The Strategist (12 page)

Sullivan suddenly felt nervous. “What’s on your mind?”

“Your attitude.”

“My attitude?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Chloe. Just don’t ever do it again.”

“Do what?”

“Undermine me.”

Sullivan’s mouth flew open with shock. “Undermine you? What are you talking about?”

“In Lieutenant Hitchcock’s office. You basically made me look like an idiot in there. And you tried to do it just now when you pulled me outside at the most crucial part of the interview. Do you have any idea how bad that made us look?”

Sullivan moved her lips to speak, but failed to produce any words.

“I don’t have to tell you how long I’ve been doing this,” he continued. “So I think I know a thing or two about conducting a murder investigation.”

“I never suggested you didn’t.”

“But you certainly make it seem like I don’t when it comes to Clemmons.”

“Again, I
never suggested that. There are just some things that don’t add up.”

“This isn’t ‘CSI’, Chloe. Things rarely add up. But we work with what we have until the job gets done.”

Now she was getting angry. Sullivan tolerated a lot from him, most of it because she had to. But the one thing she wasn’t going to allow Graham to do was patronize her. “Stop right there, Walter. I know how to work the job, okay? I may be the newbie here, but I put in my beat time just like everybody else. I’ve seen plenty of crime scenes, and plenty of home invasions. I can spend five minutes in a house that’s just been hit and give you the exact MO the perps used, down to the model of the sledgehammer they busted down the back door with. And nine out of ten times I’d be right. So when I tell you that the Leeds scene is unlike any I’ve ever seen – home invasion or domestic crime – that’s not just some wild theory I’m trying to talk myself through, that’s based on years of picking these scenes apart inch by inch.”

Graham sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “That was a hell of a speech. I’m impressed, really. But it was completely unnecessary. I’ve been around you long enough to know that you’re more than capable out there. If I had even the slightest bit of doubt about that, you and I would have stopped riding together a long time ago. The point of this conversation is to stress how important it is that the two of us are on the same page going forward.”

This time it was Sullivan who sat back in her chair and folded her arms.

Graham got the cue to keep talking. “I realize there’s always room for divergent opinions when it comes to conducting an investigation. And a lot of times that can be a good thing. But this one is different, Chloe. Hitch was right when he said the scrutiny on the entire department is going to be through the roof. We have zero room to screw up. That’s why we have to keep our focus tight. We don’t have the luxury of speculating why the perp used a particular gun, or how he was able to shoot both dogs without either one of them taking a chunk out of his ass. We have to work with what we’ve got. This case is three days old, and do you know how many legitimate tips we’ve gotten in that time?” He made a zero shape out of his fingers.

“I know,” Sullivan said, already feeling like she was going to end up on the losing end of this argument.

“For a murder this high profile that’s almost unheard of. By now the number of tips should have been in the hundreds. And of those, at least five would have held up as genuine leads. So the fact that we have none should tell you how up against it we are here.” He paused to emphasize the point. “Hitch says he’s bringing in even more detectives to help, but ultimately this falls on you and
me, Chloe. We’re the leads, which means we set the direction of this investigation.”

“I understand all of that, Walter. But the photo of Clemmons? What did you hope to achieve by showing it to Rooney? Aside from planting a seed that wouldn’t otherwise be there?”

“I’m sorry if my tactics don’t match up to your time-tested ethics. But sometimes you can only play the hand you’ve been dealt. And right now all we have is Clemmons. I don’t think what I did was questionable in the least, and if you do then you obviously have a lot more to learn about how this process works.”

There he was patronizing her again. She decided to let it go this time and keep the focus where it should be. “And it didn’t worry you that Rooney took so much time looking at that photo
after
he said he didn’t recognize Clemmons? It was like he was trying to convince himself that he did.”

“In my mind he was only being thorough.
Where is the problem in that?”

Sullivan shook her head. “The whole thing just seems wrong, Walt.

“What the hell is it with you and Clemmons?” he barked. “Just because he’s a mail clerk you don’t think he’s smart enough to pull off something like this? Can mail clerks not pick up shell casings or commit a murder without leaving behind fingerprints? It doesn’t take a friggin’ master’s degree to be a smart criminal.”

