Close to Home (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 5)

by Robert Dugoni

  “But you excluded me anyway?”

  Tracy sighed. “My chances of getting pregnant are very slim, Dan. It was either fertility drugs or a donor egg.”

  “What does that have to do with excluding me from the process?”

  “I shouldn’t have. Okay? I’m sorry.” She started to climb onto her side of the bed.

  “Then why did you?”

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “No. You hid it from me. I think I have a right to know.”

  “I didn’t hide it.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I need to be at work early to prepare for the probable cause hearing,” she said, flipping the pillows she didn’t use onto the floor.

  “I have a deposition to take.”

  “So let’s go to bed and discuss it later.”

  Dan pushed away from the door frame. “Clomid has side effects; we talked about that.”

  “What, are you going to say my mood has been the shits?”

  “I wasn’t, but I could now.”

  “Very clever.” She grabbed a pillow and stepped past him, deciding that she’d sleep on the couch in the living room.

  “Hey, don’t act like this is my fault. You should have included me. This is my child also.”

  She knew he was right, but she’d inherited her father’s stubborn streak. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to have to worry about that anytime soon.” She grabbed a blanket from the reading chair and moved toward the couch.

  “What does that mean?”

  She turned and stopped. “It means I can’t get pregnant,” she said. “Okay? It means I’m the problem.”

  For a moment Dan didn’t say anything, leaving Tracy to wonder what he was really thinking. Had he had his heart set on kids? Was he rethinking his decision to marry her?

  Dan softened his tone. “I don’t care about the baby. I care about you. I care about your health.”

  She sighed. “The doctor said the side effects are minimal. Mood swings and hot flashes. I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have.”

  Dan took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he was calm. He was always calm. Sometimes she wished he’d yell and throw things just so she could get angry at him. “Just tell me why you didn’t.”

  She shook her head.

  “What?”

  She knew what she was about to say was juvenile and that too bothered her. But she’d wanted to have their baby, together. “You came back from the doctor all excited that day, pumping your fists and . . . I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t want to be the reason we couldn’t make a baby.”

  Dan let out a burst of air and moved toward her. He removed the pillow she’d been holding and put his hands on her shoulders. “I was excited because I thought you wanted a child.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course I do. But not if it means your health will be adversely affected. You’re the most important thing to me, Tracy, not some child I don’t even know. I’m sorry if I overreacted about the vasectomy. I was just playing up the situation. I thought it would make you happy if I showed a little more enthusiasm.” He smiled, but she couldn’t. “Hey, come on. We’re physiologically different, Tracy. Hell, Mick Jagger just had baby number eight at seventy-three years of age.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “What exactly did the doctor say?”

  “I’m on Clomid for fourteen days. If that doesn’t work, we’re looking at a donor egg. Or adopting.”

  “Okay, so—”

  She pulled away from him. “I don’t want someone else’s child, Dan. I want our child. I want our baby.” She was whining and she knew it.

  Dan nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then we’ll just keep trying and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll talk about that decision.” He smiled and stepped toward her. She’d started to cry. “Hey. It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not all right,” she said, wiping her eyes, feeling overwhelmed. “This was not the life I was supposed to have, Dan. This was not the way things were supposed to turn out. I was going to have three kids. I was going to be a mother, go to PTA meetings and soccer games, help them with their homework, and sit down at the table and have family dinners.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “What happened to my life? What the hell happened to my life?”

  They stood, silent for a long moment, and Tracy realized she’d hurt him. “Dan, I didn’t—”

  Dan shrugged. “I was hoping you’d say your life turned out pretty well.”

  She felt nauseated, and it had nothing to do with Clomid’s side effects. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He stepped back, away from her. “You don’t think I felt the same way after my divorce? That I didn’t wonder what had happened to my life? I had a wife, a good job at a good firm doing what I love. I drove a BMW and had season tickets to the Red Sox . . . and a boat. Then, in an instant, it was all gone. My ex-partner got my wife and the tickets and the boat, and I was back in Cedar Grove. You don’t think I wondered where it all went wrong?”

