“At first he did, but after a while, I told him that I didn’t want his money. By then, I was in love with him.”
“So, after your initial involvement, he stopped paying you. Is that correct?”
Starting to look a little exasperated, she responded, “Look, he was always buying me little gifts, and on occasion, he paid a bill for me. Now, can’t we get on to something a little more important? I don’t see what this has to do with Levi’s murder.”
Kate ignored her protest. “What kind of ‘little gifts’ and bills are we talking about—cars, boats, jewelry, vacations?”
Winkler forced a smile. “Sorry, no cars, boats, or vacations. Sometimes he bought me jewelry or clothes, and, on occasion, he paid my credit card bills or picked up my rent.”
Sensing that the interview was becoming contentious, I interrupted. “Sue Ann, if we’re going to find Levi’s killer, and I know you want that as badly as we do, we need as much information as possible about his associates and how he lived his life. Unfortunately, that often requires us to ask some seemingly irrelevant and highly personal questions. I know this isn’t easy, but please try to bear with us.”
That seemed to calm her down, but it didn’t last long. “During the times you got together at the motel, was it just the two of you, or was anyone else ever present?” asked Kate.
Winkler hesitated long enough for us to realize that this question had caught her off-guard. She stammered a reply: “I don’t think I understand the question. What do you mean?”
“I’m trying to be as delicate as I can, Ms. Winkler, but what we really need to know is whether Mr. Vogue was involved in any unusual sexual practices that might have some connection to his death. Things such as group sex, sadomasochistic sexual behaviors, anything of that sort?”
“Jesus, who the hell have you been talking to?” replied Winkler.
No response from either of us created an awkward period of silence. “Okay,” she continued. “So Levi had some unusual sexual interests. I still don’t see what this has to do with his murder, but I’ll answer the question anyway. Several times, Levi asked if I would bring another dancer back to the motel. He said that he wanted to try a three-way—you know, two women and a guy.”
“Did you comply with his request?” McConnell asked.
“Never. I always lied to him about it. I told him that the other dancer wasn’t into that sort of thing. That seemed to satisfy him.”
“So you never participated with him in any group sex, is that correct?”
“No. I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t interested in arranging a group scene with another dancer. I didn’t want to share him with anybody else. Twice, Levi showed up at the motel with another guy. He introduced him only as Jerry, and that’s about all I can tell you about him.”
“Can you describe Jerry?” I asked.
“Yeah. He was a white guy, a little older than Levi, probably mid-to-late forties, about six feet to six-one, medium build, short, brown hair.”
“Did he have any facial hair or any distinguishing body characteristics such as tattoos or body piercing?”
“Clean shaven. No piercing that I can recall, but he did have a tattoo on his upper arm. It was a small dragon. Red, I think.”
“Which arm?”
She thought a moment and then said, “I can’t remember.”
“Did Levi ever explain to you who this guy was?” I asked.
“He acted funny about that. He seemed real guarded about it. Once, I think he said that he worked with the dude, but I can’t be sure.”
“So what did the three of you do when you were together?” McConnell asked.
“Well, Levi was kind of a watcher, a voyeur, I guess you’d call it. That’s what attracted him to the club in the first place, I think. He liked to watch. He liked to watch me masturbate. With this Jerry, it was the same thing. Levi got off watching me do the guy. Once, I did them both at the same time, but mostly he liked to watch me get him off. I finally told him I didn’t want to do it anymore so he stopped bringing the guy around. He didn’t like it, but he never brought the dude back.”
“So, you never saw this Jerry again, is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Just a few more questions, Ms. Winkler, and we’ll be finished,” said Kate. “When and where was the last time you saw Levi alive?”
“I saw Levi last night at the motel. I had the night off, and his wife was out of town, so we agreed to meet at six-thirty. He actually didn’t get there until a little after seven. He’d stopped at a Mexican restaurant we like and brought some takeout dinner for us.”
“Which Mexican restaurant?”
“Rosa’s Cantina on Ft. Union Boulevard.”
“Did he act nervous or upset about anything? Was he behaving in a normal way?”
“If he was upset about anything, I sure didn’t notice it. I’ve thought about that a lot today, and last night seemed just like any other time we’ve been together. We talked, ate dinner, and then had great sex. We watched TV in bed together until I fell asleep. I woke up about midnight and Levi was gone. I didn’t know anything had happened to him until one of my girlfriends called. She heard about it on the news this morning.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed him?” Kate asked.
“None whatsoever,” replied Winkler.
“Tell us about your relationship with John Merchant. Is he still your boyfriend? Are you still seeing him?”
The look of surprise on her face told us that she wasn’t expecting to be asked about John Merchant. “You must’ve been talking with Mommy Dearest. She never did like Johnny much. As to your questions, the answers are no and no. He’s not my boyfriend any longer, and I quit going out with him three or four months ago.”
“Was he aware of your ongoing relationship with the victim?” I asked.
“Look, if you’re suggesting that Johnny had something to do with Levi’s murder, I don’t think so. It just isn’t his style. Johnny’s possessive and insecure, but he wouldn’t kill anybody.”
