“I’m waiting to testifying in the Sanchez homicide,” Hank said. “I was scheduled to testify at three, but they’re running behind. Judge Shoeffel has ordered the state to conclude their case today even if we have to stay over. She won’t allow me to leave the courthouse. If you want to talk, walk over and keep me company. I’m outside department thirty-three.” He paused, then added, “Don’t worry. I’m in a better mood than I was last week. I guess everyone knows golfers only wear one glove but me.”
“The only reason I knew is that Neil had a friend once who played,” Carolyn told him. “Mary told you about the box of clothes, didn’t she? Maybe you’ll find Holden’s DNA on some of that stuff. If Holden wasn’t posing as Sheppard, Sheppard’s DNA may be on file.”
“Sounds promising.” After a pause, he added, “When I sit around like this, all I think about is food. The skinless, boneless, tasteless chicken breast I had for lunch didn’t quite cut it. I may have to strangle someone just to release my frustrations.”
“You’re looking great. Your new wardrobe is really stylish. I intended to mention it the other—”
The detective jumped in with, “You really think so?”
“Yeah,” Carolyn said. Hearing his need for her reassurance confirmed what Mary had told her. She looked down at her watch. “Call me when you get out of court. After we check out Holden’s mother’s place, we can pick up some Chinese food and eat it at my house. I’m sure Rebecca and John would like to see you.”
“Look, Carolyn, instead of us going over there, I’ll have a couple of patrol units drive by and see if they spot Holden in the area. We can’t go inside the house without a warrant. Why tip him off? Give me the address, and I’ll get Mary to write up a request for a search warrant. We should have it signed by tomorrow morning.”
Carolyn rubbed her forehead. Most criminals worked at night. Sundown to sunset was a long time. “Are you telling me not to go?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You can tag along when we search the house tomorrow. Why don’t you see what else you can dig up on Holden? I’ll touch bases with you in the morning, let you know how things are coming along with the warrant. Oh, and thanks for the invite. If I get out early, I’ll give you a jingle.”
“Sure,” Carolyn said, sighing as she disconnected.
Sipping on a bottle of mineral water, she turned to her computer and went to a real estate foreclosure Web site. One of her friends had taught her how to search for the status on a property by typing in an address. She discovered the residence at 4005 Park Avenue was slated for a bank auction in twenty-two days.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be present when they searched Holden’s residence. Maybe he wasn’t their killer after all and prison had done him some good. No way, she thought, recalling the hostility he’d shown the day he’d walked out on the interview. When an offender committed as many acts of violence as Holden had, thinking he might have been rehabilitated was inane. Prisons had gone out of the rehabilitation business long ago. Today they were merely human warehouses, not much different from the local zoo. She’d visited a number of prisons and had been appalled at what she’d seen. At the maximum security level inmates acted and were treated like animals. They jumped up and down in their cells, spouting the foulest of profanities. They threw their food at passing guards and urinated through the bars. Then they were released, under the assumption that they could be integrated back into society. How was this magical transformation from caged animal to upright citizen supposed to take place?
Her phone rang. Marcus said, “I called you yesterday. Did you get my message?”
“Yes,” Carolyn told him. “How was your trip?”
“They ran me ragged,” he said, a voice on a loudspeaker saying something in the background. “I’ve been thinking about you, though. When are we going to see each other again? I’m at the airport now, trying to get a flight out.”
“Gosh, you do sound tired.” She wanted to see him, but her work was far more important than her social life. “The other night was wonderful, Marcus. I can’t see you tonight, though. I went to San Diego yesterday, so I’ve got to play catch-up. We’re almost certain we’ve identified the woman at the lagoon. I found another new lead as well.”
“The way you’re going at it, you’ll get your man in no time.”
“We found a hair fragment, which might be our biggest piece of evidence,” Carolyn said, her voice tinged with excitement. “If the DNA matches Holden’s, he’ll be headed back to prison where he belongs. That is, as soon as we arrest him.”
“Is that your new lead?”
“No—I’ll fill you in later. Why don’t you call me tonight at the house when I have more time to talk?”
After they said good-bye, she opened the Helen Carter file. A former heroin addict and high-priced call girl, Carter knew the law better than most attorneys. Could she have legitimately gone mad? Sure, but Carolyn doubted it. The conviction she was writing the report on for Carter was inconsequential: violation of a restraining order. Later, if the woman was tried and found guilty of murder, the restraining-order offense would be dismissed, as it would be deemed a “lesser” or “included” crime—meaning she couldn’t have killed her lover without getting close enough to violate the restraining order.
Another factor the court had to consider was whether the crime was part of a single period of aberrant behavior. Judiciously interpreting the laws as they applied to some criminals was a joke. Helen Carter’s entire life had been one continuous act of aberrant behavior. But the minor conviction opened a door by which Carolyn could slip through and do what she did best—get inside a criminal’s head. If Helen Carter thought she was going to outsmart the court and plead not guilty by reason of insanity, she better damn well be crazy. If she wasn’t, Carolyn would find a way to expose her.
