Tracy didn’t immediately respond because, for once, Nolasco made sense. For once, she couldn’t dispute what he was saying. She thought of Dan, and the ring on her finger. She thought of a baby, in a stroller, maybe a little girl.
She spoke softly. “When it’s my case, it is my responsibility.”
“But this wasn’t your case,” Nolasco said, his voice also measured. “Not anymore.”
“It was my case. It should have remained our case. The body was found in our county, in our jurisdiction. We never should have given it up.”
“I know you don’t think I went to bat for you, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince you otherwise. That is not your—or my—decision to make. Sometimes we just have to bite our tongues and follow orders.”
“Why do you think Pierce County fought so hard to get this case back?” she asked.
Nolasco looked confused by the question. “They had it originally; they had time and manpower invested in it.”
“Or maybe they realize this case is going to continue to generate a lot of interest, and it could bring their entire department some much-needed positive publicity.”
From the blank expression on Nolasco’s face, he clearly hadn’t considered this and now wished he had.
“But that doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. “It’s Pierce County’s opportunity now.”
Tracy provided Nolasco with the additional information Martinez had requested. By the time she got back to her cubicle, it was clear word had spread around the section fishbowl that something was up. Tracy said the meeting was to ensure a smooth transition of the investigation to Pierce County. No one was buying her explanation, though most took the hint she wasn’t going to say anything more.
As for Kins, Faz, and Del, she suggested they step outside. Tracy led them around the corner of the building to a patio partially shaded by an overhang. A fountain trickled water over marble levels, like a river. Tracy filled them in on the meeting in the conference room.
“I don’t want you taking the blame for something I did,” Faz said.
“Something we did,” Del said.
“I asked you guys to do it.”
“Bullshit,” Faz said. “Nobody tells me to do nothing I don’t want to do.”
“We’re big boys,” Del said. “And we’ve been at this longer than you. They can’t suspend us all.”
“Look, I appreciate the support, but I made the decision to go and talk to the aunt and I understood the potential consequences.”
“What the hell is Fields’s problem?” Kins asked.
“I told you I didn’t like that guy,” Tracy said.
“I’m going to call Nik and tell him the situation. He’ll get the name of the skip tracer he spoke with,” Faz said. “You don’t want to get in trouble for refusing an order from a superior officer. They’ll charge you with insubordination, and they take that shit seriously. The other stuff is all bullshit. OPA will slap you on the wrist and it’ll blow over—if they go to OPA at all. I doubt they will.”
“I appreciate that, Faz,” Tracy said.
“What the hell?” Kins said. He took a step closer. “Is that a ring on your finger?” He reached for her hand. “That’s a diamond.”
Tracy held up her hand. “Dan proposed last night.”
“It’s about freaking time,” Del said.
“And you had to deal with this crap this morning?” Kins said.
“It is what it is,” she said, feeling surprisingly calm about the situation, even about Fields. Maybe it was just the afterglow of the best night of her life, or the thought that she and Dan were getting married. Or maybe it was something said by the most unlikely person she would have ever expected to impart wisdom. Maybe Nolasco was right, for once. Maybe she needed a way to shut out the job. Maybe she was being selfish. It was no longer just about her. Her decisions could now impact Dan and, someday, possibly their children.
Tracy worked her assault-and-battery and other felony cases until the end of her shift, shut off her computer, and pushed back her chair.
“You heading home?” Kins said.
“Yeah, I thought I’d make Dan dinner for a change.”
“I talked to Shannah,” Kins said. “She wants to have you and Dan over for a little celebration.”
“I got a better idea,” Faz said, standing up from his chair and slipping on his sport coat. “An evening meal hosted by yours truly and cooked by the greatest Italian chef who ever lived, my wife.”
“I’m in,” Del said without hesitation. “Vera’s cooking? Don’t get in my way, Fazio.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Tracy said. “Maybe you should talk to her.”
“Are you kidding? The only thing Vera loves better than cooking is sharing the food with friends. How about tomorrow night?”
“I’m off tomorrow, but let me talk to Dan,” Tracy said.
“I can do tomorrow,” Kins said.
“I can do any night of the week Vera’s cooking,” Del said.
“All right, then. Let’s do it tomorrow night,” Faz said. “I’ll check with Vera and you check with Dan.”
On her drive home, Tracy took a circuitous route. She wanted to take pictures of the Alki Point Lighthouse and the restaurant, something to commemorate the evening. She’d left her phone at home last evening, when Dan had proposed, thinking they were going for a walk with the dogs.
She stopped at the restaurant, taking pictures of its exterior from the sidewalk. As she turned to get back in the cab of her truck, she spotted an aluminum boat skipping across the water, and it made her think again of Kurt Schill. The young man had gotten the scare of a lifetime when he pulled up the crab pot and saw a human hand.
That thought made her recall her dream.
And what had been bothering her hit her like a dart between the eyes.
CHAPTER 24
The A Team gathered the following evening at Faz’s home in Green Lake, a middle-class neighborhood north of downtown Seattle that derived its name from a centrally located, natural lake. Faz had once told Tracy he and Vera borrowed $30,000 from Vera’s parents in the 1970s for a down payment to buy their two-story, 2,000-square-foot Craftsman home, and that the high interest rates of the 1980s had nearly bankrupted them. Now, with housing prices again soaring in Seattle, Faz was counting on the equity in the house to fund their retirement.
