Violent Crimes

by Phillip Margolin

  “Will you tell the judge whether Mr. Beatty had anything to do with Christine Larson’s murder?”

  “No, Your Honor, he’s completely innocent. He was set up.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s turn to Dale Masterson. Who killed him?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but Dale was panicky after he learned that Carol White had been murdered and Beatty was on the loose. We met with Kiner, and he made several comments to me when Dale was out of the room that led me to believe he was worried that Dale would panic and go to the police. Kiner may have sent more of his men to kill Dale and make it look identical to Christine’s murder so everyone would think Beatty killed him, but I’m just guessing.”

  “One more question: Who killed Reginald Kiner?”

  “I have no idea. It wasn’t me.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor,” Amanda said.

  “I have no questions of the witness,” Larry Frederick said.

  Mark Hamilton left the stand and two deputies took him away.

  “Any more witnesses, Miss Jaffe?” the judge asked.

  “We call Greg Nowicki to the stand.”

  Nowicki looked confused, and he whispered something to the DA. Frederick whispered back. Moments later, Nowicki took the oath.

  “Detective Nowicki,” Amanda asked, “did the case against Mr. Beatty start when you entered his home pursuant to a search warrant and found the dead body of Christine Larson in Mr. Beatty’s bedroom and heroin in his house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you able to get a search warrant for Mr. Beatty’s home?

  “Carol White, an informant, contacted me and said she’d purchased heroin from Mr. Beatty on several occasions and had made one purchase outside his house after he confided that he had more heroin in his home.”

  “And she said she’d read that he was arrested for an assault at the Lookout tavern?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had my investigator look for stories about the fight at the Lookout. Will you take my word for it if I tell you that the fight was so unimportant that there was no mention of it on the Internet, in any newspaper, or on any television news program?”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  “We know that Miss White lied about buying heroin from Mr. Beatty, don’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there is a strong possibility that she never met him. Tom Beatty swore to that and passed a polygraph.”

  “Okay.”

  “If Carol White never met Tom Beatty and the incident at the tavern was not reported in the media, someone must have told her about him.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Would you agree that the blood spatter patterns indicate that Miss Larson was probably killed elsewhere and her body was placed in Mr. Beatty’s bedroom after he was lured away from his home?”

  “I think that’s a reasonable conclusion.”

  “And Mr. Beatty’s fingerprints were not found on the heroin you discovered in his house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you agree that there is also a lot of evidence that supports Mr. Beatty’s contention that he was set up?”

  “I’m beginning to think that is what happened,” Nowicki answered.

  “But this whole chain of events began when Miss White approached you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you agree that the person who developed this plot to frame Mr. Beatty must have known that you would trust Carol White?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Larson was killed approximately twenty-four hours before your search. When did Miss White come to you?”

  “Earlier on the day of the search.”

  “So within hours of Miss Larson’s murder?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So the killer had to know how to get in touch with Miss White on a moment’s notice?”

  “Uh, yes. That sounds right.”

  “You knew Reginald Kiner, the head of security at RENCO Oil who was murdered a few days ago, didn’t you?”

  “He was my partner about ten years ago before he went private.”

  “We have information that Mr. Kiner sent the mercenaries who killed Christine Larson and tried to kill Mr. Beatty. Did Mr. Kiner know Carol White?”

  “Yes. We used her as an informant shortly before he left the force.”

  “Mr. Kiner had been working in the private sector for a decade, dealing with security in places like Nigeria and the Middle East and was far removed from low-level junkies, wasn’t he?”

  “I really don’t know what contact Mr. Kiner did or didn’t have with Carol White. We hadn’t spoken for years.”

  “Is that because Mr. Kiner left the police under a cloud?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was investigated by Internal Affairs for several crimes ranging from theft to murder, was he not?”

  “Yes, he was a bad cop.”

  “But he was never prosecuted, was he?”

  “No.”

