My Sister's Grave (17 page)

“I testified to everything at trial. If you have the transcripts, you know what I said. Now, I’m sorry, but I have things to do.” He turned and reached for the door handle.

“Why did you say you saw the red Chevy stepside on the road, Mr. Hagen?”

Hagen turned back. “How dare you. I helped put that animal away. If it wasn’t for me . . .” Hagen flushed.

“If it wasn’t for you what?” Tracy asked.

“I’d like you to leave now.” Hagen pushed on the door but it wouldn’t open. He shook the handle.

“If it wasn’t for you saying you saw the Chevy truck, we wouldn’t have gotten the search warrant. Is that what you were going to say?”

Hagen banged on the door. “I told you I’d like you to leave.”

“Is that what someone told you?” Hagen banged harder. “Is that why you said it? Did someone say it would help get the search warrants? Mr. Hagen, please.”

The door pulled open. Hagen ushered a small boy away from the door and stepped across the threshold, turning to face her, already closing the door. “Don’t come back,” he said. “I’ll call the police.”

“Was it Chief Calloway?” Tracy said, but Hagen had shut the door.

CHAPTER 28

D
an had figured he’d hear from Roy Calloway, though not this quickly. Cedar Grove’s sheriff sat in the lobby of Dan’s office, casually flipping through a months-old magazine from a collection on the coffee table and biting into an apple. He was dressed in full uniform, his hat resting on the chair beside him.

“Sheriff. This is a surprise.”

Calloway put down his magazine and stood. “You’re not surprised to see me, Dan.”

“I’m not?”

He chewed another bite of apple. “You did list me as a witness on that pleading you filed.”

“Word always did travel fast here in Cedar Grove.” With no court appearances, Dan had dressed casually in jeans and a button-down. He liked to wear slippers in the office. Now he wished he’d worn shoes, though the discrepancy in their heights wasn’t nearly as significant as it had been back when Calloway used to stop Dan on his bike to ask what he was up to.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“How is it going to impact your business when word spreads you’re representing Edmund House, the convicted murderer of one of Cedar Grove’s own?”

“I suppose my criminal practice could pick up.”

Calloway smirked. “Always the smart-ass, weren’t you, O’Leary? I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Well, unless you have some stock tips to go along with your prediction for my legal career, I have work to do.” Dan turned to leave.

“You have questions for me, Dan, here I am. I haven’t hid a single day my thirty-five years on the job. Somebody has questions for me, I’m happy to answer them.”

“I’m sure you would,” Dan said. “But I have to do it in a court of law, after you’re sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Calloway took another bite of his apple, taking a moment to chew before saying, “I did that once, Dan. Are you saying I lied?”

“That isn’t for me to decide; that’s for a judge.”

“Judge already did that too. You’re rehashing old business.”

“Maybe. We’ll see what the Court of Appeals has to say.”

“What did she tell you, Dan?” Calloway paused and gave him a sardonic grin. “She tell you that no one asked Hagen the news show he was watching or that Sarah had different earrings?”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you, Sheriff.”

“Hey, I know she’s a friend, Dan, but she’s been on this crusade for twenty years. She tried to use me and now she’s using you. She’s obsessed, Dan. It killed her father and drove her mother crazy and now she’s sucking you into her fantasy. Don’t you think it’s time to put it to bed?”

Dan paused. When Tracy had first come to him, that had been exactly what he’d thought, that she was a sister unable to get past her guilt and grief, obsessed with trying to find answers to questions that had already been answered. But then he’d looked at the file and her reasoning had seemed just like the Tracy he’d always known, the leader of their little band of friends—practical, dogged, and logical. “You’d have to ask her that. I represent Edmund House.”

Calloway held out the apple core. “Then maybe you could throw this out for me, since you’re apparently adept at handling garbage.”

Unruffled, Dan took the core. So far he’d found Calloway’s attempts to intimidate him to be more pathetic than threatening. He tossed the core into a pail behind the desk on the first attempt. “I think what you’re going to learn, Sheriff, is I’m adept at my job. You might want to remember that.”

Calloway fit his hat onto his head. “I got a call from one of your neighbors. He says your dogs have been barking something fierce during the day, sometimes late at night. We do have an ordinance in town about dogs disturbing the peace. First offense is a fine. Second offense, we take the dogs.”

Dan felt his anger build and fought to control it. Threaten him? Fine. Don’t threaten innocent animals. “Really? You can’t do any better than that?”

“Don’t try me, Dan.”

“I’m not going to try you, Sheriff, but if the Court of Appeals grants my petition, I am going to seriously cross-examine you.”

CHAPTER 29

T
racy typed up the details of a recent witness interview regarding the Nicole Hansen case file. A month had passed since they’d discovered the young woman’s body in the motel on Aurora Avenue, and pressure was building to find the young stripper’s killer. The SPD had not had an unsolved homicide since Johnny Nolasco had become Chief of Investigations, something Nolasco was proud of and quick to point out. And Nolasco didn’t need any additional reason to bust Tracy’s chops. They had a turbulent history dating back to Tracy’s time at the police academy, where Nolasco, one of her instructors, had demonstrated a simulated pat-down by grabbing her breast. Tracy had responded by breaking his nose and kneeing him in the nuts. She’d then further bruised his ego by breaking his long-standing shooting-range record.

Any thought that Nolasco had mellowed with age had vanished when Tracy had become Seattle’s first female homicide detective. Nolasco, who’d risen to Chief of Investigations, had assigned her to work with his former partner, a racist chauvinist named Floyd Hattie. Hattie had made a stink about it and promptly dubbed her “Dickless Tracy.” Tracy later learned that Hattie had already put in for retirement, meaning Nolasco had made the assignment just to embarrass her.