Carolyn was amazed at how well Helen Carter had held up in the seven years since she’d seen her. She was only thirty, but women with her past generally aged poorly. Even though her dark hair was disheveled and her demeanor flat, traces of the beautiful young woman she’d once been were still visible. “Do you remember me, Helen?” Carolyn asked, sitting across from her in an interview room at the women’s jail. “I was the probation officer assigned to your welfare-fraud case.”
“Yeah, I remember you. Why are you here? They’re certainly not going to put me on probation for murder.”
Technically, Carolyn couldn’t interrogate the woman on the homicide charges as she had not yet been tried and convicted. The restraining-order violation did give Carolyn a legal reason to ask questions regarding the night of the murder, though. If Carter was malingering in an attempt to plead insanity, she didn’t appear to have given it much thought. When most inmates tried to fake mental illness, they went overboard, acting silly instead of insane. Helen Carter hadn’t refused to communicate and now had openly acknowledged that she and Carolyn had met on a previous occasion, demonstrating that she was alert to her environment and her memory was intact. Her statement about not getting probation for murder meant she knew the seriousness of her actions. The primary test to determine if a person was legally sane was whether they were aware that their actions constituted a crime. As far as Carolyn was concerned, Carter had already passed the test.
“What happened, Helen? The DA has filed murder charges against you. That’s a long way from welfare fraud.”
Carter stared at a spot on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The door had just closed. If Carolyn continued to press her into discussing the crime, she would be stepping over the line, and nothing Carter told her could be introduced at her trial. “Okay,” she said, quickly asking the customary questions so she could complete the report and go home. When she finished, she stood, then walked over to press the buzzer for the guard.
“I loved Grace,” Carter blurted out, tears spilling from her eyes. “She was the only person in the world who ever really cared about me. I would have cut my arm off before I would’
ve hurt her.”
Carolyn sat back down, pulling out some tissues from her purse and handing them to her.
“He killed her.”
“Can you be more specific, Helen?”
“That asshole guy she’d been seeing.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Martin,” Carter said, her hair obscuring one of her eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s his first or last name. I was jealous, so Grace wouldn’t tell me much about him. It all started because of her family. She was only twenty, and her father went nuts when he found out she was involved with a woman. She decided she wanted to get married to make her parents happy.”
“This must have been hard on you, Helen,” Carolyn said, working her now that she was volunteering valuable information. “I can see why you’re depressed.”
“I’m more than depressed,” Carter tossed back. “They’re going to try me for murder. If they file first-degree, they could give me the death sentence. Jurors don’t have much sympathy for lesbian killers, in case you haven’t noticed. Look what happened to Aileen Wuornos.”
“Aileen Wuornos was a serial killer, Helen,” Carolyn said. “Tell me about this man Grace was seeing.”
“The dick had some bucks,” Carter said, taking on a tougher demeanor. “I know, because he paid the rent on her apartment and bought her expensive things. I tried to talk some sense into her, that’s all. He convinced her I was stalking her. Then Grace went to court and got a restraining order.”
“Which you violated on the day she was killed?”
“All I wanted was to talk to her.” Carter used the tissue to blow her nose. “You know, make certain she was all right. Grace broke down and told me things weren’t working out that well, that she was certain this Martin guy was seeing another woman behind her back. They’d only known each other two months, and he’d already asked her to marry him. You know, things like that don’t happen, especially with a girl like Grace who doesn’t have anything to offer. I told her to get her stuff together and I’d come and get her in an hour. That was the last time I saw her alive.”
Carolyn studied the other woman intently. She spoke without hesitation, looked Carolyn straight the eye, and there was nothing in her body language to indicate she was lying. “Have you told the police what you just told me?”
“Yeah,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Someone saw me leaving Grace’s place that day. They didn’t see anyone else, so they decided I killed her. They found some fingerprints inside that weren’t mine, but they said it didn’t matter since there was no telling how many people had been inside her apartment.” She leveled her gaze at Carolyn. “Just because someone didn’t see Martin didn’t mean he wasn’t there. All it means is they weren’t looking out the window at that precise time.”
“Did they question this man?”
“They couldn’t find him. The bastard must have split after he killed Grace. Her parents met him, but they were certain I killed her. He was some kind of traveling salesman. They believe he took off because he was scared of losing his job. You know, because his girlfriend turned out to be gay.” She sneered. “What a crock of shit.”
Carolyn collected her paperwork to leave.
“Are you going to help me?” Carter asked, a desperate look in her eyes. “I haven’t been a model citizen in the past, but I’m not a murderer. Don’t let them railroad me for something I didn’t do. After all these years, you must have a lot of pull around here.”
“Afraid not, Helen,” Carolyn said, standing. The way it looked, the former call girl had courted an insanity defense, then was smart enough to realize it wouldn’t hold water. Her new tactic was to create reasonable doubt in the eyes of the jurors by creating a suspect who couldn’t be located. “Did anyone see this Martin person other than Grace’s parents?”
