Impressions
(Carpenter/Harding #8)
Barbara Winkes
Copyright © 2019 by Barbara Winkes
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For D.
Chapter One
It was almost time to meet her. Putting together each detail was the hardest part. Every small mistake could become the thread that unraveled the whole picture—but she didn’t make mistakes. Enjoying a last coffee before the big moment, she smiled to herself, thrilled with the prospect of reuniting with the person that had always been missing in her life. It felt incredibly real, and it would be even better…as long as it lasted. The sad part was that nothing could last forever, but if she was good enough, she could stay for a while. Be the person she was meant to be.
* * * *
Jordan and Derek had left almost immediately after they’d arrived at the station. For Ellie, the day began a bit more relaxed as she was catching up with paperwork and messages left in her absence. Her partner Cliff Waters was nowhere to be seen, and she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Mid-morning, Detective Maria Doss went on a coffee run and stopped by Ellie’s desk for a break and some conversation.
“So, do tell,” she said, taking the visitor’s chair. “How was the honeymoon? Didn’t you regret not taking more days off?”
Life had been busy leading up to those perfect moments, so Jordan and Ellie had agreed to take a prolonged weekend at a spa retreat rather than a longer trip.
“Oh, no, it was amazing,” she said. “Thanks, by the way.” She picked one of the hot beverages and opened the lid. “Caramel latte. It’s not so bad coming back to this—though I really loved it. The nature, and fireplaces everywhere…Even the naps were tantric.”
She didn’t notice her choice of words until Maria started laughing.
“Transcendent. That’s what I meant.”
“Still, too much information, and a bit cruel to the single lady.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I can take it.” Maria took a sip of her coffee. “You better enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. Cliff’s been grumbling the whole time…When he was actually present, that is. Funny how in his opinion, only the women have too much off time.”
“He said that?” Ellie frowned. “We had a vacation last year, and before that, I never took more than a couple of days at the time. I know Jordan did the same. What’s his problem?”
“The whole world,” Maria commented. “Anyway, I’m glad you had a good time. It’s been almost quiet…you know that never lasts long.”
“True.” After the past few days, Ellie felt fairly ready to face whatever was going to come her way. Besides enjoying the heavenly tranquility of the mountain spa, including sauna, massages and the hot tub, she and Jordan had talked, a lot more than during those days in Hawaii, when they’d still had so much healing to do. Many things had still been uncertain back then. Now they had a solid foundation that enabled them to look at everything that had led them here.
“Harding, where’s your partner?” She turned around to face Lieutenant Carroll who had left his office.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him today.” Ellie barely suppressed a wince when she saw the irritation in his expression.
“All right, then, Doss, you go with her.”
“Sir…I have a meeting with the D.A. in…” Maria checked her watch. “Seven minutes. I should be going.”
“That’s okay. I can go by myself,” Ellie offered. Much to his credit, Carroll only hesitated a brief moment.
“Sure. Arnold Robertson, the music producer, was just found dead in his condo by his bodyguard.”
Ellie was already standing, keys in hand. “I’m on my way.”
Peace and quiet were over.
* * * *
Officers Chris Atwood and Samantha Potts were on the scene, and a perimeter around the building had already been established. Ellie had to make her way through a crowd of press and bystanders.
“You’re late,” Atwood said, and she barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Atwood was about the only friend Waters had at the department. While he was younger than Waters, his antiquated ideas were even worse than the detective’s. He didn’t like that Ellie had made this step up the career ladder, either.
At the front door, she showed her badge to a concierge who studied it for an inappropriate length of time, and on the penthouse floor, a guard quickly followed her.
“Ma’am, you can’t go in there.”
“I believe I can,” she said, flashing her badge again. “Thank you.”
The apartment stretched over two floors, with floor to ceiling windows. Ellie had no time to admire the view, her gaze drawn to the body in the center of the room. In another corner, Casey Lyons was talking to a burly man Ellie assumed to be the bodyguard, and ME Melissa Adams was taking pictures.
Now was not the moment to get nervous. She had proven that she deserved to be here, she knew what to do, and most of all, it wasn’t her fault if Waters neglected his duties to the point no one could ignore it any longer.
She walked over to Dr. Adams, grateful no one but she could hear her heart that was beating loudly all of a sudden.
“Good morning, Doc. What do we have here?”
“You’re aware of who it is we have here, right?” Dr. Adams asked dryly.
“Yes, of course. Arnold Robertson, the music producer. I’ve heard of him, but I didn’t know he lived in the city.”
“Well, someone who didn’t like him very much knew. By the way, there’s a woman in the other room they found holding this,” she held up a gun enclosed in an evidence bag. “Her shirt’s soaked in blood.”
