He shook his head. “If it’d been me who’d been killed, you would’ve had plenty of suspects, but everyone liked Gabby. She didn’t have an unkind bone in her body.”
“Did you ever talk to Foxx about his attention to your wife? Is it possible one of his girlfriends could have been jealous of her and Foxx? Jealous enough to kill her?”
The judge’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like what—”
His office manager burst into the room. “Excuse me, Judge Winslow, but the DA wants a word with you.”
He turned to her. “Thank you.”
“And here’s your mail,” she said, plopping a stack of letters on his desk. “The envelope on top says ‘personal’ so I didn’t open it.”
Judge Winslow turned to Boone. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to continue this discussion at a later time.”
“Could you at least answer that last question?”
“Not adequately with no more time than we have.”
“Maybe later then.” Boone stood and extended his hand. The Judge accepted and Boone said, “Thanks for seeing me. I do have a few more questions. When would be a good time for me to come back?”
The Judge’s mouth twitched. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything about Harrison Foxx’s murder, but I’ll answer whatever questions you have after court recesses at five—unless the defense is successful in delaying the case again. If they do, it could be earlier.” Then he leveled his gaze at Boone. “You just make sure you find who sent my daughter that box before another attempt is made.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” he said as his gaze rested on the stack of mail the secretary placed on the Judge’s desk.
“Personal” was written in bold print on the top letter. And there were three Forever stamps in the right corner. Way too much postage for a simple letter. “Do you often get mail like that?”
Judge Winslow looked down and frowned. “No.”
“I think you need to move away from the desk,” Boone said, dialing the bomb squad. Maybe the ricin Saturday night really was meant for the Judge and not Rachel.
“You don’t think it’s—”
“I don’t know, but it looks suspicious. We need to evacuate the building.”
“What if it’s nothing?”
“I’m not willing to take that risk. Where’s your fire alarm?”
Once the building was evacuated and the bomb squad was inside, Boone called Dep. Steve Lock and filled him in on what was going on. Then he called Rachel. “Your father received a suspicious letter and we’re outside the Federal Building.”
“A bomb?”
“Not sure. Could be something else, like ricin.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Lock arrived first. “What do you think is in the envelope?”
It had been thin. “It wasn’t bulky enough to be explosives. Ricin comes to mind.”
“Are you saying the package the other night was meant for me?” the Judge asked.
“I considered that then, but I didn’t have proof.” He caught sight of Rachel in his peripheral vision.
“Proof of what?” Rachel asked as she joined them.
“That the package Saturday night was meant for your father.”
“I had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.”
“Definitely not ruling you out, but it’s making more sense that your father could have been the target. He’s the one with the high-profile cases.”
Deputy Lock nodded, turning to the Judge. “And you’re now under the protective services of the US Marshals’ office. Either one of my men or I will be with you at all times.”
The Judge gave a curt acknowledgment and then turned toward Rachel. “I’m glad it’s not you they’re after.”
Boone noticed that even though his words were warm, he didn’t make an effort to embrace Rachel. Nor did she try to reach out to him, just a perfunctory nod. Boone turned as Rodney Cortez exited the building and walked toward them. “What do you have?”
“A note and white powder,” Cortez said. “It looks like the same stuff we found Saturday night, but won’t know if it’s ricin until it’s tested. Figure it’s not active since the note that was in the envelope said the next time it’d be the real deal. My people are checking the mail delivered to the other offices in the building now.”
While Boone hated that the Judge was in someone’s crosshairs, he was glad Rachel might be off the hook. They had enough to contend with as it was. If she weren’t the target, it would be easier to focus on the case.
“Do you know when we can reenter the building?” the Judge asked.
“Not today,” Cortez said. “Should be clear by tomorrow morning.”
“Since we can’t go to your office, do you mind coming to mine, Judge Winslow?” Steve asked. “Your secretary was kind enough to go through your files yesterday and pull any cases where there’d been threats either implied or said outright, and I’d like to go over them with you.”
The Judge ran his hand through his dark hair. “I still have trouble believing this has happened.”
Rachel stepped toward her father, and for a second, Boone thought she was going to give him a hug. Instead, she simply touched his arm. “I’d like to stop by the house later.”
Surprise crossed his face. “That would be nice. Any particular time?”
“Around eight?”
“Sounds good.”
“Until then, be careful and watch your back.”
A tiny smile formed on his lips. “A Winslow always watches his back.”
“Oh no!” Rachel raised her hand to her lips. “Gran! One of us needs to call her before reporters get hold of this.”
“I’ll call on the way to the deputy’s office,” he said.
So the grandmother brought out concern in both of them. Boone turned to the Judge. “Once you finish there, I’d like to go over those things we talked about. Can you join us, Steve?”
“Sure thing,” the deputy said.
“I think you’re on the wrong track, Boone,” Winslow said before he turned and followed the US Marshal to his car.
“What was he talking about?” Rachel rubbed her arms as they drove away.
