by Steven Henry
The room was simple but classy, dominated by a king-size bed across from a TV stand. A big picture window ran the length of the opposite wall, giving a good view of Manhattan. A chair and end table stood between the bed and the window. Erin reflected that detectives spent an awful lot of time in hotel rooms. She wondered whether people in hotels were more likely to commit crimes, or to be victims. It was the sort of stat Kira Jones would know, she thought with a twinge of sadness.
“Gloves, people,” Webb reminded them.
Vic rolled his eyes.
The advantage of searching a hotel room was that there weren’t really all that many places to hide something. Kathy Grimes had been living out of a suitcase, and she didn’t have a lot of belongings. Clearly, she was used to being on the road.
Erin drifted over to the suitcase, which was being examined by one of the CSU guys. “Looks a little rumpled,” she observed. Clothes were tossed around in it, almost carelessly.
“Yeah,” the evidence tech said. “Looks like someone already went through this.”
Erin nodded and stepped back. She did the old trick her dad had taught her, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and opening them again, taking in the scene with fresh eyes. This time, she wasn’t looking for something hidden. She was looking for signs of a burglary.
The bed had been made up by the maid, so it was neat and tidy. So was everything else in the room. Erin took her time, letting her eyes wander from one thing to another.
Then she saw it. The chair by the window had a set of small, circular depressions in the carpet that didn’t quite line up with the chair legs.
“That’s been moved,” she said quietly, pointing to the chair.
Vic followed her gesture. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Could be housekeeping.”
“Might not be,” she said. She knelt and examined the chair. The upholstery didn’t look to have been tampered with. There was no obvious reason to have moved the chair a few inches. She sat back on her heels and looked around again.
The slightly lower angle gave her a different view of the carpet. She saw a shallower set of depressions at the window, near one side.
“Over there,” she said. “Someone moved the chair.”
“To get a window view?” Webb suggested.
“No,” Vic said. He was catching Erin’s drift. “There isn’t a good view from this angle. This looks more like...”
“Like someone was using the chair as a step-stool,” Erin finished. She hurried to the curtain and stuck her head behind it. “I think something’s wedged in there,” she said, looking up. “But I can’t reach it.” She could hardly see it; it was hidden behind the curtain’s upper guard, taped in place where it was almost impossible to spot.
Vic, almost a foot taller than Erin, was able to get a hand high enough. He pulled down a manila envelope.
“What’s inside?” Webb asked.
Wordlessly, Vic upended the envelope on the bed. Tight-wrapped bundles of twenty-dollar bills poured out onto the sheet.
Webb whistled softly. “Whoever searched this place, they didn’t find this.”
“I miss the old days,” Vic said.
“What old days are those?” Erin asked.
“The days when cash didn’t make it into the evidence lockers.”
Erin just shook her head. “You are so full of shit.” Vic talked trash, but he was as honest as any cop she knew.
“Okay, let’s bag it,” Webb said. “We’ll count it back at the precinct.” He turned to the CSU techs. “I want this place dusted, especially the suitcase. If Grimes was killed over this cash, maybe the perp was the one who searched her stuff, looking for it.”
In the precinct, they would’ve walked right past the couple waiting by the front desk. But the man stood up and stepped into their path. He was a big guy, broad-shouldered, thick around the middle. He was holding a Detroit Tigers baseball cap in his rough-looking hands.
“Excuse me,” he said. “They told me to wait for a Lieutenant Webb. That you?”
Webb stopped. “Yes, sir,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Bernie Grimes,” the man said. “This is my wife, Loretta.” He indicated the woman he’d been sitting next to. She had a grandmotherly look, sporting a beauty-salon pile of gray curls. The woman raised a hand in a vague gesture that might have been a greeting, or just an acknowledgment.
“We just got in,” Grimes went on. “I was hoping... I mean, I thought...” He looked down into the baseball cap, maybe hoping to find some inspiration in it. “They told us you’ve got our little girl here. Can... can we see her?”
Erin, remembering the hard-nosed way he’d talked about Kathy on the phone, was a little surprised. But death was an emotionally complicated experience, one which police officers often saw at second hand. When she’d first talked to Mr. Grimes, the reality hadn’t yet sunk in that his daughter was dead. Apparently, in the meantime, it had hit him, and hit him hard. She felt a pang of sympathy.
“Mr. Grimes,” Webb said carefully, “Miss Grimes’s remains are being examined for any information that will help us bring her killer to justice. I would strongly advise against viewing her at this time. I’m sure you understand.”
Grimes stepped forward and spoke in a much lower voice, trying to keep his words out of earshot of his wife. “How bad is it? I mean...”
“You don’t want to remember her like this, sir,” Erin said quietly.
He thought about it and nodded slowly. “Maybe not,” he said. His shoulders slumped. “We just thought... I mean... God, I taught her to ride a tricycle. Seems like last week.” His face started to crumple in slow motion.
Loretta stood and put an arm around her husband.
“Mrs. Grimes?” Erin asked gently.
“Yes?” the other woman said. Her voice was distant. She was staring right past Erin at nothing in particular.
“Your husband told me you’d spoken with Kathy about her boyfriend. What can you tell me about him?”