For a brief moment, Ellie wondered if it could really be this easy. She looked down at Robertson who had been shot multiple times. How had that woman made it past the bodyguard? Unless…
“The how is pretty obvious, right?”
“I’d be surprised if those bullets didn’t come from this gun,” Melissa said.
“Okay, let’s find out.”
She knew Melissa would want to know if her team could move the body. Ellie saw no reason why not, given the rather clear circumstances of how Robertson died. She wanted to talk to the bodyguard, and see the woman before they brought her to the station, wishing she could do everything at the same time—wishing her partner would take the job more seriously. Still being the newbie in the Homicide unit, she couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
“That means we can go ahead? Detective?”
“Yes. Call me as soon as you know more.”
Ellie walked over to Casey Lyons and the man she was talking to.
“This is Raymond Owens, Mr. Robertson’s bodyguard. He found him earlier.”
“I also found the bitch that did it,” Owens said angrily. “Are you going to remove her from this house, or what?”
Ellie sent an imploring look to Casey who supplied the information she was looking for. “Her name is Brandi Gilbert. She’d been a guest of Mr. Robertson’s a couple of times before. Those visits passed without incident, Mr. Owens told me.”
“She’s a hooker, if you must know. It’s obvious that she was after money, probably to pay for drugs.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Ellie assured him. “In the meantime, I’d like to talk to you at the station, just so we can clear up some things.”
“What’s to clear up? I saw her with the gun in he
r hand.”
“She threatened you?”
He seemed almost offended at that. “I disarmed her, and then I made sure she stayed put until the police arrived.”
So that was what Atwood had meant when he said she was too late. Well, neither Atwood nor Owens would decide the next steps.
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the station. Thank you for your cooperation.”
In an office off the main living area, Brandi Gilbert sat, sobbing, the officer in the room with her shaking her head.
“Has she said anything?” Ellie whispered.
“No.”
“Ms. Gilbert? I’m Detective Harding. Can you tell me what happened here?”
The woman looked up at Ellie with so much despair in her expression she felt a chill run down her spine.
“Have you arrested him yet?”
“Who?”
“Ray…if that’s his name.” She sounded nauseated, but that might be from the blood soaking her shirt. It made Ellie think of her first case…Bloody clothes didn’t always mean someone was guilty. On the other hand, she might be trying to shift the blame.
“Are you saying that Mr. Owens shot Mr. Robertson?”
She cast a frightened look towards the door, then shook her head.
“I did it,” she said.
On her first day back at work after her honeymoon, Ellie was apparently having it all: The murder weapon, and a suspect confessing at the drop of a hat.
Nothing was ever this easy.
* * * *
On her way back she tried to call Waters, but didn’t reach him. Fortunately, the D.A. had cut Maria’s meeting short, and she could make some time to set up a room for Owens and Gilbert each. Ellie wanted the blood on the latter’s clothes tested against Robertson’s, and have her hands tested for residue.
Next, she called A.D.A. Esposito. It was strange to think that she, albeit for a short time, had felt jealous of the woman, Jordan’s ex. It was all about work. She needed to do things in the right order, learn what she could from Owens and Gilbert, to make sure charges would stick. Ellie was aware that she would hardly ever get a better suspect than a person literally holding the smoking gun. She still felt a bit uneasy, unsure if they might get any bad surprises from Owens.
However, when she arrived at the station, he had grudgingly agreed to wait in the room Detective Doss had showed him. Ellie took another few minutes to update Lieutenant Carroll, and then she stepped into the room where Owens was sulking over his coffee.
“I still don’t understand why I had to come here. I already told everything to the officer who was first on the scene.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about the inconvenience. When did you enter the apartment today?”
“Around nine-forty-five. Mr. Robertson had called me.”
“Did he sound like he was in distress?”
“No. He just wanted me to come over, and take care of something. He didn’t say what. This is ridiculous. None of it has anything to do with—”
“Mr. Owens, please. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go.”
“You can’t keep me here. I haven’t done anything.”
“If you could just tell me what happened when you arrived at the apartment. You have keys?”
“Yes. I let myself in, and saw Mr. Robertson right away, bleeding on the floor. The bi—Gilbert was crouching next to his body, the gun still in hand. Hell, how much more do you need? She must have shot him five times at least.”
“You didn’t see her shoot him, or heard the gunshots.”
He shook his head, exasperated. “I didn’t need to.”
“You told my colleague that she’d been to Mr. Robertson’s place a couple of times. Did he often bring home sex workers?”
“What are you saying, that it was his fault the slut killed him?”
Lots of anger, Ellie thought, but Owens didn’t seem to grieve all that much for his boss.
“I’m trying to get the whole picture.”
“Then let me help you. Arnold always kept wads of cash with him. She must have noticed that before, and thought she could make a quick buck.”
“The gun is his?”
