Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5)

by Renee Pawlish

  “No kidding,” Spats said.

  I turned to Ernie. “Could you start talking to McCleary’s other family and friends? And see about any of the McCleary’s neighbors that we missed talking to last evening. They might’ve seen our suspect around the judge’s house.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” Ernie said. “So far, no one close to the judge’s house had video surveillance, but we’ll look at those who do. Maybe a camera caught the killer’s car. And I’ll follow up with the McCleary’s cleaning woman as well, see if she saw anything suspicious lately.”

  “Could you follow up on Tewksbury’s alibi, too?” I frowned. “He didn’t strike me as a killer, but still.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Just then, Rizzo walked into the room. He was in his uniform, his tie knotted, his hair slicked back. He looked at all of us, then focused on me.

  “What do you have on the McCleary investigation?”

  I filled him in, and told him our plans for today, and here and there, Spats or Ernie interjected something. Rizzo leaned against Ernie’s desk and nodded thoughtfully.

  “It sounds like you have things covered,” he said when I finished. “There’ll be a press conference at nine.” I started to protest, and he held up his hand. “I don’t need any of you there. Sarah, you go to the prison like you planned. I want you to keep focusing on the investigation. Chief Follett and I will handle it.”

  I tried to hide my sigh of relief. I’m not a fan of Chief Follett. He’s my superior, and he never lets me – or anyone else – forget that. I’d just as soon not deal with him if I didn’t have to.

  Rizzo glanced at all of us. “Anything else?”

  We shook our heads. He tapped Ernie’s desk once, his face tight. The pressure was on. “Keep at it, okay? If the press hassles you, no comment.”

  He went on into his office, and Ernie swore under his breath.

  “What?” Spats said.

  “The press,” Ernie sneered. “Channel 7 has Deborah North covering McCleary’s murder. She never takes no for an answer, gets in my face, bugs me.”

  Spats laughed. “Next time, pour on some of your charm.”

  Ernie flicked a pencil at Spats. I laughed and looked at Ernie.

  “Did you get McCleary’s electronics to Tara?”

  He nodded. “I dropped everything off last night before I went home. I don’t know what her schedule is, or when she can get to it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll go down to talk to her.”

  Ernie gestured at his laptop. “I’ve got a couple things to do, then I’ll head out.”

  We all got busy on our laptops. I looked up Felix Robinson in our databases. He’s thirty-one years old, single, and I was surprised he didn’t have a long rap sheet. He’d been arrested once for petty theft when he was eighteen, but other than that, he was clean until he’d been arrested a year ago for drug trafficking, primarily oxycodone pills laced with fentanyl. The DEA’s Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force and the Denver police had also recovered two hundred thousand dollars and six firearms. The task force suspected Robinson was part of a bigger drug ring, but they had not been able to arrest anyone else. Robinson had been employed as a carpenter, and the news noted that he lived very well in an expensive condo downtown that had been decorated with pricey furniture and artwork. He owned a Mercedes, and he was known to travel a lot. He’d pled innocent to the charges. He didn’t have a social media presence, but I did find articles that covered his trial. He had been belligerent throughout the trial, at times calling out to Judge McCleary. His sister, Olivia Hartnell, was in the courtroom every day. When Judge McCleary sentenced Robinson to ten years in prison, Olivia had burst into tears and was inconsolable. Then she started yelling at McCleary, and so did Felix.

  “Can you imagine yelling at a judge?” I said as I pointed at my laptop.

  “Who?” Spats asked.

  “As Felix Robinson was handcuffed and led from the courtroom, he shouted at McCleary that he would get McCleary.”

  “Sounds like a guy with a temper,” Ernie observed. “And that sounds similar to a couple of those notes.”

  “Did he get even the other night?” I asked.

  I thought for a moment, then turned back to my laptop. I found a little more background on Robinson, that he’d been born in San Diego, his parents had divorced when he was seven, and he and Olivia had moved with their mother to Denver. Their mother had died about five years ago. That was as much as I could find on him.

  “Here’s what I have on Felix Robinson,” I said a few minutes later. I gave them the rundown.

  “How’d he get busted?” Ernie asked.

  “I don’t see that,” I said.

  Spats tipped his head at me. “A rat.”

  “Could be. I’ll see what Felix has to say about that.”

  I was about to look up Olivia Hartnell when I realized the time.

  “Oh, I’ve got to go.” I downed the rest of my coffee and looked at them. “I’ll touch base with you both later.”

  I went downstairs to the office where the tech specialists worked, hoping to find Tara available. Tara Dahl is one of the tech specialists and, in my opinion, the best. She’s excellent at what she does, and I try to get her to do the work on my investigations whenever I can. Most times when I come into the room, Tara would be sitting at her computer, earbuds in, loud music blaring. But today she was sitting quietly, staring at her monitor.

  “How’re you doing?” I said from the doorway.

  She looked up and smiled. “Doing pretty good today.”

  I tapped an ear. “No music?”

