The Girl Buried in the Woods

by Robert Ellis

  “If you were there, Jones. If you saw Grubb stick the needle in his arm, then why didn’t you try to stop him?”

  “You saw the gun he was carrying. Why would you ask a question like that? It’s stupid, Raines. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Okay, Jones, okay. He had the gun. I’ll give you that.”

  “Have you picked up Robert Gambini yet?”

  Raines narrowed his eyes. “Why would we?”

  Matt wondered if they were messing with him in some way. There’s no question that both Raines and Billy Hudson would have been briefed on the players when the case was pulled out of Hollywood and bumped up here.

  “Have you been watching TV?” Matt said. “Do you have any idea what happened downtown?”

  Raines met his gaze. “So what?”

  “So Gambini tried to run down Lane Grubb tonight.”

  Raines traded looks with his partner, then glanced at his legal pad for a moment.

  “Let’s get back to Grubb’s death, Jones.”

  “His overdose,” Matt said.

  Raines laughed again. “Okay, you win. The rich guy’s overdose.”

  Matt noted the sarcasm in Raines’s voice—the way he’d called Grubb’s death “the rich guy’s overdose.” He gazed at the one-way glass, wishing he could speak with Burton. Before they entered, Burton had suggested that he refuse to say anything at all without representation. Matt thought it would be okay to cooperate, that he’d know the right time to pull out if he needed to. The fact that no one read him his rights had seemed encouraging at first. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Raines filled a paper cup with water and took a sip. “Why do you think a member of the city council has gone public saying you’re responsible for killing Grubb?”

  Matt sat back in his chair and looked the detective over. “I’ve got no idea, Raines.”

  “The EMTs seem to think Grubb had been dead for at least five minutes before they got there. They told us you were spraying shit into the dead guy’s nose. Why would you spray shit into a dead guy’s nose unless you were worried about the way things looked?”

  Matt leaned against the table. “The shit you’re talking about was the antidote, Raines. I didn’t know Grubb was dead. I had a Narcan kit. I was trying to help him.”

  Raines gave him a look like he didn’t get it. “Help him?” he said. “Why would you want to do that? From what we heard you beat the crap out of him last night?”

  Matt slapped the table with an open hand and stood up. They’d spoken to Colon. Or worse, she’d spoken to them. Matt tried to reel it all in before speaking in a horrifically quiet voice.

  “If that’s what you heard,” he said, “it could only have come from one place, Raines. A very dark place. It would mean that Colon bought you off. It would mean that you guys are on the take. That you’re dirty cops. You got the tape rolling? We’re almost done here.”

  “What are you talking about, Detective? And sit down.”

  “The idea that I beat up Grubb could only come from Colon because it’s a lie and because it’s wrong and because it’s stupid. Robert Gambini roughed him up, just like he tried to run him down tonight. I saw him do it.”

  “You mean you were at Grubb’s house, Jones? You were watching? And you didn’t try to stop that either?”

  “You’d have done the same thing. Two people of interest in a double homicide. You would’ve let them go at it for hours taking in everything they said to each other.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, maybe not you, Raines. Not if you’ve got your hand up Colon’s—whatever—take your pick.”

  “Sit down, Jones, and chill.”

  Matt finally took a seat. Raines dropped his pen on the table and stared back at him. Matt tried to get a read on the guy, but his rough face remained completely blank. It seemed strange. Matt had tossed one insult after the next his way, yet there wasn’t even a hint of anger in his demeanor. After a minute or two, Raines finally spoke.

  “Where did the Narcan kit come from, Jones?”

  Matt met Raines’s eyes. “My car,” he said.

  “So you left Grubb alone in the restaurant and ran out to your car?”

  Matt nodded but kept his mouth shut.

  “Where were you parked?”

  “A block away on the other side of Broadway.”

  “How long were you gone?”

  “Five or six minutes,” he said. “Maybe a couple more.”

  “Did you see anyone around?”

  “No.”

  Raines took another sip of water. “Do you see where you made your mistake, Detective?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You left the restaurant. That’s the first thing you should have told me. I asked you a question. I asked it twice. Were you the last person to see Lane Grubb alive or not? Yes or no?”

  “I didn’t make a mistake, Raines. The answer is maybe, and it’s still maybe.”

  “Because you left him alone in the restaurant.”

  “Yes.”

  It hung there for a moment. As Matt replayed the last few minutes in his head, he thought Raines might be about to confirm what he’d been thinking all along—why did it take six detectives to investigate a heroin overdose? He glanced over his shoulder at Billy Hudson, then turned back at Raines.

  “What are you guys up to?”

  “We’re just trying to take your statement and sort things out, Jones.”

  “Grubb didn’t die of an overdose, did he. That’s why you needed the extra help.”

  Hudson got up from his chair and took a seat at the table beside his partner. Raines was shaking his head. That blank expression the detective had been wearing for the past half hour was gone now but was still something worth admiring. It came from years of experience, Matt realized, and a great deal of talent.

  “We believe it’s a homicide, Jones. And we expect the coroner will back us up after the autopsy tomorrow morning.”

