by CJ Lyons
“Even if he hit his head accidentally, it’s still premeditated murder. It took him time to die, enough time for him to inhale some of the carbon monoxide fumes.”
She cringed. “That’s cold.”
“Exactly. I wasn’t expecting Hansen to be here, but I find it interesting, the way he won’t leave the widow’s side. Plus, he found the body—”
“Or says he did. You said Spencer had a broken neck—a chiropractor would know how to do that. He could be our killer.”
“Any of them could. I wondered if you could get a preliminary statement from the wife. She was too distraught yesterday and I need to get her on the record. Which is especially dicey since Tassi’s spiritual counselor is also her attorney. Reverend Matthew Harper.”
“Harper? As in Naomi? I met one of her brothers today, he was very helpful.”
“Well, the good reverend is her father and he’s been anything but cooperative. Obstructive is more like it—it feels like this case is personal to him somehow. Maybe because he probably helped write Standish’s confession. Not to mention, he’s the last person we know who spoke with Spencer before he died.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest, if he’s also Tassi’s attorney?” Leah asked.
“Yes. And I plan to use that to convince him to find her another attorney and talk with me. Although I’m certain he’ll hide behind attorney or minister privilege.” He blew out his breath and leaned more heavily on his crutches. “Anyway, I’m hoping if Tassi talks to you, you can pull out a few threads of truth, enough for me to run with. Otherwise, I have nowhere to start.”
Leah nodded. When she’d first taken the job as medical director of the Crisis Intervention Center, she’d been leery of working with the police. But not only did she and Luka work well together, she’d discovered that being able to console witnesses and victims, empowering them to tell their stories, was fulfilling, even if not as hands-on life-and-death thrilling as her old job in the ER.
She’d never admit it to anyone, especially not Luka, but even more exciting were times like this when her work with a witness might make or break a case, lead to justice being served. It was a feeling almost as good as saving a life.
“And if Tassi asks for an attorney?” She needed to tread carefully, given the legal minefield Luka had described. When Leah performed a forensic interview for the police, she was technically acting as an agent of the police, rather than a physician.
“Then we’ll stop and find her one. But let’s take it one step at a time.”
Taking a deep breath, Leah stepped forward into the fray. “Mrs. Standish? I’m Dr. Leah Wright—”
Before Leah could explain who she was and why she was there, Tassi lunged past the two men to grab Leah’s arms. “Please, you can’t let them cut my husband up! Please, I need to see him. Please help me!”
Twenty-Nine
Luka watched in amusement as Leah handled Tassi’s theatrics. She sat the widow back down, took a seat beside her and, after giving Tassi a few moments to vent her emotions, calmly explained why she couldn’t see her husband—and why an autopsy was required. She was smart enough not to tell the wife that the postmortem examination had already been completed.
“But I don’t want one,” Tassi replied, pulling her lip in like a pouting adolescent.
“I’m sorry, that’s the law,” Leah said in a firm yet gentle tone. “And necessary before the coroner’s office can issue a death certificate.”
Tassi hid the sharp-edged gleam in her eye, but not before Luka caught it. So this was the real motive behind her visit to the morgue. Without the death certificate she couldn’t cash in on Spencer’s insurance. But why the theatrics?
Foster Dean gave him his answer. The former DEA agent stampeded past Hansen to loom over where Tassi and Leah sat. “We need to talk,” he told Tassi, as if afraid she might be spilling her guts to Leah. Of course. If Tassi and Spencer were mixed up with the Zapata family’s money-laundering, then Tassi might possess information she could use against the cartel. Plus, she was Dean’s only surviving lead to the Zapatas’ missing money. Which told him exactly where Dean’s sympathies lay.
“Go away,” Tassi cried. She turned to Leah, clinging to her arm with both hands. “Can you make him stop harassing me? Everywhere I go, he’s there, badgering me. All I want is to mourn my husband in peace.”
Luka intervened. “Is that true?”
