by Karen Rose
But he wanted to. It was all Sam could do not to confess it all.
Kayla filled in the gaps, repeating the story she’d told them the night before.
Fitzpatrick looked up from his notepad. ‘So we’re filing the assault complaint against an unknown suspect and the bartender, who’s currently in prison for a separate assault ‘
‘That’s right,’ Sam said.
Fitzpatrick studied him shrewdly. ‘Why now, Officer?’
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Thorne broke in. ‘Officer Hudson received a package on Saturday, the eighth anniversary of his assault. In it was a matchbook from the Rabbit Hole. Being a police officer, he began to investigate.’
Fitzpatrick frowned. ‘That would have been March 15, eight years ago?’ He held Thorne’s gaze for so long that Sam started to worry. ‘That was an eventful day, Counselor.’
Fitzpatrick knew. Or suspected. It wasn’t a huge stretch, Sam supposed. The detective was Stevie Mazzetti’s former partner. He’d know her personal history.
Thorne didn’t blink. ‘Like I said. We want the best.’
Fitzpatrick shook his head, then looked at Kayla with a gentle smile. ‘Miss Richards, would you mind waiting outside in the hall for a moment?’
‘Of course not.’ Uncertainly, Kayla gathered her purse and left the room, closing the door.
Fitzpatrick turned to Ruby. ‘Ruby, what the hell is this about?’ Thorne started to speak again and Fitzpatrick shot him an annoyed look. ‘I asked Ruby, not you.’
Ruby sighed. ‘Can you just file the report for now, JD? Please? Know that if this becomes bigger, you’ll have been in on it from the beginning. We’ll want your help. For now, it’s better to leave the story where it is.’
‘Better for who?’ Fitzpatrick asked stubbornly.
‘Better for me,’ Sam said honestly. ‘Maybe better for a lot of people. Please, Detective. I need your help.’
Fitzpatrick blew out a breath. ‘Fine. I’ll file the report.’ He fired up the computer on the desk and logged into the system. A few minutes later, the printer on the desk spit out a single page. ‘Here you go. You’re officially a crime victim, Officer Hudson.’
‘Thank you. I promise that I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. You have my word.’
‘I appreciate that, Officer. You’re lucky I know these two through my wife. I even like Ruby.’ He glared at Thorne. ‘The counselor here is a different story.’
‘You’re just jealous,’ Thorne said scornfully, ‘because I always win at poker.’
‘Because you cheat.’ Fitzpatrick’s words were mild, however.
‘Don’t let those two fool you,’ Ruby said, taking Sam’s hand in hers. ‘Thorne is godfather to JD and Lucy’s baby.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Sam said.
Fitzpatrick returned his attention to Sam. ‘And Stevie Mazzetti is my son’s godmother.’
‘I didn’t know that either.’ Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened.
‘It’ll be okay,’ Ruby murmured. ‘You’re in the best of hands, Sam.’
Sam looked at her hand, still holding his. ‘I know.’
Fitzpatrick stood up. ‘I’ll pay a visit to the bartender at the prison as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Sam said but Fitzpatrick shook his head.
‘On this case you are no longer a cop, Hudson. Stay away from the witnesses. I’ll work with your sketch artist, but only because he’s a department resource and they’re damn hard to get. Don’t set up any more interviews or any more sessions with artists or anyone else. I’ll interview the bartender as soon as I can, but now I have to be somewhere else. We’ve been a little busy the last few days. If you’ll excuse me.’ He hurried out, checking his phone.
Thorne rose as well. ‘I have to be in court after lunch, so I won’t be reachable by phone. Text or email me when the sketch artist has finished with Miss Richards. Ruby, Sam, be careful. I don’t like the way this case is going. Too many damn coincidences.’
Sam followed Thorne out, found Kayla leaning against a wall, her eyes wide.
‘What?’ Sam asked. ‘What happened?’
‘A group of people just took the elevator down. One of them was that detective that’s been on the news. Mazzetti, I think her name is. That poor woman.’
You have no idea. Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket, allowing him to focus on something other than the image of his father killing Detective Mazzetti’s family. ‘It’s a text from Damon, the sketch artist.’ Sam frowned. ‘His morning session went long and now he has no time before lunch to squeeze us in. He wants to know if you can come back at four o’clock?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you then.’ With a little wave she got into the elevator.
