ZERO HERO (The Kate Huntington Mystery series) (5 page)

            Dolph lowered his butt, which was a little broader than it had been when he was a homicide detective, into her visitor’s chair. Gray now dominated the rust in her former partner’s hair and it had completely taken over his bushy moustache and eyebrows. As usual, his white dress shirt and dark slacks were rumpled.

            “Why such a grim look, partner?” Dolph’s tone was teasing.

            She scowled at him. He knew perfectly well why she was less than happy. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” She was ignoring Skip Canfield, who was now perched on the far corner of her desk.

            “You caught the Matthews’ homicide, I hear.”

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah.”

            “Nice when you can get a case closed that quick and easy.”

            Judith shrugged. It happened often enough. Most criminals were dumb as rocks.

            She glanced up at Canfield. He looked like he was trying not to loom over her, but in the close quarters, it was hard for a guy his size to pull that off. “For Pete’s sake, Canfield. Grab another chair.”

            He did as instructed, straddling the chair backwards, his arms crossed on the back. “Actually, that’s why we’re here. For Pete’s sake.” He didn’t crack a smile, which told her he knew the joke was lame.

            “We’ve been hired by Mr. Jamieson’s defense attorney,” Dolph said. “Of course, you could make him wait until he’s filed all the proper papers, but it would be helpful if you’d let me take a peek at your case file, for old times’ sake.”

            “No can do. The investigation is not complete yet.”

            “Does that mean you’re considering other suspects?” Canfield asked.

            “No... We have our man.” Even she heard the lack of conviction in her voice.

            Canfield looked her in the eye for a long moment. He broke contact just before it became a full-blown staring contest.

            “You’ve got an arrest,” he said in a low voice. “But you’re not happy with it, are you?”

            “Did you know the boy was a 9/11 first responder?” Dolph asked. “Saved a bunch of lives that day.”

            “Yeah, well, that doesn’t give him license to take a life.”

            “And you’re sure he did that, killed his friend?” Canfield said.

            “Killed his drug dealer. We’ve only got his word for it that they were ever friends.”

            “Jamieson says they went to high school together. Easiest thing in the world to check out the school records.”

            “Doesn’t prove they were friends. That’s just where they met.”

            Canfield was staring at her again. Judith let her gaze drop to her desk, and the file she had been going over, again, when they had made their entrance. The Matthews’ file. She was debating whether to take it with her. No need really. She practically had the damn thing memorized.

            She suddenly stood up, startling the two men. Tall and thin, she was now looming over them. Tucking her white shirt more firmly into the waist of her slim black slacks, she grabbed the matching black jacket from the back of her chair. She ran fingers through her short cap of hair and then glanced at her watch.

