* * *
Ross, Barclay, and Brandt’s partner joined him at a back table in the Corner Cafe. He’d moved their morning meeting out of the precinct in order share Wernier’s concerns. The vice cop had reluctantly agreed, after Brandt personally vouched for them.
As he’d expected, they took the news with a mixture of anger and disgust.
“Hell, if we can’t trust our own people…” Barclay’s hand hit the table hard enough they grabbed for their coffee mugs.
“Hey, Stan, tone it down,” Ross said, glancing around the restaurant before refocusing on his companions. “But he’s right. If someone’s tampering with cases, it affects everything we do. If they’ve known about this three years, why haven’t they cleaned house?”
Brandt repeated what Wernier had said. “Nothing’s proven, and so far it’s only a handful of possible cases. No suspects, not even the same techs involved.”
“Who says it’s a tech? A secretary, a janitor, a civilian dispatcher, anyone who has access to the lab. Even a cop.” Barclay ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I know there’s a protocol to keep evidence secure, but it obviously hasn’t worked.”
“If vice is right. Despite the obvious irregularity on the Pardson case, we still don’t have a suspect, and the other cases remain under investigation,” Brandt cautioned.
“Yeah, well, I think it’s gone past suspicion. It explains what I found—or didn’t find—in the Otley file,” Eddie said.
Brandt’s head whipped around. “I knew something was wrong. What is it?”
“I started comparing York’s notes and the crime scene photos. I realized I was missing some photos, but I tracked them down at the lab and made new copies.” Eddie reached under his chair and retrieved a file from his battered briefcase, scuffed from nearly thirty years of police work. He opened it, spread out a couple of the photos, and picked up a sheet of paper. He lowered his bristled gray brows. “Read paragraph five of York’s report. She mentions a bullet under the trash bin.” He pointed to the photos. “But there’s no bullet or casing shown under the bin or marked on the photos. Four casings collected and clearly marked out in the open.” He tapped on each marker in the picture. “Four turned over to the lab. No bullet or even a fifth casing. I know the casings turned out to be bogus, but this discrepancy caught my eye.”
“So she was wrong,” Ross said. “We’ve all made mistakes.”
“How do you make a mistake about seeing something?” Barclay protested. “You either do or you don’t. Eddie’s right. It could be more missing evidence.” He looked at Brandt. “You want us to ask her?”
Brandt mentally reviewed his case discussion with Maggie. She’d mentioned mistaking a casing for the bullet, and he’d just assumed one of the four casings collected had come from under the bin. Had she made the same assumption? If so, where was the fifth casing…or was it the missing bullet? And who took it?
“Brandt?”
Ross’s voice prodded him into an answer. “Sorry, I was kicking myself for not catching it. Good work, Eddie. Can you make copies of the two photos and her report? I have to return a box from the lab to York. I’ll ask her about the discrepancy at the same time.”
“Meanwhile, what do we do about the lab problem?” Ross looked at Brandt. “Does the captain know?”
“He does now. Vice convinced him to keep it quiet for a few more days before Internal Affairs clamps down. We’ll be better off if we can catch the culprit and determine the extent of evidence that’s been compromised. Just keep your eyes open. Jenson is putting out a memo on sloppy case documentation of evidence and ordering stringent compliance. Hopefully that spotlight will avoid additional tampering until we find this guy…or woman.”
Ross shook his head. “I don’t like the word hopefully.”
Neither did Brandt.
He stopped at the lab and collected the box and plastic bag holding Maggie’s guns, shoes, laundry that had been searched for bloody clothes, and the clothes she’d been wearing at the crime scene. They’d all been tested and released as clear. Items still undergoing testing would be returned later, but this was the bulk of it. Ordinarily a tech would have run it out, but he didn’t trust anyone in the lab right now—and it gave him an excuse to see her.
The Otley case added legitimacy to his visit.
