by James Glass
“Only our vic’s fingerprints. He didn’t have any priors, but he’s former military.”
I grabbed a pen from a mason jar and tapped the calendar on my desk. “The Super mentioned that last night. I’ll make a call to NCIS and see if they can expedite his service record.”
“Rebecca, you think someone he sent to…” he wiggled his fingers at me, “what’s the name of the prison they send the military to?”
“Leavenworth.”
“Right. You think someone he sent to Leavenworth might have come back to get revenge?”
“I don’t know what to think right now, but we have to start somewhere.” I retrieved my cell, opened my contacts, and pressed the number for NCIS. “We also need to visit the law firm where he worked and see if Green might have crossed a client there.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. I made a call this morning to their office. Seems theyʼre open Saturday mornings. The receptionist said we would need a subpoena.”
“I’m sure that’s the company line. Why don’t we take a ride over there? Maybe Green’s boss will be more forthcoming if he sees us in person.”
A message came after four rings. You’ve reached the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Leave a message after the beep. After leaving a message I turned to Francisco. “Did you see if there were any hits in ViCAP?”
“No. Not yet. Want me to do that now?”
I debated on whether to see if there were any homicides committed where the killer cut out the victim’s tongue and sewed the lips shut. If so, ViCAP would provide a link between our Mr. Green and others murdered in the same fashion.
“We’ll check it out once we get back,” I said. “Let’s see what information we can get from the law firm.” I pointed to the murder book on his desk. “Bring the crime scene photos. Maybe if they see the viciousness of what happened to Green they might give us his files without a subpoena.”
“Seriously?”
“Always a first time. But leave the autopsy photos. I don’t want them knowing the tongue’s been removed. We still need to weed out the nut jobs taking claim for a crime they didn’t commit.”
Francisco stood and grabbed his navy blue jacket from the back of the chair. “Even killers have groupies, man.”
Chapter 12
Saturday, 10:45 a.m.
Francisco pulled the Interceptor in front of a two-story white stucco building. Dark clouds reflected in the ocean blue floor-to-ceiling windows. The marquee read Sheldon, Patterson, & Levine, P.A. Attorneys at Law. As we got out, I noticed the Lumina with faded gray paint parked haphazardly across the street. Although the windows were tinted, the shadowy figure inside looked at us. I started to walk across the asphalt parking lot to get the license plate. The driver sped off.
“What was that about?” Francisco asked.
“I think Lucius’s lawyer has someone tailing me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“It’s the second time I’ve seen the car.”
Iʼd call Veronica and have her look into it.
We walked through a set of double doors that automatically opened. The foyer was a spacious lounge filled with couches, recliners, and cushioned chairs. Several flat-screen televisions played sports and movies at either end of the lobby. The place resembled a resort instead of a law firm. We approached the receptionist behind a large oval pine desk. She wore a light gray suit, her jet-black hair pulled back in a tight bun that made her face look strained under the pressure.
“How may I help you?” Little Miss Sunshine asked.
I pulled the wallet from my slacks and flipped it open, revealing my badge. “I’m Detective Watson and this is Detective Francisco. We’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
She pressed her lips together then looked past me to Francisco. “I spoke to you earlier, didn’t I?”
“Yes ma’am. Concerning the homicide of Lee Green.”
“And like I told you on the phone, Detective, we can’t give you any files without a court order.”
Francisco placed his elbows on the countertop and leaned forward. He flashed his smile. “My partner and I understand the sensitive nature of what you’re saying, but we also have a murderer out there,” he said in a smooth voice. “All we would like to do is talk to Mr. Green’s supervisor and ask some questions.”
She blushed. This man could work magic on women. I’d seen it a number of times. Maybe it was sexist, but it got results more times than not.
“Call me Annie,” she said, handing him a business card. “It’s got my personal cell on the back.” She picked up the receiver and punched a button on the phone. “Mr. Sheldon, there are two detectives downstairs who would like to see you.”
Annie listened for a moment then hung up.
“He’ll see you now,” she said to Francisco.
He glanced at the business card. “Thank you, Annie Wilkes. You’ve been most helpful.” He placed the card in his coat pocket.
She gestured to the left. “Take the elevator to the second floor. Mr. Sheldon’s door is at the end of the hallway.”
We headed to the elevator.
Francisco pressed the button. “You going to call her?” I asked as we stepped inside the metal coffin.
“Why? You jealous?”
I punched the button for the second floor. “In your dreams, junior.”
We both laughed.
It was nice to be back to our playful banter. I didn’t like the feelings I had felt back at the crime scene and again at the morgue. One of the many things I respected about Francisco was he had never asked me out. I never mixed work with pleasure and apparently he agreed.
We headed down a long corridor with closed doors on either side. At the end was a frosted glass door with the name Paul Sheldon stenciled in black.
I knocked.
“Enter,” a firm voice said inside.
