She Who Watches (30 page)

Mac took the pad and pen and shoved them into his jacket pocket, glad to be doing something other than sitting around waiting. He soon wished he were back out by the van. The bathroom was cramped and uncomfortable, and they weren't learning anything about their case. Sinnott and the negotiator talked on forever, the topics general and neutral. Their negotiator was among the best; but at this point, he wasn't looking for a confession— nothing adversarial or confrontational, just conversation that might encourage Sinnott to give himself up.

At about two in the morning, Sinnott finally agreed to come down.

“I don't have a gun,” he admitted. “The only reason I'm coming down is 'cause I have to go to the bathroom and I need a cigarette. Just don't cuff me 'til I'm done using the john.”

The negotiator reluctantly agreed. “Don't try anything. I have five officers pointing their guns at you.”

“I hope for his sake he doesn't have a shy bladder,” Dana whispered to Mac.

Mac swallowed back a chuckle. “We'd better get out of here.”

They watched from one of the bedrooms while the SWAT officers took positions of cover in the hall and Sinnott backed down the steep ladder.

“I don't have a gun,” he said again. He reached the bottom and shoved his hands into the air, then turned to face the officers, as instructed. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees. His body was heavily tattooed, both ears and nipples pierced.

“On your knees.” The negotiator then had him lie prone so he could be thoroughly searched. A second officer searched the bathroom, even inside the toilet tank, for potential weapons. Satisfied there were none, they allowed Sinnott to use the restroom at gunpoint.

He was then handcuffed in flex cuffs by one of the SWAT officers and led down the stairs to the dining room. Mac and Dana followed.

“He's all yours, Detectives.”The SWAT supervisor slapped Mac on the back. “I'm going home.” The bleary-eyed officer greeted Kevin before rounding up his team.

The detectives soon heard the V-150 rumble to life again.

The conversation Mac and Dana had overheard between Sinnott and the SWAT negotiator almost gave them the impression that Sinnott could be pleasant. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

“Mr. Sinnott, I'm Detective McAllister, and this is my partner, Detective Bennett. We're with . . .”

“Save your breath, pig.” Sinnott spat on Dana's running shoes. “I got nothing to say to you.”

Dana looked down at her foot, folded her arms, and with more composure than Mac could have mustered, said, “Wouldn't you like to know why we're here?”

“I know why you're here,” he growled, “and I've got nothing to say to you. This isn't my first rodeo, so read me my rights and put in your little notebook that I think you're a piece of crap. Now shut up and take me to jail. I'm getting cold.” Sinnott glared at Mac and spat in his direction. The spit landed on the carpet, which was probably a good thing.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Scum that he was, he'd make the police prove their case without a statement from him. Mac was radioing for a uniformed trooper to take their suspect to jail when Philly and Russ strode in.

“Hey, guys. You missed all the fun.” Mac hoped Philly wouldn't try anything with their suspect. Philly loved a good confrontation with a con and was often successful at getting them to talk. But having just come off a bust gone bad, Mac feared Philly might go too far.

“Watch out, Philly,” Mac warned. “He's a spitter.”

“Yeah?” Philly glowered at Sinnott and received a savage look in return. “What's the deal?”

“He's invoked his rights, and we have a transport coming in for him.”

Sinnott swore and sent another mouthful of spit in Philly's direction.

Without a word, Philly walked past the chair where Owen Sinnott was seated and set his briefcase on the kitchen table.

“What's he doing?” Dana tipped her head toward Mac.

Mac shrugged.

Philly opened the case and removed a donut-shaped object. He shook it out, and Mac realized it was a woman's nylon stocking. While Sinnott was going into another threatening litany of curses, Philly approached him from behind and stretched the hosiery over his head, pulling it over Sinnott's head and tightening it around his throat.

Sinnott twisted in rage, but Philly put him in a chokehold and pulled him down to the floor. “You like spitting, boy? Well go ahead and spit. You can disrespect me all you want, you pervert.”

Sinnott's face turned from red to blue as he gasped for air.