“From day one what have you always told me is the most important thing that a detective can have? Instincts they can trust. Well I’ve always trusted my instincts. And right now they’re telling me that Clemmons is not who we want.”

“What else do you have aside from instincts to tell you that?” Graham asked.

“The victim’s car, for starters
. If Clemmons was so methodical in leaving nothing behind at the crime scene, why would he steal it and park it a half a block away from his own house, in a place it was guaranteed to draw attention to itself?”

“Because he was arrogant enough to think that it couldn’t be traced back to him? Because he really is that stupid? Who the hell knows? It’s pure speculation either way, Chloe. And speculation isn’t enough.”

Sullivan struggled to find a response.

“Do you know what I have to tell me he did it?” Graham continued. “His car at the crime scene. When I put that together with where the victim’s car was found, that’s all I need to go after this guy with both guns.”

Sullivan sat back in her chair, massaging her pulsating forehead. Now she really felt like she was losing this argument. “So what’s the bottom line, Walt?”

“The bottom line is that despite what your instincts say, the evidence says that Clemmons is the guy. I’m going after him and I need you fully on board with that.”

“And what if something else comes–”

“Right now there isn’t anything else. There’s only him. If we’re going to have a problem working together on this, I suggest you put in for a case transfer right now.”

Sullivan was stunned. She never imagined he would take it that far. “Are you kidding me?”

“Believe me Chlo’, it’s not what I want. But I also don’t want this investigation compromised because your head is someplace else. I can’t have you half-in on this.”

Sullivan pushed her chair out from the table and stood up. “Fine.”

“Fine as in you want to be transferred or fine as in you want to actually be my partner on this?”

“I’m your partner, Walter.”

Graham looked at her with wea
ry eyes. “You’re absolutely certain about that?”

“Yes.” There was nothing else she could say.

Graham stood up, then inexplicably extended his hand. “Glad to know we’re finally on the same page. We’re a much more effective team that way.”

Sullivan shook his hand without saying anything.

“I think it’s time we have our first face to face with Clemmons,” Graham said. “The officers who initially questioned him told him to stand by for follow up, so he should be expecting our visit.”

“It’s been three days. If he really is the guy, aren’t you worried he’s
on his way to Mexico by now?”

“We’ve had two details assigned to his house since this all happened. Aside from a couple of quick trips to his car, he hasn’t left his house. I’m not expecting to get a lot out of this first go-round, unless Clemmons decides to do us a favor and confess. We’ll just consider this one a short meet and greet. Sound good?”

Sullivan nodded, then followed as Graham made his way out of the conference room. She was actually looking forward to meeting Clemmons, to see for herself if her instincts were as honed as she thought they were. And if they weren’t? If Graham was right all along? Then that would be fine too. It would only prove Graham’s point that she still had a lot to learn. 

But while it may have been true that she had a lot to learn in general, when it came to Clemmons, Sullivan’s instincts were not ready to concede just yet.

CHAPTER 20

D
espite his wife’s repeated attempts to engage him in conversation, Dale was quiet for most of the car ride home. The image of the man in the photograph, and what he had possibly done to Julia Leeds, kept playing over and over in his mind. When Detective Graham showed him the photo, he wasn’t surprised by how the suspect looked. In fact he expected it. What did surprise him was the venomous hatred that washed over him the instant he saw the man’s face. He knew he was looking into the eyes of a killer, and even though his face was two dimensional, Dale could feel those cold-blooded eyes looking back at him. He didn’t know the first thing about the police or how they conducted murder investigations, but he did know that Detective Graham showing him that photograph was no accident. He didn’t come right out and say this is the man who murdered Julia Leeds, but he didn’t have to. Everyone in the room, Detective Graham in particular, seemed to know it.

Dale had told the truth when he said that it was too dark to see inside the car. But he also told the truth when he told Detective Graham that he would do anything necessary to help him find Julia’s killer. He knew right now that he was the only one who could do so. He was the only one who heard the music that night, the only one who saw the Impala, the only one who found Julia Leeds’ open door and the utter destruction that took place on the other side of it. And he was the only one who saw the picture of the man police were sure was responsible for all of it.

