Down and Dirty

by Liliana Hart

“Umm…hello, what am I? Chopped liver?” Ben patted his backpack lovingly. “I’ve got Matilda right here. I can have any information you need on the Bruces and anyone else in a matter of moments.”

  Matilda was Carver’s computer. He’d built her from the ground up, and I had a feeling he babied her more than his own children.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, even though I kind of thought it was. “I don’t want to interfere with Jack’s investigation. And I don’t want you to get in trouble. You’ve broken the law enough for us.”

  He pursed his lips, looking very prim all of a sudden. “I don’t like to call it breaking the law. I like to call it circumventing the system. And if I ever get into trouble then I probably deserve the punishment, because if there’s someone that works for the government in any capacity that’s better at computers than I am, then I’ll eat my hat. We’re all on the side of the good guys. I’m a firm believer in getting justice however it needs to be accomplished.”

  “Jack’s not like that,” I said.

  “No, Jack’s not like that. He deserves to wear the white hat of a hero more than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s a straight arrow. I have a white hat too, but I live in D.C. so it’s gray with pollution and politicians’ bullshit. But there’s still a white hat under the dirt. You know what I’m saying?”

  “That your wife deserves sainthood?” I asked, arching a brow.

  “No doubt about that. Now let me get Matilda out of the bag and see what she can do. She’s been cooped up all morning, and I’ve got nothing else to do in this town except watch that old lady park on the median. Your wedding has an open bar, right?”

  “I have no idea. I’m just supposed to show up. You know the relationship you have with your computer is not natural, don’t you?”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that. But I’m secure in my masculinity. I mean, look at me. I’m pretty awesome.”

  “Fine, but if Jack gets mad, you have to take the blame. I’m supposed to get married this weekend, dammit.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Let’s start with financials,” Ben said. “That’s usually where all the good stuff is.”

  “It depends on whose financials you’re looking at. Mine aren’t all that exciting.”

  I stood over Ben’s shoulder and watched his fingers fly across the keyboard. He’d mumble under his breath every once in a while and then he’d give Matilda an encouraging word or two.

  “It looks like John and Cherise have three joint accounts out of First National in D.C. Not surprising all of them have healthy amounts. One looks like their regular household account to pay bills and tuition for both children,” he said, scrolling down on the screen. “The other two are savings accounts. Both are in the seven figures and no withdrawals have been made lately, but regular deposits are made monthly.

  “Cherise has a checking account just in her name. It looks like she has a healthy shoe habit, regular spa visits, and twice weekly tennis lessons. What she pays in country club fees equals my yearly salary. Let’s go back further and see if there are any other patterns.”

  “Everything looks the same,” I said a couple of minutes later. “She’s the most boring woman on the face of the planet.”

  “Let’s check the Senator. Maybe he’s a little less boring.”

  A few minutes later we had our answer. “Even his campaign contributions are on the up and up from what I can tell,” Carver said. “It’s just not right. No extra kickbacks. No bribes that I can find. What kind of politician is this guy?”

  “A good one apparently. Maybe you should vote on him in the next election.”

  “It’s like he’s offered me a direct challenge to dig up some dirt. Okay, Senator. I accept your challenge. Let’s see what your personal computers look like.”

  “You can just tap into his personal computers?”

  “Sure. The problem with modern technology is everything is backed up through a mobile system. Once it’s in the air like that, it’s anyone’s for the taking if they know what the hell they’re doing. Which is mostly me and a bunch of fourteen and fifteen year old hackers who I’m going to try to recruit for the side of good in the next decade or so.”

  “Emails to and from his kids and to other senators. A very busy calendar. A reminder to book reservations for his anniversary. Booooring. There’s not even any porn in his browser history or record of a parking ticket. What kind of man has never had a parking ticket in Washington, D.C.? It’s not normal.”

  “You should be glad your representative is on the up and up.”

  “I personally think it’s a little disappointing. I have expectations of today’s government officials and I expect them to be upheld.”

  “You work for the government, Carver.”

  “Which is exactly why I have the expectations to begin with. Matilda, darling. Let’s see if we can dig deeper and see what the Senate Defense Committee is working on of late. That’s going to take a little time, so who else are players in this mess?”

  “Doctor Lance Owens. Jack said he’s scheduled to come in to the station for interview this morning. He performed the plastic surgery on Julia Connelli and erased it from her medical files.”

  I noticed my cup was empty and resisted the temptation to get another refill. Instead, I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

  “What if Senator Bruce is so good he’s bad,” I said, thought popping into my head.

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “I mean say Bruce is as good as he seems on paper. He’s a straight arrow. And all of a sudden he finds out his best friend’s wife has faked her entire existence and is taking payments from the Russian government to keep them informed on what her husband is working on.”

  “Ahh, I see where you’re going with it. He’d be pissed, especially if Anthony Connelli is tied to anything the Defense Committee has going at the moment.”

