“Kara.”
She heard his voice—barely. Andy was standing outside on the porch, his face white and drawn.
“I shouldn’t be a cop.”
She wasn’t in the mood to counsel or coddle or correct him. She was angry that he’d scared her, and angry that he didn’t have her back. She’d been alone in that house when no one should leave their partner alone.
You’re an undercover cop for a reason. You don’t trust anyone. Why did you think you could trust this cop?
“Call it in, Detective,” Kara snapped. “I’ll secure the scene.”
27
Liberty Lake
11:15 a.m.
Matt went out to the crime scene in Liberty Lake. He was surprised to find Kara directing cops and talking to Miles Jordan and Jim Esteban.
He approached. “Where’s Andy?”
Anger flashed in her sharp blue eyes, then she suppressed it. For a cop who kept her emotions in check, he was surprised she let him see anything and wondered if it was deliberate.
A second look told him it was raw anger—it was real, and it was directed toward Andy. Matt wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Kara’s rage.
She jerked her finger toward the street. Andy was standing in front of his truck, not looking at the house or cops, but gazing into the woods beyond.
Matt would talk to him later. He asked Jim, “Anything new?”
Jim shook his head. “Same MO; sliced down once, across three times. Killed in his bed, probably didn’t even know what was happening until the knife came down. No struggle. Killer cleaned up in the vic’s bathroom, which may give us a huge break. He cleaned up after himself, but bathroom surfaces are fantastic to get prints or other biological matter. Blood in grout and cracks is really hard to erase without dousing the room in bleach.”
Kara said, “Forensics will confirm, but he entered through the front door. No sign that he picked the lock—he may have had the key, or was as good as me at picking a lock. No telltale scrapes. The door was unlocked when Andy and I arrived. We had probable cause to enter. Ogdenburg’s car was in the garage, he wasn’t answering the door, and his name was on our list.”
“No complaints from me,” Matt said. He would have done the exact same thing.
“We cleared the house. I found the body in the master bedroom. Andy called it in.”
“Is the coroner still in there?”
“Yes, but he hasn’t removed the body. I thought you might want to take a look so asked him to hold until you arrived,” Kara said.
Matt wanted to ask who put her in charge of the crime scene, but there was something in her tone that had him backing down.
He walked through the house. It was exactly as Kara had described, in her brief, efficient manner.
But she was right, he wanted to see. He wanted the image in his mind so he could better understand the Triple Killer. This scene—it wasn’t violent. A lot of blood, a dead body, but it was... Simple. Enter the house in the middle of the night, kill a man in his bed—no other assault, neither sexual nor physical—clean up in his bathroom, leave.
Bastard.
The coroner said, “Can I take him?”
Matt nodded and left the house. “Coroner’s done. Do your thing,” he said to Jim. He glanced around. “Where’s Quinn?”
“Helping with the canvass,” Jim said.
Yet Andy was still standing by his truck. While Jim and Miles brought their equipment inside, Matt approached the cop. “Detective.”
“You don’t want me on this case, Agent Costa.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m resigning.”
“Like hell you are. In the middle of a homicide investigation?”
“I could have gotten Kara killed.”
Now Matt was confused, though Kara’s irritability made a little more sense. “Explain,” he demanded.
“We got here and she went in, gun drawn, told me to clear the house with her. I smelled his body. The violence done to him. The blood...” Andy wasn’t looking at Matt.
“We knew this was going to happen...yet, I didn’t believe it. And it happened. I couldn’t stop it. I was here last night, I talked to him, warned him. Made sure every door and window were secure. And then I left.”
“That’s not on you, Andy.”
“I froze. I left her in there, alone. What if the killer was still inside, hiding? What if he attacked her and I couldn’t stop him?”
Conflicted emotions rolled through Matt. Andy was a small town cop. Kara was a big city detective. Now he realized why she was mad. She expected Andy to back her up, and he didn’t. Dangerous for anyone, but especially for cops.
It would have pissed off Matt as well. As a cop, you had to trust your partner. There could be no doubt, otherwise you couldn’t do what was needed to save lives—and protect your own.
“That’s ultimately your decision, Detective Knolls, but not now, not when we’re in the middle of this investigation and I need all hands.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“You can and you will. You sit on this house until everyone is done with their job. Talk to the neighbors. Ask if anyone has seen anything suspicious in the last month. Talk to Ogdenburg’s staff, anyone who knows him. Did he think he was being followed. Have conflict with former staff or students. I’ll notify next of kin.” Not Matt’s favorite part of the job, but he had questions, and right now he didn’t trust Andy to get answers.
“Was Joanne Grant the primary target? And because she left town, he came here to Ogdenburg?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know,” Matt admitted, though knowing who had been the original target could help get into this killer’s head. He had trashed Grant’s house, telling Matt he’d been furious that she wasn’t there. “We won’t know until we find the killer and ask him. But we’re processing both scenes and he is getting reckless. Trashing Grant’s house proves it. We’re jerking his chain and we are going to find him. This killer stalked his victim, knew his pattern, knew that he would be here, at home, at night, alone. He knew there was no boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse. He knew which bedroom was his. Someone had to have seen something. They might not know it, but they know you, Andy, and they trust you.”
