Murder Season

by Robert Ellis

  Today it looked like the lights had been shut down.

  Lena glanced at Higgins, then back at Vaughan jotting something down on his legal pad. Vaughan had been shut out of the Jacob Gant trial early on when it looked like the kind of high-profile case that could make a deputy DA instead of breaking one. Higgins had kept Vaughan away because it was well known that he had become the district attorney’s chief rival. To Vaughan’s credit, he didn’t seem to have an interest in the rivalry and had made no attempt to compete with Higgins for his job. Roy Wemer, a deputy DA Lena had worked with over the past few years, once told her that Vaughan would never give up being a prosecutor. In spite of the years he’d put in, in spite of the overwhelming support he would have received from his colleagues, Vaughan still enjoyed presenting a case at trial and working in front of a judge and jury.

  The deputy chief opened a file folder, tossing a photograph on the conference table. Everyone leaned in for a closer look. It was a single frame from the street camera that had picked up Tim Hight driving away from Club 3 AM. Although the image had been taken at night, the clarity was good enough to make an ID. Tim Hight’s face showed clearly through the windshield, looking triumphant and completely mad, along with a dark shape on the passenger seat that could easily have been the murder weapon.

  Ramsey rolled a chair over, turning to Lena as he sat down. “SID has already made a preliminary review of the security tapes from the club,” he said. “Unfortunately, the fire escape is a blind spot. Hight could have been waiting out there all night and never been picked up on camera.”

  Lena thought about the way the building was configured—what the cop with the clipboard had called ass backward. “The fire escape is on the far side of the building,” she said. “Out of the way and facing north.”

  “Exactly. No one can see it from either the street or the parking lot.”

  She looked back at the photograph of Hight in his car. “What about this shape on the passenger seat?”

  “They’re working on it,” Ramsey said. “But don’t get your hopes up. At this point, they think it’s a flashlight.”

  Lena settled back in her chair. Something about the way Bennett and Watson and even Higgins were looking at the photograph bothered her. She wasn’t a mind reader, but she began to get the feeling that they were trying to appear interested. That it required an effort and that they couldn’t quite get there. Bennett’s eyes were emerald green, his body short and stocky. He was old enough have grown up at a time when “supersize me” sounded like free food instead of garbage, but young enough to have two kids in daycare and worries about what he and his wife might do with his career sinking to the bottom of the pool. Watson looked as if she shared the same unnatural lack of concern. She was about Lena’s age, with blond hair and a sleek body hidden beneath her business suit. Every time Lena had ever seen Watson, she was dressed conservatively. Only rumors stood in her wake: rumors of a boob job last year while on vacation, and rumors that she and Bennett were having an affair—one reason among many why they’d lost the Jacob Gant trial and a murderer had walked free.

  As Lena’s eyes moved to Higgins all puffed up in his pinstripe suit—his weak, pudgy face and a haircut that looked over processed and more like a do—it suddenly occurred to her what was going on.

  All three of them were running away. Greg Vaughan would be left behind to sit on the hot seat. Higgins had picked his rival in the office to handle the case because he knew that it would destroy whoever sat in the chair.

  No one prosecuting the father of a murdered girl would ever have a political future in Los Angeles.

  Higgins had picked Vaughan, not to save the office, but to save himself and possibly even his protégés: Steven Bennett and Debi Watson. Vaughan’s face would be attached to the prosecution of Tim Hight, a father who sought justice for his only child, rather than the prosecutors who had blown the trial, or the district attorney who claimed to have overseen them.

  The move was ice-cold and vicious. As Lena looked Higgins over, she wondered if he hadn’t worked out the details with his political consultants last night. It had seemed more than odd to her that he hadn’t shown up at the crime scene. Especially when one of the victims was someone he called a friend.

  She turned away and caught the deputy chief scrutinizing her. His face remained completely expressionless, yet it felt as if he knew what she had been thinking. He pushed a second copy of the photograph her way and cleared his throat.

  “Here’s what we need to make happen, Detective. You and Mr. Vaughan are now partners. You need to work together to build a case against Tim Hight. You need to do it quickly and with as little noise as possible. Hight’s arrest must occur without incident. I’m sure that the district attorney hasn’t had a chance to think about what a deal might look like. There’s Bosco’s murder to consider, which complicates everything for everyone. Your case must be strong enough that Hight and his attorney are willing to listen—the deal from the DA good enough that they just might be willing to avoid a trial. Admittedly, we’re talking about a best-case scenario. Hight will have public opinion on his side. More than likely, he’ll choose to roll the dice in front of a jury. People will say that if we had done our jobs, if we hadn’t been asleep at the wheel, if we hadn’t fucked everything up, none of this would have ever happened. So the odds would be in his favor. Chances are, he’d win. That being said, the key words here are speed and building the case against him quickly. That’s really the only option we have left. The longer this goes on—the longer Hight’s in the news—the deeper the wounds will be for all concerned. Is that clear? Does everyone here understand exactly what’s at stake?”

  Vaughan didn’t move or say anything.