“Probably,” Carter said, fidgeting in her seat. “The police had me, so it was a done deal. Why knock themselves out, you know? I served time in the can. They don’t care that I never did anything violent. A record is a record.” She leaned forward as if she were going to reveal a secret. “I know one thing, though.”
“Oh, yeah?” Carolyn said. “What’s that?”
“Grace never told him she was gay. That’s why she didn’t want me coming around.”
“It doesn’t look like she was,” Carolyn answered. “Not if she was making plans to marry a man. You were a fling, Helen. Young girls sometimes experiment. When you realized that, maybe you got mad enough to kill her. In court, they call that a motive.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Carter said, her jaw protruding. “Grace was raped and beaten when she was fourteen. Being with a man terrified her. She lived with another woman for two years before I met her. If she spread her legs for this Martin character, I can guarantee you she didn’t do it because she enjoyed it.”
Carolyn left the jail, making her way to her Infiniti in the parking lot. She decided to drive by Park Avenue on her way home in spite of what Hank had told her. Rarely did an opportunity present itself to prevent a crime before it happened. When it did, she went for it.
CHAPTER 20
Wednesday, September 20—2:50 P.M.
“Mr. Masters,” Detective Brian Irving said, “are you feeling up to answering a few questions?”
The events of the previous evening had worn Dean out. Once he’d distracted the paramedics to the point where he felt certain Kathleen would die before she reached the hospital, he’d refused treatment and told them he was suffering a panic attack. He certainly didn’t want the hospital to draw blood.
Hearing his name, he peered up at the gray-haired man standing over him. From his perspective, the man looked like a giant. He must be prematurely gray, Dean thought, as the detective’s face was free of wrinkles and his muscles strained inside his patterned flannel shirt.
“God no!” Dean exclaimed, bolting upright. “My wife…you’re here to tell me my wife is dead, aren’t you?”
“Your wife is alive,” he said in a deep authoritative voice. “I’m Detective Brian Irving. Mrs. Masters is still in surgery.” He rubbed his chin and regarded Dean with curiosity. “Didn’t the doctors speak to you? I glanced at the chart and saw your signature on the surgery consent form.”
“I-I vaguely remember signing something,” Dean stammered. “I thought I was dying. It’s embarrassing, officer. The doctors think I may have just fainted. I was certain I was having a heart attack.”
“You went through a terrible ordeal,” Irving told him, taking a seat beside him. “That was sharp thinking on your part to call Dr. Kaufman. Technically, I guess he’s your neighbor. Your houses are a long way apart, though. I’m not used to the kind of spreads you people have here in Carmel. I transferred from Modesto, bought myself a little place about forty miles inland.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Dean said. “We live in a remote area. I was afraid the paramedics wouldn’t get there in time.”
“If you hadn’t called the doctor, your wife wouldn’t have made it to the hospital.”
Dean’s eyes drifted downward, dozens of thoughts racing through his mind. Kathleen was alive! And he had to hear it from this lumberjack cop. He would never have called Kaufman if he hadn’t thought she was beyond saving. The only hope he had now was that she would die in surgery. His shoulder twitched. He had to figure out an alternative plan. “I’m sorry,” he said. He was genuinely distraught. Right now, acting wasn’t necessary. “I’m not handling this very well. Did you catch the maniac who did this to my wife?”
“Well,” Irving said, rubbing his palms on his brown corduroy slacks, “we didn’t have to do much in that department. The assailant caught himself, it seems. He was an ex-con named Arnold Layman. Looks as if he drowned when he drove your wife’s Mercedes into the swimming pool. Can’t be sure until the coroner gets through with him, but Layman’s ID was found in his pocket, and his fingerprints were all over your residence, including the knife he used on your wife.”
“Breaking and entering. He was paroled four years ago. We had an active warrant for his arrest in connection with two burglaries that occurred in Monterrey a few months back.”
“Christ, did he kill someone else?”
“Nope. All he did was eat some of their food and steal a few bottles of booze. He must have thought no one was home at your place. We found a shattered whiskey bottle near the bed, along with some glass shards. When you left, was the alarm set?”
“I don’t remember. We don’t turn it on until we go to bed at night.”
“Your wife was in bed,” Irving told him. “Do you generally go out at night and leave her alone in the house with the alarm off?”
The cops who came across as the dumbest, Dean reminded himself, were many times the cleverest. He would have to watch what he said around Brian Irving. “No,” Dean replied, trying to maintain his dazed expression. “She was in the family room when I left. She might have decided to go to bed early and forgot to set the alarm.”
“The coroner believes Layman smashed your wife over the head, then for some reason decided to stab her. Maybe she fought him. He had some bruises on his face, more than likely defense wounds. Guess he didn’t want to go back to the joint, so he decided to kill her.”
“You believe he’s the one, then?” Dean said with a look of righteous anger.
Irving crossed his long legs. “All you have to worry about is your wife, Mr. Masters. We do need to ask you a few questions, though. We can get that out of the way now, if that’s all right.”
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 19