False Witness

by Andrew Grant

—

  Outside, in the elevator lobby, Devereaux jabbed the Call button. “I can’t believe—”

  Garretty put his hand on Devereaux’s arm. “Was that a slap?”

  The detectives moved back to Sullivan’s apartment door and listened.

  The crack of skin against skin was clearly audible. The detectives drew their guns. Garretty stepped back, ready to line up a kick where the door lock met the frame. Then he paused.

  “You freak!” It was Hayley’s voice doing the yelling, followed by another slap. “What’s wrong with you? You’d rather let those police think you’d committed some kind of crime than admit to going to counseling with me?” Another slap. “You asshole! I should never speak to you again.” Slap. “When the baby comes, I’m kicking you out. You can go and live with Lucas.” Slap. “You spend more time with him than me anyway.”

  Wednesday. Early morning.

  Lieutenant Hale was sitting in her customary place at the head of the table in the fourth-floor conference room when Devereaux, Garretty, and Irvin arrived. She had two empty coffee cups in front of her, and she was halfway through a third. Behind her, she’d taped a large piece of lining paper to the wall. On it, in bold capitals, she’d written:

  WHERE?

  WHEN?

  HOW?

  And below that list, underlined and circled twice:

  WHO???

  Hale waited for the others to sit—Devereaux and Garretty on the window side of the table, Irvin opposite them—and took another swig of coffee before she began.

  “OK.” Hale pushed her cup aside. “Status report. Where are we with Lucas Paltrow’s alibis for Monday night?”

  “His credit card was used at a gas station at eight-oh-two, as he claimed.” Devereaux frowned. “The woman he said he spent the night with also confirmed he was there. The uniforms couldn’t reach the woman from Friday afternoon, though. According to neighbors, she left town with her husband Saturday morning for an impromptu romantic getaway to Paris.”

  “How about the canvass of Dean Sullivan’s building?”

  “Nada.” Garretty checked his notebook. “Uniforms have three no-responses to call on again, but no one else saw or heard anything useful.”

  “And Billy Flynn? The fire at his house?”

  “Nothing conclusive.” Garretty closed his book. “Chief Young’s waiting for one more lab report, but he hasn’t seen anything so far that proves foul play.”

  “OK.” Hale stood up and moved to the paper she’d taped to the wall. “In that case, as of now, we’re going back to square one. We got ahead of ourselves, chasing suspects without covering the basics. So I want all our efforts put into these questions. Where were the women killed? When did they cross paths with the killer? How are they connected? The twenty-first birthday thing and the adopted children? Those details are far too specific to be coincidental. Linda, I really need your input here. If there’s some weird psychological component, we need to know about it. And finally, if we fill in those blanks effectively, it should lead us to the big one. Who the killer is. Methodical, thorough police work. That’s what’s going to solve this. But we also need to move fast. More women’s lives could be at stake. And the department’s taking a serious ass-kicking in the press, which will only get worse the longer this guy’s on the streets. All right. Thoughts? Questions?”

  “Let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater here, Lieutenant.” Devereaux held his hands up as if surrendering. “I agree—thorough and methodical is good. But I don’t think we’ve gotten to the bottom of what happened with Emma Noble yet. I think there are some important clues there. Most importantly, we need to figure out why the killer changed the way he captured his victim. Calling a hooker is very different from coercing a citizen into a vehicle in the middle of the street.”

  “Convenience?” Garretty suggested. “Efficiency? He used the call girl service like it was Amazon Prime for murder victims.”

  “The second woman resisted sufficiently to catch the attention of that witness, the art professor.” Hale put her hands on her hips. “Maybe our guy realized the danger of being seen and was looking for a safer option.”

  “Neither of those ideas flies.” Irvin shook her head. “As you pointed out, Lieutenant, the first two victims had an extremely specific profile. We still have to figure out why, but those characteristics are of fundamental importance to the killer. I guarantee that. There’s no way he’s going to give them up for convenience or safety.”

