Sullivan's Justice (5 page)

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ runnin’ from someone?”

Carolyn jumped. Moreno’s voice seemed several octaves deeper. Her fascination evaporated and her fear intensified. Something didn’t add up. Killers generally followed a pattern, particularly when it came to weapons and manner of death. The pathologist believed the mother had been decapitated with a scalpel, although they had failed to locate it on the property or on Moreno’s person at the time he was apprehended.

After murdering his mother, he had bound and gagged his sister, then later returned to crush her skull with a hammer. They believed the sister had been murdered the same day as the Hartfield family, who were killed execution-style with an AR-15 assault rifle on November 18. This weapon, too, had never been located. Rarely did they see a killer use such a diverse set of weapons and modes of death. At the onset of the investigation, the police had assumed there was more than one killer. Outside of the Hartfield family’s, the only fingerprints located inside both premises were Moreno’s.

Several psychologists had analyzed the facts of the case. Their conclusion was that Moreno’s mind had disintegrated after years of caring for his disabled mother and sister. After killing his own family, he had vented his rage at another family, who seemed to be living the American dream. Carolyn was certain they were wrong.

She couldn’t begin dictating the interview portion of the report until she forced Moreno to reveal himself. To achieve her goal, she would have to leave and return later.

The one thing a person like Raphael Moreno couldn’t stand was being controlled. She hoped what she was about to do next would enrage him. Getting a prisoner to talk was her greatest skill. Moreno had talked, even led her in a new direction, but he had failed to tell her anything about the murders. A question was circling in her mind, one that demanded an answer. She knew the police had agonized over the same thing. The difference was Moreno now knew he had nothing to lose. Carolyn just might walk away with a full confession.

Standing, she pushed the buzzer to be released. She didn’t speak, nor did she look at Moreno. When the door opened, she saw a sea of uniformed officers. Glancing back at Moreno, she saw the look of shock register on his face. He couldn’t understand why she was walking out on him. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Were there problems?” Bobby Kirsh asked as she strolled into the corridor.

“Raphael and I got along just fine,” Carolyn lied, seeing the prisoner straining to hear what she was saying. “Really, Bobby,” she continued, “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss.”

“Reynolds told me Moreno had some spots of blood on his clothes,” he said. “Were they already there, or did something happen?”

“I think he scraped his wrists on the cuffs,” Carolyn said, then recalled that Moreno had an untreated bullet wound on his shoulder when he was arrested. The police had tried to find out who had shot him, but had gotten nowhere. With street thugs, scars from gunshots were like freckles. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. I remember seeing him scratching his shoulder wound.”

Bobby gave her a suspicious look, but he didn’t say anything.

Once they made their way to the locker area, Carolyn faced him. “Leave him in the room. No matter what he does, don’t move him. I’ll come back after lunch. If anything happens, call me. If I’m not at my desk, tell them to page me.”

“Did he talk?” he asked, curious.

“Yes,” she answered, removing her gun from the locker and placing it in her purse.

“What did he say? Why did he kill those people? Is he a psycho? Did he talk about what happened last night? Most of the population is scared to death of him.” He paused, waiting until Joe Powell turned away. “They’re freaked, man. Things like this don’t happen. Yeah, guys get jumped every now and then. Not like they do in prison, of course. I mean, the majority of our inmates are serving time for minor offenses . . . tickets, thefts, burglaries, nonpayment of child support. The captain thinks the three men who almost got wiped tried to jump Moreno. The men swear he came after them.”

“I’m strapped for time,” Carolyn explained. “Moreno didn’t talk about the murders, but I think I have a lead on some information. That’s more progress than anyone else has made. Let me do my job, Bobby, and I’ll let you do yours. As soon as I find out something, you’ll be the first to know.” She closed her briefcase with a clank.

Bobby gestured toward her bag. “Don’t you think you’d be safer if you carried your gun in a place where you could get your hands on it? Most of the people in your department wear shoulder holsters. I know you’re going to law school and all. You won’t make a very good lawyer if you’re dead.”

Carolyn gave him a chastising look. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“You’re good people, okay?” Bobby said defensively. “Just trying to keep you from getting hurt.”

