The Dark Halo, page 20
In the darkness, the child laughed.
Coombes found himself smiling.
Sofia had evidently been waiting for a sign John was awake, because she moved forward into the room and started fussing over him. After a moment, she lifted the infant out the cot and held him against her chest, where he tried to feed automatically, his small mouth ranging back and forth, searching for a nipple. She spoke Spanish under her breath.
You’re eating me alive, little one.
Coombes felt uneasy. Now that he was certain Lass had no part in the killings, it was clear to him that what he was planning to do crossed the line. All the same, he still needed to confirm his theory and dismiss Lass as a suspect for good.
“Sofia, could I use your bathroom?”
“Of course, Johnny.”
Coombes backed out the room and along the hallway. The doors to the bathroom and Billy’s den faced each other. He turned on the bathroom light, which also activated an extractor fan, then turned to face the den.
He eased the door open and moved carefully inside.
The room had changed completely since his last visit. Billy had previously used it as a place to unwind and drink beer. Now, it was a home office with a desk, chair, computer, and laser printer. It all looked new, and there was the fresh smell of new electronics in the air.
Another desk sat against the wall to the right. There were nine folders lined up next to each other, and he could guess what they were. Billy’s version of murder books. He moved over for a closer look. A name was written in capital letters on the front of each. Because he lacked official access, the books were thin. The folders were in chronological order. He walked down the line and saw that the name on the first folder was Theodore Sutton.
Like him, Billy thought he was a victim.
Coombes felt validated by this, that with no input from him, Billy had come to the same conclusion. He frowned. If there were nine folders including Teddy, then someone was missing. It took him a moment, since all the names were right. Adrian Blackstone. His car crash had never been publicly linked to the Ferryman, so Lass didn’t have it.
Coombes took out his cell phone and photographed the line of folders, then the summary pages at the back of each folder where Billy had condensed his findings.
A crash came from the master bedroom, followed by laughter.
He looked up at the sound and saw for the first time that the wall next to the door had a whiteboard screwed to it. Billy’s evidence and thought process, right in front of him. Coombes took pictures of that too. Wide shots, close ups. When he was done, he stepped into the bathroom across the hallway and flushed the toilet.
When he returned to the bedroom the shades were open and the room was full of light. Grace was holding John in her arms and making baby talk. It was disconcerting to see his kick-ass partner this way and he could only stand and watch in amazement. Her face was scarlet with emotion and when she looked up at him he felt his heart surge.
“Johnny, you’ve got to hold this little guy, he’s amazing!”
She wasn’t saying it as part of their play, it was for real. He leaned in close as she passed him the baby. Their hands touched for a prolonged moment and their eyes connected as he took John.
Sofia glanced between them.
“So…how long have you been partners?”
“About eight months,” he said.
“It’s been well over a year, Johnny.”
The baby looked deep into his eyes. Coombes smiled and made a funny face. He didn’t want John to start crying, not with Sato watching. It was like a test, and he always seemed to break babies. The infant watched with a serious expression, then sneezed. Snot lay in a thick trail down the child’s face. He’d broken it. Less than thirty seconds, a new record.
Coombes looked up at Sofia, helpless.
“Ooo! Someone’s done a gloop!”
A cloth appeared and little John’s face was cleaned up.
They finished up a short time later, with Coombes promising to visit again another time. He wondered how that would go. She would obviously mention their visit to Billy, who would see straight through the reason for their call. The two of them had done the partner-going-to-the-bathroom routine so many times there was no tread left on the tires. It was the oldest trick in the book.
Sato waited until they were inside the Dodge.
“He’s running a parallel investigation?”
“Oh yeah. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I guess that explains why he was at the Capitol Records Building.”
Coombes nodded and said nothing. He started the car and drove off down the street. It seemed so impossible now that he ever thought Billy could’ve been the Ferryman. He was a loudmouth with a few bad jokes up his sleeve, that was all.
“What’s he up to do you think?”
“Simple,” Coombes said. “He’s trying to get his job back.”
30
Their route back took them past the Metro Grand. He could’ve taken any number of routes, but his subconscious had chosen this one. As they approached the turn lane, he recalled his conversation with Bret Lawson, the head of security. Lawson had talked about guests and former workers retaining keycards as mementos. It was something that had hit home for him. He’d stayed in a few hotels himself, and had on more than one occasion kept a keycard. You didn’t have to be a serial killer to want a keepsake of a holiday, or of time you spent with someone you loved.
It seemed plausible, and it was a narrative he’d returned to when his theory that the Ferryman had accessed Lawson’s computer came to nothing. Yet it bothered him. As far as he was aware, no other mementos had been taken on any of the other kills.
He put on his turn signal and drifted into the turn lane.
“What are we doing back here, Johnny?”
“Working a hunch.”
“I figured that much out on my own.”
