The next morning I’m at work by seven. I complete the updates to my case files from yesterday within a couple of hours, and then I contact Reece Pearson about Ruby’s sister in hopes he’ll pay for her funeral as well. He’s saddened by the news and doesn’t hesitate to take care of Erin. By nine, I’m ready to continue my investigation by visiting Molly Kahn, but I have to stay for DS Green’s morning brief. She does something different this time. Instead of announcing the normal departmental activities and policy changes, retirements and promotions, she wants to hear from every detective about the progress on their high-level cases. This change doesn’t get by the officers in the room, but they comply, giving her the superficial details to satisfy her request. Notably, I’m the last one.
“Detective Kipling,” she says, turning her attention to me, “please update me on Reference Number 2192018-30001.”
“I have conducted interviews with individuals who knew the victim. I haven’t nailed down any suspects, but I have…”
“What is the name of your victim?”
She knows who I’m talking about. I look to Robinson, who shrugs his shoulders with confusion.
“Ruby Taylor,” I answer.
“You should be using her name, Detective Kipling.”
“Okay.”
“Go on.”
“Yes…um…as I said before, I interviewed individuals that knew Ruby Taylor, and most of them were cleared as suspects.”
“Most of them? Is there someone else you haven’t cleared?”
“I don’t have any suspects.”
“What about persons of interest?”
“Yes, I have one, possibly two.”
“And who are they?”
“Possibly Pastor Ashton Murray and Reece Pearson, Ruby’s supervisor.”
“Possibly? Either their not or they are.”
“They are.” I think.
“Why are they persons of interest?”
“Pastor Murray’s fingerprints were on a nondisclosure agreement I found at the scene of the crime. It had Ruby Taylor’s signature. Reece claims he was at home Sunday evening when my vic…when Ruby Taylor was murdered.”
“Sounds like Pastor Murray and Reece Pearson should be suspects instead of persons of interest. Were you able to verify Reece’s alibi?”
“No, I...”
“Where exactly did you find the nondisclosure agreement in Sable Alley?”
“In the garbage cans.”
“Were there any other prints on the agreement?”
“Ruby Taylor,” I answer.
“Tell me, Detective Kipling, why haven’t you arrested Pastor Murray?”
She knows why. I told her yesterday. She agreed with me. Now, she’s intentionally driving this investigation from herself, making me look and sound incompetent at the same time. I keep my cool and answer, “Because he gave me a handwriting sample that didn’t match with the writing on the parchment.”
“He could have easily had someone else write the note. Anyone from his congregation or another pastor from the church. Did he tell you where he was during the time of the murder? Did you verify his alibi? Have you spoken to members of his church? What about his background? Does he have a history of violence? Does he have a criminal record?”
“I…”
“And what about Reece Pearson? Have you ever tried to debunk his alibi?”
“He was at home by himself. How can I?”
“Detective Kipling, you are not properly investigating this case at all. When you have evidence that points to the guilt of an individual, no matter who that person is, you must make the arrest.”
“I don’t believe Pastor Murray is guilty.”
“And you think this because he’s a man of God? You think pastors are incapable of committing crimes?”
I don’t have an answer, and I’m beyond ticked off to think straight at this point to give one.
“Obviously, you’re not ready to take on this level of work. You don’t ask the right questions. You don’t follow through with witness statements. You haven’t made any arrests when it’s more than apparent you have not only one suspect; you have two. Perhaps, you’re better suited for investigating missing bicycles. At least, with those cases, your mistakes won’t be as serious.”
Mumblings and snickering surface from the detectives. So this is what she wanted, to put me in my place and to embarrass me in front of the detectives. If my job weren’t on the line, I would speak up, but seeing how I’ve had very little on-the-job training, what can I say? My best argument would never be good enough, especially since her ass is on the line.
“Detective Kipling, you have until tomorrow morning to close this case, or your future with this department will end. Am I clear?”
“Yes, DS Green, you are perfectly clear.”
She slaps the file close on the podium and walks into her office, slamming the door behind her.
The room is quiet as I get my things together. Just as I’m about to leave, Robinson stops me. He’s at my side, holding my wrist.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I reply with subdued anger. “Nothing at all.”
He whispers, “If you need help to solve this case, don’t hesitate to call me. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “Thanks.”
I leave, as fast as I can.
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
Sam is waiting at a marked unit, wearing shades. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with glasses. Apparently, he has a hangover. An unlit cigarette hangs on his dry lips. His hairline has beads of sweat. I know he wishes he wouldn’t have drunk so much.
“Keys,” I demand with my hands out.
Noticing the attitude, he asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m going to be out of a job tomorrow morning.”
I get in the car. Sam rushes around to the passenger side and gets in. Before he can ask another question, I crank the engine and drive out of the parking lot.
“Mind telling me why you’re going to lose your job tomorrow?”
“Because Green is an ass.”
