Price of Innocence Page 12

  They exchanged looks across the desk. Each trying to give nothing away while reading the other, neither succeeding and both of them knowing it.

  “Mistake a lot of people made was thinking Jamie was a marshmallow. Maggie knew better, even though she couldn’t see that it made the two of them more alike than different,” Nancy said. “You know what happened with her aunt — their aunt?”

  Figured Nancy first assigned Vivian Frye solely to Maggie. After Nancy’s kids, Maggie was her top priority. Might say something about Jamie that Nancy gave her any part of the aunt. Not the time to parse that, though, because this was tricky territory.

  How much should he know?

  “Her aunt being murdered, you mean?”

  “Yeah. There was a guy — asshole pervert — who courted Vivian, but was really after Jamie. She’s the youngest of the three cousins, was maybe eleven, twelve at the time. Maggie knew something was wrong, but nobody listened to her. Not until the pervert set up an alibi, then tried to snatch Jamie.

  “Maggie saved her before the pervert could get her in a van. He got away but was arrested shortly after. There were other witnesses, but only Maggie was close enough to identify him.”

  Jamie was.

  He didn’t break into her flow to point that out.

  “So the trial rested all on Maggie,” Nancy said.

  “She couldn’t have been very old.”

  “Fifteen, sixteen.”

  Fifteen.

  “He was found not guilty. She’s always believed it was her fault, that she didn’t hold up under cross-examination. She’s never forgiven herself.” She tipped her head sharply. “Or maybe she has started to. Lately.”

  Ah. He’d wondered… The doing of J.D. Carson? Or, at least, whatever happened up in Bedhurst.

  “That was bad enough. Then, as if there’d been any doubt about it, the pervert proved he was complete evil — went to the aunt’s house and murdered her. The three girls weren’t there, but Maggie arrived as the police — called by neighbors — shot him.”

  She was wrong. Jamie and Ally had been there, too. Not as close to the scene as Maggie, but they were there.

  “See this isn’t a surprise to you,” Nancy said. “Heard you were reading her journals. Jamie’s.”

  He didn’t even bother to wonder how she knew that.

  Then something else struck him.

  “You approved.” That part he knew for certain. “Of Jamie Chancellor herself? Or of her plans for Maggie?”

  “Both. She wasn’t ever going to let Maggie be lonely. No matter how hard she tried. Jamie knew how to be loyal.”

  High praise from this woman.

  She stood again. “Get to work.”

  “Nancy.”

  She stopped and looked back at him.

  “What do you think of Carson?”

  She studied him, then said. “Same as you. He’ll do. But I’m not taking my eyes off him.”

  Fairlington County Police Department News Conference

  Fairlington County Police Department Public Information Officer Elliott Kepler: In response to your requests, Dr. Yale Huang Porter of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner is here to make a brief statement. No questions will be taken. Dr. Porter.

  Dr. Yale Huang Porter: Thank you. Good day, ladies and gentlemen. My office will not be releasing an identity of the victim at this time. This—

  Unidentified Media: (Shouting.)

  PIO Kepler: Please. We can stop this right now if you’d prefer not to hear what Dr. Porter has to say. Okay, Dr. Porter, go ahead.

  Dr. Porter: Thank you, Officer Kepler. As I said, my office will not be releasing an identity for the victim at this time. That is why we are addressing this issue scientifically and responsibly. The Fairlington PD wants the identity of the deceased established even more than you do. However, we have encountered a number of difficulties — a perfect storm of difficulties, as it were. Rather than risk misidentifying—

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: Everybody knows who it is.

  PIO Kepler: Zeedyk, no questions or comments—

  Dr. Porter: No, they don’t. And those disseminating any supposed identification are doing the investigation, as well as family members and friends, a grave disservice. We deal with medical facts, not guesswork or supposition.

  When we have overcome the difficulties in this case, which we will do, we will share with the media both the outcome of our efforts and — for those interested in the truth — the measures we have taken to ensure the accuracy of our results.

  PIO Kepler: Thank you, Dr. Porter. No, no questions. I have one last statement.

  If any citizens noticed unusual activity in the 700 block of Red Hill Street between the Friday before Labor Day weekend until two nights ago, please contact the Fairlington County Police Department. The methods of contact are on the handout you’ll receive as you leave here.

  I’ll let you all know when we have further developments to report to you.

  ~~ End news conference transcript.~~

  * * * *

  Danolin appeared in the aisle between Belichek’s and Landis’ pods.

  “Got something for you. Talked to a contact at the power company. First, power didn’t go out during that period. But he did some real interesting calculations. They don’t only see how much power you use in a month. They can pin it down closer than that.”

  Landis’ head came up.

  “Won’t keep you in suspense. Can’t say precisely, but figure a twelve-hour window. Looks like the power usage in that house dropped like a rock starting at some point that Sunday, say between noon and midnight, more likely the earlier part of that period than the later.

  “Not the precise time the app would have given you, but that sure looks like the window for when the AC was turned off.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “You wanted to see me?”