“I have every right to protect my clients’ interests,” Dean protested.
“That doesn’t mean you can hound me, follow me everywhere,” Tassi said. “Leave me alone, I don’t know anything!”
“Ma’am, are you accusing him of harassment?”
“Stalking is more like it.”
Hansen stepped forward, hovering protectively beside Tassi. “Can’t you arrest him, make him stop?”
Luka would love nothing more, but he needed more probable cause to make an arrest. He could however leverage Tassi’s accusations to force Dean into a serious discussion.
“I wasn’t following her,” Dean said. “I need a copy of the death certificate as well. And a definitive identification of the body. After all, Spencer faked his death once before. This time my clients need proof—”
“It was your clients who drove him to that. Otherwise they would have killed him,” Tassi flared. Then she collapsed against Leah, her eyelids fluttering shut as if she was overwhelmed.
After losing her husband she had every right to be—except that Luka felt in his bones she was merely acting. It made him angry: Tassi faking her grief while sitting beside Leah, who had suffered such agony after her own husband’s murder.
But Leah was a better person than he was. Instead of responding with contempt, she gave Tassi a quick hug of sympathy. “I also lost my husband recently.”
Tassi blinked her eyes back open. “You did?” Tears reappeared and she swiped them away. “How did you—” She sniffed. “I can’t, it’s all too much…”
“I understand.” Leah glanced at Luka.
He pivoted on his crutches to the two men. “I think we should give Tassi some privacy. And I’d like to speak with both of you.”
“I’m not leaving Tassi,” Hansen declared.
Dean planted his feet, signaling his own unwillingness to let the widow out of his sight.
Luka had no legal recourse to force them, but he did have bait to dangle. Thankfully, Leah picked up on his intentions. She stood and guided Tassi up. “Wouldn’t you prefer a more private space to talk?”
Beneath half-lowered lids, Tassi eyed the men, then nodded to Leah.
Leah laid a hand on Tassi’s arm, guiding her toward the door. “I’d like to make this as painless for you as possible. Sergeant Jericho has some details he needs, but I thought it’d be easier to talk to me? Get it all over with as quickly as we can. Then I can ask the medical examiner about the paperwork you need. Of course, we can also call your attorney, if you’d like us to wait for him.”
Luka liked how she made the choice seem easy—talk to the mean policeman or the nice doctor who might get you what you want.
Tassi seemed to realize it was her best option as well, meekly walking with Leah past the men. “No, I don’t need to call Matthew. Whatever it takes to get this all over with, that’s what I need. Where are we going?”
“Not far. Just upstairs,” Leah assured her.
Dean and Hansen seemed at a loss at first, but quickly fell in line behind the two women, both unwilling to let Tassi out of their sight. Luka hobbled behind the group as Leah escorted Tassi, Dean, and Hansen from the morgue, through the ER and into the secured CIC suite of interview rooms.
Luka was starting to see the new partnership with Leah and her CIC as his secret weapon. She’d personally facilitated a number of confessions, closing cases that he might not have been able to otherwise. He appreciated the way she treated every subject—witness, victim, or perpetrator—with the same care and consideration she’d given her patients in the ER, and as
a result, interview subjects seemed willing to talk to her even when it wasn’t necessarily in their best interests.
Waiting for him in the hallway outside the monitoring room between the CIC interview rooms were Ray and Krichek.
“Perfect timing,” Luka told them. “Ray, can you take Mr. Dean into Interview Room One, please?” It was the room filled with toys and child-sized furniture, designed for their pediatric victims. Luka rather enjoyed the idea of the oversized former fed being forced into such an unfamiliar environment. Anything to knock him off his game. “I’ll talk with Mr. Hansen in the waiting area while Dr. Wright begins with Mrs.—with Tassi,” he amended after she gave him an admonishing glance.
“Me?” Hansen asked. “I’m here for Tassi. I’d like to stay—”
“Confidentiality issues, I’m sure you understand, Dr. Hansen,” Leah interjected. Before anyone could protest, she led Tassi into the second monitored room, the lock clicking shut behind them.
