by L. A. Witt
“Did you continue to shoplift for him after that?” I asked.
“Only when he told me to.”
“Which was how often?”
She stared at the ground. “A lot. But then . . .” She chewed her lip. “About two years ago, Grandma told us she’d lost a diamond pendant. A big one. It was worth some serious money. I asked Uncle Jim if he’d taken it, and he got mad. So mad.” Her eyes were distant, her voice hollow. “He said he’d never steal from his own mother, and that if anyone had taken it, it was me. I told him I’d never taken anything except what he’d told me to, and I’d never touched that pendant.” She went quiet again, and almost a full minute passed before she continued. “A week later, my mom found the pendant in my room. The whole family blamed me, and Grandma wouldn’t talk to me for months.”
“So you think he planted the pendant on you?” I asked.
“I know he did.” She squirmed, avoiding both our gazes. “He told me. He told me to remember that the next time I think about crossing him. But it also seemed like . . .” Once again, her eyes lost focus. Shaking her head and staring at the ground again, she said, “It was like he enjoyed watching everyone come down on me. He was there, and he just seemed so . . .” her eyes met mine, “smug and satisfied.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“So, yeah.” She pushed her shoulders back and set her jaw. “My uncle is a messed-up guy.”
Darren and I exchanged glances.
“Jenna,” he said.
She turned to him.
“I need you to answer me honestly—yes or no,” he paused. “Were you stalked and accosted like you told the other detectives?”
In an instant, she broke into tears, covering her face with shaking hands. Darren turned to me, eyes wide like this was the last thing he’d expected and he had no idea what to do.
I hadn’t expected it either, but I put a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy.” As she began to calm down, I prodded gently. “Just tell us—did it happen?”
She shook her head, a few strands of hair falling down and sticking to her tear-stained face. “No. Uncle Jim told me to tell that story to the police. And I . . .” She threw up her hands and stared desperately at both of us. “I know I shouldn’t have lied, but I was scared, okay?”
“Jenna,” I said in that tone I only used with my kids, “what were you scared of? What did you think he would do if you didn’t file that report?”
She ran her hand through her hair again, making a futile attempt to straighten it. “Someone stole a bunch of cash from my dad last year. They all tried to blame me, and they still kind of think it was me, but no one has any proof.” She swallowed. “Uncle Jim told me if I didn’t file the report, he’d prove to my dad that I stole the money. And, I mean, I’m relying on my parents for college, you know? And I’m not a minor anymore, so the charges would fuck my life over.”
“Plus you don’t want to be alienated from your family,” Darren said.
Jenna laughed bitterly. “Well, no more than I already am after that stupid pendant.”
I studied her. If we were going to get anywhere with this case, we’d need her testimony. It was still circumstantial—God in heaven, every fucking piece of evidence relating to this case was circumstantial—but it established a pattern. If we could get just a little bit more, enough to tie him to these specific murders, her testimony could be a tipping point in court.
It also might be asking way too much of this terrified woman.
Choosing my words carefully, I said, “If we have your uncle in custody, would you testify against him?”
She exhaled, then nodded. “As long as he’s in jail. And he’s going to stay there.”
“Do you know where we can find him?” Darren asked. “If he’s not at home or the grocery store?”
She thought for a moment. “He has a boat. Down at the marina. I don’t remember what it’s called, but the slip number is twenty-nine.” She wiped the tears off her face. “He stayed there when he and my aunt went through a rough patch. Before they split up for good. If he’s not home or at Reginald’s, he’s probably there.”
We left Jenna with our cards and a promise to put her in protective custody if she wanted it. We’d even tell anyone who asked—particularly her uncle—that we were protecting her from the man who’d stalked her. No one had to know she’d rolled on Jim.
She said she’d think about it, and we let her get back to work.
On the way to the car, Darren muttered, “This is our guy. No doubt. He gets a charge out of watching people take the fall for what he does.”
I nodded. “I say we go pull him off his boat for a chat.”
“Think we need backup?”
“Not yet. Not unless he catches wind that he’s our prime suspect.”
Darren glanced over his shoulder. “You think Jenna will say anything to him?”
“Only if he knows she talked to us. I get the feeling she’s not going to make contact on her own.”
“Do you—” He halted, looking back again.
I stopped too. “What?”
He chewed his lip as he stared at the dry cleaner. “Do you think she’s safe?”
“For now.” Cold water trickled through my veins. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on her uncle’s list for the victims in their twenties.”
Our eyes locked.
Without a word, we kept walking toward my car.
One way or the other, we had to get this guy behind bars.
The marina was a bust. The boat was there, but locked, and it at least appeared to be empty. Jim wasn’t at work either, although Deanna—who really looked like she was beginning to hate us now—said that wasn’t unusual, since he’d taken a few days off. “Which means now I’m down two of my best workers,” she snapped at us. “For heaven’s sake, Brian isn’t a thief! When are you going to let him go? He’s got responsibilities, people he needs to take care of. He—”
“The woman he lives with, Mrs. Garcia? She’s dead,” Andreas interjected. Deanna gasped and lifted a hand to her mouth. “Murdered. So it looks like Brian’s got at least one less responsibility these days, doesn’t it?”