He called on the way. Her voice was normal, cool, efficient, not unfriendly but not showing any leftover warmth from that kiss. He approached her door prepared for whatever he might find. But perhaps not the poised young woman who greeted him.
As usual, Maggie wore jeans, but the black skinny jeans looked new, and the feminine silk top in midnight blue popped the red hair and blue eyes. She smiled and invited him in. He was immediately on guard.
“Were you on your way out?” he asked, setting the box and bag next to her coffee table.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I just thought… You look very nice.”
“Thank you.” She waved a hand at the containers of personal items. “Are you through with these?”
“Yes. They didn’t find anything. There’ll be another box when they’re finished.”
“Ok, I guess. Anything else?”
Brandt frowned. Was she implying he should leave? He’d thought that top might mean something. Guess not, but he was far from ready to go. “Something has come up.” He grimaced when her eyes immediately darkened. “Not on the Pardson case. It’s about Otley.”
“Oh.” Her lip curled. “Have you decided I killed him too?”
“Maggie.”
Her face lost its cool facade. “OK, I harbor a grudge. So sue me. I’ll try to do a better job of hiding it.”
He dropped the file on the coffee table, reached her in two strides, and grabbed her arms. His gaze caught and held hers. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me. But I’d like us to get beyond this.”
“You don’t ask much, do you?” she said stubbornly, but she didn’t move away.
“Actually, I’m asking a lot. I want a lot.” He lifted one hand to smooth her hair back and searched her face, hoping she understood what he was saying. “Aw, Maggie, I’m trying to do the right thing, and you’re not making it easy.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to do the right thing.”
Brandt’s nostrils flared, and Maggie stepped back, as if regretting her impulsive words. “I shouldn’t have said that. Not yet. Not today.”
The air rippled between them. Conflicted. Wanting and not wanting. He knew that feeling. Brandt resisted the impulse—the challenge—to change her mind. He didn’t want either of them to live with regrets. This just wasn’t the time.
He broke eye contact. “Do you have the coffee on?”
“I do.” Her relief at the normal question was almost palpable, and yet—was there a tinge of regret? “I’ll pour while you tell me your concerns on the Otley case.”
He picked up the file and spread it out on the kitchen counter. “My partner Eddie Bishop just got back from vacation and looked over the file for the first time. He found a discrepancy between your report and the crime scene markers on the bullet casings.”
She frowned as she set the filled mugs on the counter. “Show me.”
Maggie immediately spotted the problem. “Where’s the casing that was under the bin? I know it was there. In fact, at first…” She broke off and her frown deepened.
“You thought it was the bullet,” he finished. “You mentioned that before.”
“Yes, but we’d just arrived at the scene. I hadn’t even viewed the body yet, and I thought I’d get back to it. By the time I remembered, it was gone. I assumed it was collected by the lab. But I guess not…”
“What if it was the bullet.” His voice was flat, not a question at all.
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide and searching. “Then where’d it go? It doesn’t show up on the evidence sheets.”
“A good question. You may not like the answer.”
He told her
about the call from Justin Wernier, the fingerprint issue from the Pardson scene, the vice unit’s suspicions of the lab, and ended with Bullet Castile’s possible involvement. The man’s name acted like a shot of adrenaline. Her eyes narrowed, the womanly softness that was part of her normal demeanor dropped away, and Maggie the cop took over. The wheels spun into high gear.
“You saw some object under the bin…” He paused long enough for her to nod positively. “So it’s lost, stolen, or destroyed, whether it was a bullet or a casing.”
“Geez, Brandt.” Her jaw tightened. “That frigging bastard Castile has his dirty fingers everywhere. But who does he have in his pocket?”
Brandt shook his head. She clearly didn’t expect an answer, and she ran down the staff list, examining, rejecting, or setting aside each lab tech for further dissecting. Her fingernails drummed on the countertop.
