Sullivan's Justice (31 page)

Hank listened patiently to all the other members’ stories. This was the price you paid to cleanse your soul. It was similar to confession. The penance came from admitting publicly that you had made mistakes—battered your wife, squandered your finances, lashed out at your children. Some of their stories he knew as well as his own. Others he had never heard before, and many were far worse than his. Another benefit came from the realization that you were only human, that human frailty was inherent in everyone.

As soon as they broke out the coffee and doughnuts, Hank said a few words to some of the regulars, then slipped out of the room to drive back to the police station.

It was almost eleven before Hank finished the paperwork. The detective realized Carolyn was probably in bed, but the situation warranted waking her. He called her from the car, telling her he needed to see her, then showed up a short time later on her doorstep.

Carolyn came to the door in a white terrycloth bathrobe, her eyes swollen from sleep. “Are you drinking again? Good God, Hank, it’s almost midnight. Don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”

“I’m not drinking,” the detective said, following her into the house. “And no, there hasn’t been another murder. At least, not yet. I came to talk about your brother.”

“Has he been hurt?” Carolyn asked, dozens of terrible images passing through her mind. Cops came to your house late at night to tell you someone had died. She grabbed onto the detective’s jacket. “Please, Hank, Neil didn’t kill himself, did he?”

“Settle down,” Hank told her. “It’s time Neil comes in, Carolyn. Can’t you give us a clue as to where he is?”

“Well,” she said, smoothing down his jacket, then taking a seat on the rose-colored sofa in her living room. “I’m sure Neil is staying in LA with some of his friends, Hank. I don’t think he believes he’s actually a suspect. He’s grieving for Laurel. He has a right to do that, doesn’t he?”

“I’m going to be honest,” the detective said, too anxious to sit. He paced around the room, picking up knickknacks and then setting them back down. “The DA has decided to file. Your brother’s prints are on the syringe. Charley Young has identified it as the murder weapon. We have probable cause to arrest him, Carolyn. Mary found out today that he also knew Suzanne Porter, which ties him to the other murder as well. She was one of his students in the art class he taught at Ventura College.”

When Carolyn reached up to turn on the lamp, her hands were shaking. “Neil grew up in Ventura. He knows half the people in this town. Not only that, Suzanne Porter was practically his neighbor. You may not realize it, but my brother is something of a celebrity, especially in the artistic community.”

Hank remained somber. “I had the dispatcher broadcast it a few minutes ago. When he contacts you, get him to turn himself in. Until I’m convinced otherwise, we’re classifying him as armed and dangerous.”

Carolyn fell silent, giving herself time to absorb the implications. The fact that Neil knew Suzanne Porter was no revelation. They couldn’t hang a case on something that flimsy. Hank was trying to tell her what she feared the most, that her brother could be shot and killed by a police officer. All it took was one wrong move. “Why armed and dangerous? Neil has never fired a gun in his life. Anyway, no weapon was used in either murder.”

Hank knew he had to talk straight to her. She was far more involved than she knew. “A weapon was used in the Hartfield homicides.”

“What in God’s name does that have to do with Neil?”

He explained the similarities in the house numbers and locations. “Raphael Moreno is the key. You’re the only one who’s managed to break through to him. We certainly can’t send Preston in there again. Before you get spooked, hear me out. We’ll arrange it so you interview him in a room with half a dozen of our top marksmen. The bastard so much as hiccups and he’s a dead man.”

“The address similarities are just coincidences,” Carolyn said, trying to keep the detective from seeing how upset she was. She couldn’t allow them to put her brother in jail. It was too similar to a mental hospital, where his past experience had been devastating. “It’s absurd to think Neil was involved with Moreno. You think this has something to do with drugs, don’t you? Neil may have smoked a little pot when he was in high school, but so did I. It’s hard to find anyone from our generation that didn’t, even some of our presidents.”

“We’re not talking about marijuana, Carolyn.”

“You’re giving the killer the upper hand,” she said. “He planned this so you’d see a pattern. He’s a damn serial killer. He doesn’t want to be portrayed as a garden-variety murderer. He’s trying to establish himself as another Dahmer, Gacy, or Bundy.”

