by Mark Mynheir
After swallowing four aspirins on the ride there to ease the ache in my leg, I chased them with a soda. The pain meds make me too sleepy to take before a shift, so I'd have to grunt through it with over-the-counter stuff. I scrolled through my options in my head, and I knew just how desperate my situation had become when I broke down and called Dean Yarborough for help.
“Yarborough,” he answered.
“Dean, Ray Quinn. Don't hang up.”
“What do you want?”
“I need your help,” I said.
“So what? I could get in trouble for even talking to you. As usual, you've really stirred things up.”
“I need you to look up a suicide report from fourteen months ago,” I said. “Clarence Stowe.”
“What makes you think I'd do anything to assist you? You've always treated me like garbage. You'd bark orders at me, poke fun at me. Why should I do anything for you now?”
I might have been a bit terse with Dean at times and maybe had some fun at his expense, but I didn't have time for all that now.
“Don't do it for me,” I said. “Do it for Trisha.”
Dean hesitated, but I could hear him breathing. “You think this is related to her murder?”
“Yes. If you'll burn me a copy of the report, I'll meet you at Ashley Vargas's apartment and explain everything. I'll be there in an hour.”
“I'll think about it.” He hung up.
I was exhausted from doing double time at Coral Bay and working this case and extremely late mornings with Jim. Not that I slept much before, but I was stretching it now. As I turned into Ashley's apartment complex, I recalled the last visit I'd made here, only to discover her lifeless body.
How would things have been different if I hadn't agreed to help Pam? Ashley would still be alive. I'd be better rested in my world as the night watchman.
What Pam had said was true, though. Evil didn't fight fair. I didn't need a teacher to tell me that. I'd seen enough evil in my career to clearly identify it out of a lineup. Even though I knew the wickedness people were capable of, the last few swipes stung like nothing I'd ever felt in my life.
Lying on warm pavement watching Trisha die, powerless to even crawl toward her.
Now, because I tried to help and actually do something right, Ashley Vargas died, and I might not be any closer to finding the person responsible for both. The more I dug in, the more questions popped up and suspects came on the radar.
I parked in front of her building and took my time getting to the third floor. My leg wasn't letting me forget the stumble at my apartment. I didn't know what I would accomplish by coming here. Maybe relieve some guilt, if nothing else.
The blinds of her apartment windows were cracked enough for me to cup my hands on the glass to see in. The furnishings were still there. The door and frame had been replaced from Crevis's kick. I rested my elbows on the metal railing of the walkway embracing the breeze on my face. Surprises never ceased as Dean's crime scene van negotiated the speed bumps in the parking lot. I would have bet he wouldn't show.
He skipped up the steps with an ease I envied and had a manila envelope in his hand. He was wearing his usual blue CSI jumpsuit.
“This is the report.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose; the hair from his comb-over flapped in the wind like it was waving at me. “You could have gotten a copy from Records. It's a closed case.”
“I know, but I didn't want to wait. I need to review it tonight. Besides, I don't think showing my face at the police department to pick up a copy of a police report would be a good idea right now. Oscar would probably have me arrested for loitering or something.”
“So you think this has something to do with Trisha's death?” Dean said.
“Yeah. This was the same gun used to shoot both Trisha and me and kill David Hendricks and Jamie DeAngelo.”
“So that's what this is all about. There have been a bunch of closed-door meetings today. Everything has been real hush-hush. Sergeant Yancey had Internal Affairs in his office. That's never good.”
“I can imagine it's getting pretty hot there,” I said. “It's not my problem now. The only thing I have to do is to find out who got this gun out of Property and Evidence and used it for the murders. After that, it should be a walk in the park.”
“I'm sorry I gave you grief on the phone, Ray. I didn't realize everything that was going on. If I knew this would help find Trisha's killer, I would've jumped right to it.”
“Well, I'm sorry… for a lot of things. Do you remember this case, Clarence Stowe's suicide?”
