Before Maggie could say more — because she clearly had more to say — Belichek dropped his gaze. Better, Carson spoke up.
“So, Delattre runs the search. Celeste intervenes in York’s attempt to commit a crime. But York doesn’t know it. Means he still has motive to kill Bethany Usher … or Jamie, if he was that unable to face disappointing her.”
Carson’s gambit worked, to Belichek’s relief. Maggie followed the lure of exploring motives — and away from examining him.
“Kill her, but not disappoint her,” she repeated in disgust. “Not out of the question, though his motive’s stronger for killing Bethany. On the other hand—”
Landis broke in. “Yeah, this is fun and all, but some evidence would be nice. The Commonwealth Attorney’s office won’t stick their lily soft necks out and indict without a truckload of evidence.”
Maggie growled, but her teeth weren’t in it.
“Too bad you can’t help us when we talk to Isaacson in an hour,” Landis said.
“Not a good idea,” Maggie said with great regret.
Landis nodded. “But you can take a closer look at the searching Adam Delattre did. Maybe you guys will see something I didn’t. Come with now to the department and—”
“Send it to Maggie to look at from home,” Carson said. “We’re going to her place as soon as you drop us off at Belichek’s for our vehicles.”
“You’re going to have to break this habit of making decisions for me,” she said to Carson.
“As soon as this situation with Jamie’s resolved.”
And Maggie didn’t argue.
* * * *
Telling the rest of the foundation staff and volunteers they would hit the ground running tomorrow, Jamie ordered them to leave early today, and they had. Even Adam, who said he needed to pick up some components before a favorite computer store closed. Celeste gave Schmidt a measuring look, humphed, but left, too.
The oppressive atmosphere immediately improved. In the hours since, Jamie made a respectable dent in the first level of getting back up to speed on foundation affairs. Momentum kept her going, without letting anything else slide into her thoughts.
Twice, she’d waved to Schmidt at his post by the entry when she left her office for the supply closet where Celeste also kept paper files on the families they helped, including handwritten thank you notes, which gave Jamie a lift on her worst days. But no time for those today.
Tonight, she corrected herself wryly. It was fully dark outside.
Her third trip was for the most mundane of reasons. She needed pens. She didn’t see Schmidt. He must be down the hall or outside the office suite door. She’d heard him making rounds before.
As she turned to go into the closet, her angle gave her a different view.
Officer Schmidt’s feet extending past Celeste’s desk.
She swallowed a cry and ran to him, her heart squeezing painfully. He had a gash on his head, oozing blood, and he was unconscious.
Could he have fallen? Caught his head on the edge of the desk?
You aren’t dismissing anything, you aren’t cutting off possibilities.
She pulled her phone from her sweater pocket to call 911.
The lights went out.
She knew where the breaker box was on the first floor. She knew how long it took to climb those stairs. Not enough time for 911 to get here.
She couldn’t leave Schmidt and run out the back way.
She couldn’t leave Schmidt…
Sliding her phone back in her pocket, she grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled as hard as she could to drag him.
It was only a few feet to the door to the conference room, but she had never worked harder. She switched to his other arm. At the door, his unconscious body got caught on the frame and she’d have shouted her frustration if she had breath.
She yanked him to the side by the belt, then grabbed the bottoms of his pants up like they were doing that two-person gymnastics roll. When he cleared the doorframe, she dropped his legs forward, leaving him mostly bent double, crawled over him and closed and locked the door.
Leaning against the wall, trying to get her breath back.
She’d probably done all this for nothing. The power went out often enough. Nobody was out there.
You aren’t dismissing anything, you aren’t cutting off possibilities.
Then she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.
The room had no windows. No other exit, even if she could have gotten Schmidt up.
They were trapped.
She had her phone in her hand again.
But how fast could 911 get here? And how close were those footsteps?
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
“What was your relationship to Bethany Usher?”
“No relationship.”
“You knew her.” Belichek left no maneuvering room. It was the only way with Isaacson. “When did you meet?”
“You’re making this sound like an interview — like I’m a suspect.”
“It is. What comes out of this interview will determine your status.”
“Wait a minute. That’s—”
“When did you meet Bethany Usher?”
After that initial protest, Isaacson had himself back under control. He knew what was at stake, but he still produced an off-hand half-shrug, meant to convey he met so many women so many ways he couldn’t be expected to keep track.
“When?”
“Must have been spring, because the tourist surge had started.”
Isaacson had thought she was an out-of-towner. The easiest of no-strings one-night-stands.
“We got together a few times. Nothing serious. And then she asked me for a favor. To help her get a job.”
Belichek sat back, looking at him, good-looking, smart in some ways … and incredibly stupid in others. He also thought of Bethany Usher and how she’d operated.
Odds were good, she had something over him. Isaacson didn’t help people for nothing and wasn’t inclined to altruism.
