The Last Good Place

by Robin Burcell

  “I do not.”

  Taryn eyed her. “These god-awful pantsuits you always wear,” she said, tugging on the navy sleeve of Jenn’s jacket.

  “This is a perfectly good business suit,” Jenn said. “And for your information, I prefer the androgynous look.”

  “You mean cheap, boxy polyester look? Only things missing are white stitching and a ticket to a Florida retirement community.” Marty walked past again, and Taryn smiled at him, waiting until he was out of earshot. “Even he has better taste in clothes than you.”

  Jenn eyed Marty at the other end of the office as he sat at his desk. “He’s wearing a brown plaid suit. How is that better?”

  Taryn gave an exaggerated sigh, then nodded at the TV where the picture cut to a representative from Congressman Parnell’s office making a statement about the victim and how much she had been a valued part of Parnell’s staff. “See? Even he’s exploiting that murder for all it’s worth. Which makes it local politics.”

  “Which I pointed out, and the boss said no.”

  “So don’t tell him,” she said, grabbing both of their coats and dragging her to the door. As they passed the editor’s office, she said, “We’re going out for coffee.”

  He didn’t even look up, which made Jenn think about that remark that she blended into the background. Taryn was right. But once they got outside, she started to second-guess herself. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “You’ve got two hours to work up the nerve to exploit that connection you went to great pains to cultivate.”

  “Do you know how many TV cameras are there? What if—” She glanced over at their editor’s office.

  “Just do what you do best. Be invisible. Wait until it’s over then walk up to him. What have you got to lose?”

  TEN

  “C’mon, Kellog. What’re you so interested in you can’t play some liar’s poker?”

  Casey looked up from his computer screen to see Ralph Zwingler and Denny Haynes staring at him.

  Haynes held up a dollar bill, waving it back and forth.

  “Sorry,” Casey said. The scores for the written portion of the lieutenant’s promotional had come out. Casey wanted to see where he’d placed. And who the competition was. “Got better things to do.”

  “Like what?” Haynes asked, then got up from his desk. Casey blacked out his computer screen when Haynes leaned over to look.

  “Whoa!” Haynes said. “Didn’t know you took the lieutenant’s test. What’s the matter? You don’t love us anymore?”

  “Still making up my mind on that point,” Casey said, trying not to let it show he was disappointed the word had gotten out.

  Zwingler scoffed. “Don’t you have to be old enough to shave?”

  Realizing he needed the subject changed and fast, Casey pulled out a dollar bill. “So what’re we playing for?”

  “The last cream-filled donut,” Haynes said. “Full house. Trip aces.”

  Casey eyed his bill. “Got me beat.”

  “Damn,” Zwingler said. “Three nines.”

  And Haynes might have collected his winnings, but Al walked in, grabbed the donut, then took a bite.

  Haynes gaped as Al stood there, chewing.

  “What?” Al asked.

  “I won that donut fair and square,” Haynes said, waving his dollar.

  “Yeah,” Al replied. “Only because your partner doesn’t realize you’ve carried that same dollar bill in your wallet for the past year. Three ones, two nines, two eights, and one zero.”

  Before Haynes could even make a move, Zwingler reached over, snatched the greenback from Haynes’s fingers, examined the serial number, then ripped the bill in two, tossing the pieces onto Haynes’s desk. “Good try.”

  “What’d you do that for?” Haynes asked.

  “Somebody’s gotta look after your health. You keep winning donuts like that, you’re gonna eat yourself into a heart attack.”

  Lieutenant Timms walked in at that very moment. “Quit your whining, Zwingler,” he said. “They call it liar’s poker for a reason.” Clearly upset about something, he turned his attention to Casey. “I just got word that patrol’s on what looks like another strangling out at Ghirardelli Square. So we’ve either got a copycat case, or your Presidio suspect is not who you thought he was.”

  “We haven’t confirmed he’s the Strangler yet.”

  “You think that matters? As if the press on our backs isn’t bad enough, Congressman Parnell’s office is publicly demanding we put more resources into this investigation. We’ve got a press conference less than two hours from now. If the captain ends up looking like a fool in front of those cameras, I can guarantee any future chance you thought you had of promoting? Gone. So get out there, find what’s going on, and get back to me, ASAP.”

  He turned back into his office, pushing his door closed.

  “Uh oh,” Zwingler said to Casey. “Looks like someone’s gonna have to stay a sergeant a little longer.”

  “What was Zwingler talking about?” Al asked as he and Casey took the elevator down.

  “I took the written for the lieutenant’s test. I made it. The oral board’s next week.”

  The elevator opened, and the two men stepped off. “Burn yourself out rising that quick.”

  “And what? Wait until I get old like you, Uncle Al?”

  “Poke at my age all you want.” Al glanced sideways at him. “With it comes experience. And mine’s telling me you should be asking if you’re promoting too fast. You’re already the youngest homicide investigator we’ve ever had. So maybe give yourself a chance to settle in. Learn a few things before moving on.”

  “My mom’s on my case, so I did it for her.”

  “Your mom? We need to find you a woman with a sharp pair of scissors.”

  “For what?”

  “To cut those apron strings.”

