“What can I do for you?” The man was missing a few teeth, giving him the appearance of a pasty jack-o’-lantern.
“Were you on duty Friday evening?” Lou asked.
“I work Mondays through Thursdays. Noon till seven.”
“Pretty busy here in the evening?”
“People pour outta here from about five to six, then it gets pretty quiet.”
“How late does someone remain on duty?”
“Regular shift till seven. Then we lock the doors. People who work here have keys, but they have to sign in. There’s someone on duty till midnight when the building shuts up.”
Lou took down the name of the man who’d worked the night of Anne Bailey’s death. Maybe they’d be able to get a fix on what time she left, or if they were really lucky, a description of someone she’d left with.
Next, he headed to the garage where the husband said she regularly parked. This time Lou was lucky and happened on the same attendant who’d been working Friday evening. But there his luck ended. Monthly card holders exited through a separate gate. The man didn’t recognize Anne Bailey’s photo, and silver Lexuses, he said, were as common as fleas on a dog.
Anne’s trail once she left her office remained a mystery.
<><><>
Twilight had robbed the sky of color by the time Lou paid his daily visit to Jan’s bedside. At the entrance to the nursing home, he braced himself, as he did every time, for the walk down the long corridor to her room. The home depressed him beyond measure. The stale, sweet smells of age and illness; the hollow, hushed sounds of life suspended; the vacant stares of patients he passed along the way. And this was one of the better homes he’d looked into.
Not that Jan was in any state to know. Brain dead in a surprisingly vital body. All those years of exercise and healthy eating, and this is what it bought her.
Lou pulled up his customary chair, ignoring the woman in the bed next to hers, who drooled and made ugly sucking sounds. It pained him that he couldn’t afford a private room, much less in-home care. But he couldn’t have managed even this without state help.
Brushing Jan’s hair from her forehead, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hi, honey. How are you this evening?”
Jan’s hair had been blond when they married, and with the help of her hairdresser, had remained blond until the auto accident. Now it was an uneven, yellowed gray. He’d asked the home to dye it for her, but they’d looked at him like he was nuts. Maybe he was. When you were comatose, what did the color of your hair matter? But he knew that it would matter to Jan.
Lou reached into the drawer of the bedside table for the latest Harry Potter book, which he’d been reading to her for the last couple of weeks.
In the beginning, the doctors had said that the sound of his voice, his touch, could make a difference. So he’d started holding her hand and reading to her. He’d tried the romances she used to like, but Lou hated them. And Tom Clancy, which he’d known wouldn’t appeal to Jan, but which he liked. Lou had finally settled on rereading the classics. The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, and most recently, Pride and Prejudice. Harry Potter was something a bit different. Lou was surprised at how much he was enjoying the story.
He took Jan’s hand in his and opened the book to the chapter where they’d left off. He’d long ago given up any hope that she heard his words, but it was easier to read than to sit in silence. Or to dwell on what he’d lost.
CHAPTER 9
Owen glanced at the speedometer and saw that it was inching toward eighty. He eased his foot off the gas pedal even though he was far from the fastest car on the road. No point asking for trouble, which was what the media could make of even a simple speeding ticket.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Selby said.
“Am I? Just thinking, I guess.”
They were on their way home from a political gathering where Owen had given a well-received talk. Of course, he’d been preaching to the choir, but the spontaneous bursts of applause had pleased him nonetheless. The press had been there too. Owen hoped they’d picked up on the same swell of support from the crowd that he had.
Still, he had been relieved when it was finally time to leave. The ember of worry burning in his chest had made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
“You usually do your thinking out loud,” Selby said.
Owen laughed. “I’m trying to spare you.”
“I like listening to your thoughts, even when they ramble. You know that.”
He did. Selby was an attentive listener, and she was often able to offer a fresh perspective, especially regarding the so-called women’s issues on which elections frequently turned. They complemented each other in that, as in so many ways. If only Owen could make Alex understand. His marriage to Selby in no way diminished his memory of Marilyn.
“You’re ahead of Molina in the polls, honey. And gaining every day.”
“It’s not the election that’s on my mind,” Owen said. “Just work.”
“Oh, just work.” Her tone was playful, but she must have sensed Owen’s mood because she turned suddenly serious. “It’s about that woman who came to the house yesterday afternoon, isn’t it?”
“Only peripherally.” Kali had cracked the lid, but it was his own imagination that set the Furies free. And his conversation with Detective Fortune had done nothing to quiet them. The similarities between Anne Bailey’s murder and those committed by the Bayside Strangler were too numerous to be coincidence.
Owen had already been restless with worry when he’d opened the envelope marked “Personal and Confidential” late that afternoon. Now there was no deluding himself.
“Can you talk about it?”
“Someday,” Owen said, “but not now.”
Selby gave his knee an affectionate squeeze. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”
When they arrived home, Owen poured himself a glass of scotch and went into his study. He usually put in an hour or so catching up on current issues before heading to bed, but tonight he stared glumly at his own reflection in the darkened window and wondered if his political future had just gone up in smoke.