“You told her what you found out from Georgia Knight, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously bad move, Victoria.”
“She ticked me off, and I couldn’t hold back.”
“You told me not to repeat that conversation, and you went back to the very woman that’s involved, your boss, and told her? Man, you didn’t last very long, did you?”
“No, not at all.”
“When did she threaten you?”
“This morning. A few minutes ago. She also embarrassed me in front of everyone. She dogged me out and belittled my efforts on this case. Do you know how much training I’ve had?”
“Uh…t…”
“Not even two months. She put me on this case on purpose because she figured I wouldn’t be able to solve it. DS Green killed Ruby Taylor, and she’s trying to save herself by making it look like Pastor Murray is guilty. She thinks Reece Pearson could be the killer too. Anyone but her. I wish I would have skipped that meeting today. She really pissed me off.”
“Victoria, I’m going to be honest with you, and don’t snap at me, but I don’t think we’ll be able to prove she’s guilty. Green didn’t kill that girl.”
“The way I see it, Sam, it’s me against her. I’m going to solve this murder. I just need to find the guy from the train platform footage and get him to confess. I need him to admit that he knew Green, and she helped him.”
“Well, that’s a problem. How are we going to find him? We don’t know his name. Don’t know where he lives. Don’t have a description.”
I exhale with annoyance, not having an answer at all.
“There’s another huge problem you’re facing too. Think about it for a minute. Green has access to every case file in her unit, including yours. She can dump anything and everything she wants. That includes evidence connecting her to the crime.”
“But her ID is logged when she accesses files, and the system will keep track of what she deletes.”
“Okay, but who’s watching the system?” Sam points out.
“Internal Investigations.”
“The only time they look at police misconduct is when it’s brought to their attention by a commanding officer, or there’s clear proof of wrongdoing. If no one is paying attention to her handling evidence, then it’s not going to be questioned, and there will be no follow through. From my experience, in the short time I’ve been a cop, it takes a lot to bring attention to individual police corruption.”
“You’re right,” I reply. “I’ve seen it myself.”
“And when it comes to Green, she is a superstar in the upper ranks of the police department. The first black woman in charge of an entire unit, and not just any unit, she runs the day to day operation of thirty elite detectives with exemplary records of service and high convictions. We won’t even go into how many successful cases she’s solved as a detective constable before she was promoted to detective sergeant. She is the defining look the ranks want that department to have, and if they have to bury her transgressions to save face, they will.”
“Green believes there are people on the force who doesn’t want her in that position.”
“No way,” Sam retorts. “They lift her up in the police station, and she knows it.”
“I don’t know what to do. If I find evidence that connects her, I have to add it to my case file. I have no choice. And if she deletes it, then it’s gone. She can block my access too.”
“Okay, sure, she can delete the electronic evidence logs but not the tangible physical evidence. Maybe you can hold back what you find and present it to the Sovereign Prosecution Service. Go around her; you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, and she’ll fire me then too. She doesn’t like anyone going over her head.”
“But you can get your job back.”
“Can I?” I ask.
“You would have solved the case. Why not?”
“And I would have taken down a highly decorated detective sergeant. Every cop in that room will look at me as the enemy.” I sigh, not seeing any good coming out of this. “Either way, it won’t be good for her or me. Both of us will lose our jobs, Sam, and they’ll be happy to be rid of us.”
“What are you going to do if you find indisputable proof of her guilt?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Thirty.
Molly Kahn is locking the front door. She’s on the phone and holding on to a purse and a backpack. When Molly turns, I see frustration, but then her demeanor suddenly changes as she realizes who we are from Sam’s uniform.
“Can I call you back?” Molly says into her phone. She listens to the answer and rolls her eyes. “God, then do whatever you want! I don’t care!” She hangs up and stuffs the phone in her jean pocket.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
“No, it’s not, and there’s nothing you can do about it. What do you want?”
I show my badge. “My name is Detective Kipling. This is CSO Clarke. We’re with District Three Police Department.”
“I know about Ruby,” she says with annoyance.
“She was your friend, or so I’m told.”
“Ruby was a friend, yes, but she wasn’t that great at being one.”
“I have to ask you about her.”
Molly glances at her watch and sighs. “I guess I can skip one class. I’m late anyway. Come on in.”
She unlocks the front door and holds it open while Sam and I enter. After dropping the backpack near the entrance, she offers us something to drink. Sam and I decline.
From where I’m standing, I look around the living room. It’s a clean space with white furniture and paintings on the walls. A fireplace is to my left. On the mantle are oil paintings on tiles, spaced equally apart. If they’re supposed to represent something, I have no idea. Straight ahead is an island, and on the other side is the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances and white granite countertops brighten the area. To my right are a set of stairs, leading to the second floor. In the center of the living room are two armchairs, a sofa, and loveseat. All are white with shiny metal frames. The glass coffee table is circular and breaks up the space between the couch and fireplace. An assortment of pills is in a glass bowl.