            Sliding the file into her desk drawer, she said, “I haven’t had lunch yet. You’re treating.” Without looking back, Judith strode across the bullpen for the door.

~~~~~~~~

            Once on the sidewalk, Skip asked, “What’s your preference, Detective?”

            “Your friend’s place is fine. I’ll meet you there.”

            As she walked briskly away from them, Skip said in a low voice, “Does she ever wear anything but black and white?”

            Dolph thought for a moment. “Nope. Came to a cookout at our house once. Black T-shirt, white shorts.”

            Once they had all settled into a booth along the back wall of Mac’s Place and had ordered food, Skip said, “I never got a chance to thank you properly for bringing in the cavalry last year.”

            “Just doing my job,” Judith said curtly.

            “Ah, cut the crap, Judith.” Dolph’s voice was sharp. “If Skip had turned himself in like you wanted him to, we wouldn’t be sitting here now, ’cause he’d be dead.”

            Skip and Judith both stared at him for a beat. Then Judith blew out her breath and turned to Skip. “Sorry. I guess me looking incompetent was a better outcome than you dead.”

            “I’m definitely partial to not being dead,” Skip said.

            Dolph pursed his lips. His tone mild again, he said, “So what’s the deal on the Matthews’ case?”

            Judith leaned forward and kept her voice low. “I’ve got a case against your boy. Means, opportunity and motive.”

            When she didn’t continue, Skip said, “But you’re not happy.”

            “I’m not, but the State Attorney’s office and my lieutenant are, so case closed.”

            Skip cocked his head at her. “Thought you said it was still open.”

            “Technically it is. I’ve been told to gather more evidence against Jamieson.”

            “By doing what?” Dolph asked.

            “Interview some of the people who went to high school with them. Subpoena his counselors’ records. Try to find a history of violence or poor anger management. Am I going to find one?”

            “From what I understand, probably not,” Skip said. “What exactly’s giving you a bad feeling about this, Judith?”

            “Another suspect who’s got a lot better motive, but his prints aren’t on the gun, and Jamieson’s are, along with Matthews’ own, and lots of smudges.”

            “How clear are Jamieson’s prints?” Dolph asked.

            “Three clear. Two partials a bit smudged.”

            Dolph winced.

            “Yeah, but they’re not–” Judith stopped talking as the waitress appeared with their sandwiches.

            “They’re not what?” Skip asked, once she was gone.

            “Where you’d expect them to be. Two of the clear ones are left thumb and index finger on the barrel. The other one is right thumb, under the butt. Consistent with handling the gun, which is what your boy claims happened, but not with gripping it to fire.”

            “Rob’s going to have fun with that,” Skip said.

            “Who’s the ASA on the case?” Dolph asked.

            “Fitzsimmons.”

            Dolph shook his head.

            “Is that good or bad?” Skip asked.

            “Depends on which side you’re on,” Dolph said. “Good for us, bad for Judith.”

            Skip waited until she’d swallowed the bite of tuna on rye she’d just taken. He didn’t want her to choke when he delivered the bad news. “I’ve seen Rob Franklin in action. He’s gonna blow your case out of the water.”

            “Already figured that out, big boy,” Judith said. “That’s why I’m talking to you. Of course if anybody asks, this was just a social get-together.”

            “Who’s the other suspect?” Dolph asked.

            “Frederico Gonzales, goes by just Frederico on the streets. Matthews’ competitor. Except Freddie boy was there first. Matthews was the interloper, and we all know how well drug dealers and pimps like that. Frederico probably would have left him alone if he’d stuck to drugs, ‘cause he made most of his sales outside the neighborhood, to old friends and acquaintances like Jamieson. But Matthews decided pimping would be fun too. Then he was definitely stepping on Freddie’s toes.”

            “How long had Matthews been into prostitution?” Skip asked.

            “A few months. He didn’t pilfer any of Freddie’s girls. That would have gotten him dead a lot sooner. Vice guys say he hung out at the Greyhound station and recruited the newbies coming into town. Offered them food and shelter, help getting started in a new town.”

            Dolph snorted. “Mr. Benevolence.”

            “His girls actually spoke well of him. Said he treated them okay, and none of them were new to the trade, just to Baltimore. Except one girl, who looked about twelve, but her Wisconsin driver’s license says she’s eighteen. This is her first gig, according to her. She says Matthews didn’t pressure her though. Apparently he was about to expand his business ventures further, into the world of porn movies, and she was going to be his star.”

            Skip grimaced at the thought of the perverts who would buy such movies. “What’s Frederico’s story?”

