“I’ll admit we don’t have the motive nailed down. But think about what Kramer said with his dying breath: the Man in the Maze.” Caitlin reminded him of that rather pertinent fact.
Baskin halted near her chair, stooped down, and whispered in her ear: “He’s fucking with you, Dr. Cassidy. A leopard doesn’t change his spots just because he’s gasping his last breath. Kramer used his to send you off on a path that leads nowhere. If he has his way, you’re the one who’s going to wind up in the center of a dead-end maze.”
Chapter Eleven
Saturday, September 14
Paradise Valley, Arizona
“I SHOULD’VE BEEN a lawyer.” Spense let out a long whistle, then turned his Bureau-issued Isuzu Rodeo off Lincoln Boulevard and onto Lost Dutchman, heading north. They began the winding ascent into the hills of Paradise Valley, and Caitlin imagined the Bucar, as Spense liked to call his Rodeo, blushing a deeper shade of red as it strained and surged up the twisting roads, past driveways crammed with luxury vehicles. Matching Range Rovers, his and hers Mercedes, BMWs, and the occasional Rolls were enough to give any Bucar an inferiority complex.
Caitlin couldn’t deny the area was impressive. There was no more exclusive part of town than this Phoenix suburb. But it wasn’t the multimillion-dollar homes or the fancy cars that made her envious of its residents. It was the vistas. Each home was set on an oversized lot with plenty of room for giant saguaros and verbena-covered yards. Cactus wrens sucked nectar from saguaro blossoms, and jackrabbits scampered in the yards. The jackrabbits were ubiquitous despite the resident coyotes that feasted on them. These coyotes were bold, often tromping right up onto the front porch like a gang of Girl Scouts, but the rabbits were quicker, and just as fearless.
The higher the Bucar climbed, the more nature abounded, and the views progressed from great to magnificent. But still, she thought . . . “I simply couldn’t be an attorney. It wouldn’t be worth the price.”
“The price?” he asked.
“Of selling out your integrity.”
“Is that what you think about lawyers? That they’re only looking out for themselves.”
“Maybe not all of them. But these guys who live up here in the hills are mostly corporate attorneys and ambulance chasers.”
“The justice system doesn’t work without attorneys, Caity.”
“The justice system doesn’t work with them, either.”
One eyebrow climbed his forehead. “If I believed that, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do: track down bad guys and turn them over to the courts. I know you think the system failed your father—”
Her spine went ramrod straight. “I know the system failed my father. It also failed my mom and me. Our entire family was destroyed by that failure, so don’t expect me to show the lawyers any love.”
“You feel that way about Baumgartner, too? I heard he took on your father’s case pro bono. What’s your opinion of him?”
Ah, now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty. He wanted to know what she thought of Baumgartner’s character. And he wanted to know for a very specific reason. She could practically hear the victimology wheel spinning in Spense’s head because the truth was neither one of them had a good answer to Baskin’s question about why a serial killer would target Kramer, his attorney, and Caity. Spense was fishing for dirt on Baumgartner, looking for a reason a sexually motivated murderer would want a man like him dead. If he could find a crack in the respected lawyer’s armor, he might find a reason someone would want him out of the picture. Spense would probably be fishing for dirt on her next.
“I didn’t know him well enough to judge him fairly. I was just thirteen when I met the family. My parents knew the Baumgartners from church, but they weren’t exactly in the same social circle. It was more like they viewed it as their Christian duty to socialize with less fortunate members of the congregation—like those lowly Cassidys. At least at first I thought so, but then Harvey Baumgartner and my dad seemed to develop a genuine friendship. Not long after that is when Gail Falconer’s body was found, and my father was arrested for her murder. Harvey really stepped up to the plate by taking him on and believing in his innocence.” She swallowed back the emotion that was welling in her throat. “Trust me; I’m grateful to him for that. And that’s why I dragged you over here today. I need to pay my respects to the family. We may not be all that close, but we’re connected by our histories.”