Dean nodded. “Katie and I were on call, and we picked up the case. We thought it was a homicide at first. The guy was facedown on his living room floor with a gunshot to the head. We couldn't find the gun until we rolled him over; it was lying underneath him. Pampas cleared it as a suicide.”
“Do you remember who was there? It should be on the crime scene log.”
He flipped through the report. “Me, Katie, Pampas, Steve Stockton, and Oscar, who showed up late. Patrol officers S. Whitman and D. Ruiz were there as well.”
“Who logged the gun into evidence?”
He paused. “Katie and I. I don't remember the order of collection, but we were both responsible. I know that gun made it to the property and evidence section. After that, I can't say.”
Property and Evidence was locked down pretty well. You had to sign in and out. But people were in and out of there all the time. Given the right opportunity, someone could have passed it on the shelf and picked it up. Unlikely in this case. The ties seemed to be pretty secure—someone in this group was the suspect. Katie Pham jumped out at me.
“How well do you know Katie?” I said.
Dean shrugged. “We spend a lot of time together at scenes and such. But to be honest, I don't know her that well. She keeps to herself a lot. Doesn't talk about what she does off-duty. She wouldn't steal a gun or anything like that.”
I didn't tell Dean about my knowledge of her prior nocturnal activities. There was a huge difference between a CSI and a detective: The CSI works in the logical world of techniques and rules of evidence collection. They don't deal with the vagaries of the human condition. Katie wasn't off the list.
“I'm gonna ask you straight up, Dean. Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Would I be here if I did? I don't like where Pampas is taking this investigation. Trisha deserves better. I've never much liked you… but I did respect you. If you can make this thing happen, I'm in.”
“I want to look around Ashley's place. I might need to get with the management.”
“I can get us in.” Dean looked around, then pulled a lock-picking set from his pocket. He worked the lock a minute or so and then opened the door.
Ashley's apartment looked and smelled the same as I remembered, except the bird was gone. We moved to the back bedroom. The sheets on the bed were missing.
“Did you take the sheets into evidence?”
“Of course.” Dean squatted down and examined the edge of the mattress.
“Can you get me a copy of Oscar's report?”
“You're kidding, right?” Dean swallowed hard. “Between Sergeant Yancey and Internal Affairs, they're monitoring everything we do on the computers and everywhere else. He'd skin me alive if I did that. I'm risking my job doing this.”
So much for jumping right in. I was glad he brought me the report and got us into the apartment, but Dean lacked any real chutzpa to help with the case. As far as gallantry went, I think I'd seen Dean's limit.
I tried to imagine what the killer must have seen and did while he—or she—was at the scene. How did he get Ashley in the back bedroom? She was fully clothed, so she wasn't asleep. Did he ambush her in the parking lot and force her to her apartment? Maybe if he was armed. She might have been too afraid to cry out. Hard to tell.
Nothing jumped out at me in Ashley's place but bad memories. I still needed to view it, though. I snapped more photos of the layout. I didn't know
how helpful they'd be, but since I had the chance, I took it.
As I stood in Ashley's room, haunted by her memory, I developed a plan.
50
DEAN AND I PARTED WAYS, and I made it to my shift just in time.
The suicide report made for some bland and depressing reading. Clarence Stowe, a sixty-three-year-old male, took his own life with a single gunshot to the head. He was terminally ill and apparently felt he'd meet the Grim Reaper halfway. But how did his gun get in the hands of a killer? It's not like there was a burglary to the police Property and Evidence section.
The buzzer at the front door chimed. I looked up, but my eyes betrayed me. Katie Pham was staring at me.
“You gonna let me in or what?” Her hand still covered the wall-mounted intercom. Her hair looked unkempt, for her anyway.
“Are you armed?” I said, half joking. Of course, the other half of me was dead serious.
“We need to talk.”