“I graduated from Central,” he said, forlorn. “So did Kara. So did nearly everyone who lives here.”
“Stop feeling goddamn sorry for yourself. Maybe you should resign, but you’re not going to do it until we catch this killer.” Matt didn’t want to be hard on him, but maybe he needed some tough love. “I need you, and you will step up. Detective Quinn isn’t a member of your police department, and she’s been running this crime scene, which a defense attorney might be able to exploit.” He doubted it, because Kara was a sworn officer, but Matt would say anything to get Andy’s head back into the game.
“I didn’t think about that.”
“And remember—whatever your problems, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with more training. You’re a damn good cop—and like all of us, you can get better. When you’re done here, arrange a meeting with all past and present law enforcement. I don’t care if they’re eighty years old living in a retirement home, any cop with any connection to Liberty Lake—however minor—I want in a meeting at your station tomorrow at noon. No exceptions. You put together the list and check it twice. Someone here knows this bastard, and we’re going to brainstorm until we figure it out.”
“If I may offer a suggestion?”
“Offer.”
“We don’t have enough room at Liberty Lake PD to host that many people. But the main briefing room in Spokane would work.”
The less Matt had to deal with Chief Packard, the better, but Andy was right. “Fine, you make it work. Talk to Maddox. He promised to run interference with his boss.”
“That, I can do.”
2
8
Spokane
1:00 p.m.
Matt finally got word that the warrants had come through for the hospital lawsuits. He asked Ryder to get Ogdenburg’s next of kin information to him, while he and Harris drove back to Spokane.
Four large boxes awaited them. He wanted to call bullshit, but the administrator explained that this was common for hospitals—more cases were dismissed or settled than ever went to court.
“But I only want the cases that name Anne Banks.”
“That’s what you have. Fifty-one cases that were settled or dismissed. In the box labeled A I included a summary sheet, and a list of each case that did go to trial where she was a named defendant or where she was called as a witness. There were only four. Your assistant said he was getting the documents already through the online file system with the court.”
“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t know where to start.
“If I may,” the administrator said as if she’d read his mind, “I would start with wrongful death accusations. They are the bulk of the lawsuits, to be honest. The others are nuisance cases or minor complaints. One mother sued because she waited in the emergency room for twelve hours before her daughter was seen. We were in the middle of a multicar accident, numerous victims, and she brought her daughter in for a cough that turned out to be nothing more than the common cold. I don’t see someone like that killing anyone, but the warrant was clear that you needed every case where Anne Banks was mentioned.”
True.
“I took the liberty of separating the cases into wrongful death or injury and everything else. Hopefully, that’ll help?”
“It will. Thank you.”
Michael helped Matt put the boxes in the trunk. “I know that look,” Michael groaned.
“Shit rolls downhill, buddy. Ryder will help, but this is yours. I need someone competent that I trust, not a rookie cop who doesn’t know what to look for. Spokane PD is already running through students who had issues with Marston during his tenure. I can’t ask them for more. And I’m notifying Ogdenburg’s next of kin. You want that job? I’ll swap paperwork for a death notification.”
“No, no you do that. Maybe I can ask the hot detective to help—I mean, Detective Quinn.”
“Go ahead,” Matt said. “She’s probably still at the crime scene, and somehow I don’t think even a guy as charming as you will be able to convince a workaholic undercover cop to spend her vacation sitting at a desk going through paperwork.”
“Yeah, maybe not. She sort of scares me.”
She sort of scared Matt, too, but for different reasons.
* * *
After Matt dropped Michael and the boxes of medical lawsuits at the hotel war room, he headed downtown to tell Jeff Ogdenburg’s sister that her brother was dead. He hated this part of the job, but it had to be done. Plus, she might be privy to information about anyone following her brother, or anything he might have said about a prowler or former student.
Brian Maddox called while Matt was driving. “I talked to Andy,” he said. “We’re meeting tomorrow at noon in our auditorium. It’ll fit everyone, and it’s secure. You think this is necessary?”
“Yes. And you said you live in Liberty Lake, right? You need to be at the meeting.”
“Andy said the same thing. And that house in Newman Lake? I didn’t know it when I heard the report that the ATV had been stolen from there, but Andy told me that the house had been in my family years ago. My parents owned it, and Julie and I lived there early in our marriage, before I took the job in Spokane. My parents retired to St. George—in Utah—and sold it when I moved to Spokane.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Nor do I, but I think this is truly one. Newman is smaller than Liberty Lake with more vacation homes.”
“I’m going to want you, in particular, to study the two victims’ case files.”
“I already have. I honestly don’t remember Anne Banks. That doesn’t mean much of anything, because whenever I would go to the hospital on the job, it’s generally chaos. And it was a long time ago. I could have crossed paths with her, because I certainly went there often enough during the years she worked there, but nothing stands out.”