“I expect you’d be more grateful had Baumgartner secured an acquittal for your father.”
She didn’t reply because that much was obvious and also because they were now chugging their way up the ridiculously steep driveway to the Baumgartner residence.
Louisa Baumgartner met them at the top of the drive, welcoming Caitlin with a brief hug. Caitlin introduced Spense, then Louisa admonished them to mind the step-up to the gate that led to the house. Spense let out another admiring whistle as he stood on the terrace of this hilltop home admiring the stunning view of Camelback Mountain. The front of the house was mostly glass, with no curtains obscuring the multimillion-dollar vista, but Caity could see evidence of sun shades that could be lowered for privacy, or if the occupants were away. The garage door was open, revealing three vehicles: a red Ferrari and a pair of BMW SUVs. “Is that Harvey’s Ferrari?” she wondered aloud.
Louisa first nodded yes, but then changed her mind and shook her head. “No. I thought you were asking if the car belonged to our son, Harvey Junior. Harvey Senior drove the blue BMW. The gold one is mine, and the Ferrari belongs to Junior. Is that relevant to the case?”
Not that Caitlin knew of at the moment. There were three car covers in the garage, making her wonder if Harvey Junior lived at home, which seemed odd for an adult with enough money to drive a Ferrari. She didn’t have to wonder long.
“Junior’s back home temporarily. Just until his divorce is final, though. He hasn’t decided if he wants to stay in Phoenix, so he didn’t want to buy his own place or get into a long-term lease. The house, of course, goes to his soon-to-be ex.” Louisa Baumgartner’s tone sounded bitter, and Caitlin suspected she was none too sorry to be losing a daughter-in-law. “Of course, now that my husband’s gone, I’m hoping more than ever that Junior will stay close.”
Her dark eyes brimmed with tears that sparkled on exceedingly long lashes—probably extensions. Despite what she’d been through, Louisa’s appearance was impeccable. She was dressed in a black silk pantsuit—probably a Dior. Her highlighted hair shone from conditioning and flowed in perfect layers that complemented her high cheekbones—probably filler. Her forehead was Botox smooth, her lipstick a tasteful shade of blushed nude. Her understated taste in makeup and clothing, however, didn’t quite offset the impact of garishly large breasts—most definitely silicone—on an anorexic frame. Her age was impossible to discern without checking ID. Despite her Paradise Valley zip code, Louisa Baumgartner appeared to be the type known hereabouts as a Scottsdale Blond.
Louisa led them inside. Caitlin had never seen their home before—they hadn’t been those kinds of friends. The interior of the Baumgartner home seemed as perfect as its mistress. Creamy walls met high ceilings above and marbled floors below. White lilies lent the place grace and a delightful fragrance. Mammoth Southwestern oil paintings hung on the walls, and the grand piano displayed family portraits—adding just enough warmth to keep the place from feeling like a museum. “I’ve begged Junior not to move away. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost both my men.” Like her tears, the distress in Louisa’s voice seemed genuine.
Caitlin clasped her hands to stop herself from reaching out to comfort the woman. She knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in the world. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered the standard condolence, fighting a torrent of dammed-up emotion that threatened to sweep her away. Her life had become tragically entwined with a family who sha
red little in common with her own. Baumgartner had witnessed her father’s death, and now she’d witnessed Baumgartner’s. She had no words that would change Louisa’s loss, any more than Baumgartner had had words to comfort her the day her father had been executed. “We came to pay our respects.”
“Greatly appreciated. Dad thought very highly of you, Caitlin. And I hope you’ll update us on the case while you’re here.” A man who appeared to be around Caitlin’s age descended the main staircase, and her breath got trapped in her lungs. For a moment, she thought it was Baumgartner himself. Obviously, this must be Junior. He looked exactly like Harvey Senior had when she’d first met him, back in the day when he’d defended her father and coached her on how to behave for the media and the jury. The last time Caitlin had seen Junior, he was an awkward teen at an after-church pizza party. Now he exuded panache.