“I normally wear my gun,” she told him. “I appreciate your concern. Taking my panty hose in there would have been a mistake.” She started to leave, then turned back. “As a precaution, post some of your people outside the interview room. I assume he’s as safe in there as where you had him earlier.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “we’re not a maximum-security prison. The glass is reinforced and the bars behind it are steel. I guess it won’t do any harm to let him stew. He’s safely contained.”

“Don’t let this guy con you,” Carolyn said in a hushed voice, wondering if Moreno had stashed some of the metal pieces of the cell phone. Once she was through with him, she’d have him strip-searched. “He may bloody himself up or something to trick you into opening the door. Instruct your men not to go in there under any circumstances or they’ll be risking their lives. No food, no water, no bathroom. I don’t care what the rules say. Think you can find some officers willing to go the distance?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like you’re scared of this one, Carolyn. I told you not to do a face-to-face. Shit, even I wouldn’t let someone lock me in there alone with Moreno.”

“I haven’t finished what I set out to do, Bobby,” she told him, her face set with resolve. “I’ll try to get back around noon. I might be afraid of him, but I’m not going to give up. Moreno may not be the only killer. He could have an accomplice who’s still out there. The Hartfield family was killed with an AR-fifteen assault rifle. When he decapitated his mother, he used a scalpel and he smashed in his sister’s head with a hammer. I don’t think he would kill with a gun. He has sensitive ears. He wouldn’t like the noise.”

Bobby gave her a disbelieving look. “And you’re going to get him to tell you who his accomplice was?”

Carolyn smiled. “Don’t I always?”

 

 

 

 

 

C
arolyn was sitting in a chair in her supervisor’s office. She was behind on all her reports and Brad Preston knew it. “Veronica wasn’t due for another seven weeks,” she said, tapping her heels. She stared at Preston with weary brown eyes. Like many single parents, she struggled through each day in a constant state of exhaustion.

How could a man be beautiful and ruggedly masculine at the same time? Carolyn thought. Brad had it all. His blond hair was fashionably cut. He used some type of gel to make the front stand up, making him look like a college student. His skin was burnished by the sun. Unlike other men who indulged in outdoor activities, he had hardly any lines in his face. Her eyes feasted on the muscles straining against his crisp white shirt. She forced herself to look away. She should have transferred out of the unit when Brad became supervisor. Now she had to work with a former lover.

Until someone new had come into Carolyn’s life, her past involvement with Brad hadn’t been a problem. Her relationship with Paul Leighton, a physics professor and neighbor, had shaken Brad’s enormous ego. He pursued her relentlessly. When sending her cards and flowers failed, Brad had switched tactics.

Carolyn was already handling almost twice as many cases as the other investigators in her unit. The only one who came even close to her was Veronica Campbell. The woman had three kids at home and was about to deliver the fourth. She referred to her last child as a goof, so the new baby became a double goof. If she made it to a triple goof, Veronica had jokingly told her a few days ago, duckwalking down the hall to her office, she would fake a nervous breakdown so her husband would get stuck with the kids.

Brad had just told her the Moreno report was due the next day and she was livid. “Investigating a case like this takes weeks.”

“Hey,” Preston said, tossing his feet on top of his desk, “I’m just the messenger. Wilson specifically wanted you to handle it. The hearing is at ten o’clock in division twenty-four.”

“This is insane!” she shouted. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”

“Christmas Eve,” he said. “Unless there’s a problem, you can take off as soon as it’s over. The rest of us are working until five. We haven’t been this slammed in years. I had to tell three people to cancel their vacations.”

“Get the DA to ask for a continuance,” Carolyn argued. “Raphael Moreno decapitated his own mother. How can I possibly submit a report on seven counts of homicide in twenty-four hours? I have to be in court in thirty minutes on Brubaker.”

“They’ve already continued the case three times. Judge O’Brien said the sentencing is set and there’s no way in hell he’s going to delay it. The jail wants Moreno shipped to prison. The DA’s office is under fire because they pleaded the case out and eliminated the death penalty. The victims’ families are demanding justice.” He paused and flashed a smile, light reflecting off his straight white teeth. “Stop whining and get the job done. You don’t have to recommend a prison sentence. It’s already been negotiated in the settlement agreement. What’s the big deal, for Christ’s sake?”

