Gone Too Far (Devlin & Falco), page 2
“Did you work yesterday, Tara?”
She nodded. “I closed with Leo last night. I left about ten thirty.”
“Was there anyone besides you and Mr. Kurtz here at that time?”
“Only Lucky. He closed last night too.”
Falco came inside, the ME, Dr. Jeffrey Moore, and one of his assistants right behind him. Two steps behind the threesome were a pair of evidence techs. About time.
Kerri turned her attention back to McGill. “Lucky?”
“Lucky Vandiver. He’s in college and works here part time.” She rolled her eyes. “His family is like megarich, but his daddy insists he work a real job while he’s in college. I think his daddy and Leo are friends. The way I heard it, Leo hired Lucky to do the cleanup every night. He sweeps, mops, cleans the bathrooms. All the dreaded shit no one else wants to do. Lucky says his daddy likes torturing him, but—between you and me—he’s just a selfish, rich brat. Whatever his father hopes to gain by forcing him to work here, I think he’s wasting his time.”
Nothing wrong with teaching a kid to work, but Kerri could see how Lucky might not appreciate the lesson, particularly if he was on the spoiled side. “When did Lucky leave?”
“The same time as me. He always tries to talk me into letting him come over to my place for a drink.” She shook her head. “I made that mistake a couple of times. He’s a good time—if you know what I mean—but he likes the powder, and I am not into that stuff.”
“Powder?” Kerri knew what she meant, but she needed the woman to say it.
“Cocaine. He’s one of those social users. His parents would kill him if they knew.” She shrugged. “I swear, the guy’s an idiot. He’s got it all, and he does everything possible to screw it up.”
“Did Mr. Kurtz know about his drug use?”
Her eyes widened as she moved her head adamantly side to side. “No way. He would have fired him. He’s big-time anti–illegal drugs. Tobacco and alcohol are . . . were the only drugs he believed in.”
“Do you recall if the clothes Mr. Kurtz has on are the same ones he was wearing when you left last night?”
Her breath caught. “I didn’t think about it until you asked, but yes, definitely. He always wears blue on Sundays. For the customers, he said.” She smiled sadly. “His philosophy was that Sunday is the worst day of the week because you spend it dreading Monday.”
Kerri had spent her fair share of Sundays dreading Mondays. “You’re certain the navy trousers and light-blue shirt are the ones he wore yesterday?”
McGill nodded, then abruptly stopped. “He never got to go home. Someone must have come in last night after I left and done this. Maybe someone with the other guy.” McGill clasped a hand over her mouth and said, “Oh my God,” through her fingers. “If I’d been later leaving, I could be dead too. Maybe that other guy was just a late customer.”
Kerri didn’t bother explaining who the other victim was. No leaks. It was better that McGill didn’t know his identity. For now, anyway. His face would be plastered on the news soon enough. The next question was an awkward but necessary one. After all, the woman had used her cell phone to call 911, which meant she’d had it in her hand. “One more question, Ms. McGill. This one’s a bit sensitive, and I need your honest answer.”
She stared wide eyed at Kerri.
“Did you take any photos of the bodies?”
McGill’s weepy expression shifted to horror. “Oh my God, no! Who would do that?” She shuddered visibly. “I can’t even imagine.”
“You’d be surprised.” Kerri saw it all the time.
McGill pushed the cell phone lying on the counter toward Kerri. “Have a look for yourself.”
Since she’d offered, Kerri checked her call log, text log, and then her photos, recent as well as deleted. No pics of the victims. Just to be certain, one by one she tapped the woman’s three social media apps and viewed the last posts on each. Nothing since nine o’clock last night.
Kerri placed the phone on the counter and slid it back to its owner. “Thank you.”
“If we’re done,” McGill said, “I really, really need a drink.”
“Just a couple more steps.” Kerri pulled a clean page from her notepad. She placed the page and a pen on the counter. “I’d like you to make a list of the other employees and their phone numbers if you have them. Put a star next to the names of folks who have worked here the longest or were closest to Mr. Kurtz.”