“You're choking him!” Mac grabbed the big man's arm, attempting to pull him away.

“That's enough, Philly!” Sergeant Bledsoe yelled.

Philly immediately let go but didn't remove the nylon stocking. The stocking was actually an acceptable tool to combat spitters. The guy could breathe, but the spit would just roll down his face.

“He was a spitter, Sarge,” Philly responded in defense. “He got a little froggy when I put the nylon over his head.”

“Well, he's not spitting now. Read the warrant, Mac, and get on with the search.”

Mac read the warrant aloud, which was required by Oregon's search-and-seizure laws prior to the search of a home for evidence. After reading the warrant, Mac supplied Sinnott with a copy by folding up the document and stuffing it in his back pocket.

Though the crime lab wouldn't come to the house until detectives requested them, Mac and Dana and the rest of the crew were going to have to pull an all-nighter.

The first order of business was to bribe the graveyard-shift trooper who was transporting Sinnott to the county lockup. The bribe involved the trooper's promising to bring back coffee and snack food if Mac sent along the money when he returned to assist with the search. The second order of business was to let Lucy out of the van again before she had an accident and he had to pay for a carpet cleaning.

Mac met the uniformed trooper, Sean Dewitt, at the door of Sinnott's house. Either Mac was getting old, or they were recruiting teenagers these days. The boyish face and the fact that he'd pulled the graveyard shift, told Mac that Dewitt was probably a trooper in training who had just been released on his own for solo patrol, which meant he was about three months out of the academy. The trooper looked sharp and fit in his campaign hat and pressed uniform, reminding Mac he needed to hit the gym a little more often. He was that trooper not all that long ago.

Mac introduced himself to Dewitt and escorted Sinnott to the patrol car, explaining the charges as they walked. He turned to go back to the house for the probable cause affidavit that the jail would require before lodging. “Get him into the car. I'll be right back.”

Trooper Dewitt patted down Sinnott for weapons, as he'd been trained to do before accepting the custody. Sinnott made a comment Mac couldn't quite hear.

“Detective!” Dewitt yelled.

“What the . . .” Mac whipped around, his heart dropping to his knees. Sinnott had somehow gotten free from the soft restraints that SWAT members had placed on his wrists and was struggling with the trooper.

Mac raced toward the two men. He was only a few feet away when Sinnott pushed Dewitt to the ground.

“Look out! He's got my gun!”

The warning came too late. Sinnott had the trooper's weapon leveled on Mac.

TWENTY-NINE

M
ac stopped dead in his tracks. Instinct kicked in, and he dove to the ground at the front of the patrol car. As he went down, he grabbed for his sidearm, cursing the jacket that got in his way.

Sinnott pulled off a shot, puncturing the front tire and hitting metal.

Mac made it to the opposite side of the car and, using it as a shield, took aim at Sinnott.

Sinnott fired again, the bullet deflecting off the patrol car's hood.

Two shots came from the porch. Mac heard the
thunk, thunk
as they hit their target. Sinnott fired off one more shot into the grass before slumping to the ground.

Dewitt scrambled to his feet. “He said the cuffs were too tight; I was only trying to swap out the flex cuffs for my metal ones.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I'm sorry.”

Kevin checked Sinnott. “He's dead.”

Mac managed to get up but leaned against the front of the car for support. The rookie mistake had cost them their prime murder suspect, but at least the kid was alive. Mac took a moment to thank God for that. The entire scene had gone down in less than ten seconds, but to Mac it had seemed a lifetime.

“You OK, Mac?” Dana hurried toward him.

“Yeah. Who got him?”

“Philly.”

Mac made his way back to the porch. Philly was handing his service weapon to Kevin.

“Thanks, buddy,” Mac said. “I owe you one.”

Philly patted him on the back. “You'd have done the same for me.”

Mac struggled to maintain his composure. “I should have seen that one coming. I shouldn't have left the kid alone with a seasoned criminal.”

