“Is there any connection between him and the dead guy who accosted me on the bike path?”
Orson gave him a look that said he was thinking. For a minute they sipped their coffees in silence. Finally Orson spoke up. “Since the case has my interest, I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll be beyond discreet. Clear?”
“Clear.”
TUESDAY MORNING for Abby began busy, borderline frantic. She was the first in the office. She quickly filed all the paperwork from the day before that she’d not had a chance to file. She made arrangements to visit Trevor Taylor, who was in County/USC’s jail ward recovering from being hit with a crowbar. She noted he’d been deemed stable enough for transport. He had also retained Ira Green for his defense. She doubted she’d get anywhere but wanted to try anyway.
“Abby.”
She looked up and saw Ben Carney walking her way. She liked Ben and his partner, Jack. They both had great reputations at work and from time to time showed up for volleyball on the beach. She knew them on and off duty, and they were honest, hardworking guys.
“Hi, Ben, what’s up?”
“I know that you probably heard Jack and I were assigned to the Triple Seven case.” Abby said nothing and he continued. “I was hoping to get the file from you. For some reason I can’t pull up anything online.”
“I don’t have the file.” Abby sat back in her chair. “I have my own unofficial file, but I don’t have the department file.”
“Huh. It’s not here.”
“What?” Abby got up and strode to the file room, Carney on her heels.
Sure enough, the thick accordion file was gone, a large empty space in the drawer where it should be. Hands on hips, she said, “I’ll admit I’ve been through it several times, but I always put it back.”
Ben picked up the sign-out board. “The last person to sign it out was your partner, Bill, but he signed it back in.”
Abby frowned. The homicide file room was not a secure room, but it was only to be accessed by authorized personnel. It was an office full of cops on their honor to sign out a file and sign it back in when finished.
“When I try to open what was scanned into the computer, all I get is an error message.” Carney led her back to his desk and showed her what was happening.
Three attempts at opening CR#88-0065 all resulted in the same message: Error. File not found.
“I don’t understand,” Abby said, truly perplexed. The rest of the homicide detail began to file in. “What about the evidence?”
Carney answered, “I haven’t been up to check the evidence yet.”
There wasn’t much physical evidence, but a box of odds and ends, including shell casing and bullet fragments removed from the bodies, was stored in an evidence locker on the fifth floor. Abby started for the elevator as Bill caught her eye.
“Back in a minute.” With a feeling of dread she stepped off the elevator and asked the clerk for the box relating to CR#88-0065. Five minutes later she was walking back into the homicide office where Bill, Ben, and Jack were sipping coffee and discussing the problem.
They looked at her as she approached her desk.
“That evidence is missing as well.” She sat down heavily, wondering what had happened to the reports and the evidence. Granted, there wasn’t much, and she had her own personal file, but what she had was not official. Where would it get her if they ever did arrest a suspect?
“We need to talk to Jacoby.”
As if on cue, the LT stepped into the office. His face was a study in cop blank. “If this is about the Triple Seven, it’s not me you need to speak to. DC Cox is waiting for you in her office.”
Shortly after that, the four investigators stood in front of DC Cox’s desk.
“There’s been no break-in, no breach of security,” she said. “I removed the files and the evidence.”
Abby couldn’t stifle the gasp. “Why?”
“To save you from yourself. Governor Rollins requested all the items be transferred to the California Highway Patrol Protective Services Division. From now on, they will handle any ongoing investigation.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Abby couldn’t contain herself, in spite of Ben’s cautioning hand on her arm. “That case is ours to investigate and close, not CHP’s.”
“You’re out of line. I told you that you would not be able to investigate your parents’ murders. Governor Rollins did this as much to protect you as to solve the crime—”
“Solve or cover up?”
Cox was up from her chair. “Enough! Ever since you decided to tell the world you were Abby Morgan, the governor and I have been trying to protect you, to keep you from jeopardizing your career. He wants the truth as much as you do. But you are so blinded by obsession, you’ll believe a lie told by a scumbag like George Sanders.”