  “And that’s because evidence that would have implicated him in crimes disappeared.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Getting back to Miss White, you kept in touch with her over the years, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t keep in touch. She would call me.”

  “Well, you knew she’d been arrested shortly before she approached you?”

  “Uh, yes. I knew that.”

  Amanda carried a police report to the witness. “This is an account of Miss White’s most recent arrest. It has her address, doesn’t it?”

  Nowicki studied the report, then agreed.

  “Since there were no reports about the fight at the Lookout in the media, Miss White could only have learned about the fight if she was told about it by someone who knew about the fight, needed an informant for the search warrant affidavit, and knew where Miss White was staying. Someone like you.”

  “Kiner could have tracked her down and sent her to me.”

  “Actually, he couldn’t. You just heard Mr. Hamilton testify that Mr. Kiner was in Iraq when Dale Masterson asked him to solve his problem with Miss Larson, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you agree that it would have been highly unlikely that Mr. Kiner, who hadn’t dealt with Miss White in ten years and was in Iraq on the day Miss White allegedly came to you, could have found a junkie in Portland on a moment’s notice?”

  Nowicki glared at Amanda. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting that you and Reginald Kiner were always friends. You were the person who made the evidence that could convict him disappear when he was a detective. And you continued to work with him over the years.

  “I’m suggesting that Kiner called you after Dale Masterson hired him to kill Christine Larson and frame Mr. Beatty. You had to act fast. You knew that Tom Beatty worked with Christine Larson and had been arrested for assault, because Detective Hotchkiss complained to you when he was investigating Mr. Beatty’s assault case. You came up with the scheme to put Christine’s body in Mr. Beatty’s house and falsify a search warrant affidavit that would let the police find her. But you needed someone who would be your informant, and you knew Carol White would do anything for the money to buy heroin.

  “I’m also suggesting that you learned that the murder investigation was starting to focus on Mr. Kiner and you decided to get rid of the only person who could connect you to the murder of Christine Larson.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Nowicki said. His face had reddened with anger and a pulse beat in his temple.

  “Can you explain how, on a detective’s salary, you are able to afford a condo and a sailboat in the Cayman Islands and bank accounts totaling three million dollars?”

  “What . . . what are you talking about?”

  “We can present the judge with details about your secret accounts and the condo you own that was bought by a shell company. It took us only a very short time to find that evidence. What would we find with mo
re time?”

  Nowicki didn’t answer. He just glared at Amanda.

  “You’ve been crooked since your early days riding with the Desperados motorcycle gang. You were supposed to be gathering evidence against the gang, but you were taking money from them to smuggle heroin and kill people, weren’t you?”

  Nowicki stood up. “I’ve had enough of this.” He turned toward Larry Frederick. “Why aren’t you objecting to this bullshit?”

  The DA stared hard at the witness. “I’m not objecting because I’ve seen the evidence of your secret accounts and talked to a member of the motorcycle gang who supports all of Miss Jaffe’s allegations. But you can prove her wrong by taking a lie detector test like Mr. Beatty did.”

  “Your Honor, I move to have all the charges against Mr. Beatty dismissed,” Larry Frederick said as soon as the deputies escorted a handcuffed Greg Nowicki out of the courtroom.

  “Motion granted,” Judge Chang said with a smile.

  Tom Beatty sagged in his chair, too stunned to speak.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just . . . Even after you told me what to expect, I didn’t believe it would happen.”

  Amanda smiled. “Well, it did, and you’re a free man.”

  Beatty turned to her. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

  “I think saving my life is thanks enough.”

  Tom blushed.

  Kate and Amanda stood up. “I’m going out to face the lions,” Amanda said. “The reporters will have questions for you, too. I advise you to just say you’re happy the system worked, then get away as fast as you can, and have Kate drive you home.”

  “That sounds good.”

  Tom turned and saw Brittney Vandervelden standing in front of the gate in the low fence that divided the spectators from those having business before the court. She smiled at him.

