by Lis Wiehl
Nic was so busy lecturing herself that she didn’t notice that a new person had entered the condo until she heard his gruff voice.
“What’s going on here?”
She turned. The speaker was a Portland homicide detective she’d crossed paths with at some point in the past—Johnson, Johanssen, something like that. He was a tall man with sandy hair going silver and receding at the temples. His eyes turned down at the ends, and Nic remembered him as having a gentle expression.
Not now. Now his mouth twisted and he shook his head in exaggerated disbelief at the sight of Nic in cuffs.
Officer Santiago threw back her shoulders. “Sir, this woman is interfering in an investigation.”
“This woman also happens to be an FBI agent.” He sighed. “What exactly did she do?”
“She was yelling at me and trying to give me orders.”
Allison started to interrupt, but Santiago raised her hand sharply and continued. “Once I arrived on scene, I was the officer in charge. In this situation, this woman is nothing but a civilian, and she was interfering.”
The detective wore a crumpled white short-sleeved shirt and a shiny polyester tie that was already loose. Now he tugged at it as if it were strangling him. “She’s also on the FBI’s Evidence Recovery Team, if I remember correctly. So she could probably teach you a thing or two. Uncuff her.”
The cuffs sprang open. Nic refrained from massaging her wrists, even though the cuffs had been too tight. No point in making things worse. Instead she held out her hand to the detective. “Thank you, Detective . . .” She hated to admit that she didn’t remember his name.
“Jensen.” His gaze moved past her to Allison. “And you’re . . .”
“Allison Pierce. I’m a federal prosecutor.”
Allison sounded better than she had earlier, but Nic could see the shadow in her dark eyes. She seemed to be relying on a certain level of formality to prop her up. Just as Nic was relying on a certain level of anger to keep her from falling to her knees.
Allison continued, “In some ways she’s right, Detective Jensen. Nicole and I aren’t here in a professional capacity. Cassidy is our friend. She was supposed to meet us for dinner, but she never came, and she didn’t answer her phone. That’s not like her, and we got worried about her. We came here, found the door unlocked, and then discovered her . . .”—she stumbled a bit and then recovered—“her body stuffed under the sink. Understandably, we’re both upset. And understandably, we’re anxious that steps be taken immediately to find whoever did this to her and bring him to justice.”
“Understandably,” Jensen echoed. He squinted at the officer’s name badge. “Look, ah, Santiago, when you signed up to be an officer, it means you signed up to deal with other people’s problems. And that means you need the patience of Job. Nobody thanks you. Everybody argues with you. You need to develop thicker skin.”
“Yes, sir.” Santiago hung her head.
Unexpectedly, Nic felt a flash of empathy. “I pushed her buttons pretty hard. But this murder didn’t happen long ago, and we need to get moving.”
Jensen raised his arm and wiped his forehead on the edge of his sleeve. “Who else lives here?”
Nic knew why he was asking. “You don’t need a search warrant. This condominium is owned by the victim, she lives here alone, and she has never shared the space with anyone else at any time.”
She wanted to scream at him to hurry. Jumping through hoops to procure a search warrant would mean someone had to get hold of a district attorney, who would then have to get hold of a judge, who would then sign the search warrant. Meanwhile, precious moments would be ticking away.
But screaming, as Nic had already experienced, would do no good at all. Instead she added in a mild tone, “Only about half the units here are occupied. You should ask the manager if there’s an empty unit on this floor that you can set up as a command post.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Jensen said, not sounding particularly thankful. His eyes roamed past her. “Where is it?”
It took Nic a long second to realize that by it he meant Cassidy’s body. Cassidy was just an it now. She met Allison’s eyes and knew she was thinking the same thing.
“In the kitchen.” The four of them walked to the edge of the carpet.
“Oh,” Jensen said, and Nic heard the shock in his voice. “That Cassidy. Cassidy Shaw from Channel Four. She’s covered most of the cases I’ve investigated.”
