“So?”
“Not sure yet. Just that I gathered some underlying tension on Marcie Valentine’s part. I mean, maybe I’m asking the wrong person, since you’re not married. But in my house? My wife would’ve been on the phone the moment she learned her friend was murdered. Heaven forbid I let it go to voice mail.”
“He did mention she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Why wait an hour to tell him?”
“He was at work. Maybe she didn’t want to disturb him.”
“I think murder is a valid reason to ignore that rule.” They walked to the victim’s house next door, and Al rang the bell. “Makes me wonder if all is not well in paradise.” Which was one of the strangest aspects of their job. They dug into people’s lives, learning secrets that would have stayed hidden—if not for someone else’s misfortune.
Al rang the bell a second time. When no one answered, Casey telephoned dispatch. “Anyone notify the deceased’s husband?”
He heard the clicking of a computer, and a moment later the dispatcher saying, “Patrol made notification in person at his place of employment then brought him to the Hall. He’s waiting in the fourth-floor lobby.”
“Thanks. Have someone inform him that we’re on our way.”
FIVE
Marcie heard Devin running up the stairs, then into the bedroom. But she didn’t move from the little table on the balcony. Here, at least, she felt safe.
And right now she needed safe.
The balcony door clattered as he threw it open. “Marcie? What are you doing out here?”
She looked up and saw him staring at her, his bloodshot eyes glistening. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. These people found her on the ground.” After the rush of emotions from earlier in the day, Marcie felt strangely detached from the entire incident. “I heard someone strangled her.”
“Are there any witnesses? Did anyone see what happened?”
“The police chased someone.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“It all happened too fast.”
Devin pulled out a chair and sat opposite her, his face pale, his hand shaking as he covered his mouth, then turned away. “I can’t believe this.” He got up, turned to leave. “I think I need a drink.”
Marcie followed him into the house, then on down the stairs into the kitchen. He pulled open the cupboard with the glasses, staring blankly inside, apparently forgetting why he’d even come in here.
She wondered if he’d be this upset if she had been killed instead of Trudy.
Of course not. And she could no longer hold back what she knew. “I saw her, you know. Trudy was here this morning.”
It seemed several heartbeats before he turned, looked at her. “Why would you say that?”
The last thing she was going to tell him was what she’d done, who she’d hired. She’d have to take care of that later. Somehow. “Because I know. All those times she suddenly couldn’t go running? She’s been over here on several occasions. My best friend. Alone with my husband. Or are you going to try to deny it?”
He gave her a weak smile. “I suppose it’s pointless to deny it now, after what happened this morning.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. She knew they were having an affair. “Then go ahead. Tell me,” she said, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.
“We were trying to put together a surprise party for you.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. “For me?”
“Who else?”
“My birthday’s not for another two months.”
“Some things are worth planning for. Trudy had this crazy idea that—” He gave a casual shrug, reached into the cupboard, and pulled out a glass. “Well. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Apparently she was a better friend than you thought.”
Her stomach twisted with nausea. It couldn’t be true, could it? That Trudy had been coming over here for something so innocent?
She leaned against the counter, her legs feeling weak. What was it they always said? Be careful what you wish for? She’d wanted Trudy dead…
Devin filled his glass with water then looked over at her. “How’d you know she was here?”
“I only pretended to leave. That’s when I saw Trudy come over, and I didn’t leave until after she did.”
“But I saw you. I heard you go out the front door.”
“I was hiding in the kitchen.”
A gamut of emotions crossed his face as the realization of what she said apparently sank in. “Oh my God…What did you tell the cops?”
“I—I just said I left. I didn’t tell them I was hiding.”
He stared mutely at her for several seconds. Then, setting his glass on the counter, started pacing. “I need to think.”
“About what?” she asked, not liking that he seemed so worried.
“Do you know how that’s going to look if they find out we didn’t tell the truth?”
“Are you saying you lied, too?”
“No. I’m saying I told them that Trudy left after you. I sure as hell didn’t say she was here. They’d start asking all sorts of questions. Just like they will if you tell them you never really left.” He stopped then looked at her. “My God. She was murdered. What if she didn’t tell her husband what we were doing? Planning this surprise for you? Look at what you thought. Imagine what Tony will think. What the cops will think. This is a nightmare.”
“But they’re not thinking we…They wouldn’t, would they?”
“If they discover we weren’t up front? How do you think they’ll take it? For God’s sake, I told them you left at seven. We could be in trouble. Both of us.”
She realized he was right. Lying to the cops was bad enough. Lying during a murder investigation? “What do we do?”
“I have to think about this,” he said, pulling her into his arms, holding her close. It had been a long time since he’d held her like this. And she didn’t know if it was her heart, or his, beating so fast.