“Why did you use Nancy Quinn’s name?”
He smirked. “For exactly the way it turned out. With all her connections, it wouldn’t surprise people she knew anyone, no matter how unlikely. People wouldn’t think of questioning someone Nancy Quinn recommended. And, best of all, nobody would want to contact her and ask her about her rec in case it sounded like they were questioning her judgment.”
“Had it all figured out, didn’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
“All except the part about Bethany Usher being shot in the face.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“You started the chain of events,” Landis said.
“That’s like blaming the butterfly in the rainforest for flapping its wings and causing — whatever.”
“Did she ask you to get her a job at the Sunshine Foundation?”
“No. Said anywhere.”
“Why did you send her to the Sunshine Foundation?”
“Must’ve heard something about an opening there.”
“Why did you send her to the Sunshine Foundation?”
“It was months ago. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I—”
“Why did it seem like a good idea?”
“I thought it would be amusing.”
Belichek came at him again in the same unemotional tone. “Why would it be amusing?”
“Because she looked like Maggie’s cousin. Could’ve been her sister.”
“What about that amused you?”
“Because Jamie’s like Maggie, thinking she’s better than everybody else and maybe if she saw this other woman who looked like her and was the farthest thing from Saint Jamie, she’d get over herself.”
Belichek stood slowly. “You came onto her and she rejected you. And you wanted to play a mind game to punish her.”
Isaacson’s strong jaw worked hard.
“Jamie doesn’t think she’s better than everybody else. But she sure as hell knows s
he’s better than you.”
* * * *
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Oz Zeedyk complained.
The miracle was he hadn’t lawyered up. The consensus was he didn’t want to share talking time with a lawyer.
Though Zeedyk seemed to respond better to Landis than Belichek’s silent presence.
“You keep saying you have sources for your stories and that’s proof you’re not the perpetrator, but you’re not giving us the proof, Oz.”
“Anonymous sources.”
“Oz, Oz, Oz, I thought we were past this. You can’t help yourself if you don’t tell us the truth.”
“It is the truth. I only saw the guy once and I don’t know who he is, except he’s a listener to the podcast.”
“When did you see him?”
“At the scene.”
“What did he look like?”
“Too dark. He was a shadow. Probably a guy, but I couldn’t swear to that.”
“He was at the scene?”
“Yeah. That first night when they found a body in Jamison Chancellor’s house and Red Hill Street had all the lights and TV trucks and forensic vans.”
“Why were you at the scene, Oz?” Landis asked.
“It’s expected of a crime podcaster. Pick up local color, get the feel of the crime, and let fans meet you one-on-one. This guy was a fan. We talked a bit, then he walked right by you—” He jerked his head toward Belichek. “—before you went in the house.”
* * * *
“We can narrow down the time, have the tech guys jump to then, and you know what path you took into the scene, so we narrow that down. We might get something on this guy.”
Belichek had a bad feeling. “We have to try for it, but it was damned dark back there, Landis.”
“If we come up empty on what the department shot and what we already have from neighbors and social media, we can ask the public for more.”
“Another factor we can’t lose sight of is somebody else at the scene, by his own admission. Our friend Oz. He could be making up the whole thing.”
* * * *
Belichek was right. It was damned dark beyond the police lights. Plus, neighbors and spectators focused their video across the street at Jamie’s house, not on the dark sidewalk below their front steps.
All they got was a smudge of a shadow moving away from another smudge of a shadow, that might or might not have been Oz, and moving behind a third smudge of a shadow that resolved into Belichek in the next frames as he walked into the light.
“Well, whoever it is, is about your height, Belichek,” said the tech on their fourth squint-eyed viewing of the video.
“Not an NBA player. That narrows it down,” Landis grumbled. “Anything you can do with the quality?”
“I’ll see, but don’t count on it.”
Landis and Belichek started back to the detective section.
“What are you thinking, Bel?”
“I’m thinking this adds some credence to Zeedyk’s story. Which adds to the possibility he’s not the killer and somebody’s still after Jamie.”
Landis grunted. “Good thing you got Schmidt to the foundation.”
* * * *
“Violent crimes. Tanner Landis.”
“Landis, it’s Jamie Chancellor. Is Belichek there? If—”
“Yeah.”
Hurriedly, she said, “Please don’t tell him it’s me. Please.”
His gaze cut toward Belichek, concentrating on his screen.
“Okay. For now.”
“I wasn’t sure I should call you, but… I… uh, I was wondering if you could come help me.”
“I got that, but where?”
A jumbled sound came through the phone. A cross of laughter and tears. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure… Especially since this was my only phone call.”
His hand stopped in the act of closing his notebook in preparation for jamming it in a pocket. “This was—? Where are you?”
