“Thanks again for your help, Mr. Dell. Would you like a coffee or a bottled water?”
Dell said nothing.
Back in the hall outside the interview rooms, Staal could hear A.J. Morgan.
“What gives? Where’s that Staal dude?”
“I’m here, Morgan. We’ve got a lineup for you to look at.”
The line of men still stood across the room. Anderson had changed Douglas’ number from three to five. Gooch raised the blind once more.
Morgan glanced at the Crown Counsel with mild familiarity and then looked through the window.
“Jesus, that’s one ugly bunch a queers. Can’t help you cops, don’t know any one of ‘em.” Morgan paused. “Shit; number five. Get him to come closer.”
Staal leaned toward the wall and spoke into an intercom. “Number five. Take two steps forward.”
Douglas stepped closer.
“Holy fuck. It’s the dude from the alley last night.”
“You sure?” asked Gooch.
“Yeah, it’s him. Dude didn’t know I was watchin’ him. Jesus, I thought this was about that CD shop robbery last week. I um, well that’s what that prick Anderson told me.”
A uniform cop took Morgan away when Gooch motioned him to do so.
Darren Clarke, who remained quiet throughout the identification process, now spoke in a professional tone. “Congratulations, Detectives, you have yourselves a great steaming pile of circumstantial evidence. Neither of your wits saw anything that any legal-aid hack couldn’t bury with a dozen examples of mistaken identity. Get me something concrete, a confession, a tasty DNA match...besides, isn’t IHIT handling the Birthday Boy case?”
“Staal and I are more interested in a warrant to search his residence and vehicle,” Gooch cut him off. “We know we’re far from clearing this one, Clarke.”
“When we have something—we’ll hand it over to the team,” Staal said.
“A warrant? Why didn’t you say so? I’ll give Judge Wanamaker a call and inform him you’ll be stopping by.”
Clarke turned away and disappeared down the hall.
“Fraser is already over at the courthouse, tracking down the judge,” Gooch said. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed Fraser, and told him about the two positive ID’s. A minute later Gooch said to Staal, “Ken says he’ll have a warrant in twenty minutes. Let’s roll for Douglas’s place.”
“Hold on, Rachael. If we fly over there and lay a warrant on Mrs. Douglas, she’ll lawyer up her son in a flash.”
“Shit, you’re right, Jack.” She told Fraser to come back to West Precinct.
“I think you should go at him for the Walker murder,” Staal said. “Go at him hard, get loud, and then I’ll take over and save him from the crazy-bitch cop.”
Rachael smiled. “Let’s do it. You set it up.”
Staal returned to Interview Room Two. Douglas was slumped over the desk. The other bodies from the line up were gone. Staal nodded to Anderson and the uniform cop left the room.
“Good news, Matt.”
Douglas raised his head.
“You’re clear on the auto theft thing,” Staal said.
“What about Jay?”
“Changed his story—so we don’t believe him.”
“Fuckin’ A! So I’m outta here?”
“No such luck, man. Got another detective who wants a word with you on something else.”
Staal tapped the door to the hallway. Gooch entered the room.
“What the hell? What is this?” asked Douglas. His face was wary as he watched Rachael circle the room. Staal stepped back to the corner and sat down.
Gooch took a seat at the desk in front of Douglas. “Matt, I’m Sergeant Detective Gooch. I need to ask you some questions.”
“What is this about?”
“I need to know your exact whereabouts from 10 until 12 last night.” Her voice was calm. “And don’t give me any bullshit.”
“Like I, um, told Detective Staal, I was home last night at that time. My Mom can vouch for me. Call her.” Matt looked over to Staal. “Please call her and see.”
“I just called her, Matt. She says she heard your radio going, but didn’t actually see you until this morning, before you left for work.”
“I was. I was there, I swear it.”
“Look, Douglas, we know you were out last night. We’ve got a witness who puts you at Jim’s diner, over on Second Avenue, at 10 last night.”
“No. No way, lady.” He shook his head.
