All the Deadly Lies Page 2

  Chloe was a dog with a bone. “If I don’t get answers soon, I’ll be going over your heads!” she shouted. She didn’t take the paper from his hand but lowered her voice. “Where’s Jake?”

  “He’s out on another case. What else can I do for you?”

  “Why’s he not returning my phone calls?”

  Her anger directed at Jake belonged to the killer. “I have no idea. You’ll need to discuss it with him.”

  He stood, dismissing her as he started to walk her toward the door. “I would if he’d answer his freakin’ phone,” Chloe said in a huff.

  “I don’t get involved in his personal life, Ms. Wagner. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

  * * * *

  Before he headed home, Jake walked around the downtown area hoping the distraction would clear his head. The weather for April suited him. It was said, if you didn’t like the weather in New England, you only had to wait five minutes for it to change. And that was no folktale, he thought. The sixty-degree temperatures were a gift this time of year. Last week there was frost, this week heat. A mild breeze ruffled his auburn hair, the promise of summer in the air. I was looking forward to summer and the outdoor activities until McGuire dropped his damn bomb. He passed the new modern courthouse on Meadow Street. Smokers puffed away outside the building. The courthouse stood out against the nineteen-thirties architecture of the other municipal buildings lining the street. The size of the city suited him. One hundred thousand-plus residents made it a city, but kept the small-town attitudes and feelings alive.

  His lanky stride ate up the sidewalk as he headed down Grand Street toward the federal building, which housed the main post office and other federal divisions. Son of a gun, it isn’t my day. As he walked past city hall, Wilkesbury’s idiot mayor, along with his entourage, stepped in front of him.

  The Honorable John Velky sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest like he always did when he met up with him. Jake found it amusing most days. The mayor, with his styled brown hair and expensive suits, was a true politician. He kissed babies one moment and overtaxed their parents the next. Jake had never voted for him.

  “You don’t have anything better to do then stroll around town, Lieutenant?” Mayor Velky asked.

  “Good morning, Mayor.” It took all his control to be polite, as he tried to walk away. Today isn’t a good day to get in a pissing match with the mayor. It might cost me my career.

  Jake studied the quote over the doors of city hall as he tuned out the mayor. Quid Aere Perennius. The meaning was something you were taught in local schools. His father, as an immigrant and Wilkesbury cop, had him and Eva studying the history of Wilkesbury, “The Brass Capital of the World” in its heyday. Translated from Latin it meant, “What is More Lasting Than Brass?” He forced his attention back to the mayor.

  “I’ll be at the station this week in discussions with the commissioner,” Mayor Velky said before walking away, leaving Jake baffled. He watched Velky jump into the back of the town car. It takes all kinds, he thought. His mind drifted back to Eva. A girl he would never see beyond her fifteen years, thanks to Spaulding.

  * * * *

  At home, Jake rummaged through his basement, searching for his father’s records. Why now? He couldn’t get the question out of his head. What did Spaulding and his lawyer hope to achieve with the new testing? Every couple of years he was subjected to this torment. And every couple of years he gathered his strength to face down the parole board with his gruesome evidence. The pictures of the crime scene, along with Eva’s bruised and bloody body, gave them many reasons to deny Spaulding’s request. His father had kept a copy of Eva’s case file at home since he wasn’t allowed to work it. The other detectives made sure he had every bit of evidence he needed. It was one of their own who’d been victimized. Nobody messed with a cop’s family and got away with it. Except maybe this time, he thought as he rubbed his throbbing head. Had George Spaulding found a way to cheat the system? It couldn’t be true after seventeen years that they had imprisoned the wrong man. If it was true, then who had killed his sister Eva? Jake couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

  No, it was George.

  The fifth box he opened was dedicated to her case. On top, his father had marked it one of five. After hunting down the other boxes, he brought them upstairs and placed them in his office. The first box he opened sent him right back to hell and his first visit to the morgue. It was the year he had lost his innocence.

