Deserving of Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 1)

by James Paddock

  “If you’re correct, Mister Washburn, this guy won’t touch her as long as you’re in jail and he thinks we think you’re the killer. We’re almost certain your daughter slipped away on her own. We’ve got a witness who thought she saw her and another woman cross between the houses behind her residence.”

  CJ leaned back in his chair and considered what the agent had just said. “A woman.”

  “Exactly.”

  “No idea who the woman was?”

  “The witness had never seen her before.”

  “What about her car?”

  “Hasn’t moved an inch. Doubt it would go very far until the paint is scraped off the windshield.”

  “What time?”

  “The witness was just getting home from church; about 11:30 this morning.”

  CJ pressed his forehead into his hands. “I tried calling her this afternoon. I couldn’t get her.”

  “We haven’t been able to raise her either. We also haven’t been able to track her cell phone. That means she’s turned it off.”

  “Or someone else has turned it off,” CJ added, a mixture of anger and fear in his voice. “There’s been plenty of time between Thursday night and this morning for him to get back up to Idaho. This may be him adding an exclamation point to his earlier warning.”

  “The profile on this guy tells us he is highly intelligent. He would already know that such a move would take the heat off of you. We truly believe that your daughter has gone off with a friend, probably going into hiding on her own. Let’s face it. If the police can’t find her then neither can the perp. My impression is that she would be smart enough to know that. Am I right?”

  CJ nodded. “She may have had another reason to get out of there. She’s being called the daughter of a murderer, thus the paint thrown on her car. I told her I didn’t want her there alone, to find a friend to stay with. That’s probably what she did.”

  “Do you know who her friends are?” Agent Crane asked.

  “No, other than her boyfriend, Dillon. Don’t know his last name.”

  “Dillon Jones. He’s been looked into,” Stratton said. “Apparently the two of them had a fight Friday night. He hasn’t seen her since.”

  CJ shook his head. “Trish saw it as his not wanting to be seen with an accused killer’s daughter, which pissed her off. I think they were on the edge of the fight when I talked to her. Good riddance is all I can say.”

  CJ looked at the blood oozing from a tear in his skin from when he jerked against the handcuffs. He shook his head and looked back up at Stratton. “My gut feeling is she’s okay, that she’s taken action to take care of herself. I actually feel better about that than her being watched by the police. He can’t find her now.”

  “I assume you’ve put a lot of thought into who this perp can be,” Stratton said.

  “Then you believe me.”

  “Let’s just say your claims have some merit. Who do you think this guy is?”

  “He’s a cop.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  CJ looked up at Crane and then at Stratton. Neither had an expression of surprise. “You two are already thinking that, aren’t you? That’s why Bunko isn’t in here. You’re trying to keep this on the down low because you don’t know who to trust. For FBI ears only.”

  “We have no reason not to trust Detective Bunko.”

  “Except that he’s an idiot with a mouth. Anything you tell him will probably be known by every patrol officer within an hour.”

  Again there was no change in expression from the two agents. CJ extended the handcuffed arm. “If you believe me why do I have to wear this?”

  Stratton looked over CJ’s head for a few seconds before turning to Agent Crane. “What do you think?”

  “You’ve already cracked the egg. Might as well fry the bacon.”

  Stratton snorted, shook his head and turned back to CJ. “You’re right. This is on the down low. Video and audio is off so this is just between you and us and our report to the chief of police and the county sheriff. We’re certain it’s a cop. It’s not all that unusual, though it generally doesn’t involve a killing spree. A cop gone vigilante usually keeps it quiet and often with several other like-minded individuals.”

  “This guy isn’t just vigilante,” CJ said. “He’s gone rogue. He started out targeting prostitutes; now he’s killed two who were anything but.”

  “For some reason he saw an opportunity to direct the heat at you when you stumbled, figuratively and literally, onto one of his victims.”

  CJ started to say he wasn’t drunk and then remembered the report of his alcohol level. “I admit that I should have handled that different.”