“Is that so, Ms. Winkler? Isn’t it true that John Merchant has quite a temper? In fact, hasn’t he hit you before? Isn’t it also true that Merchant is on probation with the Corrections Department for almost beating a guy to death here at the club because he thought the guy was flirting with you?”
“Okay, so he’s got a temper. That doesn’t make him a killer. He never hit me. If Mommy Dearest told you that, she’s a liar. Johnny is fucked up in a lot of ways, but I’m telling you, he’s no killer. As to whether he knew about my relationship with Levi, how would I know? I sure didn’t tell him. But sometimes I got the feeling he was following me, almost like he was stalking me. A couple of times he’d just show up unannounced at my apartment, or be waiting in the club parking lot when I got off work. I told him to stay away, but he just ignored me.”
“Ok, Ms. Winkler, just one more question. Is John Merchant a smoker?”
“Yeah, probably a pack a day. Why?”
“Which brand does he smoke?”
“He’ll smoke any damn brand he can get his hands on—whatever he can find on the cheap or bum from somebody.”
I gave Winkler a business card and encouraged her to call if she thought of anything else.
***
We immediately headed back to meet Owens and Burnham, who were pulling surveillance duty at our suspect’s home. It was time to roust John Merchant and really lean on him. This was a guy with motive, opportunity, and means. We felt that Winkler had told us the truth about most things, but not about her relationship with John Merchant. On a ten-point defensiveness scale, Winkler scored an eleven the moment Kate brought John Merchant’s name into the discussion. She was still involved with him. We felt certain of that. As for us, we were about to find out just how bad Big Bad John really was.
Chapter Twelve
The Satin & Lace Club was located about ten minutes from John Merchant’s home. I radioed Burnham and Owens
to find out if anything was happening at the house. Burnham reported that everything appeared quiet with no sign of our suspect or his car.
As McConnell and I got close to Merchant’s home, my radio cracked and Owens said, “The suspect has just arrived home and appears to be in a real hurry. He just jumped the curb and drove across the front lawn. What’s your ETA?”
“We’re just a couple of minutes away,” I replied. “I’ll bet somebody tipped him, and I’ve got a pretty good idea who. Let’s get on him quickly. There’s probably something in that house that he doesn’t want us to see.”
“Roger that,” replied Owens. “We’re gonna follow him right through the front door. There’s an alley running north and south behind the house. You guys come in that way and cover the back. That okay?”
“Sounds good. We’re about there. Be careful with this guy.”
We turned into the alley and spit loose gravel as we accelerated between homes. Before I could bring the car to a full stop, McConnell bailed out and broke into a full sprint crossing into Merchant’s back yard. I cursed, jumped out, and followed her. The only place of concealment was a large maple tree located about twenty-five yards from the back door. Doing what I thought was prudent, I sought cover behind the tree. I yelled at Kate to stop. She either didn’t hear or chose to ignore me. She never broke stride. When she was perhaps fifteen feet from the back door, it suddenly opened, and Merchant launched himself off the porch, gun in hand. Neither person had any time to react. Merchant hit McConnell head on, lifting her three feet off the ground, and dumping her unceremoniously on her backside. She managed to roll away, but lost her weapon in the process. He stopped suddenly and made a half turn back toward her. At that moment, I emerged from cover in a low, combat position yelling for him to drop the weapon. He turned in one motion and raised the handgun. I fired once, striking him in the upper right shoulder. He dropped like a stone.
The next couple of hours were pandemonium. Salt Lake City P.D. responded with a shooting team, Internal Affairs officers, a crime scene unit, and a Department media spokesperson. The Department of Corrections sent the head of Field Operations and a deputy director. TV and print journalists descended on the place like locusts in a corn field. As for Kate, other than having the wind knocked out of her, sore ribs, and a badly bruised ego, she was fine.
***
John Merchant was another story. He had lost a lot of blood by the time he was loaded aboard the life-flight helicopter and flown to the University of Utah Medical Center. I sent Terry with him in case he said anything about this incident or the murder of Levi Vogue. He didn’t.
For us, the bad news didn’t end there. The subsequent search of his home and car produced nothing that would connect him to the murder. Our best hope had been that the search would yield the murder weapon. What we did find was a refrigerator full of beer, more than a kilogram of marijuana, weighing scales, and plastic baggies—all the trappings of a small-time dope dealer. The weapon was a twenty-five caliber Beretta with the serial number filed off. Assuming he survived, Merchant was facing several new felony charges, including illegal possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, multiple drug counts, and assault on a police officer. He’d also made himself a great candidate for having his probation revoked. Jenny Owens was anxious to go to work on that.
As for me, I wasn’t doing so well. I’d been in this business for seventeen years, and I’d never shot anyone before. After the initial rush of adrenaline, reality was setting in. The incident unfolded in a flash. I’d shot someone. That person was fighting for his life and might die. How would I feel if that happened?
***
It had been less than twenty-four hours since Levi Vogue had been killed. We had hoped John Merchant was the investigative lead that would break the case. Without evidence from the search linking him to the murder, I was less convinced that we had the right guy. We needed to determine his whereabouts at the time of the murder, and we needed to do it quickly.
