“The assistant tried his cell but it went straight to voice mail,” Zhu said. “Apparently, he doesn’t keep a home phone.”
“You tracking his cell?” Kins asked.
“Trying,” Zhu said. “He’s had it shut off. We’re also working on getting a warrant to track his credit cards and ATM in real time.”
Zhu’s cell phone rang. “This could be the judge.” He stepped to the side to take the call.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Tracy said.
“What?” Kins asked.
“Why someone who we think went to such effort to plan the deaths and disappearance of two women would shoot a third and leave her in his own bed.”
“Nothing in this case has made sense,” Kins said.
Zhu lowered his cell and looked at Tracy. “Graham Strickland’s attorney called the station. He said Strickland called him twenty minutes ago sounding distraught about a dead woman in his loft and someone trying to ruin his life. He’s willing to turn himself in.”
“That’s good news,” Tracy said.
“Yeah, but he wants to talk to you first.”
CHAPTER 29
Zhu wasn’t happy about conceding to Graham Strickland’s request to speak to Tracy before turning himself in. To Zhu, Strickland was a suspect in a brutal murder, and if Zhu had had his way, he would have stormed Phil Montgomery’s office with a SWAT team, slapped handcuffs on Strickland, and hauled his ass downtown to an interrogation room in the Police Bureau.
Tracy didn’t feel like placating Strickland either, but she had a different agenda; she wanted to know what Strickland knew about the disappearances of Andrea Strickland and Devin Chambers, and she might not get a better chance to find out. Strickland no longer had any leverage and was likely scared. The combination might just wipe the smug expression from his face and cause him to tell the truth—or at least some of the truth.
“If he wants to talk, let’s let him talk,” Tracy explained to Zhu. “It might be our only chance to get information out of him. At some point his attorney will convince him to keep his mouth shut. You’ll get your chance to arrest him after he talks to me.”
“I don’t like feeling like I’m being played,” Zhu said.
“Welcome to the club,” Kins said. “This guy is a piece of work.”
“He is,” Tracy agreed, shooting Kins a look to let him know he wasn’t helping their situation. “But the landscape has changed considerably. He’s a suspect in two other deaths, and I’m curious as hell how he’s going to explain it.”
Zhu and his superior relented and Kins drove Tracy to Phil Montgomery’s office. Kins waited in the building lobby with the others as Tracy went up in the elevator. Montgomery met her in the area outside his law-firm door. He looked spent, as if he’d just returned to his office after a full day in trial. He still wore a tie and a dress shirt, but he’d tugged the knot from his neck and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Two half-moon-shaped perspiration stains ringed his armpits.
“He’s in bad shape,” Montgomery said.
Tracy didn’t much care, but she wanted to hear what Strickland had to say, so until she believed he was trying to manipulate her, she’d play nice.
“Do you think he’s suicidal?” she asked.
“Maybe. He hasn’t said much.”
“You made sure he has no weapons?”
Montgomery nodded. “Of course. I think we can both agree that this is tantamount to an interrogation while in custody.”
“Agreed,” Tracy said. She held up her phone. “So, I’m going to tape this. I’ll read him his Miranda rights.”
“Then for the record I’m going to advise him against this.”
“I understand,” she said.
Montgomery opened the door and led her inside the lobby. They moved past the receptionist’s desk. “He’s in the conference room.” Montgomery turned left, continuing past an empty cubicle and a darkened office. He stopped outside a closed door, pausing to look back over his shoulder at Tracy as if to say, Are you ready?
Then he pushed open the door.
Graham Strickland looked up from his seat at the far end of the room. His forearms rested on the conference room table, hands wrapped around a mug of some drink. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view from downtown Portland to the distant green foothills. Though he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on that afternoon, Strickland no longer looked so neat and put together, and he wasn’t displaying the same cocksure smile or arrogant demeanor. His shoulders slumped. His eyes appeared sunken and his gaze distant and unfocused. He had the sullen expression of a kid who’d been caught doing something bad and knew the punishment was going to be severe.
Montgomery walked around the table to the chair beside his client and set down his legal pad and ballpoint pen. Tracy made her way down the opposite side of the table. She pulled out a chair directly across from Strickland.
When seated, Montgomery said, “I’ve told Detective Crosswhite I consider this an interrogation in custody, Graham. As such she’s going to read you your Miranda rights.”
“And I’m going to record our conversation,” Tracy said, putting her phone on the table directly between them and pressing the “Record” button.
Strickland nodded.
“Mr. Strickland, we’re present in a conference room in your attorney’s office,” she said. “I’m going to read you your Miranda rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney . . .” When she’d finished she said, “Do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?”
Strickland gave a subtle nod.
“You have to answer audibly,” Montgomery said. He sat at an angle, facing both Strickland and Tracy, the ballpoint pen in hand.
