by David Archer
Sam nodded, chewing on his cheek as he thought about what he was hearing. “Do you know of anyone who might want Carlos dead?”
“Ha! Just about anyone who ever knew him. Carlos is one of those people that just rubs everyone the wrong way. He always thinks he knows everything and that everyone else should just take his word as gospel. Especially when it comes to women; Carlos was the kind of guy who could get any woman to do just about anything he wanted, but it would always blow up in her face eventually. Then the poor girl would figure out she was being used, and end up hating him.” She leaned back just a bit and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Look, I don't know who he runs with, not anymore. What I do know is that Carlos seemed to be making a lot more money, somehow, than he was likely to make on his regular job. I mean, he drives a delivery truck, delivers stuff for some lumberyard, but he's got a brand-new Jaguar, a new Harley and he just had a pool put in. You ever known any delivery drivers who could afford things like that?”
Sam's eyebrows went up just a bit. “Okay, you got my spider sense tingling. Any idea who can tell me more about his financial situation?”
She made a sarcastic face and shook her head. “In case you hadn't caught it, me and Carlos weren't on the best of terms. He was one of those guys who doesn't care who he hurts, or how bad, as long as he gets what he wants. Well, that's how he got custody of Charlie. He knew that me and Charlie were living in a motel room, and that I didn't have any money. Look, I'm not proud of it, but I turned a few tricks back then in order to put food on the table, and somehow, Carlos found out. He set me up to get busted, then used that against me in a custody hearing. Between a prostitution rap and not having a permanent address, the judge decided Charlie would be better off with his dad. I'm supposed to get him every other weekend, but Carlos always finds—found lots of excuses to keep me from getting him when I was supposed to.”
Sam gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell me about Charlie. What's your relationship with your son like?”
Candy leaned forward again, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “It's been rough,” she said. “Like I said, there were a lot of times when Carlos would screw me out of my visitation, but he always told Charlie it was my fault, like I just didn't want to come get him or something. Charlie would feel hurt, so it didn't do me any good to tell him his dad was lying.” A tear started down her cheek from her right eye. “I'll admit it hasn't been great between us, but underneath it all you could tell that we still love each other. I think he knows I love him, and I can't believe he would think I would do something like this. That shocks me more than getting arrested does.”
“Candy,” Sam said. “You've got to give me something to work with, here. As it stands right now, even though no one actually saw you shove a knife into your ex-husband's chest, there's no doubt in my mind that they can come up with circumstantial evidence. Enough of that to go along with Charlie's statement, and you will almost certainly be convicted. Now, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. At this moment, I don't know whether I believe you or not. If someone had asked me last week if I thought you were capable of murder, I almost certainly would've said no, but I've seen some of the nicest people in the world fly into a rage, especially when kids are concerned. When that happens, all bets are off. From everything I've heard so far, it sounds possible that you might have gotten so angry that you grabbed the first thing you could get your hands on and lashed out at your ex. I'm not saying that's what happened, I'm saying that nothing I'm seeing so far would convince me, or a jury, otherwise.”
“But, Sam…” Candy began, before Sam cut her off.
“Hold on, I'm not done. Just because I said I'm not sure what to believe at this moment doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything I can to find proof that you're telling the truth. I just want you to understand this: if I come upon proof that you're guilty instead, I am required by law to turn that evidence over to the police. Now, is there anything else you want to tell me before I walk out of here?”
The look on Candy's face was one of shocked bitterness, but she forced herself to remain in control. “I didn't do this, Sam,” she said. “When I get angry, I don't lash out; I walk away, I always have. That's what I did this time, too, because I didn't want Charlie to hear the things Carlos and I were saying to each other. There was a lot of name-calling, and Carlos was threatening to go back to court and try to claim that Chris would be a bad influence on Charlie. That would put me in the position of having to choose between my son and the man I love, and I didn't want to go through that. I told Carlos I was going to leave, and that I would come back when I calmed down, and he grabbed me by the arm and told me I wasn't going anywhere. I yanked my arm out of his hand so hard that his fingernails scratched me, but I didn't even notice that until that detective asked me about it.” She suddenly put both hands over her face. “If that stupid barista would've remembered me, I wouldn't be in this mess. You'd think I'd be somebody hard to forget, wouldn't you? Looking like this, I mean?”
Sam looked at Candy's Neapolitan hair, and found himself agreeing. Hair like that wouldn't be easy to forget, so if Candy was telling the truth, then it was actually strange that the barista claimed not to have seen her. “Funny thing is, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet.” He took out his phone and snapped a picture of her. “Okay, I'm going to get out of here and get on this. Have you got a lawyer yet?”
Candy nodded her head. “Yeah, Chris got me one. Guy named Falls, he's supposed to be pretty good. He's coming to see me this afternoon, so we can start figuring out how this is going to go. Sam, I do understand what you're saying, I know this looks bad, but I really didn't do it. I really need your help here, Sam.”
Sam smiled at her. “And I'm going to do my best to give it to you. Just hang in there, don't let this place get you down. If I can find evidence to back up your story, you'll be out of here and back with your son pretty soon.”
