The Rogue Element (Scott Priest Book 1)

by John Hardy Bell

  “.357 from the sound of the pop.”

  “Had to be. I was too busy ducking to get a clear beat on it. He took a second shot, and by the time I got to my piece he was in the car.”

  “It would have been easier for him to just come out and tell us that he was Marisol’s killer.”

  “No joke,” Kimball said with a light chuckle.

  A noise from the back door quickly put us both back on edge.

  “Everything okay here?”

  “We’re fine,” I assured Krieger as he and Parsons stepped through the door. “He took a couple of shots at Nate before he jumped in his car.”

  “Do we have a beat on him?” a breathless Parsons asked.

  Kimball took out his cell phone. “A black Durango is the best I can do. I’m calling it in now.”

  While Kimball stepped aside to make the call, I made my way into the apartment building. “We’ll get some units out here to keep watch on the place and hopefully track down the SUV. In the meantime, let’s have a chat with the apartment manager.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I’d love to say that he was one of those quiet tenants who mostly kept to himself, paid the rent on time, and helped the little old ladies with their groceries. But that would be a crock of shit.” Melinda Abrams, the manager of the Woodland Oak apartment complex, clearly wasn’t prone to mincing words when it came to Arturo Sandoval. “He paid his rent on time for the most part. But beyond that, he’s been nothing but a thorn in my side.”

  “So this isn’t the first run-in he’s had with cops around here?” I asked.

  “God no. Between him, his degenerate meth-head friends, and his pooh-butt girlfriends, there’d be a cop on the premises at least once every couple months.”

  “Violence?”

  “Lots of disturbing the peace type stuff. Loud music waking up the neighbors, yelling that lasted for hours, but never anything that kept him locked up. What do you guys want him for?”

  I looked at Kimball. He didn’t hesitate to answer.

  “Information in connection to a murder investigation. Oh, and for shooting at me.”

  Melinda’s brittle, pale skin lost another shade. “You mean he actually killed someone?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out,” I answered.

  Her eyes widened with intrigue. “Fuckin’ A, that’s crazy. Who was it?”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I pulled out my notepad. “Right now we have to focus on finding him. Anything you can tell us about his background would be helpful. Family, close friends, contact info of references from his apartment application.”

  Melinda bit down on her chapped lower lip as she searched her memory. “I don’t know the names of any of the losers he hung out with. He doesn’t have any family, at least none that I’ve ever met. And the application process around here is kinda loose, so there wouldn’t be any references.”

  Kimball’s irritation was starting to bubble. “So as far as what you know about the guy, he might as well be a ghost.”

  “All that we’re required to have on file is our tenant’s job information and habitation status. The other details don’t really concern us.”

  The group collectively sighed at the dead end we suddenly realized was ahead of us.

  “Sandoval was employed at the Four Seasons as a night maintenance worker,” Parsons said with a huff. “That’s the one thing we do know about him.”

  “The Four Seasons?” Melinda asked with a quizzical look. “For how long?”

  “Three months,” Parsons reported.

  “Well ain’t that a step up. I’m shocked that he passed the background check.”

  “A step up?” Kimball asked. “Where did he work before?”

  “Last job I had listed for him was as a private landscaper. Contracted for one of the richies in Cherry Hills Village.”

  This news had barely registered as a blip on the group’s radar screen. For me it was like a punch in the stomach.

  “Do you happen to have the name of this Cherry Hills richie?” I asked Melinda with a forced composure.

  “Not off the top of my head. I can grab it out of the file though.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kimball insisted.

  “Indulge me, Nate,” I said.

  Melinda put her hands on her bony hips. “So am I getting it or not?”

  Kimball looked at her and shrugged. “I guess you are.”

  I didn’t say anything until Melinda returned, afraid that if I revealed any aspect of my theory it would compel me to reveal the whole thing. Fortunately, no one asked.

  Melinda was reading the paper as she walked back in the room. “Oliver and Bethany Brandt is the name of the couple he worked for. 78244 Ridgeway Road. I have their phone number too if you need it.”

  The group remained silent, compelled now more by shock than bored indifference.

  “I’d love a copy of that if you can manage it,” I said.

  “I have photocopies in the drawer, so you can have this one,” Melinda said as she handed me the page.

  I nodded my thanks and gave her my card with the instruction to call the police if she had even the slightest suspicion that Arturo might return. She seemed downright exhilarated by the prospect.

  “I’ll help in whatever way I can, officers. ‘Bout time somebody locks that psycho up.”

  With that, the cavalry followed me single-file out of the building. No one said a word.

  CHAPTER 8

  An APB immediately went out for Arturo Sandoval and his black Dodge Durango, with a still image from the hotel surveillance tape and a previous mug shot going out to media outlets across the state. According to the official police statement, Arturo was a person of interest in the Marisol Alvarez homicide. According to Detective Nathan Kimball, he was the man who tried to render his two sons fatherless. For that, there would most certainly be hell to pay.

