“Were there problems?” Bobby Kirsh asked as she strolled into the corridor.
“Raphael and I got along just fine,” Carolyn lied, seeing the prisoner straining to hear what she was saying. “Really, Bobby,” she continued, “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss.”
“Reynolds told me Moreno had some spots of blood on his clothes,” he said. “Were they already there, or did something happen?”
“I think he scraped his wrists on the cuffs,” Carolyn said, then recalled that Moreno had an untreated bullet wound on his shoulder when he was arrested. The police had tried to find out who had shot him, but had gotten nowhere. With street thugs, scars from gunshots were like freckles. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. I remember seeing him scratching his shoulder wound.”
Bobby gave her a suspicious look, but he didn’t say anything.
Once they made their way to the locker area, Carolyn faced him. “Leave him in the room. No matter what he does, don’t move him. I’ll come back after lunch. If anything happens, call me. If I’m not at my desk, tell them to page me.”
“Did he talk?” he asked, curious.
“Yes,” she answered, removing her gun from the locker and placing it in her purse.
“What did he say? Why did he kill those people? Is he a psycho? Did he talk about what happened last night? Most of the population is scared to death of him.” He paused, waiting until Joe Powell turned away. “They’re freaked, man. Things like this don’t happen. Yeah, guys get jumped every now and then. Not like they do in prison, of course. I mean, the majority of our inmates are serving time for minor offenses…tickets, thefts, burglaries, nonpayment of child support. The captain thinks the three men who almost got wiped tried to jump Moreno. The men swear he came after them.”
“I’m strapped for time,” Carolyn explained. “Moreno didn’t talk about the murders, but I think I have a lead on some information. That’s more progress than anyone else has made. Let me do my job, Bobby, and I’ll let you do yours. As soon as I find out something, you’ll be the first to know.” She closed her briefcase with a clank.
Bobby gestured toward her bag. “Don’t you think you’d be safer if you carried your gun in a place where you could get your hands on it? Most of the people in your department wear shoulder holsters. I know you’re going to law school and all. You won’t make a very good lawyer if you’re dead.”
Carolyn gave him a chastising look. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
“You’re good people, okay?” Bobby said defensively. “Just trying to keep you from getting hurt.”
“I normally wear my gun,” she told him. “I appreciate your concern. Taking my panty hose in there would have been a mistake.” She started to leave, then turned back. “As a precaution, post some of your people outside the interview room. I assume he’s as safe in there as where you had him earlier.”
“Well,” he said, shrugging, “we’re not a maximum-security prison. The glass is reinforced and the bars behind it are steel. I guess it won’t do any harm to let him stew. He’s safely contained.”
“Don’t let this guy con you,” Carolyn said in a hushed voice, wondering if Moreno had stashed some of the metal pieces of the cell phone. Once she was through with him, she’d have him strip-searched. “He may bloody himself up or something to trick you into opening the door. Instruct your men not to go in there under any circumstances or they’ll be risking their lives. No food, no water, no bathroom. I don’t care what the rules say. Think you can find some officers willing to go the distance?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like you’re scared of this one, Carolyn. I told you not to do a face-to-face. Shit, even I wouldn’t let someone lock me in there alone with Moreno.”
“I haven’t finished what I set out to do, Bobby,” she told him, her face set with resolve. “I’ll try to get back around noon. I might be afraid of him, but I’m not going to give up. Moreno may not be the only killer. He could have an accomplice who’s still out there. The Hartfield family was killed with an AR-fifteen assault rifle. When he decapitated his mother, he used a scalpel and he smashed in his sister’s head with a hammer. I don’t think he would kill with a gun. He has sensitive ears. He wouldn’t like the noise.”
Bobby gave her a disbelieving look. “And you’re going to get him to tell you who his accomplice was?”
Carolyn smiled. “Don’t I always?”
Chapter 3
Thursday, December 23—10:45 A.M.
