Cold Justice (Kali O'Brien series Book 5)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “You mean you’ve got more than one?” Lou guffawed, seemingly pleased with his attempt at humor. “Anyway, in light of yesterday’s discovery, I thought we needed to talk.” He turned to Kali. “You’ve heard the captain wants us to keep the lid on this?”

  She nodded. “Bryce told me. The trouble is, everyone at the scene yesterday already knows about the dog collar.”

  “They may know about it in this case,” Bryce said. “But chances are they don’t know the significance. Not unless any of them worked the Strangler case.”

  “They may even think it’s some fashion statement,” Lou added. “Way people dress these days, who can tell?”

  “So what we’ve got,” Kali said, making sure she hadn’t missed something, “is a killer who has access to information about the Bayside Strangler case that wasn’t made public.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  Lou licked his finger and rubbed at an ink spot on his hand. “That’s a good place to start. Who has inside knowledge about the Strangler investigation?”

  “The two lead detectives,” Bryce said. “Both are now retired, right? And the cops who worked the original crime scenes where the victims had collars.” He turned to Kali, all business this time. “How many was that?”

  “Three. The first victim didn’t have a dog collar, and neither did Wendy Gilchrist.”

  “There’s got to have been a handful of others in the department, too,” Bryce continued. “Records clerks, evidence techs, support people of all sorts.”

  “A similar handful of people in the DA’s office,” Lou said. “Anyone there you think maybe we should look at?” He addressed the question to Kali.

  “There were three of us working directly with Owen. Me, Anne Bailey and Corey Redmond. Since the dog collars weren’t part of the prosecution’s case, I don’t think anyone else in the office would have known about them.”

  Keating frowned. “What about Corey Redmond?”

  “He married a woman with money and connections. Works for his father-in-law. He has twin daughters. I get a card from him every Christmas. Not a likely candidate for serial killer.” Of course, Dwayne Davis hadn’t seemed the type either, she reminded herself.

  They lapsed into a momentary silence; then Bryce said, “What about Jack Jackson?”

  Kali frowned. “What about him?”

  “Did he know about the dog collars?”

  “I’m not. . . wait, yes, he did. I remember Owen saying part of the deal with the book was that Jackson had to omit the confidential stuff. Owen specifically mentioned the dog collars when he was telling me. But why would Jack—”

  “With crimes like this, looking for the why won’t get you very far,” Lou said. “Though in Jackson’s case, publicity might be a factor.”

  “Or maybe writing about the Strangler murders triggered some fantasy of his own,” Bryce said. “Didn’t Dr. Dunworthy say that the copycat phenomenon was often based on a killer’s fascination with the original murders?”

  Kali nodded. “A fascination that the copycat killer then tweaked to make his own. Just the way our killer has done.”

  “Jackson had to have been pretty steeped in it. He covered the trial, interviewed the victims’ families, as well as Davis himself, as I recall.”

  That much was true, but Kali couldn’t picture Jack as a killer. He might not be above elbowing his way into a story, but as a person, he was a gentle teddy bear.

  “You know who else is neck deep in murder?” she offered. “Dunworthy. He also knows the details of the Strangler murders.”

  Bryce whistled low under his breath. “Wouldn’t that be something—the expert on serial killers, a killer himself. And the guy is strange.”

  “Strange how?” Lou asked.

  “Imagine one of the Seven Dwarfs with a European tailor,” Bryce said. “And he practically breaks into a pant when he starts discussing the mind of a serial killer.”

  Kali laughed at the description. It was a bit of a caricature, but not far off.

  Keating scooted his chair closer to the desk and addressed Kali. “Lou had a thought the murders might be political.”

  “Political?”

  “To embarrass Owen Nelson.”

  She made a face. “I’m no fan of Molina’s, but I wouldn’t go so far as to suspect him of murder.”

