(2002) Chasing Darkness

by Danielle Girard

  She winked and took a bite herself. “Just kidding.” Sam smiled at the memory of bringing the boys home that first day. Her tiny house had almost no furniture. It was the way she’d lived since her divorce. They had been stiff-lipped and sullen as she put their stuff down on her worn beige carpet.

  The boys seemed to finish their cake in three bites. Sam tried to eat hers slowly, knowing her body wouldn’t burn it off like a sixteen-year-old’s would.

  “One more piece?” Rob begged.

  Sam shook her head. “No way.”

  “Come on,” Derek added. “It’s summer.”

  She looked at them and shook her head in defeat. “One more—but small.”

  She cut two more slices, and the boys managed to wolf those down as well, Derek only slightly slower than his larger counterpart.

  Three minutes later, the cake was half gone and the boys had fled the kitchen to go back to bed. Sam cleared the dishes and thought about the morning, savoring the few minutes of fun more than the cake.

  Sam cupped her steaming coffee and hurried to the entrance of the Department of Justice building in the heart of Fisherman’s Wharf. People on the streets were dressed in white shorts and floral shirts, looking ready for Disneyland rather than downtown San Francisco, with its brisk Pacific breeze and professional dress. Cameras around their necks, maps held open in two hands, they searched for the right street for the next activity. Cable car one block to your left, water two blocks to your right, Sam thought, Fisherman’s Wharf half a block straight ahead. But no matter how easy it seemed to her, there were always tourists with maps open pointing in all different directions.

  The front door of the D.O.J. building was well camouflaged by a liquor store on one side and a camera store on the other.

  She was due to meet one of the assistant D.A.’s to talk prosecution on a third-time offender. She was already late. She tucked the coupon section from the paper under her arm to clip later and stuffed the rest of the paper in the closest trash can before entering her building.

  In the elevator, she pushed the button for three and stood impatiently while the machine moved upward at a snail’s pace. When the doors opened, she rushed out, using her key card to enter the bulletproof doors at the reception area.

  “They’re waiting in the conference room,” the receptionist called after her.

  “They?” Sam had expected the assistant D.A. to come alone.

  “Two of them.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  As she passed his desk, her assistant, Aaron, wheeled toward her.

  She looked down at the wheelchair. The wide, bright yellow tubing made it look like it was constructed to take on mountain terrain. “Cool new chair.”

  Aaron grinned and spun around in a full circle. “You like?”

  She nodded and touched the yellow bars. “Looks like you’re going off-roading.”

  “This baby’s the Hammer—made with aerospace tubing.” He patted the heavy metal underside. “It’s for the race.”

  She remembered his wheelchair marathon was coming up. “July eleventh.”

  “You’re coming, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Awesome.” Aaron spun back to his desk and snatched a spiral notebook off the surface before turning back.

  Sam had to smile at the antics. She wished Rob had a little of Aaron’s disposition. She shook her head.

  “Williams called four times this morning,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes. “And he’s been by twice. He says he needs your notes on the case you worked together before you present to Corona. I could pull the file for you.”

  She shook her head. “Williams wants my notes because he can’t read his own damn handwriting. When are we set to meet with Corona?”

  Gary Williams was one of the sixteen special agents Sam worked with. But for some reason Williams was the one she’d been paired with the most, and they did not see eye to eye. Williams had been a special agent for more than twenty years and therefore considered himself more senior than his other colleagues. But he wasn’t the strongest agent, and lately Corona had been giving Sam the higher-profile cases. Then, last week, Williams had made a blunder with the D.A.’s office that she couldn’t fix and she’d had to get Corona’s help. She knew she deserved the bigger cases, but Williams became more difficult to deal with each time something was passed to her over him. And after last week’s fiasco, he’d been all but belligerent toward her in the staff meeting.

  Sam suspected Corona knew she could handle it without his help. And she could. Complaining wasn’t her style. But Gary Williams sure as hell wasn’t getting anything extra from her.

  “The meeting’s Wednesday morning.”

  Sam nodded as she dropped her bag and searched for the file on Curt Hofstadt, who had been paroled after his conviction on charges of child molestation back in January and had since been living with a woman who had three small daughters. The mother reported him when the youngest girl, age four, was found to have developed vaginal warts, a condition the mother too suffered from after relations with Hofstadt.

  Not only had Hofstadt violated probation, but this was his third offense and was likely to be his third conviction. And according to the new three-strikes law, his last.

  “What do you want to do about Williams?” Aaron repeated.

  “Set up a meeting to discuss it tomorrow morning. Let him know to come prepared with his findings. I’m not doing any more handholding.” She glanced up at Aaron as he wrote.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t quote you.”

  She nodded. “You’re a good man. Where the hell is the Hofstadt file?” She dug through the stacks on her desk.

  “First one on top.”

  She shook her head, flipping through the files. “It’s not here.”

  Aaron double-checked, then glanced around the room. “Did you take it home?”

  “I didn’t need to. I was prepared for this meeting.” Sam looked around in confusion.

  Aaron sifted through the files. “I’ll be damned. It’s not here.” He looked up at her as she glanced at her watch.