  “That’s how I read it.” Devereaux nodded. “So I was thinking, maybe this was something different. Maybe he killed Emma to try and misdirect us. Making a big point of wanting a twenty-one-year-old with a kid felt bolted-on and clumsy to me. It was too obvious a move. I think he was hoping we’d latch onto it and then waste time chasing down the call girl service or the owner of the vacant apartment.”

  “Which is pretty much what we did do.” Hale pointed to her list. “Which is why we’re starting again at square one. We need to be in control of the investigation, not be led by the nose.”

  “Hold on one more second.” Devereaux laid his hands flat on the table. “There’s one piece we’re ignoring that doesn’t fit in this scenario. Professor Goodman’s ID of the guy coercing Siobhan O’Keefe into the Escalade. And of the Escalade itself.”

  “Eyewitness testimony’s the least reliable kind of evidence there is.” Hale crossed her arms. “First she thought she saw Lawton Vetch. Then she thought it was Billy Flynn. She was wrong both times. It doesn’t matter who she thinks it was now. She’s not credible.”

  “No.” Devereaux shook his head. “We thought she saw those guys because her description vaguely matched them and they fit the circumstances. We thought of Vetch, because of the Escalade’s license plate. And Flynn, because we figured out he had access to the vehicle once we confirmed it was out of Vetch’s possession at the time of the abduction. We never showed Professor Goodman photographs. There was no point with Vetch, since he was eliminated, and it wasn’t possible with Flynn because of the fire. So now we need to show her a photograph of Lucas Paltrow. Put his picture in an array. See if she picks it out.”

  “What would be the point?” Hale returned to her seat. “Paltrow’s alibied out. And the license plate doesn’t prove anything. They’re simplicity itself to clone.”

  “There’s something wrong about Paltrow.” Devereaux was ready to dig in. “You saw him in the interview room. Did he look like an innocent man to you? And what about this porno room in his house? The guy’s a freak.”

  “He certainly is.” Irvin scratched her temple with her pen. “But there’s another reason he can’t be our guy. You just more or less said it, Cooper. Paltrow displayed absolutely no compassion or empathy whatsoever in the interview room, even under pressure when you were questioning him. And yet the killer was completely overcome with remorse about what he did. Every time. Just look at the bodies. How they were wrapped. How carefully he covered the women up. And how he left all of them in places that are associated with caring for the dead.”

  “Paltrow’s creepy, all right.” Hale took a mouthful of coffee. “But as far as we know, he hasn’t broken any laws. Didn’t you say Deborah Holt called the guy her Good Samaritan? When he fixed her car for free? It’s a long way from that to becoming the Grim Reaper. So, he goes on the back burner. Unless you’re really worried about the porn angle, in which case hand him off to Vice.”

  “I’m not that worried about it.”

  “Good. Then let’s agree on some actions. I want those no-responses followed up in the building Emma Noble was taken from.”

  “I’ll take that.” Garretty scribbled a note in his book.

  “And I want everyone working flat out on finding the connection between the first two victims. Let’s start with the adoption angle. Follow up on the agencies the women used. See if any staff members worked at both places at the relevant times. Check support groups for women whose babies have gone to new families. Church gro
ups. Online groups. Exercise classes for women who’ve given birth. If none of those pan out, see if their jobs overlapped in any way. If they had the same hobbies. Shopped at the same stores. Got their coffee at the same cafés. Used the same dating service. Anything. Use your imaginations. If you need more people, tell me. Just find something, before another woman ends up dead.”

  —

  Back at their desks on the third floor, Devereaux brought Garretty a coffee.

  “Of course.” Garretty didn’t look up from his computer screen. “Go ahead.”

  “I didn’t ask you anything yet.” Devereaux put the drink down on Garretty’s Roll Tide coaster.

  “Cooper, how long have we been partners?” Garretty picked up the cup. “You’re not putting Paltrow on the back burner. You were about to ask if I’d handle the adoption agencies while you go sniff around for his buried skeletons.”