  “Not Molina himself,” Lou said, “but someone in his camp. What’s more, Al Gomez is a childhood friend of his. He’s been pissed at Owen Nelson since the day Davis was convicted.”

  “You’re saying Gomez is a potential suspect?” Her first reaction was that respected members of the legal profession didn’t commit murder. But on further reflection, she had to admit there was a certain logic to the idea. Gomez certainly knew the details of the Strangler case; he’d defended Davis, after all. And he’d made a name for himself protesting what he claimed was Davis’s wrongful conviction. The recent murders had been fuel for his fury.

  “I talked to him last night,” Lou said. “He knew there’d been a third murder.”

  “It’s hard to keep a crime quiet,” Kali pointed out. “Even when we withhold official comment.”

  Lou nodded. “But it hadn’t made the news yet. And there’s been nothing from our department connecting Ruby Wings’s death to the other two.”

  Kali tried to remember what she’d read in the paper this morning. Her mind had been on more pleasant thoughts than murder, but as she recalled, there’d been nothing but a very short piece about the murder of an Oakland woman whose body had been found by a drainage canal. Nothing tying it to the other murders.

  “You’re saying Gomez knew things he couldn’t have known unless he was personally connected to the crime?”

  Lou crossed his arms on his belly. “I wouldn’t go that far, although I wouldn’t rule it out, either. But he did know the cases were related.”

  They lapsed into silence. Lou’s broad face scrunched in concentration, while Bryce’s expression was impenetrable. Kali’s mind bounced from denial to thinking anything was possible.

  “We should also think about members of your department,” she said at last.

  Bryce gestured to himself and Lou. “Meaning the two of us.” He seemed more amused than put out.

  “And whoever else was privy to information about the dog collars in the Strangler case,” Kali explained. “I imagine there’s been a lot of internal discussion.”

  “It might surprise you to know,” Lou grumbled, “that most of us are too busy to gossip.”

  She could have debated the point, but all this speculation was getting them nowhere. “What I think might be more useful,” Kali offered, “is looking at how our killer chooses his victims. Anne worked on the Strangler case, but the others don’t have any obvious connection. Nothing obvious to me anyway.”

  “To me either,” Lou conceded.

  Bryce rubbed his cheek. “Maybe he started with Anne because of her connection to the Strangler case, which he was copying, and then as he’s made the killings more his own, he’s moved on to a wider choice of victims.”

  “But still, why these particular women?” Kali pressed the point because she thought it was important. “We know the murders weren’t opportunistic. The killer took a photo of Jane, and he broke into Ruby’s house. He had to have crossed paths with them at some point earlier on.”

  “Like with Lancaster and the windows,” Lou said. “I still think we were on the right track there.”

  “You’re forgetting, Lancaster was in jail when the third murder took place.”

  “I don’t mean he did it, Bryce. Just that there’s some similar connection to the victims.”

  “There’s still Larry Silva’s gas station,” Kali reminded them. “Anne’s husband was going to look through the credit card statements, but I’m thinking we should get a court order for receipts from all three victims. If it’s not the gas station, it might be something else.”

  The phone rang. Lou picked it up, then reached for
a pen and jotted something on a nearby slip of paper. “That was Maureen Oliver,” he explained, when he’d disconnected. “Someone bought a size twelve bathing suit, same style as Ruby Wings was wearing when we found her body, at the Hilltop Macy’s last Sunday. Eleven-fifteen in the morning, to be precise.”

  “The day after she’d tried on a similar suit in Walnut Creek,” Kali noted. “Cash sale?”

  “Of course. Our guy isn’t stupid.”

  “Does the clerk remember who bought it?” Bryce asked.

  “Maureen was leaving that to one of us. The saleswoman is working today so it should be easy to check.”

  Lou looked at Bryce. “This one has your name in it.”

  Bryce laughed. Pushing back his chair, he explained to Kali, “Lou feels like a bull in a china shop when it comes to women’s clothing.”