“Do you live here by yourself?” I ask, looking closer at the painted tiles.
“Yes, it’s all mine.”
“Where are you from?”
“Manchester.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Keeps my parents out of my business.”
“Our conversation is being recorded, so that you know.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“I don’t see why. Can you tell me where you were Sunday night?”
“At a party.”
“And afterward?”
“I went home.”
“Did you see Ruby at this party?”
“Yes, I did,” Molly says as she saunters to the kitchen. “Are you sure you’re not thirsty? I’ve got everything under the sun, except milk.”
“No,” I answer, following her. “Did she tell you where she was going after the party?”
“She was going home to check on her sister, and then she was going over to a friend’s house.”
“Who was this friend?”
Molly hesitates. I know she thinks she shouldn’t reveal who the friend is, but I have to confirm what I’ve been told.
“I need to know who she went to see,” I reply firmly.
“Georgia Knight.”
“Did Ruby have a relationship with her?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Were there any problems in their relationship?”
“Ruby didn’t talk to me about her, and to be perfectly honest, I knew nothing about Georgia.”
“But you were best friends. Why wouldn’t you know about the person she was dating?”
“Who said we were best friends? I never said that.” Molly opens a liquor bottle already on the counter and pours the contents into a glass, filling it up almost to the top. “Despite what you think about Ruby, she wasn’t a real friend. We kept our private lives private from each other.”
“You didn’t like her?”
“Tolerated. She took advantage of people. Anyway she can get over on you, she’d do it, especially if it benefited her.”
“It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”
“It’s not nice to lie about the dead either, and I prefer to tell the truth.” Molly takes in half the drink and saunters over to the coffee table, pops in a green pill.
“What is that?” Sam asks. “Are you taking drugs in front of us?”
“What are you going to do, officer? Arrest me? Like to see you try.”
“It’s alright, Sam.”
“What were you told about Ruby,” Molly asks, regaining my attention. “She was smart, right? She took care of her family. She was a good person. She was dependable. Everyone loved her. Everyone wanted to be around her and be her, and they couldn’t get enough of her. I bet everybody you talked to painted a perfect little picture of Ruby Taylor. They lied to you. All of them knew how she was. All of them knew whenever she was around they’d better protect their necks. She always went for the jugular. The only people that were safe was her sister and her sister’s boyfriend.”
“Sounds like you had a grudge?”
“No, I was cautious.”
“What did she do to you?”
“She was a con artist, a liar, and a thief.”
I glance at Sam, wondering if he thinks Molly could be a suspect. The hate spitting out of this girl’s mouth sure is putting her on the list.
“Did you know she cheated her way through school? Not every class, of course, but if she couldn’t get good grades, she’d do whatever it takes, including sleeping with her professors. That girl was ruthless, knew no boundaries, would do anything to get ahead.�
��
“Did she ever get over on you?”
“You think I killed her, right? I talk like I had a reason. Jealousy. Hate. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn’t me.”
“Molly, what exactly did she do to you?”
“Many things, but I’ll tell you one. The red gown, the one Ruby was murdered in, belonged to me. I was supposed to wear it at the Regency Ball on Sunday, but she spilled wine on it while she was here in my home three weeks ago. She did it on purpose. I came out of the loo, and she acted like it was an accident. Lying bitch. I should have kept the gown, let her show up in some cheap ass outfit.”
“I saw the dress, but there wasn’t a wine stain on it.”
“She had it dry cleaned before the party, and instead of returning it, she kept it and wore it the night of the ball. I’d been asking her about it up until the Friday before the party. She claimed the cleaners were waiting on some special detergent to get the stain out. Such a liar. I just let it go, bought a new one, a better one. The night of the ball, she showed up wearing the red gown. Clean and fitted to her plump ass. I wasn’t a bit surprised, but that girl had some nerve prancing around in my red dress. Partying away, as if it belonged to her. She ticked me off. Oh, I could have…”
“Killed her,” I add.
Molly shakes her forefinger at me and laughs. “You’re not going to get me, Detective. When was she murdered? That same night? Not long after she left, right? I was at the ball until after midnight, being a naughty Cinderella of course. I didn’t even go to my car. Now, if you don’t believe me, check the cameras. The train station has them all over the place.”
“I saw the footage. You and Ruby were talking before she left. What were you two talking about?”
“She didn’t say much, but I told her she owed me money for the dress. If she didn’t pay me by the next day, I was calling the police.”
“And what did she have to say about that?”
“She didn’t care. She never cares. As I said, she’s a con artist, a thief…”
“And a liar,” I reply.
“Yep.” She finishes her drink and pours another. “I’m going to be honest with you. Don’t arrest me, okay?” She laughs, mostly towards Sam, mocking him. “But I…I really hate her guts. I am so glad she’s dead. I am so glad I don’t have to deal with her anymore. Someone did the world a favor.”
Sable Alley Page 15