“We’ll update you as best we can. Nothing new for now.” Spense’s answer signaled to Caitlin that loose lips sink ships. Spense would no doubt prefer to collect information rather than provide it, and that stuck in her craw. This family had lost a husband and a father. She’d wanted to come here today for exactly the reason she’d stated—to offer condolences, but Spense seemed to be on an intelligence-gathering mission rather than a sympathetic one. She regretted having to bring him along, but she could hardly ditch her bodyguard with the UNSUB still at large.
Harvey Junior extended his hand to Spense. “I’m certain you will. If there’s anything you need from us, anything at all, just let us know.”
“I will,” Spense said matter-of-factly.
“Of course they’ll keep us updated, sweetheart. Caitlin will make sure of it,” Louisa said.
Caitlin hated not telling the truth about the case. She could understand not mentioning the Man in the Maze to the Baumgartners, but surely they could let the family in on a few of the details—such as the fact that Judd Kramer’s death in the hospital had been ruled a homicide. She sent Spense a questioning look, and he gave her the no-dice eyes.
“Caitlin, you look so . . . grown-up. I can hardly believe my eyes.” Junior gave her a brief but enthusiastic pat on the back.
“I could say the same to you.”
Louisa slipped her hand through her son’s elbow and steered him to an overstuffed couch. When Caitlin and Spense seated themselves on the opposite love seat, Caitlin had to hold her body rigidly to keep herself from being swallowed up by the cushions. Louisa tinkled a silver bell, and a young woman in a traditional black-and-white maid’s uniform appeared.
“Will you bring refreshments, Elizabeth?”
“Right away, ma’am.” Elizabeth was quite young, likely less than twenty, and exceptionally pretty, with a heart-shaped face and perfect features. Her eyes never left the ground, and her speaking voice was barely audible. Either Elizabeth was shy, or she’d been trained to be invisible.
Spense opened his mouth, and Catlin suspected he’d been about to decline the refreshments, but Elizabeth had already disappeared.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Caitlin repeated lamely to Junior. She’d come here out of duty, and the situation was an awkward one. After all, she’d survived the shootings while Baumgartner had not. It would only be natural for his wife and son to wish things had been the other way around. Caitlin’s throat had gone painfully dry, and that made speaking difficult. She could really use some water and was anxious for those refreshments about now.
Leaning forward, Spense rested both hands on his knees and angled his body toward Louisa. “I wish we had more to report, but as of now, we don’t have any solid leads on your husband’s killer. Would it be all right if we asked you a few questions?”
“Of course it’s all right.” Junior said, then seemed to notice the worried look on his mother’s face and edged closer to her. “And I hope you don’t mind my asking for details. But surely you can understand, we’d be desperate for any news. Imagine how we felt having to learn from the papers that Caitlin was present and had been badly wounded,” he said, his face as drawn and tight as his mother’s now.
“No apologies necessary. Let me be clear that even though we don’t have any viable suspects at this time, we want to nail this guy as much as you do. The police and sheriff’s office have put together a twenty-man task force, and we’re working around the clock on the case.”
A look of relief spread over Junior’s face. “A twenty-man task force. I guess Dad’s murder will be getting the attention it deserves.” The catch in his voice said it all. He must’ve been very attached to his father. “Thank you.”
Caitlin took note that Spense had not referred to the case by its moniker—Ferragamo. That must mean for the time being at least, Spense didn’t want the family to know about the bloody shoeprint. Caitlin understood what it was like to be an interested family member and have information withheld from you, but she understood his reasoning. Until the Baumgartners had been eliminated as suspects, he didn’t want to disclose that shoeprint. But she also remembered that Thompson had interviewed them and wasn’t interested in pursuing things further.
