Cold Justice (Kali O'Brien series Book 5)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Is what—”

  “Don’t play games with me. You know what I’m talking about. The body that was discovered this morning near Temescal.”

  “There’s been no ID yet.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” The journalist’s voice resonated with impatience, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Does it fit the same pattern as the Bailey murder?”

  Kali felt a flash of irritation at the ease with which he distanced himself from Anne’s death. He’d known her, after all. “This is an open investigation, Jack. We’re still at the early stage of figuring out what happened.”

  “So tell me what you do know.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “You seem to be forgetting that I’m sitting on a note. A note that sounds like it came from the Bayside Strangler.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” Kali took the lid off the steaming cup and licked at the foam collected there. Easy, she told herself. The last thing she wanted was to piss him off.

  “I’ve held back from making it public at Owen Nelson’s request, but that can change at any moment.”

  Kali gripped the phone. “I don’t like being blackmailed.”

  “And I don’t like being kept in the dark.” His voice softened. “Look, I understand your wanting to keep this quiet awhile. And I’m willing to play along, to a degree. But you’ve got understand where I’m coming from. This is a hot story. I’m not going to turn my back on it completely.”

  She hesitated, and then relented. Partially. They’d issue a press release before the day was out in any case. It couldn’t hurt to give him a tiny head start. “I don’t really know how similar the two murders are. What I said about the investigation being in the early stages is true. But the woman was strangled.”

  “Did the body appear to be posed?”

  “On first impression.”

  “What about her clothing?”

  “What about it?”

  “You know, skimpy, sexy clothing that wasn’t her own. Like Anne was wearing.”

  “What makes you believe that’s the way Anne was dressed?”

  Jackson laughed. “You must think I’m awfully stupid. That was a hallmark of the Bayside Strangler murders. I asked Anne’s husband about it. He described the outfit for me, said he didn’t recognize it.”

  Jackson knew details about Anne’s murder, yet he hadn’t printed a word of it. Kali had to give him credit. It was more than most reporters would have done. “We don’t want that information made public right now, but off the record, yes, it appears the latest victim was dressed in similar clothing. Whether it was hers or not, I haven’t the foggiest idea. We don’t know who she is.”

  “Who she was,” Jackson corrected. “What else do you have on the victim?”

  “Caucasian. Late thirties, early forties, I’d say. Her body was found by a jogger early this morning.”

  “Upper middle class?”

  “I told you, we don’t know—”

  “But from appearances?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “So now we wait for the yellow rose. And another note.”

  Kali thought he sounded almost eager.

  <><><>

  Despite the chilly morning, the day turned out to be relatively mild. The sky was clear and the air calm. The sort of midwinter respite at which the Bay Area excelled. At noon Kali walked the perimeter of nearby Lake Merritt before stopping at a corner convenience store to pick up a carton of yogurt to eat at her desk. She’d just tucked the yogurt and plastic spoon into her bag and was fumbling with the change when she heard someone call her name.

  She looked up into the face of Nathan Sloane.

  “Geez,’ he said with deadpan humor, “we have to stop meeting like this.”

  She blinked. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t the most gracious greeting, but he’d caught her by surprise.

  “I had a meeting with a client.” Sloane paid the clerk for a can of Pepsi and a candy bar. “What about you? You didn’t come all the way from Berkeley to buy yogurt, did you?”

  “I’m doing some work down in this area of Oakland.” She zipped her wallet shut and dropped it into her bag. “How’d you know I bought yogurt, anyway?”

  “I saw you. Why, was it a secret?”

  Not a secret. Not even so odd, now that she thought about it. He’d obviously seen her before she noticed him. She made a joke of it. “I’m a card-carrying member of Yogurt Addicts Anonymous.”

  “Can’t stand the stuff myself.” He made a shivery motion.

  “It’s better for you than soda and candy.”

  “You sound like my mother.” They moved outside. He pulled on a pair of dark glasses against the sun’s glare. He grinned at her. “I don’t suppose three’s a charm?”

  “Three?”

  “The first two times I asked you out, you were busy.” He gave the last word a sardonic twist, making it clear he’d understood that busy covered a multitude of possibilities. “Do I dare try a third time?”

  Maybe it was the unexpectedly fine weather, or the relief at having the morning behind her, or maybe it was simply Nathan’s lopsided grin, but Kali surprised both of them by saying, “Sure, give it a try.”

  “How about one night this week? We can keep it simple.”

  “Okay.”

  “The Oakview Grille? Tomorrow night, seven?”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Nathan rocked up on his toes. “And to think I almost didn’t ask.”

  Kali felt herself smile. Nathan just might turn out to be an interesting guy.

  <><><>

  Later in the afternoon, Kali was studying the file of a case from her own practice when she sensed someone standing in her doorway. It wasn’t a noise or change in light that caught her attention, but rather a field of energy so strong, it almost knocked the wind out of her.

  “Do you know you squint when you read?” Bryce Keating asked.