Sam looked behind him to where Ruby stood in the doorway. ‘Nothing’s going to happen until later. You might as well go home or at least enjoy your day off.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m going to check out the convenience store clerk. Find out about her next of kin.’
‘Still planning to make amends for your father, Sam?’ she asked, so gently.
‘I have to try.’ Three lives lost. Four, counting his father. Families left behind to grieve. Including mine. ‘I haven’t told my mother. I don’t know how to even start. She has a heart condition. I’m afraid this is going to kill her.’
Ruby came to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned her forehead against his chest. ‘Would you like me to come with you when you tell her? For moral support?’
He held her to him, resting his cheek on the top of her head. ‘Yeah. I think so. Thank you.’
‘All part of the service,’ she said.
He hesitated, then decided it was better to know than to wonder. ‘How many people get this service?’ He’d meant to keep his voice light, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not today.
‘You,’ she said simply. ‘Just you.’
He shuddered out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank God for that. Listen, you don’t have to stay here with me. I’ll be fine. You should spend your afternoon off doing something for yourself. Maybe go to the university and apply to the forensic science program.’
She flashed him a smile. ‘Maybe I will. Would you like me to come back for the artist session?’
‘Yes. And then maybe we can go to dinner?’
‘Sounds good.’ Her smile faded. ‘Don’t do anything crazy, please. I agree with Thorne. I don’t like the way any of this is headed.’
‘I promise.’ Sam started to go down to the precinct library where he could research the convenience store clerk’s next-of-kin but changed his mind, parking his ass on a bench with a view of the elevator. Hopefully, Mazzetti would return from wherever she’d gone.
He didn’t know what to say, but he needed to say something. His father had ruined her life.
Tuesday, March 18, 10.35 A.M.
‘She doesn’t look like the woman we subdued last night,’ Stevie murmured, standing on the observation side of the interview-room glass while Drive-by sat on the other.
‘I figured a few hours without a bottle would make her twitchy,’ Clay said.
And twitchy she was. The woman was constant, jerking motion. A foot bobbing, her fingers drumming, even pulling her own hair. In contrast, her attorney sat calmly beside her.
Joseph sat at the table across from her, watching her curiously.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Drive-by demanded.
Her attorney frowned. ‘Miss Smith. I asked you to let me do the talking.’
‘Miss Smith?’ Stevie asked. ‘She couldn’t come up with anything more original than that?’
‘She doesn’t know that we know her real name,’ Hyatt said, shutting the observation room door behind himself and Grayson as they entered.
Stevie’s brows lifted. ‘What is it?’
Hyatt came to stand beside her. ‘Jean Henderson. She and Robinette served together as MPs and she’s a marksman, so she could be our resta
urant shooter. So far she’s the only suspect with a gunshot wound to the shoulder consistent with the driver who fired on you in your yard.’
‘Jean Henderson.’ Stevie stared through the glass, clearly remembering the sounds of the glass shattering behind her, the screams of the restaurant patrons. The sightless eyes of the waitress who’d been standing behind her chair. The hopelessness of Elissa Selmon’s husband as Emma tried to save his wife’s life.
And in her own front yard, she remembered the terror in Cordelia’s eyes when Clay picked her up off the ground and carried her into the house. Jean Henderson, I hope you fry.
‘I expected her attorney to be Brenda Lee Miller,’ she said aloud. ‘Who is this woman?’
‘Cecilia Wright,’ Grayson said. ‘She’s doing this pro bono.’
Clay frowned. ‘How was she assigned or hired or whatever?’
‘Good question.’ Grayson dropped his chin, murmuring into his lapel. ‘Go ahead, Joseph.’
Joseph stretched, making himself comfortable. ‘We know who you are, Miss Henderson.’
Her attorney didn’t blink an eye. Henderson gave the woman a long, hard, suspicious stare before returning her attention to Joseph. ‘That’s not my name. You are mistaken, Agent Carter.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Joseph tossed photos of Henderson onto the table, all provided by the military. ‘We know who you work for.’ He tossed another photo on the table – that of Todd Robinette, standing behind a podium. That got a reaction – out of both women.