  Wednesday. Morning.

  Devereaux cinched the bathrobe cord in tight and paused in front of the shiny wooden door. “All this steam can’t be good for you. Why don’t we talk out here?”

  The truth was, Devereaux didn’t mind the steam at all. Or the heat. It was the size of the room that bothered him. Ever since he was a kid, and his father would make him hide in the crawl space below the hallway closet in their house while he was out working, Devereaux had hated enclosed spaces. He did everything he could to avoid them. His problem was, he needed to talk to Tom Vernon—his closest friend since seventh grade, despite their relationship hitting the rocks when Devereaux turned his life around and joined the police academy. And Tom Vernon was sprawling contentedly on the slatted bench inside the sauna he’d recently installed in the pool house at his home.

  “That’s crap, Cooper.” Vernon wiped his face on a towel, then dropped it back on the bench. “The steam’s good for you. It makes you sweat out all the impurities you breathe in with the air. I do this for an hour every morning now. It makes me feel much better. And anyway, the Feds haven’t figured out a way to bug me in here yet.”

  Tom Vernon was strictly old school. He tolerated cellphones—untraceable, use once and destroy burners—as long as nothing confidential was discussed. But he would not allow computers or electronic records of any kind. He used nothing he couldn’t conveniently forget or burn. And he’d become extra paranoid after he discovered the FBI was listening to conversations in the office above his restaurant—his favorite legitimate business.

  “Here’s the thing, Tom.” Devereaux took a deep breath, pushed away the image of spiders and bugs scuttling over him in the dark, and stepped inside. “I need a favor.”

  “Another one? This is becoming a habit, Cooper. When do I see something in return? A little quid pro quo?”

  “You’re not in jail, are you?”

  “The day’s coming when that won’t be enough.”

  “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” Devereaux managed to summon up a smile for his old friend. “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  “Of course I am. What do you need?”

  “I want you to ask around about a guy I’m looking at. His name’s Lucas Paltrow. He runs an auto electronics business on Deo Dara Drive. I want every scrap of dirt that ever existed on him. I’d start with porn. Semi-pro. He could also be a torch, but that’s more of a long shot.”

  “Snide parts? Marking customers’ cars for his buddies to steal?”

  “Anything. I don’t care. I just want some leverage.”

  “Got it. I can do that. How fast do you need it?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Understood.” Vernon took an old, chunky cellphone out of the pocket in his robe. “Only, Cooper, is this really for a case?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’ve seen that look in your eyes before. In the old days. When you smelled blood in the water. Right before you went after a guy’s action, then ran him out of town.”

  Wednesday. Late morning.

  Devereaux was still uncomfortably hot when he stepped out of the elevator, half an hour later. He paused on the bridge that connected the elevator tower to the observation platform at the top of Vulcan’s column, enjoying the breeze that blew up through the rectangular slats in the walkway in the mesh below the safety rails. Then he continued, moving clockwise around the octagonal plinth and running the tips of his fingers along the rough stone surface like he’d done as a kid when his father had brought him to visit. He looked down at the roof of the museum, which he resented somewhat as it hadn’t been there when he was little, then carried on until he was three-quarters of the way around. Facing north, he rested his forearms on the rail and gazed out over downtown Birmingham. He picked out the City Federal, glinting in the distance as the sun reflected off its polished white terra-cotta façade. It had started out as an office. And later been converted to apartments. Aside from its elegant proportions and exquisite carving, the fact that its use had changed was the thing Devereaux liked most about it. It had been remade. Just like he had. But as he admired it from a distance, it occurred to him that the building looked just the same. If one of the original office workers saw it, would he notice the difference? How much had it really changed? How much had he really changed?

  The elevator door opened again and a woman got out. She was in her thirties, with a bright floral sundress and long brown hair. She was model thin. Almost narcotics thin, Devereaux thought. Oversize sunglasses covered much of her face, but they couldn’t disguise the tension and worry in her expression.