  She stepped to him. “You didn’t do anything to cause it, Dan.”

  “Maybe I did.”

  “She cheated on you.”

  “Yes, but maybe because I wasn’t around enough.”

  “Sometimes I wonder about that too,” she said.

  “What?”

  “If I had just driven Sarah home.”

  He shook his head. “Sarah was killed by a psychopath, Tracy. He stalked her and he stalked you. And as terrible as it was, I’d like to think that maybe God spared you . . . for me.”

  She started to cry again. Dan always managed to say the right thing. Even when they’d been young, growing up friends in Cedar Grove, Dan found a way to say what Tracy needed to hear. It was a quality Tracy didn’t possess—an ability to put things in perspective, to find something—if not positive then at least optimistic. After a long beat she said, “You’re really hard to fight with, you know that?”

  CHAPTER 14

  There was no mistaking that Leah Battles was a JAG attorney Friday afternoon when Tracy followed Kins into the cramped district courtroom on the first floor of the King County Jail. Battles sat in the first bench, resplendent in a dress blue uniform with two gold stripes on the cuffs, and a patchwork of colored squares above her left breast pocket. She’d pulled her hair into a bun on the back of her head. On her lap she held a white hat with a blue bill, gold trim, and an eagle on the crown. Beside Battles sat another naval officer, an older man also dressed in blue.

  “Looks like somebody came to play,” Kins said. “I guess the Navy is taking jurisdiction?”

  Tracy nodded, disappointed. “Looks that way.”

  “How do you think the family is going to take it?”

  “I don’t know. They were already guarded about the process, and I don’t think this will help.”

  Trejo would not be formally charged this afternoon. The sole purpose of a first appearance was for the judge to determine if there existed probable cause to believe the defendant committed a crime. If so, Trejo would be held for an arraignment and a determination of bail, likely in two weeks. The delay was to give Tracy and Kins time to gather the evidence upon which the prosecutor’s office would base any charges. The presence of the naval officers, in dress uniforms, gave Tracy serious doubt that would be necessary. The Navy looked ready to take jurisdiction.

  Despite the relatively innocuous purpose of the first appearance, the two benches were full and more people stood in the back, almost all African American—relatives and friends of the Miller family. Tracy was pleased to see Shaniqua Miller among them. She stood beside her mother and a representative from the Victim Assistance Unit. They were listening to Rick Cerrabone. Shaniqua and her mother looked spent. They had a right to be.

  Cerrabone made eye contact with Tracy and Kins, excused himself from the conversation, and nodded for the three of them
to step outside. They found a cramped space in which to talk.

  “Looks like they’re going to pull this one,” Tracy said.

  “Dunleavy spoke with the Navy’s senior trial counsel this morning,” Cerrabone said, referencing King County prosecuting attorney Kevin Dunleavy.

  “Is that him sitting in the courtroom beside Battles?”

  “Who’s Battles?” Cerrabone asked.

  “The woman,” Tracy said. “She came to Police Headquarters last night to talk to Trejo.”

  “Then I’m assuming the man next to her is senior trial counsel.”

  “Did he say they were going to pull jurisdiction?” Tracy asked.

  “I haven’t talked to him, but it sure seems likely, doesn’t it?” Cerrabone tugged at the knot on his tie. “Dunleavy said the Navy is sending two investigators from NCIS to speak to you and review the evidence before they make a decision.”

  Tracy shook her head. “I had a case with them a few years back and I wasn’t impressed then.”

  “Not a lot we can do about that,” Cerrabone said. He checked his watch, which this afternoon was accompanied on his wrist by a black Fitbit. “Listen, if the Navy pulls jurisdiction, Dunleavy is going to want us to stay involved. The family is on edge, and given the recent climate, Dunleavy wants to be sure we continue to look invested.”

  “Clarridge expressed the same,” Tracy said, “but how do you do that if they pull jurisdiction?”

