“What you got, Pooch?” asked Ernie.
“Well, somebody’s been busy tonight and they did us a favor.”
Puccinelli wouldn’t call him in the middle of an investigation just to pull his chain. He waited, but Pooch didn’t make him wait long. “St. Claire waited for Elizabeth Garrett to leave school after work, or at least that’s the way it looks.”
Why hadn’t O’Hara called? was Ernie’s immediate mental reaction. He was supposed to be watching her at the school to make sure she got home safely. All of Ernie’s senses went into high gear. “Shit. I’m with Matt. Is Garrett all right?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. Very shaken up though. I asked her to wait in her classroom with one of the deputies.”
“And St. Claire?”
Ernie detected a tone of satisfaction in Puccinelli’s voice. “He’s dead, Ernie. Somebody capped him twice. But they didn’t wait around to admire their work. We’re not sure yet exactly what happened.”
Ernie took a few deep breaths to calm down. He immediately flashed on two things: O’Hara wouldn’t have left Garrett’s school without calling him and nobody would have gotten to Garrett without O’Hara seeing it.
Something was missing. Ernie waited for more information, but Pooch was silent. Ernie kept his voice as level as he could. “Somebody popped him? Who? Do you have any idea who? Did she see the shooter?”
“How am I supposed to know who? But whoever it was intended to get him. There’s not much mistake about that. Look, there’s something more. I’m assuming Jamison’s with you?” Pooch hesitated. “You better get over here. Something’s not right here.”
Ernie recognized that what wasn’t right was something Puccinelli didn’t want to say, and Ernie also knew before he said anything else he needed to talk to O’Hara himself. He needed time to think. “I’ll get Jamison,” he told Pooch. “It might be a little while. There’s been a robbery and an officer took down the perp. We’ve been at it for a couple of hours.” He finally forced himself to ask, “Have you talked to O’Hara?”
“I figured you were busy. I heard about the officer-involved shooting, and I know you’re on the DA team that handles those. I tried O’Hara first, but he isn’t picking up, so I called you.”
“I’ll tell Jamison,” Ernie said. Right now Ernie needed information. “Did St. Claire try anything?”
“No, and it doesn’t look like he even got that close to her. It’s not clear at this point why he was waiting for her. She’s with one of our deputies right now. She wanted to call Jamison but I told her to wait. It looks like St. Claire came up to her in the lot. She heard him call her name and when she turned, there he was. That’s when she heard several quick shots and St. Claire went down.
“According to her, St. Claire was at least ten to fifteen feet from her when he was shot. Whoever did it caught him square in the chest, popped him twice. Honestly, it looks like the shooter was waiting for him.”
Ernie had to ask. “Did Garrett see the shooter?”
“No, said she was so scared all she saw was St. Claire. Is Jamison there?”
“He’s here. I’ll talk to him. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Ernie waited for a dial tone and then punched in O’Hara’s number. No answer. “Shit!” He approached Jamison, who was standing by the forensic people as they photographed shell casings in the area where the officer had told them he had been standing.
Ernie gently pulled on Jamison’s shoulder and motioned for him to move away from the investigators working the shooting scene, even though Ernie knew that Jamison didn’t like being interrupted while he was trying to put the image of a crime scene together in his mind.
“What’s up?”
Before Ernie could finish, Jamison was on his own phone trying to call O’Hara. The look on his face told Ernie all he needed to know. Ernie hadn’t told Jamison that O’Hara had been watching Garrett and now wasn’t a good time. Ernie had a feeling it really wasn’t a good time. Within minutes they were rolling to Garrett’s school.
Jamison kept redialing O’Hara’s phone while Ernie sped through the streets, his emergency lights flashing. “What the hell?” he muttered. “He must be with some woman. Otherwise he’d answer his phone if he saw that it was me or you.”
Taking his eyes off the road, Ernie glanced to his right as he slowed for a jammed intersections before rolling through. “Yeah, you know Bill, probably a woman.”
Then Jamison slapped his leg in disgust. “Dammit! I should have known St. Claire would come back after her. I didn’t think he’d be that stupid. Bill told me that son of a bitch was supposed to be out of town.”