  “Probably would have if you hadn’t been inebriated. Once a cop, however, always a cop. Most people would run away from the crime and dial 911. A cop will run toward the crime first. We checked your background. You were a good cop. The key word here is were. You’re a PI now and a PI is not the same as a cop, therefore you don’t run at a crime anymore. You dial 911. You work for your client, not the city and not the state. If we figure out a way to cut you free you have to stay away from this investigation.”

  CJ shook his head. “Put me on the street and this guy will find another woman to kill and dump on my doorstep. I’ll be back in here and another woman will be dead.”

  “Our thoughts exactly. Thus you can never be alone and the spin we put on it has to be just that.”

  “What kind of spin? Tell the media you don’t think I did it and then let them know I’ll always have a police or FBI shadow? A bit of a mixed message, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Maybe, but it’ll let this guy know he can’t kill again and we can focus on the existing evidence and through a detailed process of elimination will be able to drill down to his badge number.”

  “What if he’s not a cop, say a secretary or janitor, hell possibly even a vendor who’s been able to worm his way into the inside?”

  Stratton held up his hand again. “Don’t worry. We’re covering all the possibilities. We appreciate your suggestions. What you really need to do is stay out of the way.”

  CJ sat back and thought about it. “I’ll try to stay out of it, but I don’t need one of your guys shadowing me all the time. How about Dave McDermott? He’s an ex-cop. I’ll promise to be his best buddy until you catch this guy. You can say you’ve assigned a team to stay with me 24/7.”

  “McDermott isn’t a team.”

  “His daughter’s a cop. Her coming on board would give it an official spin.”

  “You think she would?”

  “Maybe. Add in Stella. That makes a team.”

  Stratton drummed his fingers on the table for a time and then said, “I could probably get you house arrest, wear an ankle monitor to make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

  “Certainly be better than the accommodations here. The food alone should fall under the category of police brutality.”

  “Very funny. Tell it to the judge at the Preliminary Hearing tomorrow when we present our argument. Until then, hang loose.”

  Chapter 37

  The night went as bad if not worse than the previous two. Twice CJ awoke in a cold sweat. The first he couldn’t remember the dream, but the second was so vivid that he was afraid to go back to sleep. He sat on the edge of the bunk with his head in his hands, thinking about the images of that last nightmare. He’d been reliving the scene in the tree when the police officers pulled the woman out of the trunk of his car, only this time the woman was Trish and she’d turned an accusatory stare directly at him. He shook his head then stood and paced, wanting nothing more than to call her to ensure that she was okay. He considered banging on the door, but knew that would be useless, so he just kept pacing. She likely still had her phone turned off anyway.

  After a time he sat back down on the bunk and leaned against the wall. Before long he stretched out and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next thing he knew someone had his arm and was shaking him and for a few
seconds he had no idea where he was.

  “Washburn! Wake up!”

  As the last two days flooded back at him, he turned his head and cracked an eye. One of the refrigerators peered down at him.

  “Time for the hearing already?” CJ asked.

  The refrigerator dropped a pile of clothes on him. “Hearing’s been cancelled. Put your clothes back on. You’re getting out of here.”

  CJ swung his feet to the floor. “Out? Am I wearing an ankle monitor?”

  “Above my pay grade. You’ve got five minutes to pretty yourself up.” With that the officer left, leaving the cell door open.

  It was just 6:30 when CJ finished signing for his personal effects, thoroughly confused by the sudden turn in affairs. When he turned around Agent Crane was approaching him.

  “What the hell’s going on? Did you catch the guy?” CJ demanded.

  “Follow me,” Crane said. “I’ll answer your questions as soon as we are out of the building.”

  Crane led him through parts of the Westside Police Service Center in which CJ had never been. Actually, he’d never been in most of it as it had been built after he’d left the force. They stopped outside a room where Crane told CJ to wait and then went in. When the agent came out he handed CJ a jacket, ball cap and sunglasses. “Put these on.”