Nic realized that Cassidy might be personally acquainted with nearly everyone who would be assigned to solve the mystery of her death. She tried to view the kitchen as if it were just another crime scene. “The body’s still warm.”
“Yeah, and . . . ?” Jensen ran the back of his hand across his shiny forehead. “It’s also about a hundred degrees in here. That doesn’t mean it just happened.” Still, he took out a notebook and jotted something down.
“We both got texts from her only a couple of hours ago,” Nic said, although she knew it was possible that someone else had sent them. “I really don’t think she’s been dead long. That means whoever did this could still be in the vicinity.”
“Don’t worry, dispatch has scrambled a few dozen officers,” Jensen said. “We’ll have people doing canvasses of the building and the neighborhood in five minutes.”
That many cars would be sure to draw a crowd, even in a neighborhood that only a few minutes ago had looked deserted.
“Don’t forget to have someone take photos of any spectators,” Nic said.
The shots might identify not only witnesses but even a potential suspect. After the body of his victim had been discovered, “Preppie Killer” Robert Chalmers had sat on a stone wall in Central Park and coolly watched as the detectives investigated.
Jensen let out a huff of exasperation. “I don’t need to be reminded how to do my job. You can be sure we’ll do what’s necessary.”
Nic took a deep breath and reminded herself to stop pushing. This guy was an old hand. He would want to clear this thing as badly as she did. And unlike Santiago, he would have a good idea of how to do it. She wished she could remember what case it was they had both worked on.
He turned his head to look up the hall that led to the bedroom and bathroom. “Besides the body, did you notice anything missing or out of place? Anything unusual?”
“Her phone’s underneath the dining room table.” Allison pointed. “The front’s cracked.”
“And there are three drops of blood near it. Passive spatter,” Nic said. “That’s why I was trying to keep Officer Santiago out of the area.”
He nodded, and Nic was glad they were back on easier ground.
“I’ll let the criminalist know. Since you’ve been here, what have you touched? We’re going to need elimination prints. Oh, and I’ll need photos of the bottoms of your shoes in case we turn up any shoe prints.”
“It’s possible we didn’t touch anything at all except for when I initially knocked on the exterior door and then turned the knob.” Nic went back through it in her mind. “We were pretty careful. I used a pen to turn on lights and open the cabinet under the sink, and when I opened other doors I used a tissue to twist the connection between the knob and the door shield.”
Jensen’s eyes narrowed. So much for easier ground.
“Just because your friend was late for dinner, that was reason enough for the two of you to walk in here already treating it like a crime scene? And if you were thinking that, why didn’t you call 9-1-1 right away?” As if to punctuate his words, sirens began to sound in the distance.
“There weren’t any signs of forced entry, but the front door wasn’t locked,” Nic explained. “Cassidy can be absentminded, but you put together an unlocked door with her not answering her phone, and we got hinky.”
“Hinky?” he repeated dubiously. “So you just went inside instead of calling someone?”
Nic took a deep breath. “And are you telling me that if you thought your friend was in danger, you would have just
hung out in the hall and called 9-1-1?”
His mouth crimped. “Leave me out of it, Special Agent Hedges. You should have called us first thing. As soon as you saw the door was unlocked. As soon as you found that broken phone. We had one chance to perform an untainted search. We didn’t need you corrupting any evidence.”
“You don’t understand.” Allison took a step toward Jensen. Her voice shook. “She’s our friend. Our priority was helping her. We were hoping she was still alive.”
“Look.” Jensen spoke through gritted teeth. “I appreciate that the deceased was your friend. But it would have been better if the scene’s integrity had been kept intact. Instead you both go in and play detective. And this is not the FBI’s jurisdiction. This is a Portland Police Bureau matter.”
Nic took a half step toward Jensen. “This isn’t about which agency has jurisdiction. This is about bringing a murdered woman’s killer to justice.”
Behind them, the building’s hall was suddenly full of voices and radio transmissions. The troops were here.