  “Why a homicide? I saw him shoot up. He collapsed before he could even get the needle out of his arm.”

  Hudson cleared his throat. “Before you ran out for the Narcan kit, did you check his vitals?”

  Matt nodded. “Everything had slowed down, but when I left him, he was alive. His heart was beating. His breathing seemed shallow but steady.”

  Raines turned his legal pad over. “We found an empty bag of smack on the table.”

  “There should have been four more,” Matt said. “Not empties, but four more loads.”

  Raines nodded. “They’re empties now, Jones. We pulled them out of a trash can in the kitchen, along with a pair of nitrile gloves. The investigator from the coroner’s office examined Grubb’s arm before they bagged him up and found five fresh tracks. The one he made while you were watching him get loaded, and the four the doer added when you left the room.”

  Matt sat back in the chair and thought it over. Like a shadow, Gambini had been there the whole time. He’d found an opening—a five-minute window—and finished Grubb off. Now there was only Ryan Moore and Sonny Daniels to deal with. The Brothers Grimm had been reduced to two.

  Raines’s cell phone started vibrating on the table. He glanced at the face, took the call, said the word “right” two times, and switched off his phone. As he set it back down on the table, he glanced over at Matt and reached out to shake his hand.

  “The chief wants to see you and Burton, Jones. Good meeting you.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Matt followed Burton into the elevator. After the doors closed, he turned to the prosecutor with concern.

  “What do you think that was really about?”

  Burton met his gaze. “Grubb was murdered. You didn’t know it at the time but somehow sensed it when you asked why they needed six detectives to investigate an OD.”

  “They were playing me. I knew something was wrong when Hudson decided to sit behind my back.”

  Burton smiled. “Raines had the gloves and the empty bags and
knew that the last one to see Grubb alive killed him.”

  “But I answered ‘maybe.’”

  “Yes, you did. And you just beat two of the best detectives in the division. That’s why I think you ought to be an attorney, Matt. You belong in a courtroom.”

  The doors opened onto the top floor. As they started down the hall, Matt shook off the idea and glanced at the photographs neatly framed and hanging on the walls—a display that depicted the entire history of the LAPD from 1869 to the end of last year. Matt couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride as they reached the chief’s suite of offices at the end of the hall and stepped inside.

  They were greeted by the deputy chief, who ushered them through the lobby and into the chief’s corner office. Chief Logan was standing by a bookcase looking through the window at the city glowing in the night. Behind him Matt could see three TV monitors mounted to the wall. One was switched to CNN. The second, to Channel Four, an NBC affiliate broadcasting the late-night news. But it was the third monitor that caught Matt’s attention. The third screen was switched to Interrogation Room 3B. Matt could see and hear Raines collecting his pad and pen and walking out. The chief had watched the entire interview from his desk chair.

  Matt turned and saw the deputy chief close the door on his way out.

  “Have a seat,” the chief said in an even voice.

  There were two chairs placed before the chief’s desk. As he and Burton sat down, the chief began pacing. He seemed extremely irritated and high strung. After several moments he turned and stared at Matt with those dark eyes of his.

  “We met when, Detective? Was it yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what did I ask you to do? I want Burton here as a witness. What were your orders, Detective?”

  Matt understood that there was nothing to be gained by glossing over what had happened. “You told me to leave the three partners at DMG alone.”

  “I believe there was more to it than that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt said. “You ordered us to pull back the surveillance unit and no longer consider any one of the three men as persons of interest.”

  “And, of course, you followed that order because you know that’s how things work in this police department or any other police department anywhere in the world. When a superior officer gives you an order, you follow the order. The reason it makes so much sense is that following orders is logical, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Matt hesitated. “Yes, sir. Following orders is logical.”

  The chief nodded and flashed a strained smile that hurt to look at.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Detective, but the city’s burning right now. You see the flashes of light behind those two buildings? Those are car fires still being cleaned up after what happened on Fifth Street tonight. We have two deaths, including one of our own, and thirty-three people injured, including your partner, Detective Cabrera. On top of all that, now we’ve got another murder.”

  The chief glanced up at the TV monitor set to Channel Four. Councilwoman Colon was being interviewed by a reporter in studio. After a moment, he turned back to Matt.

  “What was a relatively small homicide investigation with a few loose ends—a teenage girl found in a shallow grave—has become a high-profile case that’s infecting the city. Right now, Councilwoman Colon is blaming you for the murder of her dear friend, Lane Grubb, and, because you’ve proven yourself to be incompetent, she’s taking credit for getting you kicked off the case. According to Colon, you’re the Lone Ranger and a disgrace to the entire department. I’m sure you don’t want me to turn up the sound. I know I have no interest at all in what she’s saying or hearing her say it. What you need to keep in mind is that everything Colon touches turns into something ugly, Detective. And because she’s got a dirty mouth, because she’s a serial liar, she owns nothing. No matter what the reality, it will always be your fault, not hers. What I’m saying is that we need to find a way to shut her down and do it as soon as we can. Before we go on, I’ve gotta ask. Did you do something to her? Is there a reason why she’s going after you so hard?”

