* * * *
Schmidt reported in by telephone.
“Not much on him for general background, except he’s lived here all his life, went to Fairlington schools. After high school he went to community college, then got a bachelor’s online. Entry level job at the Fairlington Leader — like a copy boy. Then he switched to podcasts, got in years ago.
“Lots of info about him podcasting. He used to be on another true crime podcast. A big one. He was one of four hosts and they’d rotate around, each with different guests. There were a couple incidents where commenters blasted Zeedyk, including for recording a conversation with a witness who didn’t know he was being recorded and some about the editing. The other hosts backed him at first, but after a couple, they stopped.
“And then, he had a guest on who espoused really raw stuff. Anti pretty much everything — women, minorities, law enforcement, even speed limits. According to the other hosts, they’d told Zeedyk not to have this guy on. He did it anyway, springing it on them by pulling another episode and putting this one in live.
“They kicked him out. He tried suing them, saying it was First Amendment. They had a contract and good lawyers. He didn’t have either. The podcast’s gone on fine with the three remaining.”
“Zeedyk disappeared for a couple years, then showed up a few months ago with his own podcast — Death, Murder, Violence — focusing on crimes around here. Bumping along at the bottom until this murder, which has coincided with him airing what he says is inside information from Fairlington PD. Nobody knows who’s leaking to him, but it’s pretty good stuff.
“I mean… I mean it’s accurate.”
Belichek digested it. “Any arrests? Charges?”
“No trouble with the law that I could find. I’ve got my shift tonight, but I could keep digging on my own time.”
“Good. Thank you, Schmidt.”
* * * *
“Scum,” Maggie muttered after another slam of law enforcement for not pursuing cases unless they involved the rich. “It’s not even original. He repeats the same stuff.”
Carson grunted agreement.
Jamie, sitting cross-legged on the couch, leaned forward. “Play that part again, will you, J.D.?”
He sent her a level look, but said nothing before sliding the timer bar back on the screen.
The voice of the podcaster came again, talking about law enforcement being lazy, not bothering to investigate crimes against real people, but only high-profile cases.
When it finished the repeat of what they’d already heard, he paused it.
“Something?” Maggie asked.
She flashed her cousin a look, checking what she’d heard. It was there in her eyes, too. Taking her seriously.
Too bad that wouldn’t last, since what she had was not factual, concrete, or provable — Maggie’s preferences.
She wasn’t going to keep her quiet.
“It’s personal for him. Angry, hurt, cynical,” she said. “Definitely personal.”
J.D. slid the bar back and played it again.
Then Maggie told him, “One more time.”
After, they all stared at the screen for a moment. Were the other two also rehearing the emotion in the man’s words? Or solely the words?
“If he’s had a bad experience with law enforcement…” J.D. murmured.
“We can track it down,” Maggie completed.
Jamie sat back as the discussion turned to how to track down the information.
They’d taken her seriously.
* * * *
Schmidt called back, trying to sound calm.
“Oz Zeedyk just had a special podcast episode on, made a big deal that he had an exclusive. I recorded the whole thing, but here’s the part you need to know about.”
A tinny voice came through the speaker.
…this source said Jamison Chancellor was the intended victim a month ago on Red Hill Street. Not Bethany Usher. And this source said, that error will be fixed — that Jamison Chancellor will be killed. And soon.
“Play that again, Schmidt. Wait. Give me a second. Landis.” His partner turned from his desk as Belichek switched to speakerphone. “Go ahead.”
The voice went across the bullpen this time, gathering an audience paying closer attention to Oz Zeedyk than he could have hoped for.
…this source said Jamison Chancellor was the intended victim a month ago on Red Hill Street. Not Bethany Usher. And this source said, that error will be fixed — that Jamison Chancellor will be killed. And soon.
Do we believe this source? Well, I have reason to believe the source has, let’s say, an ongoing interest in the case.
On the other hand, this new threat might be a ploy to elicit more donations to the Sunshine Foundation. The funds that were pouring in after the assumed death of Jamison Chancellor are down to a trickle since she came back to life.
What do I think?
I think DMV — Death, Murder, Violence will be the first place you’ll find out the truth.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
“We have something,” Maggie as soon as he entered the basement.
“What?”
“Background on that podcaster. Jamie picked up on it being personal for our friend Oz when it comes to his attitude toward law enforcement. We started digging. J.D. had a friend in Bedhurst—”
Had to be the wily lawyer who’d gone against Maggie in court.
“—call in some favors with his connections all over the state. Turns out it circles back to here in Fairlington.”
Maggie’s voice gave him a heads-up, but he turned to Jamie for the finely gauged emotional temperature.
“It was long before you were on the force,” Jamie said. “Long before.”
How did she—?
He put that aside. “What was it?”
“His sister was murdered. Older sister. Raped, murdered, and dumped. Never solved. And he might have cause to complain. Murder book’s thin. Definitely thin.”
