He had been so lucky to have a family as accepting as his. He was seven when he had stood at the dining table after everyone’s plate had been served and tapped his knife against his water glass the way he had seen his uncle do it at a wedding the previous week. The way it gained people’s attention in a crowded room was very impressive. The whole family had turned to him. Even his little brother had stopped his incessant chattering from his high chair. He bowed slightly and said, “I would like you all to please call me Court. No more Courtney. I am a boy named Court. I just wanted to make it official. Thank you.”
He liked to think of the ensuing silence following his huge pronouncement as awe-inspiring. His mother though, who had already been calling him Court for at least two years simply said, “Court, honey, you know, this isn’t exactly news to any of us.”
He’d looked around the room, feeling a little foolish for standing up and being so loud about it. His mother reached over and patted his hand.
His oldest sister, Amelia, laughed and threw a roll at him. He reached for it and fumbled, flipped it upward, and caught with a wild gesture. She snorted. “You still catch like a girl.”
Brittany clenched her fists and slammed them onto the table, on either side of her plate. ”Mo-o-o-o-m. Can I go by Britt?” His two younger sisters and brother were too young to get it, anyway, and they were eating their supper oblivious to Court’s big announcement. He’d never played anything but the boy in their games.
Court had a sense of love and belonging in his family that was rare and something to treasure. Acceptance. It wasn’t until he was in college that he became fully aware of how incredibly lucky he had been--how few people had the same unconditional love and support from their families. Whenever he saw youth on the street and recognized any facet of himself there, he recognized how lucky he’d been. He’d never had to fight to be who he was on a personal level at home.
Ivy’s quick tap on the horn brought Court back to task. He climbed into the car, and they drove back to the station. He called Stensland. When he told the lieutenant their next step was to pay house calls on the clients they could identify, the lieutenant demanded to know the names on the list before they proceeded. Court hung up with a growing sense of unease.
“Why did he want that?” Ivy asked. “Is he micromanaging us?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get back to the station and check out the list. Ashena must’ve made some progress while we were gone.”
“Don’t you think Hunter could identify all of them if Ashena can’t?”
“Let’s see what we have first, and get a warrant for the rest.”
He spent the rest of the time in the car texting with Britt and Cami. Britt sent pictures of the cake she had made for the twins. She had made a pretty normal cake, but had written Happy Birthday M&M in the font used on the candy as a play on their names—Morgan and Mandy. The cake looked like a giant M&M as a result. It was pretty cute. He held it up for Ivy to see while they were stopped at a red light.
“This is what I’ll be missing tonight. My niece and nephew’s sixth birthday party.”
“Cute cake. Six, huh? Doesn’t that make them the same age as…” Her voice trailed off.
“Yeah. Bailey would have been six next week, too. My wife and my sister were BFFs. That’s how I met Amanda. Through my sister. As soon as Amanda got pregnant, Britt did too.”
He touched the photo of the cake with his fingers. Maybe there would be a way for him to make it anyway.
18
Ashena had left a colorful spreadsheet for them on Court’s desk. It listed the flower name assigned to each client, their telephone number and their legal name if she could find it. Of the eighteen clients, only nine were easily identified. One was Berkeley Drummond. The rest all used burner phones, or had a burner app running on their phone. They had the numbers, so, theoretically, calling them would be a first step.
The chance that someone owning a burner would answer the phone was approximately zero, and getting them to the point where they’d answer any questions about their secret activity was less than zero. Court was sure that if he had a secret phone dedicated to his dominatrix, and a number he didn’t recognize called him on it, he’d toss it. No, he’d probably spray it and wipe it down, then toss it in the grossest garbage he could find. All, of course, after deleting the call history, pulling the SIM card, cutting it into pieces, and taking a sledgehammer to what was left.
Just as Court was about to text him, Stensland appeared at Court’s cubicle. He was dressed in Saturday casual, looking like he was dropping in to check up on things. But Court knew it was most likely because the higher-ups were pushing.
Stensland looked at the list. “These are probably a waste of time. Still wouldn’t hurt to call to see if anyone answers, tell them something has happened to Hunter. Maybe enlist their aid. As a matter of fact, I’m looking for something to do this afternoon. I’ll take care of them.”
This was bizarre. There was no reason for the lieutenant to step in and make the calls. “No need, sir. Langston and I are here for the evening. Doing our job. Besides, they might respond better if Langston makes the calls. Having a man call might throw them.”
Stensland took the report, turning toward his office. “Not your decision, Pearson. I’m checking the burner list.”
Ivy approached Court after Stensland had disappeared behind his glass walls. “What the hell is that about?”
“Politics. Let him call. Less work for us to do,” he said. “Why don’t you call these other guys? I am betting they’d talk to a woman easier than a man.”
“Okay. Should I set up meetings with them?”
