"Only from a distance."
"Can you describe him?"
"That other woman was closer. I want to go home and get clean."
"I'll have a squad car take you."
"Thank you."
"But I still need a formal statement."
"Can I call my lawyer?"
He slid the phone over to her.
* * * *
Three hours later, Felix Moreau picked her up at the carriage house and drove her to police headquarters. Captain Robinson, Superintendent Vernon, Lieutenant Breton, and Deputy Corlette waited in a conference room. No one smiled when she and Felix walked in. She stopped in the doorway, ready to turn around and leave.
"You'll be fine," Felix murmured in her ear. He took her arm and guided her toward a chair. Then, he spoke to Superintendent Vernon. "You know the rules, Henry. My client will not be badgered. One person asks questions, not one person at a time, one person period."
Mike Robinson volunteered. He asked if she was comfortable and then began questioning her about the man who had been leaving the apartments.
"I told you, I barely saw him. He was never close."
"Close your eyes, Claire," he suggested, "and picture him coming down the stairs. What do you see?"
She did as he suggested and was surprised by how well it worked. "He's a big man, tall with broad shoulders, not fat but maybe a little stocky. He's moving quickly down the back stairs. His hand is sliding along the banister. I can't see his face, because he's looking down, and he has on a baseball cap and sunglasses, the wrap-around kind. He's wearing faded blue jeans, and a light tan windbreaker partly zipped. I can't really see the shirt underneath--maybe a white tee shirt."
"Was he wearing boots or shoes?"
"I didn't notice them." She pictured him again. "I think shoes, brown, maybe."
"And when he gets to the bottom of the stairs?"
"He turns away from me, toward the back of the building. He goes around the corner and he's gone. He seemed in a hurry, but nothing furtive--not like he'd just shot someone."
"About how old would you say he was?"
"I don't know. Not young but not old either."
"You told the officers he looked familiar."
"I don't know why I said that." Too much had happened for her to recall feelings. "I'm sorry, but--"
"Don't apologize. You're doing very well. Do you have any other impressions of him?"
"I wondered why he was wearing a windbreaker. It was warm out."
He asked if she'd like a break, but she declined. She only wanted to get this behind her.
After a series of questions about what she saw and did in Hatch's apartment, he asked, "Can you describe your trip from the café to Hatch's apartment?"
The change of subject took her by surprise. "I cut through the zoo."
"Why? You said you were in a hurry to get your sweater. The zoo was a side trip."
She buried her face in her hands.
"My client has been through enough," Felix said. "I'm taking her home."
"Before you leave, one more thing." He said that she was being put under protective surveillance and explained what that meant. He her gave her his direct number, and told her to call anytime something seemed out of line. "I'm concerned about your safety."
Felix held her arm as they walked back to the parking lot and helped her into the car. She waited until they were out of the parking lot and then apologized. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the zoo, Felix. I forgot." The horror of finding Hatch had erased everything else from her mind. "After Melissa left the café, I took a cab to the zoo. I walked in one entrance and out another as quickly as I could without attracting attention."
He gave her a sideways glance.
"I thought the police might be following me, and I didn't want them to know I was going to Hatch's apartment. Mike Robinson told me not to go back there."
He pulled over and turned to face her. "So did I, Claire. And I can't help you if you don't take my advice. You and I both need to give this situation some serious consideration."
"I need your help, Felix. They said I wasn't a suspect, but that's not true, is it?"
"The police believe they're looking at a conspiracy that involved Hatch. Going back to his apartment makes you look like part of it--whether or not you fired the shots that killed him. If I were you," he continued, "I'd leave town before the police told me not to. And I wouldn't let anyone except my long-suffering lawyer know where I was going."
"You want me to run away?"
"I want you to go to a secure location. If you saw the killer, he saw you." He touched her arm. "Mike Robinson isn't the only person concerned about your safety."
CHAPTER 25
Monday, October 2, 1993
Mike skimmed the weekend report: two homicides on Friday, two on Saturday and one on Sunday. The bloodshed began Friday evening when a domestic dispute left the wife dead, stabbed multiple times with a large kitchen knife. Detectives were looking for the husband, who was thought to be hiding at the home of a relative. Several hours later, a poker game ended with a gunshot. Responding officers found the remorseful killer standing over the victim, apologizing to his best friend and drinking buddy, who was beyond hearing anything.
Saturday night, gang violence claimed another victim, ambushed when he crossed the wrong street. Police had been nearby, not close enough to prevent the killing but close enough to apprehend the shooter. An hour later, a convenience store clerk was killed during a robbery. The incident was captured by the store's security system, and detectives would be circulating the gunman's picture. He looked about fifteen. They'd probably find him at the local high school. And then there was Hatch, the last victim, discovered about noon Sunday, when Claire Marshall went to his apartment, she said, to retrieve her sweater.
Barring unforeseen complications, the first four would be wrapped up quickly, one-day sensations on the local news that left barely a ripple in the lives of all but those directly involved. Media attention would stay focused on Hatch's death, which reflected badly on the police department and very badly on Assistant Superintendent Henry Vernon. The Super had ordered Hatch's release after Ben Patterson called him at home, furious that his client was still in jail after the judge said to let him go.
