“Considering you work for an agency that supposedly deals with wildlife, and yet has jurisdiction over all kinds of cases, including murder, how do I know you’re not part of whoever ‘these guys’ are?” I asked.
“You don’t,” he said. “In a way, I suppose I am part of whoever ‘these guys’ are. So you can consider me an expert. ‘These guys’ don’t care who they steamroll to keep their secrets, Inspectors. Why not make your lieutenant happy and pin this on some dirt bag who deserves to go to down anyway?”
“Because our job is to solve murders, not cover them up.” My voice had a little heat in it.
Walleye smirked, which made me even more heated.
“I figured you’d say that. Here.” He handed me a business card. It was ivory with age, the print faded.
The name on the card earned Walleye a sharp look. He tipped his cowboy hat to me. “We never had this meeting.”
He and Agent Stoney got back in the vehicle and drove off. There was a lot of traffic backed up behind them. Horns honked angrily, people on their way into the hospital.
Shen continued our interrupted drive. “What is it?”
“A business card,” I said. “Tom Rathers.”
“Huh. Funny how that shows up. What do you think?”
We headed back toward the freeway. “I don’t trust those guys.”
“Put it on the back burner for now,” Shen said. “We have plenty of paperwork to go through. I figure we better get back to the clubhouse. The day’s half over.”
Chapter 12
We dove into the drift of reports, both paper and electronic. John Vandermoot’s associates were few, and none of them seemed to bare an interview. Same went for Robert Zackery and Darren Strathmore.
“Darren Strathmore’s father worked for the feds,” Shen said, not looking up from his computer.
“FBI? CIA?” I asked. “Hell, Fish and Wildlife?”
“USDA, he retired about ten years ago.”
I sat back and sighed. “This case has got me so paranoid that I want to see a connection.”
“Well, sinister thoughts of the Ag Department aside, we still don’t have anything. All we know for sure is that John Vandermoot was shot to death. We assume his wallet and watch were stolen. He texted a photo of a record album to his buddy, so we assume that was stolen as well. Without adding to the paranoia, we can’t say if the record was valuable, either for its rarity, or its importance to certain agencies in the federal government.”
Shen was right. We had no witnesses. Any evidence we had was speculative. What we needed was a break. “Take a look at the Peerless Scarlet Jack Explosion. Maybe that will lead somewhere. I’m going to dig—” My phone rang.
Burl Jefferson spoke quickly, his voice higher pitched than normal. “Burl, slow down. I can’t understand you.”
In the background of the call, I heard a fire alarm going off. “It’s about your victim’s phone, John Vandermoot’s phone.”
“Did you find anything new?”
His voice was a little breathless. “There was an app on there, unnamed. I wanted to see what it was about. I mean, there can be all kinds of weird hacks on a phone. When I opened it, it crashed my computer.”
Several inspectors in the bullpen hurried over to look out the windows. I could see a thin plume of smoke rising. Sirens of firetrucks sounded in the distance.
“That doesn’t sound like anything I can use,” I said.
“The phone started smoking,” Burl said. “It caught fire. When I ran out in the hall to grab a fire extinguisher, it exploded.”
“It what?” I suddenly understood that the smoke was rising from the Crime Scene Unit lab. “Burl, are you hurt?”
“No, I was lucky. But the lab’s a mess. Don’t worry, the data we got from the phone is secure in an off-site server.”
As long as Burl was okay, I didn’t care about the evidence. “What would make a cell phone explode?”
“Eventually, we’ll work the forensics. Right now, I have no clue. There’s no doubt that whoever booby-trapped that phone meant it to be lethal. The fire department’s here, I have to go.”
Long red trucks, horns, sirens, lights, filled the parking lot below. I hung up the phone.
“Did I overhear that right?” Shen’s voice was low.
I nodded. “Vandermoot’s phone did all that.” The fire alarm in the main building went off. Members of the department filed into the halls and down the stairs. We watched the firefighters work on the CSU lab. Supervisors wandered through their flocks, doing head counts.