It was true that Dale didn’t recognize him, and multiple looks at his photograph did nothing to change that. But if he really was Julia’s killer, Dale knew he couldn’t afford not to remember something. Even if that something had never actually occurred.

He felt surprised and uncomfortable with the thoughts that were formulating in his mind and knew that if he gave voice to them, even to his wife, he would immediately know how crazy he sounded and would never be able to act on them.

But he had to act on them, not for his own sense of satisfaction, but for Julia Leeds.

For the first time in his life, his actions could have a significant impact on the world outside of his own. For the first time in his life, he wouldn’t have to retreat into the cocoon of his own thoughts in order to feel significant. For the first time in his life, people would actually listen to him.

He knew right then and there that if Detective Graham were to call on him again, he wouldn’t hesitate to remember exactly what he needed to in order for some measure of justice to finally be served in a world that he had long since checked out of.

As Dale stared at the road in front of him, he suddenly felt Maggie’s hand grip his knee. When he glanced at her, she was smiling. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in a long time. Not at him anyway. At that moment, there were no unspoken barriers between them, no yipping Pomeranian to distract them, no thoughts of a different life without her. There was only Dale, his wife, and a stirring in his chest he never thought he would feel again.

“I’m incredibly proud of the way you handled yourself in there,” Maggie said, her grip tightening.

Not as proud as you’re going to be
, Dale thought with an ever-widening smile.

CHAPTER 21

T
he ride to Stephen Clemmons’ house was quiet. The only time Graham spoke was when he answered a call on his cell phone. The call was brief and his answers were short: “Yes”, “No”, “That shouldn’t be a problem, sir”, “No progress yet”, “I’m headed there now”.

When his call was finished and Sullivan asked him who it was, Graham’s answer to her was just as succinct. “Hitchcock checking in.”

She thought it was odd that he wouldn’t offer any more details about his conversation with the lieutenant. Anything that may have been said was of as much consequence to her as it was to Graham. She also didn’t like the line “
I’m headed there now
,” as if she was stuck in the middle of a manicure somewhere. But she decided to leave it be.

When they turned onto the thirty eight hundred block of Gilpin Street, Graham picked up his two-way radio. “Two-five, this is Detective Graham. Copy?”

A voice came over the radio. “Copy, this is two-five.”

“Detective Sullivan and myself are en route and should be there momentarily. Is the bird still hiding in his nest?”

“Roger that,” the voice answered with a slight chuckle. “Quiet as a tomb in there.”

“Very good. If you guys want to go ahead and take off, we’ve got it from here.”

“Roger that. See you on the other side. Good luck in there.”

“Thanks.” As he pu
t down the radio he pointed to a duplex on the corner. “There it is,” he said to Sullivan.

She saw the now infamous gray Chevy Impala parked in front and another question immediately popped into her head. Why would Clemmons park it on the corner knowing he lived on such a busy street? There would be plenty of room to park it in the alley. She pushed the thought into the back of her mind. Speculation, as Graham called it, wasn’t going to get her anywhere right now.

Graham pulled up to the curb across the street. “I have a couple of specific questions in mind, so let me take the lead, at least to start.”

Sullivan already knew it couldn’t have been any other way. “No problem,” she said as she pushed open the car door.

Seeing no doorbell, Graham banged on the door – much harder than he needed to in Sullivan’s opinion. But it was effective, because Clemmons opened it right away. Perhaps he had been waiting for them after all.

“Stephen Clemmons?” Graham asked the man standing in the doorway.

“That’s me,” he said with eyes that Sullivan could only describe as terrified. “You must be the detective I was told to wait for.”

“That’s correct. I’m Detective Walter Graham, this here is Detective Sullivan. We came to ask you a few questions about Julia Leeds.”

Clemmons stood quietly at the door. He was a tall, pudgy man with sagging cheeks that resembled a Basset Hound’s. It made him look sad even when he probably wasn’t. He wore a Community College of Denver sweatshirt and a pair of wrinkled khakis. There was nothing about him that said murderer or even petty thief. But Sullivan had known that already. She threw a quick glance in Graham’s direction to get a read on his expression. It was rigid, bordering on hostile. 

