Casey read the names, then glanced at each woman in turn. He raised his hand. “I know this might be a bit late, but I think we might have a problem with the decoys.”
“So how would you handle it, Hotshot?” Edwards asked. His expression was almost daring.
“Your decoys need ponytails.”
“Not all the victims had ponytails.”
“One had her hair in a bun, but they all had long hair. And the Ghirardelli victim specifically said he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her back.”
Al was looking at the line of victim photos on the op plan, nodding. “I think he’s right. Grab her ponytail from behind and he’s got control of her.”
“Except,” Edwards said, “it didn’t work on the two robbery victims.”
“Possibly,” Casey said, “because he was thrown off balance by about twenty-five pounds of college books and her laptop. And Ghirardelli girl wasn’t going to give up her purse. Make her a jogger. No backpack. No purse. Just don’t forget the ponytail.”
“Okay. We do it your way. Who do you have in mind?”
“Didn’t get that far.” Casey glanced at the women in the room, but those with long hair were too old to fit their needed decoy range. “Patrol?”
Al said, “What about that officer you went jogging with on the Presidio case?”
“Windsor?”
“Yeah. Her.”
Casey hesitated, ignoring the teasing looks from Haynes and Zwingler at the mention of her name. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Becca could do the job. More if he was going to date her, he really didn’t want to throw her out as serial killer bait. Not that it would have been okay before. No one should have to be a decoy for something like that.
“Good idea,” Timms said. “I’ll see who else we can get from vice.”
“Fine. But I’d like to work on the surveillance part of it.”
Haynes crumpled his burrito wrapper into a ball. “Pretty sure he won’t strike if you’re hanging all over her, Kellog,” he said, tossing the thing at Casey’s shoulder.
It bounced off, and Casey leaned over, picked it up, and lobbed it into the trash. “You throw like a girl, Haynes. Maybe you oughta volunteer?”
“Too ugly,” Haynes said. “Now you…”
“Knock it off,” Timms said, “or I’ll put wigs on all of you and throw you out there. Kellog, if I’m not mistaken, you and Krug have another case to finish up, but thanks for the offer. Zwingler, Haynes, you two can kiss and make up in the surveillance van for the first shift. Bishop and Edwards, you’ll take point first shift.” He looked down at the sheet, read off the names for the remaining teams, then finished with, “Any more questions before we meet back here tomorrow at oh-dark-thirty?”
No one had any, and the meeting came to a close. Al and Casey returned to their desks once the room emptied and their seats were vacated.
Casey glanced at the clock, saw Becca was still on patrol, and texted her: Meet for drinks tonight? Need to talk to you about a surveillance tomorrow.
Her response was almost instantaneous, as though she’d been watching the phone.
“Kellog, Krug,” Timms said from his doorway. “Let’s get an update.”
Casey was texting the location for drinks as he followed Al into the lieutenant’s office.
Timms sat on the edge of his desk. “So where are we?”
Al laughed. “Damned good question. I’m not even sure we know.”
“Kellog?” Timms asked.
Casey looked up from his phone. “Sorry. What was the question?”
“Your investigation?”
“Right. Parnell had an affair with Trudy Salvatori, who we believe set up a fake identity and an account from which she embezzled ten thousand dollars by cashing checks drawn on the campaign fund.”
“The victim? You’re saying Trudy Salvatori embezzled the money used to kill her?”
“Assuming Congressman Parnell’s ID is accurate. Not much of her face is visible.”
“Let’s see if we can’t get a secondary ID. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that.”
“Yeah,” Casey said. “So are we.”
“And what did Congressman Parnell have to say about it?”
“The affair was no longer going on,” Casey replied. “The texts between them were harmless flirtations. He denied killing her or paying anyone to kill her. And then his attorney decided to end the interview. But on the bright side—”
Al cleared his throat. “Not sure we have a bright side.”
“A suspect?” Timms asked. “Do we even have one yet?”
“Well,” Casey said, then looked at Al, hoping he’d at least come up with a name.
“We got nothing,” Al said. “Who expected such a cluster?”
“What’s next?” Timms asked Casey.
“We’re still waiting to hear back from Darrell Fife’s mother as to the source of this alleged hit money—which seems questionable now. I mean, it’s not like Trudy Salvatori would have paid for her own hit.”
“On reflection,” Al said, “stranger things have happened.”
“Find Fife’s mom,” Timms said. “I want to know where that money came from.”
Al stood. “I’ll give Mr. Gregory another call.”
“Kellog,” Timms said as Casey started out the door. Casey turned toward him. “If it weren’t for this case, I’d have you front and center on the Landmark Strangler op tomorrow. You deserve to be there.”
“Thanks. No worries.”
Al was already on the phone when Casey got back to his desk.