“We’ve been assuming the killer used the spare key that Vandenberg left in the elevator for Kelly Taylor and then took both keycards with him, right?”
Sato nodded, her face brightening.
“We never looked!”
“That’s right. And the way I figure it, it’s still there.”
It took them an easy five minutes to travel the short distance across the road and get parked. He hated wasted time, but the time passed quickly, as it always did when he felt he was approaching a break. They walked into the lobby and across the marble floor toward the elevator. Grace hurried to keep up with him.
Before he could hit the call button, the elevator doors opened and two businessmen got out. Coombes walked in and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. He stared at the rail and licked his lips. His heart was beating fast, he knew it was there. Sensed it. Why had he not thought of this before? It was so obvious. The doors closed again and the elevator rose up through the hotel.
He glanced at Sato, then dropped onto his right knee and ran his hand along the back of the rail. His small finger bumped against a crisp edge and a keycard fell down onto the floor. He continued to move his hand along behind the rail.
A second keycard fell down.
He looked up at Sato and saw she was open-mouthed in shock.
“What the hell? How did you know there would be two?”
“Because someone’s playing a game,” he said, picking up the cards.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. He was still on one knee, Sato now standing in front of him. Her crotch was right in front of his face and he couldn’t imagine what it looked like from behind. He glanced over his shoulder. A woman with white hair stood awkwardly waiting.
“Well? Did she say yes?”
Coombes felt his face go red as he got to his feet. He put the two keycards together and pulled his right glove off around the cards to protect them, then passed the bundle to his left and put his hand in his pocket before turning around.
“Not yet, ma’am. But I’m not giving up.”
Grace filled the elevator with laughter.
“You shouldn’t. She obviously likes you.”
“I hope so.”
“Are you going down?”
“Most likely.”
Next to him, Sato almost lost it.
The woman frowned, then got into the elevator, pulling a case with a pull-up handle. She pressed the button for the first floor, the doors closed and they began to descend. Coombes turned to look at Sato and saw she was looking back. She had stopped laughing, but her eyes were alive with it, the laughter pulled inside for now. It was a good look for her, he thought. It was the kind of look that made life worth living.
The woman turned to him.
“My late husband proposed to me in Union Station, surrounded by people. Did the same thing you did, got down on one knee. Said he couldn’t wait any longer. I would’ve preferred an elevator, believe me.”
They stopped and the doors slid open. The first floor.
“How long were you together, ma’am?”
“Fifty-two years.”
A small smile crossed her face, then she gave a curt nod and walked across the lobby toward the reception desk, her luggage rolling along behind her, like a dog on a leash. He followed her off the elevator and stood to the side to wait for Sato. He took off the glove that was still on his left hand and returned it to his jacket pocket.
“That’s what I love about you, Johnny. You make me laugh.”
The amusement was still there in her eyes, like an insect trapped in amber.
“You know what I love most about you, Grace?”
She smirked, her head tilting over at an angle.
“My hot Asian body?”
He made a gun with his hand, then made a click sound.
When he spent time with Grace he felt himself relax. She could be serious, she could be funny, but she didn’t talk non-stop about nothing like Julie. Sato was happy to exist in a silent space, as she did then as they walked back to the car. Their friendship was closer to friendships he’d had with men, built on mutual interests and the job. Now, because of the woman with the white hair, things had once again taken a strange turn between them.
He needed to get it back to where it was meant to be. Coombes knew how the situation developed, either it got serious or it stopped being fun and turned bad. He was married, there was no scope for things to get serious. It was an amusing joke they were both riffing off, but he didn’t want to lose her as a partner, they worked well together.
“You mind driving back? I want to get things straight in my head.”
“Sure.”
Coombes passed her the key and walked around to the passenger side of the Dodge and got in. There was over a foot height difference between them, so they went through the routine of swapping their seat positions to get comfortable. When he was done, he took out his notebook and left it sitting on his knee, waiting for Sato to ask her question.
He knew it was coming, she couldn’t help herself.
“Did you go down on one knee when you proposed to Julie?”
“No.”
“How did you do it?”
She started the car and reversed out the space one handed, the other hand cranking up the air conditioning. He was silent while she did this. He was silent as she drove around the lot and still silent as she waited to pull out of the hotel’s narrow exit. She glanced at him, a slight frown on her face. He decided to tell her the truth.
“What happened was she told me she was pregnant. I’d just closed a big case and I’d had a couple of beers and I was feeling pretty good, so I asked her to marry me. That’s what you do, right? It wasn’t exactly romantic. The TV was on and I didn’t even mute it. I didn’t want to miss the end of the movie. That was probably a sign right there, not muting the television.”
Sato sighed.
“I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t know you’d lost a child.”
“Yeah, well. That came later. The first time, she made it up. She wanted me to propose, she even borrowed a friend’s pee stick to sell it to me.”
“Oh, man. That’s messed up.”
