The Strategist

by John Hardy Bell

  “Do you remember any of the names they mentioned?”

  “No. Was there one that I should have remembered?”

  Camille considered mentioning Stephen Clemmons but quickly thought better of it. “No. I was just curious.”

  “Did they ask you the same questions?”

  “They did. But my answer was the same as yours. If Julia was seeing anyone she didn’t tell me about it. And we normally talked openly about those things.”

  Nicole’s eyes briefly lost their focus, as if she was distracted by a far away thought. “My question is why are they asking about Julia’s boyfriends when everyone seems to think it was a robbery?”

  “It’s standard in any type of homicide investigation to learn as much about the victim’s life and the people in it as possible so as to rule out all other motives, including personal ones.”

  Nicole looked at her with confused eyes. “So you’re saying there’s a possibility this was something personal? Like some kind of domestic thing?”

  Camille was beginning to feel smothered by the weight of Nicole’s questions. “I don’t know.”

  “Apparently neither do the police. What sense does it make that her entire house would be ransacked and most everything she owned stolen if she was murdered by someone she knew?”

  “Maybe it was purposefully done to make it appear that robbery was the motive,” Camille said, regretting it the instant she did.

  Something in Nicole’s delicate face faltered and she looked as if she wanted to cry. “Is that what the police told you?”

  “No.”

  “But that’s what you think happened.”

  “I can’t say right now, Nicole. The truth is that no one can.”

  “Except for the monster who killed her. And it seems to me that they aren’t any closer now to figuring out who that is than the day it happened.”

  Camille was trying her best to stay level-headed. “I’ve been on the other side of plenty of investigations like this, and unfortunately a resolution always takes more time than we’d like.”

  “So as someone who has been a part of these kinds of investigations, what does your gut tell you about this one?” Nicole asked pointedly.

  Camille’s stomach dropped. “I don’t think I’m in the best position to offer any kind of analysis.” She paused. “For a multitude of reasons.”

  “I understand that you are as emotionally invested in this situation as any of us are. But the fact is that I trust your opinion right now a hell of a lot more than I trust those detectives.”

  A quiet desperation was building in Nicole’s voice that frightened Camille. She could feel what was coming next and wanted nothing more than to walk away.

  “Nicole, I don’t think you should–”

  “Help us find him Camille,” Nicole interrupted.

  “I’m not… I don’t do that anymore.”

  “I understand that. And I’m truly sorry for everything that happened to you with that Circle Killer case. I know you don’t have a badge anymore, but I’m sure you still have resources. The police are saying all the right things in the media, but it’s obvious they don’t have the first goddamn clue about what happened here. If they had anything remotely solid, I wouldn’t be asking this of you. But we both know that they don’t have anything. Just like we both know that you’re twenty times more capable than anyone that department has to offer.”

  “I’m not a private investigator, Nicole. I’d need a license for that.”

  “Screw a license. This is Julia we’re talking about!”

  The raw anger in Nicole’s voice shocked Camille and rendered her speechless.

  “I’m sorry,” Nicole said with immediate contrition. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

  Under normal circumstances, Camille’s temper would have gotten the better of her and Nicole would have found herself cowering on the asphalt. But these were not normal circumstances. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “It’s just that I know you of all people understand my level of frustration.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you know why I’m asking for your help.”

  Camille’s head was starting to feel light. “As difficult as it is, we have to let the police do their job. I wish I could do more, Nicole, but I can’t.” She braced herself for another desperate plea, but was instead met with a look of solemn resignation.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicole said as she gently put her hand on Camille’s shoulder. “I really am.”

  Camille opened her mouth to speak, but Nicole’s embrace stopped her. As they stood in close silence, she wanted nothing more than to tell Nicole that she was right in her doubts about the police and their investigation. She wanted to tell her that she could do a better job than any of them, and that she owed it to Julia to take up the cause – badge or no badge. She wanted to tell Nicole that her sister’s death would not be added to the long list of cold-case crimes that people would still be speculating about in ten years. She wanted to tell Nicole that she could be the courageous crusader who was willing to give up her own life if it meant finding out who took Julia’s.

  But she knew that none of it was true.

  “I’ll see you at the cemetery,” Nicole finally said. Then she turned and walked away.

  Camille’s eyes followed her until she met her husband and sons at the family car and they all piled inside.

  “I’ll see you there,” she said to no one at all.

  CHAPTER 18

  Sullivan was sitting at her desk looking over an evidence summary that continued to baffle her, when an irate Graham walked into the office.

  “I understand what you’re saying, okay? And for the fifth time, I’m telling you I’ll take care of it,” he barked into his cell phone. He rolled his eyes as he listened to a lengthy response. “Yes I know how to get in touch with him. I’ll call you back when I do.” With that, Graham hung up the phone and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket.

  Sullivan couldn’t help but stare at his display. Graham made an entrance better than anyone else she had ever known, though there was nothing admirable about the way he did it.

  “What was that all about?” she inquired.