  “I charge Trejo with a hit and run and with running a red light. Even if the Navy takes jurisdiction, running the red light stays in play. So does your office.”

  “You’re serious?” Kins said. “For running a red light?”

  Cerrabone shrugged. “Running the red light is a civilian crime. So, if the Navy takes jurisdiction and we don’t like the result, we maintain the right to try Trejo in superior court.”

  “Nolasco is not going to want to use his resources for running the red light. Not with the number of murders we’ve had already this year,” Kins said. “Besides, what about double jeopardy?”

  “It doesn’t apply here,” Cerrabone said. “But it’s rarely an issue because the Navy isn’t limited by the same sentencing guidelines we are. They can put Trejo away for a longer period than we can, if it comes to that. That’s what I was just telling the mother and grandmother.”

  “How are they taking it?” Tracy asked.

  Cerrabone shrugged. “I don’t know. At the moment they’re just holding on.”

  “Can’t blame them,” Tracy said.

  “And I think they’re distrustful of the system.”

  “I got that sense also when I went out to the house to tell them we’d made an arrest,” Tracy said. “I don’t think the Navy taking jurisdiction is going to help.”

  “It won’t. I suspect they’ll believe the Navy is taking the case in-house to protect one of its own. Dunleavy expressed the same concern and was told that if they pull jurisdiction, they’ll quickly bring an Article 32 hearing to allay those concerns.”

  “A court-martial?” Kins asked.

  Cerrabone shook his head. “No. An Article 32 is the military’s equivalent to our convening a civil grand jury, except it’s open to the public and to the media. Senior trial counsel said they can hold the hearing in two weeks. It might give the mother some assurance they’re serious about prosecuting Trejo.” Cerrabone looked at Tracy. “Dunleavy is going to push for you to be a witness with respect to what was found inside the car and how you secured the videotape. He wants SPD to continue to look invested. We’ll just have to play this out.” He flipped his wrist and again tugged at his sleeve, checking his watch. “We better get back in there.”

  Tracy and Kins followed Cerrabone back into the courtroom. He moved to be seated beside D’Andre Miller’s mother and aunt. Tracy and Kins stood at the back. Though it was cold outside, the sheer number of bodies had warmed the courtroom and made it stuffy. An oscillating fan on the judge’s desk struggled to circulate the air. Tracy felt like someone had turned on radiant heating, the warmth crawling up her body.

  “Is it hot in here?” she asked.

  Kins shrugged. “Not too bad.”

  Hot flash from the Clomid. Great timing. At least she hoped that’s all it was. Her mother had gone through early menopause. That would end the baby discussion quickly.

  At 2:30 p.m., Judge Milo Yokavich, who was said to be seventy-three but looked and moved as if he were 103, entered the courtroom dwarfed by two King County Jail correctional officers.

  “Gringotts,” Kins said.

  Short, with wisps of hair, pronounced ears, and a crooked nose, Yokavich had been dubbed Gringotts, which was the Wizarding Bank in the Harry Potter books, by some heartless attorney who thought he looked like the head goblin.

  Yokavich took the bench between the United States and Washington State flags and nodded to the clerk. She called case 17285 SEA, the State of Washington versus Laszlo Gutierrez Trejo. Yokavich had clearly adjusted his calendar to get the case heard first so he could clear the court for the remainder of the calendar.

  Trejo entered from a door on the right dressed in red prison scrubs with the words “Ultra High Security” stenciled on the back. Cerrabone approached the desk and stood beside the two naval officers as Yokavich methodically turned the pages of the certification, taking several minutes to read it, though he had likely read it in chambers. When he’d finished, he flipped back to page one and set the pleading on his desk. “I’ve read . . .” He looked at the two naval officers, as if surprised by their presence. Then he said, “I’ve read the certification. Anything else from the state?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Cerrabone said.

  “I find sufficient probable cause to detain this defendant.” Yokavich looked to the officers. “Do either of you wish to be heard?”

  The male officer nodded. “The defense wishes to be heard.”

  Yokavich nodded. “I thought you might.” He sat back.