  “You heading out now?” Lou asked. “I’ll walk to the car with you.”

  Kali felt Bryce’s gaze linger in her direction; then he turned to his partner. “Fine, let’s go.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to Bryce alone. Maybe it was just as well. Still, she was over the hard part. Granted, the first few minutes had been awkward, but once she’d gotten past that, she’d been able to deal with Bryce as though last night had never happened. And he’d apparently had no trouble doing the same. Maybe he’d already forgotten, in fact. Or didn’t consider anything about the evening worth remembering.

  She’d been back at her own desk only about ten minutes when her phone rang. Bryce Keating’s voice caught her by surprise. She could tell from the background noise that he was calling on a cell phone.

  “I’d hoped we’d have a chance to talk this morning,” he said.

  “We just did.”

  “In private.” He paused. “I don’t know how to do this, really, but I want to. . .” Another pause. He started over. “I know I’ve got a reputation, but it’s not totally accurate.”

  Not totally inaccurate either, she was willing to bet. “No?”

  “I mean some of it’s deserved, but not. . .” He sounded almost embarrassed. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is, last night was different.”

  “Different, how?” But she thought she knew. It had been a foolish move for both of them. A crime of passion, so to speak. And now he wanted to make sure they could still work together, no hard feelings.

  “I don’t want to blow it, Kali.” His voice was suddenly earnest, like a kid’s. “The playboy reputation is . . . well, it’s not who I really am. But I’m not sure I know how to do it right anymore, either. And that’s what I want. I don’t want it to be a game this time.”

  She took a moment to digest his words. They weren’t what she’d expected. Touching, but discomfiting in their own way. “I don’t think you’re in any danger of blowing it.” She laughed to lighten the mood. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “If I move that direction, conk me in the head, would you?”

  “You bet.” Good thing no one was there to see her beaming like an idiot.

  She’d just managed to tuck away the smile when the phone rang again. She picked up thinking it might be Bryce again.

  Instead, it was Nathan. Kali felt the warmth drain from her.

  “Hey, how about lunch today?” he asked.

  “I’m . . . I wasn’t planning on taking a lunch break. I got in late this morning.”

  “Just a short one. I have to be in your neck of woods for a job interview this afternoon.”

  “That was fast. You just left Global Investment a week ago, didn’t you?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t get along with my boss. I’d sort of started putting out feelers before I quit.”

  So Global Investment was the company name he’d give her. She hadn’t been mistaken. He heart was pounding in her chest, but she wasn’t going to let the matter drop. “You never worked there, Nathan. I called, looking for you. They’d never heard of you. And they don’t have a Boston office.”

  Silence hung heavy in the air. “I can explain,” Nathan said at last.

  “You think explaining a lie makes it better? I don’t think so.”

  “Wait. Kali, please. It was stupid of me to make up a story like that. I did it to impress you.”

  “Impress me, why?”

  “That night we met, I fell for you the minute I laid eyes on you. It was like, wow, an arrow straight to the heart. I’ve heard about that happening, but I never thought it would happen to me. I’m usually pretty reserved.”

  Could have fooled her. “That doesn’t explain the lie.”

  “It was more of a story than a lie.”

  Kali wasn’t sure she understood the difference, but she let him goon.

  “You’re a classy lady. I mean, that’s apparent to anyone who sets eyes on you. And I figured you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with someone who wasn’t what you might call an ‘even match.’”

  “So what do you do for a living?”

  “At the moment, I drive a taxi. But I didn’t always,” he added hastily. “I was in sales before this. Regional manager for all of northern California. Then I got sick and lost my job. It’s an American story in a way. Happens to a lot of people.”

  “I wonder how many of them pretend to be something they’re not?”

  “Everyone pretends to some degree.” His voice dropped a few decibels. “Even you.”

  “How do I pretend?”