Chapter Thirteen
Kate and I spent the next two hours undergoing tape-recorded interviews with the Salt Lake City P.D. shooting team. In addition, I had the dubious distinction of being interviewed for a second time by a high-ranking representative from the Executive Director’s Office.
Sloan had dispatched his administrative law judge, Rachel Rivers-Blakely, to do the honors. Rivers-Blakely was a tough but fair-minded attorney who had carved out a reputation while working for the Utah State Attorney General’s Office. She would recommend to Sloan whether my actions in the apprehension of John Merchant were consistent with the department’s use-of-force policy.
Her primary responsibility in the Department of Corrections was to advise Sloan in matters relating to employee discipline and inmate grievances. In short, her job was to help keep Sloan’s ass out of a sling by limiting his exposure to civil suits from either disgruntled employees or unhappy prison inmates—and the department had plenty of both.
At the conclusion of the interview, Rivers-Blakely informed me that I was being temporarily placed on administrative leave with pay, pending reviews by the Salt Lake County Attorney’s Office and by Sloan.
Shooting incidents always result in two independent reviews: one by the department for policy violations, and another by the prosecuting attorney’s office, to determine whether State criminal laws had been violated. The potential consequences are serious. If criminal charges were filed against me, it would probably be career-ending, even if I wasn’t convicted.
As I left police headquarters, McConnell caught up with me. She wanted to talk. We agreed to meet at a bar located several blocks from the police station. I arrived a couple of minutes ahead of her. I ordered a cup of black coffee for Kate and a Bailey’s Irish Cream and coffee for me.
Kate arrived, and after a couple minutes of awkward conversation, finally got around to telling me what was bothering her. In a word, it was guilt.
“Sam, I want to thank you and offer an apology.”
“No apology necessary.”
“I’m afraid I disagree. I do owe you an apology,” she said. “You’re in this mess because of something I did. If I hadn’t taken off on you when we arrived at Merchant’s home, the shooting episode probably wouldn’t have happened. I should have taken cover, rather than putting myself in a place where you had to come to the rescue. And by the way, thanks for saving my tail. Once I hit the ground, I remember two things distinctly. The first was the sensation of feeling like I’d been hit by a train, and the second was seeing Merchant stop and point the gun at me. When you yelled and came out into the open, he turned to face you. That distraction may have saved my life.”
“Look, Kate. The shooting probably would have happened whether you stayed with me or not. Nobody is responsible for what happened to John Merchant except John Merchant. There’s no need to blame yourself. He had the gun. He had the dope. He decided to make a fight of it. And I think when the smoke finally clears, the shooting will be ruled lawful, and we’ll both be back to work. Besides, I love the notion of having a beautiful woman feeling indebted to me.”
I was talking with more confidence than I actually felt. I subscribe to the old saying that anything that can go wrong, probably will. Pessimism runs deep in my blood.
She smiled. “Yeah, well, don’t make a habit out of it. It can be downright dangerous.” Our conversation drifted away from work and into our personal lives. “Sorry to hear about your divorce. I’m sure the adjustment must be emotionally painful. How are you doing?”
“Where did you hear about my divorce?”
“Take a guess. The police rumor mill, where else?”
“I’m actually doing okay, all things considered. Mostly, I don’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for myself, which is a good thing. I’ve got an eight-year-old daughter to raise. She really misses her mom, and I know she doesn’t fully understand why it happened. Between this job and playing Mr. Mom, I don’t have much time to sort through my own issues.”
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“I knew you had a child, but I had no idea you had custody. How did that happen?”
So I gave her the lowdown, trying carefully not to sound like a whining martyr or an angry, blameful ex-husband. I wondered, though, why it mattered. But somehow, I felt like it did.
The conversation had started to make me uncomfortable, so I attempted to change the subject. I discovered, however, that McConnell was not only attractive and engaging, but persistent as well. She wasn’t having any of it.
“Have you been dating since the divorce?”
“Not really,” I said. “Actually, friends have tried to set me up a couple of times, but it hasn’t felt right, so I just don’t do it. I figure when the time is right, I’ll know it. Until then, I’m staying on the sidelines. Besides, I don’t have a lot of leisure time. When I’m not working, I try to spend as much time with Sara as I can.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got your priorities straight.”
“I hope so. Since you brought the subject up, I haven’t heard anything about you in the police rumor mill.”
“That’s simple,” she said. “I just refuse to date people in the police fraternity. Cops are the worst kind of gossips. You know that. Sleep with one and it’s apt to be all over the department.”
She was right about that. Somehow Kate had managed to keep her private life private—a nearly impossible feat.
“Since you refuse to date inside the police fraternity, how is it that I saw you at a Jazz game last spring with Tom Stoddard from the D.A.’s Office?”
She smiled and said, “You are the observant one. Tom has been my one and only exception to the rule. I’ve been seeing him on and off now for almost two years. We try to keep it very low-key. The truth is that I don’t date much at all. The career has always come first. But I must admit to having moments lately where I wonder whether putting career over my personal life is such a good decision.”
“Tom probably has some feelings about that.”
“Tom would like us to be a lot more serious, but that’s not going to happen, at least not now.”
Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission Page 6