Killing Justice

by Allison Brennan

  And she'd had sex less than an hour before she died.

  DNA samples were taken and sent to the lab, but it would be at least two weeks—even with the rush John put on it—before he had anything useful. And he needed to make an arrest before he could compel a suspect to submit his DNA. The post-mortem injuries needed to be further analyzed, but once they found out where her body had been stored for a day, they could better figure out what had happened to her.

  Still, the information would be useful during his next conversation with Senator Bruce Wyatt and every other man who had been in the building after nine p.m. Wednesday night.

  John returned to the Capitol with the new information. The officer viewing security tapes called on his cell phone. “Detective,” he said, “I have a list of everyone who came and left the Capitol from eight p.m. Wednesday to four a.m. Thursday morning.”

  “Meet me in Senator James's office.”

  Lara was at her desk, glowing. At least he imagined she should be after their night together. He wasn't going to let her walk away this time. He was in it for the long haul. For the first time, her attitude told him she believed him. Trust didn't come easy for Lara, and John was honored he'd earned it.

  “I have—” he began, but his cell phone rang. It was Cindy Wyatt, the senator's wife.

  She said, “You left a message for me yesterday. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you right away. I was out most of the day. Bruce told me about that poor woman.”

  “I was calling to verify a dinner you had at Morton's Steakhouse last Wednesday evening?”

  “With my husband and his colleagues and their wives.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “I'm not sure. Between ten and ten-thirty.”

  “Did you go straight home?”

  “Yes. We drove right to our townhouse on the river. Then on Thursday afternoon, we drove to our home in Shasta.”

  “And you and your husband were home all night?”

  “Yes.”

  When he hung up, Lara said, “You're verifying Bruce's alibi?”

  “A dead body was in his office. I have to verify his and everyone else on his staff, just for openers.” John tapped his pencil on the pad. “His wife says he was home all night. Wives are known to lie.” He made a note to verify Cindy Wyatt's statement.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked.

  “I missed you.” He smiled when Lara blushed. “Seriously, I wanted a place to talk to my officers. You don't mind, do you? I figure this is the most secure place in the Capitol, away from controversy and probing press.”

  “That's fine. I have something to do. I'll be right back.”

  John watched Lara leave. Something was wrong. He'd have gone after her, except Officer Smiley came in ready to report on the tapes he'd viewed. “Eight legislators entered the garage after eight p.m. Wednesday night,” he said, “and three staff members. Staff are required to use their passkeys to enter, not exit, but we identified them on camera when they left.”

  “Someone could have come in during business hours and hidden somewhere in the building,” John noted. He glanced at the staff list. One name stood out: Robert Douglas, Wyatt's Chief of Staff. He entered at 9:50 p.m. and exited an hour later.

  Smiley nodded. “I identified Tiffany Zaren entering the building at 10:40 p.m. with Senator Wyatt. She never left. Wyatt exited the garage at 11:35 p.m.”

  Douglas was in the building at the same time as Wyatt and Zaren, he thought. “I want to view those tapes.”

  “You asked me to check for Assembly member Kevin Andersen? He came in at ten thirty, just like he said.

  “When did he leave?”

  “He didn't. At least not through the garage.”

  “Find out which exit he used and when he used it. I need to talk to Wyatt.”

  First Wyatt lied, then Andersen. Why?

  IX.

  Lara's fists were squeezed tight. She stood in front of Bruce Wyatt in his temporary office one floor beneath the crime scene.

  “You had Cindy lie for you!”

  “I—what?” Wyatt looked stricken.

  “I called your house at eleven Wednesday night. Cindy said you were out. She told the police you were at home. You’re a bastard.”

  “I don't know what—”

  “Were you having an affair with Tiffany Zaren?”

  “I—no—not like—”

  She knew as soon as he stuttered that he was guilty. He'd cheated on his wife and Cindy was covering for him. Why? Because she loved him? How could she love a man who didn't take his wedding vows seriously? How could Lara respect a man who cheated on his wife, who lied to her, who was possibly a killer?

  “You killed her.”

  “I didn't. I swear to you, Lara. I didn't kill Tiffany. Yes, we were having an affair. It didn't mean anything, just one of those things . . .”

  Lara felt betrayed. She had admired this man. She'd always understood where he was coming from, even when they disagreed on policy. She had respected him more than anyone. More than her father, more than her commanding officer. Bruce Wyatt was like an older, wiser brother. A mentor.

  Now he was nothing but a fraud. How could she believe anything he said?

  “Tell the police.”

  “No, I—”

  “Dammit, Bruce! They're not stupid. They're going to see you coming in with her on the security tapes!”

  His face fell as he remembered security. “I didn't think—”

  “You can say that again.” If Bruce was so stupid to think that he could get away with having an affair, maybe he was stupid enough to stuff his dead lover in an armoire.

  “Cindy didn’t know about the affair; she was just protecting me because she knows how this town can be. And it's not what you think.”

  “What a cliché. You have no idea what I think.”

  “I didn't kill Tiffany,” he whispered.

  “I'm telling the police about my conversation with Cindy. I'm not lying for you, Bruce.”