“You going to be working late?” Selby asked, poking her head in on her way upstairs to bed.
“No. I have a phone call to make and then I’ll be up.” The idea had come to him during the drive home. He hoped Kali was receptive.
<><><>
Kali shivered against the morning chill of Owen’s office. She was glad she’d kept her coat on.
His secretary delivered a tray with two steaming ceramic mugs and a carafe of milk. Owen handed her a mug. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he warned.
Kali took the coffee, grateful for something to do with her hands. She sat back in her chair and waited. After all, Owen was the one who’d summoned her here. His call had caught her by surprise last evening just as she’d poured herself a second glass of merlot and settled in to finish reading the latest Janet Evanovich novel. Their conversation had been short and to the point, if not particularly illuminating. Owen wanted to see her, first thing in the morning if at all possible.
So here she was, nervous as hell, expecting to be dressed down for even breathing mention of the Bayside Strangler. Davis had been tried, convicted and executed. The murders were an episode in history.
The formality of Owen’s office didn’t do much to put her at ease, either. When she’d worked for Owen, he’d been housed in a standard government-issue office like the rest of them. True, as first assistant, his had been larger than many, but nothing like the imposing and elegantly appointed office he now occupied as district attorney. Walnut credenza and desk, Persian carpet on the floor, signed lithographs on the walls. All tastefully done, but clearly designed to make a statement about stature and authority. Kali couldn’t imagine herself perching casually on the arm of a chair in this office as had been her habit in the earlier days.
Owen picked up his own
mug, then set it down again without bringing it to his lips. He leaned back in the plush leather chair and folded his hands on the glossy surface of the clutter-free desk. He started to speak, then sighed instead. “We’ve got a problem,” he said at last. “Rather, I’ve got a problem, and I need your help.”
Kali wasn’t sure she understood. “What kind of problem?”
He opened a manila folder, took out a slip of white paper and slid it across the desk toward her. “This is a copy, so feel free to pick it up.”
So certain
You had the right man
So foolish, and now I’ve got Anne
My yellow rose of Texas
“It came yesterday afternoon,” Owen said.
Kali swallowed, then read the words again. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “It’s not haiku,” she said, her mouth so dry the words stuck.
“Close, though.”
“Not close at all,” she argued. Two days ago, Kali had been the one trying to convince Owen of the similarities between Anne’s murder and the Bayside Strangler. Why now, did she find herself resisting?
Owen rubbed his cheek. “The cops got one too. So did Jackson.”
“Jack Jackson?”
Owen nodded. “I convinced him to sit on it for now, but I don’t know how long he’ll keep quiet.”
“I’m surprised you were able to convince him even of that.” Jackson was a decent man, but he was an aggressive journalist. He and Owen had collaborated on a book about the Davis trial, so maybe Owen had more sway with him than most people would.
“It wasn’t easy,” Owen said with a fleeting smile. “I promised him the inside track as long as he behaved himself.”
Kali slid the paper back across the desk. A yellow rose and a poem. Neither was unique. It might still be coincidence. She wanted it to be coincidence. “Did you talk to the detectives?”
Owen nodded. “Anne was dressed provocatively, in clothes that weren’t her own. Her body was posed and placed, as you yourself pointed out, near a trash receptacle.”
Like the victims of the Bayside Strangler. “So now you’re wondering if you’ve got a copycat on your hands or if we put away the wrong man.” Even giving voice to the possibility made Kali feel ill.
“I’m reasonably sure Davis was the Bayside Strangler,” Owen said.
“Only reasonably? A couple of days ago you said you were sure.”
He hesitated. “Publicly, I’m absolutely certain. But you have to admit, I’d be a damn fool to categorically rule out the other possibility.”
And Owen was no fool. His open mind was one of the things Kali had always admired about him.
Owen stood. He paced back and forth behind his desk. Worry pulled his expression taut, flattening his gaze. Kali could well imagine his distress. It was a prosecutor’s nightmare, made worse by Davis’s claims of innocence and the publicity surrounding the trial.
It was also the sort of thing that could crush a candidate for public office. Owen turned to face her. “I’d like you to think about coming back to the DA’s office.”
This was so far removed from anything Kali had imagined that she was momentarily stunned. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “The DA’s office?”
“On a temporary basis. To work on this case.”
“Why me?” She felt light-headed. Flattered and dismayed at the same time.
“You know the history,” Owen explained. “You were involved in the Davis case. You’ll recognize what’s different this time around and what’s not. You’re also familiar with the investigative screw-ups last time. I want to make sure we don’t go through that again. When we catch whoever’s doing this, I want an airtight conviction.”
“You’ve got a staff.”
“I’m short-handed right now.” He rubbed his jaw. “My two senior deputy DAs both have big trials coming up. Another is set to go out on maternity leave.”
Kali was still reeling with the shock of Owen’s request. But she also found it tempting. “I’ve been a defense attorney for the last four years.”