Vernon had acted on his own, and he'd failed to inform anyone working the case. If he had, Hatch would have been under surveillance and might still be alive. The man who held the key to solving Frank Palmer's murder walked out of jail at nine o'clock Sunday morning. Three hours later, he was dead.
Mike ran his fingers through his hair. Yesterday afternoon, when he told Corlette what had happened, the deputy had been incredulous, and rightly so. It would be interesting to see how Vernon handled the issue at the staff meeting. The senior homicide staff usually met downstairs, but today they would be meeting with the Super in his conference room. Time to go.
Breton was waiting for the elevator. "Did you see the paper?" Without waiting for an answer, he said, "A reporter chased the ambulance to Hatch's apartment. There's a front page exclusive, complete with picture of Claire Marshall being escorted to a patrol car. It makes the connection to Palmer's murder and hints that she's a suspect in both deaths."
"Did they talk to anyone here?"
"Vernon, who said no one had been arrested. Otherwise, no comment."
Mike remembered Corlette's remark about karma. He waited until they were alone in the elevator to ask, "Did they run any of Vernon's quotes from his press conference? You know, having a suspect in hand, being on the verge of an arrest."
"One sentence at the end of the article says Hatch had been held and released."
"Too bad."
Breton shook his head in disagreement. "Be grateful. I wouldn't mind seeing The Vermin covered in shit, but it won't happen. If things get hot, someone else will get burned. You don't want that to happen." The elevator doors opened, ending their conversation.
Vernon began the meeting by referring
to the newspaper story, which he described as the work of a novice desperate for a by-line. He'd be talking to the press at nine-thirty to discuss the latest development in the Palmer case and clarify any misunderstandings. He blamed Hatch's death, which he defined as the silencing of one criminal by another even more vicious, on a court system that was, in his opinion, more concerned with the rights of criminals than with the wellbeing of the society they victimized.
Mike, who had his own agenda for the meeting, listened without comment. Attacks on the judiciary might play well with the press and with some policemen, but he'd sat in the judge's chair and, in his opinion, this judge had made the correct decision. The screw-up came later.
Next, Vernon castigated the team keeping an eye on Claire Marshall. "A five-minute visit to the zoo, what the hell is that about? And you lost her?"
"Maybe she had to pee." Breton muttered behind his hand. He straightened up when the Super threw a dirty look his way.
"She's our prime suspect," Vernon said. "Perhaps you could keep track of her."
"I agree." Mike responded. "Top priority has to be protecting our witnesses." It was a jab that nobody could miss. "We'll be keeping a close eye on both Marshall and Irene Rukoski, who got a good look at the man leaving the apartments."
"Rukoski's the one says Marshall didn't do it?" The Super's dismissive tone reminded everyone that eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable.
"Backed up by the missing weapon and the absence of gunpowder residue on her hands." Mike let it go at that. They'd argued about the case last night, and the rest of the division didn't need to hear a rerun. Witness or no witness, gunpowder residue or no gunpowder residue, the only thing keeping Claire Marshall out of jail was the missing murder weapon. An intensive search of the scene failed to turn it up, and she'd had no opportunity to dispose of a gun. They were going over the walls with a metal detector today.
Whether they found the gun or not, Vernon wanted her brought in for questioning--real questioning he said, as if they hadn't talked to her several times already. "Do we have any clues to this man's identity?" he said.
"We'll be canvassing residents of the apartments this evening when people will be home from work, and we'll see if anyone claims him." No one would. Irene Rukoski said she'd never seen the man before, and Mike had the impression she didn't miss much.
"If he's our shooter, it's possible that Lieutenant Breton and I saw him Friday night at the airport." That realization had come to him in the middle of last night. The cowboy might have been waiting for Hatch. "The physical descriptions match. Both used a hat to hide their faces, and except for the hat, they dressed alike. The cowboy was wearing brown shoes, not boots. He left the gate area shortly after a loudmouth identified us as police."
"That's a stretch, Mike. This city is full of big guys wearing jeans, a windbreaker, and some kind of hat."
"I could be wrong," he agreed, "but if it was the same man, that would explain how the killer was able to act so quickly."
Vernon slapped the folder against the table, annoyed by another reminder of his role in Hatch's fate. "You don't have much."
"We don't even have a motive." He suppressed a smile as the Super, who had argued against stepping up the pressure on Palmer's friends, fell into a second trap of his own making. "Which is why we have to dig deeper into Palmer's life. We'll be searching his house. We have appointments to talk to his lawyer and his banker, the directors of two charities where he served on the board. If we don't get cooperation, we'll need subpoenas."
"Let's hope you don't need them," Vernon said, implicit admission that they might.
Mike moved on to the other cases, and that review went quickly. When the meeting adjourned, he asked Breton to observe Vernon's press conference and went back to his office to check on the search warrant for Palmer's house and to prepare subpoena requests for Gilbert, Austin, Melissa Jenkins, and Claire Marshall. Better to have one he didn't use than to need one he didn't have.