  “But would he kill his best friend just to get to the wife? And the children too? If he’s a good as it seems he is that would be out of character. Because whoever administered those shots knew every one in that household would die once the fire started. That kind of preparation is pre-meditated murder.”

  Carver shrugged. “Then you get back to the argument of the death of a few versus the death of many. I guess it would just depend on what kind of sensitive material she had her hands on. If any. Maybe Julia was the target all along. What if the Russians deposited that money in her account and she didn’t deliver on the job? Maybe she really loved her children and husband and ignored her orders. As smoothly as the murder happened, from the injections to the way the fire was started, it could have been a professional job all along. Someone hired by the Russian government. And if that’s the case, the chances of finding the killer aren’t all that great. He’s probably already back home by now.”

  “That’s a comforting thought. But you make a good point. Other than that three million dollar deposit the week before the murders, were any others made?”

  “I’ll look. I printed out the information on Lance Owens, as well as the wife.”

  I let Carver do his computer thing and went back to my office where I had the wireless printer hooked up. Papers were still coming out so I checked my text messages while I waited. Still nothing from Jack. That wasn’t a good sign. Even when we were working we had the tendency to check in with each other throughout the day.

  I put my phone back in my pocket and gathered the papers, looking through the financials of the Owens and their backgrounds. It was information the police already had, but I hadn’t had a chance to look through them at the house that morning. I was especially interested in Doctor Owens’ records as a surgeon. He’d had a few malpractice lawsuits, but that wasn’t uncommon. And he had less than most would with the number of years he’d been practicing.

  I walked back into the kitchen and Carver said, “No other deposits made before the one last week. Which certainly lends credenc
e to her ignoring their wishes. She’s been in the states a long time. Her husband has powerful friends and has his own power in certain circles. Maybe she didn’t realize the lengths they’d go to if she ignored them. The Connellis had the original issues with Wayne Macerne, so I was thinking he’d be the most likely suspect. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “You find anything interesting about the Owens?” he asked. “Also, would you grab me a bottle of water? I know better than to drink coffee. I get all jittery. I’m going to have energy all day, girl. I hope there’s dancing tonight at the rehearsal dinner. The single ladies love it when I dance.”

  “They also probably love the wedding ring on your finger.”

  “You think I should take it off?”

  “Only if you want your wife to kill you.”

  “Good point. She’s mean. If she was going to kill me, she’d make it hurt.”

  “If you’re going to do something, do it right, I always say.” I spread the printed papers on the Owens out on the kitchen island. “Nothing unusual in his professional files. He’s got a great reputation and his client list never leaks, so it’s rumored that he’s the official plastic surgeon of the stars. He makes a very comfortable eight figures a year. He also has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but anything with the word syndrome at the end is never good.”

  “It’s a hereditary disease where the connective tissue in the body is weakened. So all the joints are very flexible and it’s easy for them to slip out of socket. It also weakens the connective tissue of the skin, so the skin stretches more than it would for a normal person. When I met Owens for the first time I was surprised by his appearance, considering his age. His face was deeply wrinkled and sagged in places, but now it makes sense.

  “I wondered why he hadn’t gotten plastic surgery to take care of it. You’d think appearances would be extremely important to someone in that field, but now I realize he didn’t have surgery because he couldn’t. With the elasticity and fragility of the skin, it won’t hold stitches. The skin stretches around them and has a tendency to tear.”

  “You said it was hereditary,” Carver said. “Did his daughter have it?”

  “No, and I would have found it when I did the autopsy.”

  “Anything new on Mrs. Owens? Other than wowza. That woman is beautiful.”

  “She’s also old enough to be your mother.”

  “I’m alright with cougars. They know things.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

  “My senior year of college I dated a girl finishing up her PhD in English. It was—“ he paused and pinched his fingers and thumb together, bringing it to his lips and kissing them in an Italian gesture—“magic.”

  “Whatever happened to her?”

  “She’s at home with a teething baby.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At ten o’clock I oversaw the transfer of Cassandra Owens to a funeral home in D.C. Once I signed off on the paperwork, I went by the cemetery to make sure everything was going right with Bernie Harrison’s gravesite funeral service.

  I’m not sure what had me driving back by the house, but with the new setup I was thinking that’s where the team probably was. I was surprised to find only Jack’s cruiser in the driveway. And I was ashamed to say I almost turned around and went back into town rather than face him.

  My hand paused over the doorknob and I finally turned it and pushed it open. Jack was in the front room where I’d left him, studying one of the white boards. It had been filled in more since I’d left. I stood at the door and watched him, the breadth of his shoulders as he stood with hands on hips and looked at the board with rapt concentration. Don’t get me wrong, he knew I was there, but he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation any better than I did.

  “I heard you talked to Carver,” he finally said. He still didn’t turn around, but I was grateful he’d at least broken the silence.

  “I’d like to say it was all his idea. I told him I didn’t want to interfere in your investigation.”

