Deception (44 page)

I showed up for the special 3:00 p.m. detectives meeting five minutes late. When I walked in, every eye fell on me.

Mulch led the way, excitedly looking for some place to pee. I yanked his leash.

“What’s going on?” Doyle yelled, jumping to his feet.

“I gave him permission,” Sarge said.

“Somebody broke into my house and planted two police department bugs,” I said. “Mulch was there. They knocked him out with a sedative. They also managed to get their scent on this towel.” I held up the kitchen towel. “Mulch has been smelling it, and now he’s going to see if someone in the room matches the scent.”

There were howls of protest mixed with laughter from Jack Glissan and Tommi Elam, both of whom know Mulch.

I gave Mulch a whiff of the towel, then unleashed him. He ran to the center of the room, sliding on the tile. Nose in the air, he turned a sharp left toward Kim Suda. He went right for her legs, sniffing her unmercifully. She kicked him in the chops, which couldn’t have felt good considering her martial arts skills. He barked at her.

“Back!” she screamed.

“He won’t hurt you,” Tommi said, but Suda wasn’t hearing it.

“It was you, Suda,” I said. “Mulch doesn’t like people breaking in and giving him hamburger mickeys.”

“You can’t do this,” Suda yelled, heading for the door. “Get him off me!”

Mulch chased her, nosing his snout into her pant leg and shoes and latching on. She gave him one last kick, and she was gone.

The detectives were all on their feet. Doyle was steaming.

“She really broke into your house and planted a bug?” Phillips asked.

“Mulch just gave her a positive ID,” I said.

“You made your point,” Sarge said. “Now get that mutt outta here!”

“I never knew Mulch was a trained police dog,” Clarence said to me fifteen minutes later in the basement of the police parking structure. He looked admiringly at Mike Hammer, who was sitting proudly in the backseat of my car.

“He isn’t.”

“I wrote a story on police dogs. Not every dog can isolate one human scent like that, not in a room with all those people.”

I reached under my seat and pulled out the kitchen towel, then pushed it up to Clarence’s face.

“It smells like … bacon.”

“Yeah. When you were standing guard and I was down on my hands and knees on the other side of Suda’s cubicle? I was smearing bacon grease on her shoes and pant legs.”

“You mean …?”

“Mulch goes crazy at the smell of bacon. And all without special training.”

I opened my stakeout Tupperware and took out four strips of cooked bacon. Three seconds later, they’d gone on to the afterlife.

46

“It is murder, refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. My nets are closing upon him. There is but one danger which can threaten us. It is that he should strike before we are ready to do so. Another day—two at the most—and I have my case complete, but until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother watched her ailing child.”

S
HERLOCK
H
OLMES
,
T
HE
H
OUND OF THE
B
ASKERVILLES

M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
6, 4:00
P.M
.

AFTER
MULCH’S
DETECTIVE
DEBUT
, I dropped him at Lynn Carpenter’s. It was her day off and she’d agreed to dog-sit so I could get back downtown to face Kim Suda. Chris Doyle insisted on being there. Sergeant Seymour agreed, despite my objections.

“Tell us your story,” Sarge said to Suda.

“I already told you—”

“Repeat yourself. Why’d you come to the professor’s house that night? And why’d you lie about where you parked your car?”

“I didn’t lie.”

Sarge threw down Carp’s photos. “This is both sides of Oak and 22nd Street, taken by the
Trib
photographer while you were still at the crime scene. Do you see your car anywhere?”

Suda chewed her lips, but inside she was chewing her brain. Finally she said, “No.”

“Is your car invisible, or are you lying?” Sarge asked.

“I was on foot. I don’t live that far away.”

“Yeah,” Doyle said, “she lives just down—”

“Shut up, Chris.” Sarge’s voice was a fist. He turned to Suda. “You suddenly remember you were on foot once we prove your car wasn’t there? Start giving it straight—now!”

Suda looked down, then at Sarge, then Doyle. Not me.

“Here’s another question not to answer,” I said. “Why didn’t you sign the log?”

“I told you.”

“You lied. I say you didn’t sign the log because you were already in the house.”

She shifted, crossing and uncrossing her arms, trying to manage her body language but failing.

“When did you show up at the crime scene?” I asked. “In time to kill the professor?”

She wasn’t budging. I had another card to play.

“You know that strand of hair on the professor, the one that turned out to be yours? I talked to Phil and the CSI techs. They claim that strand was bagged within fifteen minutes of when they arrived at the scene.”

“So?”

“So that was thirty minutes before anybody remembers seeing you there. There’s only one explanation. You were at the crime scene before any of us.”

“Spill it now, or you’re going to regret it,” Sarge said.

“Okay, okay!” Eyes flashing, she put up her hands and pushed back her chair. “Six weeks ago, early November, somebody sent me an e-mail. Couldn’t trace the source. They warned me that the professor was … a ladies’ man, but worse. They said he exploited young women. Sarge, you know I worked three years as a decoy.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” Sarge said, “whoever sent the e-mail knew this would push your button.”