  His voice took on a teasing tone. “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” Then he was serious again. “It was wrong telling you I worked some place I didn’t. I’m sorry I misled you, but it was only because I wanted you to like me.” He paused, maybe waiting for some assurance on her part that she did. “So how about another chance. Have lunch with me today, okay?”

  “I can’t, remember? I’m working through lunch today.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end. “If you’d gotten home at a decent hour last night, you’d have been in the office on time this morning.” His delivery was almost playful, but there was ice at the core.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember how we were talking about pretense? Look in the mirror, Kali. Take a long, hard look at yourself before you jump on others.”

  “Nathan, I—”

  “Why don’t you just say it? You think I’m a no-account loser. You think you’re too good for me, don’t you? You think—”

  Kali lowered the phone quietly into the cradle. He wasn’t just a liar; he was loony, and a bit scary.

  CHAPTER 37

  The end of a workday. The office was quiet. Owen sat at his desk and closed his eyes. He was tired. Not simply end-of-the-day wound-down and spent, but weary to his core. It weighted his bones and clouded his mind. He couldn’t even remember what bounce and enthusiasm felt like anymore.

  His interview that afternoon for the Channel Four news roundup had not gone well. It had gone very badly, in fact. Owen had stumbled over questions he could easily have turned to his advantage, and had failed to press key points he’d outlined in his mind. What’s more, the latest election poll showed that while his name recognition had gone up a couple of points, his popularity among voters had actually dropped.

  Now they had a third murder, and a killer who was clearly privy to undisclosed details about the Strangler case.

  With a stab of nostalgia for simpler times, Owen recalled a book he used to read to Alex years ago—Alexander’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Alex had been particularly attached to the story because he shared the lead character’s name. In the book, at the end of a day where everything went wrong for him, the young Alexander announced he wanted to leave his troubles behind and run away to Australia. His mother, in explaining that trouble wasn’t something you could run from, told her son, “Some days are like that, even in Australia.” It had become something of the family mantra for bad days, but right now Owen had reached the point where he thought taking a flyer to Australia might not be such a bad
idea.

  Finally pulling himself from his internal slouch, Owen turned to the stack of files on his desk. Through the window, he could see that the sky had darkened with twilight. A crescent moon was barely visible above the horizon. Owen switched on the antique desk lamp that had been a Christmas gift from Selby. It gave the office a soft, homelike atmosphere, which helped a little.

  He was reviewing the lead attorney’s notes on an upcoming rape case when Owen heard a shuffling at his door. He looked up to see Jack Jackson standing there, brown paper bag in his hand.

  “I was hoping if I waited until late enough in the day,” Jackson said, “I wouldn’t be disturbing anything.”

  “There’s no end to the work that needs doing around here. But come in anyway. My heart’s not in the work right now.”

  “Tough day?”

  “Tough month, and showing no signs of letting up.”

  Jackson held the bag up in one hand. “I brought you something. Sounds like you can use it.” He pulled a bottle of eighteen-year-old Balevenie single-malt scotch from the sack. Seventy-five dollars a bottle when Owen last looked.

  “I can’t take a bribe,” Owen said, only half in jest.

  “It’s a gift, Owen. Or how about a peace offering for interrupting your evening the other night?”

  “I still can’t take it.” Some prosecutors bent the rules, but Owen had been careful his whole career to avoid anything that might smack of impropriety.

  “Okay, I’ll keep it for myself.” Jackson grinned. “How about a drink?”

  Why not? He wasn’t getting anything done anyway. “Sure. Thanks.” Owen pulled two glasses from the credenza. Jackson poured a couple of fingers of the dark liquid into each glass.

  Jackson sank into an upholstered chair in the corner of Owen’s office. “Good ad you’re running on television. I saw it for the first time the other night.”

  “That’s Les Amstead’s doing. He’s got his fingers on the pulse, but it’s costly.”

  “I bet. But you’ve got big backers from what I hear. Silicon Valley money, as well as Hollywood. There are a lot of people who share your centrist view, Owen.”