She held her hand up to keep Abby from speaking. “No more about the Triple Seven; it is no longer our investigation. You have the Dan Jenkins case to prepare. If it comes to my attention you are in any way stepping on the CHP investigation, there will be consequences.”
Reluctantly Abby bit her tongue and returned to homicide with the others.
“You know, I’m not big on gossip,” Ben said. “But there is a rumor going around about Cox.”
“What?” Abby asked.
“That she’s been offered a job on the governor’s team—you know, when he officially starts his run for the senate.”
“What are you saying?” Bill asked.
Carney shook his head. “Nothing, just repeating gossip.”
“Ever since you decided to tell the world you were Abby Morgan, the governor and I have been trying to protect you, to keep you from jeopardizing your career.”
Abby fumed and chewed on Cox’s statement—no wonder she’d been micromanaging—while she filed the gossip tidbit away, wondering whether it was true and, if so, what it meant for the Triple Seven. She prayed she could keep it together as fury rose inside like a wave.
Abby turned off her computer and gathered her things as soon as they returned to the office.
“Where are you going?” Bill asked.
“I’m angry. I need to think. I’ll be back.”
She headed straight for Woody’s. All doubts she’d had about Woody and Asa took a backseat to her frustration. Rollins’s move convinced her that Kent was her killer and that at least in part, Sanders was telling the truth. Her parents’ murders had probably been ordered by Rollins.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Woody rented a house from another cop. It was in north Long Beach off Del Amo Boulevard, very close to the border of the city of Lakewood. He should be home after working so many hours helping fire with the Crunchers inferno. She was not disappointed when she saw both of his cars in the drive. Woody alternated between a beat-up pickup truck and an old Saturn sedan.
She grabbed the six-pack of tea she’d brought for him and the package of Oreos she’d brought for herself and walked to the front door. Woody answered after a couple of knocks, but he was unshaven and appeared to have just gotten up.
“Abby, what a surprise.”
“Sorry to wake you but something’s happened.” She held out the tea. “This is for you.”
“Come on in.” He took the tea and stepped aside to motion her in. “You didn’t wake me. I haven’t slept. Been dealing with Asa all night. He was drunker than a skunk and wanted to get in the car and drive. I’ve been a strong-arm babysitter since I got home.”
Ralph and Ed attacked her with wagging tails, and she wished she’d brought Bandit. After she paid the dogs the proper amount of attention, Woody led her through his sparsely furnished living room. His house was decorated in early American dorm room: used couch, big-screen TV in the living room, and nothing else. He’d lost about everything in his last divorce and seemed to have no motivation to buy furniture. The place was clean because Woody was a neat freak, but it would never win a decorator’s award.
Asa snor
ed on the sofa, and even though she didn’t get close, Abby could smell the alcohol. In the kitchen Woody did have a semi-new table and chairs, and that was where they stopped. He put the bottles of tea down, took one, and opened it.
“Have a seat. Did something come up after the fire?”
Abby sighed. Few people, not even Woody, knew the entire scope of Sanders’s statements concerning the Triple Seven. She settled into a chair, pack of Oreos in front of her, and told him everything.
Woody made a fist and tapped his chin, contemplative after she finished.
“Is it possible my dad is still alive?” she asked after he said nothing for what seemed an eternity.
“I don’t see how. But that day . . . Man, I hate to say it. I was hungover. I was focused on the fire.” His forehead scrunched as if he were trying to remember.
“All the cars in the lot were accounted for, and arson did think that the fire was started with lighter fluid because it spread so fast.” He smacked the table with both palms, then asked the question Abby had been asking herself. “If he is alive, where has he been all this time?”
He continued. “Do I believe Gavin Kent and Louis Rollins could do something like kill your parents? Yes. Kent has a Napoleon complex and was a bully until Mrs. Rollins cleaned him up.”
