One Last Kill (Tracy Crosswhite), page 31
“What the hell happened?” she said.
“How much time do you have?” Nolasco said.
“Give me the Reader’s Digest version.”
Even that took more than half an hour for Nolasco to explain. Tracy added information only she had been privy to, what Cesare had admitted in her presence, and the typed confession he said was in the office near the computer. She was happy to let Nolasco speak and take the credit. This was his investigation. Always had been.
When they had finished, Weber said, “We can’t bury this.”
“No, we can’t,” Nolasco said.
“The press will wonder what brought Cesare here. They’ll want to know the mayor’s role in this.”
“It’s high time that comes out,” Nolasco said. “If we had this information back then and had acted on it, we might have saved a few women’s lives.”
They did have that information, Tracy thought but didn’t say.
“The best thing we can do to prevent speculation and innuendo is to open up all the window shades and let the light in,” Tracy said. “Come clean and let the chips fall where they may. The mayor has blood on his hands. He did that himself. You try to cover for him, and the entire department will suffer.”
“Where is he?” Weber asked.
“In the kitchen,” Nolasco said.
“Alone?”
“At the moment,” Nolasco said. “He isn’t talking, but his wife is being interviewed in their bedroom by one of my detectives.” Marilynn, worried about her two dogs, first searched and found them in the shed in the backyard, likely drugged. They had slept through the entire affair. Even now they looked groggy and occasionally stumbled as they walked.
“She’s talking?” Weber asked.
“For now,” Tracy said. “But her first priority will be to protect her children and her grandchildren. She will shield them from all of this.”
“Not her husband?” Weber said.
“Definitely not her husband,” Tracy said.
Weber looked about the room, then said, “I’ll need to bring in FIT.” Meaning the Force Investigation Team, which was standard procedure in an officer-involved shooting. FIT investigators worked with SPD’s Office of Professional Accountability to investigate whether the use of force complied with SPD policy.
“You saw what happened?” Weber asked Tracy.
“Front-row seat.”
“You’ll both be put on leave until this is sorted out.” She sighed, likely anticipating the shitstorm to come. Then Weber left the room for the kitchen and Michael Edwards.
A uniformed police officer entered the living room. “CSI sergeant and the ME are outside awaiting instructions.”
Tracy and Nolasco walked outside. Nolasco reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, but he stopped before shaking one free. He considered the pack for a moment.
“You want me to get them up to speed while you have a smoke?” Tracy said.
Nolasco looked at her, then at the assembling crowd. He handed her the cigarette pack. “Do me a favor, Crosswhite?”
“Captain?”
“Throw those out.”
EPILOGUE
Weber kept the press at bay until after Mike Melton confirmed a direct match of Augustus Cesare’s DNA with the fragmented DNA at the fourth victim’s crime scene. Melton told Tracy he had confirmed Cesare’s DNA with Jonathan Edwards’s DNA, as well. A half brother. No doubt.
“What about Michael Edwards?”
“We were told not to run the swab you provided.”
“What? By whom?”
“Weber.”
Tracy wondered what Weber was playing at.
FIT investigators had interviewed Tracy about what had happened at the crime scene, and whether she had witnessed Nolasco discharge his weapon. She told them if Nolasco hadn’t discharged his weapon, the former mayor would be dead and probably her and Marilynn Edwards as well. She spent the rest of her time before going on leave filling out reports and reading the reports prepared by CSI and the ME.
After five days, Tracy and Nolasco had still not been cleared to return to duty, which both found curious, though Tracy was enjoying her time at home with Daniella. On the sixth day, Weber called and ordered them both to appear at a press conference that afternoon. Neither was told to be prepared to speak to reporters.
“I have a bad sense about this,” Tracy said to Nolasco as they made their way to the room adjacent to the pressroom. “Weber told Melton not to run the mayor’s DNA swab, and now neither of us is being asked to speak.”
“We got our guy, Crosswhite. I’m focusing on that.”
Four o’clock in the afternoon, they stepped into the conference room. Weber entered with the assistant chief of criminal investigations and Mayor Charles Garcia. Garcia approached and shook Tracy’s and Nolasco’s hands.
“Congratulations, Captain, Detective. We’re all glad to finally have this behind us.”
Tracy found his choice of words curious. It seemed the matter was far from behind them. In some respects, it was just getting started.
Bennett Lee, the PIO, poked his head into the room. “Are we ready?”
They filed out of the conference room to the pressroom, which was packed with reporters and the victims’ family members. Anita Childress, Greg Bartholomew, and this time, Bill Jorgensen, were also present. So were Faz and Del. Cameras whirred and clicked as Tracy, Nolasco, and the others took positions behind the podium. Garcia stepped forward.
“Thank you for coming,” Garcia said. He acknowledged the families seated in the first row and apologized for the earlier “mistake.” He didn’t blame anyone. He owned it. He said DNA was always tricky, but he finished on a positive note. “Today we are, once and for all, able to tell you with certainty that the Route 99 serial killer investigation has come to a close. This time there is no mistake. The Washington State Patrol Crime Lab has definitively concluded the DNA of Officer Augustus Cesare is a direct match to DNA recovered at one of the crime scenes. Moreover, before he was shot and killed, Cesare offered a full written confession, providing information only the Route 99 Killer would have known.”
“Written confession?” Nolasco uttered quietly to Tracy. “What is he talking about?”