“I’m in jail. For calling in a false bomb report.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
“First, I thought I’d say it was a break-in, but I wondered if they’d send enough people, because if they sent just one officer, well, I already had Officer Schmidt injured and I didn’t want anyone else picked off. How is he?” Jamie asked Landis. “They wouldn’t tell me while I was waiting for you.”
“He should be okay. Hell of a headache, some stitches, they’re watching him for a concussion. Also, some rug burn, which is understandable from your account, and a few sore muscles in his back.”
She did not answer the question implicit in that last part.
“Thank goodness. My second thought was to call in a fire,” she explained, “but I thought all the uproar might give somebody the chance they wanted. Plus, I wanted police. I figured with a report of a bomb, they’d keep everybody else out and send in the police. I was right, too.”
Landis resisted the temptation to drive his hands through his hair. “Yeah, you were right. Only now they think you’re a wacko.”
“I was convincing,” she said with some pride. “I thought since you’re all police… Can’t you explain to them what’s been happening? Can’t you vouch for me? Or will they think you’re a wacko, too?”
“Probably.”
But he talked the guys downstairs into letting her go, even skating on the paperwork. Palery might not be happy he’d used his name liberally — like the security on a loan — but they let her leave with him.
“I want to go to my house.”
“That’s not a good idea—”
“You’ve said you think that podcaster is the killer. There’s no reason for me not to go to home and I want to go there.”
He did a quick calculation in his head. “We’ll pick up takeout on the way.”
After a minute of driving, he said, “You didn’t do half-bad, all things considered. Were you scared?”
She nodded and swallowed. “Spitless.”
“Spitless?” he grinned.
“Just because I don’t use the language you’re probably accustomed to doesn’t mean I don’t feel as strongly, so shut up.”
“I didn’t—”
“I said, shut up.”
He complied, speaking only after picking up the takeout order.
On the way out of the parking lot, he said, in his most winning tone. “You know, saying you were scared spitless makes sense, because your throat goes dry. Tight, too. So you really are spitless.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes wide and open. It was if he could see clear through to her backbone. He saw not only how she viewed him, but how she saw Belichek. It left him with a little regret, some disappointment, a trace of envy, a bit of pleasure, and a dose of worry.
She shook her head. “Aw, shut up, Landis.” And then she was laughing. It made her damned sexy.
But it stirred nothing in him.
Nothing.
A self-protective mechanism? Or part of the partnership code.
Though in this case, the ball had never been in his court. She wasn’t the least bit interested in him, because she was falling for his partner.
Or had fallen.
He hoped to hell this podcaster really was the killer, they could keep him in jail, and get a conviction.
Fairlington County Police Department News Conference
I’m Fairlington County Police Public Affairs Officer Elliott Kepler. I don’t see any unfamiliar faces, but if you need my name spelled, let me know. As promised, I have more information on the background of the victim in the Red Hill Street murder. She has been identified as Boda Uria, who used the name Bethany Usher while she has been in the area for at least the past six months.
We have connected her forensically to other names. Under those names she has convictions or outstanding warrants in fourteen jurisdictions in nine states. We have listed those on the handout available for download or the printed version by the door.
Those convictions invol
ved crimes in which she illegally took up residence in a house, most often by misrepresentation, stole property, especially collectibles, as well as cash, then left before the homeowners returned.
Our investigators are currently tracking her known associates, with potential leads to items taken from the house on Red Hill Street.
She was hired by the Sunshine Foundation in June. It has been determined her references were falsified. That, too, matches her methods in the crimes outlined in her convictions and warrants.
Her fingerprints at the apartment she’d rented, her place of work, her truck, and the house on Red Hill Street all matched fingerprints obtained in connection with a criminal record for Boda Uria, including Bethany Marie Usher, the name she used most recently.
Washington Post: What about the body’s fingerprints? Is that how you identified her?
PIO Kepler: Identification was initially made through medical records and has been confirmed by DNA.
Washington Post: Are you saying the body has no fingerprints?
PIO Kepler: Identification was initially made through medical records and has been confirmed by DNA. The department will not be commenting further on that aspect.
Fairlington Leader: What kind of crimes, Kep? Can you get us a copy of her criminal record?
PIO Kepler: This information has just been received by the Fairlington County Police Department. We will not be releasing details at this time. However, I can tell you charges were filed in two cases involving obtaining illegal entry to a home.
WTOP Radio: Where were these cases?
PIO Kepler: One in Pennsylvania and one in Maryland.
Fairlington Leader: Were those the only charges associated with those cases?
PIO Kepler: No. As you can understand, since these were not our cases, the release of detailed information should come from those jurisdictions.
Washington Times: Did Bethany Usher have connections to Jamison Chancellor? Before she was hired? Or more of a relationship than working together after?
PIO Kepler: Our investigation has found nothing to indicate that. As you’ll see from the convictions and warrants, she most often moved to an area, worked her way into positions of connection, even trust.
Price of Innocence Page 32