“He . . . What?” She looked a little sick. “Did he—”
“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, ma’am. If Jim does come to work, please call and let us know.” He walked out of the store, and I followed, a little taken aback by how short he’d been with her. The clock was counting down, that was true, but—
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Andreas stopped in his tracks, and I stopped with him. A uniformed cop was standing beside our car, writing a ticket. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell is this about?”
“Good afternoon, sir,” the cop said. “Are you aware that your right side taillight is broken?”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m afraid not.”
I went around to the back of the car and, sure enough, the plastic casing over the light had a jagged hole in it. “This must have just happened.”
The cop shrugged. “Regardless, it’s done. Can you show me your license and registration, Detective?”
Andreas scowled even as he pulled out his wallet. “You know who I am?”
“Saw the badge,” the cop said. “Doesn’t make a difference. Everyone is accountable under the law.”
“For a broken taillight? The shards are still on the ground!” I pointed at the red flecks on the pavement. “This happened while we were inside. We just got outside again. You haven’t even given us a chance to fix the problem.”
It was like talking to a brick wall. A smug, fuck-faced brick wall. “I’m not obligated to.”
“What precinct do you work out of?” Andreas demanded.
“I’m not obligated to tell you that either.” The cop continued writing the ticket.
“Yeah, well your uniform says . . .” Andreas craned his neck. “Thirty-Second. What a shock. Did Perkins put you up to this?”
“Nobody
needs to put me up to doing my duty, sir.” He tore the ticket free and handed it to Andreas with a fake smile. “Especially when it’s such a pleasure.” He glanced over at me. “You don’t like it, feel free to dispute the details in court. Otherwise, we’re done here.” He walked back over to his cruiser, got inside, and pulled out of the parking lot.
“What do you think the odds are that he smashed the light with his baton?” I asked sourly as I watched him go.
“I think I’m lucky he didn’t go for more property damage.”
I moved to get into the car, but Andreas stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Hang on a minute.”
“What for?”
“Just checking a theory.” We waited in silence for another thirty seconds or so until— “Uh-huh.” There was the same police cruiser, rounding the corner again. It was just circling the block. “This has Perkins written all over it. He’s got people looking at the places he thinks Brian might show, and they’ve got orders to fuck with us when we turn up.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be an issue if we’re going to Jim’s house, right?”
“Unless he considers Jim a person of interest and is having that watched too. We’re going to need backup for this.” We got inside and left Reginald’s behind, but instead of heading to the west side of the city, where Jim had a townhome, he turned us downtown.
“Backup . . . to what, take Jim into custody?”
Andreas nodded. “We’re at that point. We need to bring him in and shake him down, see if we can get him talking. We know some of his pressure points; we might be able to catch him off guard. It won’t hurt our cause to have a warrant, if we can get it, and at the very least we need someone who can call off Perkins’s dogs or run interference for us.”
Now, of course, we’d be under increased scrutiny during any interrogations, with Perkins probably salivating on the sidelines waiting for us to falter so he could step in and “save the day.” Which, of course, meant that the killer would go free while they searched for the wrong man. If Jim was really smart, he’d already killed Brian and dumped his body someplace no one would ever find it.
“What’s that look?”
“Hmm?” I glanced over at Andreas. “What look?”
“The one you’re making right now. Somewhere between ennui and indigestion.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a look, I’m just— Okay, do you think Brian is even still alive right now?”
I wasn’t expecting him to say “Yes,” but he did, resoundingly.
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because of who Jim is. If things are really coming to a head, if this is the end of everything he’s been looking forward to with Brian, the end of the setup, then he’s going to want to savor it. He’ll draw it out, I’m positive. He has no reason not to. It’s not like we’ve even gotten close to him any time before this,” Andreas added a little bitterly. “So this is his big hurrah, and if he’s not with Brian right now, then he’s stashed him somewhere and is saving him for later. It’s not too late. Not yet.”
“Not if we find him and get him to talk.”
“Yeah.”
I bit my lip for a second. “That could be a tall order.”
“We can make it work. And even if we don’t get to Brian in time, we’re not giving up on the case against Jim. Jenna’s going to want to help us out to save her own skin, that’s for damn sure. We can use that.”
“If he doesn’t figure it out first.”
“We just have to hope he thinks he’s got her so cowed she wouldn’t even consider moving against him. She’s not stupid, even if she’s acted that way before. We can make it happen.”
We could. We would.
Only, we wouldn’t be doing it by picking Jim up anytime soon, according to Chief Hamilton. He didn’t look happy about it, either.
“Absolutely not.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Chief, please, we just need to talk to him.”
Hamilton shook his head. “You’re not going to touch him without a warrant, and you’re not going to get a warrant without probable cause. Until that presents itself, you don’t move. Judge Ramirez has already filed a complaint with the commissioner about your tactics, and that’s drawing the wrong sort of attention.”