McGill nodded and picked up the pen.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Kerri assured her as she slid off the stool.
She made a pass through the public space. The bar was vintage, like an old speakeasy from a century ago, with lots of wood, glass, and leather. The mirrored shelving behind the bar was loaded with classy-looking, high-end bottles of whiskeys and other liquors. Beyond the bar was a small kitchen. A side hall led to the restrooms. The room hosted intimate groupings of tables scattered about. Display cases of cigars, pipes, and tobacco blends. The entire atmosphere was very European, from the wood floors to the coffered ceiling. A large fireplace stood at the far end of the space. This was no typical smoke shop. This was a gathering place for the wealthy and famous of Birmingham to indulge in their habits.
Not the sort of place a double homicide of this nature was expected to happen unless there was a robbery, or the owner was involved in some illegal activity. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking. There were all sorts of possibilities.
But what the hell did the new hotshot DDA have to do with it?
Kerri made her way into the stockroom. The evidence techs were already doing their thing. Falco and the ME hovered near the bodies. Other than the two vics, this back portion of the building held what one would expect. Supplies for the store as well as a walk-in humidor. The first she’d seen. There was an employee area near the rear exit. The lockers McGill mentioned and a long coatrack that extended from the lockers to the door of the restroom for employees. A narrow row of well-stocked shelving separated the area from the rest of the space. A round table with chairs—two of which had been used to secure the victims—stood in one corner. The employee break area, she supposed.
Moore glanced up from his examination of Leo Kurtz. “Detective, long time no see.”
Kerri smiled. “I took a vacation with my daughter during her spring break. The first one I’ve taken in far too long.”
“She called me every day,” Falco added.
Moore laughed. “A truly dedicated detective can never fully let go of work.”
Kerri couldn’t deny that allegation. She’d always found putting work on the back burner more than a little difficult. Moving on to business, she asked, “You have an estimate on time of death?”
Moore’s assistant came through the rear exit with a gurney. Falco had obviously shared the need to be discreet. Hopefully the assistant had moved the vehicle fondly referred to as the meat wagon around back as well. The fewer people who noticed that detail, the better.
“For now, I’m going to say between ten last night and two this morning. I’ll have something more definitive after I’ve done a thorough exam.”
“We’re in the ballpark,” Kerri agreed. “The employee who found the bodies this morning worked until ten thirty last night.”
Moore nodded. “Falco says we’ll need something on these two rather quickly.” He looked to Walsh. “I suppose he’s the reason.”
“He is,” Kerri confirmed.
“The chief will probably be giving you a call,” Falco warned.
Moore chuckled. “I’m confident he will.”
Deep in the pocket of her jacket, Kerri’s cell vibrated. She stepped over to the break area to take the call.
A glance at the screen and recognition flared. Her daughter’s school. Her brain instantly cued a shot of adrenaline and a burst of apprehension. “Devlin,” she said rather than hello.
“Ms. Devlin, this is Joslin Farrington.”
The assistant to the head of the school. Kerri held her breath. “Has something happened to Tori?”
Haunting memories from last year—Amelia’s murder—ripped through Kerri.
“No.” The single syllable sounded oddly uncertain. “She’s not hurt or anything, Ms. Devlin.”
A pause while Kerri’s heart rate raced higher in spite of the news.
“However, we do need you to come to the school as quickly as you can. It’s quite urgent.”
Rather than demand more information, Kerri said, “I’m on my way.”
Heart pounding, head spinning with the possibilities of all the awful things that could happen at school these days—even a posh private one—Kerri jerked her head at Falco, and he joined her near the door between the stockroom and the front retail space.
“What’s up?”
“Tori’s school called. Something’s happened. I have to go. Now.”
“Go,” he urged. “I’ve got this.”
“Thanks.”
