“Based on what I’ve seen so far, they did,” Faz said. “At least she did when she was still alive. If it hadn’t been for the timing of the withdrawals, I would have said it was her, that she’d thought this whole thing through.”
“Except the part about her getting killed,” Del said.
“Yeah, well,” Faz said.
Johnny Nolasco walked into their bull pen. His appearance had the same effect as a parent walking into a room full of teenagers. Everyone stopped talking. He looked to Tracy. “I didn’t get a statement for the brass or the PIO,” he said.
“We had interviews early this morning down in Portland.”
“I could have saved you the drive,” Nolasco said. “Pierce County Prosecutor is reasserting jurisdiction.”
“What?” Tracy said, thinking they were just making progress and now Pierce County was going to pull the case back?
“Call came in about an hour ago.”
“Who made that decision?” Tracy asked.
“Someone higher up the food chain than me.”
“What was their rationale?” Kins asked.
“They have an open investigation and they’re farther down the path.”
“They had a missing persons case,” Tracy said. “This is a homicide—in our jurisdiction.”
“That’s not how they see it. The way they see it, the husband was the prime suspect and remains the prime suspect.”
“And they did virtually nothing to prove it. The body was found in our jurisdiction,” Tracy said. “Why the hell should we give it back to them?”
“The body was found with a bullet in the back of her head, which means it could have been a body dump,” Nolasco said, referring to cases in which the person is killed in one jurisdiction but the body dumped and found in another.
Tracy seethed, suspecting that SPD—Nolasco—had not fought for jurisdiction. The police department in the jurisdiction where a body was dumped was often more than happy to give it up, especially if it appeared that the case would be difficult to solve and would go on the department’s books as an unsolved homicide. “Who cares? It was dumped in our jurisdiction. We have it and we’re working it.”
“At the very least it should be a joint investigation,” Kins said.
“Come on, Sparrow,” Nolasco said. “She was a resident of Portland and she disappeared in Pierce County. Whatever information exists on the victim is going to most likely be in their jurisdiction.”
“This is such bullshit,” Tracy said. “She didn’t disappear in Pierce County. She was pulled up in a crab pot in King County.”
“You want to tell the brass that?”
“Why don’t you tell the brass that?” she said, no longer trying to hide her anger. “That’s your job.”
Nolasco’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “I’d suggest you stop making every case about every young woman personal. It clouds your judgment.”
“My judgment is fine. What I want is jurisdiction.”
“Whoa,” Kins said. “Let’s all take a second here. I think what Tracy is trying to say, Captain, is that we’ve made progress, and we hate to give that up.”
“Write it up and send it down to Pierce County, Sparrow. This is not our headache anymore. Wrap up what you have going on and send everything down.” Nolasco paused and looked around the cubicle. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yeah,” Kins said.
Nolasco looked to Del and Faz, who reluctantly nodded. Then he looked to Tracy. “Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand, but I heard what you said.”
“Then finish up what you’re working on and leave this case alone.”
Tracy spent the rest of the afternoon fuming. She left the office as soon as her shift ended, her anger building as she drove across the West Seattle Bridge. Dan was out in front of her house, dressed in running shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. He held two leashes, Rex and Sherlock prancing and playing. Tracy was glad to see him. Dan had a way of making her forget work when she came home.
Tracy lowered her window as she turned into the driveway. “You coming or going?”
“Are you kidding? I’d never look this fresh if I were coming.” Dan approached the driver’s side and they kissed. “I didn’t expect you home this early.”
“Yeah, neither did I.”
He stepped back. “Uh-oh, what happened?”
“Give me five minutes to change and I’ll tell you on the run. I need to burn off some anger.”
Tracy quickly went inside and left all her clothes on the bed. She changed into her running gear and bolted out the door. Dan, stretching, had the leashes tied to the wrought-iron fence.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“You want time to stretch?” he asked.
She took Sherlock’s leash and walked down the block.
“I guess not,” Dan said, chasing after her.
They walked down the hill to Harbor Way; running downhill was hard on the dogs and on their knees. Then they ran north, along the beach, past the restaurants and storefronts in the direction of Alki Point. It was a glorious afternoon, the temperature having cooled to the mid-eighties, and many people had come out to enjoy the weather. The beaches and restaurants were crowded and white sails filled Elliott Bay.
“You weren’t kidding about the pace,” Dan said, huffing and puffing. “We might kill Rex and Sherlock.”
Tracy checked her watch. She’d been running at a six-minute, fifteen-second-per-mile clip. She rarely ran seven-minute miles since turning forty. “Sorry,” she said, easing off. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, I’m good now,” Dan said, after they slowed the pace. “Let’s catch our breath at the lighthouse.”
Just before the Alki Point Lighthouse, they stopped and took in a view Tracy still found as spectacular as any she’d ever seen—Elliott Bay a rich blue, the Seattle skyline sparkling in the glint of the sun, ferries crossing. The view, and the run, had helped ease her displeasure with Nolasco. At least she no longer wanted to rip his face off.
Dan wiped perspiration from his face with his shirt and continued to catch his breath. “You didn’t say why you’re home early, but I’m guessing you’re not happy about it.”