  “I’m so glad you’re free,” she said. “I never once thought you’d hurt Christine.”

  “Thanks,” Tom answered, suddenly shy.

  “Look, this is awkward and I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but you’ve got to eat and I’d like to treat you to a meal that’s not jail food or something you foraged in Forest Park.”

  Tom broke into a grin. Then he laughed. “That sounds great, but I don’t think I’d make good company tonight. I’m too wound up, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for some time. But I’d love a rain check.”

  “Sure,” Brittney said. “Here’s my number. And don’t call me at Masterson, Hamilton, because I’m no longer there.”

  CHAPTER 53

  The day all charges against Tom Beatty were dropped, Larry Frederick also dismissed Brandon Masterson’s case. Brandon had recovered sufficiently to be sent back to jail, but Larry Frederick had asked for an order from Judge Chastain that kept Brandon out of danger in the hospital after Amanda and Billie Brewster told Frederick about the evidence against Greg Nowicki.

  Amanda was waiting for Brandon in the corridor outside the secure wing. He was clean-shaven, his hair was combed, his face was relatively unmarked, he was dressed in a set of clothes his mother had bought for him, and the bravado that had been present during their early meetings was missing. Brandon stopped when he saw Amanda. Then he crossed the distance between them and embraced her.

  “Thank you for everything,” he said. “I was such an asshole.”

  Amanda laughed and gently disengaged. “You certainly were, but I was pretty certain you were innocent so I didn’t let that bother me.”

  Brandon followed Amanda into the elevator. When the doors opened, Sarah Hartmann was waiting for them. Brandon didn’t see her right away. He walked out of the elevator, stopped in mid-stride, and stared at his mother. Sarah stared back, nervous, unsure how her son would react to seeing her.

  Brandon rushed over and embraced her. “Forgive me, Mom,” he said.

  Sarah squeezed him to her. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re my son and I love you.”

  Amanda stayed out of the way and watched the reunion with a huge smile on her face.

  “If it isn’t the amazing Miss Jaffe,” Mike Greene said with a wide smile when Amanda let herself into the condo. “Two death cases dismissed in one day. That’s got to be a record.”

  “You heard?” Amanda said, blushing.

  “It’s the only thing anyone was talking about at the courthouse. Congratulations.”

  “It has been a very good day. Tom and Brandon are free men, and Brandon and his mother have reconciled.”

  “And you earned two fat retainers without having to go to trial.”

  “True, but no amount of money could match the feeling of seeing Tom walk out of the courtroom, Brandon hugging his mother, and Greg Nowicki being marched out of court in handcuffs.”

  “What’s Tom Beatty going to do?”

  Amanda’s smile vanished. “That’s a good question. He’s got PTSD, and he killed four men and tortured another. That’s been a huge burden for him to bear, even if everything he did was justified. He’s talking with Dr. Fisher, and I hope that helps. I told him I would help him get another job when he’s ready.”

  “You hungry?” Mike asked.

  “Always,” Amanda replied.

  “I thought you might like to celebrate, so I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant.”

  Amanda placed her palm on Mike’s cheek. “Why are you so nice to me?”

  “I guess I’m just a sucker for bossy, irritating women.”

  Dinner was fabulous, the sex that night was great, and it should have been one of the best days of her life. But it wasn’t, because Amanda woke up in the middle of the night and remembered where she’d first seen Brandon Masterson before she’d met him in the county jail.

  CHAPTER 54

  Amanda swam hard. She swam until each stroke was agony and each breath an ordeal. She swam so hard that all she could think about was survival. She pushed herself to the limit so she wouldn’t have to think about her talk with Dr. William Cameron, a former state medical examiner. And swimming hard worked until she stopped. Then she couldn’t stop thinking about what Dr. Cameron had said.