Hank unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth. “I hope you’re wrong.” He paused to chew, then resumed. “Once I get approval from the chief, I’ll start arranging things for tomorrow.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

Hank’s back stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why should I put my life on the line?” Carolyn asked him. “Preston was seriously injured. Moreno’s got razor-sharp reflexes. He might strangle me this time.”

“Christ, woman, we’re trying to save lives here,” the detective argued. “You usually beg for the chance to pry information out of violent offenders. You’ll be covered by the SWAT team and Moreno will be shackled.”

“You mean like he was when he attacked Brad?” she countered, recalling her tense confrontation with Moreno. If she’d known he could get out of the restraints, she would have never stepped foot in that room. The department had issued her a new cell phone. She kept the one he had crushed with his bare hands as a reminder to be more careful. “He’s a contortionist, remember? He can get out of anything.”

Hank swallowed hard. “We’ll have him in a chair so we can see his hands and legs.”

“He’s five feet six inches tall and fast as lightning. Even handcuffed, this guy scares me.”

“So we’ll put him behind glass.”

“Have you tried sending someone else over there?” Carolyn asked. “He could have responded to me because I was a woman. Get Mary to talk to him. You guys are the cops. I’m just a probation officer.”

“Sure,” he said. “A probation officer with a remarkable ability to get people to talk. I bet the FBI or the CIA would hire you in a minute. Think of how valuable you could be interrogating terrorists. As for other people trying to crack Moreno, when we first arrested him, we sent five detectives, two of them female. Mary went over and spent a whole afternoon with him. Guy didn’t even blink. She said it was like trying to get a corpse to talk.”

“They talked to him through the glass, right? No one else had the guts to go in there alone.”

“It’s you or nothing, Carolyn.”

As terrifying as Moreno was, Carolyn felt herself stirring with excitement. She still didn’t know what had caused him to commit the crimes, or if he might have had an accomplice. This would give her another chance. It was like staying up all night reading a book, then finding out it had no ending. “Surround him with cops, Hank, and the same thing will happen. He’ll never talk that way. I’ll have to do it exactly like I did before—one-on-one. Even then there are no guarantees.”

Hank compressed in his seat. “What do you want from me?”

“Retract what you broadcast about my brother,” she told him, fully awake and energized. “Say that he’s only wanted for questioning and that the dispatcher made a mistake by classifying him as armed and dangerous. Give me twenty-four hours to bring him in. You don’t have a signed warrant yet. What proof do you have that Neil’s carrying a firearm?”

“I can’t let you do this,” Hank said. “One of our officers could get killed.”

“Fine!” Carolyn shouted. “Find someone else to do your dirty work. I don’t have to do this based on your speculations. I’m a single mother with two children. It’s unconscionable that you’d even ask me to do such a thing.”

Rebecca appeared in the doorway, dressed in a cropped top and a pair of tights, a ragged pink baby blanket crushed to her chest. “What’s wrong, Mom?” she asked. “Why are you yelling? It’s about Uncle Neil, isn’t it? John said he might be in trouble because of that lady who was murdered.” She looked over at the detective. “Hi, Hank,” she said. “Why are you and Mom fighting? I thought you were buddies.”

“You’re growing up,” he said, managing a smile. “Don’t let those boys get their hands on you. You’re going to have to keep an eye on her, Carolyn.”

Rebecca put her arms around her chest to cover her breasts. “You guys woke me up,” she said, not at all happy. “How am I gonna go back to sleep? Mom, can’t you give me a pill or something?”

“Absolutely not,” Carolyn told her. “We’ll have a chat as soon as Hank leaves, if you’re still awake.” She had told John about the situation with Neil, but she had as yet to break the news to his sister. Rebecca worshipped her uncle. She seemed to have inherited his artistic abilities. Her art teacher had raved about her drawings. She would explain everything tonight. There wasn’t really that much to say, just that the police were doing their jobs, and that meant eliminating Neil as a suspect. When she saw Rebecca still standing there, glaring at her, Carolyn added, “You don’t have to get up and go to school in the morning. You can sleep until noon if you want.”