Ray sized up Dean, the two exchanging the challenging grins of alpha males preparing for battle, and they vanished into the first room.
“Krichek, you can monitor,” Luka told the other detective.
“Where’s Harper?” Krichek asked impatiently. “Why isn’t she here?” Usually mundane tasks like recording and monitoring interviews fell to the most junior member of the team.
“She’s dealing with an OD victim in the ER. Unless you’d prefer to trade places?”
“An OD? Yeah, no thanks.” He headed into the monitoring room where he could observe and record the interviews from the two rooms. Luka would have to improvise, relying on his phone to record his discussion with Hansen, but he didn’t mind. His main objective had been to separate Hansen and Tassi. Dean and Tassi’s objectives were easy to read, but the chiropractor’s motives intrigued him.
“Right this way,” he told Hansen, leading him around the corner to the small waiting room. Thankfully it was empty. They took seats in the vinyl chairs so that they were facing each other. Luka set his phone on the coffee table between them. “I’ll be recording this interview. And, of course, you’re free to leave at any time.” One of the advantages of interviewing subjects at the CIC was that there was no issue of police custody—the CIC was a neutral, civilian-run location. He clicked the recording app, gave the date, time, and identifying information, all the while observing Hansen.
The chiropractor sat leaning forward, his gaze darting past Luka to the doorway as if searching for escape. Was he that desperate to be with Tassi? Was he afraid of something she knew and might tell Leah? Did Hansen have something to hide? Luka took his time, adjusting the phone’s volume and positioning it in front of Hansen. A bead of sweat dribbled into the other man’s eyebrow.
“I want to thank you for your help and cooperation,” Luka started. “I know how upsetting it was, finding your friend’s body yesterday. I’d like you to walk me through everything that happened. Take your time; no detail is too small.”
Hansen stared at him, his knuckles white as they clenched his knees, the effort of keeping in his seat so great. “I already told you everything.” He half stood. “I really should see if Tassi needs—”
“Sit down and let’s start from the beginning,” Luka said in a firm yet non-confrontational tone. “It won’t take long and we’ll have you back with Tassi. It’s good that she has such supportive friends to help her in this time of grief.”
“Thank you,” Hansen murmured as he sank back into the chair.
“How long have you known Tassi? And Spencer?”
“Pretty much since they moved here—they hadn’t even unpacked when I met Tassi at the club looking for a tennis partner. Then she introduced me to Spence later that night over drinks.”
“And your wife? Is she also friends with the Standishes?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “My wife and I are separated—well, not physically, but emotionally. We don’t spend any time together anymore. The house is in both of our names, and with the market the way it is, we’d lose too much money selling, so we each have our own wing, barely ever see each other.”
“And is she acquainted with the Standishes?” Luka repeated his question.
“She knows them, sure. Everyone at the club does. But she has nothing to do with any of this—she couldn’t have, she’s been in Italy all month, isn’t due back for another two weeks.”
Nice of him to rule out his almost-ex as a potential killer, but Luka was much more interested in Hansen’s own viability as a suspect. “You mentioned that you were invested in Spence’s fund?”
“Yes. Not the first round, though. I got in on the second, thanks to Tassi putting in a good word for me.”
“Were you ever concerned about the fund? Any irregularities? Any suspicions?”
Hansen seemed taken aback. “No. Never. Wait, you’re not saying—is there a problem with the fund? I mean, even with Spencer’s death there must be some continuity plan or the like. We can’t lose all our money only because he’s dead.”
Luka glanced at his phone, scrolling through the financial summaries Krichek had collated. “Did you know that the fund had been cashed out?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s all gone.” He held his phone out for Hansen to see. Hansen shook his head in disbelief. “We’re trying to trace it—some of the money was transferred to overseas accounts, but a significant percentage was used to buy gold.”