“I was questioning him about Foxx’s murder. Your mother’s too.” He raised his eyebrows. “Ready to walk back to the CJC?”
“Sure.”
“Did you find a key in Vegas’s shoes?” Heat shimmered up from the sidewalk as they walked toward the Criminal Justice Center. He felt sorry for all the tourists in town for the Elvis doings and hoped it cooled off before tomorrow night’s candlelight vigil. If it didn’t, there’d be a few people passing out from the heat and humidity.
“Yep, but it won’t do us any good if we don’t find what it fits. How about you, did . . . ?” Her voice faltered. “Did you learn anything from my father?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped. His secretary had already ended our meeting when I saw the envelope. I have a few more questions for him. Did you know your friend Terri Morrow worked at the Cancer Institute along with her husband before he died?”
Rachel shook her head. “I didn’t until Erin said something last night. She indicated he worked in cancer research.”
“Do you know if he was working with ricin?”
“I didn’t know him at all, and Terri never talks about him.”
If Robert Morrow had been conducting experiments with ricin, that meant he had access to the poison. Boone needed to check with the Crockett Cancer Institute. But even if Morrow had handled ricin in his research, he was dead.
But Terri Morrow wasn’t. She’d worked there as well. What if she’d somehow gotten her hands on even a minute amount? But why would she want to kill the Judge . . . or Rachel? Was it possible she’d been in love with Harrison Foxx? And wanted Gabby out of the way?
Boone pictured Erin’s sister and had a hard time believing she was a cold-blooded killer, but he’d been fooled before.
“How about that cup of coffee we talked
about earlier?” he said, nodding toward the coffee shop at the end of the block.
Rachel fanned her shirt. “An iced coffee, maybe.”
They entered the shop and found a table. Boone pulled a chair out for her. “What do you want? My treat.”
“No—”
“Not taking no for an answer. You’ve had a bad afternoon.”
She eyed him, then shrugged. “Mocha frappe . . . with whipped cream.”
He lifted his eyebrows. He’d never known her to drink something with that many calories.
“I skipped lunch.”
Evidently she’d read his mind. Boone approached the barista and ordered the frappe and a glass of iced tea, and when he noticed they had sandwiches, he ordered them each a club. While he waited, a quick check on the internet gave him the phone number for the cancer center, and he called only to find out that the head of the human resources department was in a meeting. Maybe he’d just drive out to the facility.
39
RACHEL HADN’T BEEN TOO KEEN on stopping at the coffee shop with Boone. What she wanted to do was talk to her father, ask whether he had threatened Foxx. But she’d followed Boone inside to a table and almost laughed when he said she’d had a hard day.
If he only knew. Boone called someone while he waited, and when he returned to the table, he brought not only the frappe and his iced tea but two sandwiches as well. “I skipped lunch too.”
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have added the whipped cream,” she said as her stomach growled. Rachel hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “Thanks.”
“You’re skinny enough a few extra calories won’t hurt you. I thought we’d eat and then drive out to Crockett Cancer Institute to talk with the head of the human resources department. She was in a meeting when I called. That is, if you want to go with me.”
Her appetite suddenly deserted Rachel. “You don’t think Terri had anything to do with this ricin attack, do you?”
“I know she’s your friend, but I googled ricin and the cancer center while I was waiting, and found they’ve conducted experiments with ricin to reduce tumors since the early eighties.”
It was impossible that Terri was involved in the attacks. “It doesn’t mean that she or her husband had access to it. Besides, this isn’t your case. It’s the US Marshal’s.”
A low flush crept up his neck. “But I’m involved in it. Now eat.”
Rachel forced the sandwich down and finished her frappe about the same time Boone finished his tea.
He set the glass down. “Let’s play a little what-if. Off the record, though. Are we both on the same page that the person who killed Vic Vegas likely also killed Harrison Foxx?”
She nodded.
“What if he or she also killed your mother?”
“What’s the motive?”
“I thought you might have some ideas on that since I figure you’ve already made that jump.”
Busted. “If you determine the cases are connected, are you going to take me off the case?”
“I should, but like I said, this is off the record.”
She didn’t know whether to feel relief or to wait for the other shoe to drop.
“Look, I know how important this case is to you. You’re close to finding out who killed your mom. But what if it’s someone you know? Like Terri? Can you conduct the investigation impartially?”
“Terri did not kill my mother.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You can’t be sure of that at this point. And don’t forget, she had a conversation with Culver when she delivered the baskets to Blues & Such. She could have easily put the insulin-laced water bottles in his basket.”
Doubt muddled her mind. Was it possible? “I want the truth to come out,” she said, her voice cracking. She held his gaze as his eyes never left her face. Eyes that flickered with warmth she felt to her toes.
Finally he nodded. “We’ll keep this part of the investigation off the record for now. Just don’t make me regret it.”
She finally breathed again. “If I get something concrete, I’ll bring it to you.”
