Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  The reporters immediately and loudly peppered him with questions, thrown out in staccato fashion.

  “Do you have any suspects?” one woman asked.

  “No comment,” Follett said.

  “Where on the South Platte?” another asked.

  “Near Mississippi Avenue.”

  Follett gestured at another reporter. The questions began to blur for me.

  “What clues do you have so far?”

  “Was the victim robbed?

  “Is there a motive?”

  Follett answered what he could, but kept out pertinent details of the killing that only the murderer would know. A couple of the reporters called out to me, asking about Carson Welch’s case. Follett glanced at me and I did exactly as he’d instructed, and I stayed quiet. After fielding a few more questions, someone asked, “Why isn’t the lieutenant governor here?”

  Follett stared at the reporter, then held up his hands. “He’s busy now. That’ll be all, thank you.”

  We turned to leave and more questions kept coming. Follett opened the station door without looking back. We went back inside, and their voices died off. Follett loosened his tie.

  “That ought to buy us some leads,” he said.

  “And plenty of crap to deal with too,” I said softly.

  Not softly enough, as Follett said, “You know how this works, Detective. Sift through the garbage until you find what’s helpful. I have to meet with the lieutenant governor soon, so give me something to tell him. If I go to him emptyhanded, that won’t look good.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the elevator.

  “He’s worried about his job,” Oakley said.

  I nodded as we took the stairs to the second floor. We got to my desk, and Oakley perched on the corner of it while I sat down.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m worried about my job, too.”

  I nodded. “The pressure is definitely on, but don’t let it get to you. No one’s going to ask you to resign over this.”

  “I emailed you the case file,” he said. “Have you had a chance to look at it?”

  I shook my head. “I had a couple of stops before I got back here, and then Follett snagged me the minute I walked in. I’ll read it now.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And,” I picked up a pen and fiddled with it, “I stopped by the Platte, where you said the body was found. There was a homeless guy there who was hanging out under the overpass. He was older, with gray hair and a scraggly beard, and he wore jeans and a flannel shirt. Does he sound familiar?”

  “He sounds like a lot of the homeless guys I talked to.”

  “The thing is, he seemed to know some of what went on with Hall, like he saw Hall being drowned.”

  Oakley’s jaw dropped. “Where was he when I was looking for witnesses?”

  “He was pretty scared, and he isn’t in his right mind.”

  “Did he see the murderer?”

  “Somebody in a hoodie, that’s all he said.” I glanced around, put the pen down, and pulled the knife from the desk drawer. “He says he picked this up near Hall’s body. We need to see about forensics on this. It may not be anything, or it may belong to the killer. I bought it off the homeless guy, figured we should have it, just in case. It’s going to have my prints on it, but when I got back to my car, I bagged it right away. Let’s see if we can get anything off it, prints, DNA, and see if it leads to anything.”

  Oakley took the baggie. “I’ll get on it.”

  I picked up the pen again. “The homeless guy definitely made it sound like a man drowned Hall.” I thought for a moment. “How big was Hall?”

  “He was fairly tall, and thin. Not heavy.”

  “Then it would fit that a man killed Hall,” I said. “I have a hard time thinking a woman could hold him down, especially if he was struggling like you said might’ve happened.”

  Oakley grimaced. “You know, after the press conference, we’ll get flooded with tips, most of which probably won’t lead anywhere.”

  “I know.” I lowered my voice. “I sometimes don’t get Follett. It seems like he has no clue what’s really going on. He plays the politics well, though.”

  Oakley smirked. “I’ll keep you posted on what comes in, if anything seems relevant.”

  “Great.” I gestured at my computer. “I’ll get cracking on your report.”

  Oakley got to his feet. “It just keeps getting better.”

  I smiled and turned to my computer. Before I could open my email, my cell phone rang. I stared at it. It was Diane. It was the middle of the day, and it surprised me to hear from her now. She’s a family doctor with a thriving practice, and she typically doesn’t have time to call until the evening. I was tempted to ignore the call, then thought about how I’d said I would try to do better with her, so I picked up.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice clipped. She always seems like she’s going a mile a minute.

  “Hi, Diane. How are you?” I put as much cheer in my voice as I could.

  “You sound tired,” she said. Her voice is low, always with a commanding edge to it.

  “I guess there’s no fooling you,” I said. “To be honest, it’s already been a long day. I started a new investigation early this morning, I’ve been going since about one.”

  “They’re letting you back in the field?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t tell if there was something in her tone, or if it was me. I silently coached myself to stay calm and chalked it up to it being me. “It’s been a month. I think I’m doing well.”

  “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Ah, there it was. And like clockwork, the same old resentments bubbled to the surface. I quickly pulled myself back to the present. “What’s going on?”