“Mrs. Rollins?”
Woody nodded and took a long swallow of tea. Abby absentmindedly stroked Ralph’s head.
“She was the push behind Lowell. A year after the Triple Seven burned, she got him elected to the city council, and suddenly Kent the bully was a glorified secretary. Louis was dead by then. Alyssa and Lowell were married shortly thereafter, and the Triple Seven invest was on the road to freezing. I remember the Puffs digging everywhere and getting nothing but frustrated.”
“Do you remember the drug dealer, Coke Pipe?”
“I do. I arrested him a couple of times, outstanding warrants and such. I remember hearing that he fled to Mexico to escape some woman’s angry husband. I don’t know how long ago that was.”
“What did he look like? Could he be mistaken for my dad?”
“You’ve seen the photos; he wouldn’t have to. Those bodies were burnt. And the man . . . well, his face had been destroyed with a shotgun blast at close range . . .” His voice trailed off.
Abby stood to pace the kitchen. “Sanders is such a slime that I should hesitate to believe him, according to Cox. But now Kent wouldn’t look so guilty if Rollins hadn’t taken the case away.” Even as she said the words, her anger flared again.
“And then Cox all but admitted she’s been hounding me because she and the governor are worried about me.”
“Cox is up for a job in the governor’s entourage.”
“You’ve heard that too?”
Woody nodded. “She and Kent are tight, or at least they were.”
“What?” Abby had never heard this. In fact, at the press conference, Kent was downright rude to Cox.
“Oh, back in the day, they dated, almost got married.”
“How come I never heard this?”
“It was a long time ago. Anyway, they broke up after the Triple Seven fire. And you never liked to take part in gossip anyway. It’s just something I know about through Asa.”
“Do you think that’s why she so willingly gave the investigation to the CHP?”
“That’s odd; I agree with you there. I’ve never heard of the Chippies taking on a murder invest like the Triple Seven.” Woody rose and put out a hand to stop her pacing. “But she had to have the chief’s approval to do it. Maybe she is looking out for you. Whatever the case, it’s not worth losing your job over.”
“What makes you think my job is in jeopardy?”
“You’re angry. It’s all over your face. And bingeing on Oreos is a dead giveaway. If you’ve been ordered to leave it alone, leave it alone. The truth will come out; it always does.”
Luke’s phone buzzed after he and Orson parted ways, and he saw that the call was from Arvli and the Good Morning Long Beach crew. He answered, actually happy for the interruption since he wasn’t getting anywhere trying to reconstruct a twenty-seven-year-old murder scene in his head.
“What’s up, Arvli?”
“Hey, I know you have the inside track on the Triple Seven story, you being connected and all. Is there any way you can get me an interview with Detective Hart? Everyone is trying to get her, and since this is a local story, do you think she might talk to us?”
“That’s a good question. There have been a few developments that I can’t talk about right now. Can you give me a little time? I’ll talk to her and get back to you.”
“Sure. You know that we’re ready to go at the drop of a hat. Call me. This will be great.”
Luke promised and ended the call. He juggled his phone, wondering if he should call Bill first or if he dared call Abby. Before he could decide, the phone rang again and it was Bill. He was going to chide Bill for mind reading when the tone of his friend’s voice gave him pause.
“Where are you? Have you seen or heard from Abby?”
“Serenity Park, and no, I haven’t seen her. What’s happened?”
“She stormed out of here, all upset. I’m afraid she’ll do something rash.” As Bill explained what had happened, Luke felt his own anger rise. Abby must be right when she thought that Rollins was the guilty party. Why else would he hijack the investigation right when it seemed it was being blown wide-open?
“Can he do that?”
“Rollins is the governor. He’s given the case to the section of the CHP assigned as his protective detail. They’re not investigators, per se.”
“What about what Sanders had to say?”