“Appreciate it,” Al said. “See you tomorrow morning.” He hung up. “That was Jon Gregory. His wife should be back tonight. He’ll bring her first thing in the morning.”
“Can’t wait to hear what she has to say.”
Al looked up at the clock. “Aren’t you meeting Becca for drinks?”
Casey saw the time, realized he was twenty minutes late, and grabbed his keys. “See you in the morning.” He rushed out the door, texting Becca, hoping that she was still there.
THIRTY-THREE
The bar was crowded when Casey walked in, and he recognized a number of officers from his days on patrol, several nodding to him as he walked past, as well as a few senior officers refusing to acknowledge him at all. Jesse Turner, a member of the latter group, had tested the same time as Casey for Homicide. When Casey made it, Jesse and the others were vocal in their opinion as to why he shouldn’t have been promoted over them. They had a good decade on him in age and time on the streets, and their belief was that he hadn’t yet paid his dues.
In a way, they were right. Technically he hadn’t paid. Not the way they had, working year after year in a beat car. He’d done the minimum time required. It didn’t matter that he’d worked hard in those few short years, that he’d set his mind to a goal and stuck with it. All they saw was that he’d caught some lucky breaks with big cases and used that to his advantage.
And maybe he had. But there were sacrifices to promoting so young. Here he was, almost thirty, with no family of his own outside of his parents, not even a girlfriend to speak of. Hard to believe he’d only dated about three women after promoting to Homicide, none of them sticking around past the first callout that got in the way of weekend getaways. Which made the idea of dating Becca even more attractive, he realized, seeing her at the far end of the bar.
Becca understood the job, the callouts, the uncertainty of what they did on a day-to-day basis.
He took the seat next to her, saw she was drinking beer, Samuel Adams, and ordered the same. When it arrived, he lifted it in a toast. “To the end of shift.”
“Hear, hear!” She tapped the side of her bottle to his, her smile lighting up her face.
He liked that smile. A lot. And he was just about to tell her so, ex
cept someone came up behind him, grasped his shoulder, then leaned in, saying, “You want to know why that Landmark Strangler’s still out there? Because they promoted dumb-ass rookies like you.”
Casey recognized the alcohol-laden voice. Jesse Turner.
He set down his beer bottle then swiveled the barstool to face the man.
Turner’s bloodshot eyes narrowed, his temple pulsing. “You got something to say, Kellog?”
Casey, having the advantage of not being drunk, kept his expression neutral, even when Turner’s friends got up and took a stand behind the man. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Casey glanced over at Becca. “You want to go somewhere else?”
“Sure.”
He and Becca stood.
When Turner didn’t move, Becca stepped between them. “You mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Turner said, eyeing Casey over the top of her head.
“And what?” she responded. “You gonna pound me, too? Back off, Turner. There’s no glory in hitting a girl.”
He looked down at her. “Maybe you should wait outside.”
Casey knew what Becca was doing. But he didn’t want or need protecting. “Look, Turner. They should’ve promoted you to Homicide. You and I both know that. But are you telling me that if the roles were reversed, you would’ve stepped aside, let me have the position? Or would you have taken it if it was offered to you?”
That caught Turner’s attention as he attempted to process Casey’s question. “Of course I’d take it.”
Casey smiled. “See?” Then, digging a couple of twenties out of his pocket, he held it up toward the bartender who had moved closer, just in case things started to spiral out of control. “A round for Turner and his friends.”
The bartender nodded, took the money, and said, “What’ll it be, Turner?”
Turner, looking slightly confused, glanced at Casey, then the bartender. “Uh, same.”
“Have a seat. I’ll bring it to your table.”
And then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. The four men, including Turner, took their seats at their booth, and Casey and Becca slipped past them unscathed.
“Impressive,” Becca said, once they were outside. The wind gusted, and she brushed her hair from her face. “The way you turned it around, telling him what he wanted to hear.”
“Not really. When you think about the number of years he’s worked, he did deserve it more than me. Makes me think that maybe I should accept the promotion if I pass that lieutenant’s test. Turner gets Homicide, and I move on. One less reason for them to hate me.”
“Somehow I doubt it. Guys like them are never going to be happy.”
She wrapped her arms about herself in the chill air as they both started walking toward the parking garage. “So where do you want to go?” she asked.
“Maybe somewhere quieter. Something I need to talk to you about anyway.”
She glanced up at him as they walked. “The surveillance you mentioned?”
“They wanted me to ask you if you’d step in as a decoy in our Strangler op tomorrow. I didn’t want to take advantage…”
“How is that taking advantage?”
“I don’t know.”
“The look on your face tells me otherwise. So what is it?”
He glanced over at her, a bit embarrassed not only because he had taken the matter so seriously, but because she could see right through him. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Over what?”
“The other night…”
She laughed then swatted his arm as they walked. “Frozen pizza? I’m pretty sure I won’t feel obligated because of it.”