  “I …” she hesitated. “I wanted you to know that I appreciate what you did that night.” She cursed Carson Welch’s name. “Although I wish I’d never seen that man, if you hadn’t come in when you did, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  I stared at my monitor and blinked hard a few times. This was not what I expected from her. And such odd timing.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You know I’m sorry about what happened, all of it. I wish I’d realized things sooner, and caught Welch earlier, before he got to you.”

  “Yes,” she snapped, then stopped herself. “I’ve been seeing a therapist, in fact, I just came from her place. This whole thing hasn’t been easy for me, but I realized today it hasn’t been easy for you, either. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  “Let’s get together. Mom says she hasn’t heard from you in a while. You can’t let the job get in the way.”

  And, with that, Diane was back to being Diane, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do, that whatever I was doing was not quite right enough. But still, there seemed to be a tiny bit of progress between us.

  “I’ll call Mom soon,” I promised.

  “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She ended the call, and I stared at my desk. I was stunned, surprised, and pleased. I didn’t know what our relationship would be like, and I doubted we’d ever be really close, but this was a step in the right direction for both of us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I sat for a moment, feeling the drag of the day pulling on me. I’d been up all night, at first not being able to sleep, then being called out to start Nicole Lockwood’s investigation. I yawned and rubbed my eyes until I saw stars, then logged into my email and found Oakley’s. He had attached the report on the Hall investigation and I downloaded it, then opened it up.

  I read through the initial report, how a jogger, Wendy Barnes, early on Wednesday morning last week had seen Hall’s body lying partially in the Platte River. She walked partway down the slope toward the river and called out. When the man didn’t respond, she got scared and dialed 911. Then she waited until the police arrived. Wendy lived in the area
and ran along the bike path regularly. According to the responding officer’s report, she had been shaken up at finding the body. A cyclist who happened by stayed with her until the police arrived. Neither one had seen or heard anything. As Oakley had told me at lunch, there had been no witnesses, nobody that he could find who’d seen what happened to the victim. Certainly not the old man I had run into. They canvassed the businesses in the neighborhood, and the few that had surveillance cameras didn’t have a view of the Platte. Forensics had combed the area near the body and hadn’t found anything they felt was significant to the crime. Oakley’s report had a list of trash that was near the body. It had been found and collected, just in case it was discovered to be evidence in the future. A gas station receipt, a Coke can, a King Soopers tan plastic grocery bag, an almost empty bourbon bottle, and an empty water bottle. It was good that they had collected the stuff, but I doubted it would lead anywhere.

  After some stale coffee that I beefed up with sugar and cream, I read the autopsy report. There was a lot of technical jargon, the gist being that Hall had aspirated water into his lungs, a clear indication that he had drowned. He also had twice the legal limit of alcohol in his system, and marijuana as well. I briefly pondered that. As drunk and high as Hall had been, would that have made it easier to drown him? A couple of Hall’s fingernails had been broken. The autopsy report didn’t speculate on when that might’ve happened, but I wondered if it was possibly from a struggle with an assailant. The autopsy did note bruises on the back of Hall’s neck. Again, the report made no conclusions, but it was consistent with someone holding him down. Hall was underweight, had rotting teeth, and X-rays showed several prior bone fractures. He had a cut on his left leg that was infected. As I read the report, nothing besides the bruising on his neck stood out.

  I studied the autopsy photos that came with the report as well. Hall had hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and thinning brown hair. I wasn’t sure how closely Oakley had studied the body when it was down on the Platte River, but the bruises could have been missed. Although Oakley may have been hasty in his initial conclusions, I could see why his preliminary impression was that it was an accidental drowning.

  My cell phone vibrated, a message from Ernie saying he was still talking to Nicole Lockwood’s friends, and that he was having a ball. I smiled at the sarcasm, told him to keep at it, then moved on to Oakley’s interview with Hall’s family. Jonathan’s mother had broken down, said only that her son had some problems, and then she left the room. Oakley resumed his interview with the lieutenant governor. Carlton Hall had been stoic, in Oakley’s words. The lieutenant governor was hesitant at first to share much about his son, other than that he’d been troubled. Oakley pushed for more information, and the lieutenant governor had said that Jonathan served two tours in Iraq, that he’d always wanted a military career, that he’d gone to West Point and seemed to have a bright future in front of him. But Jonathan had come home a changed man, and Oakley noted some bitterness when the lieutenant governor had talked about his son and how different he was after Iraq. Jonathan had left the military, and the lieutenant governor had gotten him a job in his financial firm. But Jonathan had not done well. He struggled in civilian life, had been diagnosed with PTSD. The lieutenant governor didn’t share details of that, only that Jonathan had issues. Jonathan eventually lost his job, then his apartment. It was difficult for the lieutenant governor to share how hurtful it had been, and Oakley got the impression that he was embarrassed about his son as well, worried what people would think. The lieutenant governor had not wanted it known that his son was homeless; that piece had never been made public knowledge.