Carolyn was sitting in a chair in her supervisor’s office. She was behind on all her reports and Brad Preston knew it. “Veronica wasn’t due for another seven weeks,” she said, tapping her heels. She stared at Preston with weary brown eyes. Like many single parents, she struggled through each day in a constant state of exhaustion.
How could a man be beautiful and ruggedly masculine at the same time? Carolyn thought. Brad had it all. His blond hair was fashionably cut. He used some type of gel to make the front stand up, making him look like a college student. His skin was burnished by the sun. Unlike other men who indulged in outdoor activities, he had hardly any lines in his face. Her eyes feasted on the muscles straining against his crisp white shirt. She forced herself to look away. She should have transferred out of the unit when Brad became supervisor. Now she had to work with a former lover.
Until someone new had come into Carolyn’s life, her past involvement with Brad hadn’t been a problem. Her relationship with Paul Leighton, a physics professor and neighbor, had shaken Brad’s enormous ego. He pursued her relentlessly. When sending her cards and flowers failed, Brad had switched tactics.
Carolyn was already handling almost twice as many cases as the other investigators in her unit. The only one who came even close to her was Veronica Campbell. The woman had three kids at home and was about to deliver the fourth. She referred to her last child as a goof, so the new baby became a double goof. If she made it to a triple goof, Veronica had jokingly told her a few days ago, duckwalking down the hall to her office, she would fake a nervous breakdown so her husband would get stuck with the kids.
Brad had just told her the Moreno report was due the next day and she was livid. “Investigating a case like this takes weeks.”
“Hey,” Preston said, tossing his feet on top of his desk, “I’m just the messenger. Wilson specifically wanted you to handle it. The hearing is at ten o’clock in division twenty-four.”
“This is insane!” she shouted. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“Christmas Eve,” he said. “Unless there’s a problem, you can take off as soon as it’s over. The rest of us are working until five. We haven’t been this slammed in years. I had to tell three people to cancel their vacations.”
“Get the DA to ask for a continuance,” Carolyn argued. “Raphael Moreno decapitated his own mother. How can I possibly submit a report on seven counts of homicide in twenty-four hours? I have to be in court in thirty minutes on Brubaker.”
“They’ve already continued the case three times. Judge O’Brien said the sentencing is set and there’s no way in hell he’s going to delay it. The jail wants Moreno shipped to prison. The DA’s office is under fire because they pleaded the case out and eliminated the death penalty. The victims’ families are demanding justice.” He paused and flashed a smile, light reflecting off his straight white teeth. “Stop whining and get the job done. You don’t have to recommend a prison sentence. It’s already been negotiated in the settlement agreement. What’s the big deal, for Christ’s sake?”
Carolyn walked over and slammed the door to his office. She didn’t want Brad’s assistant, Rachel Mitchell, to eavesdrop on their conversation. “You’re doing this to me intentionally. At first, I didn’t mind your games. This time, you’ve gone too far. Keep pushing me like this and I’m going to file a complaint.”
Brad laughed, taking his feet down and placing his palms on top of his desk. “You think I’m scared of you,” he said, his blue eyes
dancing with mischief. “I may be deputy chief by this time next year. Wilson is considering you as my replacement, but he’ll be relying heavily on my recommendation.”
“You’re being cruel, Brad,” Carolyn told him, perspiration dampening the back of her neck.
“I heard you dropped out of law school. Is that true?”
“I didn’t drop out for good. I just took a semester off.”
“The type of work we do is specific,” Brad said, turning his attention back to the matter at hand. “What would you do if you lost this job? I guess you could find some low-level position at the DA’s office. I hear they’re looking for help at the women’s jail.”
Carolyn’s jaw locked. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She started to tell him that she’d managed to get Moreno to talk, then decided to forget it. Later, she might have something worthwhile to tell him. “Do you have Veronica’s file?”
He tapped a thick folder on the edge of his desk, waiting until she walked over. When she turned around, she felt his hand on her buttocks. As of that moment, Carolyn knew she had a legitimate case of sexual harassment. She didn’t have time to think about it, though. Her skin was hot, almost as if she’d come down with a fever. Brad knew her. She might complain, but she would never let a less experienced officer handle crimes this serious.