“Call me,” he said to her back. “Let me know what’s going on.”
Kerri didn’t take the time to respond. She had to go . . . she had to go now.
3
11:50 a.m.
Brighton Academy
Seventh Avenue
Birmingham
In the twenty minutes required to reach Tori’s school, Kerri had imagined a dozen ways that her daughter could be in trouble. She’d turned the radio to a local channel and got nothing. She’d resisted calling dispatch since an explanation would be required if she asked questions about any calls to the location.
My daughter’s school called. I think she’s in trouble. Have any codes been issued for Brighton Academy?
Kerri exhaled a lungful of air as she made the final turn from Twenty-Fourth Street onto Seventh Avenue. The air immediately sucked back into her chest on a vicious gasp. Three BPD cruisers as well as a fire and rescue vehicle littered the street in front of the school’s main entrance.
Kerri didn’t remember parking . . . had no idea if she’d locked her vehicle or even closed the door. Heart in her throat, she was on the sidewalk and bounding toward the main entrance before her brain caught up with the rest of her. A uniformed officer stood at the double doors.
“I’m afraid the school is on lockdown, ma’am,” he warned as she approached.
Kerri shifted her jacket to reveal the badge clipped to her belt, and the uni immediately opened one of the two doors.
“Straight ahead, Detective.”
Inside, Kerri hurried down the hall, past the rows of bulletin boards filled with news postings and announcements of upcoming events. The bright overhead lights reflected against the shiny terrazzo floor. The bulletin boards transitioned into surprisingly good watercolor paintings posted on the clean white walls. Any other time she would have paused to check coming events or to admire the artwork. She couldn’t take the time now. She had to know if Tori was okay.
At the far end of the main corridor, where the wide stairs led up to the second floor, more uniforms were stationed. A long strand of yellow crime scene tape looped from one side of the corridor to the other, blocking the entrance to the staircase and the exit to the inner courtyard beyond it.
What the hell happened here?
Kerri’s heart was thudding ineffectively by the time she reached the door to the school’s main office. She walked inside. The lobby was empty save for Detective Wayne Sykes and Nile Foster, the head of the school. The two men were apparently waiting for her. She looked from one to the other. “Where’s Tori?”
“Ms. Devlin,” Foster said, “we need to speak in my office.”
Kerri held up her hands. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Devlin,” Sykes said before Foster could respond, “one of the girls in your daughter’s class was badly injured in a fall down the stairs. You probably know her, Brendal Myers.”
The name clicked into place. Tall, slender, pretty. The Myers family was one of the top donors to the school. “What happened?”
The mother in her wanted to demand to know if Tori was okay, but she’d already been told her daughter wasn’t injured. No matter, whatever had happened, Tori was somehow involved; otherwise Kerri would not have been called. That was the part slashing her insides to shreds.
Sykes jerked his head toward Foster’s private office. “Let’s take a moment and talk about this.”
Rather than argue, Kerri went into the office. Taking a seat wasn’t possible, so she stood there, waited for Foster to close the door behind Sykes.
“Brendal’s parents are on their way. They were in Montgomery for a meeting. Thankfully there’s an aunt who could go immediately to be with Brendal at the hospital.” Foster rubbed at his forehead. His hand visibly shook. “We’re still investigating exactly what happened.”
“That’s where your little girl comes in,” Sykes said.
A new kind of apprehension expanded in Kerri. “Tori would never—”
“No,” Sykes said, cutting her off midsentence, “I’m not saying she pushed the Myers girl, but Tori and two other girls were on the landing with Myers when it happened.”
“Pushed? What the hell is going on, Sykes?” A knot formed in Kerri’s stomach.
The detective gave a nod. “Like I said, when Myers fell, there were three people standing around her. Tori was one of them.”
The apprehension vanished, instantly replaced by ire. “Where is she?”
“Peterson is talking to her. We figure she’ll be the one most likely to give us the whole story, you being a cop and all.”