“Oh yeah?” Andreas’s hand made a fist against his thigh, so tight I could see his already bruised knuckles blanch. “What kind of attention is that? The kind that sends cops to dog our trail, or gets them to stakeout the places we need to work for the sole purpose of fucking with us? That kind of attention? I didn’t know Detective Perkins’s authority went so high; he must be shoving his nose so far up the right asshole that he—”
“The kind of attention, Detective, that is vindictive and selfish and yes, unfortunately, has caught the attention of the new commissioner.” Hamilton looked grim. “And there’s nothing I can do about it right now, because my actions are under review the same as everyone else’s these days. Our precinct is the epicenter for the bulk of this political shit-storm, and believe me when I tell you that there are people out there who want nothing more than to see you two step one foot out of line. People who hold grudges.”
“Who?” Andreas demanded.
“I can’t go into details now—”
“Damn it, we have the right to know!”
“And I have the right to protect my officers as I see fit, and right now I’m telling you, Ruffner, you don’t go after this guy! Either of you,” he added, including me in his sweeping glare. “You need more evidence before that’s a feasible option at this point.”
“You realize the only new evidence we’re likely to get is in the form of a body, right?” I said. Hamilton winced, but if he wasn’t pulling his punches, then neither was I. “He’s going to kill again, soon. He might be killing someone right now, and when that body is found and our theory is proven correct, that death is going to be on our heads. Because we knew it was going to happen, and we didn’t move to stop it.”
I’d never seen the chief look so defeated. “My hands are tied,” he said at last. “And so are yours. Find another way.”
There was no other way, not one that would be fast enough. We all knew it, and the silence as we left was like a mini-memorial service for whoever we were about to fail—probably Brian. We wouldn’t find him on our own, and as far as pointing the finger at Jim went . . .
“Have we talked to his ex-wife yet?” I asked as we walked back to the conference room. It already felt different in here, a little more hopeless, a little more still.
“Yeah, Paula called her yesterday.” Andreas shook his head. “Nothing actionable. She’s not sad that they’re divorced, that’s for sure, but she couldn’t provide us with anything other than the occasional bad feeling. The best we’ve got is from Jenna, and she’s already going to be a tough call as a witness once she confesses to false accusation.”
“Okay.” Shit. “What are the odds Jim’s got Brian stashed somewhere close to the marina? We can look up warehouse addresses with the number six in the address, go bang on some doors.”
“That’ll take forever.”
I smiled mirthlessly. “We’ve got plenty of time to kill.”
I ended up bringing one of the maps of the city along with us, all the relevant addresses circled, and a red marker. It was getting dark out, and if we had a tail, Andreas was able to lose it with a few sharp turns and some creative backtracking. If we were going to chase down a bunch of dead ends, then at least we could do it without a damn audience.
Six seventy-four Boxer Street was a bust, as was every other warehouse on Boxer Street and the surrounding four-block radius. Red Xs were soon more numerous than the circles of potential, and by nine at night, we hadn’t accomplished much more than wearing blisters into our feet.
When we finally took a break for cheap drive-through coffee, I asked Andreas, “Do you think we’re too late now?” It wasn’t fair for me to make him say it, to express the frustration and anger that I knew we both f
elt over this stupid fucking situation, but part of me—a very small part—hoped he’d figure something out. Come through with a miracle, a Hail Mary pass, a way to make me feel like less of a failure.
Andreas sighed, and my heart sank. “Look—”
Then his phone rang. He grabbed it, checked the caller ID, and immediately answered. “Jenna?”
What the hell? I leaned in closer so I could hear her side of the conversation.
“Detective Ruffner?” She was being quiet, her voice not much above a whisper, but I could still make her out. “You were looking for proof, right? Proof that something weird is going on with Uncle Jim.”
Andreas sat up straighter. “Do you have proof, Jenna?”
“I think I found some, maybe. He— My parents hosted dinner tonight for the family, and he came over, and he brought a cake from this tiny little bakery uptown that my mom loves. He never goes uptown, not since he and Aunt Gillian got divorced, but he said he was in the neighborhood. I knew that was weird, so when they started drinking, I snuck out into the driveway—”
“Are you okay? Do you need us to come and get you?” Andreas asked quickly.
“No, I’m fine, no one saw me, but I checked his car—his trunk opens without a key if you bump it just right—and there’s a duffel bag back here with rope and a knife and a pair of gloves and a crowbar. This stuff isn’t normal, right?”
“It’s not normal at all.” Not unless you were a serial killer who needed to replace his gear after leaving it in Brian’s house to enhance the appearance of his guilt. “Jenna, what’s the name of the bakery?”
“Connie’s Confections, on Sixtieth and Pearl.”
I started looking over the map instantly, checking for the right kind of space. There were still a lot of options nearby. Too many to get through fast. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?”
“Um . . .” It sounded like she was fumbling for something. “The knife, it’s a cheap store-brand thing. It reads, uh . . . McGuckins?”
McGuckins. I’d gone there with Vic before, when he needed hunting gear. It was only four blocks away from the bakery. And right between them was . . .