In addition to cooking, Vera’s other passion was gardening. She’d cultivated an English country garden in the front and back yards with stone paths, rambling rosebushes, climbing plants, and dozens of perennials that would have impressed the queen of England. Tracy had never seen it, but Faz had mentioned it, saying, “I like it because I don’t have to mow a lawn.”
Vera had ceded to Del’s request and cooked her famous lasagna. The seven of them—Del was divorced—sat around a simple dining room table beneath the muted lighting of a candelabra chandelier hanging from a box-beam ceiling. Tracy had worried Dan might feel out of place with a bunch of cops and their spouses, but the conversation had rarely strayed to work. Chianti and Merlot flowed liberally, and they ate in a dining room of dark wood walls and burgundy drapes that made Tracy feel as though she’d been transported to a home in a small Italian village. She had expected Vera to be exhausted waiting on them, and was surprised to find it was Faz who brought out the food and refilled their glasses, all done with a white dish towel over his right shoulder. It was clear he was proud of his wife and his home, and he considered it special to have them all together.
When their plates were filled with thick wedges of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread, Faz remained standing.
“Will you sit down, Fazio? I’m like a dog with a bone that I can’t eat here,” Del said.
“Hold on. Hold on. Vera and I got something we’d like to do.” Faz turned to Tracy and Dan. “When we got married, Vera’s father gave us this blessing. Now we pass it on to the two of you.”
Vera reached behind her and handed Tracy a basket contai
ning a wrapped loaf of her homemade bread, a glass container of salt, and a bottle of wine. “The bread is so that you may never know hunger,” she said. “The salt is so that your marriage will always have flavor. The wine is so you will always have something to celebrate.”
Faz raised his glass. His eyes watered. “May you have many years together, and may the Lord bless you with happiness and prosperity. Salute!”
They raised their glasses and drank. Kins too wiped his eyes with his napkin.
“Look at all these big homicide detectives crying,” Shannah said, dabbing the corners of her eyes.
Tracy pushed back her chair and stood. “At the risk of killing Del . . . ,” she said.
Del smiled. “You go right ahead,” he said.
She took a breath, fighting her emotions, which the events of the past two days had put to the test. “You all know that I lost my family at a very young age. I’ve lived alone a good portion of my life, and at times I felt like I was alone—until I made my way to the seventh floor. You people have been like family to me, treated me like family. I don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t have you in my life. So I just want to raise a glass to all of you and say, ‘Thank you.’”
For a moment no one spoke. Vera raised her glass. “Salute,” she said.
“Salute,” the others said.
“Can we eat now?” Del said, drawing laughter.
They ate everything Vera and Faz put on the table, and it was quite the meal. By the time they reached dessert, homemade cannoli, Tracy felt full. “I’ll just have a bite of Dan’s,” she said when Faz handed her the plate.
“Get used to that, Dan,” Faz said. “She’ll tell you she’s full, then she’ll eat your dessert.”
“When have I ever eaten your dessert?” Vera said.
“Are you kidding me? How many times have I heard, ‘I’ll just take a bite’ and next thing I know, my plate is clean. Last week I ordered tiramisu. I got one bite.”
“Tiramisu is my favorite,” Vera said, giving Dan a wink. “Who wants coffee?”
“I’ll help you clear the plates,” Shannah said.
“I will too,” Tracy said, but Dan stood first. “Talk with your friends. I’ll clear.”
Vera gave a small hoot. “I like him, Tracy. A man who helps in the kitchen is usually even better in the bedroom.”
That comment brought more laughter. When the four of them were alone, Tracy said, “I hate to bring up work, but something has come up.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Kins said.
She looked at him like he was crazy. “No. Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. I know Dan’s made a good living and you don’t have to put up with the bullshit anymore.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “It’s about Andrea Strickland.”
“What about her?” Faz said.
“I don’t think she’s the woman in the crab pot.”
Faz lowered his glass of port wine. “What do you mean you don’t think she’s the woman in the pot?”
Tracy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s her in the crab pot.”
The three men looked dumbstruck.
“Why not?” Kins asked. “Who the hell would it be?”
“When I first got there, to the beach, the kid who pulled up the pot—”
“Kurt Schill,” Kins said.
“Right. He said he thought the body in the pot was a woman, though he’d only had a glimpse of her hand before towing it back to shore. I asked him how he knew and he said, ‘Her fingernails are painted.’”
“Bright blue,” Kins said.
“Right. But when I talked to Andrea Strickland’s aunt, she told me Andrea compulsively bit her fingernails, so much so that they bled.”
“They could be fake,” Faz said. “Or she could have stopped.”
Tracy shook her head. “I asked Funk. The nails were real. And if you’ve ever met anyone who compulsively bites their fingernails, you know it’s as difficult a habit to stop as smoking.”
“Got an aunt that was a nail-biter,” Del said. “After so many years it chipped her front tooth.”