Kathy’s mother blinked slowly. “She said he was... ambitious. That he was going to go places, and she’d go with him. Once they got some money together.”
“What was his name?”
Loretta’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure.”
Erin didn’t accept that. She knew from personal experience that her own mother wouldn’t let a boyfriend stay a secret for long. “Please, try to remember. Take your time.”
“Lucas, maybe... or Louis,” Mrs. Grimes said. She nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Louis.”
“Louis Miller?” Webb prompted.
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me his last name.”
“We already know about him,” Vic muttered.
Erin held up a hand to shut him up. “Kathy was trying to get money? She was planning to run off with Louis?”
“That’s what she said,” Mrs. Grimes said.
“Did she say where she was going to get the money?” Erin asked.
The woman shook her head.
“Kat could always find money,” Mr. Grimes said. “Her gifts were her smile... and her quick fingers.”
“Does that make Miller more of a suspect, or less?” Vic wondered aloud. They were back in Major Crimes, looking at the whiteboard. The Grimes family was talking to the victim-assistance coordinator downstairs, working through the bureaucracy of death in America.
“Both,” Webb sighed. “O’Reilly, did Miller indicate he was planning to run off with Grimes?”
“No,” she said. “He didn’t seem that broken up by what happened. Hell, by the end of the conversation, he was hitting on me.”
“Really?” Vic looked interested. “What’d you say?”
Erin gave him a look. “I told him where to stick his magic wand.”
Vic snorted.
“Okay,” Webb said quietly, without looking away from the board. “Whoever did this, it was personal. You’d have to really hate someone to do something like this.”
“Or love
them,” Erin said.
“Yeah,” Webb said. He rubbed his chin with one hand. The other was fidgeting with an unlit cigarette. “If they’d let me smoke in here, I swear, my clearance rate would go up twenty percent.” He turned to look at his detectives. “Go on, get out of here. Clear your heads, get some lunch in you, and come back with ideas. That’s an order.”
Chapter 13
“You want to grab some takeout?” Vic asked.
“No, thanks,” Erin said. “You go on.”
“You okay?” he asked, pausing and looking closely at her.
“Fine.”
He stepped in front of her. “Hey, did those jack-offs tune you up worse than you said? Look, we can go after them. You must’ve got a quick look at them, at least. We can ask around. I got a couple guys I can talk to, maybe get a lead.”
“Aw, Vic... are you offering to help beat the shit out of some guys? That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
He smiled sourly. “Well? Whaddaya say?”
“Rain check.”
“Okay. You change your mind, let me know.” He glanced at Rolf. “Can’t let Fuzzy here have all the fun.”
Rolf returned the look coolly.
“I’m gonna call my sister-in-law,” Erin said.
“Sure thing. See you in an hour, when you get tired of dealing with civilians.” Vic headed off.
Erin took out her phone. Running into Kathy’s parents had put family on her mind.
“Erin!” Michelle said when she picked up, sounding genuinely delighted. “Guess who’s here?”
“Shelley, I have no idea.”
“Your dad came down for the day.”
“Really?” Erin’s spirits lifted. “You doing anything for lunch?”
“Of course we are!”
“Oh.” Disappointment came down on her.
“We’re going out with you, silly,” Michelle said. “My treat. We’re actually not that far from your precinct. Your dad was planning to drop in and say hi. How about the Odeon, on Broadway? We can meet you there in, say, fifteen?”
“Sure,” Erin said.
“And you can tell me all about that mystery man from New Year’s,” Michelle said mischievously. She hung up before Erin could protest.
Erin looked at her K-9. “You got my back, big guy?”
Rolf wagged his tail.
The Odeon had been one of the go-to eateries in Lower Manhattan back in the ‘90s and remained a standby, a classic downtown bistro on the northern edge of Tribeca. Erin was worried about getting a quick seat, but Michelle, her kids, and Erin’s dad had gotten there a few minutes ahead of her and had lucked into a table. Erin and Rolf saw them the moment they passed under the red awning, Michelle standing up to wave to her.
Anna and Patrick clustered around Rolf, who was proudly wearing his bulletproof vest. Ever since the attack in the garage, Erin had been paranoid about going out in the open, so they were ready for anything.
Sean O’Reilly stood as Erin approached and looked her over. The patriarch of the O’Reilly clan was the same as ever, a little grayer in the mustache maybe, and a little stouter, but still the calm, reassuring veteran cop of Erin’s childhood.
“How you doing, kiddo?” he asked, looking sharply at her battered face.
“I’m good, Dad,” she said, giving him a quick hug.
“Nice shiner.”
She reflexively touched the swelling around her eye. “You should see the other guy.”
“What happened?” Michelle asked, staring at Erin’s black eye.
“The Job,” Erin replied.
Sean nodded silently. He’d worked Patrol and been in enough fights to need no further explanation.
“What’s good here?” Erin asked, changing the subject.
“I’m getting the Baby Kale Caesar Salad,” Michelle said.
“I think Erin was asking about food,” Sean said. “I’m getting the BLT.”
“Mommy?” Anna asked. “What’s steak tar-tare?”