Henderson went abruptly still, like a plug was pulled on all her nervous motion.
Her attorney laughed. ‘Agent Carter, really. That’s Todd Robinette. He’s a successful businessman and a philanthropist. Surely you’re joking.’
Joseph gave the attorney a sharp look. ‘I’ve got eleven bodies in the morgue. I’m not in a joking mood.’ He turned back to Henderson. ‘We know where you lived.’ A photo of a burned-out apartment hit the table’s surface. ‘And we know what you’ve done.’
Carefully he lined up crime scene photos – the restaurant, Stevie’s front yard, Scott Culp’s house, the hotel where the clerk had been found, and the news cameraman’s car which had blood splattered all over the inside of the windows.
Henderson scanned them all, her eyes returning to Scott Culp’s house with a puzzled frown.
‘And we know who you’ve killed,’ Joseph added. Beneath the crime scene photos, he lined up photos of faces – Elissa Selmon and Angie Thurman from the restaurant, Phin Radcliffe’s cameraman, IA detective Scott Culp, and the young clerk from the hotel.
Again her eyes narrowed slightly at the last two photos.
‘She didn’t do Scott Culp or the hotel clerk,’ Stevie said. ‘I wonder who did?’
On the other side of the glass, Henderson was shaking her head. ‘Who are they?’ she asked, gesturing widely at all the photographs.
‘You mean who are they?’ Joseph countered, pulling Culp and the clerk away from the others. ‘This is Scott Culp. He was a cop. Worked Internal Affairs. Sergeant Culp called this number a few hours before he was killed.’ He slid a sheet of paper across the table to Henderson.
Her eyes flickered for an instant. But it was enough.
‘That’s the number they picked up from your stingray,’ Stevie murmured. ‘Mr Backpack, aka Todd Robinette.’
‘That number called this number.’ Joseph slid another sheet of paper across the table. ‘Who later called you. So, you’re connected to Sergeant Culp.’
Again her attorney laughed. ‘And I’m connected to every person on the planet according to Kevin Bacon. You’ve got nothing, Agent Carter. Charge her with B&E and let her go.’
Joseph ignored the attorney. ‘This young man,’ he said, tapping the photo of the clerk, ‘was found dead behind the desk of the hotel where he worked.’
‘Tragic,’ the attorney said, ‘but he, like Sergeant Culp, has nothing to do with my client.’
‘Your gun killed them, Miss Henderson,’ Joseph said. ‘The gun you carried last night.’
Henderson’s eyes snapped up to stare at Joseph’s face, her cheeks becoming a dull, mottled red. ‘Sonofabitch,’ she snarled.
‘Somebody set her up,’ Clay murmured. ‘My money’s on that trans-Pacific caller.’
‘Miss Smith,’ the attorney reprimanded, her voice like a whip. ‘Say nothing.’
Joseph shrugged. ‘She doesn’t have to. Ballistics said it all.’
Henderson’s jaw clenched. ‘I want a deal.’
Her attorney stayed calm. ‘Miss Smith, if you do what I say, I can get you out of here.’
Henderson’s mouth curved in an ugly smile. ‘I’d last a whole thirty seconds after walking out of here with you. You may consider your ass fired.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I want a new lawyer. Somebody that I pick out of the damn phone book. And I want a deal.’
‘No deal, Joseph,’ Grayson said into the microphone on his lapel.
‘Depends on what you have to say,’ Joseph said to Henderson, ignoring him.
‘You want Robinette?’ Henderson asked silkily.
‘Maybe,’ Joseph replied. ‘Depends on the price.’
‘I want out of here. I want immunity. I want a seat on the next flight to Sao Paulo.’
‘Gotta hand it to the bitch,’ Stevie said. ‘She’s bold.’
‘More like desperate.’ Clay glanced down at Stevie, considering. ‘She didn’t hire her own lawyer and she doesn’t trust whoever did, probably Robinette. Joseph put Robinette’s home and office under surveillance, but has anyone actually seen him? Could he have been the one who called Henderson from over the Pacific yesterday afternoon?’