They all sat back, silent, considering the information. Kins said, “So if it’s not Strickland, who do you think it is?”
“I think it could be the friend. I think it could be Devin Chambers. She disappeared the same time as Andrea and they were about the same height and weight, similar hair coloring.”
“Shit,” Del said. “This is going to complicate things.”
“We don’t know nothing yet,” Faz said. “So then, what? Andrea Strickland is dead somewhere on that mountain?”
“Don’t know,” Tracy said.
“You think the husband killed Chambers?” Del asked.
“Again, too early to know. What we do know is the woman in the pot was changing her appearance, and likely using the money to do it. If Chambers knew about the money, I could see why she’d want to change her appearance.”
“So, what then? She and the husband were working together, and he double-crosses her and kills her?” Del asked.
“Possibility,” Tracy said. “If he used the private investigator to find her, it would explain why he gave him the name Devin Chambers and asked him to try to hunt her down, and why she was changing her appearance and clearly on the run.”
“She wanted the money,” Del said.
“She didn’t need to run away to get the money,” Tracy said. “If she is the woman in the crab pot, she had to know about the alias, Lynn Hoff. And she had to know the bank accounts were in that name, and the passwords. She had to be running for some other reason.”
“She thinks the husband is going to kill her,” Faz said. “Got to be.”
Tracy nodded. “Maybe. But remember, Andrea Strickland told her boss she thought her husband was having another affair. What if the person he was having the affair with was Devin Chambers?”
“I thought they were friends,” Kins said.
“Exactly. What if Andrea Strickland found out her best friend is sleeping with her husband? The counselor I spoke with said Andrea could become vindictive, maybe even violent. What if the victim isn’t the victim at all? What if the victim is the killer?”
Again, they all sat pondering the ramifications of what Tracy was telling them.
“We don’t have the case no more,” Faz finally said.
“And if I go to Fields, especially without something more, he’ll just run to his boss and say I stole his toys from the sandbox again,” Tracy said.
“So we need to be sure,” Kins said.
“Funk took DNA from the corpse and Melton ran it through CODIS,” Tracy said, referring to Mike Melton, head of the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab. The prior night, she’d thought through how they could be certain.
“So they have the profile in their system,” Faz said.
“And Strickland has an aunt in San Bernardino,” Tracy said.
“And Chambers has a sister somewhere in New Jersey,” Faz said, sitting up and getting animated. “Shit, we could do this. Would Melton run the DNA?”
“If we can get DNA from the aunt and the sister, we can send it to a private testing lab,” Tracy said.
“I got an uncle served on the force back in Trenton for forty-five years,” Faz said. “I can ask him for a favor.”
“And I have a relationship with the aunt,” Tracy said.
“Yeah, but you’d still have to get Mike to release the victim’s profile to the private lab,” Del said.
Tracy shook her head. “No, I just need Mike to send me the profile. I can send it to the lab.”
“But what then?” Kins asked. “Say we get the tests and they prove it’s not Strickland and it is Chambers. Then what? Where do we go from there?”
“If we get the test and prove it isn’t Strickland and it is Chambers, I go to Martinez and Nolasco and tell them.”
“No offense, but that didn’t work too well for you last time, Profes
sor,” Faz said, using Tracy’s nickname.
“If the woman in the pot turns out to not be Andrea Strickland, this case is going to generate even more media attention than it already has. It will become a national story. I don’t think the brass is going to risk the publicity they could cultivate from a national story about dedicated police detectives doing their jobs to solve a horrific crime, just to make an example of us,” Tracy said.
“Especially if we’re right,” Kins said. “They’d have a public relations nightmare.”
“Besides,” Tracy said, not able to fully suppress a smile as she looked at each of them. “If the woman in the pot is not Andrea Strickland, then Pierce County no longer has jurisdiction.”
Kins sat back, slowly shaking his head and chuckling. Faz and Del caught on. Soon they were all laughing.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Kins said. “When did you figure that out?”
“Last night.”
Faz raised his glass of port. “Are we going to do this?”
Del raised his glass. “Hell, yeah, I’m in.”
“Me too,” Kins said, his glass joining the other two. “If there’s positive publicity to be had, yours truly can use it.”
Tracy looked at them but did not raise her glass. She did not want them in trouble for something she had done. “Faz, you’re close to retirement. Del, you have alimony, and Kins, you have three boys.”
“You said we were family,” Faz said. “This is what family does. We do dumbass shit, but we do it together.”
CHAPTER 25
Securing the DNA samples had not been as simple as Tracy would have otherwise predicted. When Tracy called Penny Orr the following day, Saturday, the woman had responded to Tracy’s name with caution.
Tracy had given considerable thought to her approach before calling. You didn’t just tell a relative over the phone that the niece she thought had died—not once, but twice—might still be alive. You never gave them that kind of hope until you were certain. Tracy had hoped for twenty years, against all reason and odds, that they’d find Sarah alive someday. Even after she’d become a homicide detective and knew that the chances of Sarah being alive were infinitesimally small, she clung to the thought that her sister would beat the odds—so much so that when they did find Sarah’s remains, it had devastated her.
The Trapped Girl (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 4) Page 23