Noiselessly, Elizabeth reentered the room and set a tray laden with crustless tea sandwiches and cookies on one of two travertine coffee tables. Another young woman, also unusually pretty, and also dressed in a uniform, trailed behind Elizabeth with a china teapot, cups, glasses, and a pitcher of water. There was one martini, complete with olives, and one Fat Tire beer on the tray as well. Junior grabbed the Fat Tire, then sank onto the couch. His mother reached for the martini.
Louisa’s outward politeness seemed incongruous with the fact she had apparently left standing refreshment orders that didn’t include ascertaining her guests’ preferences. Water was in fact all Caitlin required, but in her home, humble though it might have been, her mother would’ve never ordered herself a drink and not offered one to her guests. Caitlin felt a twinge of unease, vaguely recalling her mother saying: Louisa Baumgartner is more interested in appearing to be nice than she is in actually being nice. Caitlin set the observation aside as both unproductive and unkind. It didn’t matter how phony Louisa was; she’d lost her husband and deserved their sympathy.
“Would you two like something with a little more kick than tea? I should have offered, but I assume one of you is driving, and you’re both on duty, correct?” Maybe Louisa had read the look on Caitlin’s face, or maybe Caitlin was overanalyzing, making a mountain out of a martini. She snagged a glass of water and gulped half, then came up for air. “Thanks for offering, but no. Water’s great. And just FYI, I’m not on duty because I’m not law enforcement.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. I suppose I just assumed since you were going to testify in court for Judd Kramer, and because you’re here with an FBI agent, that you were official.”
Caitlin was surprised by Louisa’s lack of understanding of her late husband’s work, but she shouldn’t have been. He likely didn’t discuss his cases at home, and there was no reason his wife would know exactly what Caitlin’s role was. “I’m a psychiatrist—a private consultant.” Louisa and Junior exchanged baffled looks. “But I am offering my services to help develop a profile on the killer.”
“That’s nice.” Louisa sipped her martini with her little finger crooked, and Caitlin had to struggle to keep from smiling at the affected gesture. Another sip, then she turned toward Spense. “Well, Agent Spenser is it? You said you want to nail the man who murdered my husband. If you know the killer is a man, then you must have some sense of who he might be.”
Spense shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I can only say we have strong reason to believe, based on our profile, that the killer is a man.” He’d left off the part about Caitlin believing she’d seen a man wielding a gun in the conference room that day. She was about to pipe up and say so, when Spense sent her a warning look.
Louisa picked up a cookie and delicately nibbled off the frosting. She dabbed a
t her lips with a linen napkin and slid her gaze to Caitlin. “But didn’t you see the shooter, dear? Surely you must know his sex. Couldn’t you try to identify him in a lineup?”
She gulped more water and answered truthfully, which was her preferred course of action whenever possible. “I don’t remember much from that day. I do know . . .” she hesitated. “I do know that your husband, Harvey, didn’t suffer. It all happened too fast.” The crime-scene photos of Harvey Baumgartner facedown in a pool of blood flashed before her eyes, and she blinked them away.
Louisa’s hand jerked, and what remained of her martini splashed onto her black silk suit, leaving a small wet stain. She looked around the room as if dazed, then back at Caitlin. “Thank you so much for telling me, dear.”
Junior set his beer on a stained-glass coaster and pressed his hands to his face. A sigh rumbled out of him, and at last he pulled his hands away to reveal red eyes rimmed with tears. “You said you wanted to ask us some questions about Dad.”
“Did your father have any enemies that you know of?” Apparently, Spense had waited long enough. He jumped at the opening.
Junior fixed Spense with a surprised look. “Of course my father had enemies. He defended men no one else would take on.” He tilted his head toward Caitlin, but she didn’t need to be reminded that no one but Baumgartner had believed in her father. “But if you ask me, it’s pretty obvious what happened in that courtroom had little to do with my father’s enemies. This is all about Judd Kramer. This has to be someone in Sally Cartwright’s circle looking to avenge her death. Her father or her boyfriend, either one . . . or maybe both.”
Judgment Page 10