They stood, and Sam gave her one more hug before he left. The jailer came in to take her back to her cell as Sam was starting down the hallway, and he got the impression that Candy wasn't well liked in the jail. The jailer seemed stiff, and the hand he put on her arm looked like it was holding on awfully tight.
Sam retrieved his gun from the locker, then went outside, climbed into his Corvette and headed toward Karen Parks' office downtown. He was early, so he pulled into a small diner and went inside to order lunch. Once the waitress had taken his order, he took out his phone and called Indie.
“Hey, Babe,” he said. “I got done with Candy, and I'm grabbing a quick bite of lunch before I go to see Karen. How's your day going?”
“I've actually been productive,” she said. “Right after you left this morning, I decided to put Herman to work and see if he could come up with anything that might help you. I fed him all the information I could come up with on Candy's ex-husband, and got something you might be interested in. Carlos McAlester—incidentally, he was named after Carlos Santana, I guess his parents were fans or something—has probably got the cleanest record I've ever seen anywhere. I mean, as in this guy never even had a parking ticket. I've never seen anybody with a record this clean, and it makes me wonder how he managed to accomplish it in this day and age. How in the world can anybody manage to reach his mid-30s without ever having even a traffic ticket?”
“Well, it happens,” Sam said, “but if any of what Candy told me about him is true, then it really is hard to believe. According to her, Carlos was the kind of guy who always got his way, no matter who he had to hurt to do it. Guy like that usually runs afoul of some aspect of the law, sooner or later. I guess it's possible he could avoid it this long, but I'd have trouble believing it.”
“Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. The only other thing I got on him was that he has an awful lot of money stashed away in the bank, and I'm talking middle six figures. I can't find any kind of investment accounts for him, and his job only pays him about thirty grand a year, so it's har
d to figure where that money might've come from. You'd think that alone would have gotten him some kind of scrutiny, at least from the IRS.”
Sam scowled. “Yeah, it does seem that way. Candy mentioned that he seemed to be making a lot of money somehow, something not connected to his job. Is there any way Herman can find out the source of any of that money?”
“I've got him working on it, but that's not easy. From his bank records, it looks like most of it was deposited in chunks of cash, probably in small enough amounts to keep from having to report anything on it.”
“Well, it's something to think about. Big amounts of money like that, even if it accrued over time, could conceivably be connected to a motive for murder.” They talked for a few more minutes, and then ended the call as Sam's lunch was set in front of him.
4
Detective Parks was busy when Sam arrived, and he had to sit and wait for about ten minutes before she came out to get him. “Sorry about that, Sam,” she said. “I was in a department meeting, we've got eight separate homicide cases working right at the moment. This one isn't really considered a high-priority case, but that's mostly because the higher-ups figure it's already solved. I got the preliminary crime scene report this morning, though, so I can show it to you. Come on back.”
Sam followed her to her office, where she shut the door behind them. “I know you know this, but I'm not supposed to be letting you see these files. This stays between us, right?”
“Absolutely,” Sam said. “I'm just looking for a lead, anything I can find. By the way, I wanted to ask you a question. You got a look at Candy's hair, right?”
Karen made a derisive snort. “Yeah, I sure did. I thought you guys were a country band, she looks more like punk rock.”
Sam couldn't help himself; he smiled. “Yeah, I was a little taken aback when I first saw it myself, a couple days ago. The thing is, Candy mentioned that she was surprised the girl at the coffee shop didn't remember seeing her, and that struck me as odd. Most people, if they're lying about something, won't want to point out an obvious flaw in their own story. If she really went to the coffee shop, that hair should've stuck in somebody's mind. The fact that the girl in the window claims not to remember could mean she was never there, or it could mean she's deliberately hiding the fact that she did see Candy.”
Karen looked doubtful. “Sam, why on earth would a barista who isn't even connected to anyone in this case want to lie about that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't have the slightest idea,” he said, “but why would your suspect point out the very reason that she'd almost certainly be remembered, casting even more doubt on her story? That's out of character for anybody in this position, don't you think?”
“Could just be she's pretty smart, and figures tossing that tidbit out there is a way to get you on her side. Ever think of that?”
“Of course I did,” Sam said. “The difference is, I know Candy pretty well, and while she's a genius on bass guitar, she is unfortunately not the brightest bulb in the pack in anything connected to the brain department. Whatever's in her mind tends to fall right out of her mouth, even if it gets her into trouble.”
Karen smiled smugly and waved a hand in the air. “Well, there you go,” she said. “That's exactly what she's done in this situation, she opened her mouth and tossed out another reason to believe she was never at that coffee shop. Now, you want to see these files are not?”
Sam grinned and reached for the folder she was offering. He opened it up to find dozens of photographs and a concise description of the crime scene, including specific notes on every item that might have been remotely connected to the murder. He began reading the report, occasionally glancing at one of the numbered photographs. He skimmed through it until he came to the part about the body.
