.”

  Sorensen shook his head. He couldn’t blame her, but he was angry. They could have gone harder after him if he’d known this, and probably saved a life or two. Instead, now they had to launch a full manhunt to try to find the bastard.

  “Sergeant Major, I’m confused. Don’t the Marines do psych tests and provide honorable or dishonorable discharges for people who have mental issues?”

  “We do.”

  “But I thought I just heard you say that you are not surprised to hear he’s my prime suspect . . .”

  “I’m sure you can understand that we need a certain type of person to take care of things in war zones. You expect that person to do the right things for the right reasons. Sometimes that same person confuses what those might be.” Before Sorensen could drill her further, she added, “And some are just very good at masking who they really are.”

  Sorensen knew that was true.

  Before the silence became uncomfortable, she said, “One more thing, Detective . . .”

  He waited.

  “I double-checked, and neither Mitchell nor Bishop were actually in the barracks on Tuesday, the day your guy got shot.”

  “You lied to me?” He stood and planted a massive hand on the desk, making sure the noise carried through the phone. “You told me they both were—”

  Before he could continue yelling, she cut him off. “I didn’t lie to you. I just trusted what my staff told me. They’ve been appropriately dealt with.” Without letting him get another word in, she said, “I’ll let you know if I hear from either one, Detective.”

  She hung up.

  Sorensen stood and walked to the vending machine. He put in a dollar bill, but the machine wouldn’t take it. It was too old and wrinkly. He flattened it and tried again. The machine spat the bill out. Sorensen grabbed a newer one and put it in. There were no more Red Bulls, so he pressed D2, settling for a bag of chips.

  He thought about Sergeant Major Williams. He wanted to call her back and accuse her of reckless endangerment. Or threaten her with obstruction. Sorensen headed toward Virago’s office, but before he walked in, his phone rang. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lynch coming in, and then Virago waving them into her office.