  She was late already, and this meeting was not a good one to be late for. Josh Steiner was one of the assistant D.A.’s assigned to the case, and he always acted like his minutes were measured in gold and Sam’s in plastic.

  “I can easily print another copy of the argument,” Aaron offered. “You won’t have your notes, but I think we put almost all of it into the computer.”

  Sam nodded, more than slightly disturbed at the file’s disappearance. She had an excellent memory and never misplaced things, especially something this important. “Do that, would you, Aaron?”

  Aaron wrote something down and Sam stood perplexed for another second.

  “It’ll be ready in a minute,” Aaron said.

  “Thanks. Also, will you call Quentin and talk to the prison warden? Find out who Charlie Sloan had been hanging around with in prison before his death—any recent releases, any outside contact.”

  Aaron made notes. “Will do.” He pointed to the pink slips on her desk. “You’ve got a stack of messages.”

  Sam flipped through the stack while she waited for the file to print. A police officer wanted to talk to her about possible suspects for a child slaying in Concord, one town over from where she lived. Two other police officers had left messages. Nick had called. Someone from Utah was calling to see if the D.O.J. had any records on a Dwayne Swift, who was picked up for sex with a minor. The last message was blank. Dropping it in the trash, she picked up her date book and left her office.

  “All ready,” Aaron said, handing her a stack of papers. “In triplicate,” he added.

  “Thanks.” Sam rushed down the hall, rounding the corner in time to catch Josh Steiner emerging from the conference room wearing an evil scowl. His thinning dark hair was combed over his head, and a piece of it dangled across his forehead like an exclamation point over one eye.

  “About time,” he mumbled
under his breath.

  Sam took a deep breath and brushed past him to enter the room. Turning to him, she said, “Do you want coffee or anything?”

  “Much longer and we’ll need dinner,” he muttered.

  Sam nodded and sat down. “I apologize for the delay,” she said without details on the file.

  “It’s no trouble. Josh just hasn’t had his morning coffee, is all.”

  Sam turned to introduce herself to Josh’s colleague.

  “Neil Wallace,” he said, extending his hand.

  The name wasn’t the least bit familiar, but there was something about his face. “Have you been with the D.A.’s office long?”

  He shook his head. “Brand-new.”

  “Why don’t we just get started?” Josh interrupted. “You can exchange résumés later. I’ve got a ten o’clock.”

  Sam knew Josh was lying by the way he refused to look at her, but she didn’t press him. Handing the men copies of the file that Aaron had just printed, Sam walked them through each aspect of the case. Josh asked a few questions, which she answered easily even without her personalized notes.

  “You have a tape of the interview with the girl?” Josh asked.

  Sam’s copy of the tape had been with the file. Where the hell had that gone? There was always the original, safe in the evidence vault, but she would need to make another copy. “I can get a copy over to you this afternoon.”

  Josh raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a copy with you?”

  Sam didn’t blink. “I’ve got the original, but I can’t give you that. I’ll have to make an extra for you.”

  The corners of Josh’s mouth sank into a frown. “We’re in a bit of a hurry with this.” He motioned to his companion, who gave a nod of agreement.

  The case didn’t go to court for at least another three weeks. Sam smiled patiently and leaned forward on the table, keeping her voice and eyes steady despite the lies. “If you’d like, I can make you a copy while you wait. Or I can just courier one over later.”

  Josh shook his head. “We can’t wait. Just send it over soon.” He stood and headed for the door.

  Wallace followed, but paused at the edge of the room. Turning back, he raised an eyebrow. “I heard you’ve got another murder that looks like Sloan. You have any leads?”

  Sam knew how rumors spread in a police station. It was like an airborne disease on an airplane. “We’re working on it,” she answered. “Nice to meet you,” she added before he could ask any more questions. Then she excused herself and pushed past them.

  It was almost ten when Sam finally got back to her office. Aaron confirmed that the Hofstadt file still hadn’t shown up, and the file’s disappearance pawed uncomfortably at the back of her mind. Where could it have gone? She hadn’t worked on the case with anyone other than the detective team and her team members at the D.O.J., who had helped with surveillance. No one in the building would have any use for it. And she didn’t lose things. She asked Aaron to get a copy of the tape to Josh and told him not to let the original out of his sight for a second. Then she sent an urgent E-mail to everyone in her department, asking whoever might have accidentally taken the file from her desk to please return it immediately.

  Pulling her file on Karen Jacobs—Charlie Sloan’s first victim—Sam sat down behind her desk and leaned over to turn on the small heater next to her feet. With the warm air blowing on her feet, she opened her notebook.

  The first thing she did was get in touch with the warden at San Quentin who had had responsibility for Sloan. Aaron had spoken to him that morning, and he had reported that Sloan was as much a loner in prison as he had always been on the outside. Sam wasn’t sure she believed it. It only made sense that the new killer was someone linked to Sloan. She dialed the number Aaron had left her and requested that she be transferred to Warden David Brighton.

  “Brighton here.”

  Sam introduced herself and asked him about any friendships Sloan might have developed at the prison, any visitors or outside contact of any kind before his death.