  She shook her head. “I just got in. I’ll warm up to that in a minute, once I get to work.” She laid a hand on a laptop in front of her. “This is Judge McCleary’s. I know you want it right away, and I got that order from my supe as well. I’ve got a couple of things to do, and then I’ll work on it today.”

  “I appreciate it.” I moved into the room and studied her for a moment. She was good at keeping her emotions in check. “How’s your mom doing?”

  A couple of months ago, she told me her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It had really shaken her up, understandably, but the last we talked, her mother had been doing better.

  “She’s doing okay. So far, the radiation treatments haven’t been as bad as she thought they’d be.” Tara frowned. “She was down for a bit, but she’s doing a lot better now. Man,” she said, “she has a lot more courage than I do.”

  I moved to make eye contact with her. “Don’t sell yourself short, Tara. You’re a tough lady.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. Anyway, Mom will finish those treatments soon, and then they’ll do some more tests.”

  “I’m sure it will all be okay.”

  She nodded. “We’re still optimistic, and I appreciate your asking.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “You know me, I’m always busy, but I’ll always make time for you.”

  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I wondered what Harry would say if I said that to him. I say I’m busy but I have time for him. Right now it didn’t feel that way.

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  I left, and on the way to my car, my phone rang. I saw my sister Diane’s name on the screen, which always makes my stomach lurch just a bit. She’s a family practice doctor with a thriving practice, but she and I have a tenuous relationship. After many years of avoiding the issues between us, we’d recently mended some fences from an incident when we were in college, but things were still fragile.

  “Sarah, you didn’t return my call yesterday,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Diane had called earlier Monday morning, and I was going to call when I got home from work. But then Harry had that special dinner ready, and then I got a work call. I was thinking of all this when she spoke again.

  “You and Harry are coming for Thanksgiving dinner at my house, right?” I could tell she was peeved that I hadn’t returned
her call.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call back. Yesterday got crazy.” I caught myself trying to explain and stopped. “I’m sorry. And yes, Harry and I will be there. How about I make the mashed potatoes.”

  “Harry makes great pecan pies. Think he’d be willing to bake some?”

  “I’ll ask him, but I suspect he won’t mind.” Harry is a good cook, when he has the time. Me, not so much, either with the cooking skills, or the time.

  “That’d be great. It’ll be good to see you both. Tim and Max can’t wait to see you.”

  My two nephews are in sixth and fourth grades, respectively, and they’re great kids. I love them, and they get along great with Harry and me. And what a nice thing for her to say. She was making an effort, too.

  “I can’t wait,” I said.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I hesitated, my mind suddenly on Harry as much as on Judge McCleary’s murder. “Yes, just a new investigation, and this one is stressful.”

  “Hang in there. I’ve got another patient, so I need to go.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She ended the call, and I stared at my phone for a moment. I still wanted a closer relationship with her, but I wasn’t sure that would ever be the case. This was progress, though.

  Chapter Ten

  Felix Robinson was handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room when an officer opened the door and let me in.

  “You need anything, you holler,” the guard said. He narrowed his eyes at Robinson, tipped his head once at me, then closed the door.

  I nodded at him, then moved into the room and sat down across from Felix. Even though he was sitting, I could tell he was a big man, with a round face, bushy eyebrows, and a wide nose. His arms bulged out of his prison-orange garb. His fingers looked like pieces of pipe, hard and stiff, ones that could strangle someone without much effort.

  “Who are you?” Felix asked coolly.

  I identified myself, and he looked around. There was nothing to see, as the room consisted of gray walls, the gray table, the gray chairs we were sitting in, and nothing else except for a video camera up in a corner. I smelled cleaner and body odor. Felix gave me a slow once-over and smiled. I wanted a shower already.

  “Is this about my case?” he asked. His voice was mid-range and level, almost cultured.

  I studied him closely. I knew from his file that he was thirty-one years old, but he looked older, with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and gray hair at his temples. His eyes seemed older as well, with a haunting in them. He’d seen and done things that polite society wouldn’t talk about.

  “What have you heard about Judge McCleary?” I asked.

  If he knew the judge was dead, he wasn’t letting on. “What about him?”

  “The judge died under mysterious circumstances.”

  He sat back, seemed to want to cross his arms, but couldn’t because of the cuffs. “Well, well.”

  “What do you know about his death?”

  “Nothing.”

  I studied him. His face was slate, and I couldn’t tell if he was lying.

  “When did it happen?” he asked.

  “Recently,” I replied, just as short and ambiguous as he’d been with me. “Tell me about your trial.”

  He snorted. “He bought into the whole thing, everything the prosecuting attorney said. You’d think the judge would step in and stop things when everyone is lying.”

  “That’s not the judge’s role.”

  “So?” He swore quietly. “I’m innocent, and I shouldn’t be here. My attorney will work on an appeal, and I’ll get out. Then watch out.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  His jaw worked, but he didn’t reply.

  “You worked a construction job. From articles I read, you had a pretty nice lifestyle.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean I was a drug trafficker.”