  He turned his body slightly so he could see me and arched a brow. “I’m talking about what he said as far as my PTSD goes. What are you talking about?”

  “Umm…never mind,” I said, clearing my throat. “Don’t be angry with Ben. He didn’t tell me anything specific. Even though I recognized it for what it was once I got some space between us and had time to calm down and think things through. I should have recognized it in you before. I know the signs. Have seen it up close and personal while I was working at the hospital. But you shouldn’t have waited for me to recognize it. You should have trusted me enough to tell me how bad it can get.”

  He dropped down into one of the chairs and put his head in his hands. Then he scrubbed at his face and I saw the tears in his eyes. My heart broke to see him hurting and every ounce of anger and frustration I’d been feeling drained from my body. I kneeled down in front of him and rested my head on his knee, comforting as best I could. I didn’t ask any questions, but waited on him to tell me as much as he needed to.

  He cleared his throat once—and then again—and said, “It doesn’t happen often. Usually if I let stress build or if something happens it’ll trigger a response. And the last couple of weeks, when I had to watch men I’d commanded die and remember the nightmare of that last raid in D.C., it was like reliving it all again. The overwhelming grief and the helplessness I felt to do something to save them, and my failure to do so.”

  His fingers touched the ends of my hair and his other hand twined with mine. I should have realized what an effect the last case we worked would have had on Jack. I knew it had been hard on him, but I hadn’t understood to what lengths. Jack took the responsibility of command seriously, and for his men to die because of something he’d had no control over years before was a bitter pill to swallow.

  “The depression gets overwhelming. Like I said, it doesn’t affect me often, but when it does it’s like a weight pressing against my chest. There are some days I don’t want to even get out of bed.”

  I brought my head up so I could look him in the eye, trying to decide if I’d been that callous in not noticing or if he’d been that good at hiding it from me.

  “This is the first time it’s happened since you and I became involved. I think, in a way, you being next to me at night somehow kept it all at bay. I was relieved, to tell you the truth. I’d been worried I’d wake you up in the middle of the night, my body drenched in sweat and the nightmares still on the tip of my tongue. You somehow brought balance to the horrors I’ve seen and done in this life.”

  “But not this time,” I said, trying to understand what I could do to keep the balance in the future. Or at least ease the burden.

  “It’s nothing you did or could have done. There will be days that are harder than others. And on the days that it’s a struggle for me to get out of bed, nothing but my own stubbornness puts my feet on the floor and gets me moving. I hate being weak—especially in front of you—but I know I can trust you to see that side of me and not judge or feel sorry for me.”

  “I won’t feel sorry for you, but I’ll hurt for you because I love you. All you ever have to do is talk to me. I’ll never demand anything from you that you can’t give.”

  “I love you,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “And I’m sorry for this morning. I don’t have any excuse for talking to you that way or not talking to you when it starts to affect me. It’s going to take some adjustment on my part, so I ask that you be patient with me. I’ve never, and I mean never, told anyone about this. Not my parents, a counselor, or a priest. I’m used to keeping everything inside, so my first reaction is going to be to hide it from you. But I promise I will do my best.”

  “You always give me your best,” I said.

  “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re going to be my wife?”

  “It’s been a few days. So I’m really glad to hear that I didn’t try on that dress f
or nothing yesterday.”

  “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, maybe we can go back to what you were saying about Carver opening his big mouth before.”

  “I don’t remember saying anything about Carver’s big mouth. Or Matilda’s.”

  Jack arched his eyebrow. “I should’ve known he’d have butted his nose in regardless. Carver likes playing Robin Hood. You might as well tell me what you found out.”

  I got to my feet and held out my hand to Jack. He took it and stood with me, holding my hand loosely as we walked back to the board and I filled him in on everything Ben was able to find. Which really wasn’t all that much. It was looking like Jack was right. This case might not get solved at all, much less before our wedding.

  “What about Lance Owens? Did he come in to meet with Lewis and Martinez?”

  “He had to call and reschedule. Said he was needed at the hospital.”

  “Look on the bright side. In a few hours we’ll be eating delicious food with your family and our closest friends.” I’d never been so grateful that I didn’t have any remaining family. I couldn’t imagine the stress of having them there on top of the stress of getting married in general. “If we’re really lucky someone will get drunk and entertain the masses all night and we can sneak away early.”

  “You’re always thinking, Graves.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jack and I spent most of the rest of the afternoon studying the data we’d collected on anyone involved with the Connelli family, with the exception of when I had to leave at three o’clock to oversee the transfer of their remains to Robert Connelli, Anthony’s brother.

  The problem with data was there was a lot to process, and sometimes the best thing was to let it soak into the brain and rattle around in there awhile. Then sometimes things started making some sense.

  I’d resigned myself to the fact that the information was just going to have to rattle until we got back from our honeymoon. I’d avoided Vaughn’s texts all day, asking whether or not I’d kept the appointments for a manicure and pedicure, and whether or not I’d carved out the time to let someone else trim my hair besides me.