  She hadn’t, but as soon as he said it she became aware of the tension around her eyes. She rubbed the center of her forehead with her palm.

  He didn’t move from the doorway but he studied her for a moment before continuing. “We have an tentative ID on the body we found this morning.”

  No longer just a body now; there was a name and history to go with it. Kali’s stomach felt leaden. “Who was she?”

  “Jane Parkhurst. A real estate agent whose car was found at a home she’d recently listed. Another agent was showing the place and noticed Parkhurst’s car in the driveway. She didn’t think much about it until the woman failed to show for an appointment at the office.”

  “Parkhurst meets the victim’s description?”

  He nodded. “I’m meeting the other agent at the morgue in ten minutes. Might be a good idea if you came along. Do you have time?”

  Two trips to the morgue in as many weeks. Not a pattern Kali wanted to see continue. But that was the whole purpose, she reminded herself. To find whoever was doing this and put him away for good.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I can make the time.” She struggled to find the shoes she’d kicked off after lunch.

  They headed outside.

  “Where’s your partner?” Kali asked, getting into Keating’s county-issue black sedan. He hadn’t spoken a word since leaving her office.

  “Home.”

  “Day off?” She was surprised the discovery of another body hadn’t been enough to bring him in.

  “A day off in the middle of a major homicide investigation?” Keating sounded incredulous, and a tad insulted. “That’s not the way it works. Lou tripped on his porch stairs and threw his back out.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” Keating fell back into silence.

  “Tell me,” she said. “Is he as much of a grump as he comes across?”

  Suddenly Keating laughed. It changed his whole appearance. His face lit up and his eyes grew bright. “You’ve noticed,
huh?”

  “Hard not to.”

  “Yeah, Lou can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. But he’s a good man. A good cop too.” He paused. “Not that we always see eye to eye.”

  Keating parked in front of the morgue and they went inside. An olive-complexioned woman in a beige wool pantsuit was waiting for them in the reception area.

  “Mrs. Andros?” Keating asked.

  She nodded, standing tentatively. She clutched her purse to her chest with both arms as though for support.

  “Detective Keating. We spoke earlier. This is Ms. O’Brien from the district attorney’s office. We appreciate your coming down on such short notice.”

  Deja vu all over again, Kali thought. Only this time she wouldn’t be the one having to make the identification. “Hello, Mrs. Andros. I know this must be a difficult experience for you.”

  “I’m hoping it’s not Jane,” she said shakily.

  Keating led the way into the viewing room. “We’re going to show you a picture on the video monitor,” he explained. “You don’t have to actually look at the body, just the picture. And you can take as long as you need.”

  Mrs. Andros sat where he directed her.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded.

  Keating flipped on the monitor. A woman’s face appeared. Even though Kali had seen the actual body that morning, she felt herself recoil at the image. Death bore its own, unmistakable imprint.

  Mrs. Andros gasped and covered her face with her hands. “That’s Jane,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I’m sure of it.”

  Kali touched her arm. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I know how hard it is.”

  The woman was wiping away tears. “I was so hoping there’d been a mistake.”

  “What can you tell us about her?” Keating asked with a gentleness that caught Kali by surprise.

  “This is terrible. Just terrible.” Mrs. Andros continued to weep quietly.

  Keating handed her a box of tissues.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. She was someone we all admired.”

  Admired, Kali noticed, not liked. But maybe it was just an inadvertent choice of words. “It would help if you could tell us a bit about her life. All we have so far is her name.”

  “We’ve worked in the same office for almost four years. She was very good at what she did. Organized. And ready to pitch in whenever anything needed doing.”

  “How about her personal life?” Kali asked.

  Mrs. Andros took a couple of breaths and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Jane is divorced. Has been since before I met her. Lately, she’s been dating a doctor, but I don’t know how serious it is.”

  “You know his name?”

  “Keith, that’s all I know. He’s a radiologist.”

  “Did she live alone?” Keating asked.

  “Yes. On Loma Vista. I’m not sure of the address, but it’s on the left. Third house in. With a white picket fence.”

  “What about the house where you found her car?”

  “It’s vacant.” She gave them the address. “The people who own it were transferred east last month. It’s a definite rehab.”

  Keating wrote the house number in his notebook. “When did you notice the car?”

  “This morning. I was showing the house to a client. I didn’t even give it a second thought at the time. Usually, it’s the agents who drive, but some clients, particularly men, they prefer to do the driving. I just figured Jane had met her client at the house and gone on to look at other properties in the client’s car.”

  “How would we go about learning who her client was?” Kali asked.

  Mrs. Andros dropped the wad of tissues into her purse. Talking had seemed to quiet her. “If it was an appointment made through the office, there would be a record of it. But usually we make appointments ourselves. Did you check her appointment book?”

  “We haven’t seen it,” Keating said.

  “She always had it with her. When you find it, maybe you could let someone at the office have a look. We should probably notify her clients and let them know she won’t be . . . keeping her appointments.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Keating looked at his watch. “When you were showing the house this morning, did anything strike you as out of place or unusual?”