  CJ raised his eyebrows at the huge FBI letters on the back of the jacket and on the front of the ball cap. “I’m going out incognito so the press doesn’t see me?”

  “You’re a quick study, Washburn.”

  “It’s probably a hundred degrees out there already. This may draw some attention.”

  “It’s all we had on short notice. We really don’t expect any problems at 6:30 in the morning, but thought it’d still be better than nothing. You won’t be in it very long; no more than a couple of minutes, and it’s only about eighty degrees.”

  “Do I get a badge, too?” CJ said, pushing his arms into the jacket.

  Crane ignored the question as he opened the door. He looked about and then they stepped out into the morning sunshine.

  The gate at the entrance of the official parking lot swung open and they exited out onto Flowing Wells Road. Crane pointed the vehicle north.

  “The down and dirty,” the agent said, “is that Judge Delgado couldn’t sleep with your high-profile case looming over her, so at oh five-hundred this morning she called a meeting with Stratton, Bunko, your attorney and myself. She wanted to see the evidence and get the FBI take on it before the hearing. She wanted no surprises. When Stratton informed her that he’d intended to put you out with an ankle monitor she said, ‘Screw that.’ Basically, she didn’t want the press and any other hotheaded interested parties storming her courtroom when she ordered your release. She was being proactive.”

  “I don’t get it,” CJ said. “With the evidence you’ve gathered, I’d hold me as well.”

  “First of all the evidence was so obviously planted, a boy scout… hell, a cub scout could have figured it out. The night Maria Rodston was killed in Idaho, we know for a fact you were in New Mexico.”

  “Oh.”

  “We don’t know where exactly, but we tracked you from when you were picked up on a county road east of Moscow to a stop for gas in Utah, then to a small airfield outside Albuquerque.”

  Crane stopped at a light and looked at CJ. “Would you care to fill in the blanks, tell us who your Good Samaritan was?”

  CJ just smiled at him.

  “We’ll figure it out, though you’d be saving us some FBI time on the taxpayer’s back.”

  “You certainly have a way of making us regular folk feel guilty. I’ll pass, let you do the work, if you think you can.”

  “We understand that Stella has relations, sister’s family actually, who live in the Albuquerque area. When I was in grade school I learned how to add two and two. Most of us FBI types had the same training.”

  “Shouldn’t you be using that training to zero in on the individual on a killing spree?”

  “We are, Mister Washburn. It’s just that the Albuquerque field office hasn’t much to do right now. Federal crime is a little slow at the moment in northern New Mexico so finding your Good Samaritan is a little something to keep them busy.”

  CJ looked out at the passing scenery for a time, trying to read between the agent’s words. “Where’re we going?”

  “A short meet-up where you’re being turned over to your team.”

  “My team?”

  “Don’t you remember your conversation with Agent Stratton last night?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “He passed the idea on to Judge Delgado. She liked it so much that she’s made it a court order. Your team consists of Stella Summers, Dave McDermott and Officer Lisa Bowers. You are always to have someone with you, no exceptions. There’s a press release going out in about an hour stating that you’re in around-the-clock protective custody, that the perp has been targeting you for these murders. We believe he won’t go after anyone just for the sake of framing you once he knows we know, and as long as you’re in protective custody.”

  “How long is this going to last,” CJ asked.

  “Until he’s caught.”

  “What if he’s never caught?”

  “Hopefully we’ll never come to that bridge. With the mistakes he’s made trying to frame you, we’re very confident we’ll get him.”

  They’d turned east onto Wetmore Road and CJ considered what Crane had said about the Albuquerque office. “So what exactly are you wanting from me?” he asked.

  Crane glanced over at him. “You mean in lieu of doing further investigation into your New Mexico connection?”

  CJ grunted.

  “Full cooperation. Stay out of the case, out of the investigation unless we ask you a question. Keep your head low and stay with your team. Do everything they tell you to do. That’s not coming only from us. It’s also a directive from Judge Delgado.”