  I heard detectives talking in another room, and an argument started. I tuned it out and kept reading the report. Jonathan had two older brothers, and Oakley had talked to both of them as well, along with some of Jonathan’s last known friends. No one indicated that Jonathan had any enemies, much less did anyone know of someone who wanted to kill him. None of the friends seemed to dislike Jonathan, either. Jonathan had a criminal record, some petty arrests, one DUI, and nothing else. Oakley had diligently tried to find a witness to the drowning, and the homeless people he had talked to didn’t know anything or weren’t saying. Oakley had concluded it was an accident.

  I swiveled in my chair and stared at my monitor. Everything Oakley had concluded made sense, until the autopsy report came back. That had changed everything, as he had said, the pressure was on. I read through the report again. There wasn’t a lot to go on, no physical evidence, no witnesses, nothing to point us in any particular direction. I scrolled through pictures of the crime scene again, and then my heart stopped.

  Jonathan had been found wearing old jeans, a ratty T-shirt, a flannel shirt, and worn shoes. What caught my eye was a gold necklace with a red stone on it that hung on his neck.

  I swore and stared at the screen. Nicole Lockwood had been found with a ring with a red stone in it. Now this victim had a necklace with a red stone in it. Coincidence? I didn’t buy it. I let fly some other choice words, then picked up my phone and called Oakley. He answered after a couple of rings.

  “Where are you?” I asked briskly.

  “Just dropped the knife with forensics. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been reading your report. You didn’t say anything about the necklace found on Jonathan Hall’s body.”

  “I put it in the report. I didn’t think it was anything.”

  “It might be. Can you get back up here?”

  Consternation leaped into his voice. “Sure, I’m on my way.”

  I began pacing. When Oakley walked in, I pointed at the screen. “I don’t believe this.”

  “What’s going on? Why are you so excited?”

  I stopped and leaned against my desk. “My victim, Nicole Lockwood, was found with a cheap ring with a red stone on her finger.”

  He stared at me and his jaw dropped. “Wait. Jonathan Hall had that cheap gold necklace around his neck. It had a red stone in it. That seems too much of a coincidence.” He started to speak, then shook his head slowly. “Oh wow.”

  I paced again, quick steps. “What do we have here? A serial killer? I just went through that.”

  He digested the information. “This has just gotten more complicated.”

  I raked a hand through my hair and thought about it. “If that’s the case, is our guy going after vulnerable people? He hit a prostitute and a homeless guy. No one will notice their deaths.” I stopped and put hands on my hips.

  “And the cops might dismiss their deaths,” Oakley finished, with shame in his voice. He cursed. “Man, I did that.”

  I looked him in the eye. “Don’t fault yourself, but now let’s make it right by finding this guy.” I waved him over to my desk. “Let’s compare reports to see if we can find anything else in common.”

  He pulled Ernie’s chair over and sat down. It didn’t squeak nearly as much as when my partner sat in it. I opened the report I’d created for Nicole Lockwood.

  “Let’s read through this.”

  He nodded, and we spent several minutes comparing both murders. When we finished, I looked at him.

  “We have the red jewelry and the types of victims, people no one cares about, no one sees,” I said. “Did you catch anything else?”

  He shook his head. “No, but those two things are significant.”

  I crossed my arms and nodded my head in an imaginary beat. “One is killed on West Colfax, one down by the Platte. Both in the middle of the night. With one, we have a possible witness, if I can find her, but not necessarily someone reliable.”

  Oakley shook his head, disgusted. “What’s in common doesn’t help us.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I glanced over my shoulder. “We need to let Rizzo know this, then we need to begin researching to see if we have any other victims that fit this MO.”

  Oakley didn’t look happy about the prospect of having to talk to Rizzo.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said.

 
; I stood up, and Oakley followed me into Rizzo’s office. He saw us approach and waved us through the door.

  “You can’t have any tips just yet?” He was eating an apple, and he took one final bite and dropped the core into a trash can. He wiped his hands together and looked at his wall clock. “I can’t imagine the news has run the story yet.”

  I shook my head and sat down. “I think we might have a serial killer operating.”

  Rizzo’s mouth twitched. “What’s going on?”

  I filled him in. When I finished, he leaned his elbows on his desk. “If that’s the case and we do have a serial killer out there, this is way bigger than we first thought. Follett is going to have a conniption, and I can only imagine what the lieutenant governor’s going to say.”

  Oakley shifted from foot to foot behind me. Rizzo looked up at him. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle them.” His eyes went back to me. “What’s your course of action?”

  “We’ll start looking through records, see if we can find any other open cases that might fit this MO. We’re still following up with friends of Nicole Lockwood’s to see if they know anything. We also have a tip about a man that she was dating in high school, possibly a cop. He might have something to do with it.”