I hit the buzzer, and she opened the door and hurried in. She wore a pair of blue sweatpants and a navy blue jacket with a light blue lining.
“Thanks for the report,” I said.
“You've got everyone at the PD running crazy right now.”
“So I heard. What brings you around? I didn't think you were that fond of me anymore.”
“I'm not.” She slipped her hands into her jacket pockets. “You treated me like dirt yesterday. Just because I used to dance at clubs doesn't give you the right to do that.”
“I'm looking for a killer, Katie. Sometimes I forget my manners.”
“The cases are linked, aren't they?”
“You read the report?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I can't believe I'm going to do this. But I want to help you.”
Not exactly what I expected from her. “Why the change of heart?”
“I don't think the PD is going to give this the attention that it needs. Everyone seems more concerned about finding out how the gun left Property and Evidence than the link between the shootings. Internal Affairs was down in Sergeant Yancey's office most of the day today. They're looking to hang someone out to dry for the gun thing… and I get the feeling it's me.”
“Do you have anything to worry about?”
“Don't be stupid. But I was the most junior and inexperienced person at the scene, and Dean and I logged that gun in. If they ever find out about my dancing at Club Venus, they'll assume I did something with it, and everything I've worked for is finished.”
“So you're looking to head them off at the pass? If you can help solve the case and find out about the gun, you might save your own career.”
“I know it sounds self-serving, Ray, but I really want to find this person too. I think we can help each other out.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I have no idea where all of this will lead, and if Oscar finds out you're helping me, your career is definitely over.”
“I'm working on borrowed time as it is,” she said. “If you found out about Club Venus, Internal Affairs is going to find out. They'll terminate me for lying on my preemployment interview. I've seen them fire people for less. I'll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Will you go back into Club Venus for just one night?” The plan already churned in my head. “Maybe only half a night?”
Katie nodded. “I'll do it. And I know that I might just live to regret those words.”
“She's really hot, Ray,” Crevis whispered, mesmerized by the dancer-to-be.
Katie showed the good sense to wear a long trench coat to cover herself as we were planning our night at my apartment. Her tan, curvy legs peeked out as she sat on the sofa. Her hair was primped up and immaculate, with two flowers tucked just above her ears. I didn't think I'd be able to look at her in her crime scene jumper the same again.
Katie had called Chance earlier and asked if she could dance again a couple nights a week. Chance bit, saying they were short a few “entertainers” and would love for her to come back anytime. Katie had never told Chance that she went to work for the police department when she left. She liked to keep all of her cards close. Neither Katie nor I mentioned that the reason they were probably short on help was Ashley's death. We didn't need to give life to that thought, although I'm sure she considered it.
Pam was loading some software we would need on my laptop. “Thank you for helping us,” she said to Katie. “I don't know if we could pull off this crazy plan without you.”
Katie drew the belt of her coat tight. “We just need to get this done. But I have to tell you, Ray, this is easily the most insane plan I've ever heard.”
“I'm open for suggestions, if anyone has a better idea.” I evaluated my crack team and knew deep down in my heart that Katie spoke the truth. Everyone remained silent. I didn't have a better plan, and apparently, neither did anyone else.
“Katie,” I said, “I want you to clip this to your… bikini bottoms.” I handed her a small flower I'd made to fit the Eagle and Hawk audio and video receiver, as small as a pencil eraser. I gave her another matching brooch to clip on the other side. The OCD side of me needed some balance and symmetry. “Now switch it on as soon as you can when you get in, so we can tell what's going on.”
“No problem. I should be able to turn it on as soon as I'm in the dressing room.”
“Excellent.” I smiled. “Crevis, if this is going to work, you'll have to have perfect timing.”
Crevis stared at Katie but didn't reply.
“Keep up with me here, Crevis.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.
“I heard you,” he said. “Perfect timing. Got it.”
“I need you all to understand something.” My team's attention drew to me.