“It's not your fault, Mac.” Dana gripped his shoulder. “Come on. Let these guys handle the details of the shooting. We've got a scene to process.”

Mac would find time to deal with what he had just witnessed later on, but Dana was right. They still had a job to do, and they had limited time to do it. They had both just witnessed a justifiable homicide and would be subject to lengthy interviews by detectives from out of the area. Mac wanted to get a look at Sinnott and gather as much evidence as possible before the captain yanked them all from the scene. Now they had the original murder investigation that was complicated by the officer-involved shooting. The only good thing that came from Philly killing Sinnott was the fact they didn't have to do the reports.

Before Sinnott was taken to the morgue, Mac retrieved his digital camera from the van and snapped dozens of pictures of his hands, face, and torso. Mac hunkered down beside their suspect. “Take a look at this, Dana. On his face. Look like old scratch marks to you?”

“I'd say so. They're healed now, but it looks like they were fairly deep.”

“I got some good photos. This will be excellent circumstantial evidence to go alongside the DNA recovery.”

“Sara Watson fought back, and the killer clipped her nails to remove evidence,” Dana said. The irony was not lost on the officers that a moment of bravery on Sara's part may not have saved her life, but it provided crucial evidence to link Sinnott to the crime.

Mac mentioned the scratches to Kevin when he came over to them.

Kevin nodded. “I noticed that too. We got a lucky break this time, depending on how you want to look at it. I know you two are up to it, but I'm having Multnomah County Sheriff 's Office investigate Sinnott's death to keep things clean. The medical examiner gave us permission to remove the body, but that's as far as we're taking it. I want outside investigators with a clean plate to document his death.”

“Good call, Sarge,” Mac said, knowing his time at the crime scene was limited. Kevin was going through the paces, but he was cutting Mac and Dana a little slack to complete their parallel investigation. It was amazing how times like these could be considered normal, but everyone went about their business like this type of thing happened every day. “What about Dewitt?”

“I sent him home. He'll go in for counseling, maybe take some time off. I think he'll be OK.”

“I hope so.”

“In the meantime, we'll count ourselves extremely fortunate to have found Sara Watson's killer.”

“You're right about that,” Mac said. The investigative process was exceptionally fragile on these crimes. If the body had not been discovered when it was, the fire would have charred the remains and destroyed the evidence. Sara could well have been labeled a missing person, her name forgotten by all except her family and friends. Such was the case with thousands of missing people. Law enforcement officers either didn't get their lucky break or didn't have the technology or the right detective to put the pieces together.

But, like Kevin had said, they had gotten lucky, and now it would be up to Mac and Dana to put together the pieces of Sara's murder. Since a confession was not in the cards, they had to figure everything out on their own. There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and they needed to prove Sinnott's guilt before they could put the case to rest.

They started the search in the home in what appeared to be Sinnott's bedroom. Inside the room, detectives located the typical items they would expect from a registered sex offender. Stacks of pornography littered the floor, along with user amounts of marijuana and what appeared to be crystal meth. Besides heaps of dirty laundry and fast-food bags, they didn't find much more of evidentiary value. A lengthy search of the rest of the house yielded few additional results, taking them up to daybreak, when the search was complete.

Mornings on these all-nighters were the hardest time for Mac. Sunlight burned his eyes as he made his way from the house to the larger outbuilding. They had learned that the Buick was in the shop at the rear of the property and, although they planned to wait for the crime lab to process the vehicle for trace evidence, he wanted to have a look and take some photos.

A dayshift trooper arrived at sunup, offering to get some more coffee for everyone, but Mac declined. Sergeant Bledsoe, Philly, and Russ had all gone home to get some shuteye. They had all pulled their share of overtime, and it wouldn't do the department any good if all the investigators were exhausted at the same time. This way, the other half of the unit would get some rest and be ready to return to work when Mac and Dana called it quits.

Mac wondered how Philly was handling the shooting. He'd have to go on administrative leave, and that would be tough for him. Even temporarily losing another detective, especially one as seasoned as Philly, would be hard for the entire department.