We entered a room large enough to be my first apartment. All one thousand square feet of it. Art décor hung on three of the four walls. There were several framed documents I assumed were certificates, awards or maybe degrees, but the print was too small to read.
A tall, slender male with perfectly trimmed silver hair stood behind an oval oak desk. The large floor-to-ceiling window behind him provided a beautiful view of Escambia Bay. A speed boat sliced through the water, leaving a large frothy wake in its path.
“Please sit.” He gestured to two cushioned chairs in front of his desk. He sat in his executive chair, placing his hands in a steeple on his desk. “How may I help you?”
I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Mr. Sheldon.”
He held up a hand. “Please, call me Paul.”
I nodded. “As you are well aware, one of your associates, Lee Green, was murdered.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Such a travesty. But I’m not at liberty to discuss any of his cases.”
“We understand the confidentiality, but we’re not talking about a lawyer who was simply killed. He was brutally murdered.”
Francisco opened the manila folder and scattered several photos across the desk.
Sheldon flinched. “Please remove them.”
I pointed to the pictures. “This is what happened to Green. The question we’d like your help with is ‘why?’”
Sheldon looked away. “Not until you take those horrific pictures off my desk.”
Not a criminal lawyer, then. Francisco grabbed the photos and shuffled them several times before placing them back in the folder. I could tell my partner was enjoying this little show.
Maybe this wouldn’t be a waste of our time after all. I still wasn’t sure what information this lawyer would be willing to share, but hopefully we’d have a place to start.
Sheldon turned to us. He massaged his temples. “I still can’t discuss any of his cases. However, with that being said, I would be happy to entertain any questions you may have.”
Not exactly the answer we came for, but it was a start.
“Did Green have any open cases?
” I began.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Sheldon logged onto his laptop. A moment later he glanced over the screen. “Three.”
“What kind of cases were they?”
“Lee’s specialty was personal injury and wrongful death.”
“He didn’t practice criminal law?”
“Not for several years. At Sheldon, Patterson, and Levine we don’t represent criminal cases anymore.”
“How come?”
“Let’s just say it’s not a moneymaker.”
Unless your client is rich.
Defense lawyers irked me in the same way my dentist did. It’s not the thought of getting a shot of Novocain to numb the pain to pull a tooth or do a root canal. It’s the obscene price they charge and what little my insurance will cover.
“Did he receive threats from any past or present clients?”
He raised a brow. “You mean like death threats?”
“Well, any threats at all.”
“Lee never mentioned any threats, but I’ll have my secretary check his office.”
My partner leaned forward. “Has anyone here received any threats?”
“It comes with the job.”
“We’d like to get their names if you have them.”
“Do you really think we’re in danger?”
Francisco tapped the folder. “We didn’t say that. But we won’t know until we get the names and check the individuals out. Otherwise you may be playing Russian Roulette.”
Sheldon swallowed hard. “I’ll be sure to get you the names immediately.”
Chapter 13
11:25 a.m.
After getting a list of thirteen potential suspects, Francisco and I hurried back to the precinct. We decided he would conduct the background checks and I would visit the Special Investigations Division to see if they had any latent prints from the crime scene. It being less than twenty-four hours, I knew any potential DNA wouldn’t be back from the lab. With backlogs from the State of Florida’s finest, we’d be lucky to get any results within several weeks.
While Francisco went for coffee before beginning his task, I headed to the lieutenant’s office to give him a brief update on the case. If he knew progress was being made, he’d be less inclined to hand the case over to another homicide team. I knew Francisco and I could still work the clues, knock on some doors, and keep the momentum of the investigation moving, even while I was in court.
Several years back, two detectives from the squad were working a double-homicide. As the investigation picked up steam, one of the detectives had to appear in court for a previous case. While he was testifying, his partner got a tip on the whereabouts of a witness. They discovered the detective several hours later in a dumpster. Turned out the witness had set up an ambush. Since then, the rule was if your partner was testifying, you pulled desk duty until court adjourned each day.
I knocked on the door. Maybe heʼd decided to come in and catch up on some monthly reports. It was one of the reasons I liked working for McVay. After he became the head of the department, he continued to come in early and leave late. It wasn’t uncommon to see him from time to time on Saturdays.
“Come in,” McVay’s voice boomed from his office.
My intention wasn’t to stay long, so I stood in front of his desk. He jotted some notes in a file then looked up. He sported a sunny orange tie against a forest green shirt. The tie was so bright, if we lost power maybe it would serve as a backup generator.
“Just wanted to let you know, Lieutenant, that we returned from the law office where Green worked. Turns out he may have had some angry clients. Francisco’s going to see if any of them have records while I check in with the techs at SID.”
He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Have you made contact with the ex-wife?”
“Not yet. She’s on vacation with her current lover. She returns Friday. We’ll contact her then. I’d rather speak to her in person. This might’ve been a revenge killing.”
