“Is there any truth,” one reporter called out, “that the Strangler is targeting tourists?”
“None whatsoever.”
“The Presidio murder?” another reporter called out. “Is that a Landmark Strangler case or a copycat?”
“As I detailed earlier, we don’t yet have results from the autopsy to make a determination. Next question?”
“Do you think someone was specifically targeting Congressman Parnell’s office?”
“We have nothing to suggest anything of the sort.”
“What about the man who was killed yesterday when your officers chased him? If he’s the Strangler, then who attacked the woman this morning?”
“Again, both cases are under investigation. We don’t yet know his relationship—whether he is or isn’t a part of that homicide—or if either of these cases is related to any others.”
A woman in dark-framed glasses stepped forward, raising her hand as though she were back in school. “Is someone making a comparison of the current Strangler victims to the prostitutes found murdered about seven months ago?”
“As mentioned before, we have all available resources looking into past and present cases. Every investigative resource is being utilized.”
And so it went.
Casey was exhausted by the time it ended, and all he’d had to do was stand there. He was impressed with the captain, even proud of his show of support.
That is until they all entered the lobby, and the captain turned to Lieutenant Timms, saying, “Get me some goddamned results.” He walked off.
Timms turned to Al and Casey, saying, “Clear your schedule for the rest of the afternoon. We need to make some headway on this.”
Casey and Al nodded politely and slowed their pace, figuring it best to let the brass have the elevator to themselves.
“Now what?” Casey asked Al.
“Hope we catch this guy before we end up back on patrol. You might be in tip-top shape, but me? I’m too old to go back on the street.” He patted Casey on the shoulder. “See you upstairs in a few. I want to see if the coroner’s made any headway on yesterday’s case.”
Al continued on through the lobby and out the back door.
“Sergeant Kellog?”
Casey turned to see a young woman in dark-framed glasses, her mousy-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a navy polyester suit that appeared one or two sizes too large for her slim frame, the shoulder slipping as she held out her hand in greeting, saying, “Jenn Barstow.”
“Miss Barstow,” he said, shaking her hand. Her grip felt tense and slightly sweaty from nerves as though it took all her effort to approach him. “What can I do for you?”
“I know—I mean, I know you don’t know me, but I know—” Her cheeks flushed and she looked down at the ground, giving him the impression she was hoping for the earth to open wide and rescue her. But then, surprising him, she suddenly pinned her gaze on him, saying, “Can you at least tell me if someone is looking at those older prostitute murders?”
It was then he realized she was one of the reporters he’d seen out front. The one who asked the question about the older murders possibly being related to the Strangler. He refused to even answer her question. “You’ll have to contact the press information office.”
“What about a drink after work? I just want to—”
“I’m afraid a drink is out of the question.” He wasn’t about to fraternize with the press. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
As he started toward the bank of elevators, she called out, “Wouldn’t you like someone on your side?”
That stopped him in his tracks. He turned, faced her, not sure if he should be amused or insulted. “What?”
“What I meant to say is we’re on the same side. That we could help each other.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any aspects of this case or any other with the press. I’m sorry.”
She handed him her business card. “If you change your mind. Even just for the drink. We don’t have to discuss the case at all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, using the card to give her a wave of dismissal. It wasn’t that she was unattractive. She was, in a very bookish way. He just wasn’t drawn to that sort of woman.
Of course, as pathetic as his dating life was, maybe he was being too picky. Everyone he’d taken out was either put off by the job, or put off by the odd hours he worked due to call outs. Case in point, last night, trying to take Becca out for a drink—or as it happened to turn out, frozen pizza. Nine times out of ten, a second date never materialized, and if it did, it was usually followed on the woman’s part with the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech, which in his mind was a polite way of saying it really is you.
And it probably was, he thought as Al walked up. He eyed the business card. “The Union-Examiner? What’d she want?”
“Asked me out for a drink,” Casey replied, as he pressed the Up button on the elevator. “Said I needed someone on my side.”
“Probably true, the way they’re crucifying us.”
“So what’d the coroner say about our Presidio victim?”
“Autopsy’s not done, but initial evidence says she was definitely strangled. They were scraping her fingernails as I left. A DNA hit with the dead guy would be nice,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and looking at the screen, which had lit up from a call. “Krug…Yeah. We’re on our way up.”
He pocketed the phone as the elevator door opened. “That was Timms,” he said as the door slid shut. “We’re wanted in the captain’s office. Apparently Congressman Parnell is gracing us with his presence.”
On their arrival, the captain’s secretary informed Casey and Al to go on in; the captain was expecting them.
Even so, Al knocked before opening the door.
