The Last Good Place

by Robin Burcell

  Fear and adrenaline ripped through her. She grabbed the pipe wrench and threw it at him. Then she turned and ran.

  He didn’t shoot. But she realized that if he was going to make it look like she was trying to kill him, he’d have to be closer.

  She darted around a ladder, keeping it between her and Devin.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” he said, circling the ladder as she did, looking at her through the rungs.

  “Think about this, Devin. You don’t want to go to prison…”

  “Me? You’re the one on camera getting a gun out of the kitchen drawer. You and your imaginary stalker.” He sidestepped the ladder, and she turned and ran. He was on her in a second, slamming her to the ground. She heard a ringing in her ears, smelled and tasted fresh sawdust as she tried to suck in air through her mouth as he forced her face to the floor, then pressed the barrel of the gun into her ribs. He yanked her by the arm to her feet, then toward the sawhorses. “Trudy might not be here anymore, but I think she’d want to finish this.”

  “Why would Trudy want this?”

  “She set it up. We found out how much the property was worth. Those damned trees…”

  Her grandfather’s trees. She wanted that to be her final thought. The trees behind her house. The last good place…

  FORTY-THREE

  Casey heard the gunshot as the elevator opened on the top floor. He and Al stood on either side, their weapons at the ready, Al calling for backup on the radio.

  No cover, Casey thought, shoving his foot against the door to keep it from closing. But Marcie and Devin seemed to be locked in an embrace, unaware they were even there. Blood streamed down Devin’s arm as the pair struggled.

  “Police!” Casey shouted.

  Devin looked up, saw them. “She has a gun. I’m shot!”

  Then Marcie, crying. “I didn’t do it!”

  And before Casey or Al could make a move, Devin swung Marcie around, putting the gun to her head, her body as a shield. “Come any closer, and I’ll kill her.”

  Casey froze, his weapon trained on Devin.

  Al whispered, “You have a shot?”

  “No.” They needed a negotiator. Casey scanned the room, saw there were a few places that might offer some rudimentary cover. “Split up. Divide his attention.”

  Al looked around then nodded. “Slow. That gun moves our way…”

  “Got it.”

  They stepped out, each moving the opposite direction.

  “Stop!” Devin said. “I will kill her.”

  Casey knew very little about negotiations, except that their job seemed to be to keep the suspect talking. Keep his mind off the hostage. “You don’t want to do this, Devin.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve wanted to for a long time.” Marcie started sobbing. He shook her. “Shut up,” he said. His attention on her, Casey and Al sidestepped away from the elevator. “You had to ruin everything. From the beginning. I couldn’t catch a break because of you.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Yeah. You are now.” He looked at Casey. “She hid. That’s why Trudy was killed.” Al made a step to the side, and Devin turned that way. He held the gun up closer to Marcie’s head.

  Casey knew he needed to keep Devin’s focus away from his partner. Al had the best chance to come up behind him. “We know it was an accident. You didn’t mean for Trudy to die. It was the phone calls.”

  “Calls? You’re trying to confuse me.”

  “The one to the killer. You told him that Marcie was wearing blue. She was wearing purple.”

  Al, still circumventing the room, waved his fingers as though to say, “Keep talking. It’s working.”

  “And then the call to your attorney. About the hat. You said it had a blue flower. It was purple.”

  “I didn’t know…” He lowered the gun slightly.

  “How could you?” Casey asked, glad to see Marcie’s sobs quieting. That’s what they needed. Calm. “You see red as green. Purple as blue. You’d have no way of knowing the color, unless someone told you. Like the hat. When Marcie told you the flower was purple.”

  “None of that matters,” Devin said, raising the gun again, Marcie flinching as he put it to her temple. “Trudy’s gone. I loved her…”

  The emotion on his face struck Casey. And with it a flash of insight. “You didn’t know about her and the congressman? She was having an affair with him.”

  “No. She loved me.”

  “She was using you. Whose idea was it to kill Marcie?”

  He hesitated, looked over his shoulder, a sense of panic in his eyes when he saw how far Al had moved. But then he turned back to Casey. “She loved me.”

  And then Al said, “Was it before or after she found out how much Marcie’s property was worth?”

  He turned, forcing Marcie with him so that they faced Al. “After. But—” His throat seemed to seize, and he looked down at the top of Marcie’s head. “What have I done? Oh, God—” He lifted the gun.

  Casey fired. The shot echoed throughout the room.

  Devin staggered back, then crumpled to the ground, the gun flying from his fingers. Marcie stood frozen, tears streaming down her face, her gaze fixed on Casey.

  “You’re okay,” he said, then moved forward, past her, his aim still on Devin, expecting to see half his head missing.

  But Devin was still alive, bleeding from his hip. Casey kicked the gun toward Al, who picked it up and covered Casey while he handcuffed Devin. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”

  FORTY-FOUR

  The last person Casey expected to see in the lobby when he and Al showed up for work the next morning was Jenn. She was wearing her glasses again, and he realized he liked them on her. Wasn’t sure how he ever thought they didn’t fit.

  “Sergeants,” she said in greeting. Then to Casey, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Al glanced down the hall. “I’ll wait over there. Give you two some space.” He walked over to reception.