  The door opened abruptly, and Bruce jumped, ready to snap at whoever was coming in uninvited. Lara turned so quickly that her leg cramped. John walked into the office and firmly shut the door. John didn’t look at her, and she realized she should have gone to him first with the information she had. But she’d been so angry with Wyatt, and with herself for her bad judgment.

  “Start at the beginning,” John demanded.

  Wyatt seemed to shrink, older and defeated. “I was having sex with Tiffany. We came here after the dinner. Cindy and I had taken two cars, I told her I had to pick up some papers. Tiff and I had never, um, 'been' in my office before. She left around eleven thirty. Said she didn't want anyone seeing us together. We hadn’t been involved for long, just a few weeks. I wanted to drive her home, but Tiff . . . She said she'd be fine. I left right after, went down to the parking garage. I didn't think anything of it. I tried calling her on Thursday before I left town, but she didn't answer.”

  “You lied to me,” John said. “You didn’t think we’d see you and the victim on the security tapes?”

  “I didn’t think anyone would have a reason to!”

  “Even after her murder?” Lara said. “What were you thinking?”

  Bruce was flustered. “To be honest, I thought the security cameras would show her talking to someone else—after she left me—and prove I wasn't the last one to see her.”

  “You should have come clean from the beginning,” Lara said, disgusted with her former friend and mentor.

  She glanced at John. He was looking at her, but she couldn’t read his expression. She wished she could rewind the last thirty minutes, and tell John about the phone call, before she confronted Wyatt.

  John reached into his pocket and answered his vibrating cell phone. “Black.” He mostly listened, said a few words, then he finished and hung up.

  “We found the murder weapon,” he said to Wyatt. “A letter opener. Under your middle desk drawer. With Tiffany’s missing
garter wrapped around it.”

  X.

  Wyatt lawyered up. He claimed he didn’t recognize the sterling silver letter opener, and that was it.

  John pushed the senator hard before letting him leave, but he didn’t have anything more than circumstantial evidence. There were no prints on the letter opener, and he couldn't find where Tiffany had been killed, or why he would move her after nearly twenty-four hours into his office. Security tapes showed he used the elevators five minutes after Tiffany went down the staircase, and he exited the building from the basement shortly after that. If Wyatt was guilty of murder, he had someone help him cover it up.

  While John had believed in the possibility of a crime of passion and Wyatt panicking, stuffing the body in the armoire, he simply had a hard time believing the senator would have left the murder weapon in his own desk, when he had plenty of opportunities to dispose of it.

  But maybe someone with free access to the office would have.

  John met with Robert Douglas in the CHP office, having no intention of pussyfooting around with Wyatt's Chief of Staff.

  “You were in the building late Wednesday night,” John began.

  Douglas nodded. “I came in to pick up some papers.”

  “When?”

  “Around ten. It was after I made my rounds at all the cocktail events. It’s that time of year, fundraising. Why?”

  John ignored the question. “What time did you leave?”

  “I don't know. It wasn't that long.” He glanced away. This guy wasn't a good liar.

  “Did you see Senator Wyatt at any time Wednesday night?”

  “At Chops, for a fundraiser.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “That was it?”

  “I don't understand.”

  John slammed his fist on the table. “Yes, you do understand, but I'll ask clearly. When you were here in the building between 9:50 and 10:55 Wednesday night, did you see, hear, talk to, or otherwise know that Senator Wyatt was also in the building?”

  He hesitated. “Yes,” he said carefully.

  “Was he alone?”

  “No.”

  “Who was he with?”

  “I don't know.”

  “If you're trying to protect your boss, you're doing a piss poor job of it. Spit it out, or I'll charge you as an accessory.”

  Douglas blanched. “I was in my office working. I often work at night when it's quiet. I heard someone moving around his office and thought it was odd, because the janitorial staff is long gone by then. I opened the door and—”

  “And what?”

  “Bruce was with someone. I didn't see her face. He was sitting in his chair and she was under his desk and—”

  “I get the picture. You didn't recognize her?”

  “I just saw blond hair.”

  “And you didn't think to say anything after we found a dead blonde?”

  “I—no.”

  “Did Wyatt see you?”

  “Yes, but I left right after that.”

  “And?”

  “The next day he came up to my desk and joked it off.”

  John took out his ace. He had Douglas's personnel records. The top page was a copy of a request for a raise submitted to the Senate Rules Committee. “On Thursday, the Senator approved a raise for you. A nice bump.”

  Douglas didn't say anything.

  “Was he paying you to hide the fact that he was having an affair, or that he had killed someone?”

  “The affair,” Douglas whispered. He cleared his throat. “I swear, Bruce didn't look or act like he killed anyone. We had a staff meeting in his office after he left Thursday afternoon and everything looked like it always does.” He sat up straighter, as if trying to please a strict teacher. “In fact, Kris—the scheduler—opened the armoire to put Bruce's shoes inside. He keeps an extra pair and she'd taken them down to be shined. I swear to God, ask her.”

  With one sentence, Robert Douglas had cleared both himself and his boss of murder and provided another witness.