“I’ll need a progress report every hour. I’m sending Rogers to represent you on the Brubaker matter.” Brad’s phone rang and he answered it, gesturing to Carolyn to wait until he was finished.
“Yeah,” he said, “we’re taking care of Moreno.” Cupping his hand over the phone, he whispered to Carolyn, “It’s a girl. The kid was born an hour ago. Six pounds, three ounces.”
“Is that Drew?” Carolyn asked, assuming he was speaking to Veronica’s husband.
“No,” Brad told her, “it’s Veronica. She’s high as a kite. Maybe that’s why she keeps popping out a baby every nine months. She likes the drugs.” He hung up and thumbed through some paperwork on his desk.
“Rogers can’t represent me with only an hour’s notice. Brubaker mowed down eleven people,” Carolyn said. “It took us three years to get a conviction.”
“Vehicular manslaughter is a long way from murdering an entire family,” Brad said, making a paper airplane and sailing it over her head. “You beat me up or I would have never allowed you to recommend a prison sentence for Brubaker. Everyone knows it was an accident. The DA waited so long to file because they thought the old fart would croak and they wouldn’t have to deal with it. The city was responsible. There were no official road signs at the street market.”
“After he hit the first person, he made no attempt to stop,” Carolyn said, shaking her head in disagreement. A strand of hair ended up near her nose and she blew it off. “I talked to Brubaker on four different occasions. He looks like a sweet old man, but he’s not. He was terrified of losing his license. What he did falls clearly under the guidelines for vehicular homicide.”
Brad sighed, then said loudly, “The guy panicked and stepped on the gas instead of the brake. I’m sick of this case. You’ve got Moreno. Stop wasting my time.”
“Brubaker was negligent,” Carolyn said, refusing to weaken. “Eighty-five-year-old people shouldn’t drive. I don’t care who the signs belonged to, you’d have to be insane to drive through a crowd of people like that without stopping. Bodies were bouncing off his car like basketballs.”
“Write a letter to your congressman. Brubaker had a current license issued by the state of California. He generally didn’t go out on Wednesdays because that’s the day his housekeeper comes and he enjoys her company. He wasn’t aware he couldn’t use the street. It’s open every day except Wednesdays when they have the market.” Brad stood and picked up his jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m late to a meeting. You got your ten-year prison sentence. I feel sorry for the guy. Old age is the ultimate humiliation.”
Brad slipped his arms into his expensive Italian jacket, then adjusted his tie. Behind his desk were framed photographs of him standing in front of high-powered race cars. Racing was supposed to be his hobby. Carolyn thought it was more than that. He worked to occupy himself between races. His father had left him some money, and Brad had invested it wisely, earning ample funds to pursue his outside interests. A nonstop bundle of energy, he was able to handle twice as much work as the normal individual. Even with the demands of the job, his cars, his women, and his partying, Brad was always looking for something new and exciting. Carolyn recalled the nights she’d spent in his bed. When their bodies had connected, she felt as if she’d plugged herself into a wall outlet.
“How do I look?” he said. “Is my tie crooked?”
Out of habit, Carolyn walked over and redid the knot. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as she looked into his eyes and gathered his tie in her hands. “Continue Brubaker or I’ll strangle you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brad told her. “I already did. The hearing is set for January fifth at three o’clock.” As Carolyn proceeded to fix his tie, he added, “As for Moreno, I’ll get all the trial transcripts and pertinent evidence moved to your office. If you think it’s necessary, we’ll send it home with you. That way, you can work without interruption until the report is ready to be dictated. The most vital thing was the interview with the defendant and you’ve already got that in the bag. I thought Veronica had already contacted the victims’ relatives. From what she just told me, she didn’t get a chance to speak to the mother’s sister.”
She snapped, “Why weren’t you straight with me about Brubaker?”