He shrugged, trying to ignore that he was slightly disappointed by her response. The question was why. Because she didn’t think the fact they’d almost slept together was that big of a deal? Or because he wanted this to be something more than a casual work relationship? “Nice to hear,” he said, trying to brush the whole thing off like it was no big deal.
The longer they continued down the street, the more their silence seemed an overwhelming obstacle. At one point, he glanced over, saw her looking intently at the ground as she walked, her hands shoved in her pockets, and he wondered if he’d ruined everything by his awkward disclosure.
When they reached the parking garage, he was sure of it, because she kept her hands in her pocket, her gaze averted. “So about tomorrow…Tell them I’m in.”
“Okay. It’s going to start early. About five.”
She finally looked at him. “Which means maybe we better call it a night? Catch our rest now while we can?”
“You don’t want to grab a bite to eat?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Disappointment washed over him at the realization that he’d somehow blown his chances with her. He smiled, hoping she couldn’t tell how he felt. “See you tomorrow then.”
He started to turn away.
“Casey?”
He stopped, looked at her.
“Don’t you even want to know why?”
What man wanted to hear why a woman didn’t want to go out with him? Rather than answer, he simply waited.
But the echoing footsteps of someone walking into the garage from the street caught her attention, and she glanced over and waited until the pedestrian had turned the corner out of sight. “This is why,” she said quietly. And then she moved closer to Casey, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
When the momentary shock wore off, when he realized this was no simple good-bye peck, he took her in his arms and kissed her back.
She pressed herself against him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him. His pulse rate doubled at her touch. And as soon as it became apparent that he wanted her, she backed away, shoving her hands into her sweater pockets and looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Not sure I do.”
“How much sleep would you get if we kept that up?”
Who cared? Still, he thought it best not to answer.
“I work hard,” she said. “And when I’m done? I play hard.” She smiled. “Big day tomorrow. See you in the morning, Casey.”
And when she turned and walked into the parking garage, all Casey could do at that moment was stand there and watch the sway of her hips, his pulse still pounding from their brief encounter.
Tomorrow was going to be a very long day…
THIRTY-FOUR
One advantage of heading into work at zero-dark-thirty was that Bay Area traffic was much lighter, and Casey made it in record time. Even though he wasn’t assigned to be there two hours early, he wanted to sit in on the Strangler op briefing because of his part in discovering Francis Dunmore’s possible role. Of course there was a good chance that Dunmore wasn’t the Strangler or even the strong-arm robber from Ghirardelli.
Think positive, he told himself as he walked from the parking garage into the breezeway toward the building’s entrance. When he saw Becca and another officer near the doors talking, he slowed. Becca, her long dark hair pulled into a ponytail, was dressed in running gear for the surveillance op. She stood with her back to him. The officer—sergeant, actually—was in uniform, probably working midnights considering what time it was. Casey recognized him from the academy. About Casey’s age…Art Sutherland. Nice enough guy, Casey thought, even if he was standing a bit too close to Becca.
It was this last observation that struck him, and though he was too far to hear anything, it appeared they were deep in conversation, probably not even aware he was approaching. And then Sutherland nodded at something Becca said, leaned down, and kissed her.
It wasn’t just the quick kiss that bothered Casey. It was the overwhelming sense of familiarity between the
two afterward that stopped him in his tracks. Becca never saw Casey there, and he waited until he felt enough time passed that she would have left the lobby, taken the elevator up.
How had he not known she was involved with someone?
Because he never asked. He merely assumed.
And what should he say when he saw her next?
It never occurred to him he’d be running into her ten seconds later as she rounded the corner, apparently not having gotten onto the elevator at all.
“Hey,” she said when she saw him as he pushed through the lobby doors. “I didn’t think you were coming to this.”
“Just wanted to hear the briefing.”
“Pride of ownership, eh?”
“Something like that.”
She narrowed her gaze slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“Look,” Casey said. “I know we’re not exclusive, but I saw you and Sutherland. In the hallway.”
Her brows shot up. “Sutherland?”
Several uniformed officers walked past, giving them a wide berth.
Casey shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. “I’ll admit to being really out of touch, but I just thought—”
“He’s my ex.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“Ex-husband.”
“Do you have kids?”
“Does it change things?”
“No. Maybe. I—” He realized he was treading on unfamiliar, even shaky ground, especially when she crossed her arms.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for, Casey, but here’s my answer to you. I’m single. I haven’t dated anyone since my divorce was final almost a year ago. He and I are still close friends. And no, I didn’t think we—you and I—were exclusive either. But I’m also not the kind of girl who—” She smiled at another officer who walked past then waited until the woman was out of earshot before adding, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Yeah. Me, too. Because I thought I was ready to start dating again. But I think it’s apparent neither of us are.”
The Last Good Place Page 20