“All hearsay, no way to substantiate. But it’s off our plate. All we can do is move forward on our case against Sanders for killing Dan Jenkins. What happens to the Triple Seven case now is anyone’s guess.”
“THE TRUTH WILL COME OUT; it always does.”
What is that truth? Is my dad still alive?
Abby didn’t go straight back to the station. She stopped at El Dorado Park and got out of the car to walk and try to clear her head.
Woody had helped somewhat. He helped her regain balance. He knew what she knew; he wasn’t hiding anything, and that left her with a healthy skepticism for what Sanders said about her father. The junk man had to have an angle, and she was determined to find out what it was. But how?
She thought of Murphy and his whiteboard. When he started his investigation, he went back to high school years. Did what happened at the Triple Seven really start there? Her mind raced with possibilities and questions, and she stopped, staring out over the duck pond.
One case defines you.
Ethan’s words haunted her. Abby knew then and there, no matter what she said to Dede and to Ethan, that she didn’t trust God’s justice. She couldn’t wait patiently anymore for an arrest; she needed to know now.
What could she do to force the issue? Something unethical? Illegal?
Unable to answer the question, she got back in her car and drove for the station.
When her phone rang with a call from Luke, she let it go to voice mail, not ready to talk to him.
Back at the station she went straight to Jacoby and submitted a request for two weeks’ vacation.
He looked at the slip and then up at Abby. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Triple Seven, would it?”
“Of course it does. I can’t concentrate right now. I need some time off to get my mind right.” She told the truth without telling all of it. And she prayed Ethan would understand. She’d been saving her vacation time so they could take a month-long honeymoon. “Bill can handle the Jenkins case.”
Jacoby studied her for a moment before nodding and signing the request. “Finish out the day. Have a great vacation.”
IT WAS SIX in the evening before Asa came out of it. Woody had slept some, but worry for Abby kept him awake. If Rollins was the impetus behind the Triple Seven killing, he had mo
ney and resources now to go to any lengths to keep it quiet, buried, and forever cold. And motive to stop anyone from trying to prove it.
But Buck Morgan being alive?
I can’t get my old gray head around that.
As Asa stirred, Woody turned on the coffeemaker. If his friend did know something, Woody planned to get it out of him if it was the last thing he did.
When Asa could walk, Woody threw him into the shower screaming and cursing. He left him a towel and a robe and told him to come into the kitchen when he was ready.
About twenty minutes later, red-faced and angry, Asa entered the kitchen, and Woody shoved a cup of coffee at him.
Asa sniffed it and cursed. “I need a drink, not coffee.”
“Coffee only, until you tell me what you know.” He pushed his friend into a chair, ignoring the spilled coffee. After Asa stopped protesting and had half a cup of coffee in him, Woody told him what Abby had shared. It didn’t surprise him that Asa was not surprised.
“You know more than you’ve ever said. Tell me what’s going on.”
Asa drained the coffee cup and Woody refilled it.
“What goes around comes around—wasn’t that what we always used to say?” Asa said after minutes of silence. “Some puke would do a crime and get off, and we’d say, ‘What goes around comes around; he’ll get his.’ Ha! Doesn’t always happen that way. Some pukes turn their crimes into solid gold.”
“What are you saying? Is Sanders telling the truth?” Woody felt anger that his partner could have held such a piece of information all this time and shame that he’d never guessed or pried.
Asa looked at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes. “It was a couple months after the place burned. You were away on one of your honeymoons. I was working solo and drinking with Rollins and his crowd from time to time.”
This surprised Woody, but he said nothing. Back in the day, Rollins didn’t hang with the common folk, at least not when Alyssa was around.
“One night Louis comes to the party later than the rest of us and he’s scared. I didn’t understand what he was babbling about. I caught snatches of ‘Buck Morgan and kid,’ but Kent grabbed ahold of him and beat the snot out of him. I tried to break it up, but Kent got in my mug and told me to mind my own business or I’d be sorry.” He paused and sipped the coffee, grimacing.
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