“My staff is culling through dismissed and settled lawsuits where Banks was named. Nothing may come of it, but right now our only lead is looking for a connection between Banks and Marston. I’d like you to look at them, too. They’re at the hotel, if you can stop by there at some point today, or tomorrow before the debriefing.”
“I’ll go there today. Marston I remember. He came to a couple community meetings we had between the police department and school districts in the wake of Columbine. He was instrumental in making sure that schools and law enforcement are all on the same page in the event of a hostage situation or school shooting. And I led a tactical drill at his school when he was still principal, for training purposes, years ago. So I’ve talked to him, but only in those capacities.”
“It’s a start. Have you run any complaints against him? Assaults? Other charges or accusations? I know your people are working on school discipline reports during that time.”
“Yes, and there’s nothing in our system on Marston. I contacted the Sheriff’s department. They don’t have him in their system, either. The guy was clean.”
In the initial investigation, if Marston had a restraining order or had been party to a lawsuit, it should have popped. If he had any criminal record it would have popped, too, but a major felony would preclude him from serving as a teacher, not to mention a principal. Yet Matt didn’t believe in making those kind of assumptions, so it was always best to double-check.
“I have one more thing,” Maddox said. “Two of my officers interviewed a teacher who worked with Marston. She’s now retired, but she said there was a former employee who had threatened him shortly before he left Spokane to get his PhD.”
“Name?”
“She doesn’t remember. I have her contact information. Maybe you can get more out of her.”
It sounded like a waste of time, but he couldn’t let it pass by unanswered. “Send me her info. I’ll stop by after I talk to Ogdenburg’s family.”
“Andy should do that.”
“Yes, but he’s not going to ask the right questions. He misstepped this morning and he’s taking it hard.”
“He told me. He’s not used to this level of investigation. But he’s a good cop, Costa. I vouch for him.”
“I told him to get his head in the game, that I’m counting on him.”
Matt hung up. Ryder was analyzing so many reports and Matt kept adding more to his workload. Ryder needed help. They were running press reports, crime reports, court documents, full background—it would take days to sort through. After Ogdenburg’s sister, then talking to the retired teacher, Matt would go back and devote time to the tedious chore.
¡Mierda, estamos demasiado delgados!
They were spread far too thin. They needed more people. He’d been stubborn with Tony about who was on his team because he knew what the job entailed and how close they would by necessity need to work. Maybe he’d been too stubborn. As soon as he pulled up in front of Ogdenburg’s sister’s house, he sent Tony a message.
Save this email because you’ll rarely hear this again: You were right. I was being picky about my team. I’m still picky, but you know who we need. You pick the rest, just give me veto power. One of them has to be able to work with the press and locals, but they need to be more than a mouthpiece. I’m already tired of playing middleman. I know we have ultimate authority and jurisdiction, but we’re going to need the help of local law enforcement to effectively run this new unit.
As he walked up to the door, Tony responded.
I knew you would come to your senses. Trust me. I have your back.
* * *
Matt got his first break that afte
rnoon.
Talking to Ogdenburg’s sister had been difficult. Death notifications always were. She was unable to help answer any questions.
Jeff hadn’t said anything about being followed or harassed or feeling uncomfortable—not to his sister, and she was certain he wouldn’t have bothered their parents about anything that might worry them. Matt vowed to find the killer and left, his gut twisted, fueled by anger over a senseless death.
He almost didn’t talk to the teacher, Bollinger, that Maddox told him about, because there was so much work to catch up on. The lawsuits were the most likely to point to someone who had a grudge against Anne Banks, and he wanted to help go through the files—the more hands the better.
But Dorothy Bollinger didn’t live too far from the Ogdenburg’s neighborhood. It was an older, well-kept area with tree-lined streets, wide yards and raised porches.
He knocked on the door and introduced himself to the tall, gray-haired grandmother. She invited him into her too-warm house and offered him water or coffee.
Pictures of family of all ages and from all generations took up every inch of wall space.
“Actually, coffee would be great.” He rarely accepted hospitality from witnesses, but he was running on fumes after visiting Ogdenburg’s sister, and he could smell the rich brew filling the quaint home.
She brought a tray into the dining room and motioned for him to sit. “Black? Light?”
“Black, thank you.”
She’d also put out a tray of grandma cookies, as he thought of the small shortbread circles with fruit in the middle. He took one of those, too. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Ms. Bollinger, I’m following up on your conversation with two Spokane PD officers earlier today.”
“Oh yes, they said someone might have additional questions. It’s so awful to hear what happened to Mr. Marston in Missoula. He was a wonderful principal. I was sorry when he left to get his doctorate. Tough, but fair. It was usually the difficult kids who ended up liking him the most because he held them to a high standard. Too often, parents and even teachers don’t expect teenagers to be accountable—to society, to family, to school. They dismiss bad behavior as if it’s something they all will grow out of, when if they’re not corrected, they will generally come to believe their bad behavior is acceptable.”
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