“Tartare,” Michelle said. “You don’t want that, dear.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s like a hamburger,” Erin said. “Except raw.”
“Raw?” Anna wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross!”
“Some people like it,” Sean said.
“Do you, Grandpa?”
“I like my meat,” he said, pretending to think it over. “But I like to know it’s dead before I put it in my mouth.”
“On that note,” Erin said, “I think I’ll get a burger.”
“I’m getting a puppy,” Anna announced.
“For lunch?” Sean asked in mock horror.
“No, Grandpa!” Anna said. “Mommy said it’ll be good for me. Having a pet fosters responsibility.”
“That’s important,” Erin said. “What kind of dog?”
“It’s not decided yet,” Michelle said. “Her father and I are negotiating. We’re looking into shelters and rescue organizations. Why spend a thousand bucks on some harebrained, inbred purebred from some puppy mill when there’s some sweet mutt who needs a home?”
“It’s okay, partner,” Erin said to Rolf. “She’s not talking about you.”
Rolf gave her a mournful look more suited to a basset hound than a German Shepherd.
After they’d ordered, Michelle leaned forward. “Okay, sis,” she said. “Let’s have it.”
“What?”
“Don’t play innocent. Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?” Sean asked.
“If I didn’t tell you at New Year’s,” Erin said, “after I’d had a couple of drinks, what makes you think getting me to talk in front of my dad would be easier?”
“It’s okay, kiddo,” Sean said. “Face it, I’ve never liked any of your boyfriends. So there’s no pressure. I’m sure to hate this one, too.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend!”
“I do,” Anna announced.
“You do?” Erin echoed.
“That’s right,” Anna said, with the certainty that came with being nine years old. “He sits two rows in front of me in math.”
“What’s his name?” Erin asked, glad to divert attention.
“Brian Burkhart. He wears big plastic glasses, he can hold his breath for almost a minute, and he gave me a live frog just before Thanksgiving.”
Erin nodded soberly. “Sounds like a keeper.”
“So. How’s work?” Sean asked, recognizing Erin wasn’t going to open up on the boyfriend front. “IAB leaving you alone?”
“That’s cleared up.” Erin had been under investigation by Internal Affairs, but had gotten out from under by finding a genuinely dirty cop. That’d been one of the most unpleasant things she’d had to do, and she hurried to change the subject. “You hear about the theater thing?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was all over the news. All over the theater, too, from the sound of it.”
“Careful,” Michelle said, flicking her gaze over her kids. “Easy on the detail.”
“You crack it yet?” Sean asked.
“Not yet,” Erin said.
“Any suspects?”
“Everywhere we look. The girl made enemies.”
“We’ve all got enemies,” Sean said. “You’ve got them, I’ve got them, I’ll bet even Anna’s got enemies. You got enemies, kiddo?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “Molly Perkins and Madison Carver. They’re...” she leaned forward, “itches with a capital B.”
“Anna!” Michelle exclaimed, horrified.
Erin put a napkin to her face to cover her grin, and saw her dad smiling through his mustache.
“But none of those people are gonna kill you,” Sean said. “And the way this perp did it...”
“It’s a statement,” Erin said.
“Loud and clear,” he agreed. “We’ve both seen the usual type of homicide. Bullets, knives, back-alley stuff. Your average Joe gets pissed, wants to whack someone, this isn’t how he does it.”
“This was theatrical,” Erin said. “I know.”
“So you’re looking for someone theatrical,” Sean said. “Forget motive. There’s motive everywhere. And forget means. What you’re looking for here is style. This is a crime with a signature.”
“Dad? Why didn’t you ever make detective?”
“I liked wearing blue,” he said. “Couldn’t get used to a suit.”
“Signature,” Erin said. “You’re right. This is a guy who wanted it to be as public as possible. He wanted witnesses. Hundreds of them. This guy’s confident.”
“Yes, he is,” Sean said. “That’s how you catch him.”
“Confidence?”
“Yeah. Because this guy will need people to know it was him, sooner or later. There’s clues, if you know where to look. I think this guy wants revenge more than he wants to get away with it.”
“I hope you’re right, Dad,” she said. “Because right now, he’s doing a pretty good job of getting away with it.”
“Mommy?” Anna asked. She was looking at the menu again.
“Yes, dear?”
“What’s ca... calam...”
“Calamari,” Michelle said. “It’s squid.”
“People eat squid?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Imagine a mouthful of rubber bands,” Sean said.
“I don’t understand grown-up food,” Anna said.
“Neither do the grown-ups,” Erin said. “We just get better at faking it.”
“Well?” Vic asked.
“Well what?” Erin replied.
“You solve the case? Get a blinding insight? Find wisdom? See the face of God?”
Erin shook her head. “I figure I was doing well just getting a burger that was cooked.”
“I sent you for food and ideas, people,” Webb said.
“One out of two ain’t bad,” Vic said.
“We’re looking for a criminal with style,” Erin said, remembering her dad’s words.
“Go on,” Webb said.
“Two people have told me that,” she said. “Louis Miller said Kathy would’ve appreciated the theatricality of her death.”
“You think that’s true?” Webb asked.