“This guy picked you out of a line-up, says you had a cheeseburger, fries, and a coffee.” Gooch took off her watch, a ring, put the jewelry on the cabinet, and rolled up her sleeves.
“No.” Douglas watched Gooch remove her things. He glanced at Staal again.
“You smoke Marlboro’s, Matt?”
“Yeah, so?”
“A second witness puts you in the lane behind the diner at approximately 10:30.” Gooch’s voice grew louder and more aggressive as she went on. “We found Marlboro light butts in that lane. Your cigarette butts.”
“I don’t get this.” Matt’s eyes were watering.
“That’s where you struck Kimberly Walker in the throat. Put a leather belt around her neck and pulled it so tight she couldn’t breath. Then you raped her. You raped her with a wood-hammer handle, you sick fuck!” Rachael rounded the table and grabbed hold of Douglas’s shirt. She cranked him to his feet and pushed him backward until his spine met the wall.
“You killed her, you piece of shit!” She was right in his face, her spittle spraying his mug. Then she turned him with all her strength, and forced him down hard in his chair. “Tell me why you did it!”
No answer.
She slapped him with the knuckles of her hand. “Tell me why, now!” She held him down with her left arm and raised her right fist as if to strike him. Douglas stared at her, he new he was about to be beaten.
“Step out, Sergeant!” Staal commanded.
“This is my case, Detective,” She turned to sneer at Staal. The look on his partner’s face told him that Gooch was still working the guy. Perhaps she was getting a bit too rough, but she hadn’t lost it.
“Step out and take a breather.”
Gooch let go of her grip on Douglas. He slumped in the chair. She turned and left the room.
“Please excuse my partner, Matt. She gets, well, you’ve seen how she gets.”
“She’s crazy. That bitch is fucked.”
“We’ve got a murdered woman, Matt. Brutally raped. You can see how she might overreact. You want a Coke, a smoke maybe?”
Staal sat down in front of Douglas. He wanted to pick up where Rachael had left off and beat the shit out of the little twerp until he confessed, told the how and why’s and where’s. But, unfortunately, that tactic was decades extinct.
Douglas pulled his shirt up to his face to dry his tears. His cheeks were red where Rachael had slapped him. “Yeah, a cigarette would be okay.”
Staal got up, opened the second drawer of the cabinet, and reached in for the pack and matches. He lit one for himself and another for Douglas.
Douglas took the lit cigarette and hesitated. “It’s okay to smoke in here?”
A sign on the door said, Don’t Even Think about Smoking. Staal nodded yes.
“So, Matt, the book store’s not a bad place to work?”
“It’s not too bad.” Douglas took a long drag on his smoke.
“Bet you get a lot of tail there, huh?”
“I guess.” Douglas fidgeted in his chair.
“So, you met Kimberly Walker at the bookstore, traced her to the diner? You asked her out and she told you to get lost. That pissed you off. Hey, I’ve been there, I understand.”
Douglas said nothing.
“You went out to the lane, just to talk to her, but she told you to fuck off. You lost your cool. You hit her. It went from bad to worse. I understand.”
“I don’t know a Kim Walker. I didn’t do anything like that.” Douglas was crying ag
ain.
“I can help you, Matt, but you need to tell me how it happened. If you talk to me, I’ll let the Crown know how much you cooperated.”
Matt shook his head.
“Tell me about last night, Matt. I have a warrant to search your home. We both know I’m going to find the evidence there that I need to convict you of murder.” He paused to let his words sink in. “This is going to scare the shit out of your mother, Matt. Eight cops busting in and tossing your place. What will your mom think? Why don’t you spare her that grief by telling me what happened last night?” He paused again. “Think about your mother, Matt.”
“There’s nothing in my house.”
“Nothing, huh? So, I won’t find the belt you used or the clothes you wore?” He reached out and took the cigarette from him. “You know about DNA, Matt?”
Douglas nodded.
“I bet I find all kind of shit at your house to link you to this homicide. I bet I get a DNA sample off this butt that matches the ones we found at the scene last night.”
“Look all you want. I stole a car last night, a Mercedes. That’s it. I didn’t go to no diner, and I didn’t kill anybody.” Tears streamed down his face.