“I don’t think so, but that’s your job to find out. Whenever you find the time to get back to it,” he sneered.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Owens, we’ll make the time we need. Thank you. We’ll be in touch.” Ellie got up to reach out a hand. To her surprise, he shook it in a grip tight enough to make her wince. “Mr. Owens. Just one more thing. Who was responsible for bringing the women there?” Her use of plural was no slip of the tongue, and he didn’t correct her.
Owens shrugged. “Not me. I suppose he used some escort service. You have means to find out, don’t you?”
“Definitely. Thanks again.”
Ellie took a deep breath after he’d left the room, but she didn’t have much time to think about what she’d just heard, or her next step. The door was yanked open, and Detective Cliff Waters stepped inside, A.D.A. Esposito in tow. She looked uncomfortable and apologetic.
“Harding, why are you wasting your time with this guy? You have a person who confessed, drenched in the victim’s blood. Do I have to do everything around here myself?”
“She gave contradicting statements. I thought it was important to—”
He had already turned around and left.
“I hate to say it, Ellie, but this time he actually has a point.”
Ellie shook her head as she closed the door, walking along the hallway with the A.D.A.
“I don’t know. That woman is clearly traumatized.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t do it.”
“Yeah.” Ellie sighed. “I think she should see a psychiatrist before the judge.”
“She’ll have a public defender who’ll determine if they consider it necessary.”
Ellie wasn’t convinced, and most of all she was angry with Waters for swooping in and taking over like that. She wondered what the lieutenant would have to say about it.
Chapter Two
In another apartment across town, Jordan walked into a modest two bedroom, barely furnished. A neighbor had called the police after hearing gunshots. Two men, both late thirties to mid-forties, both shot in the head. The image quickly did away with the glorious memories she’d carried with herself up to this moment. The wedding. The honeymoon. It seemed unreal in the face of this precisely carried out violence. She was surprised to see an ME she wasn’t familiar with.
“Dr. Adams isn’t here?”
“Nope, busy on the other side of town with the Robertson murder. The music producer,” he said when Jordan didn’t react right away. “You might have heard of him, he had his studio here for a few years.”
It was when Jordan realized she’d read a story about him once.
“A bit more high profile,” she said.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Quite the violent start of the week.”
“No kidding. So what can you tell me about these gentlemen so far?”
“At this moment, not much more than what meets the eye. GSW to the head, from up close.” He pointed out the barely visible indentation in the skin around the wound, indicating that the killer had pressed the barrel against the back of the head. “Same with the other one.”
“All right, thanks.” She walked towards the window, careful to stay away from any blood spatter. Seeing the name of the bar on the other side of the street, she had an idea. There were a couple of people she could ask for a theory of what had happened to these men.
Derek joined her by the window. “Time to talk to a few people in the neighborhood?”
“Definitely, but first I want to see what we can find here. Not the murder weapon, that much is for sure. This was done by a pro.”
“I agree. I hope you had a great time, because the honeymoon is definitely over.”
“No kidding.” She suppressed a sigh. “But yes, it was great.” It didn’t seem right to bring anything about the past
few days into this room, so she hurried to change the subject. “I want to know what they made money with. Being where we are, my guess is drugs or prostitution. Their clothes don’t look like they’re regular residents either.”
Uniformed officers were already starting the search, Libby Marshall among them. Jordan and Derek went into the first bedroom. Like the other room, it was sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a table and a chair. There were cables lying on the floor, USB, she noticed. The electronic devices that went with them were either well hidden, or the killer had taken them.
Jordan carefully opened the door to what could qualify as a walk-in, and stepped back immediately. She had noticed a strange combination of smells in the room, but in there, it was condensed: The floor of the closet was littered with food containers and soda cans, the smell mixing with that of perfume or some other product. A mattress was wedged into the small space. Jordan didn’t dare guess what some of those stains might be. She did guess that the two men had held someone in there. They were likely to get DNA and fingerprints, though she worried there might be too many for conclusive results.
“Okay, this just took a turn to worse,” Derek remarked. Before he could go into detail, Libby called from another room.
“Jordan? Could you come here for a moment?”
Glad to turn away from the nauseating sight, Jordan went to join her, the conflicting theories already giving her a headache. There had been another person in the room, obviously. They might have killed the men, or someone had done it on their behalf, but either way, it didn’t fit the idea of a hit carried out by a professional. All of it hinted at more conflict to come.
“We found something,” Libby told her, pointing to lose bricks in the wall. Behind them was a stash of cash, several ten-thousands of dollars, Jordan guessed.
“Whoa. That looks like Mr. Hart was no saint. This was in the dresser.” Derek held up a wallet with the ID of a Ted Hart. “No ID on the other one, but it’s a start.”
“That and almost a hundred thousand dollars. Could be drugs or prostitution, maybe both.”
Impressions Page 1