“Let me tell this to you straight, Special Agent Hedges.” Jensen’s skin was red and blotchy. “You both are going to go downtown for interviews and then you are going home. Right now, you’re not law enforcement. You’re not even witnesses. You’re bystanders. Nothing more.” He took a step forward until he was nose-to-nose with her. “I don’t need your help.”
“She’s my friend, and I will see justice done.” Nic bit off the words. She was close enough that she could smell the pepperoni pizza Jensen had eaten for dinner.
“Trust us that it will be.” His eyes were so narrow they had nearly disappeared.
Nic took a deep breath. “Come on, Allison.”
Jensen shook his head. “No. I don’t need you two comparing notes; I want you in separate cars. I want your memories fresh and untainted.”
“We’re professionals,” Nic protested. She was so angry she could barely speak. How dare he think she would do anything to jeopardize this case.
He said nothing, just stared at her from under puffy lids. Nic knew she was one word away from feeling the cuffs back on her wrists. And that wouldn’t do Cassidy any good.
Still, there were a million things she wanted to remind Jensen’s team to do. She knew the criminalist would remember to bag Cassidy’s hands in case there was skin under her nails, but what about getting a sample of the blood on the front of her jacket for DNA testing? The blood on the jacket and the floor might not necessarily even be hers, not if Cassidy had tried to fight someone off.
Nic wanted to impress upon Jensen the importance of every step. To make sure the responding officers asked Cassidy’s neighbors if they had heard or seen anything unusual: a stranger’s voice, an argument, a phone ringing, the sounds of a struggle. To hand out business cards in case memories surfaced. To search the halls, stairwells, and surrounding streets looking for anything that might have been discarded: the knife, bloody clothing, other weapons, other evidence. To record the license plate of every vehicle parked within a few blocks, in case the perpetrator had left his car behind.
Instead she turned and left without a word, swimming upstream against the suits and uniforms that now filled the hall. Behind her, she could hear Allison talking again to Jensen, but Nic couldn’t stay in the same room with him any longer. He was just trying to do his job, part of her knew that, but he didn’t understand that Cassidy was far more than a job.
In the elevator, Nic slipped her phone from her belt and pressed and held a single digit to speed dial. It was late, but she knew he wouldn’t mind.
“Leif, it’s me.”
CHAPTER 6
Wait here,” Detective Jensen told Allison as Nicole stalked out the door, and the hall outside the condo continued to fill with officers. “And do me a favor and don’t touch anything.”
Allison nodded, trying to remember if she had handled anything earlier. She didn’t think so. But she had been here often enough that her fingerprints would probably still turn up.
Jensen quickly took charge of the responding officers. Some he dispatched to canvass the neighborhood, others to talk to condominium residents. As Nicole had suggested, he sent one to track down the manager to commandeer an empty unit. Officer Santiago’s assignment was to stand just outside Cassidy’s door and jot down the name and ID number of everyone who responded, noting if they entered the condo.
Half listening to the controlled chaos behind her, Allison stood rooted in the living room. The air was still and close and incredibly hot.
A dark-haired man dressed in black pants and a charcoal polo spoke briefly to Santiago and then entered the condo. Allison wondered how he could stand to wear long sleeves, but he looked cool and composed.
“I’m Kyle Binney, the criminalist.” He shook her hand, then began to put on vinyl gloves.
“Allison Pierce. I’m a federal prosecutor.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Wait—this is a federal case?”
“No,” she said quickly, hoping Jensen hadn’t overheard. She didn’t want him getting angry again. “Just a coincidence. I’m a friend of the victim’s. We—another woman and I—found her about half an hour ago.”
“Oh.” He looked uncomfortable, and she guessed he seldom dealt with anyone but the official and the dead. “Sorry for your loss. So, um, where’s the body?”
“In the kitchen.” Would Cassidy’s lifeless blue eyes haunt her dreams? “Under the sink. There’s also a broken phone under the dining room table with some blood drops near it.”