  Graham sat at his desk without looking at her. “Just keeping my ears to the ground. I have a couple of CI’s who live in Clemmons’ neighborhood and I’ve been trying to get them on the horn for hours. I swear, the homies are never around when you need them.”

  It was the third time this week that he had made Sullivan visibly cringe. So far that was a record. “Any developments on Clemmons?”

  Graham looked up from his computer with an irritated glare. “Not yet. You didn’t think we were going to arrest him this afternoon, did you?”

  Sullivan shrugged her shoulders. “We basically told the lieutenant that he was the guy, so yeah, I’m expecting something to come down the pike real soon.”

  Graham hissed in between his teeth and turned back to his computer. “I do forget sometimes that you’re a rookie.”

  Sullivan immediately thought what the hell does that mean? She opened her mouth to give voice to the thought, then changed her mind. Instead she picked up the revised evidence summary that had just been put on her desk.

  “You were out, so I’m assuming you haven’t read this,” she said as she held up the report.

  Graham looked up from his computer. He could hardly hide his disinterest. “You’re right, I haven’t.”

  “Forensics did a second sweep of the crime scene this afternoon. It came up as clean as the first round. No prints aside from Julia’s. They also confirmed that each dog was shot twice at relatively close range, and definitely with the same gun.”

  “We already knew that,” Graham sighed.

  Sullivan continued like she didn’t hear him. “They also checked the dog’s teeth, on the chance that one of them may have gotten close enough to the perp to take a bite. There was no evidence to indicate that they had.”

  “Fantastic. An
ything else?”

  “The house was equipped with a security system, but it had apparently malfunctioned.”

  Graham looked up from his computer. “Why do you say that?”

  “When the guys from the lab initially looked at it, they assumed that Julia hadn’t set it that evening. But when they called the security company to confirm, their log showed that she had actually armed the system at 10:56 p.m., and that it went offline at approximately 1:17 a.m. The company reported no technical issues on their end. From what they saw they could only conclude that she disarmed it herself.”

  Graham said nothing as he continued to stare straight ahead.

  “That would totally line up with the theory that Julia knew her assailant and disarmed it to let him in,” Sullivan continued. “The only problem with that theory is the forced entry.”

  “No one ever said she let him in, Chloe,” Graham sniffed.

  “Still, isn’t it strange that the security system magically goes offline what was probably moments before the break-in? I sure hope our perp went out and bought a lotto ticket after he was finished, because he was quite possibly the luckiest bastard in the world that night.”

  “Or maybe Leeds disarmed the system herself,” Graham countered like he actually believed it.

  “Walt, who disarms their alarm system at 1:17 in the morning, then goes back to bed?”

  Graham let out a hard sigh and pushed his chair away from his desk. “How the hell would I know? We can sit and speculate about it all day, but we’re not home security technicians, we’re homicide detectives. Now, do you want to inspect faulty burglar alarms or do you want to solve a murder?”

  Sullivan was silent for a long moment. Then she put the evidence summary down on her desk. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  Graham stood up from his desk and walked over to hers. “Then maybe you’d like to join me in the conference room. Dale Rooney will be here any moment.”

  This would be their first opportunity to speak at length with the lone witness who reported seeing the car that matched Clemmons’ on the night of Julia’s murder. He was the only glue that held the Clemmons theory in place, and Sullivan was curious to see how well his recollection would hold up under her questioning. She only hoped she would get the chance to probe as deeply as she wanted to. Graham had a way of taking control of situations, and Sullivan had neither the clout nor the will to wrestle that control away from him.

  She walked some distance behind him as they made their way to the conference room. “By the way, Julia Leeds’ funeral was today.”

  “I know,” Graham answered without looking back. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t go.”

  Sullivan was perplexed by the comment. “Why would you say that?”

  “I figured the lieutenant would want you there as representative of the department that the family would be comfortable with.”

  Suddenly she wasn’t so perplexed. “You mean because I’m a woman.”

  “I mean because of your empathetic nature.” Graham stopped mid-stride and turned to her. “You know, if you have any designs on making it beyond the rookie stage in this unit, you’d better get over this ‘I’m a woman’ trip ASAP. Nobody’s looking to hold you back around here, but you damn well better believe that nobody’s gonna hold your hand either. If you want to keep making distinctions between yourself and everybody else because of some hang up you have then that’s your prerogative. Just don’t be surprised when we finally start agreeing with you.”

  The speech sounded canned, and Sullivan couldn’t help but wonder if he had kept it on reserve until the right opportunity presented itself. She couldn’t get beyond the word we, and knew his saying it was no accident. But it ultimately didn’t matter if the speech was rehearsed or spontaneous. It was obvious that Graham was the one with the hang up.

  “Walter, do us both a favor and keep the focus on Rooney.”

  Graham smirked as he continued his walk to the conference room. “You got it boss.”

  When they arrived, a young officer was standing outside the door with a middle-aged couple. After mouthing something to the pair, the officer walked over to Sullivan and Graham.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Rooney just arrived,” he said to Graham.