“It did. I hate those kinds of men. So … I followed him and bumped into him at a Starbucks. That’s how we met. We went out a few times. The last one was the same night he …”

“Died?” I said.

“You
dated
him?” Chris asked.

“Well,
he
thought it was a date. To me it was a sting. I was ready for him to try something; then I was going to take him down. Teach him a lesson.”

“On what legal basis?” Sarge asked.

“I was off duty. As a private citizen I have a right to defend myself against a man who’s pressuring me, don’t I?”

I nodded. For once, I was liking Kim Suda.

“You
dated
him?” Chris repeated.

“I met Bill—Palatine—for dinner at Salty’s. He behaved okay, for a jerk.”

“Bill?”
Chris said.

“Yes, Bill!” Kim said. “Anyway, I followed him to his house.”

“His house?” Chris said.

“One more echo, Doyle, and you’re outta here,” Sarge said. “Got that?”

“Soon as we’re at his house, he gets a phone call. Suddenly he’s upset, tells me I need to go. Says he’ll call me back later that evening. He didn’t.”

“Maybe he just wasn’t attracted to you,” Doyle said.

“Thanks, Chris.”

“I mean, I work with you and I wasn’t attracted to you for a long time.”

“Yeah, well, that was tough on me because I was always so crazy about you,” Suda said. “Anyway, fast-forward to 11:20. I’m at Chris’s house and I get a text message on my phone, from Bill. He says, ‘I need to see you right away. Come to my house. Urgent.’ ”

“Those were the exact words?” I asked.

“Close enough.”

“You told me you needed to get home,” Chris said. “You lied to me.”

“Anyway, I show up and see a broken window. Lights out. Didn’t feel like a burglary. Dark and heavy. I peeked in a window and saw his right arm. No movement. I drove off, thinking I’d call 911 anonymously. But then it hit me. He’d rushed me out of there, and I’d left my coat. No ID in it, but odds and ends in the pocket. And of all things, whoever was investigating this crime would be somebody I work with, who’d recognize my maroon coat. Even men might figure that out.”

“We might,” I said. Or not.

“So I decided to go back for the coat. But I had to get rid of the car—couldn’t let anybody see it at a murder scene. I drove to my house, then ran back and entered a gate to the backyard. Door’s unlocked. I go in with a flashlight and find the body. First time I’ve seen a murder victim I was dating ninety minutes earlier.”

“Dating,” Doyle muttered. Sarge stared him down like he was squashing a bug.

“I find my coat and suddenly see lights in the driveway. I’m peeking out the broken window at patrol. I don’t think I’ve been seen, but there’s no way out. So I get in Bill’s closet and push back through the clothes and stand on a plastic storage box while they search the house. They’re at the far side of the place, so I call Chris on the cell, ready to cut it off if they come my direction.”

“That’s why you were whispering,” Chris said. “You said you were with your mother. That she was sleeping.”

“I lied again, okay?”

“You’re the one she called to lie to,” I pointed out to Doyle. “That makes you special.”

“You said you called because you were sorry you had to run off,” Doyle said.

“I was sorry. But also … I was trying to … well …”

“Establish an alibi,” Sarge said.

“Right,” I said. “Why else would you risk being heard?”

“I was scared. I needed to talk with you, Chris. Really. Anyway, I disconnect when one of the officers comes down the hallway. He enters the bedroom, turns on the lights, and looks around. He opens the closet door, bends over, sees nothing. He didn’t pull back the clothes to see if someone was standing on that plastic box.”

“I’ll send a memo,” Sarge said.

“So I stay there for what seems like an hour. At first I just hear the patrol guys. Then there’s some commotion, and I hear one of them yelling out front. Then I hear someone else in the house, in the kitchen, I think. I hear a clank, like a glass or a bottle. Then someone walks in the bedroom but doesn’t turn on the light. He … or she … I don’t know, stands by the window, then shines a flashlight, like he’s looking for something, on the floor, the bed, everywhere.”

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“No clue. I was looking through clothes, then through a door crack, into a dark room. Who was it? Do you know?”

I shook my head. I thought it was the killer, but I didn’t have a name, and I wasn’t going to let Suda think I didn’t consider her the killer.

“What next?” Sarge asked.

“I’m wondering where the patrol guys are and why they let this other person in. I think maybe they’re just standing outside, but no, I hear them again, arguing. Then people start arriving one or two at a time. Now the lights are on and they’re coming in and out of Palatine’s bedroom. Including you, Chandler. You were talking with Abernathy, by the window, then down on your hands and knees and taking pictures. I’m peeking at you through the crack. I shift my feet just a little, and next thing I know the plastic box under me cracks. Thought I was toast.”

“I remember the noise.”