“Give them a story.” In spite of the way Stensland had approached the calls, the idea of using Hunter as bait would go a long way. “Tell them that a crime was committed at Allegiance Investments and you need to know where they were Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights. Keep it nebulous and check on their alibis for all three nights. Anyone who doesn’t have something clean-cut for Wednesday, we should talk to face-to-face. Have them come in tomorrow morning. I don’t care if it’s a Sunday. I’m guessing some of them have wives who don’t know anything at all about their relationship with Mistress Fidelma.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Court flipped on the computer screen and found the phone number for Haubek, the company that had made Hunter’s card reader. He called, but got voicemail. A deep baritone informed him Haubek would be closed until Monday. Further searching gave him no new contact info, no emergency contact numbers, nada.
Audrey Drummond had given them contact info on her husband’s personal assistant, but her phone went to voicemail, too. He left a message for her to call back.
Court spun in his chair to see what Stensland was up to. The blinds to his office were down, but not closed, so he could make out the other man on the phone. Stensland caught Court staring. Their eyes locked as Stensland stood, reached for the blinds, and snapped them shut.
Court dialed Karen Hunter’s number. She answered on the third ring. “It’s Detective Pearson. I have a few questions I hope you can answer.”
Court kept his eyes on Stensland’s door as he spoke.
“Can you make it quick?”
“You know your iPad gave us your whole client list, right?”
“Berkeley was my most important client. My favorite.”
“Wouldn’t you want to protect your other clients? Why did you so easily hand over the iPad like that?”
“What are you asking, Detective?”
“Is there a client on your list that you want outed for some reason? A connection between Drummond and another client on your list?”
“If one of my other clients had anything to do with Berkeley’s death, I wouldn’t do anything to protect them.”
“Is there anyone in particular we should be looking at?”
She didn’t answer right away. “My business is built on personal referrals, detective. Very close friends share
certain details of their lives with each other.”
“I don’t suppose you can make this a bit more obvious for me, can you?”
“Detective, if the information on the iPad I gave you doesn’t help you, then you should be looking at a different profession.”
The fact she’d signed over the computer and iPad so easily should have tipped him off earlier. She’d wanted the connection to be made. In the bargain, she’d sold out all of her other clients. “I’ll take that into consideration, Ms. Hunter.”
Court closed his eyes, and the pieces fell into place. He stood up and strode across the room to Stensland’s office, opening it without knocking. Stensland looked up from his desk, pen in hand making notes.
“Who is it?” Court asked.
Stensland sat back against his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered Court with his cold gray eyes. “Close the door.”
Court cast a quick glance over at Ivy, who was watching them as she talked on the phone. Court threw her an apologetic smile as he shut the door. “Who is it?” he repeated.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stensland said.
“The only reason you’d be making these calls is if someone higher up the food chain asked you to.”
“You, Detective, are jumping to conclusions.”
“Ah, come on, Lieutenant. Drummond dies, his buddy calls and asks you to keep his name out of the investigation, I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Tell you what, Pearson. I have taken care of all the numbers on the burner list. The ones that didn’t answer are never going to answer, and the ones that did gave me their alibis. I’ve checked them all.”
Court opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He ran his hands through his hair before planting them on his hips. His mouth had gone dry. “You’re telling me that you cleared nine people for murder in the course of half an hour? Over the phone?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Pearson.”
Court looked away, trying to calm the burning flame building in his chest. He leaned forward, palms flat on Stensland’s desk. “Someone in power is obstructing an investigation, and you are helping them. You think I can walk out of here without an explanation?”
“Again, you are making some pretty vast assumptions, Detective,” Stensland said, each word clipped and enunciated. “You will officially remove all nine people from your list of suspects and drop the line of inquiry entirely.”
“You’re worried someone like the mayor or the chief seeing a dominatrix would cause a scandal, and that’s more important than catching a killer?”
Stensland’s lip curled up at one corner. “Pearson, get the fuck out of my office and find the killer. Not a word to Langston about your little whacko conspiracy theory, either.”
“Seriously? You want me to go out there and tell my partner, the one person in this whole fucking department who is supposed to trust me, that you cleared nine people? Nine? And tell her what?” Court was almost yelling now.
“You tell her I’ve handled it. Cleared them, exactly the same way you would have. Focus on the others.” Stensland spoke through gritted teeth, pointing to his door the entire time. “That is a direct order.”
Court met Stensland’s eyes until the other man looked away before storming out of his office. He rushed past his desk to the elevator, smashing the down button five times in quick succession. He thought better of it, spun around and returned to Ivy’s desk. She smashed the phone against her chest, looking up at him as though he’d strangled a kitten.
“I’ll be back later. I am going to my niece and nephew’s birthday party,” he said.
“Whoa, wait, what happened in there? Pearson, you can’t leave.” Ivy held up a stack of yellow sticky notes. “We’ve got all this…”
He held up a hand. “Look, you keep working on those numbers, I’ll do something else to make up the time to you. I need to get out of here for a while. I’ll be back later.”