‘No,’ Grayson said. ‘Robinette couldn’t have called her because he had dinner with the city manager last night, here in Baltimore. Joseph’s aide has created a timeline of Robinette’s movements over the last few weeks. His PR person is very prompt with his Facebook updates.’
‘Well, whoever called her from the plane probably gave her the gun,’ Stevie said. ‘He must have killed Culp and the clerk with it. I’m betting it was Thing One. Remember how he looked when he came back to find Robinette had broken the necks of those two cops? He knew his boss had lost it. I’d leave the country, too. We don’t need her for Robinette. We’ve got blood and hair to nail him. We want Cocksucker.’
On the other side of the glass, Joseph coughed, then roughly cleared his throat. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a ply upgrade on the toilet paper in your cell,’ he said, responding to Henderson’s blatant request for safe passage out to Brazil.
Henderson’s eyes flashed rage. ‘I’m not going to prison,’ she stated flatly.
Joseph stood, gathered the photos from the table. ‘I have five victims that say you are. How you live while you’re there is up to you.’ He walked to the door, leaving Henderson fuming.
‘Carter,’ Henderson barked before he got out of the room.
Joseph paused, his hand on the doorknob, brows arched. ‘Yes?’
‘Where did he call from?’
He looked over his shoulder. ‘Who?’
‘Miss Smith, please—’
Henderson pivoted in her chair to face the attorney. ‘You shut the fuck up!’ She turned back to Joseph. ‘You have my phone. I’m no fool. I know you know where the call came from, the one I got yesterday afternoon.’
Joseph studied her for a long moment. Then shrugged. ‘Somewhere over the Pacific.’
Henderson’s lips firmed. ‘He’s your killer and he’s left the country. I can give him to you.’
‘We can still figure him out,’ Stevie murmured into Grayson’s lapel. ‘If he served with her and Robinette, we can cross-reference his name to flight manifests of trans-Pacific flights yesterday. Assuming he flew under his own name.’
‘I don’t need your help that badly,’ Joseph said to Henderson. ‘I have you for three murders – Culp, the clerk, and the cameraman. CSU will find something to tie you to the restau
rant. Even if they don’t, you’ll go to prison for the rest of your life.’
Henderson shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. See, Robinette wants your cop. Bad. He doesn’t care who he wastes to get her. She’s gonna live her life on the run, because he’s never gonna stop hunting her.’
Her attorney smacked the table. ‘Miss Smith. Stop this. You’re admitting guilt.’
Henderson didn’t flick the woman a glance. ‘And Mazzetti’s little girl? Todd Robinette would kill the kid and not lose a second’s sleep. He’d laugh, in fact. It would make his day.’
If looks could kill, Henderson would be on the floor, gasping her last. I want to see you fry, Stevie thought. But she controlled herself because she wanted to see Robinette fry even more.
Joseph leaned against the door, a relaxed smile on his face. ‘Now who’s going to believe that? A man like Mr Robinette, so kind, so generous with his fortune. He funds rehab centers for teens. Receives awards from the city for his good deeds. He’d never kill a child.’
Henderson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t mock me, Carter.’ Then she smiled.
A chill ran down Stevie’s spine. ‘She’s like a fucking cobra.’
‘This is the real Henderson,’ Clay murmured. ‘She’s muscled her way through her cravings for booze.’
‘You think you know Todd Robinette?’ Henderson asked, laughter in her voice. ‘You don’t know jack shit.’
‘This interview is over,’ the attorney said, coming to her feet.
‘Why is she still here?’ Henderson asked mildly.
Joseph was ignoring the attorney, his eyes on Henderson’s smiling face. ‘What do you mean, we don’t know jack shit?’ he asked quietly.
Henderson shrugged, stared at her fingernails. Looked up with a smugness that, if it was an act, was a damn good one. ‘Sao Paulo is beautiful this time of year.’
‘Sao Paulo is beautiful any time of year.’ Joseph opened the door and looked over his shoulder. ‘Too bad for you because you’ll never see it again.’
Tuesday, March 18, 10.55 A.M.
Joseph closed the observation room door behind him. ‘Impressions?’
‘I don’t think she’s bluffing,’ Clay said slowly. ‘She knows something big. She was saving it for last, in case you didn’t rise to the Cordelia bait.’