  A buzzing rang out in his ears from the fluorescent lights overhead. The starkness of the corridor as their footsteps echoed in the silence created the crescendo of a day gone horribly wrong. The buzzing grew louder as they approached the door. The medical examiner, Doctor Ed Jerome, put his hand up to stop them.

  Taking a deep breath, Doc Jerome said, “James, you’ve done this a hundred times, but this is different. I can make the identification for you.”

  “No, I need to do this, Ed,” Captain James Carrington said.

  “Okay. Why doesn’t Jake wait out here?” Doctor Jerome offered, giving him an out.

  He spoke up, his voice louder than intended. “I’m going in.” He said it with such force it brooked no argument.

  Ed pushed open the door.

  On the table lay a body covered with a white sheet. Ed’s assistants had set the victim up for viewing. There was no way to hide the odor of death, though they tried to camouflage it with disinfectant, air fresheners, and Clorox. “The house of death” is what the cops called it.

  Jake inhaled as he looked to his father for support. His father, a tall man, who Jake favored in height only, squared his shoulders and nodded to the M.E.

  “Show me,” James demanded.

  Doc Jerome pulled back the sheet to reveal a girl in her mid-teens, black and blue from head to toe, the violent trauma of death etched in her horrified expression. Fright forever pasted on her face.

  “Was she raped?” James asked, while tears escaped his eyes.

  “Yes,” Doc Jerome said.

  Neither man paid attention to Jake’s weeping at their side. He couldn’t stop as he viewed his younger sister. With a gentle caress, he touched her forehead, her cheek, then kissed her good-bye on the lips.

  He turned away in grief, saw both his anger and his pain reflected in his father’s face. His father’s fists clenched, his shoulders racked with heavy sobs as he viewed the broken body of his daughter. Jake understood he looked with a father’s eye, not a cop’s.

  “My baby,” James cried.

  Jake listened every night at dinner when his father spoke of his cases. It was something distant, stories that didn’t touch his life. Until now.

  The buzzing in his ears increased. Time and space slipped by, then someone held a glass of water to his lips. The stress of the situation had overtaken him—he’d collapsed on the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” James hugged him, crushing him to his chest.

  “I’m fine, Dad. When you catch the bastard, I’m going to kill him for what he did to Eva. You need to know I’ll do it.”

  It was the first time he’d ever cursed in front of his father.

  It took every ounce of strength within him to pull himself out of the memory. A fist squeezed his heart. He couldn’t do this alone. God, he needed a drink. No, he needed Louie.

  After a couple of hours, Jake decided to go back to work. Until a new trial came to fruition, he’d continue to line up the info on the case if and when they needed the ammunition to get a second conviction on Spaulding. He’d have it ready. Tonight, he would lay out a strategy and organize the files as he would for any other case he worked.

  * * * *

  News traveled fast in a cop shop. Among curious glances thrown his way, or comments of support from his detectives in the bullpen, Jake ignored them all. He took a seat at his desk across from Louie. His
friend eyeballed him but didn’t comment, which Jake found out of character for him. The Wagner file he wanted to review wasn’t in his desk drawer.

  “You got the Wagner file?”

  “Yes.” Louie gathered the papers spread across his desk, placed them back in the file, closed it and handed the bulk of it to Jake.

  As he took the file from Louie, Jake studied his partner and his messy desk. The finicky Louie didn’t match up with how he maintained his area. His suits pressed, his pants creased to razor sharpness, along with his precisely knotted tie and styled black hair, were at odds with the mess on his desk.

  He wondered how Louie worked with all the clutter. Jake kept a phone and computer on his desk. All his files were in the desk drawer, alphabetized for easy access. Louie had all his files on top, an in-and-out box, an empty coffee cup and this morning’s wrapper from his breakfast sandwich. A cluttered desk would clog up my mind, Jake thought as he opened the file. Pushing Eva’s case to the back burner, he tried to concentrate on Shanna’s.