For a moment, I felt like I was on a cop operation again, briefing everyone on a major case. Then Crevis stared at Katie, and I was reminded that I was working with amateurs who I feared wouldn't be able to react well if something went bad. And the only thing consistent about police operations is that something almost always goes wrong.
“We need to be at our best tonight. This might be our only chance to get this right. I don't want to mess this up… and I don't want anyone here to get hurt.”
“Katie will be fine,” Crevis said. “I'll be in there with her, and nothing, I mean nothing, will happen to her.”
Katie rolled her eyes.
“I'm not so worried about her,” I said. “Now, does everyone have their assignments?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Crevis, you need to act like any other patron in there. Pretend you're having a great time, but keep the mission in focus. You need to be ready to move at the right time. Understand?”
“I got it, Ray. But I'm still not gonna drink or anything. You know how I feel about that.”
“You don't have to drink,” I said. “Just buy a beer and carry it around. Then go to the bathroom and pour it out and buy another. Buy at least two while you're there. If you look like you're not drinking, it could draw suspicion.”
“I never thought of that.” He nodded. “I can do that.”
I checked my watch. “Well, let's get this plan moving.”
51
THE THURSDAY-NIGHT CROWD was hopping at Club Venus. But I hadn't been by the place any night that it wasn't packed. Chance knew his business well, and the burgeoning belly of Orange County served up plenty of customers.
Pam and I found a spot near the front and backed the van in. I made sure my equipment was up and running. Everything looked good. We were to arrive first, then Katie, and finally Crevis. If all went well, we wouldn't be here too long.
Katie arrived just after we got settled, and she hurried into the back door.
Crevis's wire turned on, and music I couldn't identify came blaring through, with Crevis singing along. “I'm here, Ray,” he screamed into the bug. His engine and radio shut off, and his heavy steps approached.
My laptop went live as Katie turned on the camera in the dressing
room. She waved her hand in front of the hidden camera.
“It's a go now,” I said.
Pam was quiet, looking like she was praying.
“I need to see Chance before I head to the stage,” Katie said.
I assumed no other girls were in the dressing room and she said that for my benefit, but I couldn't be sure.
The tunes from the club pounded through the speakers, so I made some adjustments to handle the two signals coming in. I turned Crevis's signal down some. I just needed it to monitor him. As Katie zigzagged through the crowd, I could see much of the goings-on. The camera worked better than I thought. I loved it when the tech stuff worked.
Katie arrived at Chance's door, which I recognized from my first visit. She knocked as she let herself in. Chance was at his desk. He was as ugly on-screen as in person.
“Katie.” Chance stood and walked toward her. “I'm so glad you've come back to work with us.”
“Thanks for taking me on such short notice. I really need the work.”
He took a step back. “You look great. Have you been working out?”
“I run some. Try to eat right. I keep busy. I guess I always knew I'd be coming back.”
“The best girls always do.” He grinned. “Knock 'em dead tonight. We can work out any future days later.”
“Thanks, Chance. You've been great.”
He hugged her for a long time. Katie headed out of the office.
“I guess that wasn't what I expected,” Pam said. “I thought he'd be an evil villain or something. He treated her like… an employee.”
“It's just business to him,” I said. “But you don't get in the way of his business. That's for sure. Katie's a freelancer to him. She's unusual for these types of clubs. Most of the girls dance to support their drug habits or to keep their boyfriends in cash. Guys like Chance couldn't care less about these girls, unless they're not making him money.”
Katie went and talked with the DJ. I couldn't hear everything she said, but it was apparent that she was on next.
Katie aimed the camera right toward the stage, just where I needed it. The dancer was taking her last bows and bucks, and she pranced off the stage. The DJ announced Katie, or Loloni, straight in from the Hawaiian Islands. I guess it didn't matter that she was Katie, Asian American from Orlando. The whole club scene was about an image they wanted to portray, a fantasy for the men to cling to, so they wouldn't cling so tightly to their cash. Loloni took the stage.