The congressman stood near the conference table with the captain and Timms. He was tall, gray-haired, probably about Al’s age, and, like every politician Casey had ever seen, he had an impeccable plastic smile that he turned on them when they entered. “You must be the two investigators assigned to Trudy’s murder.”
The captain said, “These are Sergeants Krug and Kellog, two of my best.” Then to Al and Casey, adding, “Congressman Parnell.”
Parnell shook their hands. “Nice to meet you both.”
“Likewise,” Al replied.
And Casey added, “A pleasure.”
The captain pulled out a chair at the table. “Sit, please.”
When everyone had done so, the congressman looked right at Casey and said, “I know your time is valuable, but I wanted to come here and assure you that my office is ready to help in any way we can. In that respect, I’m hoping you can tell me what’s being done. What leads have you found?”
Casey hesitated, certain this was one of those instances when it was best to defer to his superior.
Al, thank goodness, stepped right in. “It’s still early in the investigation.”
“Of course,” Parnell replied. “This man who was killed. You’re certain he’s the suspect?”
“We can confirm he is a suspect,” Al replied. “We can’t confirm that he killed Trudy Salvatori. The investigation is still in its infancy.”
“I see.” He took a terse breath. “You have to understand. Trudy was a valued member of our staff. Her death has hit every one of us hard. We just want to know that you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that justice is served.”
Al replied, “You can be assured we are giving it our full attention.”
He nodded, but directed his question to Al again. “And where do you go from here? If he is the actual suspect?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“How long will an investigation like this take? How long will the victims’ families have to wait for some sense of
justice? Or an end to their suffering?”
It was Timms, this time, who stepped in. “We’re doing everything in our power and within our means to ensure the investigation moves along in the fastest manner prudent.”
“Glad to hear it.” He stood. “Again, if there is anything my office can do to help. I hope you won’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, sir,” the captain said, standing as well. Then, turning to Al and Casey, “I’ll let you two get back to work.”
Clearly dismissed, Casey and Al rose from their seats. The congressman leaned over the table to shake their hands once more. “A pleasure to meet you both. And please. Keep me informed of the investigation’s progress. I’ve arranged with one of my staff members to assist Tony Salvatori with anything he might need, including funeral arrangements. I wish I could do more.”
“I’m sure Mr. Salvatori appreciates that,” Al said.
He and Casey exited via the secretary’s office, the congressman’s voice, though lowered, carrying out to them. “I don’t want to sound crass, but this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. With elections right around the corner, if I mention this in any upcoming speeches, they’ll say I’m using it to get ahead. If I don’t, then I’m insensitive to the…”
Whatever followed was lost as the captain closed the door.
“Politicians,” Al said quietly. “Like murder is ever convenient?”
TWELVE
“Listen up,” Lieutenant Timms said, thirty minutes later, once the post-press-conference meeting started in the Homicide office. “In case you missed the public stoning by the press downstairs, we’re taking a beating. And that doesn’t count the scrutiny we’re now receiving from Congressman Parnell’s office as part of his get-tough-on-crime campaign.” He looked right at Al. “Speaking of, what’s the status on the Presidio case? Is she or isn’t she victim number four?”
“The million-dollar question. Still working on the autopsy. Not that the press is going to believe us right now. With a dead suspect, it would’ve been nice to close the books on it and get the congressman off our backs.”
“What about what this reporter was saying? The murdered prostitutes?”
“Cold Case has them and the others I’ve pulled. Nothing definitive. Yet.”
“Yet,” Zwingler said, “being the operative word. Remember the Backstreet Butcher? Ten years nothing, and then bam, starts up again? Little prison stint does wonders to the crime rate.”
“Good point,” Timms said. “The silver lining about Parnell’s attention is that we suddenly have approval to up the resources. I think our best bet here is continue the divide-and-conquer approach. Krug, see if there are any similars in any other tourist locales. New York, DC, whatever,” he said, taking a marker and writing the word similars over Krug’s name. “Since you have the first known Strangler case, I’d like to get a fresh set of eyes. Who do you want on to take the case for a second review?”
He looked around the room, glanced at Casey, then said, “Zwingler and Haynes.”
“You two okay with that?” Timms asked.
They nodded, and Timms wrote their names below Al’s. “Walk the beat in the area, see if we can’t come up with new witnesses, overlooked areas where video surveillance might be found, see if anything can be recovered, etc., etc. West, you had the second case. You okay with it?”
Carl West had been in Homicide almost as long as Krug. “I like to think my partner and I can handle it. But if you want to throw a couple of investigators my way, I’m not going to turn down the extra help.”
Timms looked around the room. “Burnett and Johnson?”
“We’re in,” Burnett said, and Timms wrote their names below West’s.
By the time he was done, naming Al as the liaison for the cases, reporting directly to him, the only investigator who didn’t seem to have a job related to the Strangler was Casey. “Any questions?” Timms asked.