  “Are you free tonight to throw a couple of things around?”

  “Yep.”

  “We’ll do it at my house after we get out of here. I’m going to suggest to McGuire that Burke and Kraus work Eva’s case if Spaulding gets a new trial,” Jake said.

  “I agree.”

  “I’ll need to tell him. And I don’t care what he said. I need to be in on the briefing. I’ll be right back.”

  Jake got up and walked into McGuire’s office without knocking. “Shamus, give the case to Burke and Kraus. When the time comes, I’d like to be in on the initial meeting in case they have questions.”

  “I’ll need them to come at it with fresh eyes, Jake, not with your preconceived notions.”

  “I’m not going to offer personal opinions. The file will speak for itself. No one is more familiar with it than me.”

  McGuire checked his calendar. “We might as well get ahead of this. Set it up in Conference Room One for three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. I want to refamiliarize myself with the file and also give Burke and Kraus time to do the same. And Jake? I’m still in charge here.” Jake took the mild slap on the wrist without comment.

  After reserving the conference room, he left it up to the captain to speak with Burke and Kraus. All day he tried to keep his mind off Eva’s case while he dug into Shanna Wagner’s file and rearranged the contents to coincide with the timeline as they understood it.

  “I’ll let you catch up before I give you my thoughts on this.” Louie scratched his head. “Chloe Wagner stopped in to see you.”

  “Shit.” Jake blew out a breath.

  “Yeah, she asked a few questions about her sister, but she seemed more concerned about you ignoring her calls.”

  He’d been an idiot to date her in the first place. Right from the beginning, he handled her wrong and now he was paying for it. Never before had he disregarded a regulation. Ha, the one time I do and it’s a catastrophe. An indiscretion like this could cost him his career. He’d been flattered by the way she had pursued him. Her pretty girl-next-door looks fooled him. No matter where he turned, restaurants, bars, the grocery store, Chloe was there. Alarms should’ve sounded. What a fool he’d been. On the second date, she had insisted on bringing dinner to his house. Before he had a chance to open the cartons of takeout she was on him. He should’ve kicked her out then. Instead he took what she had to offer. Afterward when they lounged in bed, Chloe had started to talk of the future. She stressed how they both had dealt with death at an early age and understood it was important to live for today because there might not be a tomorrow. Before she had finished her sentence, he had her dressed and out the door. She had scared the living hell out of him. No way had he led her on about commitments and forever.

  When she called the next day, he ended the relationship over the phone. In hindsight, maybe he should’ve done it after a third date, not the morning after, but the woman had shopped for a damn ring, for God’s sake. After he broke it off, he decided to keep a journal of the times she had showed up at a place where he was dining or drinking. It went from flattering to creepy, fast. She seemed to have arrived at a place even before he made plans to be there. “Cripes, dating her was a mistake. What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I don’t get involved in your personal affairs.”

  “Oh please! I can’t get you out of my personal life. There’s something off with her. Did you feel it?”

  “No,” Louie said, wiping the grin off his face.

  “Well I did, when I was with her. We should have taken a closer look at her sooner.”

  “You can’t miss what’s not there, Jake.”

  “I’m hoping we did. Otherwise we have nothing. Let’s put everyone back on the suspect list and start over.”

  With fresh eyes, Jake studied the crime scene photos first. Once or twice he caught himself comparing them to Eva’s wounds. It was difficult, but he forced himself to remain in the present. Such brutality in most cases meant the victim knew her killer. Somewhere along the line, Shanna had pissed off someone and paid the ultimate price. The question was who had she angered? Rage, Jake thought. The crime scene photos exhibited uncontrollable rage.

  Everyone they had interviewed stated Shanna was well liked with no enemies. An ambitious woman, she was first in her class, a scholarship athlete like himself, and she had held down a job while attending college. Had she set off a competitor? Could her achievements be the foundation for jealousy? Eliminate her, eliminate the rivalry? Shanna had interned with an accounting firm who had offered her a job a year before she’d even graduated.