The victim appears to have suffered multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. A common butcher knife was still present in one of the wounds, and was extracted and bagged for laboratory examination. Each of the wounds displayed bleeding patterns that were consistent with wounds inflicted while the victim was standing, before falling onto his back on the floor. Each of the wounds appeared to the examiner to have been made by the same knife that was extracted.
Blood was also observed in and around the mouth of the victim, indicating that one or more of the wounds appears to have punctured a lung. The blood pattern on the face was consistent with aspirated blood, ejected forcefully enough to indicate that the victim was choking or coughing at the time.
Sam skimmed through more of the report, but nothing jumped out at him. Carlos had fallen on his back and had apparently died quickly, because the amount of blood on the floor was not great. Had he been alive for more than a few seconds, the wounds would have bled more profusely and there would have been a larger pool of blood surrounding the body.
When he finished reading the report, Sam skimmed through the photos. He had seen homicide scenes in the past, so he understood the things he was seeing, but something about the way Carlos was positioned was bothering him. He had fallen onto his back on the living room floor, but he wasn't lying there with his arms and legs splayed randomly, as Sam would have expected. His legs were together, and his arms were lying at his side. To Sam, this indicated that he hadn’t struggled as he died.
“You got any idea why he's just laying there as if he was resting? It doesn't look like he even tried to catch himself as he fell, and that should be instinctive. He's just lying flat on his back, almost like he's standing at attention horizontally.”
Karen shrugged. “It turns out one of the stabbings basically cut his heart almost in half, so there wasn't a lot of blood getting to his brain. Between that and shock, it's possible he just blacked out and fell backward. That's what the coroner says, anyway.”
Sam shook his head. “I've seen people fall back after a bullet to the brain, and the muscles in the arms and legs still contract, or something. I've never seen anybody die like this, just perfectly laid out this way. It may mean nothing, but it looks odd to me.”
“Okay, I'll give you that, it does look odd. Still doesn't change the fact that the only one we know of who could possibly have been there to do it was the guy's ex-wife. Come on, Sam, you're going to have to do a little serious digging if you're going to find anything to corroborate her story. You can't expect to find anything to prove her innocence in the crime scene report.”
Sam flipped through the rest of the photos and then closed the file and passed it back. “I suppose it could be nothing,” he said, “but it bothers me. Just curious, here, but did you see anything at the scene that didn't seem right to you? Other than a dead man, I mean?”
Karen sat there for a long moment without saying a word, then looked down at the top of her desk. “Okay, there was one thing that really surprised me. When I interviewed the kid, Charlie, he didn't seem nearly as upset about his father being dead as he did about admitting that he heard his parents fighting. It wasn't like he was trying to hide anything, and when he told me that he thought his mom did it, he said it very matter-of-factly. It was just that—I could tell it bothered him more to say that he thought his mom killed his dad than it did to discuss the fact that his dad was dead.”
Sam looked at her for a moment, chewing his cheek as he did so. “Karen, I'm just wondering, but have you considered the possibility that the boy might've done it?”
“Of course I have,” she said. “Trouble with that is that the coroner says whoever did it was taller than five foot four. The kid only stands four foot ten, he's pretty small. According to the medical examiner who went over the body, Charlie could not have stabbed his father at some of the angles that were apparent. His mother, on the other hand, stands five foot six, so that fits.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Any idea where they placed the kid?”
“Oh, yeah, family services tracked down his dad's parents. He's staying with Grandma and Grandpa, right now.” She wrote down an address on a slip of paper and passed it to Sa
m. “I heard from them this morning, they're planning to get him into counseling right away.” She paused, and cocked her head to one side. “You know, there's another odd thing. It was Charlie's grandmother that called me, Carlos's mother, and now that I think about it she didn't seem any more upset about her son being dead than Charlie did. There was a sort of sense that maybe it was just one of those things, something that's unpleasant, but not necessarily that big a deal.”
“Maybe Carlos and his parents didn't get along too well,” Sam offered.
“Charlie seemed to think they were pretty close. When the family services woman got there, she asked if he had any family around and he said his grandparents came over almost every other day, and that they were all close. He seemed pretty sure that they would take him in, and they jumped at the chance.”
Sam shook his head. “Do you ever remember the good old days, when you and I worked in juvie together? Seems like the world has gone pretty crazy, since then.”
Karen smiled. “Nah, it hasn't gone crazy. It's always been that way, you and I were just too young and idealistic to believe it, back then. Now we're getting old, and we have to face up to reality. I'll let you in on a secret: reality sucks, buddy.”
Sam laughed, but then he thanked her for her time and the information she'd given him, and headed out to his car. He thought about what to do next, and decided to swing by the coffee shop Candy said she had gone to the morning before.
The place was called Sammy's, and was one of a small chain of coffee shops in the Denver area. This one was on Québec Street. Sam knew it, and had been there himself a few times. The drive to get there took him just over twenty minutes before he pulled up in the parking lot and walked inside.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to Sammy's,” said the girl behind the counter. Her nametag said Brittany. “What can I get for you today?”