Ernie’s mind was racing. That O’Hara hadn’t called spoke volumes and that the shooter hadn’t been identified also spoke volumes. Right now he needed to learn about every bit of evidence that was found at the scene of the shooting. Then he would know what he had to deal with. He would try to call O’Hara again as soon as he could get away from Jamison. Normally, O’Hara would answer the phone if he knew from caller ID that it was Ernie, but Ernie’s first call had gone to voice mail, and O’Hara hadn’t picked up, nor had he called back. He would try again when no one could hear. Ernie didn’t know why he had a bad feeling, he just did, and for cops bad feelings seldom turned out to be for nothing.
The school parking area was lit up like a Christmas tree lot. The forensic team was already working and large lights flooded the parking area, washing out the graying asphalt to an almost white color. The flashing red-and-blue lights on patrol cars blocked the intersection leading into the school, and officers were standing in front of the milling crowd that always seemed to be attracted to flashing police lights like moths to a flame. Ernie slowed the car to a crawl as he threaded his way through the cluster of onlookers. Officers waved him by, nodding their recognition. His mind was a jumble. He had to talk to O’Hara.
Jamison was out of the car, sprinting across the parking lot toward an ambulance with its rear doors wide open. Elizabeth’s silhouette was outlined by the lights from the inside of the ambulance. She was sitting in the back with a blanket wrapped around her.
Ernie watched Jamison hold his badge up as he pushed through the cordon of medical and police personnel and made his way to the ambulance. Then Ernie walked slowly to the perimeter of the crime scene where Puccinelli was standing, talking to a uniformed deputy. Brightly illuminated inside the circle of forensic staffers was the main attraction. St. Claire was lying on his back, both arms stretched straight out from his body as if he had been deliberately posed. His chest was covered with a large red stain spreading from the center like a tie-dyed shirt.
Ernie kept his focus on St. Claire for a moment before tapping Puccinelli on the shoulder. “So, Pooch, what you got?”
“Where’s Jamison?” Puccinelli asked. Ernie nodded toward the ambulance. Pooch shook his head like it didn’t surprise him. “According to Garrett, she saw St. Claire walking toward her just as the shots were fired. She isn’t sure how many but it looks to me like two right in the chest.”
Ernie asked, “And Garrett didn’t see the shooter?” There was an edge of concern that was more than simple curiosity in his voice. Ernie wondered if Puccinelli’s finely honed cop sense detected the nuance in his tone.
It was the second time Ernie had asked that question. Puccinelli looked at him carefully before shaking his head. “She says she was so frightened that all she could think about was protecting herself. A neighbor apparently heard the shots and called it in. All the officers on the scene found was her and, of course, him.” Pooch pointed in the direction of the body.
“But get this,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “When those first officers arrived they told me she was rocking St. Claire back and forth.”
The description stunned Ernie. “What do you mean, rocking?”
“I mean she was holding him and rocking him like a baby. She was hysterical. They had to pry her loose so they could check on St. Claire. It’s possible that maybe she
shot him. She had blood all over her dress and smeared on her hands, but that was consistent with her holding him. We’ve swabbed her hands for gunshot and metal residue, and that was negative. We haven’t found a gun, although maybe she dumped it.
“But I don’t think she capped him. My money’s on her old man. I’m guessing he’s the one that did it. Can’t say I blame him. Whoever did it did the world a favor.”
Ernie pulled out his phone and started walking away. He was going to try O’Hara one more time. “Did she say anything else?”
“Yeah, and you and Jamison aren’t going to like it.” Pooch gave a short laugh and shook his head. “She told the officer who pulled her away from St. Claire—and this is her exact quote—‘Alex wasn’t going to hurt me. He loved me.’”
Ernie could feel his blood pressure skyrocket. “That has to be wrong.” Then he turned away and punched in O’Hara’s number. He walked well outside the perimeter of police tape to get out of range of Pooch or anybody else who might hear too much. This time O’Hara picked up on the second ring.