Shen folded his arms, watching the activity. “Maybe the paranoid route is the way to go.”
A uniformed sergeant made his way toward us through the crowd. “You Inspectors Shen and Garcia?”
His nametag read Jacinto.
“What’s up, Sarge?” Shen said.
Sgt. Jacinto blew out his cheeks. “We picked up a guy this morning with a crate full of records. Word is, you’re working on a case that might be involved. And, uh...”
He shifted his feet, bit his lower lip as if to stop the stem of words.
“Well, you’d better see for yourself,” he said.
After a while, the okay bell sounded. Shen and I followed the sergeant up to the second floor. Property Crimes, which was still called Burglary around the department, worked out of an office down the hall from Crimes Against Persons. I watched two uniforms lead a disheveled man in handcuffs to an interview room. Despite the beard and the filth, I recognized the suspect.
“Oh, no,” I moaned.
Jacinto shrugged. “We did a sweep of the homeless camp, pretty much standard procedure. A milk crate full of records was found in the suspect’s possession. We figured it was related to the burglary of a murder victim’s apartment—your case. But the suspect told us he was related to you.”
Shen raised his brows at me. His eyes wandered down the hall to the interview rooms.
“Brock Garcia,” I sighed. “Is my brother. How guilty does he look?”
“Says he found the crate of records outside his tent, and he was taking them to sell.” Jacinto shrugged. “A couple of the records were tagged with low-tack stickers. The name and address matches the murder victim’s.”
“Of course they do,” I said under my breath.
Shen nudged me. “Remember what Walleye said.”
I did. You need to pursue another angle. Any other angle. Otherwise, I’m sure a suspect will be provided for you. “You think this is the way ‘these guys’ are telling us to back off?”
My partner’s look turned thoughtful, but he didn’t speak.
“Can I talk to Brock?” I asked Jacinto.
He shrugged. “Be my guest. None of my guys want to get in a room with him.”
Shen and I walked to the interrogation room. Brock was asleep with his head down on a table. His wrists were handcuffed to it. When I opened the door, Shen took a step back. He waved his hand in front of his nose. “Damn, Garcia, your brother smells like a Dumpster fire.”
I thought he smelled more like an entire dump on fire, rats included. “Wait out here.”
Shen nodded, stepping back. “Thank you.”
For the sake of all those on the second floor, I entered and closed the door behind me. “Where did you get those records, Brock?”
Shaggy head lifted, red eyes sort of focusing on me. “Mary? Mom said you worked for The Man here. I didn’t believe her.”
His words were slurred, and his head wobbled around as if on a loose swivel. “How high are you?”
“Pretty freakin high. Had a little to drink, too. WTF, Mary, I found those records. I just wanted to make a little money. I’m tired of The Man harassing my people.”
“Your people,” I said. “The ones you’re studying.”
“Everybody wants to look at the homeless as some kind of financial issue. But these are people, man, they’re a tribe, their own society. When I get published, people will start to understand.”
&nb
sp; “It’s been, what, eight years now? You haven’t even finished your dissertation.” I put my fists on my hips. “Whatever, I’m not here to talk about that. You’ve been found in possession of evidence in a murder investigation, Brock. Stolen evidence. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
“I swear, Mare, when I woke up this afternoon, they were just sitting there outside my place. All I wanted to do was take them to Zax Trax and get some money for breakfast, okay? End of story.”
“Zax Trax?”
“Yeah, on Miracle Mile. It was the closest place I knew of.” He looked around the tiny room. My words had sobered him up a little. “I really just thought someone dumped those records. You must know some dudes here. Any chance you can get me kicked?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” As quickly as I could, I ducked out of there. Shen stood outside with Sgt. Jacinto.
“My brother is an idiot,” I said. “An addict, an alcoholic, living in denial. But he’s no thief. Especially a professional thief.”
Jacinto shook his head. “We can’t just kick him. That’s above our pay grade. The evidence goes to two open cases.”