  The district attorney ignored his silence and turned to Ramsey. “I’ve been talking to some people,” he said. “They think that if we work quickly, everyone will forget about what happened in six months.”

  A moment passed. Then another, as Ramsey measured the DA with complete dissatisfaction showing on his face.

  “Six months?” Ramsey said finally. “We’re talking about restoring the public’s trust, Higgins. The people you spoke with should have told you the truth. Nobody’s gonna forget this one. By the time they do, you’ll be dead.”

  His words hung there. The room darkened as the sun slipped behind a cloud.

  Higgins took the hit and blinked. “I need to speak with the chief,” he said.

  Ramsey shook his head. “He’s out of town on business.”

  “But I have a problem. I need to talk to him.”

  “It’s not gonna happen.”

  “Then I need to speak with you privately.”

  “That’s not gonna happen either, Jimmy. What’s your problem?”

  Higgins remained quiet, checking the door, then glancing from face to face until he came to Lena and Barrera. He was tossing something over in his head and rubbing his polished fingernails across his chin. His eyes appeared dull and watery. Several moments passed before he seemed to come to a decision. Then he reached down for his briefcase and pulled out a copy of The Los Angeles Times. As the paper splashed onto the conference table in front of the deputy chief, Lena read the headline:

  Double Murder At Club 3 AM:

  Jacob Gant and Johnny Bosco Dead

  Head shots of the victims were included above the fold, along with shots of Lily Hight and her father. But Higgins was pointing at another photograph in a box to the right of the lead story. It was the same picture Lena had seen hanging on the wall beside Johnny Bosco’s desk. A shot of Higgins and Bosco together.

  Higgins met the deputy chief’s eyes, his voice low and shaky. “Bosco’s life needs to be cleaned up. The drugs that were found at his place. They need to go away.”

  Ramsey actually smiled as he took it in. Lena had never seen him like this before. The smile matched his hardened face and shaved head. There was a vicious underside to it—a slow, dark curl—like he was holding a knife to Higgins’s throa
t and ready to make the cut.

  “This is a no-win situation for all of us,” he said. “Everybody’s gonna lose something this time around.”

  Higgins grimaced and looked frightened. “The drugs are a real problem. They’re a negative we can’t beat.”

  Ramsey leaned over the table, still working that tainted smile. “You mean, a negative you can’t beat, Jimmy. When are you gonna stop talking to your asshole consultants? When are you gonna realize that what we’re facing isn’t about you?”

  9

  The meeting ended quickly with Higgins chasing the deputy chief down the hall and pressing the man for a private moment that Lena knew he’d never get. Bennett and Watson had stayed behind to talk to Vaughan. Lena could see them through the plate-glass window as she hung up the phone from an empty desk in the staff room. She wanted to verify that everyone was ready while Barrera checked on the progress of the warrants. She had also placed a call to SID and received preliminary confirmation that a 9-mm weapon had been used to murder Jacob Gant. Because the slugs had fragmented as they broke through his skull and entered the wall, no exact determination could be made until the medical examiner removed the additional slugs from each victim’s body. With any luck, they were lodged in soft tissue and remained in decent shape. The autopsies would occur simultaneously and were scheduled for early this evening.

  Lena wrote the time down in her notebook and glanced back at Vaughan through the glass. His conversation with Bennett and Watson appeared heated. Returning to her notebook, she went through her checklist.

  The group heading out to Hight’s place included Barrera and six additional detectives from the division. Of the six, Joe Carson and John Street had the most experience working high-profile cases. Both were RHD bulls known for being extremely thorough. A team of seasoned criminalists from SID would roll out as well. Three patrol units were already there keeping watch from the street. According to the patrol supervisor, both Tim Hight and William Gant had refrained from killing each other last night. Hight had passed out in his chair by the window, while Gant fell asleep on the kitchen floor.

  The situation was more than tragic. But Lena pushed it aside, listening to Barrera finish his call with the chief’s new adjutant, Abe Hernandez, and hang up.

  “The judge gave us a break,” he said. “The warrants are signed. I guess it didn’t hurt that they were shepherded through by the chief’s office. You ready, Lena?”

  “As soon as Hernandez gets here with the paper, we’ll head out.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Barrera exited the staff room, heading for his desk at the other end of the section floor. Lena glanced at her watch, guessing that she had ten or twenty minutes and weighing her options as she examined the beat-up coffeemaker on the counter. She was starting to feel the sleep she’d missed last night, but a run to the Blackbird Café wasn’t an option because she needed to speak with Vaughan. She gave the glass pot another look, then poured a cup and took a short first sip. The thick syrupy brew tasted like it had been sitting on the burner for a week or two. It may have even qualified as the worst cup of hot java ever poured. But none of that really mattered right now. All she wanted was the fix. She took another sip—longer this time—letting the burned caffeine wash through her system. Then she crossed the room to the captain’s office and pushed open the door without knocking.