“Whatever,” Rebecca said, waving good-bye to the detective.

Hank let out a long sigh. “You’ve got a deal,” he said, once he heard a door close. “I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you what time this is going down.”

“No SWAT team,” Carolyn said, standing to walk him out. “The only thing I’ll consider is a room with two-way mirrors.”

“We’d have to transport him to the station,” Hank said at the door. “The jail doesn’t have those facilities. He’s an escape risk. The chief won’t approve it under those terms. We can throw up a room inside the jail, make it look like the room where you first interviewed him. But the SWAT team has to be present. No deal unless you do it my way. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly,” Carolyn said, hating to concede but knowing that she had run out of bargaining power. If she didn’t let Hank handle the Moreno interview the way he wanted, every cop in five counties would be searching for Neil, a man Hank had depicted to be armed and dangerous. She would rather risk her own life than risk the life of her brother. In what was left of her original family, Carolyn was the designated driver.

 

 

 

 

 

M
elody opened the door, surprised that the Chinese food had arrived so quickly. The aroma of the Ma Po Tofu permeated the lower level of her home. Tonight would be like many other nights—she would be alone. She hadn’t seen Neil since two days before Christmas. She missed his touch and his company.

She set the food down on the table, glancing into the living room. She should have turned the lights on earlier. December brought darkness at five o’clock. She’d become afraid of the shadowy corners of her large house. When she went to the viewing room, it evoked memories of the third floor of her childhood home in Tuxedo Park.

She didn’t want to eat alone. Feeling despondent, she stretched out on the sofa. Her mind spun back in time. She was nine years old. She could see her tall, skinny body and her mass of curly red hair. Tears fell as she mourned for the child she’d once been, wishing she could change the events that had created who she was today. Her eyelids became heavy; then she connected with a frightening childhood memory.

 

 

“Mommy,” she called out, having returned from her girlfriend’s house. She hated Melody, but she liked Melody’s mother. Even though they had tons of money, Mrs. Asher wasn’t drunk all the time. Instead of smelling like alcohol, she smelled like flowers. Her mother tried to cover the smell of booze with perfume, but it only made her stink more.

“Your mother went to the city,” Mrs. Mott told her, busy at the kitchen sink. “Go upstairs and do your homework.”

“It’s Friday,” she said, grabbing a handful of cookies off a plate on the table. “I don’t have any homework.”

“Then catch up on your reading.”

Since Mrs. Mott was occupied, she decided to rummage around the house. There was a locked bedroom on the third floor and she wanted to see what was inside. It was scary and dark up there, especially for a nine-year-old. Her fear was not as strong as her curiosity. She’d searched for months for the key and hadn’t been able to find it.

As she walked through the foyer, the marble floor echoed her footsteps. Then she saw the solution right in front of her. Why hadn’t she thought about it before? The key was on her father’s key ring on the table at the foot of the stairs. He was probably in the library working at his desk, like he did every night before supper.

She set the cookies down as her fingers grasped the keys. Then she rushed up the two flights of stairs. She halted, looking down the dark hallway with its nine doors and patterned red carpeting. She flipped on the light. It flickered and went off, plunging her again into darkness. Even the servants hardly ever came upstairs. Glancing at the keys in her hand, she heard a noise coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. It sounded like the voice of a woman. She tiptoed toward the door, her stomach fluttering. Jeremy made fun of her. She’d show him she wasn’t a chicken. She could now see the moving illumination of a candle through the cracked door. She peeped through the opening.

She drew a quick breath. What she saw was terrifying. There was a dark-skinned woman with a large head of frizzy hair. Her hair looked as if it were on fire as it bounced with the gyrations of her naked body. She was in pain, moaning as she tossed her head back and forth. Someone was hurting her. The lamp and nightstand obscured Jessica’s view. She saw a man holding onto the woman’s hands. She was trying to escape, but he wouldn’t let her go.