  “I figured it’d be good practice for when I was ready. And to get her to quit bugging me. It’s not like I’m going to pass. Everyone taking it has at least a decade on me.”

  “Who knows. Maybe you’ll solve the Landmark Strangler case and gain few points.”

  “And what if I don’t? What if the Presidio turns out to be a copycat case? It’s not like we didn’t suggest holding off on the press conference until we had a definitive ID.”

  Al looked over at him as they walked. “Don’t ever underestimate the wrath and the memory of a superior officer who finds himself looking less than competent in front of a bunch of news cameras and a US congressman. Like I told you yesterday. There’s a reason they want us front and center. If things look good, the captain gets credit. If it doesn’t? We’re the ones sacrificed. Well, you, being that I am technically eligible to retire any day.”

  “I certainly feel better.”

  “Buck up. We still don’t know what we have yet.”

  Eighteen minutes later, Casey turned onto Polk, stopping behind a black-and-white blocking the street from traffic, rear ambers flashing. The officer waved Casey through, and he drove halfway up the block and parked. The crime scene was actually across the street in a parking lot. A uniformed officer stood guard at the outer perimeter, clipboard in hand, and the moment they lifted and stepped beneath the crime-scene tape wrapped around a parking meter and strung across the street, he jotted down their names and the time of their arrival. Casey scanned the list, saw the page was nearly full. “Geez, Al,” Casey said. “You see the parade that’s been here already?”

  Al glanced at the clipboard, then took it from the officer to read the names listed. “What gives?” he asked, handing it back.

  “They called out the Robbery detail first,” the officer said.

  Al and Casey exchanged glances, then walked into the parking lot, where a second officer stood guard at the inner perimeter, closer to the actual crime scene.
Two CSIs were traipsing around, one snapping photos, the other taking measurements.

  Virgil Edwards, one of the Robbery investigators, stood off to one side, talking on his cell phone while the CSIs worked. He looked up, saw them. “Gotta go,” he said into the phone, then disconnected as they walked toward him. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Came to examine the body,” Al said. “Where is it?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” When neither Al nor Casey responded, he said, “She’s in the hospital.”

  “Guess we can count out homicide. We were told to come out and determine if this was a Strangler case.”

  “The murder du jour,” Edwards said. “What better way to keep your homicide from standing out? Make it look like all the rest. Just not in this case. She says the suspect was after her purse. Had it not been for the fortuitous presence of two upstanding citizens hiding back here to smoke a joint—so as not to be seen in public—who knows what might have transpired?”

  “Nice of them.”

  “The suspect was a bit put off by their presence. Apparently he decided to make a hasty escape.”

  “So what do you think?” Al asked. “Robbery or attempted murder?”

  “Maybe if the victim let go of her purse when he first grabbed it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. He was tugging on the straps, pulling her back, and she wasn’t going to let him have it. The facts as I know them.”

  Robbery, Casey thought. Which meant his Presidio suspect might still be the Strangler.

  Al tapped Casey on the shoulder. “Let’s go have a look at the crime scene. See what’s what.” Al and Casey walked through the alley, Edwards following, their gazes glued to the ground, making sure they didn’t step on something that might turn out to be evidence.

  Edwards pointed. “Happened on the other side of that alcove,” he said, indicating a retainer wall, built to hide the trash Dumpsters for some of the businesses.

  “So,” Al said. “What time did this come in?”

  Edwards pulled out his pocket notebook, opening it to read from what looked like chicken scratch. “A little before seven this morning.”

  “And why would they think it’s a Strangler case?”

  “EMTs noted she had some red marks on her neck from the struggle. Between that and the proximity to Ghirardelli Square, someone probably figured a Landmark Strangler caper. Or rather, attempted caper.”

  “Well, that explains how it got out. EMT making a crime diagnosis.”

  They finished up their preliminary inspection then told Edwards they were heading to the hospital to interview the victim.

  Casey glanced back into the shopping center. “Seems like a robbery gone bad.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Robbery doesn’t seem to be a part of the Strangler’s MO. Or rather, none of the victims’ relatives have reported missing property, ’cause the victims sure aren’t making statements.”

  “There’s always the consideration that the real Landmark Strangler’s on a slab in the morgue, because he did a face-plant with a car.”

  “There’s that, too,” Al said. At the perimeter, they checked out with the officer keeping the log. He lifted the crime-scene tape while he and Casey slipped beneath it, then stopped when he saw a large group of reporters, several with cameras, near the blockade erected to keep them from the crime scene. “Great. Someone’s already blabbed about this being an attempted Strangler case. My money’s on the EMT.”

  The two men kept their distance, ignoring all comments and questions thrown at them. When it was clear they weren’t going to engage, the reporters lost interest, turning their attention back to the crime scene.

  Once in the car, Al telephoned the op center. “This is Krug. Can you pull all the calls in the vicinity of this robbery starting with three hours before and ending with our arrival…? Thanks. Printout would be great. And if you could let dispatch know we’re en route to the hospital to interview the victim…” He shoved his phone into his pocket then buckled his seat belt as Casey started the car.