“May we come in
Mr. Clemmons?” Graham asked as he took a step toward the door.

Clemmons’ index finger twitched as he held on to the door. He quickly brought the hand down and curled it up into a loose fist. Then he stepped aside. “Sure.”

Graham stepped through the doorway with Sullivan right behind him. She nodded at Clemmons as she walked past. He didn’t nod back.

The three of them stood in the middle of the living room. The ramshackle condition of the exterior gave no indication of the near immaculate condition of the interior. Clemmons didn’t have much space to work with, but he made the most of what he had. They stood next to a beige couch lined with burgundy throw pillows, a glass coffee table with several textbooks neatly stacked in the corner, a bookshelf filled with many more books, and several healthy-looking plants hanging from the ceiling. The small flat-screen TV was tuned to ESPN.

Sullivan suddenly felt as if she had no business in this house, and was glad that Graham had declared himself the lead here.

Never one to waste time, Graham pulled out his notepad and pen and got right to it. “I know that officers were here a few days ago, but if you don’t mind I’d like to ask you a few follow up questions.”

Clemmons swallowed hard. “Like I told them, I’ll cooperate as much as I can.”

Graham smiled. “We appreciate that, Mr. Clemmons. I’m going to start by quickly summarizing the information you gave to the officers, and all you have to tell me is whether or not my summary is correct. Okay?”

Clemmons made eye contact with Sullivan for the first time. She managed to hold his anxious gaze even though every part of her wanted to look away.

“Yeah, okay,” he said as he turned back to Graham. “But before we do that, I’ve been watching the news about Julia. They’re saying someone saw a gray Impala outside her house before she was murdered. Is that right?”

“I haven’t seen that particular news report, so I can’t speak on it,” Graham answered flatly.

Clemmons swallowed again. “They also said that there weren’t any suspects yet. Can you speak on that?”

Graham clenched his jaw as he looked down at his notepad. “We’ll get to that Mr. Clemmons. Right now I just need you to answer yes or no. According to the officer’s notes, you arrived home from work at approximately 5:45 Thursday evening and didn’t leave your house for the rest of the night, is that right?”

Clemmons looked at Sullivan again, then went back to Graham. “Yes.”

“And you live here by yourself, so there is no one to corroborate that.”

“That’s right, I live here by myself.”

“You also told them that you hadn’t driven anywhere near the three hundred block of Monroe Street at any point that you could remember.”

“I don’t have much reason to ever get out that way.”

“You worked for the same law firm as the victim, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But according to you, the two of you didn’t know each other.”

“That’s right, we didn’t.”

At that last answer, Clemmons visibly stiffened. Sullivan was sure Graham had noticed it too.

“You never once spoke to her?” Graham pressed.

“I deliver mail to almost eighty lawyers every day. It’s hard to keep track of who I speak to and who I don’t.”

“So it’s possible you did?”

So what if he did
!
Where is the smoking gun in that
? Sullivan thought, but she remained expressionless.

“I guess it’s possible,” he answered hesitantly.

Graham flipped through a few more pages of his notepad. “Mr. Clemmons, do you know a man by the name of Matthew Westerly?”

Clemmons nodded tentatively. “He’s a lawyer at the firm.”

“Actually the two of you are friends. He reported to our detectives that the two of you have gone out for beers after work on several occasions.”

Clemmons nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, according to Mr. Westerly, you did know Julia Leeds. In fact, he recalled one outing over beers when you told him of a mail delivery to her office that became an extended conversation about your plans become a paralegal. He said you couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful she was and how you couldn’t believe that she had taken so much time to talk to you.” Graham paused for effect as he always did. “Does any of that ring a bell, Mr. Clemmons?”

Sullivan looked down at Clemmons’ finger and noticed that it had started twitching again.

“I do remember that now,” Clemmons said as he looked at his Nike running shoes. “It happened so long ago I guess it just slipped my mind.”

“Mr. Westerly said it was less than two months ago.”

Clemmons’ right leg began to move the same way his finger did, and Sullivan was suddenly worried that it would give out from under him.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was confused by the officer’s question. It was a lot to take in and I had just woken up when they came. I ap
ologize for getting confused.”