            “Mother was Hispanic, a prostitute. He came out of the oven a lot browner than her, with nappy hair, so the assumption is that his father was black. Mother died of an overdose when he was five. He ended up a ward of the state, raised in a series of foster homes, most of them black families. Disappeared onto the streets when he was fourteen. Clawed his way to the top of the heap in his slimy little corner of the world about five years ago.”

            “How old is he now?”

            “Twenty-six. He’s alibied, by the way, for the TOD time frame. For what it’s worth, his homies swear he was with them all afternoon and evening, at his place.”

            “Why would Matthews try to horn in on the territory of an established dealer and pimp?” Skip said.

            “Wait until you meet Frederico. He’s a caricature of a pimp, and he’s got identity issues. Pretends he’s one hundred percent Hispanic, which he obviously isn’t. My buddy on the City Vice squad says people tend to underestimate him, not take him seriously, which is a big mistake.”

            While Skip and Dolph mulled over what she had told them, Judith finished off the last of her sandwich and signaled the waitress. She ordered dessert.

            “Where do you put all those calories?” Skip teased.

            “Good metabolism, and lots of exercise kicking ass,” she retorted.

            “Wait a minute,” Dolph said. “How’d you catch the case if Matthews was in the city?”

            “Body was found on the grounds of Jamieson’s apartment building here in Towson. A sizeable bag of cocaine was in his pockets. Gun was thrown in the bushes. That’s why Fitzsimmons and my lieu aren’t buying Frederico as a suspect. They figure he’d never leave that much dope and a good gun behind.”

            “Shit,” Skip said.

            Dolph just nodded. “You got anything else?”

            “A little trace evidence. Matthew’s hair in your boy’s apartment.”

            “Which doesn’t mean much if they were friends,” Skip pointed out.

            Judith shrugged as she dug into her pie.

            “Autopsy?” Dolph asked.

            Judith swallowed. “M.E.’s doing it this afternoon.”

            After paying the tab, they parted company with Judith outside Mac’s Place.

            “We going downtown to talk to this Frederico punk?” Dolph asked.

            “Not yet. I’m going to talk to Jamieson, then touch base with Kate. If she’s too spooked about the danger, I’m not gonna push it. I’m doing this as a favor for her and Rob.”

CHAPTER FOUR

            After handing over her psychotherapist’s license, ID and car keys–the only things she had brought into the building–Kate was admitted into the Towson jail’s visiting area. It was after regular visiting hours but she had referred the guard on the front window to the judge’s order, arranged by Rob, that allowed her to meet with her client outside those times.

            Her guard escort left her in a small room, dominated by a large metal table and several chairs, all bolted to the floor. A few minutes later, Pete was brought in, his hands and legs shackled. The guard attached the leg shackles to a ring in the floor beside one of the chairs and gestured for Pete to sit down.

            “Please remove the chains from his hands,” Kate said.

            “You his attorney?” the guard asked.

            “No.” She looked at Pete. He inclined his head in a slight nod. “I’m his therapist. Remove the shackles.”

            The guard still looked resistant. “He’s accused of murder, lady.”

            Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

            He produced the key and removed the shackles from Pete’s wrists. “We’re watchin’ you, bub. No sudden moves.”

            Kate resisted making a snarky remark. There was no point taking her frustration with the legal system out on the guard. He was just doing his job.

            The door slammed shut with a clang. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

            Pete shrugged his shoulders. The too-big orange jumpsuit barely moved. No doubt as a firefighter he had once been muscular but drugs and inactivity had shrunk his frame. He looked almost frail, his face haggard and pale.

            “There’s a lot of testosterone in the air around here,” Kate said after a moment.

            “I can handle it. I hang out with firefighters and cops, remember?”

            “Did you get any sleep last night?”

            He shook his head.

            She let the silence hang for a moment, then said, “Pete, you don’t have to worry about my feminine sensibilities. I’m a trauma recovery specialist. I’ve heard it all. If anything happens in here, that you need or want to talk about,
I
can handle it.” She intentionally reflected his words back to him.

            “Kate, nothing happened
because
I didn’t sleep. I’m an addict. I’ve been in jail before.”

            She paused for a moment. “Okay, can you let down your guard now so we can talk about how to cope with all this emotionally?”

            He sighed. For the first time since he’d entered the room, she saw a hint of life in his hollow eyes. “Yeah, give me a minute to shift gears.”

            Kate gave him a small smile. “Pete, I’m still trying to get to know you. So let me put something out there and you tell me if I’m wrong. You kind of remind me of a turtle. Not because you’re slow, quite the opposite. My sense is that you’re a gentle soul, but you can retract into a hard shell when you need to, and that shell protects you.”