  “Your Honor, my name is Captain Cameron Moore, senior trial counsel, United States Navy. This is Lieutenant Leah Battles, defense counsel assigned to Naval Base Kitsap in Bremerton, Washington, which is the defendant’s base. As Your Honor is likely aware from the uniforms we’re wearing, the defendant is enlisted in the United States Navy.”

  “It wasn’t lost on me,” Yokavich said.

  “I wouldn’t think so. Specifically, Mr. Trejo is a logistics specialist serving at Naval Base Kitsap. This morning I spoke with the King County prosecuting attorney about the possibility of the United States Navy asserting jurisdiction in this matter.”

  Yokavich looked to Cerrabone. “Counsel?”

  “I am aware that the prosecuting attorney did receive a telephone call from Captain Moore, Your Honor. However, I’m unaware that any decision has been reached regarding jurisdiction. I was advised that Navy criminal investigators would be conducting a further investigation and a decision made upon completion of that investigation.”

  “So the Navy has not yet asserted jurisdiction?” Yokavich asked.

  “Not yet. Not to my knowledge,” Cerrabone said.

  Moore spoke. “We are in the process of making that determination. As counsel represented, we have naval investigators assigned to this matter. Until we receive their information, Your Honor, I am requesting that Mr. Trejo be confined to the Northwest Joint Regional Correctional Facility at Fort Lewis, for his own safety.”

  “His safety?” Tracy whispered to Kins. “What is he talking about?”

  Kins shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “Your Honor,” Cerrabone said. “I’m sure the King County Jail can ensure Mr. Trejo has safe confinement.”

  “Why can’t he be confined in the King County Jail?” Yokavich asked Moore.

  “Your Honor,” Moore said. “Mr. Trejo is an active duty service member and has served overseas during foreign campaigns on the USS Stennis, as well as at operating bases in Iraq and Afghanistan. He cannot be placed in general population beca
use of the possibility of foreign nationals who would seek to harm him.”

  “Is he kidding?” Tracy said. “He worked in storage rooms.”

  “I don’t think he kids,” Kins said.

  Cerrabone continued, “Until a decision has been made concerning jurisdiction, Mr. Trejo is in the custody of the King County Jail. That is where he has been booked and processed. If the Navy asserts jurisdiction, they can move him then.”

  “Your Honor, Mr. Trejo is also innocent until proven guilty. Since his safety cannot be guaranteed in a civilian prison, he should be allowed to exercise his right to be secured in the regional correctional facility on Joint Base Lewis-McChord where he will be placed in pretrial confinement until such time as the Navy’s investigation is completed. There is absolutely no prejudice to the King County prosecutor.”

  Maybe not, Tracy thought, but such a move would give the appearance of the type of preferential treatment by the Navy that concerned Shaniqua Miller and the rest of those gathered.

  Yokavich gazed up at the ceiling as he considered the matter. Lowering his gaze to Cerrabone, he said, “I don’t find any prejudice. Is there any prejudice?”

  “It’s an unnecessary step, Judge, and it’s anticipating something that has not and may never occur,” Cerrabone said. “That decision can be made if and when the Navy takes jurisdiction, which it hasn’t. Until then, Mr. Trejo should be treated like any other King County defendant.”

  “We’re here now,” Moore said. “It avoids having to move Mr. Trejo, and it ensures his safety.”

  Yokavich nodded. “I’m going to grant the motion until such time as the Navy makes its decision.”

  “Dammit,” Tracy said, loud enough that Kins turned and glanced at her. She noticed the majority of the crowd shaking their heads in resignation.

  “If the Navy does not assert jurisdiction, we can revisit this issue,” Yokavich said. “Until then, I am remanding the defendant to the Northwest . . . It’s a brig isn’t it?” He looked to Battles.

  “You served, Your Honor?” Battles asked.

  “Proudly,” Yokavich said. “Petty officer second class.”

  Battles smiled and Tracy could see daggers in the eyes of those seated in the gallery.