  Bennett and Watson turned toward her so quickly that she caught the foul sneers on their faces a split second before they switched to glowing smiles. Lena had pegged them right but ignored it, glancing at Vaughan, who seemed grateful for the interruption, then back at Bennett as he spoke.

  “We were just talking to Greg,” he said in a smooth voice. “If there’s anything we can do to help, we’re here for you. That probably means keeping our mouths shut and staying out of your way. But whatever you need, both Debi and I are willing to do it.”

  Bennett was good, she thought. Just not good enough to win.

  Watson stepped forward, extending her hand. “Think of us as silent partners, Detective. If you ever need background on the trial, I’d be more than happy to walk you through our case.”

  There wasn’t time for their particular brand of bullshit, but Lena thanked them anyway, making a conscious effort to avoid looking at Watson’s breasts. She couldn’t tell if they were real or not, and she didn’t care.

  And then the two of them gave Vaughan one last nod and took off. They moved through the doorway quickly—a series of short, choppy steps. As they vanished around the corner, it seemed to Lena that their backs shivered and they broke into a run.

  Lena closed the door. “Nice people,” she said.

  Vaughan gave her a look. They didn’t know each other. When he figured out what she meant, he tried to smile but only made it halfway.

  “Two of the very best,” he said. “Especially now that they think they’ve found a way to squirm out of their own mess.”

  “The way out of their mess is you,” she said.

  “We’re in the same boat, aren’t we?”

  “Yes and no.”

  He thought it over as he moved to the window and looked out at the city.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said. “They just told me that they won’t be attending the press conference. Higgins can’t make it, either.”

  “At least they’re predictable.”

  Vaughan shrugged. “When I heard that Gant had been murdered, I pretty much knew the way things would go.”

  He was dressed in a light brown suit, a crisp white shirt, and a red tie with thin gold stripes. He wore the clothing better than most, but still appeared wiped out by the bind he was in. Lena joined him at the window and followed his eyes up the block to the new building that would serve as LAPD headquarters. Although construction had been completed and the move would occur next month, the building didn’t have a name because members of the city council were still arguing about it.

  “I heard a story,” he said in an easier voice. “Not about your new building, but the one that went up in the Valley last year. The contractors blew the installation, reversing the one-way glass in the interrogation rooms. If we’d put some guy in the box, he could see us, but we couldn’t see him. Is that true or what?”

  Lena caught Vaughan’s grin and smiled. “They fixed it before they opened.”

  “How ’bout in your new place?” he asked.

  “The builder got it right this time. I checked.”

  She watched him turn away from the window and lean against the sill. He was gazing at the conference table as if he might be replaying the meeting in his head—as if he’d finally realized his fate and knew that it was time to start putting things back together again. His anger was dissipating. A certain spark was returning to his eyes.

  “How do you want to work this?” she said.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Let’s see what happens at Hight’s place.”

  Vaughan nodded. “He’s had some time to think things over. Maybe he’ll feel the need to get it off his chest.”

  “Or maybe we’ll find the gun.”

  Vaughan popped open his briefcase. “I’ll be in my office,” he said. “It’ll take me a day to go through my cases and clear my schedule. We should talk when you get back.”

  They traded business cards. Then the door opened and Barrera entered, waving a sheaf of papers in the air.

  “We’ve got the warrants,” he said. “Let’s roll.”

  10

  The front door opened. Tim Hight’s eyes hit the bright daylight but remained dilated. They were hollow, almost colorless—a faint, even decayed blue. They swept across the group of detectives and criminalists assembling on the porch, moved to the tow truck inching toward his Mercedes in the drive, then slid back to Lena.

  “Tim Hight?” she said.

  “You already know who I am.”

  “We have warrants. We’re coming in.”

  “I didn’t do it,” he said.

 
; Barrera held out the warrants. “We’re still coming in.”

  Hight moved away from the door. As the team pushed past his slight figure and split up, Lena remained with Hight and Barrera in the foyer. She noted Hight’s rumpled clothing, didn’t see any signs of blood, and wondered if he had changed. It didn’t look like he’d showered or shaved, and he seemed groggy and burned out. She checked the kitchen and saw the bottle of vodka still on the counter, then took a quick look at the living room. The fine carpets. The art on the walls. The shutters blocking out the light. The house had a definite feel about it. Dark and empty.

  “Where’s your wife?” she said.

  “Visiting her sister in Bakersfield.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “About three a.m. this morning.”

  “Seems like an odd time to go on a trip.”

  Hight gave her a look that mirrored the feel of the house. “I knew you’d come,” he said. “I didn’t want her to see this.”

  Barrera cleared his throat. “How did you know we’d come? How could you at three a.m.?”

  “I heard what happened on my scanner.”

  Hight pointed to the sunroom on the other side of the French doors. Gazing through the glass, Lena cataloged the items she saw and cut them against what she remembered from last night. An armchair was pointed toward the windows facing the Gants’ house. Hight’s drink sat on the sill more than half empty. On a shelf within reach of the chair, she spotted the scanner and an ashtray overflowing with spent butts. The LEDs on the scanner were blinking, the unit still on.