“All the better. People can’t accuse me of orchestrating a cover-up.” He stopped his pacing and stood behind his desk, his hands on the back of his chair. “This is going to hit the papers at some point. Better that we come across looking like knights than villains.”
“Grab the bull by the horns, so to speak.”
“Beats getting trampled.” He leaned forward. “I hope it goes without saying that I’m also interested in getting at the truth.”
She did know that, and it was the reason she found herself considering his offer. Owen wasn’t without ego, but his integrity was part and parcel of who he was. “The other day you were certain there was no connection between Anne’s murder and the Bayside Strangler.”
“I’m still not convinced there is. But with the rose, the note, the way she was found—it might be chance, or it might be that we are dealing with a copycat. Either way, it’s important that I take an aggressive role in this. I don’t want anyone saying I’m trying to sweep dirt under the rug in order to save my ass.”
She smiled. “But you wouldn’t mind saving it.”
“Of course not.” He didn’t actually smile, but his eyes softened. “That’s not the most important thing, though. I certainly hope I’m not so much of a politician that I’ve lost sight of doing what’s right.”
That strong ethical stance, Kali thought, would be one of Owen’s strongest selling points in the upcoming election. He was a straight arrow. A man who listened well but was not afraid to speak his mind.
“I trust you, Kali. That’s important, too. There are cops out there who aren’t happy with some of my judgment calls, people in my own office even. Many of them have come out strongly in support of Barton. I don’t want to be in a position of second guessing everyone’s motives on this.”
She weighed Owen’s request in her mind. Her own legal practice was at a crossroads. After moving back to her hometown of Silver Creek, she’d returned to the Bay Area last year in order to fill in for Nina Barrett, a law school friend who was ill and no longer able to handle her small, independent practice. For a variety of reasons, Kali had stayed longer than she’d intended. But the time had come to make a move. That was why she and Anne had been talking about sharing an office.
“I don’t know, Owen. Let me think about it, okay?”
“Fine, but not too long. I’ve got to assign someone soon.”
<><><>
For the rest of the day, Kali found it hard to concentrate. Sitting at her office desk, she could think of nothing but Owen’s request and all the reasons it was a foolhardy thing for her to do. But she was also intrigued, and felt in some measure that she owed it to Anne. And, perhaps, to Owen.
By three that afternoon, she had bounced back and forth so often she felt dizzy. Was she too close to the murder given her friendship with Anne? Probably, but she also wanted to see Anne’s killer caught and convicted. Being part of that would be a productive way to channel her grief.
And Owen had asked for her help. That, in itself, carried a lot of weight. It would be good to work for him again, but more important, she would be able to repay Owen for his faith in her years earlier.
“Hey, boss.” Jared stuck his head through the open doorway. “You remember I told you I had to leave early today, right?”
“Right.” Kali pushed her chair away from her desk. The office, Nina’s office really, had a homey feel. Ficus in the corner by the bay window, watercolors on the walls, a sage green Tibetan rug on the floor. She’d known it was temporary from the start, but that didn’t make the prospect of leaving any easier. “How are you coming on the Sullivan matter?” she asked.
“Settlement conference is scheduled for Thursday morning. I don’t think we’re going to make it to trial on this one.” Jared sounded disappointed. At twenty-four and newly admitted to the bar, he was eager for the challenge of courtroom litigation.
The phone ra
ng.
“I’ll get it,” Jared offered. He doubled as office receptionist. “For you,” he said a minute later with the wide-eyed look of a star-struck groupie. “It’s Owen Nelson.”
“Hi.” Kali made a door-closed gesture with her hand as Jared left.
“I don’t mean to pressure you, Kali,” Owen said.
“But you’d like an answer.” She couldn’t blame him. This was the kind of potentially explosive situation he’d want to diffuse at the earliest possible stage.
“If you’ve got one.”
Kali looked at the thick stack of files on her desk. She was winding down here anyway. Nina would be coming back in a couple of weeks and was already working on several matters from home. Jared would jump at the chance to pick up whatever slack there was. Besides, in her heart, she knew what she wanted to do.
“Yes,” she told him.
“Yes, you have an answer or yes, you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. I owe you.” His relief was evident in his voice.
“I just hope you feel the same way when it’s all over.”
“There’s going to be a meeting of the investigative team tomorrow afternoon at two. Think you can make it?”
“I’ll be there.”
Decision made, she managed to get in a couple of hours of work before thoughts about her new assignment intruded. She printed out the final rewrite of a will she’d drafted and was ready to call it a day when her office door swung open. The man who entered looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.
“Hi.” He grinned at her like an old friend. “Caught you by surprise, didn’t I?”
“You certainly did,” Kali acknowledged truthfully. Even his voice was familiar, but who was he? Another attorney? Someone she knew from Silver Creek? A neighbor? Then it dawned on her, just as he caught her confusion and introduced himself.
Cold Justice (Kali O'Brien series Book 5) Page 5