  Burton cleared his throat. “I asked him the same thing, Chief. It seems so visceral.”

  Matt shook his head. “I’d never even met her before the other night.”

  “You’re sure?” the chief said.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been thinking about it, though. Now I’m wondering if it’s something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “The amount of money that’s at stake. I overheard Gambini talking to Grubb. He thinks the three partners at DMG are trying to muscle in on his business.”

  The chief nodded like he understood. “And Colon being a parasite wants in.”

  “That’s what Grubb told me before he died. They’ve already made one payment to her, but she wants more.”

  “Of course she does.”

  Burton turned to the chief. “The way she’s been acting, it would have to be a lot more.”

  The chief nodded again and, for whatever reason, had the hint of a wicked smile working across his face.

  “Sir?” Matt said.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t understand why we’re hands off on Gambini.”

  The chief glanced at his computer as a text message popped up. “We’re not hands off, Detective. We just can’t locate him. The lab’s working on the pair of nitrile gloves they found at the restaurant. They’re hoping to lift the killer’s prints off the inside of the gloves but said it’ll take time.”

  The chief read his text message and looked up.

  “So here’s where we stand,” he said. “Colon takes credit for your fall, Detective. The case goes to Jack Raines and Billy Hudson in RHD. Mitch, anything they need, you’ll help them with, right?”

  Burton nodded. “Of course, Chief. Anything they need.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s the way the story will appear in the Times tomorrow. That’s the official story.”

  Burton raised a brow. “Official?”

  The chief turned to Matt and sat down on the end of his desk. “Jones, you’re off the case because everything went to shit tonight. Like I said before, it’s become a high-profile investigation. But if Colon’s on the take, I trust her even less tonight than I ever did. So officially, you’re off, Detective—you’re back on medical leave. Okay? But unofficially, you passed the test with Raines tonight. Unofficially, I want you and Burton to keep at it. And I mean do whatever it takes to close this case out and get it off the table. Everyone involved is now a person of interest. But no rough stuff—keep your footprints small. I don’t want to know what you’re doing or how you’re doing it. If Colon wants the Lone Ranger, we’ll give her one. But if it blows back in your face, you’re on your own, Detective. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Matt glanced at Burton, then met the chief’s eyes and nodded.

  The reins were off. Proceed with caution.

  FORTY-FIVE

  It was the only next step that made sense. Despite the risk, it seemed like the only way forward.

  Matt was standing behind a row of bushes pressed against the wall outside Robert Gambini’s home off Bundy Drive in Brentwood. It was a dark, moonless night, around 12:30 a.m. He had parked a few blocks away and spotted the two SIS teams watching the house on his way in. The first had been easy to pick out—a dark van that looked empty parked at the curb two doors down. But the second team had been harder to make. The house next door was under construction from the ground up. Matt had noticed that the windows and walls had been framed out, but the structure itself provided no cover. As he moved through the gloom, he noticed the dim light from a cell phone switch on and off in the contractor’s trailer. Peering through the rear window, he saw two members of the surveillance team they’d used outside the DMG facility staring across the side yard at Robert Gambini’s house.

  Matt had backed away, keeping to the shadows and now finding himself hidden on the street
before a five-foot-high wall. He peered across the lawn, surprised by the size of Gambini’s home. It was a big modern job that stretched across a wide lot and included a terrace with a pool and hot tub. But what really mattered right now were the large oak trees and the darkness. Although the outdoor lights were switched on, Matt thought he had enough lanes of shadow to make it across the front yard unseen.

  He looked back at the house. A single lamp was on, lighting up the two windows by the front door. The driveway was empty, the garage doors closed. Although Matt couldn’t be certain, the place had the look and feel houses get when the owners are away on vacation. It was almost as if the building itself had gone to sleep.

  He heard a car approaching in the night. As the headlights swept through the tree branches above, Matt rolled over the wall onto Gambini’s front lawn. Picking out a lane of darkness, he cantered through the gloom and around to the back of the house. The two surveillance units were stationed out front and off to the side. Matt knew that they were either waiting for Gambini to show up or looking for some sign that he was already here hiding out. It seemed odd that they weren’t covering the back of the house. But after several minutes of searching, Matt became satisfied that the backyard was clear. Stepping out of the darkness, he walked over to the garage and gazed through the window.

  A white Ford Mustang was parked in the first bay. The black Mercedes coupe, nowhere to be found.

  He took a deep breath and turned back to the house, eyeballing the second-floor windows as he considered a new and unwelcome set of possibilities. Someone could be in a bedroom sleeping. Someone he didn’t expect.

  Proceed with caution.

  He crossed the driveway and stepped up to the kitchen door. Through the window above the dead-bolt lock Matt could see a keypad mounted on the wall inside the house. The green lights on the interior panel were blinking in succession, indicating that the security system was armed.

  Matt dug his cell phone out of his pocket, opened his speed dial list, and called Keith Upshaw, Speeks’s friend and the former hacker who now worked in the Computer Crime Section. Upshaw picked up on the first ring.