  The sounds of the prison were completely muffled, and it was just Robinson and me. I could hear him breathing.

  “How’d you get caught?” I asked.

  His tongue ran over his lower lip. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”

  By the tone, I guessed someone had ratted on him. I didn’t envy that person, and I hoped they had left town. Somehow it wouldn’t surprise me if Robinson had people looking for them.

  “Back to the judge,” he said. His face remained blank, but his eye twitched. “What happened?”

  I shook my head subtly. I wouldn’t give him any details. If he knew something, I wanted him to slip up and tell me. “McCleary received some threatening notes. Did you send them to him?”

  “How could I do that? I’m in prison.”

  “What about before the trial ended?”

  The eye twitched more. “No.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You have a sister, correct?”

  His eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”

  “She was at the trial, the whole time. The news talked about that, how she was your ardent supporter.”

  He leaned forward in the chair, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’ve done your homework.”

  I nodded. “Would she help you?”

  He stared at me. “Help me what?”

  It was a game of chess, back and forth. “Send notes.” Then I took a leap. “Help you kill the judge.”

  “I didn’t kill him. I’m in prison.”

  “People on the inside get stuff done on the outside all the time.” He shook his head in denial, and I went on. “Are you connected to a gang? They could’ve helped you.”

  “I’m not connected with anyone,” he snapped, nostrils flaring. Then he regained his composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?”

  “McCleary got what he deserved.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He swore. “Because he put me in here. I’m innocent.”

  I shook my head. “The jury convicted you.”

  He jerked his hand, and the handcuffs rattled loudly. “He sentenced me!” He glared at me. “He could’ve declared a mistrial; he knew I was innocent.”

  I frowned. “How would he know that?”

  “It was all right there. He had everything, he listened to all the evidence. He knew I wasn’t a drug trafficker.”

  “Has your sister visited you since you got here?”

  “You make it sound like I’m choosing to stay here.”

  I raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t answer my question. “Where was your sister last night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you hire somebody to kill McCleary?”

  He locked eyes with me. “No.”

  I smelled his body odor as he grew more agitated. He leaned in close, his jaw tight, spittle on his chin.

  “You’re not going to pin anything on me, lady, but I’ll tell you this. That judge got exactly what he deserved. He doesn’t know anything about justice.” His jaw muscles tensed. “Guard!” His voice was suddenly loud, and I almost jumped. The door opened, and the guard stuck his head in. Robinson stared at him. “I’m done with her,” he said.

  The guard glanced at me. I nodded and stood up. I left the room and went to the main office, where another guard with a barrel chest scoured the records on Felix Robinson.

  “Who visited him?” I asked.

  He manipulated the mouse and stared at a computer monitor. I moved over and read over his shoulder. “His attorney was here once, and his sister visited once as well, last Friday. She stayed for the entire allotted hour. He’d also received two phone calls from her.”

  “Were those recorded?”

  He was already checking his records. “Yeah. It was pretty mundane stuff. Talk about the weather, and he asked her if she could take care of it, and she said she would.”

  “Take care of what?”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “It.”

  “What else?” I murmured, and indicated he should s
croll down the page.

  “She said she loved him, to hang in there, that kind of thing.”

  I read the rest of the transcript myself. If Felix and Olivia had plotted anything, they’d made sure not to be specific.

  “Any mail?” I asked.

  “He hasn’t gotten anything yet, and he hasn’t sent anything, either.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Email that to me, will you?” I gave him a card, and he said he would.

  Outside, I stood for a moment in the parking lot and let the tension ease from my shoulders. I hadn’t felt threatened when I’d been in the prison, but there had been an uneasy feeling the whole time, a sense of despair that was inescapable.

  I finally got in my car and pulled out my phone. Since Ernie and Spats were busy, I arranged for another detective I sometimes worked with, Chad Lattimore, to meet me at Olivia Hartnell’s house, which wasn’t too far north of the prison.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I arrived at Olivia Hartnell’s two-story house near Kipling Parkway and Jewell Avenue, I saw Chad Lattimore’s sedan parked in front. I pulled up behind it and got out. The sun was shining, but the air was cool, with a bite to it. I walked up the sidewalk to a long front porch. A bike with training wheels sat in the corner. The lawn had been trimmed for the coming winter, but overgrown flower beds needed attention. I rang the bell and waited a moment, then the door was opened by a woman I recognized from online articles. Olivia Hartnell had long dark hair and coal-black eyes that narrowed at me. A car passed by slowly, and Olivia frowned. Worried what the neighbors might say?

  “You’re the detective?” she snapped.

  I showed her my badge and introduced myself. “I need to –”

  That’s as far as I got before she interrupted. “Yeah, the other cop told me about you. You really shouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

  I looked past her. “Where’s Detective Lattimore?”

  “He’s inside.”

  She finally opened the door and walked into the living room. I followed her. Sounds from a TV drifted in from another room. Chad Lattimore sat on a leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, not perturbed in the least by Olivia’s defensive demeanor. A subtle smile appeared on his wide face, and he arched a dark eyebrow.