  In an official photo the department put out, Chief of Detectives Wilson Palery sat behind a clean expanse of polished desktop.

  They must have taken that photo in his first two minutes on the job. Because every time Belichek had seen it since, whatever wasn’t covered with papers, folders, books, and notebooks, held coffee mugs, plus the ghostly rings of coffee mugs past.

  Never from the break room. Palery said he hated that coffee, but Belichek suspected it was from a kind of tact, leaving the detectives a place to talk without the boss.

  Rumor was that when the coffee shop next door ran low on mugs, they dispatched someone to this office to retrieve their errant stock.

  “Come in. Close the door. Sit down. Talk to me.” Palery issued orders so fast Belichek hadn’t filled the first before the last was out. That was normal. It was what followed that made the hard-seated office chair more uncomfortable than usual. “How’s it going, Belichek?”

  “Fine.”

  The Chief of Detectives glared at him from under twisted eyebrows. “Like hell.”

  Belichek said nothing to that.

  Palery’s gaze darted to the left and the glass wall of his office. Everybody in the bullpen swore that sitting at their desks, they’d feel a tingle in the hairs at the back of their neck. They’d look up, and the Chief of Detectives would be looking at them.

  “You look like hell, too. You know, Landis said something a while back—”

  Thanks, partner.

  “—and I checked. You haven’t been taking vacation.”

  Belichek had heard this before from HR. Only good thing about that was he hadn’t had to have this conversation with Palery.

  “There’s a reason for vacations. Keep people fresh. Keep people from falling over dead of heart attacks. Keep people from going off the deep end. And you got a hell of a lot of time piled up.”

  He was fresh. Heart did fine in every physical. Wasn’t crazy. If that’s all Palery was worried about…

  His boss’s expression said reassurances weren’t going cut it.

  “I’m saving up. Thought I’d go arou
nd the world someday, you know, in one of those solo sailboats. Takes a long time. Need a load of vacation time.”

  “Yeah? That’s real interesting. I guess you got the idea after Jenkins’s wedding reception on that yacht last year, after you got done barfing up the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “It was something I ate.”

  “Cut the crap, Ford.” Not a good sign. Palery used first names when things got serious. “You hate boats and you’d get seasick on the Tidal Basin. You haven’t taken vacation like you’re supposed to for years. The records say you’re on vacation now. Yet you’re here.”

  “I’ll reschedule. The Chancellor case—”

  “Word’s come down, Ford. You are off the Chancellor case. You weren’t supposed to be on it in the first place and now you’re off it. As of this moment.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I damn sure can. And you will. Is that understood?”

  “This case—”

  “Okay, Belichek, you wanna talk about this case? Let’s talk about this case. Where are you and Landis on it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but supplied his own. “You’ve interviewed the neighbors. You’ve interviewed the co-workers. You’ve interviewed the family. You’ve examined the scene. You’re waiting for medical reports to confirm the ID and lab reports to see if there’s anything else the body can tell you. In the meantime, you have no witnesses, no motives, no leads.

  “Now let me tell you what I’ve got. I’ve got an understaffed department. I’ve got more crime in a month than we used to have in a year, and I’ve got about the same number of people to deal with it. I’ve got two of my best detectives tied up and they’ve got most of the rest of the section chasing inquiries for them. I’ve also got one who’s taken to damn near living at a crime scene. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damn bit.

  “What you’ve got, Ford, is a week of vacation to get your head straight. I don’t care what you do or where you go, but when you come back in here in a week, I want you to be ready to move on to other cases. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, have a nice vacation.”

  Landis looked up as Belichek returned to his desk, but said nothing.

  The question came from Jenkins. “What’d you get?”

  Belichek took out his phone and checked his messages. Nothing on Jamison Chancellor’s medical records. He shoved the phone in his pocket. “A week.”

  “Suspension?”

  “Vacation.”

  Tanner Landis leaned back in his chair, locked fingers forming a pillow for his head. “You don’t think Belichek would look this pissed about a suspension, do you?”

  Jenkins muttered a disgusted expletive and headed for the coffee pot in the break room.

  Belichek glared at his partner. “Screw you, Landis.”

  “Wasn’t me this time. You think I’m crazy? Terrington as my second, remember? It was Terrington whispering in the right ears — maybe Isaacson, too.”

  Belichek jerked his head around to him. “Terrington? But Palery said word came down, how would Terrington have the juice?”

  “If you paid more attention, you’d know young Terrington started following Isaacson around a month ago.”

  Belichek groaned. He tried to open the desk’s lap drawer. It stuck. He opened the top left drawer instead and used his forearm to scrape three pens, a dusty message pad, half a granola bar, forty-three cents in change, and two breath mints whose outer wrapper was gone into the drawer.

  “Exactly,” Landis continued smoothly. “And Isaacson, being the kind to suck up all the adoration a lap dog will give, might have given said lap dog a much-desired treat by cashing in some favors.” He looked thoughtful. “Or dirt. Either way, I’m the one suffering here. I get Terrington. All you get is time off, poor baby.”