“Yes, I understand,” Strickland replied, voice barely above a whisper.
Tracy said, “I understand that you’ve asked to speak to me.”
Strickland nodded.
“Audibly,” Montgomery said.
“Yes.”
Strickland sat back and took a deep breath. His chest shuddered. He took a moment to get his emotions under control. Tracy waited. She had interviewed sociopaths before and Strickland had all the markings of one. Often intelligent, they could be master manipulators capable of giving command performances that would make the best Juilliard-trained actors look like amateurs. It was not lost on her that Strickland had asked to speak to her, a woman, and she was on guard in the event his request was to try to manipulate her or the judicial process that would inevitably follow.
“I didn’t kill Megan,” he said.
Tracy didn’t respond.
“I didn’t kill Devin Chambers and I didn’t kill my wife. I know you think I did, but I didn’t.”
“What did you say to Megan Chen when you met her for lunch today?” Tracy asked.
“I told her something had come up in one of my cases but that I could meet her at my loft when I’d finished.”
“Had going back to your loft been part of your original plan?”
“I’d hoped so,” Strickland said.
“How was she going to get in?”
“She knew the code.”
“You were dating?”
“We’d gone out a few times.”
“Tell me what happened after my partner and I left the restaurant?”
“I stayed for a few minutes to check and answer some e-mails, then I called my office and told them I was going to take a longer lunch but that I would be in for an appointment I had at three o’clock.” Strickland took another deep breath and raised the mug to his lips with trembling hands, sipping tea. Lowering the mug, he continued. “I made a few phone calls and drove home.”
“Did you call and tell her you were on your way?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Megan liked to surprise me.”
“Surprise you how?”
“Can I finish? I
think it will become apparent.”
“Go ahead.”
“I parked in my space beneath the building. Megan’s car was parked in one of the guest spaces.”
“What kind of car?” Tracy asked.
“Her car? A blue Camry. I took the elevator from the garage to my landing.”
“I notice you need a code to get in the front entrance to the building and to your apartment. Do you need a code to access your landing from the elevator in the garage?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Megan knew that code?”
Strickland nodded. “It’s the same code as the front door.” He took a breath, blew it out. “When I walked in, I called out her name, but she didn’t answer. I called a couple more times, and when she didn’t answer, I suspected she was either taking a shower upstairs or she was hiding.”
“Did you notice anything unusual, anything out of place that caused you any alarm?”
“No.”
“Why did you think she’d be hiding—because she liked to surprise you?”
“Yes. She’d jump out, or pop out from under the covers.”
“She’d surprised you before?”
“Right.”
“So what did you do when you got home?”
“I went up the stairs.” Strickland’s gaze lacked focus. “The bedroom is blocked by a partition. I couldn’t see anything. I said her name as I stepped around the partition. I thought she was going to jump out at me . . . and that’s when I saw her, and the blood.”
“Where was she?” Tracy asked.
Strickland looked up as if he hadn’t heard the question. “What?”
“Where did you find her?”
“The bed. She was on the bed.”
“In what position?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Was she sitting up, laying down?”
“She was on her stomach with her left arm sort of draped over her head.” Strickland raised his arm and bent it over his head. “Like she’d been sleeping.”
That had been Tracy’s thought when she saw the body. There was no indication Megan Chen had tried to run or avoid her killer, which meant either she knew him, or he’d surprised her. Both could apply to Strickland.
“And you say she’d done this before, surprised you like that?”
“Yes.”
“What position was she in on that occasion?”
“She’d been hiding under the covers. She just sat up and yelled ‘Surprise!’” Strickland said without enthusiasm.
“Do you have any explanation for why she would have been on her stomach?”
Strickland shrugged. “Like I said, she looked like she’d fallen asleep.”
“What did you do next?”
Strickland shook his head. “I saw the gun on the side of the bed and I just backed away. I hit the stair railing and that sort of jarred me. I don’t know. I just turned and ran. I just wanted to get out of there.”
“Did you touch her?”
Strickland emphatically shook his head. “No. There was blood and . . .” He closed his eyes.
“Did you touch the gun?”
“No,” he said softly.
“Where did you go after you left the apartment?”
“I didn’t know where to go.” Strickland blew out a breath, as if about to throw up. If this was an act, he was giving a superb performance. “I didn’t know what to do. I drove around and tried to reach Phil, but he was in court. When I finally reached him he told me to come here.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“And tell them what?” Strickland’s voice rose in a challenge, but it was only momentary. He sighed and slumped away from the table. “What was I going to say, that there was a dead woman in my bed? The DA had already called me a suspect in Andrea’s disappearance, and I know you think I had something to do with Devin’s disappearance. Who was going to believe me?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s my loft. She was in my bed. You saw her with me a couple of hours earlier. I’m an attorney. I know how it looks.”