  Amanda was desperate to talk to someone about her suspicions. While she showered and dressed she ran down the short list of people in whom she could confide. She couldn’t use Mike as a sounding board because he would have a duty to reopen Brandon’s case if she told him what she suspected. Kate was too involved in Brandon’s case to be objective. What she needed was someone who knew very little about State v. Masterson and could look at it with fresh eyes. And there was one obvious choice.

  When Amanda’s mother had died in childbirth, Frank Jaffe was totally unprepared to raise a little girl, but he’d put every ounce of energy he had into the job. Amanda’s mother, Samantha, had done all the cooking while they were married, so one thing Frank had to learn was how to cook so he could feed himself and his daughter. For most of her life, Amanda accepted the fact that her dad was a barely adequate chef. Nevertheless, since returning to Portland, she’d made a point of having dinner with her father several times each month. Starting roughly a year ago, Frank, inspired by the Food Channel, had started experimenting. As luck would have it, her father had invited her to his house this evening for an Italian dinner.

  Amanda parked in the driveway of her father’s green, steep-roofed Eastlake Victorian a little after six thirty. Dinner was almost ready, so she sipped a glass of Chianti while Frank finished setting the table. Frank’s minestrone soup and spaghetti carbonara were excellent, and Amanda stuck to small talk while she ate. The night was balmy, so they carried their coffee onto the back porch.

  “I’ve got a serious problem, Dad,” Amanda said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think Brandon Masterson may have killed his father.”

  “What?”

  Amanda spent the next half hour telling Frank about the evidence in Dale Masterson’s homicide. Then she told him what was worrying her.
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  “When I read the autopsy report in Dale Masterson’s case, I was struck by the similarity between the way he was beaten to death and the way Christine Larson was murdered. I was so struck by the similarities that I reread Christine’s autopsy report. I thought that Masterson’s killer must have had access to Christine’s autopsy report. Then I remembered there was another opportunity for the killer to have learned about Christine’s injuries. Larry Frederick showed Judge Chang a graphic picture of Christine’s face and read pertinent parts of the autopsy when he argued against bail.”

  “What does that have to do with Brandon Masterson?”

  “The first time I met Brandon, I thought I’d seen him before. Last night, I remembered where. There was a heavily bearded man sitting in the back of the courtroom during the hearing on the motions in Tom’s case. I didn’t give any thought to him while I was in court, but yesterday I realized that Brandon was that man. After seeing Christine’s photograph and hearing the details of her beating, he would have known how to duplicate the injuries Christine suffered when he killed his father.”

  “Why would he come to the motions?”

  “The only theory I’ve been able to come up with is that Christine’s murder gave him the idea of killing his father and setting it up to look like Christine’s killer was responsible.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “I know, but Brandon is smart. Maybe way smarter than anyone thinks.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that everyone concluded that Brandon would never be able to defeat his father in a fight?” Frank said.

  “That’s true, if the fight was fair. I scanned Masterson’s autopsy report and his crime scene pictures to Bill Cameron. There was a depressed skull fracture on the back of Masterson’s head. It was just above the knot of bone above his neck. Bill told me that a person like Brandon could knock out someone like his father if he struck a hard enough blow to the back of the head with a blunt object. The victim would be stunned or unconscious, and the killer would have no trouble finishing him off.”

  “But what about the blood spatter and lack of marks on Brandon’s knuckles?” Frank asked.

  “If Brandon planned the murder, he would bring gloves. Let’s say he lets himself in with his key. Maybe he catches his father by surprise. Maybe they argue and Dale turns his back on Brandon. Brandon strikes and Dale goes down. Brandon uses a blunt object—a paperweight, a rock. Then he beats Dale to death with his gloved hands. There’s some blood spatter, so Brandon covers it with more of his father’s blood to make it look like it was smeared on and not the result of spatter. Then he kneels in the blood, knowing a forensic expert will conclude that the blood on his pants was inconsistent with spatter from a wound.”