  Their robbery victim, Mina Lavish, was about to be released from Mercy General when Casey and Al arrived. Dressed in black from head to toe, her long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, she was seated on the hospital bed, one knee tucked up as she attempted to pull on a stiletto-heeled boot over her stockinged foot. She looked up and sighed as they entered. “More police? It seems all I’ve done this morning is talk to them.”

  “My partner,” Al said, nodding at Casey, “has a few more questions.”

  “Hopefully not too many,” she said, zipping up her boot. She pulled on the other. “I’ve been in here all morning. I’m fine. I don’t even know why they brought me in.”

  Casey smiled at her then took a small notebook from his pocket. “Probably just to be safe. Can you tell us again what happened?”

  She let out her breath in a sound of exasperation. “Like I told it to the other detectives before you. I was walking to work this morning when some dumb ass decides he wants to steal my purse. No way was I going to let him have it. Do you know how much I paid for this thing? Over five hundred dollars.”

  Casey eyed the soft leather tote, not sure why anyone would pay that much for a purse. “Where was this?”

  “Behind the stores. Near the Dumpsters. Maybe that’s where he was hiding. I didn’t even see him. All I know is that suddenly I feel someone pulling me back, and I’m thinking, what the hell? And then I realize the guy’s trying to steal my purse. Except he must have accidentally grabbed my hair. So he got me instead of the purse. So I grab the strap with both hands. And then you know what he does? He starts choking me. The bastard tries to choke me! I’m like, are you kidding? So I jab my heel into his foot. And then those two boys came out from between the Dumpsters, and off he went.”

  “Choked you how?”

  “Well, I guess from behind.”

  “Can you show me on my partner?” Casey asked.

  “I guess.” She walked up behind Al, and with her left hand, she reached out and swept her fingers against Al’s back. “Like this. Grabbing my purse strap and ponytail. And then I’m, like, falling back. But I’m holding onto the purse strap with both hands, tugging forward, and that’s when he reaches up with his other hand and sort of wraps his whole arm around my neck.” She brought her other arm over Al’s shoulder then wrapped it around his neck. “Squeezing tight, so I can’t get away.”

  “Choking you?”

  “I guess. Like he’s trying to hold me so he can rip my purse from me. That’s when I went like this…” She lifted one booted foot up, then brought the three-inch stiletto heel down onto the top of Al’s foot. “Except I did it a lot harder.”

  She let go of Al and stepped back.

  Al turned toward her. “How were you wearing your purse when this happened?”

  “Luckily, crossways. So someone couldn’t grab it and run off so easy. Good thing, too. Because if I’d just had it over my shoulder? Bam. Out five hundred bucks.”

  “Miss Lavish,” Al said. “If necessary, would you be able to sit with a sketch artist? Describe the person who attacked you?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t even see his face.”

  “What about the pair you said ran out from the Dumpster area?”

  “I don’t know where they ran off to. But I could sure smell the pot back there.”

  They thanked her, advised that someone from Robbery would be following up, then left.

  Casey unlocked the car, and they both got in. “What are you going to tell the lieutenant?”

  “Lacking a body and a suspect, it sure looks like a strongarm robbery. Not that that matters right now. With the congressman inserting himself into our investigation, anything that even suggests Strangler involvement is going to get scrutinized,” he said, buckling his seatbelt. “Makes you really look forward to that pr
ess conference, doesn’t it?”

  ELEVEN

  After returning from Ghirardelli Square, Casey and Al briefed the lieutenant, who in turn briefed the captain as well as the press information office. About fifteen minutes after, Casey and Al took the elevator down to the lobby, then walked out front, stepping into a sea of cameras all facing their direction. In the six months that Casey had been assigned to Homicide, he’d never worked a high-profile case of this magnitude. The thought of appearing before the press seemed much more exciting last night, when he was riding high on the knowledge that he may very well have caught the Landmark Strangler.

  How quickly things changed, he thought as he and Al took their places beside Lieutenant Timms. The podium next to Timms where all the microphones with their various news logos attached stood at the ready. And though the press conference had been set to start precisely at ten, it was now several minutes after, the change necessary because of the unforeseen attack this morning.

  Casey eyed the numerous television cameras aimed at them. “We don’t have to say anything, do we?” he whispered to Al. Not that they needed to worry about being overheard, since everyone seemed to be talking at once.

  Al shook his head. “Our job is to stand here and look pretty. So if anyone asks you a question, defer to the lieutenant so he can defer to the captain, who will answer. This type of case, last thing the brass wants is for us to open our mouths.”

  About five minutes later, the captain walked out, stepped to the podium, and began a speech prepared by the press information office detailing how the department was investigating the Landmark Strangler cases and ensuring the safety of its citizens, beefing up patrol at popular tourist sights, increasing undercover officers, and assigning additional investigators to the task force, finishing with, “I promise you this. We have some very good leads. We will catch whoever is responsible.”

  And then the questions started. Casey expected some negativity from the press, but not the animosity. Several newscasters suggested that maybe it was time to call in the FBI, or perhaps reassign the cases to different investigators. The captain deflected the suggestions with practiced ease, stating, “I have every confidence in the men and women working our Homicide detail. The training they receive is on par with anything on the federal level.”