  “I hadn’t noticed any changes in his behavior at all toward the end. He was usually in solitary because of the way he baited the other prisoners. He had been beat up a bunch of times, the last time almost to death. For a smart guy, he wasn’t real bright that way, but he considered himself above the other prisoners, and you can imagine how they liked that.”

  “What did he do? Any letters? Anything?”

  “Mostly he read. I’ve pulled the latest list of what he took from the library in those last months. A few more of the classics—mostly ones he had read before—Dickens, O. Henry, some Faulkner. He also checked out a trigonometry text, a physics book, and a life sciences text during his last few months. That’s all in line with what he had been doing since he got here. He did receive a package from his attorney—it was a text of appeal cases. You know how they’re all looking for a way out.”

  Sam rubbed her temples and nodded. “What about visitors?”

  “None. He didn’t even see his wife. She came about a month before he was executed, and he sent her away. He had also gotten a few letters, all from the same address, but they showed up unopened in his trash.”

  There had to be a connection between this murder and Sloan. Who else would’ve copied the M.O. so exactly? “No outside contact at all? Phone calls? Anything?”

  “I wish I had more for you, but no. He didn’t use telephone privileges except once to his attorney in the two months before his death.”

  Sam tried to think of another way that Charlie Sloan could have found someone to do his killing. “Anyone from his cellblock released over the past couple months?”

  “Uh, only one that I can think of, but not someone who had any interaction with Sloan.”

  Sam was perplexed. She thanked the warden and hung up the phone, wondering if Nick was right. Maybe this wasn’t Sloan. Maybe it was someone else. But only a few people would have had access to the detail about the six-leafed eucalyptus, and she hated to entertain the possibility that a cop was involved. Of course, maybe she had to face that possibility. If the theory was right and a cop was the killer, then the most likely suspect was someone who had been directly involved in Sloan’s case.

  Starting with her own name, she copied the list she had faxed to the sheriff’s department of the people involved in Charlie Sloan’s case. After so long, anybody could have found out the details. What she was counting on was that not just anybody had.

  She started the list with herself as detective. Corona had known about the case because she had testified after she started working at the D.O.J. Sam wrote “Director Andy Corona.” Gary Williams had attended her testimony and seen the evidence docket. Her gaze paused on Gary Williams’ name. His interest in the case had seemed peculiar, but he always wanted to know what everyone else was up to. He was insistently nosy.

  She tapped her pen and moved past Williams. She added the two officers who had arrived on the scene, Amanda Nakahara and Bob Haber. Her detective sergeant was Garrett Bouton. There were six cops who were involved peripherally in interviewing witnesses and following up on leads. She added their names to her list: Monterra, Sansome, Wyatt, Bradley, and Cole. Was that all?

  The crime scene team would have seen the eucalyptus. She tried to remember who they were but couldn’t. It wasn’t in her file, either. She wrote a note to check her journal for the names. Sam kept a binder at home with her personal notes on every case she had ever worked. It included everything from the evidence to the smell of a room and her own thoughts and opinions on a case and the suspects. If the names weren’t there, the Antioch P.D. would have a record of them.

  Assuming there were three or four of them, that made approximately fifteen people who had seen one of Charlie Sloan’s scenes. As she compiled the list in her own handwriting, Sam considered each person. No one on the list made a good suspect. She put a call in to the clerk at the sheriff’s department, but had to settle for leaving a message on his voice mail.
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br />   Standing, she stretched her arms and decided to go get lunch. When she picked up her purse she noticed writing on the back of a pink message slip sitting on the top of her garbage. Leaning over, she snatched it and turned the message right side up.

  You’re not invincible.

  Chapter Four

  Sam stared at the message and blinked hard, wishing she hadn’t touched it. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but there might’ve been prints on it.

  Aaron’s chair was stopped in the doorway. “You okay? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Careful not to touch the note further, Sam tucked it into her blazer pocket. It seemed impossible that an ex-con working on Sloan’s behalf could have gotten into her office. It would be one thing if Sloan could have paid someone, but he was dead. Nick’s theory that the killer was a cop was seeming increasingly possible. The idea gave her the chills. “I’m fine.”

  Aaron shrugged, though the look on his face suggested he didn’t quite believe her. “This just came off the fax, and Derek’s on line one.”

  Sam put a finger up to indicate that Derek should hold for a second while she skimmed the faxed toxicology report on Sandi Walters. According to the autopsy, she was pumped full of heroin when she died. Not an overdose, but getting close.

  “Derek sounds urgent,” Aaron said.

  Sam nodded and reached for the phone. “How come you’re home early?”

  “I just am,” Derek snapped.

  “I thought you had physical therapy,” Sam continued.

  “I did. I’m done.”

  “I—”

  “Aunt Sam,” Derek interrupted. “I’m trying to tell you that the police just called,” Derek said, sounding out of breath. “Rob’s been drinking at his job.”

  “Drinking?”

  “He’s drunk, Aunt Sam.”

  Sam clenched her teeth and nodded. “Where is he?”

  “At the Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “I know where it is.” Sam hung up and grabbed her purse.

  “Nick’s on the line,” Aaron said from the doorway. “Wants to talk about Rob.”