Kerri understood exactly what he meant. Livid, she swung her attention to Foster. Her protective mother instincts overrode more than a decade of hard-earned cop reflexes. “And you allowed this?”
Foster looked from Kerri to Sykes. “Detective, you assured me Tori’s mother wouldn’t have a problem with you proceeding with the questioning.” He turned back to Kerri. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
Kerri bit back the curse that perched on the tip of her tongue. It was done. “Take me to her. Now.”
Sykes exhaled a long breath. “This way.”
The office phone rang, so Foster stayed behind to take the call. Kerri followed the other detective into the main corridor. At that point she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “What the hell were you thinking, Sykes?”
He stopped, did an about-face, and glared at her. “Look, we got a girl critically injured. And we got three other girls who know what happened, and not one of them is talking. Of all people, you should understand the urgency of the situation. What if it had been your kid rushed to the hospital?”
Kerri took a mental step back. On one level, he was right. Anytime a minor was involved in an incident, it was the waiting for a parent to arrive that often hindered the investigation. Gave the child time to grow more afraid or confused and to possibly make up a story. Parents wanted to protect their children—even if that child had committed a crime. Not to mention the idea that no child wanted to admit his or her wrongdoing in front of a parent.
But Tori was a good kid. An excellent student. She wouldn’t lie or cause any sort of trouble. Ever.
“Don’t give me that shit, Sykes.” Kerri wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily. “She’s a kid. Easy to manipulate. That’s the reason we have rules and procedures. You know as well as I do that anything she has said to you up to the point where I’m in the room is inadmissible.”
“Yeah, yeah, come on.” He started moving again. Paused two doors up and on the other side of the corridor.
The counselor’s office.
Kerri knew the counselor, Anna Leary, fairly well. If she was with Tori, Kerri had nothing to worry about. Leary would never permit a child to be manipulated or badgered. For now, Kerri breathed a little easier.
The secretary wasn’t in the small waiting room, so Sykes went straight to the door of the counselor’s office and knocked before opening it.
Kerri’s gaze landed on Tori, seated in one of two chairs in front of Leary’s desk. She took in the red, swollen eyes and the tearstained cheeks. A new burst of fury ignited inside Kerri. The counselor sat behind her desk, and Peterson stood next to her chair. He hadn’t taken a seat, a blatant demonstration of authority. He stood on the counselor’s side of the desk. Two against one. He glanced at Kerri, then to his partner. Visibly attempted to gauge just how much trouble Kerri was about to start.
“She hasn’t threatened to shoot you yet,” Sykes said with an attempt at lightheartedness.
Peterson shifted his attention to Kerri again. “You would’ve done the same if it had been my kid.”
“Get out,” Kerri said to the man, who knew better than to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line. “My daughter and I need the room.”
“We’ll talk later,” Leary said to Kerri as she stood. “Let me know if you need me or want to discuss the past twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. Peterson had been grilling Tori for twenty damned minutes.
Kerri gave the counselor a nod and waited until the three had left the room before she allowed herself to really look at Tori.
Her fourteen-year-old daughter appeared inordinately small in the upholstered wing chair. Her thin arms were crossed over her still mostly flat chest, and her face revealed exactly how terrified she was. Before Kerri could speak, Tori launched out of the chair into her mother’s arms and started to sob.
For a long while, Kerri held her and whispered soothing words. Her own tears flowed down her cheeks. Whatever had happened, Tori was not responsible. She would never purposely hurt anyone. Kerri realized that most parents would believe as much when it came to their offspring, but she didn’t just believe it—she knew it. Like the rest of the family, Tori was still struggling with her cousin’s murder. This child didn’t have it in her to hurt anyone.
When Tori’s shoulders had stopped shaking and her hard sobs had diminished, Kerri ushered her back into her chair and took the one next to her. “Tell me what happened.”
Tori stared at the floor. “I’m . . . I’m not sure.”