“We lost the woman-in-the-crab-pot case.”
“Lost it?”
“Pierce County reasserted jurisdiction and we gave it back to them.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What really irritates me is I’m sure Nolasco didn’t go to bat for us, didn’t even fight to keep it.”
Dan gave her time to vent. Then he said, “Well, look, it’s not often we get to enjoy an early evening like this. Why don’t we focus on that?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
Dan eyed her. “You’re not going to be okay with this, are you?”
“Not for a while.”
“Tracy, I know what happened to Sarah makes these cases difficult—”
“Dan, please. That’s not it, okay?”
“It’s not?”
“No.” She paced, frustrated and angry. “Okay, maybe it’s a part of it, but . . . the victim was thirteen when her parents died. Then she marries a guy who treats her like a doormat, maybe even shoots her in the head and dumps her into the Sound like bait. We make progress, and when we do, Pierce County, which from what I can tell did nothing when they had the case, jumps in and takes it back—and we let them. It’s just not right.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, “but sometimes you’ve got to let things go, Tracy. It’s like my dad used to say. If you take this shit to heart, you die with a heart full of shit.”
“That’s a beautiful thought, Dan. Very poetic.” She stopped pacing and stared across the water to the skyscrapers.
Dan smiled. “Simple man, simple words, but you can’t argue with the logic.”
A thought had come to Tracy on her drive home, and it returned now as she stared out at the view. Nolasco had said to finish up what they
were working on before sending down the file. “Are you still going to Los Angeles tomorrow morning?”
“Bright and early.”
“I’m thinking of putting in for a personal day and going with you. We could make a weekend out of it.”
“I’m definitely in favor of that,” Dan said. “I’ll be tied up most of tomorrow in court though.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Tracy said. “I’ll find things to do.”
“You see, you’re already making lemonade out of lemons.”
“You sound like a character from Annie. Please don’t start singing ‘The sun will come out tomorrow.’”
Dan laughed and sang, “The sun’ll come out . . .”
“God help us,” Tracy said, sprinting in the opposite direction.
At home, they filled large bowls of water for Rex and Sherlock and gave them each soup bones from the butcher to keep them occupied. Then they jumped in the shower, followed by a short nap.
When Dan awoke, he rolled toward her. She had not slept.
“You want to go out to dinner?” he asked.
Tracy’s mind continued to churn through her conversation with Brenda Berg. Berg said that she’d invested in her career but now she couldn’t imagine her life without her daughter. Kins had been right. It had struck a chord. Of course it had. After Sarah’s disappearance and Tracy’s divorce from Benny, she had invested in becoming a homicide cop, and in trying to resolve her sister’s investigation. Before she knew it, the years had rolled by, and she was forty-three, well past the optimal age for giving birth.
She rolled on her side, her back to Dan, looking out the sliding glass doors. “Are you ever disappointed you didn’t have kids?”
Dan cleared his throat. “Where’s that coming from?”
“I interviewed a woman today who just had her first child at forty. She said she’d been focused on her career. Then she met the right guy and now she said she couldn’t imagine her life without her daughter.”
Dan propped his chin on Tracy’s shoulder and draped an arm across her body. “I don’t know. I always thought I’d have kids, so I guess not having any wasn’t exactly how I envisioned my life. Why? Do you wish you had?”
“Sometimes. Yeah, sometimes I do.”
“Where are you going with this, Ms. Crosswhite?”
She rolled onto her back, looking up at him. “I don’t know. Just thinking if I was going to have a child, it’s getting close to now or never.”
“The proverbial ticking clock.”
“I guess.”
“What about your job?” he said.
“I could take a maternity leave. And I’ve done it long enough I don’t have to do it full time anymore. Maybe work a split schedule.”
“Could you still work homicide?”
“Probably not. But I could work cold cases. Seems like I’m working cold cases anyway.”
“Is this because of what happened today, the case getting pulled?”
“No. No, I was thinking about it on the drive home from Portland.”
“Because of this woman you met?” Dan said.
“In part.”
They lay silent for a moment. Then Dan said, “Have you given any thought to who you would want to be the father?”
Tracy sat up and hit him with a pillow. “I am now.”
Dan grabbed the pillow. He wore a shit-eating grin. “I did have a vasectomy, you know. Remember, first marriage, wife didn’t want children but didn’t like the way condoms felt. I may have mentioned that.”
Though hesitant, she said, “I’ve read vasectomies can be reversed.”
“I’ve read it hurts almost as much as when you get snipped. It’s not like rubber bands down there.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
For a minute, neither spoke. Then Dan said, “But I would consider it, if that’s what you wanted.”
“You would?” she said.
He nodded. “I would, but I think we’re skipping a step, aren’t we? I mean Rex and Sherlock are already confused enough. Is their last name O’Leary, Crosswhite, O’Leary-Crosswhite?”
“It’s O’Leary,” she said. “I’m an old-fashioned girl.”
“Are you proposing to me, Tracy Crosswhite?”
“Not on your life. I may be a badass cop, but beneath this hardened exterior is a girl who wants to be swept off her feet when she’s proposed to.”