  “Detective?” The woman stopped six feet away from Devereaux, turned slightly sideways as if looking toward Sloss Furnaces, and leaned her arms stiffly on the railing. “I’m Connie James. I was Connie Paltrow, but I changed my name back after the divorce.”

  “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be up here. But there’s no way I could risk coming to the station house. If anyone saw me…If my partner found out…” She closed her eyes and rapidly shook her head as if trying to banish an unpleasant image. “I guess I have a thing for bad boys, Detective. More fool me. Anyway, up here it’s safe. He thinks Vulcan’s stupid and won’t come near the park.”

  “It’s no problem.” Devereaux shot her an encouraging smile. “I love it here. My dad used to bring me when I was a kid. He told me stories about how Vulcan was the best giant in the world. He said all the other states used to have giants, but Vulcan beat them all in a whole series of competitions and the losers were banished. The contest with New York’s giant was the best. It explained why Vulcan has no underwear. According to my dad, anyway. Of course, he made the whole thing up.”

  “He sounds nice, your dad.” Connie’s expression relaxed a little. “Is he still with us?”

  “No.” Devereaux looked down. “He passed away when I was young.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

  “I guess. Anyway, how can I help? You said you wanted to know some things about Lucas. Is he in trouble?”

  “We don’t know that yet. His name came up in connection with a case we’re working on, and we need to figure out if he’s involved or not. I just need some background information at this point. Like, for example, his attitude toward women. How would you describe that?”

  “Ha.” Connie practically snorted. “Let me describe one incident to you. I’ll just give you the facts, then you can make your mind up for yourself. This was a while ago. Before we were married, which doesn’t cover me in reflected glory, I realize that. Anyway, Lucas had this peculiar friend. A real geek. He never seemed to have a job, so he was always hanging around our place, sucking up to Lucas. He even tried to dress like Lucas. And he always had his eye on some woman or other. He seemed charming at first, but he didn’t know when to stop. He’d keep going and going, giving them flowers, copying out poems. He was like a walking cliché. Surprise, surprise, none of the women wanted to stick around very long. The kid was always getting
dumped. So one day, he asks Lucas for advice. This is what Lucas told him. He said, women are like dogs. They have their uses. They can be fun to have around. But never let them get too close. Try not to let them sleep in the house. And always make sure they know who’s the boss.”

  “He sounds like a real charmer. Did he ever get violent with you? Or anyone else you know of?”

  “Oh, no. He’d never hit a woman. That was part of his strangeness. He had a kind of weird, old-school code. He acted like women and children were weaker, and needed to be protected. Not treated nice, necessarily, but kept safe and provided for.”

  “Did Lucas have any kids?”

  “Not that I know of. Although, the way he played the field…”

  “Did he ever say anything about wanting a kid?”

  “Not with me.”

  “OK. Thanks, Connie. You’ve been very helpful. There’s just one other thing. This might sound like a strange question, so don’t try and second-guess yourself. Just tell me anything that comes into your head, even if it seems crazy. All right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Did the age twenty-one have any special significance for Lucas?”

  “Oh my God!” Connie gripped the safety rail with all her strength. “You think Lucas is B/DK? No way.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I just need to know if twenty-one was a special age for him, for any reason.”

  “Well, of course it was. You didn’t know?”

  “Pretend I don’t. Explain it to me, Connie.”

  “Lucas was adopted. He was always obsessed with finding his birth parents. He never got anywhere on his own. But his geeky friend with the love poems? He was great with computers. He helped Lucas track down his real mom. Lucas went to see her, in Phoenix, Arizona. Now, Lucas always had money. He always had a job. He did half a dozen other things before he settled on auto electronics. But his mom? She was another level of rich. And she had a confession to make. She’d met a guy when she was twenty. She was already knocked up with Lucas at that point, by some loser she met in a bar and had a one-night stand with. But the rich guy didn’t care. On her twenty-first birthday he proposed. He was offering her love. Money. Happiness. And there was only one condition. She had to give up her baby, the moment it was born.”