“Yeah,” Zwingler said. “What about days off?”
“You’re lucky you’ll have time to sleep,” Timms answered, holding Zwingler’s gaze. “So anyone here who scored Giants tickets to this weekend’s games, maybe put up a notice in the break room.”
“Seriously?” Zwingler said, then looked around for support. “They’re playing the damned Dodgers.”
Timms capped his dry-erase marker. “And they’re on a losing streak. You really want to see that in person?”
Zwingler gave a tired sigh. “They’re for sale. Cheap.”
Al laughed. “How about a game of liar’s poker?”
Haynes snickered.
Timms tapped the whiteboard with his capped marker. “You want a day off? Identify the Strangler, or there won’t be any tourists left in the city to sell the tickets to.”
He returned to his office, and Al swiveled his chair around. “You heard the guy. Let’s get to work so Zwingler can find a buyer.”
“You actually gave away a Strangler case?” Casey asked. “I could have worked it.”
“You heard what he said. He wanted fresh eyes on it. Besides. You have the Presidio case.”
Casey rolled his chair closer, keeping his voice down. “I could have handled that investigation. At least I was there for part of it.”
“Look, kid. I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but worry about the job at hand. Not what you think it takes to ace a promotional interview.”
“This isn’t about the promotional,” Casey said, even though he knew that’s what it looked like. “I just want the experience.”
“You have enough on your plate. Work on that.”
Casey’s phone rang, preventing him from arguing the point.
“Kellog. Homicide.”
“Well…?” His mother’s impatient voice on the other end.
He knew exactly what she was inquiring about, and after Al needling him about cutting the apron strings, he pushed his chair farther against the wall, keeping his voice low. “I came out in the top five. The oral board is this coming Wednesday.”
“And will you take the position if you pass that?”
“I told you, I’m only doing it for practice.”
“You spent how many months studying for that thing, and you wouldn’t even take the position if they offered it? I think you should take it. It has to be safer than what you’re doing now. More administrative, right?”
Time to change the subject. “How’s Dad doing?”
“He’s fine. He wanted me to remind you about coming to dinner tonight. I told you about that girl I met at church. I think you’d like her.”
“Mom—”
“You’re almost thirty. Your friend Mark already has two kids and a career where no one’s trying to kill him.”
“No one’s trying to kill me, Mom.”
“Oh? What about that last case you worked where the guy tried to run you over with the car? Or that one where—”
“I get the point.”
“I think you should take the lieutenant’s job if you pass.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And don’t forget, dinner’s at six. You promised.”
“I’ll see you tonight. Love you.” He disconnected, worried about this dinner she’d planned. The last thing he wanted was to be set up with one of her church friends, and he could well imagine the type of person she’d pick for him.
The very thought was enough to make him consider pleading illness at the last minute—something he would have tried had he thought for an instant he could get away with it.
“Hey, Al. You think you could text me, say around eight, that I have to come into work?”
“For what?”
“My mom’s trying to play matchmaker. With someone from church.”
“How do you know you won’t like her?”
“Trust me. There is no one
who attends my mother’s church worth taking a second look at. Or I’d remember.”
“Eight o’clock,” Al said, taking out his phone and setting an alarm.
“Thanks,” Casey said, putting his mother’s church dinner from his mind, and getting back to the Presidio case, sorting through his notes. Which was when Casey finally noticed the time discrepancy between when the neighbor, Marcie, said she left, and the time that Trudy was killed. “Hey, Al. You know how Marcie said she left at seven?”
“What about it?” he said, his fingers clicking away on his keyboard, his attention focused on his computer screen.
“How is it she got there after Trudy was killed, when everyone seems to confirm that Trudy left at least five minutes after Marcie?”
Al stopped typing and looked up at Casey. “You caught that, did you?” Al picked up his notebook, turned a few pages and showed it to Casey. Down at the bottom, next to Marcie’s name, he’d circled “7:00” and scrawled, “time discrepancy” right over the top of it.
“You could have said something.”
“Could’ve,” Al replied. “But that’s part of the learning curve. Wanted to see not only when you noticed, but what you plan to do about it.”
“Go talk to her, of course.”
“Is that it?”
“Check with her husband and Trudy’s husband. Find out if there was a mistake.”
“Good start. For textbook thinking. A good investigator’s also going to be looking outside the box. And for the record, I hear they’re big on that sort of thing in promotional interviews. In case you plan on going to one anytime soon. So what else would you do?”
Casey leaned back in his chair, trying not to look at his calendar, knowing he only had five days until the promotional. “Find out why it would take her longer?”
“How?”
He turned to his computer, but before he even brought up the map, he realized the answer. “Run it myself.”
The Last Good Place Page 8