SIX
The victim’s husband, Tony Salvatori, was, as dispatched advised, waiting in the fourth-floor lobby at the Hall of Justice. An officer was standing by when Casey and Al got there, and both investigators took a moment to observe the man before they were seen. To an outsider, peering on the newly bereaved might seem callous, but that was their job. To observe and make split-second decisions on who was genuine, who wasn’t. And what Casey saw was that Tony Salvatori certainly appeared to have the proper demeanor for a bereaved husband. His eyes were red, clearly he’d been crying—not that that trait absolved anyone of guilt. In this case, he was probably innocent—an easy assumption when they were fairly certain the real suspect was on his way to the morgue, which was where Casey wanted to be. The Landmark Strangler murders had been such big news these past few weeks, one would have to live in a cave not to know how important today’s case was.
Mr. Salvatori looked up as they approached, and Casey said, “Mr. Salvatori? I’m Sergeant Casey Kellog. Homicide. And this is my partner, Sergeant Al Krug.”
Salvatori stood, his clasp limp, his palms sweaty.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” Casey said, once they were in an interview room.
“I can’t believe this. I just…Do you know who did this?”
“We’re still investigating. I know this is hard for you, but we’re going to have to ask a lot of questions. Some of them may seem insensitive, but it’s the only way we can solve this.”
“Was it that Landmark Killer? Strangler? I keep hearing about him in the news. We were talking about it, my wife and I. I just—I told her not to go jogging there. Not while this guy was on the loose…” He looked away, his eyes shimmering.
The best way Casey knew to distract someone temporarily from their g
rief was to ask the basics. “How old was Trudy?”
“Um, she just turned thirty-four.”
“Did she work?”
“Yes. For Congressman Parnell. She was, uh, finance director for his reelection campaign.”
Casey saw Al’s eyebrows go up a fraction at that revelation. It was going to be tough enough having the connection to the Strangler, but adding a high-ranking politician to the mix? Talk about being under the microscope. Casey almost wished he hadn’t been so eager to take the case. “What time did she leave this morning?”
“Around seven. Maybe a little after…”
Casey consulted his list. They needed to learn everything leading up to the time of the murder and then verify it so that there were no questions. “You’re sure about the time your wife left?”
Salvatori nodded. “Trudy was locking the front door as I drove off. I—we were both running a little late, and I remember looking at the dash, wondering if I had enough time to stop for coffee. I decided against it, since I had a board meeting to prepare for.”
“So you got to work at…?”
“I don’t know. Maybe seven thirty, quarter to eight?”
Al stepped forward, his hat against his chest. “Where is it you work, Mr. Salvatori?”
“Kahler and Pico Finance. Off Market.”
“What is that?” Al asked. “A twenty-minute commute?”
“It depends on traffic, but yeah, that’d be about right.”
“Is there anyone who can verify your presence?”
“You don’t think that I…?”
Al gave him that sympathetic smile he was so good at. “Like we said, Mr. Salvatori. Routine. It’s best if we can eliminate everyone we can so we can concentrate on who really did this.”
Salvatori nodded. “Of course. I, um, I don’t think anyone else came in until maybe…seven forty-five? Eight, maybe? I—Oh my God…When was she killed? I should have been there for her.”
“Who was it?” Casey asked. “The person who can vouch you were at the office?”
“My secretary. Janis Stansbury.” He gave Casey her contact information then added, “If there’s nothing else? I really would like to see my wife. She’s here, isn’t she? At the morgue?”
Casey glanced at Al, who said, “One more question, if you don’t mind. Anyone at all you can think of who might want your wife dead?”
The color faded from Tony Salvatori’s face. “Want her dead? Why would anyone—” He got up, started pacing, then stopped to face Al. “She was jogging near the Golden Gate Bridge! Are you saying it wasn’t the Landmark Killer?”
“I’m saying we need to look at every angle, Mr. Salvatori. When we catch the person who murdered your wife, and it goes to court, the defense is going to try to pin it on everyone else but their client.”
“I don’t know. I really can’t think right now. Can I go? I—I just need to go.”
“Of course,” Al said. “I’ll walk you down.”
“Thanks, but I’d really like to be alone. Please.”
He left the interview room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway toward the elevator.
Al leaned against the doorway, watching Casey finish up his notes. “You sure you want the case?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you might be mistaking it for a career maker.”
Casey closed his notebook. “Why would you say that?”
“Working anything with politicians can be career suicide. Especially that one. Parnell won his last campaign because he was all about increasing funding to the police to fight crime. And he’s close to a lot of cops here. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he and our captain are on a first-name basis, which means you’re going to have to be on top of your game.”
“I’ll take that as fair warning,” Casey said as he and Al returned to the office. They were greeted with cheers and jeers from their fellow investigators as they walked in the door.