“Well, Matt, if that’s the way you want to do this. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what happed. Talk to me; right here, right now. If not, then I’ll go ahead and build a case against you so strong that even O.J.’s lawyers couldn’t get you off. You’ll get life in prison.” Douglas looked away. “Suit yourself, Matt.”
Staal got up from the table and walked into the hall where Rachael was still looking through the one-way mirror at Douglas.
“Wouldn’t budge, huh?” Rachael said. “Well, let’s put this warrant to use.”
“Yeah. I’ll have Anderson put him in holding.”
Chapter 8
Rachael Gooch said nothing from the passenger side of the Impala. Staal’s thoughts drifted from the impending search to the park shooting dreams. Did it mean something? Why were they happening again with such frequency? He shook his head, rubbed his face, and turned the sedan down Elsom Avenue until he found the Douglas home. His empty stomach growled, begging for lunch.
“We should be handing this over to Degarmo and the team, Jack.”
“That auto-theft crew that our people are working on targets high-end Euro cars and this guy stole a Benz,” Staal said, gaining momentum as his story took shape. “He might be a worker bee for that ring. Douglas could be the piece that brings it down.”
“And IHIT has no interest in auto-theft.”
“Nope. Only if somebody gets killed.”
Gina and Fraser had already parked and were ready to execute the warrant. Gooch took the warrant sheet from Fraser and lead the way to the front door. A woman’s voice answered the intercom when Staal pressed the doorbell.
“Mrs. Douglas, it’s the police,” he said.
The woman opened the door the distance of the security chain. “You are holding my son?” she asked.
“Mathew Douglas is currently under arrest for auto theft. Please open the door, Mrs. Douglas; we have a warrant to search the home.”
After closing the door and removing the chain, she re-opened the door and stepped back. It was almost noon, but she still wore her nightclothes.
“Mathew tells me that you are trying to get him to tell you he killed those women in the news.” Her lips trembled and she shot an anxious look into the living room as she led them into the hall.
Staal knew someone was there.
She turned back to the detectives. “He says you think he’s Birthday Boy.” Her hair was disheveled and her eyes swollen from crying.
“We don’t want Mathew to admit to anything he did not do. He has confessed to stealing a car, and if he committed any other crime, he needs to talk to us now so we can help him,” Gooch said.
“Help him? Don’t you mean nail him to the wall?” A man in a cheap gray suit stepped into the hallway. His face glistened with sweat and oil, and his hair lay slicked back and greasy.
“Who might you be, sir?” Lawyer, Staal knew before he even asked.
“This is my attorney, James O’Neal,” Douglas said. To O’Neal, she said, “Can you stop this, James?”
O'Neal took the warrant sheet from Douglas and looked it up and down. “No, Laura. It’s legal. If you attempt to stop these people, you will be arrested.”
Staal and the others pulled on rubber gloves and moved past Douglas and O’Neal. They stopped in the living room.
“Me and Jack will start upstairs in his bedroom. If you guys want, you can begin down here,” Gooch said.
“I ran him at the DMV,” Fraser said. “He’s got a ’97 Civic registered. I’ll look in the garage.”
Gina Hayes said, “Computer over there looks like a place to start.” She moved to a table in the east corner of the room where a bargain brand unit sat with its tropical fish screen saver flickering.
Staal followed Gooch up the stairway. The home featured hardwood flooring in most of the main floor. The stairs and second floor’s thick, forest-green shag carpet was stained and thirty years out of date. The walls had no artwork or paper, only dull whitewash and framed photos of family members.
Gooch wore a dark blue windbreaker with POLICE written in bright yellow letters. Staal carried a duffle bag containing evidence bags, a camera, index cards, flashlight, and a print kit. He stepped into Mathew Douglas’s bedroom. The room was a disaster, the bed unmade and towels, underwear, shirts, jeans, and magazines strewn over every inch of the floor. Staal smelled garbage, dandruff, and soiled clothing.