  “Perfect timing,” Graham answered, looking back at Sullivan. “Shall we get this proverbial show on the road?”

  Sullivan nodded. “Thank you, Officer Davies.”

  “You’re welcome detective. Just come grab me when you’re done. I’ll be happy to escort them out.”

  Sullivan patted the officer on the back as he walked away.

  “Is it me or does he look scared shitless?” Graham whispered as they approached Dale Rooney.

  “That man has got the fate of an entire murder investigation resting in his hands. Wouldn’t you be scared shitless?”

  Sullivan suddenly felt a knot in her stomach and had only one thought to explain it: Graham may have been on to something with that whole empathetic nature thing.

  CHAPTER 19

  Dale Rooney sat with his wife Maggie at one end of the conference table while Detectives Graham and Sullivan sat at the other. Sullivan had offered coffee to the group, but only Dale accepted. His hands shook as he took the Styrofoam cup.

  “Thank you again for coming in, Mr. and Mrs. Rooney,” Graham began. “We shouldn’t take up a whole lot of your time here. We just want to ask a few questions and show you a couple of photographs.”

  What photographs? Sullivan thought. They hadn’t discussed showing any prior to the meeting.

  “Okay,” Dale replied as he took a gulp from his cup. “Just so you know, it was pretty dark out that night.”

  Dale’s wife put her hand on his knee. “They know. Just tell them what you can.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Rooney. Even the smallest details help,” Sullivan added.

  Dale stiffened in his chair. He was a short, round man with hooded brown eyes and a thick, well-kept beard. His horn-rimmed glasses and tweed jacket looked like something an Oxford economics professor would wear. But the prestigious air created by his attire was completely betrayed by his nervous demeanor.

  “Where should I begin?” Dale asked.

  “At the beginning,” Sullivan answered.

  Dale downed his remaining coffee like it was a shot of whiskey. He cast a glance at his wife, a slender redhead who, like Dale, seemed overdressed for the occasion. Then he turned to Graham.

  “Well, I’d fallen asleep on the couch that night. I’m not sure what time it was when I drifted off, but when I woke up it was around 12:30. At first I thought the music was coming from the television. But when I hit the mute button and the music was still there, I had a pretty good idea of what I was dealing with.”

  “Which was?” Sullivan asked.

  “Some obnoxious jerk outside playing his car stereo too loud.”

  “And is that a common occurrence in the neighborhood?” Graham asked.

  “Too common for my taste,” Dale sniffed.

  “What happened next?” Sullivan asked.

  “Given the kind of music it was – rap, hip-hop, whatever you call it – my senses were on high alert, so I initially thought about calling the police.”

  “Completely understandable,” Graham offered with an affected nod.

  Sullivan rolled her eyes, hoping that no one noticed. “Please continue.”

  “I knew I at least needed to have some idea of what was out there before I called, so I went to the window. That was when I got my first look at the car.”

  “The gray Impala,” Graham said.

  “Correct.”

  “But Mr. Rooney, according to your statement, you couldn’t be positive what color the Impala was,” Sullivan countered, reading from Dale’s written statement. “The only thing you knew for sure was that it was, quote, light.”

  Dale shifted in his chair. “As I recall it now, the car was definitely gray.”

  “And you’re one hundred percent c
ertain of that?”

  “Yes,” Dale answered without hesitation.

  Sullivan tapped her pen against the table. “And according to your statement, you didn’t get a good look at the license plate.”

  “Unfortunately not. The car was some distance away, and as I said, it was pretty dark. I went to retrieve a pair of binoculars in hopes that I could see it better. But before I could get to them the car was gone.”

  “How dark was it outside?” Sullivan asked.

  “The street light was out in front of the house where the car was parked.”

  “That would be Julia Leeds’ house,” Graham said

  Dale cast his eyes downward. “I believe so.”

  Sullivan wanted to continue her line of questioning regarding the color of the car and Dale’s insistence that it was gray, despite his limited visibility and conflicting witness statement. But Graham’s next move took the wind completely out of her sails.

  “Mr. Rooney, I’m going to show you a few photographs. Just tell me if anything here looks familiar.”

  Dale shifted in his chair again, this time with visible nervousness. “Okay.”

  Graham opened up a manila folder and spread the contents out in front of him. There were four eight-by-ten photographs, all of them turned down. He flipped the first photo and slid it across the table.

  Dale took the photo and held it up to his face as if he were analyzing an x-ray slide. “It looks a lot like the car I saw that night.”

  Graham flipped over the next two photos. They too were of a Chevy Impala. The first photo was taken from the left front at a ninety-degree angle and the second was taken from the rear. From the time stamp on the bottom of the photos, Sullivan knew they had come from the evidence lab, and were most likely shot by a CSI tech in front of Clemmons’ house. She felt uneasy.

  “This definitely looks like the car,” Dale asserted as he looked at the other two photos. “As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember the red section on the right rear where it looked like part of the bumper was replaced. Absolutely sure of it.”

  Graham looked at Sullivan with a look of satisfaction that felt completely inappropriate.