  “Screw you.”

  “You said that before. And it’s just what I’ve been hoping for you, Belichek — that somebody’ll screw you. Preferably a woman. And maybe even one who doesn’t do it for a living. I strongly suggest you start your vacation by setting your hard ass on a bar stool in one of the establishments in our jurisdiction commonly known as a meet market. Try Duchess Street. Don’t be fooled by the business suits, some of those bureaucrat-types can be hot. Especially the ones who’re looking for adventure to mix with their routine and think a roll in the hay with a homicide dick will do it — that’s where you come in, Belichek, in case you’ve forgotten how it works.”

  “Go to hell, Landis.” He patted his breast pocket for his current notepad and found it there.

  “More’n likely,” he agreed easily. “Just so long as you don’t go back to your own personal hell.”

  He didn’t look at Landis. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t go back there, Ford.” Landis leaned forward, his voice low. “You can say it’s only a couple days, but I can see it. That place is getting to you. That woman’s getting to you. She’s dead and you can’t bring her back. Maybe it’s the connection to Mags or—”

  Belichek slammed the drawer closed and took out his key ring. “You think I’ve started believing in ghosts?”

  “No, I think you’ve started hoping to believe in ghosts.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Am I?”

  Belichek looked Landis full in the face. “Yes.”

  “Okay. Good. Then a week off should put you back on the road to normal.” Landis leaned back. “Have a good trip.”

  Felicia Ewer walked past. “You going somewhere, Belichek? Where you going?”

  “Vacation.” He started walking out.

  “You gonna send us a postcard from one of those exotic islands like Landis always does?”

  “No.” He kept walking.

  He was on vacation. His time was his own. And he’d spend it how and where he damned well pleased.

  * * * *

  Oz Zeedyk read the comments on the short bonus podcast he’d released today.

  Things were heating up nicely.

  Holding the police up to ridicule?

  Hell, yeah.

  It was the least they deserved — to be seen for the clowns they were.

  Only reason they were putting people and money into this was the victim was a rich bitch — fitting that those rhymed — with a high profile and living in the right area. Only kind of people they cared about. And they get so lazy pretending to investigate the cases of real people that when it came to one they actually gave a shit about, they didn’t know what they were doing.

  He sipped the prime single malt he’d put on his credit card. Pushed it up to the limit, but he’d be rolling in money soon.

  Sponsors were contacting him already.

  Not the big ones yet, the ones he deserved. They’d come. For now, he’d swat away these small-time jerks.

  …so lazy pretending to investigate the cases of real people that when it came to one they actually gave a shit about, they didn’t know what they were doing.

  That was good.

  He’d use it.

  That should stir things up.

  DAY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Belichek was leaning against the side of his car when Landis arrived at a Washington, D.C., address that real estate ads might try to sell as Foggy Bottom, but was mostly bottom. Especially in a building like this, with renters packed in.

  Landis didn’t even break stride.

  Still, it was satisfying knowing his partner had to park a block away, while he’d found a spot nearly in front of the building.

  “Shook off Terrington, huh?” he said by way of greeting.

  “You think I’m an idiot? Of course, I did. Left him with a list a mile long to do from the office. What are you doing here?”

  “You can use another pair of eyes and ears when you meet Delattre’s ex-roommates — three of them, aren’t there? Someone else to help watch reactions could be useful.

  “Fine. If you do something for me. I do
n’t have the manpower, but it needs to be done.”

  “What?”

  “Talk to the other cousin. Mags said she’s coming this afternoon. Talk to her somewhere away from the building. Less grim. Maybe at Mags’. I’ll send you her contact info.”

  “You don’t want to interview her officially?”

  “Alibi checked out and she’s far enough out of the circle to not put her through that. Lots of other things to do.”

  Belichek was good with the trade, mostly because he intended to get more out of it than this visit to the ex-roommates.

  “I’ll contact her after this interview. And see her after we go see the old boyfriend.”

  “Jesus, Belichek — do you want to get me fired? Wouldn’t that be just the way? You get sent on vacation and I get fired.”

  “If you’re going to get fired, it’ll be over a woman.” He knew and Landis knew he knew, that Landis had kept this assignment for himself, while others talked to neighbors and friends of the other Sunshine Foundation employees and volunteers, because it was nearest to where he’d met with the psychologist instead of getting some sleep. “Let’s go. You’re going to be late.”

  “Yeah, I got it. You hacked into the calendar.”

  “It’s not hacking when you gave me the password.”

  “Semantics. Okay. But you are along for the ride. Not official anything, understood? Keep your mouth shut.”

  * * * *

  The four roommates tried hard to not be impressed at being interviewed by the police.

  They knew each other from classes. Their apartment had a small additional room — a long-ago enclosed porch — and they decided to split the rent into smaller pieces by adding another roommate. Adam Delattre responded to a free listing.

  He’d lived there for almost a year and left in February.