“Really? Good to know. I guess I better not disappoint.”
She snuggled closer to him, feeling the heat generated by their bodies and Dan becoming aroused. “You, Mr. O’Leary, have never disappointed.”
CHAPTER 18
As big as he was, it was easy to assume nothing scared Delmo Castigliano, but Vic Fazzio knew Superman’s kryptonite. Del was afraid of the water. Several years back, they’d had a murder investigation in which the killer broke down and told them he’d dumped his girlfriend’s body in Lake Washington. Del had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to the Harbor Patrol’s offices that morning, and Faz had later noticed him hanging back as they approached one of the police boats. Del had made it on board, but he’d broken out in a cold sweat and spent the day clinging to the rail.
The recollection came to Faz as they approached a narrow ramp leading to a dock that served as the sidewalk for some of the floating homes on Lake Union, including the home of the skip tracer they were going to visit that morning. Del stopped cold and went pale, and his complexion had nothing to do with continuing an investigation they’d been told to leave alone. As Tracy had pointed out, Nolasco had told them to wrap up what they were working on, and Faz had already set his mind on the interview.
“You all right?” Faz asked.
“I thought you said we were going to this guy’s home.”
“We are,” Faz said.
“This isn’t a home. It’s a lake. I thought when you said he had a home on Lake Union you meant he had a view.”
“Del, be honest with me, are you afraid of the water?”
Del swallowed hard and kept his gaze fixed on the catwalk. It was only ten feet long and spanned just a few feet between the dock and land, but he was staring as if it were a rickety rope bridge spanning a gorge over the Colorado River.
“I can’t swim,” he said, voice soft.
“What d’you mean, you can’t swim?”
“I mean I sink,” Del said, now sounding both agitated and embarrassed. “I mean like a stone. I go straight to the bottom.”
“You never took lessons as a kid?” Faz asked.
“My parents tried, but I couldn’t get near the water.”
“You afraid of sharks or something?”
“No, just the water surrounding the sharks.”
Faz had no phobias, but his mother had been deathly afraid of even the thought of snakes. “You want to wait in the car?”
Del shifted his gaze from the catwalk to Faz. He looked to be seriously considering the offer, but Faz knew Del wouldn’t let him do an unauthorized interview alone.
Del took a deep breath. “Just tell me the inside is more like a house than a boat.”
“Absolutely,” Faz said. “Floors and walls and everything. You don’t have to go anywhere near the water.”
“Except to cross that bridge and floating sidewalk,” Del said, his gaze again fixed on the catwalk.
“I’ll go first, okay? You just take your time.” Faz stepped onto the metal grate and proceeded across. He looked back at Del as if to demonstrate there was nothing to it. Del shuffled his feet like a man testing ice on a frozen pond, uncertain it would bear his weight. He paused when he reached the short step down to the floating dock. Faz thought it a strong possibility Del was going to turn back, but his partner mustered the courage to lower one leg, then the other.
Thankfully, the dark-stained cedar-shake home was anchored two slips from the end of the pier. Faz suspected he would have needed a towline to get Del any farther.
Outside the front door, a dozen potted p
lants seemed to have wilted beyond saving in the unseasonably warm weather. The houses on Lake Union were not like what most people thought of when they heard the term “houseboat.” Built on massive logs anchored to piers, the homes were not large in terms of square footage but had every luxury of a home, some exquisite. Their real value, however, came from spectacular views of Seattle. Some sold for as much as a couple million dollars.
“You want to have some fun?” Faz asked.
“Not really, no.” Del sounded hoarse and swayed like a drunkard fighting to keep his balance.
Faz banged hard on the front door. “Open up. Police!” He banged hard again. “Police. Open the door!”
Faz heard pounding footsteps and muffled voices from inside the house. He stepped to his right and looked between the house and its floating neighbor. A man stepped out onto the upper-story deck at the back of the house and flung the contents of a bucket—likely several prepaid phones and credit cards—into the lake. Inside, Faz could imagine Ian Nikolic’s wife getting ready to destroy their laptop computer. He hurried back to the door, banged again, and yelled, “April Fool’s!”
Seconds later the door ripped open and Nikolic looked at them with a bewildered and angry expression. Barefoot, he remained as Faz remembered him, though older now. Reed thin, he wore shorts and a ripped T-shirt. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his gray hair frazzled as if electrified.
“Damn it, Fazio! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“How much time you got?” Faz laughed. “You weren’t doing anything illegal, were you, Nik?”
Nikolic eyed Del with suspicion. “I just threw three perfectly good phones into the lake, and Marta was about to destroy my laptop.”
“You can afford it.”
Nikolic had once told Faz the police came banging on his door on a tip he’d helped a fugitive slip away. Anyone who knew Nikolic knew it to be a ruse. Nikolic refused to work with fugitives, members of organized crime, or people he suspected of stalking. Many of his clients were well known, and the information he possessed, sensitive. He made a healthy six-figure income, and the first number was not a one.
“I can afford a Ferrari too, but that doesn’t mean I want to drive it into the lake. What the hell do you want?”
The Trapped Girl (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 4) Page 16