He pulled his rubber gloves tight, knelt, and slid the mattress and box spring off the bed frame to reveal the filth underneath. “Jesus,” he whispered. Fruit flies rose from the discarded banana and orange peels. “Christ, we should get Drummond to pick through this shit.” He pushed books and food rappers aside and saw a red toolbox. He pulled the first drawer and found nothing. In the second were three hammers with wooden handles. A fourth handle had no head, but the base was tapped for better grip. He picked up the handle to look at the tapered end where a ball-peen or clawed hammer would normally be mounted. The tape appeared worn.
“Is that hickory wood?” Gooch asked.
“Damned if I know.” He placed the handle in a plastic bag.
Rachael held up a black leather belt and bagged it. She removed every shirt, sweater, and jacket and checked each for bloodstains. She then lifted a pair of shoes and turned them over. “What size footprints were in the lane and the park?”
“Eight.” Staal turned to look at the shoes. “Those flat bottomed?”
“Yeah, but they’re nines.”
Staal emptied an ashtray of butts into an evidence bag and then did the same with an empty Marlboro pack. He moved to the bureau. In each drawer, he found more items that could link Douglas to the killings. He bagged black jeans, two bandanas, more leather belts and gloves—the killer had to have worn gloves. Still, he found nothing substantial; no smoking gun, so to speak.
To file charges and convict Douglas, the lab guys would have to find evidence of anal penetration on one of the hammers, or match the leather belts to the trace fragments of leather left on the victim’s throat. Perhaps the shoes would prove to be the ones that left prints in the bushes of Discovery Park and in the dirt and debris of the lane behind Dell’s diner.
Wilson Drummond stepped into the bedroom. “You guys couldn’t wait for me and my people to do this?”
“There’s lots of work left for you. Be my guest.” Staal walked into the hall. “Find me a hair from Walker or something, Will. It’s pretty thin.”
Staal left Drummond mumbling about not waiting for him. He continued down the hall and paused in the bathroom. He looked under the sink and in the medicine cabinet, but found nothing. His excitement waned and he descended the stairs after a quick wander around the master bedroom. He moved through the main floor and noticed Fraser and Hayes talking just outside in the fro
nt yard.
Staal increased his pace. “Anything?”
“Nothing major. You?” Fraser flipped open his notebook.
Staal shook his head. “He smokes the right brand...that’s about it. If we could nail Douglas with dick-squat, he’d be fucked.”
“Maybe Drummond will match a hair to the others or get something off those belts,” Gina said. “His people are still working on the DNA from the saliva on those Marlboros from the lane.”
“Yeah, Jack. Wouldn’t be the first time Wilson made chicken soup from chicken shit,” Fraser added.
“I don’t know, guys. I think we caught a car thief today, and that’s it. When Gooch is done, let’s head.”
As if on cue, Rachael Gooch moved through the doorway. Her face betrayed similar disappointment. She said nothing as she walked the length of the driveway, opened the Impala’s trunk, and flung her gear inside. Staal added his equipment, and swung himself into the driver’s seat.
When Gooch got in beside him, he said, “I know we have a ton of paperwork and calls to make, but I’m starving.”
“Good call, Jack. Let’s pick something up on the way.”
Staal took two duffle bags of evidence from the search to the lab. He signed a clipboard and made sure the technician receiving the bags knew where the items originated.
The lab tech, Johansson, Staal thought his name was, sniffed at the bags. “Mmm, I smell overtime.”
“There’s lots to go around on this one,” Staal said, heading for the elevator to the detective squad room.
While washing down mouthfuls of turkey sub with coffee, Staal began an Evidence Report Form. He cataloged every item bagged and seized from the Douglas home. He was careful to name and date each bag. Next, he finished his account of the Crime Scene Report from the lane and the Arrest Report for Mathew Douglas. He paused frequently to think about the search. Earlier that morning he had been pumped about Douglas. Now they were back to square one.
Max Barnes stepped up to Staal and Gooch’s desk area. “Anything from the search?”
“Nothing that jumps out at you, Boss. Drummond and his people are still on scene.”
Dead of Knight Page 7