“Yeah, they briefed me on that.” Binney started to open the case he carried over his shoulder. “Would you mind standing in the hall for a bit? I need to document the room.”
Allison stepped outside. Santiago nodded at her, expressionless. Jensen was talking to two men dressed in street clothes, whom Allison assumed were also detectives. She turned back. Flinching at the flash, she watched as Binney took several photos from different angles. Finally he beckoned her back in. He moved to the edge of the room and looked into the kitchen.
“Oh,” he said in surprise. “That’s the lady from Channel Four, isn’t it? Cassidy Something?”
“Shaw. Cassidy Shaw.” Allison suppressed the crazy urge to smile. Cassidy always liked being recognized. But then again, she wouldn’t want to be seen like this, undignified, her skirt rucked up, the front of her jacket sodden.
She wouldn’t like being dead.
Allison started when Jensen touched her shoulder from behind. “Okay, I need you to go down to the station and answer some questions.”
“I don’t have a car. I came here with Nicole.” She tried to pull herself together. “Look, I apologize for how she reacted. It was just such a terrible shock. I mean, we’re only used to dealing with this kind of thing when it involves someone we don’t know. Not when it’s our best friend.”
And Allison realized it wouldn’t end here, with hers and Nicole’s devastation. Cassidy’s death would keep rippling out, like a heavy stone thrown into a pond. Her coworkers, her family, her other friends—all of them would be devastated by the news. In addition to the emotional loss, there was also the bruising impact her absence would have on the physical world. Her death was going to mean so much work, not just for the investigators, but also for the people she left behind. Just thinking of the clothes filling Cassidy’s closet, the dishes in her sink, the jumble in her car—it all made Allison tired. Who would take care of all of it?
Cassidy’s family would have to be told soon. Her parents lived in town, as did her brother.
“What about her folks?” she asked Jensen. “They still need to be notified, right?”
He looked at her for a moment before giving a short nod.
“Please let me go along. I promise I’ll keep it professional. It will be better hearing it from me than from a stranger. I’ve known Cassidy since we were teenagers.”
It was true, as far as it went. Allison was leaving out the fact that her friendship with Cassi
dy really only stretched back six years. But she knew Cassidy’s parents well enough to know they would not take the news well. Allison mentally shook herself at the absurdity of the thought. Of course they wouldn’t take it well. Who would?
Jensen let out a growl of exasperation. “When will you two stop trying to inject yourself into the process? This is a matter for the Portland Police Bureau, nobody else.”
Allison laid a hand on his forearm, ignoring the sweat.
“I’m not asking you this as a federal prosecutor. I’m asking you as a person. This is the hardest news a parent could ever receive. Their child is dead. Please do them a kindness and let me make it easier for them.”
Again Jensen’s eyes narrowed to the point of almost disappearing. In the end he didn’t say yes or no, just, “This is against my better judgment.” He stuck his head out in the hall. “Halstead, can you take Ms. Pierce with you when you go to notify the Shaws? She’s a friend of the family.” He turned back to Allison. “And don’t say one word that will screw up this case. Not one. Do you hear me?”
“I do.” Allison looked him steadily in the eye. “And thank you.”
In the elevator, the detective held out his hand to her. “I’m Sean Halstead.” He had a thin face and large eyes that looked as though they had seen a lot. “Derrick Jensen’s partner.”
“Allison. Allison Pierce.” After shaking his hand, she pushed a sweaty piece of hair off her forehead. “Thanks for letting me come along.”
“Sure. I’m sorry for your loss. How close was your friend to her family?”
She chose her words carefully. “Their relationship could be a bit . . . fraught.”
What would Cassidy’s mother be like when she was really given something to fall apart over?
When the elevator doors opened into the lobby, two uniformed officers were already dusting the glass exterior doors for prints. Outside, the formerly empty street was now full with more than a dozen marked and unmarked vehicles. Halstead’s car was a brown Crown Vic, sagging on its wheels, that could be cousin to Nic’s own. To get to it, they had to walk through a small crowd that had already gathered.