He nodded. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I’ll know better once we get her in the box and ask some questions. What we do know is with that level of mutilation, the murder was personal. Green knew his killer to some degree.”
McVay leaned forward, putting his palms on the desk. “You think he might have owed money to a bookie?”
“It’s a lead worth pursuing. We’ll check out his financials. If anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”
“Okay, Rebecca, you two are making progress.”
That was what I wanted to hear. It looked like we were still on the case.
He picked up his pen. “Keep it going.”
“Yes, sir.” I turned to leave but he hadn’t finished talking.
“And Rebecca, I got a call from Veronica this morning. She’s worried about you.” He leaned forward. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
You mean other than the fact the defense kicked my butt.
“Everything’s good, sir.”
He nodded once. “You know I’ve got your back, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me know if this case starts to interfere with your testimony in court. Okay?”
I needed to nip this in the bud. “It won’t. But if things change, you’ll be the first to know.”
When I got back to my desk I found a cup of joe from the café across the street. I preferred iced coffee, but beggars couldn't be choosers. At least it would give me a jolt of energy.
I blew across the top of the cup. “Next round’s on me,” I said and took a sip.
“No worries,” Francisco said without looking away from his computer screen. “It all squares up in the end.”
I logged into my laptop and waited for it to boot up. “I’m going to get a search warrant for Green’s bank accounts then head over to see if the techs found anything from the crime scene.”
“Sounds like a plan, man.” He jangled the keys on his desk. “You want to take the Interceptor?”
“No. I’ll take my Jeep.”
I spent the next thirty minutes generating a search warrant to get access to Green’s financials. After I finished I called Theriot. She would know a judge who might be willing to sign it today.
“Rebecca,” she said before I could say anything. “We need to discuss what your mother is going to say on Monday. This is something I couldn’t have predicted from the defense. Let’s get together later today so you can bring me up to speed on her.”
I didn’t want to talk about my mother nor did I need to have my past dredged up. If the defense wanted to throw a curveball at me on Monday, then I would hit it out of the park. Well, that was the plan anyway, if there was a plan, which there wasn’t. Maybe I’d wing it and see what happened. Plus, it upset me a little she’d called my boss this morning. If she was worried about me, she should have called me.
“I wouldn’t worry about her. There’s nothing she can say that will hurt the case.”
“Are you sure? I have the feeling you’re holding back on me, Rebecca.”
I now regretted calling her, but if this was what needed to be done to get the warrant signed, then so be it.
“Fine. I’ll have to get back with you on a time. Right now I need something from you. We’re working a homicide and we need a judge to grant us access to the victim’s financials.”
“Bring it over and I’ll see what I can do. It’s Saturday, so no guarantees.”
“Thanks.”
After dropping the warrant with Theriot, I jetted from her office. Told her the lab had some updates from the crime scene. It wasn’t the truth, but not a lie either. It was possible they had something for me.
Although many shows like CSI and NCIS have a lab in their workplace, in reality that’s not the case at most police stations. I pulled up to a three-story faded white building. I walked through the lobby, showed my credentials, and moved to the elevators. The Scientific Investigati
ons Division worked the forensic side of law enforcement, while the detectives at the police department worked the cases. SID housed a number of experts who identified latent prints, weapons and explosives, ballistics, and blood splatter analysis.
Most of the cubicles were empty when I entered the latent prints division. Along the walls were scores of computers, monitors, modems, printers, and other state of the art equipment used by SID. A soft hum emitted from all the electronics. Bundles of cables ran from the backs of the equipment down the wall and disappeared beneath a raised deck.
Cold air blasted from a vent above me. Goosebumps formed on my arms.
Gunner Roberts poured a cup of coffee at the end of the rectangular room. His long brown hair, tinged with gray streaks, was pulled into a ponytail. When I first met him, I thought Gunner was a nickname. Turned out his father was a Gunner’s Mate in the Navy during World War II. After the war, he left the Navy but kept the name for his son.
“How can I help you, Rebecca?”
“I wanted to know if you found any useful prints from the murder case I’m working?”
He sipped his coffee. “The lawyer in the barn, right?”
“That’s the one.”
His eyes glazed over, as if recalling a memory. “What a horrible way to die.”
I nodded.
“Follow me,” he said.
He shuffled through a stack of manila folders on his desk, grabbed one and flipped it open. “The barn was a cesspool of prints. Fingerprints, palm prints, and a number of boot and shoeprints.”
He must have seen the dissatisfaction on my face, because he smiled and said, “Have a little faith in me, darlin’.”
I gave a faint smile.
“Your killer dragged your victim across the floor. Normally when someone drags a body, the assailant’s footprints are usually wiped away or in most cases destroyed beyond recognition. However, when your killer laid the deceased on the floor, he moved to the left of the body.”
My smile broadened.
He pointed to the photo on top. “Your killer wears a size ten tactical boot made by Nike. They run about $150. I scanned the boot into the system to see if there were any matches, but it came up empty.”