Forty minutes later, Breton stuck his head in the door. "You missed a show. The Vermin blasted the judge, and the press ate it up."
"I already heard about the lenient court system."
"You didn't hear the second stanza." He played an invisible violin. "We tried to hold Hatch in protective custody, but the victim, his lawyer, and the judge brushed aside our concern. The police can't protect someone who refuses to be protected. We can't work effectively without the support of the judiciary."
Mike didn't see the humor. A feud between the police brass and the judge might keep Vernon out of the soup in the short term, but long term, it wasn't good for anyone.
"What did he say about Claire Marshall?"
"That she found a fatally wounded man and tried to save his life." Breton grinned. "Seems her lawyer called and raised hell."
"He's doing his job." Mike changed the subject. "Corlette is waiting to hear from us. Shut the door, and I'll put him on speaker."
Their conversation began with a review of the steps New Orleans was taking to protect the two women who'd seen the likely shooter.
"That's locking the barn door," Corlette said. "Not that you shouldn't do it."
"What about your poacher? When does he get back?"
"Turns out he never went. His father heard about the fight with Sammy and told him to stay home. I talked to Daniel and to one of his cousins--he has enough to field a small militia. I told them what was going on. The family will keep him safe."
"The family, not the sheriff's department?"
"If we tried, he'd disappear into the swamps. This is the better way."
"Anything else happening down there?"
"Nothing you'd care about."
Corlette hadn't located any other potential witnesses. If there was something else they wanted him to check out, he was ready, but it looked like the focus of the investigation had shifted to New Orleans.
Mike agreed. "We're talking to Palmer's lawyer in fifteen minutes," he said. "I'll keep you posted." He didn't have to tell Corlette how much he wanted this killer. Hell, even Breton had begun taking it personally.
* * * *
Paul Gilbert greeted them warmly, offered his excellent coffee and said that he was the executor for Frank's estate. He'd already begun an inventory of the house, and found nothing untoward, but it was all right with him if they wanted to conduct their own search.
Mike nodded a thank you. He hadn't asked permission, nor did he mention their search warrant. If this lawyer was as well connected as everyone said, he already knew.
"I want to cooperate with your investigation," Gilbert said.
That statement marked the end of his cooperation. He refused to discuss details of Palmer's estate on the grounds that the information was still incomplete. For the same reason, he couldn't speak about the financial status of FP Development. He'd hired a CPA to evaluate the firm, but the work hadn't been completed. In fact, they were meeting later today. He was unable to provide any information about Hatch.
"I barely knew the man." He frowned. "I saw the morning paper. Is Claire under arrest?"
"No. There should be a correction tomorrow."
"But the damage is done, isn't it?"
Mike heard the deserved rebuke. "Until we find the killer," he said. He thanked Gilbert for his time and stood to signal an end to the meeting. "Lieutenant Breton or I will check back later this week." It was a promise. He intended to show up, subpoena in hand, and ask questions until he got answers.
Breton drove to their next stop, the First City Bank Building, while Mike checked his messages. Another of the weekend homicides had resulted in an arrest. He called the detective team working that case and told them to pick up the search warrant for Palmer's house.
"Palmer's lawyer says there's an appointment calendar in his desk. Take it. Other than that, all I can tell you is that you're looking for something off kilter, anything that suggests a motive for murder."
"Aren't those guys working the domestic dispute?" Breton
had been listening.
"The husband turned himself in about an hour ago. He says the victim started it. He acted in self-defense."
"How many times did he stab her?"
"Too many, including multiple defensive cuts on her forearms and palms."
"Every case should be so easy." Breton pulled up in front of the bank and parked in a loading zone.
They were early, but the receptionist said Mr. Austin was expecting them. She led the way to a small but luxurious meeting room. Moments later a haggard Bobby Austin walked in. He met Mike's gaze briefly when they shook hands and then looked away, moving his head as if his neck hurt. He did the same thing with Breton. The first time they talked he'd been solemn, obviously saddened by his friend's death. This morning, he was a wreck. What, Mike wondered, was behind the change. He thanked Austin for meeting with them.
"Whatever I can do to help," Austin said, without looking at him.
"We understand your bank counts FP Development Company among its clients. Is that a longstanding relationship?"
"We've financed Frank from the beginning." A momentary tightening of the banker's facial muscles suggested anger. "You're here to discuss financial matters?"
Mike nodded. It was the reason he'd given when he requested this meeting. Just as he'd told Gilbert that he wanted to discuss legal matters.
"I have to check with the bank's lawyer before we discuss anything in detail. Unfortunately, I've not had time to do so."
"Are you aware of financial problems?" Breton said.
"As I just said, I have to check with our lawyer before revealing specifics about the finances of a client firm." This time Austin made no attempt to hide his annoyance.
Mike tried a different tack. "Who would you suggest we talk to at FP Development?"
"Frank and I dealt directly with one another."
Gilbert was suave, Austin seethed, and neither volunteered anything about the victim. Mike wasn't surprised. Their completed subpoena requests sat on his desk. He'd submit them when he returned to the office. He moved to the next topic.
Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim Page 17