“Gold? Like physical gold?” Hansen’s gaze turned cold and calculating—so unlike the overwrought emotional performance he’d exhibited yesterday at the death scene. “How much?”
Luka didn’t answer, instead retrieving his phone as Harper texted that she was waiting in the hall. She knew he’d be in the middle of interviews and wouldn’t have interrupted unless it was important.
“Excuse me a moment,” he told Hansen, then stepped out into the hall, closing the door between them. “What have you got?” he asked Harper.
“I’m headed back to the station; I’ve got a suspect in the Lily Nolan case. But Dr. Tierney called. He ran some tests after not finding any signs of cancer during the Standish autopsy,” she said in a breathless voice. “The lab confirmed it. Standish never had any cancer treatment and has no signs of cancer now.” She paused. “I guess I’m not too surprised. The guy’s a conman, lied about everything; of course he’d manufacture a fake illness to gain sympathy from his victims.”
“You’re right.” Luka thought for a moment. “But follow that thought. Who told us he had cancer?”
Harper shifted her feet, then her eyes went wide. “The widow.”
“Exactly. She told us that, despite knowing there’d be an autopsy and we’d find out if she was lying.” He remembered Tassi’s initial confusion yesterday when they’d found Spencer’s body at the house. She’d said something about how he was meant to be somewhere else… the river.
At first, he’d assumed it was the natural product of shock and grief. But then, given that there were millions of dollars missing, he wondered exactly how much Tassi knew about Spencer’s death. Had they planned to repeat another faked death, which had somehow gone terribly awry? If Spencer had vanished in the river, as Tassi had initially seemed to think he had, there would be no body, which meant no autopsy, so Tassi’s story about Spencer’s cancer leading to his suicide would have held up.
Although, if they had meant to fake his death to escape the Zapatas, then how had he ended up dead in their garage instead?
“But why? Once Tassi knew that Spencer had died for real, why would she have told us about the cancer unless she believed it was the truth?” Harper argued, echoing Luka’s own thoughts.
“Maybe she actually believed he was sick? Maybe he was lying to her?”
“Because he intended to kill himself for real?” She shook her head. “And someone just happened to murder him before he could? No. Too coincidental.”
“Back in Denver, Spencer gave Tassi all the money in their divorce before he supp
osedly died. It was a good plan—with her not claiming any life insurance or having anything to do with declaring him dead, no one could go after her for the money. But what if, this time, she wasn’t in on it? What if Spencer was conning her the same as everyone else?”
“You mean, if she didn’t know the cancer was a lie, then what else didn’t she know about? So he was setting her up, but instead of faking his death like they’d done before and then returning to her, this time he was taking off for good?”
“Or he’d conned her into thinking he was going to commit suicide and leave her all the money. He might have faked the cancer so she’d believe him and not come looking.”
“Either way, it leaves her holding the bag as far as the Zapata family and his other victims are concerned. If she figured out what he was up to, that he was planning to leave her behind—” Harper made a small sound of satisfaction. “Sounds like the widow has a perfect motive for murder.”
Thirty
Leah escorted Tassi into the CIC’s adult interview room. The subdued, intimate area held two loveseats facing each other with a coffee table between them. Leah settled Tassi onto the loveseat facing the two-way mirror, but instead of taking her customary seat across the table, she sat down beside Tassi and slid the box of tissues closer to the other woman.
It was always a difficult transition when she did forensic interviews for the police. She had to first make clear to the parties involved that she wasn’t acting as their physician and that there was no patient-doctor confidentiality, how the recording worked and the fact that the police would be able to view the proceedings. But she also tried to use trauma-based interview techniques that would be somewhat therapeutic—her goal was to help the victim or witness she interviewed as much as she helped the police investigating their case.
This time everything felt different. Despite the fact that Leah understood Tassi’s grief, she didn’t understand the other woman’s actions. Luka had implied that her melodrama was born of subterfuge, but Leah felt as if it might also be a way of masking her underlying emotions.