“That’s quite all right,” Graham said with his trademark look of satisfaction.

It wasn’t a good moment for Clemmons, but Graham was still far from making his case in Sullivan’s mind.

Graham pushed on.
“And regarding the Range Rover; the one that was found in an alley across the street from here. You claimed that you had no knowledge of it being there.”

“That’s right, I didn’t.”

“You seem like the type of person who would have his finger on the pulse of this neighborhood. Had you heard any chatter about the Range Rover? Noticed any increased activity since its discovery?”

“I mostly keep to myself here, so it’s rare that I have my finger on the pulse of anything when it comes to this neighborhood, detective.”

Graham stopped writing and looked at Sullivan, who had to fight to conceal her smile.

“That being the case, Mr. Clemmons, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?” Graham asked with a hint of irritation.

“Ordinary seems to change around here from one day to the next. But as far as that night, no I didn’t notice anything.”

“What about the follo
wing morning?” Sullivan asked.

Clemmons hesitated to
answer.

“Mr. Clemmons?”

“I didn’t notice anything.” 

Of all the questions he was asked, this was the one that seemed to make him the most uncomfortable, and for the first time he failed to make eye contact with either Graham or Sullivan.

“Are you sure?” Sullivan asked, picking up on his shifting mood.

Clemmons attempted to smile. “Unless you count the two detectives who have been parked down the street for most of the week as out of the ordinary, then I would have to say that I’m sure.”

This time Clemmons maintained his eye contact with Sullivan.

“Do you own a gun, Mr. Clemmons?”

He turned to Graham with an incredulous stare. “No.”

Sullivan looked at Graham with a similar stare, completely thrown by the question. Graham glanced back at her impassively.

“Look detectives, I’ve cooperated with you just like I said I would. But I’ve already answered these questions, and if I’m being honest, I don’t understand why I have to answer them in the first place. I may have misspoken about Julia Leeds earlier, but that one conversation is the only contact I’ve ever really had with her. I’ve never been to her house. I didn’t even know where she lived until I saw it on the news. And I sure as hell didn’t kill her.”

“No one is saying you killed her, Mr. Clemmons,” Sullivan said in the most reassuring voice she could of
fer. “We’re simply here because–”

Graham interrupted. “When I asked if you knew Julia Leeds, you told me flat out that you didn’t. When I asked if you had so much as said hello to her, you couldn’t recall. But then when I tell you about Mr. Westerly’s assertion that you talked to her extensively, it suddenly all comes back to
you? I’m just wondering what other important details you’re forgetting?”

With eyes that looked like they were beginning to water, Clemmons looked directly at Sullivan. “I didn’t kill anybody, period. You want to check my house? You want to take my fingerprints? You want to give me a lie detector test? Do what you have to do. I don’t really care.”

I know you didn’t kill anybody, Mr. Clemmons
. “None of that will be necessary, sir,” Sullivan said.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Clemmons,” Graham said as he pulled a card out from the back of his notepad. Then, as if it we
re an afterthought, he added: “By the way, do you have one of those loud, hip-hop stereo systems in your car? The kind you can hear coming a mile away?”

Clemmons responded to Graham with an angry smirk. “All of us black folk in the hood have them, detective. I figured you would have had that profile down by now.”

Sullivan suddenly felt embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to leave.

“Indeed,” Graham said as he reopened his notepad. “I only ask because the witnesses who reported seeing the gray Impala in front of Julia Leeds’ house the night of her murder also reported hearing loud music coming from that car before it drove away.”

Sullivan heard the word
witnesses
and knew it wasn’t a matter of Graham misspeaking. He was purposefully misleading Clemmons.

Clemmons shrugged. “How am I supposed to respond to that? There are a lot of cars that have loud stereos.”

“I suppose that is a pretty standard feature of gray Impalas,” Graham said without a hint of sarcasm.

Clemmons shrugged again but was otherwise quiet.

“Are there any questions you have of us, Mr. Clemmons?” Sullivan asked in a quick attempt to shift the focus.

“You mean a
side from the obvious?”

“And what is the obvious?” Graham sniffed.

Sullivan knew what the obvious was, and couldn’t believe that Graham was going to make Clemmons say it.