Ernie didn’t hear anything. All he could tell was that somebody answered the phone. After a long silence, O’Hara finally spoke. “Yeah, Ernie. What’s going on?” From the sound of O’Hara’s voice, Ernie could tell that he was fishing. Normally O’Hara would just say “What” and he didn’t bother with names or greetings.
“Bill, where the hell have you been?” Ernie tried to remain calm. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“Not a clue. Tell me.” From the sound of O’Hara’s voice, he didn’t seem particularly interested. That wasn’t the O’Hara he knew. Besides, Ernie knew Puccinelli had called him and left the message about the shooting.
“Tell me?” Ernie shouted into the phone. Surprised by his sudden burst of anger, he lowered his voice and continued. “St. Claire came to Garrett’s school and somebody popped him as he walked up to her in the parking lot.
“No shit? Somebody got that son of a bitch.”
It didn’t sound to Ernie like O’Hara was asking a question or even that he was surprised. “Bill, where were you? You were supposed to be watching her.”
It wasn’t what O’Hara said. It was what he didn’t say that put all of Ernie’s senses on alert. “I had to do some stuff. We haven’t seen St. Claire at the school or anyplace else for a week.”
Ernie knew O’Hara wasn’t leveling. There was only one reason Ernie could think of for that. He decided to back off. This wasn’t the time to ask questions.
Carefully measuring his words, Ernie said, “Yeah, well you’re missing the big show. He’s lying in the parking lot like a rag doll with two rounds in his chest.”
“What else? Did she see the shooter?” O’Hara’s voice was unnaturally calm even for O’Hara. Ernie understood O’Hara was telegraphing he needed information, not questions.
“I haven’t talked to her, but she told the first officers responding that she didn’t see anything. She said that St. Claire walked up to her, and then she heard shots and that was it.
“Oh, and get this. Art Puccinelli is the on-scene detective. He says that when the first officers got to the scene, Garrett was holding St. Claire in her arms and rocking him. She kept saying Alex would never hurt her and that he loved her.” He could hear O’Hara breathing but there was no response.
“Bill, you there?” Ernie wiped his face. He could feel the sweat even in the chill air. “I’m saying I think maybe we been played, brother.” He waited to see if O’Hara would say anything more.
But O’Hara didn’t react to the idea that something was still going on between Garrett and St. Claire. That was enough right there to tell Ernie that O’Hara already knew more than he was letting on.
“Yeah, I’m here.” O’Hara’s voice was cautious. He didn’t say anything else.
Ernie’s mind was a jumble, and he filled the silence with a rush of words. “Listen, let me get back to you. As soon as I know more I’ll call you, okay?” Ernie decided he had to ask the next question. “You want to come here to the school and take a look?” He waited, knowing that the answer would tell him what he was already afraid of.
“No, you handle it. Just keep me in the loop, okay? I’ve got some personal stuff I’m dealing with,” he said, then clicked off.
Ernie didn’t need the answer tattooed to his forehead. O’Hara had been the one who shot St. Claire, and he didn’t want anyone to know he was the shooter. There were only a couple of reasons why O’Hara would be concerned about an internal affairs investigation of his killing St. Claire, and neither of them were good. Ernie concluded that for now he needed to figure out how to protect O’Hara if he could or—and the question sat at the back of his mind—if he should. And he would have to do it without saying anything to anybody, especially Jamison. Ernie liked Jamison, but Jamison was a prosecutor and a lawyer. If Jamison knew that O’Hara pulled the trigger, he would do what prosecutors do, and that wouldn’t be good for O’Hara. He made the decision quickly. It was better for the time being to leave Jamison out of it.
Ernie didn’t hear Puccinelli walk up behind him. The tap on his shoulder startled him. Pooch’s hands went up in silent apology when Ernie turned with the phone still against his ear. Pooch asked, “That O’Hara? Tell him that he missed his opportunity. Somebody else got that son of a bitch first.” Pooch motioned for Ernie to follow. “We got something.”