Carolyn walked over and slammed the door to his office. She didn’t want Brad’s assistant, Rachel Mitchell, to eavesdrop on their conversation. “You’re doing this to me intentionally. At first, I didn’t mind your games. This time, you’ve gone too far. Keep pushing me like this and I’m going to file a complaint.”

Brad laughed, taking his feet down and placing his palms on top of his desk. “You think I’m scared of you,” he said, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. “I may be deputy chief by this time next year. Wilson is considering you as my replacement, but he’ll be relying heavily on my recommendation.”

“You’re being cruel, Brad,” Carolyn told him, perspiration dampening the back of her neck.

“I heard you dropped out of law school. Is that true?”

“I didn’t drop out for good. I just took a semester off.”

“The type of work we do is specific,” Brad said, turning his attention back to the matter at hand. “What would you do if you lost this job? I guess you could find some low-level position at the DA’s office. I hear they’re looking for help at the women’s jail.”

Carolyn’s jaw locked. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She started to tell him that she’d managed to get Moreno to talk, then decided to forget it. Later, she might have something worthwhile to tell him. “Do you have Veronica’s file?”

He tapped a thick folder on the edge of his desk, waiting until she walked over. When she turned around, she felt his hand on her buttocks. As of that moment, Carolyn knew she had a legitimate case of sexual harassment. She didn’t have time to think about it, though. Her skin was hot, almost as if she’d come down with a fever. Brad knew her. She might complain, but she would never let a less experienced officer handle crimes this serious.

“I’ll need a progress report every hour. I’m sending Rogers to represent you on the Brubaker matter.” Brad’s phone rang and he answered it, gesturing to Carolyn to wait until he was finished.

“Yeah,” he said, “we’re taking care of Moreno.” Cupping his hand over the phone, he whispered to Carolyn, “It’s a girl. The kid was born an hour ago. Six pounds, three ounces.”

“Is that Drew?” Carolyn asked, assuming he was speaking to Veronica’s husband.

“No,” Brad told her, “it’s Veronica. She’s high as a kite. Maybe that’s why she keeps popping out a baby every nine months. She likes the drugs.” He hung up and thumbed through some paperwork on his desk.

“Rogers can’t represent me with only an hour’s notice. Brubaker mowed down eleven people,” Carolyn said. “It took us three years to get a conviction.”

“Vehicular manslaughter is a long way from murdering an entire family,” Brad said, making a paper airplane and sailing it over her head. “You beat me up or I would have never allowed you to recommend a prison sentence for Brubaker. Everyone knows it was an accident. The DA waited so long to file because they thought the old fart would croak and they wouldn’t have to deal with it. The city was responsible. There were no official road signs at the street market.”

“After he hit the first person, he made no attempt to stop,” Carolyn said, shaking her head in disagreement. A strand of hair ended up near her nose and she blew it off. “I talked to Brubaker on four different occasions. He looks like a sweet old man, but he’s not. He was terrified of losing his license. What he did falls clearly under the guidelines for vehicular homicide.”

Brad sighed, then said loudly, “The guy panicked and stepped on the gas instead of the brake. I’m sick of this case. You’ve got Moreno. Stop wasting my time.”

“Brubaker was negligent,” Carolyn said, refusing to weaken. “Eighty-five-year-old people shouldn’t drive. I don’t care who the signs belonged to, you’d have to be insane to drive through a crowd of people like that without stopping. Bodies were bouncing off his car like basketballs.”

“Write a letter to your congressman. Brubaker had a current license issued by the state of California. He generally didn’t go out on Wednesdays because that’s the day his housekeeper comes and he enjoys her company. He wasn’t aware he couldn’t use the street. It’s open every day except Wednesdays when they have the market.” Brad stood and picked up his jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m late to a meeting. You got your ten-year prison sentence. I feel sorry for the guy. Old age is the ultimate humiliation.”