  No steady relationships. Shanna had dated one person in the six-month period prior to her death. He was another accountant at the firm where she had interned. According to her family she hadn’t dated often because she had been goal orientated. Maybe it was a guy she turned down and his ego couldn’t handle it. But it seemed farfetched.

  “Do you remember this Cavilla guy? The one she dated,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, he seemed a little old for her. Why?”

  “The answers lie in the rage; this kind of violence suggests a scorned lover or wanna-be lover to me.”

  “We looked at him but nothing popped,” Louie said.

  “We did, but let’s relook at his alibi.”

  “Got something?”

  “No.”

  Jake dug around in the file until he unearthed the information on the boyfriend. Mark Cavilla, at five-nine, weighed about one hundred fifty pounds. He had black hair, black eyes, and a black temper to go with it.

  “Your notes say his answers seemed rehearsed at the time. What else do you remember about him?”

  “His statement seemed off and he had an attitude right from the beginning,” Louie stated.

  “He was alibied by the bartender at a bar less than two miles from the scene. I always believed the killer was a local guy since she was dumped in town even though she was supposed to be up at school in Storrs at the time of the killing. It’s a long way to travel to dump a body unless you’re familiar with the area and that particular construction site. They picked well. No one would be around a construction site at night. I want to re-interview the bartender before too much time goes by. Okay, what else…?” Jake’s head snapped up.

  A couple of his detectives were going at it. Amused, Jake listened in. He didn’t do anything about them. These things tended to work themselves out if left alone.

  “What was I going to say?”

  “Christ, Carrington, can’t you read without your lips moving? I’m trying to concentrate here,” Burke yelled.

  Al Burke had his moments. A detective in the department for over ten years, he’d seen it all. Fifteen years a cop and his face showed it. He wouldn’t consider him attractive, with his hard eyes, the stomach the size of Jupiter, and a Rudolph-red nose from drinking. Jake fi
gured Burke had a few more years on the job before it crushed him. The guy’d been divorced three times, and produced five children. A heavy drinker, he could turn on a dime, but his investigative skills were prime. He had no problems going through a door with Burke.

  “Al, how’d you get the black eye?” Jake asked with a wide grin on his face. He knew, but he wanted Al to say it out loud.

  “Shut up. Everyone, shut up,” Burke said, walking toward the coffee machine.

  “A ninety-year-old woman landed a punch when his guard was down,” Kraus, Burke’s partner, said.

  “I’m warning you, Kraus. Shut up.” Burke slammed down his coffee cup. “You guys don’t know the half of it.”

  Laughing, Detective Gunther “Gunner” Kraus continued, “To his credit, Sarge, she was like a pit bull.”

  “I’ll say mean.” Burke took over the story as he yanked up his pants and tightened his belt. “Never mind like one, she was. I got away easy. You should have seen what she did to her poor husband. Carved him like a roast because he complained about her smoking. Her freakin’ smoking? I thought those things were supposed to kill you. She’s ninety freaking years old. What I saw today, she’ll last another ten years, if a day. I feel sorry for her cellmate. Her poor sliced-up husband lived with the witch for seventy-five years. Me, I would have killed myself around year two.”

  “We can help. What’s your choice of weapons, Al?” Louie threw in to bait him.

  “Funny. I’m breaking my stitches on that one, Romanelli.”

  Movement to the side of Jake pulled him from the banter between his detectives. McGuire stood in his doorway with his arms folded over his chest as he listened in on the conversation.

  “Jake, you got a minute?” Shamus asked.

  “Sure, what’s up?” Twice in one day, he hoped it was better news than this morning.

  “We’ll talk in my office.” McGuire turned and walked in. Jake followed. “Shut the door.”

  “More bad news on Spaulding?”