“Ah,” Brad said, smiling again. “Then I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy our scintillating conversation. You look great in that suit. New, huh?”
“You’re an asshole,” Carolyn said, storming out of his office.
Carolyn sat at her desk with her head in her hands. She was so far behind, she would never catch up. The only way a probation officer could stay on top was to forge ahead each day. It was similar to climbing a ladder inside of a house with no ceiling. Every day, new cases were dumped in her basket. Brad Preston sat in his office and assigned them with the speed and efficiency of a Las Vegas dealer.
A clerk appeared in her doorway, pushing a dolly loaded with boxes. “Is that all?” she asked, telling him to stack them in the corner.
“Are you kidding?” the young man said, letting the dolly hit the floor with a thud. “I’ve got two more loads of this stuff. Preston said if I ran out of room, I could stash the rest in Veronica Campbell’s office. I just picked up the same boxes from her yesterday. I’ve only been working here six weeks,” he continued, straining as he lifted the boxes off the dolly. “Is this some kind of a test?”
Veronica worked in the partitioned space next to Carolyn. She’d have to call her friend at the hospital and get the password to her computer so she could retrieve the rest of the work she’d done on the case.
Carolyn’s phone rang. She heard the gravelly voice of Detective Hank Sawyer.
“Homicide is throwing a last-minute Christmas party tonight,” he said. “Wondered if you wanted to join us?”
“I can’t, Hank,” Carolyn said. “I caught Moreno this morning. The sentencing hearing is tomorrow.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“No,” she said. “I’ll probably need to speak to you this afternoon or later this evening. If you go to the party, be sure you don’t drink.” Before he bit her head off, she added, “This has nothing to do with your history. I would have said the same thing to someone else.” Sawyer was a recovering alcoholic and could be touchy about it.
He paused before speaking and she could sense his irritation. “How could that prick, Preston, have dumped Moreno on you? We’ve been pressured from the beginning because the DA cut him a deal. The guy has only been in custody since November eighteenth. Anyway, I thought Veronica Campbell was handling it.”
“She’s not handling it now,” Carolyn said. “I’ve got to get go
ing on this thing, Hank. Just make sure you’re available if I need to ask you some questions.”
“Listen to me!” he shouted. “Moreno attacked three inmates last night. Don’t go over there and put on your usual routine. You could get hurt, understand?”
“I’ve already spoken to him,” Carolyn said, searching in her desk for some Tylenol. It wasn’t noon yet and her head was already pounding. Veronica swore it was Carolyn’s eating habits. She never ate breakfast, and when she was busy, she frequently skipped lunch.
“He talked?”
“Yeah,” she said, giving up and shutting her drawer. “I’m sweating him for a few hours, then I’m going back. If my instincts are right, there’s more going on than meets the eye. He’s nasty, but I’m almost certain he’s not crazy. Just the opposite. I think he’s smart, really smart.”
“You’re amazing,” the detective said. “I don’t know why in the hell you want to stay with the probation department. Come over here and I’ll make you a detective.” He coughed, then added, “I’m warning you, Carolyn, don’t push your luck with this guy.”
“I’ll do anything in my power to make certain he spends the rest of his life in prison,” Carolyn said. “Risking our lives is what we get paid for, in case you’ve forgotten. Sometimes it’s the only way to get the job done.”
“We make only a few dollars more than the sanitation workers,” Hank argued. “No one cares if you get your head blown off, or some psycho like Moreno cracks your neck like a twig. It isn’t worth it, understand?”
“Aren’t you the guy who jumped off the top of a moving car onto the back of a junkie with a shotgun?”
“That was different.”
“Sure it was,” Carolyn said, recalling at least fifteen other instances when Sawyer had done something with a million-to-one chance of succeeding. Even today, being a woman in law enforcement wasn’t easy. Most of the younger officers treated women like equals. Old-timers like Hank Sawyer would never come around. All she was to him was a little girl with a dangerous weapon. And it wasn’t necessarily a gun.
Sullivan’s Justice Page 4