  Mrs. Andros thought a moment. “Not really. I knew Jane had been there because there was a pot of spice water on the stove.”

  Keating looked puzzled.

  “It’s a trick she uses. Makes the house smell homey. This place, though, it needs a whole lot more help than that.”

  Back in the car, Kali confronted her own black thoughts while Keating called for an evidence collection team to meet them at the house.

  “Not much chance they’ll find anything,” he said to Kali, “but you never know.”

  <><><>

  Armed with the combination to the realtor’s lock, they gained easy access to the house. It was small, only two bedrooms and a living/dining area, and terribly rundown. Mrs. Andros had been right, it was definitely a rehab, or more likely, a teardown. It was situated on a steep but decent piece of property offering almost complete seclusion. The neighborhood was mixed, but judging from the fresh look of several nearby homes, it was improving rather than declining.

  The location was, however, an ideal place to commit a crime and not be noticed. No crime of opportunity here, Kali thought. The killer had clearly planned the whole thing in advance.

  Keating examined the interior of the house without saying a word, and then checked outside. Kali followed, noting everything and finding nothing of significance. Keating must have fared no better because he finally stopped, sighed, and shook his head. “It’s like he spirits them away. I sure didn’t see any sign of a disturbance in there, did you?”

  “No.” Not that there was much to disturb. Realtors sometimes staged more upscale vacant homes, bringing in sofas and tables to make the place appeal to buyers. This house had been empty of everything but the stained carpeting.

  “Let’s take a look at the car,” Keating said.

  Jane Parkhurst’s car, a jade-green Mercedes, was parked in front of the garage, unlocked.

  “I doubt we’ll get his prints from here,” Keating said. “More likely he grabbed her in the house.” Nonetheless, Keating used latex gloves to open the door and look inside. He whistled. “No prints, but I think we just found her appointment book.”

  Keating pulled a slim, leather-bound datebook from the car, flipped to Monday, and again whistled. “Here it is. Six o’clock in the evening at this address. Mr. Smith.”

  A name as meaningless as no name at all. “You think that’s his real name?”

  Keating shook his head. “No idea. Even if it is, doesn’t help much. Let’s see if anyone at her office can fill us in.”

  <><><>

  Jane Parkhurst worked out of an office located in the Montclair district of Oakland. Twelve desks in two rows, plus a reception area at the front. Kali could see a couple of glass-walled conference rooms off to one side. The desks were all empty when Kali and Keating arrived. Half a dozen people, including Mrs. Andros, were gathered at the back of the room. The women were teary; the men looked pale. Mrs. Andros had obviously spread the word of their associate’s death.

  They pressed Keating for details of the crime, and while there was little he could tell them, his compassion in dealing with their questions both surprised and impressed Kali. She had him pegged for the aloof, all-business approach.

  None of Jane Parkhurst’s co-workers was able to offer any concrete leads, although there was no shortage of suggestions as to who might have killed her—her boyfriend, a neighbor boy, a client who’d lost out on a house. The name Smith meant nothing to any of them.

  While Keating interviewed office staff, Kali sat at Jane’s desk and activated her computer. It wasn’t hard to find a database of clients. There was only one Smith, first name Charles. There was also a phone number. Feeling more than a
little pleased with herself, Kali copied it down and went to find Keating. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to impress him, but she did.

  A hint of a smile crossed his face as he took the number. “Good job.”

  Kali noticed again how a smile changed his features. Dark and brooding one minute, warm and gentle the next. And sexy.

  Keating used his cell phone to place the call. Kali could feel her pulse racing in anticipation. Could it really be this easy?

  CHAPTER 15

  Lou wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “The garbage collection company? That’s the number your Mr. Smith gave Jane Parkhurst?”

  “The guy’s playing with us,’ Keating said. “Probably falling all over himself laughing about it, too.”

  Lou was reclining in the only chair in the house where he could get anything close to comfortable. And it wasn’t all that close. “You never know, he might actually work there.”

  “Not a chance.” Keating hunched forward in his chair, arms on his knees, looking glum. “This creep’s too smart for that.”

  “Sometimes it’s the simple things that trip you up.” Lou shifted slightly in his chair, and groaned. He couldn’t even breathe without hurting.

  “You ought to see a doctor,” Keating said.

  “Why? I know what he’d say.”

  “Which is?”

  “Ice, heat and time.” And some pithy remark about growing older. Coming from a doc who was barely old enough to shave, it really rankled.

  “How about a chiropractor?” Keating suggested.

  Lou glared. “Did I ask for your advice?”

  “I want you back on the job. Hard though that is to believe.”

  Half the time, Lou thought, Keating acted like he resented having Lou for a partner. Or maybe it was having a partner at all that annoyed him. “You and me both,” Lou said. “But having some quack crack my neck and dance on my back isn’t going to make it happen any faster.”

  “Well, you look miserable.”

  “I am miserable, damn it.” He’d been swallowing Advil by the handful, and it hadn’t made a bit of difference.