  Casey, worried that someone would see them together, led her to one of the interview rooms. “What can I do for you?”

  “So formal?”

  “You befriended my mother with the express purpose of getting to me. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little suspicious about why you’re here.”

  He expected her to deny it. Instead, she said, “I wanted to thank you for taking the time to look into Bella’s murder. But also to apologize for putting you in that position with your superior officers. That’s why I came. I hope you don’t mind, but I went to your lieutenant. I couldn’t reveal my source, but I thought it might help if he knew it wasn’t you. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “Nothing I can’t make up for at this point.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. And then, surprising him, she stepped forward, put her hand on his shoulder, stood on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. She looked up at him, her face mere inches from his. He breathed in the floral scent of her hair, felt the light touch of her fingers burning through his jacket. It took every ounce of willpower not to move, not to take her in his arms and kiss her right back. Every second she remained there was testing his willpower.

  But then she stepped back and smiled. “If you’re ever up for that drink, you have my number.”

  She waited a beat, then moved past him and toward the door.

  He realized he didn’t want her to leave. She was halfway across the lobby when he called out to her.

  Jenn stopped, looked at him.

  She’s the press. “Take care.”

  “You, too,” she said, and this time he let her go.

  Al was still waiting for him at reception. “Things go okay?”

  “Yeah. She talked to Timms, I guess.”

  “Good for her,” he said.


  The moment they walked into Homicide, Lieutenant Timms called them into his office. “I suppose you saw the reporter on your way in?”

  “In the lobby. She said she talked to you about her, uh, source.”

  “She did. Which I appreciate. But that’s not why I’ve called you in. Apparently the congressman withdrew his complaint.”

  “Why?” Casey asked then realized how idiotic that sounded. “I mean, I’m glad, but what made him change his mind?”

  “Social media backlash, from what I hear. Apparently some news reporter discovered you walked out of your promotional interview to save Marcie Valentine. Once it hit the airwaves, Parnell’s public statement about you trying to get ahead at his expense seemed more like self-aggrandizement on his part. Rumor has it he’ll be announcing his resignation from the race any day.”

  “Gotta love social media,” Al said.

  “Which,” Timms said, “brings me to my next point. Good work last night.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Walking out of your oral board to handle that case—Not something you see every day.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

  “No one thought you were. In fact, once the captain heard about it, he thought we should reschedule your interview. They’re finishing up the slate of candidates today and could tack you onto the end.”

  Casey glanced over at Al, who gave an encouraging thumbs up. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Casey and Al walked out to find Zwingler and Haynes discussing a case they’d picked up the night before, a homicide in the Mission District. The robbery investigators were in their corner, discussing a spate of strong-arm robberies in North Beach.

  It all seemed so normal. So much going on. So much more to learn.

  And that’s when he realized he was about to make a big mistake. He walked back into the lieutenant’s office just as Timms was picking up the phone. “Sergeant?” Timms asked, eyeing him.

  “I appreciate the offer, sir. But I think I’m where I need to be right now.”

  Timms held his gaze a moment then nodded. “I’ll let the captain know.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Casey returned to his desk, he saw the look of approval on Al’s face. And then Zwingler pulling a dollar from his pocket. “Liar’s poker. Last donut. Who’s in?”

  The End

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As usual, I owe a debt of gratitude to others in helping me with this book. Since it has been a while since my last visit to San Francisco Police Department, I am grateful to Lieutenant Pat Correa (ret.), San Francisco Police Department, who not only let me question her endlessly about police procedures specific to San Francisco but allowed me to put her on speed dial—or rather speed text—to ask even more questions as they cropped up. To Sal Towse, of San Francisco, who helped me scout out locations in the city and was patient with my fictional scenarios. To Kim Ostrom, aka Kimberly Cates, who let me bounce ideas off her as we sat in Panera working on our respective books. To Allison Brennan, suspense author extraordinaire, who happens to have a background in political offices and was able to answer my questions about finances in campaigns. And last but not least to Susan Crosby, my longtime critique partner, who knows me so well, and even more important, knows my writing so well, pointing out all the right places that, well, needed work.

  I would also like to thank Shirley Arnett for her generous donation to the Anaheim Library for the character auction. Shirley bid on and won a character name to be used in this book. She chose to include Kevin V. Melton, artist/illustrator by night and caregiver extraordinaire by day. Shirley and Kevin, I hope you are happy with the role I created.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ROBIN BURCELL

  Robin Burcell spent nearly three decades as a police officer, hostage negotiator, and criminal investigator before retiring to write fiction full time. An FBI-trained forensic artist, her drawings have been used to solve a number of crimes, including homicides and bank robberies. She is also the award-winning author of ten novels to date, including Face of Killer, The Bone Chamber, The Dark Hour, The Black List, and The Kill Order.

  CAROLYN WESTON

  Carolyn Weston grew up in Hollywood during the Depression. She played hooky from school in movie theaters and libraries, honing the craft that would make her books so remarkable. During World War II, she worked in an aircraft plant and then did odd jobs around the country before writing Poor Poor Ophelia, the first Al Krug/Casey Kellog police procedural, which became the hit TV series The Streets of San Francisco.