  Crane swung the black SUV into the left turn lane, waited for traffic to clear and then accelerated across the westbound lanes into the Tucson Mall entrance, turning left onto The Loop. A few seconds later he broke off into the nearly empty JCPenny’s parking lot. CJ immediately spotted Dan Payne’s silver Tahoe, Dan leaning against the hood in jeans and a University of Arizona Wildcats T-shirt. It told CJ two things: First, Dan wasn’t dressed for work on this Monday morning; second he wasn’t carrying an off duty piece, unless it was in the truck. They pulled alongside, passenger door to passenger door.

  “Oh, yeah,” Crane said. “I forgot to mention your team leader.”

  CJ climbed out and grabbed Dan’s outstretched hand.

  “Damned good to see you, CJ,” Dan said. “Had mixed thoughts about you turning yourself in. Looks like it may work itself out.”

  “Certainly hope so,” CJ replied. “You taking a day off or are you looking for a job?”

  “Suspended. You didn’t know?”

  “Nobody tells me anything, though I suspected.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the house.” He turned to shake Crane’s hand as the agent came around the SUV.

  “Get him out of here,” Crane said. “We don’t want to see him again until this thing is over.”

  “That’s the plan,” Dan said. He slapped CJ on the shoulder and started walking to the driver’s side of his Tahoe. “Get in. We’ve got people to see.”

  CJ shed the FBI jacket and hat, threw them in Crane’s vehicle and climbed in with Dan. He kept the sunglasses.

  Dan took Oracle south until it turned into Main and then intersected with Speedway, where he turned west in order to pick up I-10 East. During the entire time he was explaining to CJ how he’d managed to get out of the desert after their little meeting. “When I hit a split in the dirt road,” he said, “I threw the bug one way and went the other. I was really glad I’d installed the master switch for my brake lights when I bought the truck. Between that, the head start I had and then throwing the bug, they had no i
dea where I went. By the time the helicopter flew over where they thought I’d gone I was parked under a carport in Branding Iron Park, the owners of which, fortunately, weren’t home. I remained there until morning commuter traffic started up and then melded in.”

  “But you’re on suspension,” CJ said.

  “Did I say that? You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. Sure the Feds were waiting for me when I showed up at work. They couldn’t prove anything but they could certainly add up the numbers. I’m actually on a forced paid leave of absence until all the dust settles. Chief Rague is just covering his ass. I’ll be back to work before you know it.’

  “So you’re leading up this team that’s babysitting me?”

  “That’s the way it’s rigged up. A couple of washed up detectives, a green cop and a PI secretary slash squeeze.” He looked over at CJ and grinned.

  “I actually feel rather honored,” CJ said. He watched as Dan took the off-ramp onto I-19. “Where’re we going?”

  “It seems that after McDermott retired he invested in a property in Sahuarita, thinking to take advantage of the housing slump. He set it up as a rental figuring that he and his wife might move into it one day. It’s in that new master plan community, Rancho Sahuarita, the one with the lake, and it just happens to be between renters. For the duration it’ll be your safe house. With three bedrooms you and Stella will live there and the rest of us will rotate in and out on shifts. No one else knows the location except the two FBI agents.”

  “How about Ralph Bunko?”

  “Nope, and he doesn’t much like it. Doesn’t break my heart one iota.”

  After Dan exited I-19 onto Sahuarita Road, he spent the next ten minutes seeming to meander through a complex housing development, a mixture of one and two-story family dwellings, some inside gated communities. CJ tried to memorize the turns and then gave up. Dan finally pulled into a driveway to park behind Dave McDermott’s truck. A car, which CJ didn’t recognize, was sitting on the street. A second car, Stella’s, was parked next to Dave’s truck and sent a rush of relief washing over him. He was quickly out of the truck and on a lighter step. Dan said Stella would be here but CJ wasn’t going to believe it until he saw her.