“Cory’s in charge of the lab,” she said. “Which makes him the obvious choice, but he’s also the whistle blower. That moves him into the unlikely category. Likewise Erma, who’s set to retire soon with a tidy pension. No motive there. Maybe someone young, needing money, like RJ with a wife and three small children to feed, or Beth, whose grandmother has all those medical bills. And Randy has a ton of school loans.” She looked at Brandt. “What do you think? I like these people. I’d hate to believe any of them are involved.”
“There are other possibilities.” He brought up the clerical staff, and even regular visitors to the lab from outside agencies.
“Or cops.” Maggie cocked her head to one side. “It could even be a dirty cop.”
Brandt made a reluctant face. “Anyone come to mind?”
“God, no. If I had a suspicion like that, I would have acted on it before now. Just think of the damage that’s been done. If the lab’s been compromised, every case will be susceptible to challenge. Scumbags will be back on the streets because the evidence was thrown out.”
They drank their coffee in glum silence. Brandt finally said, “I should go.” He straightened, but instead of getting up, he shook his head with a rueful grin. “Guess who I found visiting my mother and brother last night?”
Maggie looked at him blankly, then wrinkled her forehead and sighed. “Not Annie.”
“Yep. Mom loved her. I haven’t seen her spirits so carefree in a while.”
“How is your mother doing?” Maggie asked hesitantly. “If you don’t want to talk about it I understand, but…”
He shrugged, intending to leave it there, but he found himself discussing his family with her as if it were natural. “She’s dying of cancer. I can say the words, but I’m not sure I’ve come to terms with it. The treatments are having little effect, and I think they’ll stop them this week.” He paused. “It won’t be long after that.”
Maggie’s heart went out to him. “Oh, Josh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. I think you’d like her. And I know she’d like you. She enjoys visitors. Maybe before it’s too late…” He lifted a brow.
Maggie silently caught her breath. He was asking if she wanted to meet his mother. But that would mean getting more involved in his life. She was already on slippery ice.
A shadow crossed his face at her hesitation. “Never mind. It probably wasn’t—”
And she responded to it, putting a hand on his arm. “I’d love to meet her. Really.”
“If you’re sure, I’ll call you.”
Brandt left shortly afterward. His visit had raised important case issues she needed to think about, but she replayed that highly charged moment that might have ended very differently. She’d nearly thrown herself in his arms and ignored everything else. But she knew better than to get involved with a cop. She shouldn’t have forced him to make the adult decision.
She’d felt the heady temptations of chemistry before—maybe not like this—but she’d handled it. Have a fling and get over it…or simply walk away. She didn’t think either was going to work this time.
Maggie scowled and picked up the phone. What she needed was a diversion, something to clear her mind and keep from dissecting Brandt’s every word. She called Annie and suggested a movie, but her reporter friend was writing a major article and begged off until tomorrow.
Still restless, she dug Dalia’s bag of goodies out of the closet. There had been a book in the bottom. She found the paperback-sized blue hardback. The Craft. Hmm. Witchy stuff. But what had she expected? Maggie settled on the couch, flipped it open to the chapter on ghosts entitled Bridging the Veil, and began to read.
* * *
Brandt was back and forth to the lab all the next morning and well into the afternoon. He checked the evidence on every case he’d had during the last six months, hoping he wouldn’t find more discrepancies. While he inspected the boxes and bags, he kept an eye on lab employees and noted the other personnel whose frequent access went unchallenged. There were more than he’d expected.
He was finally satisfied his cases were intact. Good news for him. But since none of his prior files had a direct tie to Castile, the lack of tampering supported Wernier’s theory of Castile’s complicity.
He returned to the Otley case and checked the evidence box one more time. No bullet, no extra casing. He spoke with one of the techs regarding regular lab routine, hoping to figure out when and how the bullet had disappeared. Any case-related questions he kept casual—the amount of junk and trash complicating the scene, where evidence was stored during collection, who transported it back to the lab. Apparently he wasn’t casual enough.