She glanced at Stensland's office before turning back to him. “What is going on?”
Court looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “Nothing. Stensland is taking care of the people with burner phones. I need to get out of here for a bit.”
Ivy sank back against her chair, jaw open. “Fine,” she said in a clipped voice. “You go do your thing.” She spun her chair around away from him, the phone already back to her ear.
19
Court raced home to shower and change. He didn’t see the point in busting his ass and ruining his relationship with his family when his lieutenant was pulling maneuvers like this on him. He’d been ordered to be part of some sort of cover-up, but he wasn’t about to take it lying down. He needed to wrap his head around it before bringing Ivy into it.
Was the chief or mayor one of Hunter’s clients? He didn’t think Stensland would go so far as to cover up a murder. He’d keep what happened with Stensland from Ivy until he was sure about things. The last thing he wanted was to drag her into something that could blow all their careers. If he didn’t tell her what he thought was happening, she would have plausible deniability in any ensuing internal investigation.
Fifteen minutes later, he was shuffling an enormous stuffed pig from his right to left arm so he could swipe his Orca card through the Metro bus scanner. He was sitting on a bus with a pig twice the size of a queen pillow on his lap. With a bright purple ribbon around its neck. He caught his image reflecting off the window across from him and laughed.
Court shifted the pig to one thigh and let it sit there like an oversized toddler, petting its floppy pink ears. Whenever one of the children on the bus dared to take a peek, he lifted one of the plush pink arms and waved. It became a game, with children covering their faces with their hands and playing peek-a-boo with the pig waving in return.
Early in his career, he’d been told how important it was to keep ties to family and friends outside the blue fraternity. Once you surrounded yourself with no one but cops, your view of the world twisted and warped into something too black and white.
By the time he got off the bus near his sister’s house, he was thinking only of Morgan and Mandy and how much they were going to love the giant pig. He normally got each a separate present, but Britt had been clear that she only wanted one giant stuffed animal in their room.
Cami texted him letting him know she was going to be even later than he was. He figured she would show up knowing Britt had invited another “friend” for him to meet. Cami had a strange need to know who Britt picked for him and why. It was like a game with her.
Loud pops filled the air. Court grabbed at his gun and came up empty. A second round of firecrackers went off and Court shrugged off the tiny rush of adrenaline and chastised himself for being so jumpy. His sister had made him promise to leave his gun at home when he came to visit. Even though he agreed to do it for her, he always felt underdressed. Unprotected. He missed the reassuring weight of it against his back. Sometimes, he wished SPD had a twenty-four-seven rule about carrying firearms. He couldn’t even use his job as an excuse to keep it on him.
Court found the stack of gifts in the living room. He perched the pig on top of a large box occupying half the coffee table. Court liked the way it slumped to the front, looking for all intents and purposes like a guard pig, keeping watch over the pile of presents.
He turned to leave the room, but stopped at the bookshelves. At eye level was a photo he hadn’t seen in a long time. The shelf was usually empty. It was an eight-by-ten of him, Amanda and Bailey. He was sitting next to Amanda, their bodies merging into a singular form from the hips down. Bailey straddled each of them, one leg hooked over one of each of theirs. He and Amanda were leaning forward so their cheeks were pressed together, their chins resting on the top of Bailey’s head. In the back, the magic castle at Disneyland loomed up and away from them. The picture had been taken a week after they’d learned about the cancer. Their initial response was to cram as much childhood into Bailey before it was too late. Before Court
had understood what was to come. Before Court’s world had been turned upside down. Before Amanda and Bailey had died. Amanda already had deep circles under her eyes—dark half-moons giving her a starved look. Bailey was the only one grinning ear-to-ear in the happiest place on earth.
“I miss them, too.”
Court whirled around as Britt’s voice caught him off guard. He hadn’t heard her come in. He turned back, reached out, and traced the image of Amanda with his finger. “You snuck up on me. I didn’t know you had a copy of this.”
“I know how you feel, Court. I do.”
“You don’t know shit, Britt.” He laughed with the unintentional rhyme. A bitter, harsh, choked sound.
He heard her come closer. Winced as she put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. His emotions had been on a roller coaster all day. He needed to get through the next few hours before he could return to work.
“Court, I know how I would feel if I lost Patrick, if I lost Morgan or Mandy.”
He spun around to face her, his face flushing from chin to brow. Britt stepped back.
“No, you don’t. You. Do. Not. Know. You can’t. The pain starts the same every day. Every day I wake up, and I remember they’re both gone. I go to bed at night, wishing it’s all been a twisted nightmare. Then, I dream about them. Sometimes, I want to stay asleep and never wake up.”
He turned back to the picture. Amanda and Bailey, captured forever in time. Never changing, one never growing old, the other never growing up.
Bound to Die Page 11