“That’s rough,” Belichek said. “But doesn’t give him any right to interfere with this investigation — and that’s if he’s not more directly involved.
“A little while ago we picked him up for questioning. I’m going right back in case Landis wants a hand interviewing him. I came back to tell you he had something on his podcast today you need to know about.”
* * * *
Oliver “Oz” Zeedyk was scared, but not scared enough.
Landis asked him, “What is your basis for the report you had on your podcast today that Jamison Chancellor was the original intended victim and someone is saying she’s going to die soon?”
“I’m a journalist. You cannot infringe on my First Amendment rights, freedom of the press, by trying to force me to give up my sources or—”
“How did you find out Jamison Chancellor was not the murder victim at Red Hill Street?”
“I’m a journalist. Freedom of the press. You cannot infringe on my First Amendment rights. You cannot force me to give up sources—”
“You don’t have sources. What you have are felonies. Felonies stacking up fast. If you want to help yourself — at all — you better talk. Now.”
Zeedyk crossed his arms over his chest with smug dialed up.
“Here’s what I think. I think you know this stuff because you’re doing it.”
It took three beats for that to penetrate the smug.
“I’m reporting—”
“How much easier to report big stories when you’re creating them? Intend to shoot Jamison Chancellor, but screw up and shoot Bethany Usher. But you see a way to make it work for you. Wait until the body’s found, then start coming up the ‘scoops.’ I’ve listened to you—”
“A DMV fan,” Zeedyk sneered with bravado.
“Not your podcast. Your performances at police news conferences. You were questioning things nobody else knew about right along.”
Uncertainty crept into Zeedyk’s eyes.
“And how else could you know the vi
ctim wasn’t Jamison Chancellor? How else could you know what you reported today, that the first murder was a screw up, but the murderer is going after Jamison Chancellor again.”
“Sources.”
“Uh-huh. These mythical sources you can’t produce.”
“Won’t produce. First Amendment. Besides, why would I go after this Jamison Chancellor? I never met the woman.”
“I’ll tell you, I’ve been in this job long enough to know the better question is, why wouldn’t you? You or any of the other murderers out there. Although in your case it’s pretty obvious why from what’s happened with your podcast. Ratings up, sponsors signing on. All sorts of good things happening for you since — you say — somebody tried to kill Jamison Chancellor and got Bethany Usher.”
“That doesn’t mean I did it.”
The podcaster was going to talk. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Let’s start with your whereabouts on Labor Day weekend…”
DAY EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
The rest of them were in their working spots already when Belichek came down from his bedroom, including Nancy.
“I’ve got an update for Jamie if you want to come down.”
They did, including Nancy.
When he was finished describing last night’s interview of Zeedyk, the podcaster, there was a moment of silence.
A frown tucked Jamie’s brows. “Why would he have shot Bethany?”
“He thought it was you,” Maggie said. “He was going for a big story and he got the wrong person — the first time.”
“We’re working on his motive,” Belichek said, more cautiously. “He says he didn’t kill anybody. It was a mysterious stranger in the dark.”
Maggie’s face sharpened. “You’re not sure he’s not telling the truth that it was this other guy. His so-called source.”
“Not sure of anything. Yet.”
“Sounds more like he made the guy up,” Nancy said.
“I agree,” Jamie said. “And with him in custody, that means I can resume living.”
“Maybe.”
* * * *
Sitting down with the computer guys was never Landis’ favorite thing. They insisted on telling him what they were doing and why. Worse, they’d delve into how.
He wanted the result. Preferably without a visit to Geek World. But it never worked that way and, in the end, he paid the price of admission with as good a grace as he could manage.
This time it came after a “progress” report to the chief, so, by comparison, Geek World was a fine place to be.
“It pulled up what you’d expect since she — Bethany Usher — had that kind of background — police reports, court records, news accounts. Delattre did a real nice job with his searches. Amazing actually. Never took a wrong step. And thorough. He also went a step above and beyond.”
“Meaning?”
“This guy got her texts. Cloned them over to his phone — this second phone. She probably never even knew it happened. For us, it’s almost as good as having her phone.” He grinned.
“What have you found?”
“Among other things, she apparently ran some website that posed as a legit testing site for paternity cases. But it was more like a shopping site for the test result of your choice. She pulled one herself in early June. Can’t see any indication tests ever happened.”
“Anything else?”
“We’ll keep checking over Delattre’s work in case he missed a trick. We’re also going through her contacts, which he didn’t delve into much, and we found something, uh, interesting. An unexpected connection.” He gave Belichek a look from the corner of his eyes.
“What is it?”
“A police officer in her contacts list. And among the people she texted with. Including about getting the job at the Sunshine Foundation.”
“Who?”
“Roy Isaacson.”
* * * *
Felicia Ewer called in with an update while Belichek ate lunch at his desk, with Landis off at the bigger glass offices to deliver an update.
Not only had the guy she’d talk to in Maryland admitted doing business with Bethany — and having sex with her Saturday night, proving in his mind he’d had no reason to kill her Sunday afternoon — but he’d also cleared up the missing purse and keys.