  Aside from an open box of .357 Mag rounds, a search of Arturo’s apartment turned up nothing useful. There were no pictures or other correspondence that would have pointed to a connection to Marisol. No sign of the clothes he was wearing on camera the night before. No bloodstained knife soaking in the kitchen sink.

  Uniform patrols would continue scouring the area on the off-chance Arturo would be stupid enough to come back. I knew he wouldn’t be that stupid, which meant our best chance would be the $5,000 carrot we were dangling from the crime-stoppers tip line. A payday like that meant that the backstabbers were already sharpening their knives.

  Krieger and Parsons made their way back to HQ while I stuck around the apartment complex, waiting for Kimball to fill out the incident report on his run-in with Arturo. I knew what the conversation was going to be once he finished, yet the time spent imagining it did nothing to prepare me for what I would actually say.

  The fact that Arturo had worked for Brandt was significant. First off, it created another solid connection between him and Marisol. But it also pulled Commander Brandt that much deeper into the investigation. Given his apparent disdain for the household help, he had most likely never spoken a word to Arturo that didn’t involve an opinion on the way his grass was cut, but that wouldn’t matter one bit, especially to the media sharks like Kyle McKenna. At best, she would find a way to turn this story into yet another unfair black-eye for the department. At worst…

  I wasn’t willing to go there quite yet.

  As Kimball approached, it was obvious that his aggravation with the day’s turn of events had yet to subside. “Can we get the hell out of here already?”

  “Way ahead of you, my man.”

  I held my breath for the entire walk to the car.

  *****

  “You knew that Arturo worked for Commander Brandt, didn’t you?” Kimball asked as he choked the steering wheel.

  “Yes I did.”

  “May I ask how you knew?”

  “Marisol Alvarez’s daughters.”

  Kimball looked at me with confused eyes. “What w
ould they know about it?”

  “During the interview they revealed that their mom worked as Brandt’s housekeeper. More specifically his wife’s housekeeper. After I learned this, I did a quick search for the Brandt residence and came up with a Cherry Hills Village address. The same one Melinda Abrams just gave us. It didn’t take a degree in astrophysics to put it together from there.”

  “And when were you planning on telling me all this?”

  “There really wasn’t any time before now.” That was technically true, but I would have found any excuse possible to put off the conversation.

  Kimball tightened his grip on the wheel. “Well ain’t this a kick in the head.”

  “And we haven’t even dealt with the worst part yet.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Alvarez girls despised Brandt, to the point that they suspected he had something to do with their mother’s murder.”

  “Tell me you didn’t entertain that nonsense.”

  “Of course I didn’t, but the perception is out there, and not just with Marisol’s daughters. After I finished up with them, I ran into Kyle McKenna. She didn’t come right out and say it, but she’s barking up the same tree.”

  “She’s always barking up some tree,” Kimball sniffed. “Who gives a damn what she thinks?”

  “More people than we want to admit to, which is why we have to be proactive about this.”

  “Meaning?”

  Here it was. The part I dreaded. “I’d like to start by talking to Mrs. Brandt.”

  Kimball’s grunt was about as loud as I expected it would be.

  “Trust me Nate I’m not happy about it either. But we have to clear the bases on this, if for no other reason than to spare her the possibility of being ambushed by some reporter without the first clue as to what’s going on.”

  “Why not just brief the commander and call it good?”

  “We can do that too, but Bethany Brandt is the one who actually had the working relationship with Marisol. The same was probably true with Arturo. She could speak better to what kind of people they were, and what relationship, if any, they may have had. If this thing plays out the way we think it will, the Brandt’s are going to be a part of the story anyway. All we’re doing is getting a sense of how big that part will be.”

  Kimball was quiet for a long time before responding. “This is some murky-ass territory, Scott.”

  “You have history with Commander Brandt, so I get that you want to walk this rope carefully. If you would prefer that I visit Mrs. Brandt alone…”

  “It’s not that.”

  I stared at him in anticipation of a response that he was hesitant to give. “What is it?”

  “You know IA has been riding his ass about Chloe and Walter, right?”

  “I’ve heard the rumbles.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s more than rumbles. Rumor is they have records that prove the commander was on the phone with Walter the moment he was shot. There’s also a statement from Chloe saying she witnessed Walter in a heated exchange with Brandt outside the commander’s office less than an hour before. That statement has been sealed, and Chloe hasn’t been willing to talk about it.”

  I sniffed loudly, a nervous tick I’ve had since I was a kid. I was familiar with the accusations the same as everyone else in the department. And like everyone else I wanted nothing more than to dismiss them. Then I had a meeting with Lieutenant Hitchcock and a representative from the Attorney General’s office, and suddenly I couldn’t dismiss anything.

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that they’re going after the commander with both barrels, and its bullshit. He and Detective Graham go back twenty-five years, yet they’re trying to say that the commander is covering up something in connection to his murder. It’s ridiculous to the point of being laughable, but it’s not stopping them. What do you think they’re going to do when they learn that he’s connected not only to Marisol Alvarez, but also to the man who is the prime suspect in her murder?”