Zwingler crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it at Casey. “Heard you killed the suspect by running him into a car. Instead of Casey Kellog, we’re gonna have to call you Casey Killer. Way to go, Hotshot!”
The room erupted in laughter just as their boss, Lieutenant Timms, walked in. He looked over at the white board, where someone had written: Wanted, dead or alive. Landmark Strangler. Some joker had crossed out the word alive and circled the word dead. Timms saw it and said, “Erase that. Now. Kellog and Krug? A minute of your time.”
The laughter died as Haynes got up, erased the board.
Casey and Al walked into the lieutenant’s office.
He sat at his desk, telling Casey to close the door. “What the hell happened out there?” The question was directed at Al, since he was the senior investigator.
“We got there, the suspect fled, and Hotshot here chased him down. Car got in the way.”
“Tell me he’s at least the killer.”
“That part looks pretty good. At least from the witness’s point of view. Whether he’s the Strangler—”
“Could he be?”
“Even our witnesses believe it’s another Strangler murder.”
“And what do you believe?” Timms asked.
“That we don’t know enough about it yet.”
“Either way,” Timms said, his chair squeaking as he leaned back, “the damned press will be all over this. Get me a preliminary report A-SAP. I’m going to need to get something together for the captain. By the way. Which one of you is taking the lead on this?”
Casey looked at Al, not daring to say anything. This could be the biggest case of his career, and Al knew it.
“The kid wants it.”
Timms nodded. “Let’s get to work, then.”
“One thing you should know,” Al told Timms. “The victim? Works for Congressman Parnell.”
Timms gaze hit Casey’s. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes.”
Al said, “Be careful what you wish for is all I’ve got to say.”
They left the office, and Casey slipped out of his coat, hung it on the hook by the door, then sat at his desk. “Thanks.”
“Your career, kid. In the meantime, let’s get started on that victimology.”
With every database at their disposal, both local and national, they would delve into Trudy Salvatori’s life, then work their way backward. By the end of the day, they’d know where she was born, every address she’d lived at or worked at, every phone number ever assigned to her, what sort of credit she maintained, and who her known associates were. In cases where there was no known suspect, the victimology was a powerful tool. One never knew who or what might turn up in the victim’s background that would lead them to the killer. An old boyfriend, a disgruntled business partner, a spouse who perhaps took out a large insurance policy.
Not that they expected to find anything like that in this case. They had a known killer. And if he was the Landmark Strangler, it was highly probable that nothing in Trudy’s background would connect to the suspect. But it was a formality that needed to be done, and Casey thanked Al for his offer. Of course, the same thing would need to be done on the suspect, now that he was lying dead in their morgue, and Casey picked up the phone and called them. What he needed was an ID on the man. If he was the Landmark Strangler, they were going to have to connect him to every other victim.
“This is Kellog, up in Homicide. Any chance they brought in the deceased from this morning’s accident at the Golden Gate Bridge?”
“I’ve got two victims from there. Hold on…male or female?”
“The male.”
“Right. Car accident. At this point, he’s a John Doe. Soon as we get him identified, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks.”
Al looked up from his computer monitor. “Got an ID?”
“John Doe.”
“What’s with these crooks? Can’t even carry proper ID?”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Well, you don’t need that for the preliminary report. Get that to the lieutenant. We can fill in the blanks later.”
A lot more than filling in a few blanks. By the time they finished investigating the case, it would consist of several thick black binders, what they called the “murder book.” The known Landmark Strangler cases already filled two shelves in the Homicide office. Al was the lead on the first two known cases, Carl West caught the third. If this was the fourth, Casey knew he’d be under a lot of scrutiny, especially with the connection to Congressman Parnell. Which meant he needed to do everything right.
Everyone was already watching him closely, waiting for him to stumble and fall. He knew some of that was fueled by jealousy, especially by those who’d applied for the same position and didn’t get it. But there were others, Al included, who felt he was too young to be in Homicide. He hadn’t put in his time on the streets. At first Casey ignored the naysayers. There were times, though, when he wondered if maybe he had promoted too soon. Between the press hounding them for not catching this or that suspect, or the brass canceling vacations and days off until whichever killer was caught, Casey worried that he might be burning himself out.
He glanced over at Al working at his computer, his brown hair flecked with gray, the lines in his face accentuated by the harsh lighting from the window. The man looked far older than his early fifties, and Casey wondered if it had to do with the added stress of working Homicide all these years. More than a decade, Casey realized, and he wondered if he could do this for that long, look death in the face day after day.
“How’s that report coming?” Timms asked from his doorway.
“Almost done,” Casey said, checking his notes.
“Got an ID on your suspect yet?”
“Waiting on the morgue.”
“Call again. I’d like everything on my desk before you leave tonight. Captain wants to hold a press conference in the morning.”
The Last Good Place Page 4