“Is somebody out there?” Brock called. “Is there any way to get a sandwich? Maybe some Cheetos? Hello?”
“We’ll have to loop in the loot,” Shen said.
I knew we had to talk to Danielson, but I really didn’t want to. Fishing in my pockets, I came out with a twenty. “Can you keep Brock in here for a while? I’ll spring for some snacks.”
The sergeant took the bill. “Sure thing. But the truck for French Camp leaves in a couple hours. If your brother’s still in here, we’ll send to a holding cell.”
The county jail was in French Camp. My parents would be really pissed off if I couldn’t get Brock out of this jam. “Let’s talk to Lieutenant Dan.”
We walked down the hall. Our supervisor sat in his office behind stacks of paperwork. He eyed us as we entered. Shen closed the door behind us.
“I’m telling you both right now, if this is about demons, goblins or Bigfoot, you can walk right back out and find me a real suspect,” Danielson scowled.
“It’s not about monsters, Boss,” Shen said. “But it is about spooks.”
We gave him what we had, thin as it was. To his credit, Danielson didn’t interrupt. After we finished, he tapped the nearest stack of paperwork, thinking. “This is all based on hearsay from a drug-addled hippie and a psychotic rock star?”
“No,” I said. “This is about pursuing the record, and the blow back from it.”
Danielson nodded. “They took out our lab, planted evidence on a family member. Christ, if that doesn’t sound like The Company.”
Shen and I exchanged a covert glance. For once, Danielson wasn’t yelling at us.
“I served in the desert back in the day, and Afghanistan. Whenever our actions were directed by civilian advisers,” he said the words like a curse, “things went FUBAR. Then these a-holes would fade away, leaving my unit holding the bag. Now you’re telling me we’ll never get a conviction for a murder in broad daylight. The chief’s on my ass, because the mayor is on his ass.”
“We’re not saying that at all,” Shen said. “One thing is certain—these guys are local residents. They’ve been here long enough to know this town. They aren’t heading off to DC once this is over.”
Danielson continued his tattoo on the paperwork. “Do you have any more leads to follow, or are we just gonna poke the bear until more stuff explodes around here?”
I had the business card. “We do have a lead,” I said.
“A couple, actually,” Shen said.
Somehow, I managed not to throw a question at him. What was the other lead?
The lieutenant picked up the phone. “I’ll have your brother kicked, Garcia. Don’t let this blow up in my face. This whole department’s gone down the toilet since the federal funding started. I’d really love to lock up one of these covert operative sonsabitches.”
Chapter 13
Back in the bullpen, I Googled the address on the card Walleye gave us. It was out in the middle of nowhere, west of town, with no occupied areas surrounding. Shen squinted over my shoulder.
“That looks like a spooky old place that I don’t want to visit at night,” he said. “Let’s knock off, Mare. We can check it out in the light of day.”
Google Maps didn’t have a close up view of the place. It stood near a high tension wire tower in the hills beyond the Delta. The road leading to it didn’t have a name. Given the towers for scale, the building was pretty big.
“I’d like to get there before ‘these guys’ set it on fire or blow it up,” I said. “What’s this other lead you mentioned?”
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his suit coat pocket and spread it out. “Record swap at the student union.”
“How is that going to help us?”
“Think about it, Mare. How do you think ‘these guys’ got wind of Vandermoot in the first place?” He shrugged. “I have a plan.”
I pulled Babykiller out of the lot only to find Brock waving me down on Adams Street. He waved orange-stained hands at me. “Hey, help me out, little sis. I need a lift.”
“Brock, you smell like something a yeti barfed up. I don’t want you stinking up my car.”
He made a sad face. “I get it. It’s a pretty sweet ride.”
My Cordoba was a gas-guzzling, graffiti’d eyesore.
“I’m gonna narc you out to Mom if you don’t drive me home,” he said.
“Creep,” I said. I rolled all the windows down all the way. “Fine. Get in.”