Cory Devane met him when Brandt returned the Otley evidence box. “Is there a problem, detective?” he asked quietly. “I’ve seen you asking questions.”
Wernier trusted this guy, but Brandt wasn’t ready to trust anyone. Nothing was adding up. “Just getting up to speed. It’s difficult to take over another officer’s cases.”
“Uh-huh. Well, if you have more questions, let me know.”
Brandt left the lab more suspicious than before but also more puzzled. He’d arrived at one inescapable conclusion: the object Maggie’d seen under the bin hadn’t made it to the lab. It had disappeared at the murder scene or in transit.
That focused him on the people at the scene, including four techs, three women, one man. He’d check them out, but it wasn’t necessarily a tech, and he or she wasn’t necessarily working alone.
Brandt returned to the squad room and paused in the doorway to scan the room. If Cory had noticed his activity, who else might have wondered? Had he already alerted Castile’s mole? If so, would that make him the next target?
Nothing like a heavy dose of suspicion to keep a cop on his toes.
* * *
Maggie and Annie were laughing when they came out of the movie theater on Friday night. After a splurge on Cajun rib eye steak, they’d made it to the small cinema just in time to watch the latest romantic comedy to hit the big screen. Good movie, good company. Maggie felt more relaxed than she had for days.
“I loved his expression when she caught him peeking through the window,” Maggie said.
“And he claimed he was looking for a lost cat? Pretty lame,” Annie agreed. Her voice sharpened when Maggie suddenly grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
Maggie stared across the street. “It’s Hurst. He’s supposed to be gone.”
“Where is he?” Annie turned to look across the street.
“He’s, um, floating near the gift store. Dammit, Annie. I read Dalia’s book last night. It didn’t say anything about spirits hanging around after their problems were solved.” In fact, it had been pretty positive about how docile ghosts were, downplaying any dangers from their ghostly chill, and describing them as lost souls with something unresolved from their human lives. Well, if Hurst had another problem, he could find someone else to help him solve it.
Annie peered harder. “I can’t see a thing, but it would be cool if I could.”
“It isn’t cool,” Maggie said. “He’s stalking me, and I’m tired of it.??
?
“Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t mean to be unsympathetic since this seems to upset you so much. But he won’t hurt you, will he?”
“I don’t think so, but it’s spooky. He should have left, gone over, or whatever they do. His killer’s dead.” She stopped abruptly. “Unless Pardson wasn’t the one. What if Hurst led me to my shooter hoping Pardson would implicate his own.” She pulled out her phone. “Let’s see if Dalia has a better answer.”
While Maggie talked on the phone, Annie continued to peer across the street, as if she might see him if she looked hard enough. She finally tugged on Maggie’s sleeve and mouthed, “Where is he now?”
Maggie looked…and blinked. “He’s gone.”
Frowning, she asked Dalia what that meant, but the unsatisfying answer was “I don’t know.” She shook her head and continued to question Dalia as Annie tugged on her arm, dragging her toward a nearby cafe. At the door, Maggie stopped and looked over her shoulder again. Hurst really had disappeared…at least for tonight. She sighed and followed Annie. By the time she disconnected from Dalia, Annie had ordered two coffees, and they’d been served.
“So what did she say?”
“Hurst isn’t satisfied.” Maggie wrinkled her nose with frustration, took a sip of her coffee, and set it down. “So…Freddie Pardson shot me, but a second shooter killed Hurst and his girlfriend.” She used a finger to draw an imaginary chart on the table and designated a different position for each crime. “Then that killer, or maybe a third party, murdered Pardson. And behind it all is Castile. We still don’t have a specific motive. Castile’s covering his tracks, but tracks of what? Other murders? Evidence tampering? Or maybe he’s just protecting his mole.”
Annie leaned on her elbows and eyed her friend. “Um, weren’t you supposed to be relaxing tonight? Not thinking about work?”
“Yeah, I did that. I went to the movie. But now I realize I had one murder figured wrong. I need to go home and work this out.”