Pooch motioned for Ernie to walk with him to the edge of the lot. “Right there. See them?” A forensic technician was putting a small yellow flag next to a shell casing. A few feet away another casing was already marked along with a third. The brass casings glinted dully in the lights from the forensic van. Pooch leaned in. “Looks to be from a small automatic. My guess is a .380 maybe. Walther PPK or maybe a Beretta. The angle’s right. Appears like three shots were fired and one missed. Hopefully we can match up the extractor marks made when the casings were ejected but we’ve got to find the gun. If we’re lucky we can lift a fingerprint off of one of the casings, though I’m not sure how much enthusiasm I have about that. Hard to feel much incentive to get the guy that popped this asshole, but I guess that can’t go in the report.”
“Yeah, hard to feel much.” Ernie could feel the lurch in his stomach. He didn’t need to see the gun. O’Hara always carried that damn Walther PPK as a backup. Ernie had teased him that it was a pimp gun, but O’Hara would always say if it was good enough for James Bond, it was good enough for him.
Looking at St. Claire’s bloodied body, it was clear that both rounds were closely spaced. Ernie mused that one round must have gone wide to explain the third casing. The slug could be anywhere out there. They wouldn’t find it tonight and probably never. Ernie breathed a sigh of relief; at least Bill hadn’t used his nine-millimeter. All of those were department-issue and everyone had ejected casings and fired slugs on file for matches. They would need to have the gun before they could make a match, although they wouldn’t need the gun if they got a print match off a shell casing. He put his hand in his pocket and began fingering the cell phone nervously.
The fact that O’Hara did it and he didn’t use his nine-millimeter also raised red flags. A cop didn’t reach for his backup weapon unless he’d lost his main weapon or he didn’t want to use it. And Ernie was damned certain that if O’Hara used his backup it was because he wanted to use it instead of his traceable department-issued nine-millimeter.
“We got something else too.” Pooch pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and held the bag up in the light. Inside it was a syringe with the needle capped. “It’ll be interesting to see what’s in it. Found it in St. Claire’s pocket.”
Pressing for information, Ernie asked, “Anything in St. Claire’s hand, a weapon of any kind?”
“Nothing.” Pooch shook his head. “If St. Claire was going to hurt Garrett or try and take her by physical force, that isn’t apparent from anything we have so far.”
All Ernie could think about was O’Hara. The picture wasn’t clear i
n his mind, but he could already see the outline. Bill didn’t want anybody to know he was the shooter, either because he saw something in Garrett’s reaction that told him he had misinterpreted the situation after he fired and the shooting would be found unjustified, or—though Ernie cringed at the thought—maybe O’Hara just decided to take the opportunity and rid everyone of St. Claire.
But if it was just a bad shoot, Ernie felt like O’Hara should have stayed and weathered the internal affairs investigation. At the same time, Ernie couldn’t fault him. He didn’t know what he would have done himself, whether he would have stayed if he’d been the shooter. But Ernie also knew if O’Hara simply took the opportunity to rid the world of St. Claire, then the shooting would be impossible to explain away. A bad shoot, done without adequate justification for deadly force, was the nightmare of any cop. You made a split-second decision to shoot and a mistake could cost you everything. Fire too soon and it was unjustified; fire too late and the victim gets hurt and everybody asks why you didn’t act sooner. Either way the cop took the fall. From what Ernie could see it looked at the very least like a bad shoot and at the worst—Ernie didn’t want to think about that.
So far, it looked like what O’Hara should have done was yell at St. Claire to let him know he was there and that if St. Claire tried anything, he would shoot him. Then if St. Claire tried to hurt Garrett, there would be some justification. Even if you were a cop, especially if you were a cop, you had to have justification when you pulled the trigger. What rang more alarm bells in Ernie’s mind was that there was no indication O’Hara yelled anything before he pulled the trigger.
If it wasn’t a justified shoot, the least that would happen was that O’Hara would end up losing his job and maybe his pension. The worst that would happen is that he could end up being charged. And if it looked like he just took the opportunity to blow away someone, even a piece of trash like St. Claire, well, even being a cop picking off the worst kind of trash wouldn’t help O’Hara.
Fractured Justice Page 33