Instead of heading west and home, I headed east from the bad neighborhood that was City Center to the worst neighborhood, Playtown. The area had the bombed-out look of a Third World country in the grips of civil war. I headed toward the overpass.
“How’s it going, living in Grammy Epi’s place?” Brock asked.
We’d stopped at a signal, the car filling with Brock’s scent. “It’s practically free, so I’ll take it.”
“Have you... seen her?” Brock side-eyed me.
“Yeah. She’s kind of a pain.”
He let out a long sigh. “Thank God. I thought the drugs and booze were damaging my brain.”
“Well, they are, bro. Why aren’t you still living there?”
“Gotta finish my ethnology on the California Homeless. I’d be done with it, but people keep stealing my stuff, my notes.”
The overpass came into view. Ragtag tents appeared beneath. “I call BS. This is just an excuse for you to stay drunk and high all the time. You could stay with Mom and Dad. Maybe even borrow a computer to finish this big project of yours.”
He snorted. “Last time I stopped by, Mom made me stand in the back yard while she washed me down with a garden hose and dish soap.”
“Mom likes a clean house,” I said.
“Sure, and I prefer staying drunk and high all the time to a prison bath with the neighbors watching.”
“I don’t get you, Brock. Just because Dad—”
“Just because Dad what? Provided for us? Moved us out of that crappy neighborhood? Bought Mom a nice house? Gave us cars on our sixteenth birthdays? No one else in The Hammer drove a car to school, Mary, remember that?”
“It was illegal!”
“It was, but it isn’t anymore. Now it’s awesome!”
“It’s still a federal crime.” I stopped myself. Dang it. My father was another easy way to strike out at the investigation, given his shady past. My blood chilled at the thought.
“The hole in the fence is a couple blocks down,” Brock pointed.
Following his directions, I pulled to the curb. “Try to stay out of trouble, Brock. I’m not exactly a superstar in the department.”
“You’re wound so tight, Mary. Maybe you should quit. I mean, it’s fine that you’re such a square, but no job is worth having a stroke over.”
Brock left the car. His smell rode with me all the way across to
wn. When I made the turn on Buitre Creek, I saw a couple of SUVs parked in front of the house. If the Cordoba wasn’t so big, I would’ve turned around. Two people sat on the sagging porch steps. They didn’t look like feds. Ugly sat between a young man and woman, enjoying some attention.
A simple symbol emblazoned the doors of the SUVs—π.
The man stood up and approached the car. “Mary Garcia? Hi! We’re Pi. P.I., as in Paranormal Investigations. We don’t like to be confused with private investigators, although we are sort of private investigators, so we go with Pi. Drusilla Herald sent us. She’s with the FBI?”
“Jerry, shh! Not everyone in the neighborhood needs to know what’s going on,” the woman said.
I got out of the car, leaving the windows down. “I’m Mary Garcia.”
“Joy Feldberg, and this is my brother, Jerry.” She shook my hand and leaned closer. “Sorry, Jerry’s a little on the spectrum, but he’s good at his job.”
“Hi, Mary,” Jerry shook my hand. “I’m Jerry Feldberg, and this is my sister, Joy. You’re an attractive person. I like your cat. I think she likes me. Let’s find your ghosts. You smell bad.” He wrinkled his nose.
“Jerry!”
My face heated up. “Sorry, I do smell bad. Long story. Let me show you in, and I’ll try and get the smell off of me.”
“It’ll take a while to set up,” Jerry said. “You can get naked and take a bubble bath and stuff. It’s cool.”
I had forgotten all about the conjunction, the blue moon, and the Angle Man in the heat of the case. Pi followed me into the house.
“Your furniture is so old,” Jerry said.
“Adorable!” Joy said. “If it wasn’t so authentic-looking, it would be kitschy-cool. But this looks like the real deal mid-century modern.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“Where’s your bedroom?” Jerry said. “We’ll need to set up a camera there. If you don’t want us to catch you naked, we’ll need to find a good angle.”
Strange Brew (The Tortie Kitten Mystery Trilogy Series Book 2) Page 7