If nothing else, the Hansen investigation was keeping her busy and distracted. Dan said the State had sixty days to respond to Edmund House’s Petition for Post-Conviction Relief, and he expected Vance Clark to take every one of those days. Tracy told herself she’d already waited twenty years, she could wait two more months, but now each day seemed like an eternity.

She answered her desk phone, noting it was an outside line.

“Detective Crosswhite, this is Maria Vanpelt from KRIX Channel 8.”

Tracy immediately regretted answering. The Homicide Unit maintained a civil relationship with police beat reporters, but Vanpelt—whom they referred to as “Manpelt” for her proclivity to be seen draped on the arms of some of Seattle’s more prominent men—was the exception.

Early in Tracy’s career, Vanpelt had sought an interview for a story about discrimination against female officers in the Seattle Police Department. Tracy had declined. When Tracy had made Homicide, Vanpelt had requested another interview, ostensibly to profile Tracy as Seattle’s first female homicide detective. Not wanting to draw any additional attention to herself, and now educated by others that hatchet jobs, not human-interest pieces, were Vanpelt’s specialty, Tracy had again declined.

Their dicey professional relationship did not improve. Vanpelt had somehow obtained confidential information about a gang murder investigation on which Tracy was the lead detective. Two of Tracy’s witnesses had been gunned down within hours of Vanpelt airing the information on her show,
KRIX Undercover
. Caught off guard by a competing news crew at the scene of the murders, an angry and frustrated Tracy had not minced her words about Vanpelt having blood on her hands. And the Homicide Unit had frozen Vanpelt out, refusing to talk to her, until Nolasco had issued an edict directing them to cooperate with all media.

“How’d you get my direct line?” Tracy asked. The media was supposed to go through the Public Information Office, but many reporters found ways to get through to direct desk numbers.

“Various channels,” Vanpelt said.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Vanpelt?”

She said the name loud enough to get Kins’s attention across the bull pen. Kins picked up his phone without even bothering to acknowledge her. They had a system in place.

“I’m hoping to get a comment for a story I’m working on.”

“What’s your story about?” Tracy mentally flipped through her case files. Only the Nicole Hansen investigation came to mind, and she had nothing new to discuss.

“Actually, it’s about you.”

Tracy leaned back in her chair. “And what makes me suddenly so interesting?” she asked.

“I understand your sister was murdered twenty years ago and that her remains were recently found. I was hoping you would be willing to discuss it?”

The question gave Tracy pause. She sensed more at play. “Who did you hear this from?”

“I have an assistant who goes through the court files,” Vanpelt said, dismissing the question with a bullshit answer—but one intended to let Tracy know that Vanpelt knew about Dan’s motion for post-conviction relief. “Would now be a good time to talk?”

“I don’t think that story has much public appeal.” Her second line began to buzz. She looked over at Kins, who held the receiver in his hand, but now she was curious as to what Vanpelt knew. “What’s the premise?”

“I think that’s pretty self-evident, don’t you?”

“Enlighten me.”

“A Seattle homicide detective who spends her days putting murderers behind bars seeks to free the man convicted of murdering her sister.”

Kins gave her a “what’s up?” shrug.

Tracy raised a finger. “Is that part of the court files?”

“I’m an investigative reporter, detective.”

“Who’s your source?”

“My sources are confidential,” Vanpelt said.

“You like to keep certain information private.”

“That’s right.”

“So you know how I feel. It’s a private matter. I intend to keep it private.”

“I’m going to report the story, detective. It would be better to have your side of the story when I do.”

“Better for me or better for you?”

“Is that a ‘no comment’?”

“I said it’s a private matter, and I intend to keep it private.”

“Can I quote you?”

“It’s what I said.”

“I understand the attorney, Dan O’Leary, was a childhood friend of yours. Care to comment on that?”

Calloway.
Except the Sheriff would not have called Vanpelt. He would have called Nolasco, Tracy’s superior
.
Rumors swirled that Nolasco was one of the men doing the hokey-pokey with Vanpelt and providing her with information.
“Cedar Grove is a small town. I knew a lot of people growing up there.”

“Did you know Daniel O’Leary?”

“There’s only one middle school and one high school.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re an investigative reporter; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Did you recently accompany Mr. O’Leary to meet with Edmund House at the Walla Walla State Penitentiary? I’ve obtained a copy of Mr. House’s visitor list for the month. Your name appears just above Mr. O’Leary’s name.”

“Then print that.”

“So you won’t comment?”

“As I said, this is a private matter unrelated to my job. Speaking of which, my other line is ringing.” Tracy hung up the phone and swore under her breath.

“What did she want?” Kins asked.

Tracy looked across the bull pen. “To stick her nose up my ass.”

“Vanpelt?” Faz slid his chair back from his desk. “That’s her specialty.”

“She says she’s doing a story about Sarah, but she’s more focused—” She decided not to finish her thought.

Kins said, “Don’t sweat it too much. You know Vanpelt, the facts don’t interest her.”

“She’ll get bored and go make up another story,” Faz said.

Tracy wished it was that easy. She knew Vanpelt hadn’t found the story on her own. It had to have come from Calloway, and that meant Calloway was talking to Nolasco, who didn’t need much to make Tracy’s life miserable.

It also wasn’t the first time Calloway had threatened to get Tracy fired from her job.

The students in the front of the classroom flinched and leaned back when the spark shot a crackling white bolt across the gap between the two spheres. Tracy cranked the handle of the electrostatic generator, increasing the speed of the two rotating metal discs that caused the bolt to continue firing. “Lightning, ladies and gentlemen, is one of nature’s most dramatic illustrations of the energy form scientists like James Wimshurst and Benjamin Franklin sought to harness,” she said.