“Fortunately,” she said, “you checked the right side of the closet and just pointed the flashlight to my side.”

Sarge glared at me. “Memo.”

“Hey,” I said, “there couldn’t have been more than four feet between what I could see at the bottom and top of the closet.”

“I scrunched down,” she said. “That shrunk me a foot. It’s all I needed.”

“So if criminals are short enough,” Sarge said to me, “you’ll miss ’em?”

“You were stupid not to check,” Suda said.

“You, on the other hand, were brilliant, so here we sit.”

“Keep talking, Suda,” Sarge said.

“So I wait and make sure no one’s in the room. I back out of the closet, looking like I’d just stepped in, and start examining the floor. Phil, the criminalist, walks in and gives me a funny look. We start talking; then I work my way out to where you were.”

“I was right. You didn’t sign in because you were already there.”

“But I didn’t kill the professor.”

“Sure.”

“He was already dead. It’s the truth.”

“As opposed to the lies you told us before?”

“Give her a break,” Chris said.

“I’ll give Kimmy a break after I hear her next story. The one where she broke into my house, drugged my dog, and planted illegal bugs.”

“I’m sure,” Sarge said, “you had good reasons for doing that too?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you,” Suda said.

“The truth?” Sarge said.

“Now seems like a good time to mention that when you ran from my house after planting the bug, I followed you to your car. You were parked on Albers, north side of the road facing east. You hopped in the car, did a U-turn, and headed west.”

“But … if you saw me, why that drama with your dog going after me?”

“Because I couldn’t prove I saw you. And Mulch deserved some payback.”

“I didn’t hurt him.”

“You hurt his pride. He’s sensitive.”

“He liked the hamburger.”

“He likes it better when it doesn’t knock him cold.”

“Suda, you’ve really dug a hole for yourself,” Sarge said. “What made you decide to go to Chandler’s?”

“Before you tell another lie,” I said, “I should point out that we saw you go to the 7-Eleven on 162nd and Stark at 2:40 a.m. on December 4. And we saw the man you met.”

Suda’s stormy eyes looked frostbitten. Her face fell in surrender. She turned to Sarge. “I don’t think I should say this in front of everybody.”

“Doyle, get out,” Sarge said. “Shut the door behind you.”

Chris moved to the door, slothlike.

“Gives you time to make the chess team reunion,” I said.

“We’re not finished, Chandler,” Doyle said, pointing his finger at me.

“You going to gang up on me with three other pawns?” I looked at him sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, Kimmy’s meeting with the guy in the 7-Eleven wasn’t a date.”

He slammed the door. The window shook.

“Maybe I need a lawyer,” Suda said, “but here it is. Lennox asked me into his office a couple of weeks ago. He said he’d been examining the Palatine case. He had me scared. I thought I’d been found out—about being at the murder scene. Anyway, he said Chandler had become the investigation’s focal point, the main suspect.”

“He said that?” Sarge said.

“He mentioned there was evidence, you had no alibi, and you’d been drinking and angry that night. He asked how good I was at getting into a house and planting a surveillance device. I told him I was good. I asked if it was legal. He claimed he had a court order.”

“Ask to see it?” Sarge said.

“I’m supposed to ask the chief of police to prove he’s not lying?”

“What you did was a felony.”

“When I’m ordered to do it, in the line of duty, as part of an investigation … by the chief of police?”

“Anything else you’ve done I should know about?” Sarge asked.

She shook her head.

“What about photographing the dead professor and giving the picture to the
Trib
?” I asked.

“You still on that?” she said. “I didn’t have my camera. And if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have used it. A flash in a dark house at night? With a body on the floor?”

“Then who took that picture?”

“How should I know?”

I nearly mentioned the bugs she planted at Lou’s Diner but restrained myself. That was my hole card.

“You’re dismissed,” Sarge said to me.

Suda stood up.

“Have plans this evening?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“Cancel them. I’m not done with you.”

It was a long day, but I’ve seldom had a birthday present better than Mulch going after Kim Suda’s pant legs.

I left downtown for the second time and picked up Mulch from Carp’s house, where she’d baked him pizza snack muffins. His eyes begged me to marry her.

“Any developments on the professor’s picture in the
Trib
?” Carp asked.

“Kim Suda swears she didn’t take the picture and didn’t give it to Mike Button. At first I assumed she was lying, but she admitted other things. Why deny that one? But if it wasn’t Suda or me or you or Hatch or the patrol guys or the criminalists.”

“There’s one person you’re forgetting,” Carp said.

“Who?”

“The killer. The killer took the picture.”

“Yeah, he took the picture from the mantel. I’m talking about the photograph of the professor’s body.”

“So am I,” Carp said. “I mean the killer was holding the camera—he removed the photograph from the mantel, laid it on the floor, then snapped that photo of the professor’s body. And he’s the anonymous source who got the photo to Mike Button.”