“I think the only reason we’re still married is because my health plan covers her dental bills. Julie also got really interested one night when I mentioned what she’d get if I died in the line of duty. She’s got that money spent, I can tell.”
Sato turned to him, her normally calm face torn with emotion. He’d forgotten what it felt like to see someone look at him this way. He turned away and looked out the side window. He didn’t want her to cry, or try and hug him, yet there was a feeling of release that he’d told her, told someone.
He thought of the giant, Walter Ford, and his need to confess.
They drove in silence and when Coombes was able to put his conversation with Sato behind him, he opened his notebook and began flipping through the pages, hoping something would pop out at him. Often, he’d make a note of something and it wouldn’t mean anything when he wrote it down, but when he went back to it later it fitted with something else. A pattern would emerge. But a quarter hour later he reached the end of his notes without any revelation, so he took out his pen and made some notes about the keycards instead.
How did you know there’d be two?
His partner hadn’t seen the angle, but he did. The killer was having fun. It was a callback to the movie Dial M For Murder, he was certain of it. The killer was winking at him, showing him how clever he was. He’d taken Vandenberg’s spy movie keycard play and changed it to suit his needs.
He looked up from his notes and saw they were approaching a drive-thru.
“Bit early for lunch, isn’t it?”
“It’s nearly one, Johnny.”
“Nearly twelve. Where are you getting one from?”
“The dashboard.”
He laughed and turned back to his notes.
“That clock’s an hour out half the year, no one changes it.”
They sat in silence for a while before Sato spoke again.
“Johnny, describe Jake Curtis’ alibi to me.”
“You mean him lying on the floor like a corpse for 36 hours?”
“But that’s not his alibi, is it?”
Coombes looked up from his notebook.
“The timestamp. I asked Rollins about that, he said it was a big deal to change it on all the footage. Taking out one date, putting in another. I got tired just listening to him.”
“All right. But what if he didn’t have to change it because it was already out?”
Inside him he felt something drop, like an airplane hitting turbulence.
“Jesus, Grace. That’s perfect! That’s why he included a whole month. He used the underage girl and the deal with the DA to distract us from the most obvious thing. We were looking at old recordings.”
She had a big smile on her face. “Right?”
He thought back on what the writer had given them.
“Before he gave me the thumb drive, Curtis said his system kept recordings for two months before being automatically deleted. I thought nothing of it, storage always limits how long footage is kept. Suppose, however, he’s changed the date on his security system. He knows he’ll need an alibi for Vandenberg in November and comes up with the plan involving the girl. It’s a fresh angle, fresh enough that we didn’t catch it. He needs a whole month’s worth of footage as set-up, but it leaves him exposed. If we ask him for October’s footage, it wouldn’t exist because November’s is October’s. He’d have to run two months ahead just in case. It would also provide alibis for the first killings if he ever needed it and the number of days in the month would match up.”
“You really think he’s got another month’s footage up his sleeve?”
“He’s smart, Grace. If we thought of it, be sure he did too.”
“The footage he gave us is from September?”
“It would have to be, otherwise he’d be absent during the earlier killings.”
She nodded.
They reached the restaurant’s order station and their conversation ended while they each placed their orders. Grace didn’t eat beef and was sensitive to the smell of it, so he ordered chicken and she did the same. Relationships were built on mutual respect, which cost absolutely nothing. They crawled slowly toward the serve window.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Where does that leave the girl, she’d have to be in on it, wouldn’t she? She’d have to lie about the date, and also about her age at the time.”
Tammy Watkins.
After calling her cell twice without success, he’d forgotten all about her. Lass had become the primary focus of the investigation and Jake Curtis had fallen away, an early mistake. Calling her back was merely routine and there was, he thought, no need to hear her side. He’d accepted the alibi at face value and he’d seen for himself everything that had transpired that day on the footage. She wasn’t there on the day of Vandenberg’s murder, so what did it really matter what she said later?
But it did matter, for a reason he hadn’t thought of at the time.
“What are the chances she really went to her friend’s cabin in Big Bear?”
“Oh, Johnny, don’t say that.”
He stared through the side window at a homeless man pushing a shopping cart of junk down the sidewalk. He looked like he was 200 years old.
“If Jake Curtis is the killer, she has to be dead. His alibi relies on it.”
31
Jake Curtis opened the front door of his seven-million-dollar home wearing floral shorts and flip-flops. Coombes had seen him wearing less on video, but up close and personal there was something disturbing about the way the writer’s beard seemed to travel down his thick neck and join with the hair that spread across his muscular chest. It looked like he was transitioning into a werewolf and he found himself flashing back to the scenes of Curtis and the underage girl in bed.
“Detective Coombes! I must admit I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Is that a fact?”
But Curtis had already turned his head.
“Who is this beautiful creature?”
“Detective Sato,” Grace said. “And spare me your sexist bullshit.”