  “I could give two shits about what those idiots do.”

  Kimball’s brow furrowed. “Some of us can’t afford to be that nonchalant about it.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “I think we have to circle the wagons around Brandt.”

  “By doing what?”

  “Burying the Alvarez connection.”

  I winced at the pain as my heart began a slow descent into my stomach. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Nate that’s completely unnecessary. The chances of the connection between Marisol, Arturo, and the Brandt’s being anything beyond business are slim to nonexistent. If we start burying stuff that doesn’t need to be buried, then we’re asking for trouble. If, on the other hand, we get out in front of this thing by addressing it before anyone else does, the story dies the natural death that it’s supposed to.”

  “You obviously don’t know how internal investigations work around here,” Kimball replied in a dismissive tone that I didn’t appreciate.

  “Well apparently you do. So educate me.”

  The skin in Kimball’s jaw bulged before he took a deep breath to settle himself. “No reason to get heated. We obviously want the same thing.”

  “You sure about that?” I asked; still feeling rather heated.

  We stopped at a red light just in time for Kimball to look me square in the eye. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Then you won’t have any problem paying Bethany Brandt a visit.”

  Kimball held his eye contact as the light turned green. I could only hope we were looking upon each other as the allies that we had always been.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Mindful that an unannounced visit by a homicide detective was the worst nightmare of any cop’s family, I called the downtown offices of Brandt Architecture and Design ahead of our visit. We promptly changed course upon learning that Bethany Brandt was spending the day working out of her Cherry Hills home office.

  “You think they’ll pat us down before letting us through the gates?” I asked in an attempt to cut the tension that had settled over us.

  A half-smile briefly infiltrated Kimball’s face. “I’ve heard the country-clubbers have a real problem with you sandy-blond types, so I’d say it’s a good possibility.”

  I chuckled with relief at the reappearance of the Kimball that I knew and loved. I couldn’t understand where the paranoia over Brandt and Internal Affairs was coming from. Of everyone I knew on the force, Kimball was usually the last one to weigh himself down with the politics of the department. He hated spending time at HQ almost as much as I did, and hated rubbing shoulders with the brass even more. From where I stood, Brandt was part of the brass, and protecting the brass was not part of my job description. I had assumed it wasn’t part of Kimball’s either.

  Then again, the list of things I was wrong about only seemed to grow as the day went on.

  Entry into the Brandt’s gated community wasn’t nearly as formidable as I had speculated, though the gatekeeper – a middle-aged man in a blue polo shirt and crisply-pressed khakis – did have to check our names against a clipboard ledger before we were permitted inside.

  “Just follow the signs and stay to the left, detectives. Mrs. Brandt is expecting you.”

  Her massive corner lot did not betray the excessive formalities that we had to endure for the mere privilege of laying eyes on it. The house itself looked like something out of the antebellum south, with its low-hanging magnolia trees, grand columns and old-fashioned wrap-around porch. Kimball drove slowly up the veranda, parking his DPD Homicide Edition Ford Taurus behind a cream-colored Cadillac Escalade.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the rarified air of my surroundings or the fact that I was about to have a personal and very uncomfortable conversation with a woman I’d never met, but I suddenly didn’t want to be here.

  “Hey, don’t go getting all wet in the diapers now,” Ki
mball chided, obviously noticing my change in demeanor. “This was your bright idea.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I insisted as I wrung my numb hands. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  After all the talk of housekeepers and gardeners, I couldn’t hide my surprise when Bethany Brandt answered her own door.

  “You must be Detectives Kimball and Priest.”

  Kimball smiled politely and extended his hand. “That’s right ma’am. I’m Detective Nathan Kimball, this is Detective Scott Priest.”

  Bethany’s smile was equally polite as she shook our hands. “Bethany Brandt. Normally the sight of two detectives at my front door would be cause for a great deal of consternation. I appreciate you calling ahead.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Brandt. The last thing we wanted to do was alarm you.”

  “As I said, I appreciate it. Still, I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit.”

  One glance was all it took to know that the woman was all business. Her wide brown eyes framed a soft, inviting face, with none of the aloof air that one normally associated with the super-rich. But the strength of her presence was overwhelming. Even dressed as she currently was in a soft-knit white blouse and dark-washed denim jeans, she could walk into any station of life anywhere in the world and take full command of it. She was as breathtaking as the lavish wealth surrounding her, and I knew that I had to gather myself quickly if I hoped to conduct anything approaching a professional interview.

  “Unfortunately it isn’t,” I said after I finally swallowed the lump in my throat. “We’d like to ask you some questions about a woman who used to work for you.”

  Bethany’s attractive face dropped. “I figured as much. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Marisol since I heard about her this morning. Please, come in.”

  We followed her through a marble-floored foyer into the home office.