“Good. Are you ready to drive to the cancer center?”
She didn’t want to argue with him, not after he’d just bent the rules for her, but she couldn’t help herself. “I can’t see Terri trying to kill me or Dad. I still think it makes more sense to look at my dad’s cases—there’s plenty of people he’s riled with his rulings.”
“The marshal is looking into those cases. If there’s anything there, he’ll let us know,” he said. “It’s not just Terri I’m looking at, either. Could be someone else who worked there with access to ricin who also has a connection to your family.”
That made sense and made her feel a bit better.
The Crockett Cancer Institute was located in the heart of the medical district in Midtown. Once inside, they were directed to the human resources department, where an assistant escorted them to the director’s office. As they entered the room, a tall African-American woman who appeared to be in her early sixties greeted them. The nameplate on the desk read Corrine Patterson. Boone showed his badge and then introduced Rachel.
“Have a seat,” Ms. Patterson said. They settled in the two office chairs while she sat behind a desk with neatly stacked folders. She leaned forward. “How can I help you?”
“We’re working on a case that involves ricin and understand this institution has used the substance in research since the early eighties. We need a list of all the people who have worked with it, and any reports of theft.”
“That will take some time to pull together. When do you need it?”
“Yesterday,” he said, softening the request with a smile.
“Of course. I’ll see if I can get it together by this time tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said. Ms. Patterson was very efficient. “Could we also get a roster of all the employees going back to 1980?”
“And the personnel files on Robert and Terri Morrow,” Boone added. “Those I’d like today, if at all possible.”
Her eyes widened. “Goodness. Personnel records . . . I’ll have to check with our legal department before I hand that information over.”
“I can get a warrant if necessary,” Boone said. “But I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to.”
“Since it’s so long ago, I’m sure it’ll be all right, but give me a few minutes to check.”
Fifteen minutes later, she returned with several sheets of paper. “The legal department said to cooperate.” She handed Boone the papers. “Personnel records for the Morrows, and the names of all of our employees from 1980 on. There’s a column showing their first day of work and one for their last day if they are no longer employed. The other records should be available tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” he said and handed her his card. “I’d appreciate it if you’d scan them and email them to me.”
She nodded and sat behind her desk. “Why are you interested in Bobby? He’s been dead for over thirty years.”
“Did you know him?” Rachel asked. She knew so little about Terri’s husband and didn’t want to quiz her friend.
“Yes. A fine man. I worked in research and development with him as a lab assistant.”
Rachel leaned forward. “How did he die?”
“A tragic accident. He and his wife were on a second honeymoon.” She stared pensively at her folded hands as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.
“Was it an auto accident?” Boone asked.
She lifted her gaze. “No. He fell off a cliff at Big Sur. The authorities who investigated said he’d gone off the trail to get photos of McWay Falls, I believe. I felt so sorry for his wife. She took it very hard. Had some sort of breakdown, I believe.”
Rachel didn’t like the look Boone shot her. Another coincidental death?
Boone took out a notepad. “Did anyone see the accident happen?”
“No. Terri had stopped to rest with a couple of other hikers. It was believed someone
else was on the trail, but that turned out to be a false report.”
“Why did they go to Big Sur?” he asked.
“If you’d known Bobby, you would understand. He loved to get away from it all, and after what had happened in their marriage, they both were looking for a quiet place to focus on each other and rebuild what they’d had. That’s what the trip was supposed to be about.”
“What was wrong with their marriage?”
Ms. Patterson waved her hand dismissively. “One of the research assistants set her cap for him. Poor man didn’t have a chance. Although I never knew what he saw in her. Pretty face, all right, but a bit on the portly side. She was furious when he chose to stay with his wife and broke it off.”
“Do you recall her name?”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and looked toward the ceiling. Then she shook her head. “I can’t remember her name. Let me see that list.”
Boone handed her the papers, and she ran her finger down the names. “Nothing jumps out at me. A couple of employees who worked in R&D back then are still here, but they left at three. I’ll ask them tomorrow and include their comments in my report to you.”
“Do you remember any thefts of ricin?” Rachel asked.
“Heavens, no. That stuff is lethal. None of the lab assistants would even handle the vials,” she said. “Bobby was the only researcher who worked with it at that time. That’s one reason his death was so tragic. He’d made a breakthrough in using it to reduce tumors in mice. But I’ll check and let you know if there are any reports of theft.”
“Thank you,” Boone said.
Rachel cleared her throat. “Do you remember Gabby Winslow?”
A slow smile spread across the director’s face. “I thought you looked familiar. You must be Gabby’s daughter.”
“Yes. But it’s been so long ago, I’m surprised you remember her.”
“Your mother helped me with funding on a project. She was very good at what she did as well as being kind. I hated when she quit.” Ms. Patterson’s eyes twinkled as she studied Rachel. “But she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.” Then she sobered. “I was so upset when I read she’d died. Did they ever find the person responsible?”
Justice Betrayed Page 23