Bethany made a habit of having another vehicle — a “clean” vehicle not attached to whatever name she currently used — parked away from her target. She left her purse, ID, and her keys secured there. That was the fourth key found on her body.
Belichek started Fairlington PD on the hunt for that vehicle as soon as he ended the call with Felicia.
Checking off questions was always good. He wished Oz Zeedyk would check off the big one with a confession.
Belichek’s phone vibrated with a text as he studied the phone records for Phil Xavier and Carl Arbendroth.
Xavier had a gap in calls from twelve-thirty to five p.m. the Sunday before Labor Day, noticeable amid a stream of calls.
None of Arbendroth’s scattered calls were during that period, but he had enough gaps to make it less remarkable, as well as raise questions about how his mortgage brokering business was doing.
His text came from Landis.
Parking lot. Now.
He closed up and left.
Landis waited in his car by the elevators.
“What did you get from the computer guys?” Belichek asked as he got in.
“A lot of nothing and two interesting things. Nothing on the computers. But they found a series of searches on Delattre’s phone, along with a completely clone of Bethany’s phone. They first took the searches to be checking out someone the foundation might help. Until they dug deeper. One of the things he’d dug up was a police record for a woman named Boda Uria from western Connecticut.”
Belichek raised his brows. “The foundation helps ex-cons?”
“Don’t know about that. But—”
He pulled out a paper and placed it in front of Belichek. It showed a grainy mug shot of a woman whose height, weight, race, and coloring description would match Jamie’s.
Like a blurry reproduction of a brilliantly vivid photograph.
“—the Sunshine Foundation might have employed one.”
“Bethany Usher was Boda Uria.”
“Yup. And Adam Delattre knew she was an ex-con. Young Adam’s been keeping things from us.” He put the car in drive. “Which is why we’re on our way to the Sunshine Foundation. And not questioning Roy Isaacson. Yet.”
“Isaacson?”
Landis explained the other nugget the tech guys had found from Adam cloning Bethany’s phone. Ending with, “You think?”
Belichek understood he meant the leak. “Possible, but…”
Even of Roy Isaacson that was hard to believe.
“We’ll save that for dessert,” Landis concluded with a wolfish smile.
* * * *
Landis and Belichek swore in unison as they pulled into the parking area behind the Sunshine Foundation.
Jamie stood about a dozen feet from the door, clearly on her way in.
Carl Arbendroth held her by her arm, tight enough to whiten his knuckles while his lips drew back from his teeth.
* * * *
“…this isn’t a good time. And, really, Carl, there’s nothing to talk about. I appreciate your concern for me, but— Oh.”
Belichek stepped into her line of vision.
“Let go of her, Arbendroth.”
The man started, and turned toward the new voice without releasing Jamie, which caught her off balance and made her stumble forward. Belichek steadied her with one hand, never taking his eyes from Arbendroth.
“Let go of her now.”
“This is none of your business.”
“Now.”
Jamie said, “I’m fine. I—”
Arbendroth changed his tactic. “I was just—”
From the vicinity of Landis, joining the group, emitted the dis
tinctive ticking sound of someone adjusting the size of handcuffs. He must have had a pair in his car.
Arbendroth looked toward Landis, then back to Belichek.
He released Jamie’s arm. He spoke to her, but looked at the two men. “You wouldn’t answer my calls. I had to let you know how happy I am, how relieved I am that you’re okay. To be sure you know I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I do know. I don’t have my phone anymore. I can—”
“That’s enough. We’re going in.” Belichek didn’t touch her but jerked his head toward the door.
Jamie clicked her tongue, but went inside.
While Landis lingered outside, Belichek followed her.
“That was entirely unnecessary.”
“Had you asked him to let go? Or tried to move away and not been able to?”
He had her and they both knew it.
“You’re a cynic.”
“Realist. And you shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s a choice to always see the worst possibilities,” she said.
“Experience.”
“Ford, if that’s your experience—” She broke off as Landis joined them.
“Don’t mind me,” he murmured.
“It’s perfectly reasonable for me to be here. And I’m not alone. J.D. went into the restaurant to order lunch for everyone, and Maggie just ran in to remind him one of the volunteers working today is a vegan. What are you two doing here?”
Which meant Carl Arbendroth had been watching for an opportunity when she was alone — watching her. He’d get to that later. “Pursuing our investigation.”
She frowned.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Jamie insisted on accompanying them to Adam Delattre’s office.
Landis took the lead. “Adam, our experts have been looking at your computers. They’re impressed with your set-up. And how you’ve used it.”
Jamie smiled. Adam did not appear gratified.
“They’ve also retraced the steps of your searches into the background of Bethany Usher.”
Jamie’s focus jumped from Landis to him to Adam. “Adam? You were searching into Bethany? Why?”
The skin across his cheeks seemed to stretch thin, while his shoulders hunched.
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