And that’s what was bothering Tracy. How it looked. It was easy, too easy. Then again, maybe Strickland had intended it to look that way, so easy that Tracy’s first thought would be it could not possibly be him.
“Is it your gun?”
“I don’t own a gun.”
“Did Megan Chen own a gun?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Why did you ask to talk to me, Mr. Strickland?”
His eyes went wide, pupils dilated. Fight or flight they called it. Strickland had fled but now seemed intent on fighting. “Because someone is deliberately trying to ruin my life.”
“Why would someone want to ruin your life?”
Strickland rocked in his chair and gazed up to the corner of the ceiling. A tear trickled down his cheek. “Because of Andrea.”
“What about Andrea?”
He wiped at his tears before redirecting his attention across the table. After several long moments he said, “Look, I did intend to kill Andrea.” He paused again. Phil Montgomery never moved. Tracy waited. “She wanted to climb Rainier. I didn’t want to do it. That’s the truth. I didn’t make it the first time and really didn’t want to try a second time. I got altitude sickness and I really didn’t want to go to the effort to train again. But then . . .” He swallowed and wiped more tears. “. . . I thought about it.”
Tracy looked down at her phone to ensure it was continuing to record. She spoke softly, deliberately. “And you saw it as an opportunity to kill your wife.”
“He didn’t say that,” Montgomery said.
Tracy ignored him.
Strickland closed his eyes, rocking in his chair. “Yes,” he said, though it was nearly inaudible.
“Did you say, ‘Yes’?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was going to push her off the mountain. But I didn’t,” Strickland added quickly. “I didn’t do it. What I told that detective about her getting up to use the bathroom was the truth. I didn’t do it.”
“Tell me,” Tracy said. “What happened to her?”
Strickland took a few additional deep breaths. Montgomery sat with his chin resting in his hand, elbow propped on the table. He hadn’t taken a note.
“My business was failing. I’d invested everything we had and I was going to lose it all, everything. I’d forged a letter from one of the partners at the firm saying I was going to be made partner and earn a higher salary, and the bank was intimating that I would be prosecuted if I couldn’t find a way to pay back the money. I begged Andrea to let me borrow some of the money from her trust account, but she wouldn’t give it to me. So I told her that I’d forged her name on the personal guaranties to the bank and to the landlord, and if she didn’t give me some of the money to pay off our creditors she was going to lose it all.”
“What was her response?”
“She got angry. We fought.”
“Did it become physical?”
“I was angry. I’d been drinking. I grabbed her and she kicked me. I hit her. I’m not proud of it, but I hit her. Then I left.”
“Had you been abusive before?”
“No. It was just that one time. It was just the heat of the moment.” Tracy doubted it. “I felt like everything was crashing down around me and she wouldn’t do anything to help me.”
Tracy couldn’t muster any sympathy, but she went where Strickland directed the conversation. “Where did you go?”
“A bar. I went to a bar near our loft, and I thought about what to do, about how I could get the money.”
“You started thinking of ways you could kill her.”
“He didn’t say that,” Montgomery said, giving Tracy a second, quick glance.
“Were you considering killing Andrea as a way to get the money?”
; “No, not then,” Strickland said. “I hadn’t even thought of Mount Rainier then. Andrea brought it up when I went back to the loft two days later, but that’s not what I want to tell you. What I want to tell you is this. When I was in that bar that night someone said my name and when I looked up, I saw Devin Chambers.”
“Devin Chambers was in the bar?” Tracy asked, skeptical.
“Yes.”
“So you knew her.”
“We’d met a couple of times but I can’t say I knew her.”
“Did you ask her what she was doing there?”
“No.”
“Had you been to that bar before?”
“Sure, many times.”
“Had you ever seen her there before?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t ask her what she was doing there?”
“No. It was just ‘Graham?’ and I turned around.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, she was with a few people. They were leaving and she spotted me and came over to say hello. I guess I looked like I was in pretty bad shape because she asked me what was wrong.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her everything. I told her I’d drunk too much and that I was mad at Andrea, and that we’d had a fight. I wanted to make Andrea look bad, you know, selfish. So I just told Devin everything.”
“Did you tell her about Andrea’s trust?”
“Yes. I said she had all this money and she wouldn’t let me use it to help us.”
“How did she react when you told her?”
“She said if she’d had the money, and I was her husband, she’d give it to me.”
“She said that?”
He nodded.
“Did you go home with her that night?”
Strickland nodded. “Yes.”
“And did you sleep with her?”
“Yes. I was just so angry with Andrea,” he said in a rush, as if it justified sleeping with his wife’s best friend.
“Did you continue to see her after that night?”
Strickland lowered his head. “Yes.”
“Was Devin part of your plan to kill Andrea?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t even considering it then. I just wanted to hurt Andrea, you know?”
“And you thought sleeping with her friend would be a way to hurt her.”
The Trapped Girl (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 4) Page 28