  Unless the substantial salary increase was for moving the body Thursday night and Douglas was far more shrewd than he seemed on the surface.

  “What time did you leave Thursday?”

  “Five thirty or so.”

  “Did you return at any time Thursday night or early Friday morning?”

  “No. I took Friday off. Felt I'd, um, earned it.” He stared at his hands.

  Which led John back to who wanted Tiffany Zaren dead? And why would they frame Senator Wyatt?

  After Douglas left, John studied the tapes again. Officer Smiley had marked all key segments. “The place was Grand Central Station between nine and ten,” Smiley said. “But after eleven, the only people in the building other than security and janitorial staff were Wyatt, the vic, and Assembly member Andersen.”

  Smiley continued. “I traced their steps, and Wyatt's statement holds up. See—here—Zaren leaves Wyatt's office.”

  “That's what you said on the phone, but I don't see anything.”

  “Here.” He paused the tape. An arm appeared in view. He slow-motioned the tape and Tiffany came into the frame briefly, then disappeared two frames later. “By the shadow, she must have taken the stairs.”

  “Taken the stairs where?”

  “Don't know. She doesn't show up on any other camera, but the stairwells aren't monitored in the older building.”

  John remembered his walk with Lara through both sections of the Capitol. “What about Andersen?”

  “He was in his office briefly from 10:30 until 10:50. He was talking on the phone with someone when he entered. Then he left and took the elevators to the garage.”

  “But you said earlier that Andersen didn't leave through the garage.”

  “Right. He didn't. He is on tape leaving through the north entrance at 12:10.”

  Where in the building was Kevin Andersen for over an hour?He said to Smiley, “Review the tapes starting at eight p.m. on Thursday through six a.m. Friday and tell me everyone who comes in or leaves the building from any entrance.”

  XI.

  Lara was furious at Bruce Wyatt, but she didn't believe he was a killer.

  She retraced the steps she'd taken with John the day before and found herself in the same Assembly corridor on the fourth floor of the historic building where she and John had gone down the freight elevator and discovered the passage to the Senate side of the building. A long, narrow hallway curved around, leading to three different committee rooms. She'd never been in any of them. The doors were locked. Contemplating picking the lock, she decided against it. She’d call John and ask him if the crime scene unit had extended their search for evidence onto the Assembly side of the building.

  She rounded the corner near Committee Room 437 and practically ran into a credenza. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the narrow hall. No other furniture had been in any of the halls she'd been roaming. She sat down on top of the credenza to rest her bum leg, disturbing a fly that buzzed by her head.

  Lara rubbed her eyes. She was more disappointed than anything. Why had she run for office in the first place? Her mentor turned out to be an adulterer, legislation she felt passionate about was killed unceremoniously in committee, and nothing worthwhile had been accomplished.

  Maybe she should try not to take it all so seriously. John had walked back into her life, and she didn't think she'd be able to get rid of him this time. She smiled, remembering last night, thinking about what it would be like to let someone fully into her heart and share her life.

  Her leg wasn't feeling any better and Lara accepted that she would have to take a pain pill to make it through the rest of the day. When she slid off the credenza, three more flies flew off as well.

  What were flies doing here in a climate-controlled building?

  She squatted in front of the credenza, putting most of her weight on her good leg. As she got closer, the smell of death wrapped around her. It was subtle, but she couldn’t mistak
e the underlying scent of dried blood. Suspicious, she removed a tissue from her pocket to ease open the doors from the bottom. The foul stench increased.

  Though there was no longer a dead body in this space, it was clear there had been—the bottom of the credenza was covered in dried blood. On the back panel was a 2 X 3 metal plate with Sampson Furniture Company stamped on it.

  The victim had a 2 X 3 rectangular mark on her back that the criminalist said had been made when the body was pushed against a metal plate.

  Other than the memory of death, a bright red spike-heeled shoe was the only thing inside.

  Lara called John.

  XII.

  Lara sat alone in her office while John and the crime scene investigators worked in Committee Room 437. As soon as she'd showed them the evidence in the credenza, they searched the entire floor and found blood evidence in the closest unlocked committee room. It now looked like Tiffany was murdered in that room, then stuffed in the credenza almost immediately after death, where she was kept for nearly twenty-four hours. The killer had to break rigor to move her the next night to Wyatt's armoire. The post-mortem injuries were caused as the killer manipulated her body out of the crude storage box.

  John didn't have much time to talk, but he said that it looked like Wyatt's alibi held and the security tapes showed it would have been impossible for him to kill Tiffany Zaren, unless there was some huge conspiracy to protect him which would include false security data. Both Lara and John doubted that—secrets didn't last long in this building.

  If Wyatt wasn't guilty, who had killed the lobbyist? Lara wondered. It mattered for justice, but did it truly matter to her? Bruce had still lied to her. Everything she'd believed in was . . . gone.

  Everything except for the solid and reliable John Black.

  She was surprised when Assembly Minority Leader Kevin Andersen walked into her office. “Do you have a minute?” he asked her.

  “I have several,” she answered.

  He sat and leaned back in his chair. “I heard Bruce was arrested.”