Tracy had a sickening suspicion she knew exactly what Garcia was talking about. She glanced at Weber, but the chief of police would not meet her gaze. “She found the confession Cesare put by the computer.”
Nolasco gave her a sidelong glance.
“They had to have changed the name at the bottom to Cesare instead of the mayor.”
“Many of you are aware of the incident at former mayor Michael Edwards’s home,” Garcia continued. “We are grateful that both the mayor and his wife were unharmed, and we believe it best to allow him to explain the situation. Mr. Mayor?”
Tracy looked to Nolasco, who had shut his eyes, perhaps knowing what was to come. She knew also.
Michael Edwards entered from the opposite side of the stage. His wife at his side. Marilynn held his hand. Another bad sign.
Edwards didn’t look like the teetering old man in the living room of his home. He looked like the slick politician who had once directed the media with a cocksure attitude. He stepped to the podium using a cane. His face, bruised and cut where he’d been pistol-whipped, instantly evoked sympathy. “Thank you, Mayor Garcia. I’m sure you all have questions, and I’ve prepared a statement I hope will answer most, if not all of those questions. You’re probably wondering why Augustus Cesare came to our home last Friday.”
Edwards cleared his throat. “Augustus Cesare was not his real name. His real name, confirmed on a birth certificate, was Michael Edward Montemayor. My son.”
The press stirred. So, too, did Tracy. Was Edwards actually going to tell the truth? Had Marilynn threatened to expose him if he lied again? Tracy tried to temper her thoughts of justice finally being done.
“When I was in my early twenties, Rosenda Montemayor Alvarado was our family maid. Rosenda initiated an affair to which I succumbed. At some point, she claimed to be pregnant but said her intent was to seek an abortion. My family provided her with information about a facility and funding to get an abortion. She left our employ and the area. I never saw her again. I assumed she had returned to Mexico and fully believed she had the abortion. When Marilynn and I met, I advised her in full of the situation and that I believed it was in my past. I had no further contact of any kind with Rosenda.”
More lies. My God. The man could spin lies with such sincerity. Tracy watched and listened intently.
“I understand that, as Captain Johnny Nolasco and Detective Tracy Crosswhite closed in on Cesare as the killer, he crafted a confession, admitting to the killings, and provided his reasons for his killing spree. I want to make perfectly clear I had no idea Cesare was tied to any of the killings or his reasons for doing so. I didn’t know he was my son or that Rosenda had not had the abortion.”
Tracy shut her eyes. She knew what was to come.
“I am deeply saddened by this tragedy and wish to convey my heartfelt condolences to everyone who has suffered because of his actions. As you know, I am no longer a public figure. My wife and I have, for years, avoided the public spotlight and sought only the quiet comfort and solitude of our three children and our grandchildren. We seek peace now. We do not intend to comment further on this matter or on the investigation, except to say we are deeply grateful for the dogged determination and incredible police work of Captain Johnny Nolasco. Captain Nolasco’s initiative and his fortitude brought him to our home and saved our lives. Were it not for him, we would not be standing here before you.”
Edwards’s voice cracked and he reached for a handkerchief to dry tears that did not exist. He was delivering an Academy Award performance, making himself another victim to those seated in the first row. Despicable.
“He’s going to walk,” Tracy said under her breath. “The son of a bitch is going to walk.”
After a few more words, the former mayor and his wife left the stage, still holding hands. Edwards, intentional or not, glanced at Tracy from the corner of his eye as if to remind her of her place. Marilynn never made eye contact. When they were no longer in public view, Marilynn let go of her husband’s hand and stepped away. Tracy didn’t fault Marilynn for the illusion. She knew Marilynn hadn’t done it for herself, and she hadn’t chosen to support her husband. She’d chosen to support her family. Her grandkids would continue to come to her home, to their Disneyland. She would not allow her children or her grandchildren to suffer the same indignities she had suffered.
Mayor Garcia introduced Weber, who stepped to the podium and asked the media to respect the former mayor’s privacy. When the reporters asked questions about the confrontation at the former mayor’s home, Weber answered along the party line, and when she couldn’t, she said there remained an internal investigation, and she couldn’t comment on specifics or provide details.
Tracy considered Anita Childress, whose expression looked like Daniella’s when her little girl was being force-fed something she disliked.
Weber concluded the conference without inviting Tracy or Nolasco to speak, telling reporters they would not do so due to the ongoing FIT investigation, though she said she wanted them present to receive accolades for putting an end to the investigation. More bullshit. She wanted them to know and adhere to the party line or neither would be reinstated.
They left the stage. Tracy and Nolasco hurried after Weber.
“What the hell was that?” Nolasco said to Weber. “That isn’t what happened.”
Weber said, “What happened was a task force twenty-five years ago either failed to detect the importance of certain information or deliberately ignored information clearly spelled out on the tip sheet. Information that would have saved lives. What happened was a task force had a serial killer directing the flow of that information. That was your task force, Captain Nolasco. You were in charge. Would you like me to make that public?”
“Cesare gave those tips to Gunderson. Gunderson buried them,” Nolasco said.
“The buck stops with you, Captain. I tried to save you the embarrassment of questions about the killer working directly under your nose, someone you could have identified if you had done your job.”
“The mayor got to you; didn’t he?” Tracy said. “The same way he got to Moss Gunderson all those years ago. He told you if you didn’t go along with his story, he’d expose you for taking the drug money from the Last Line task force.”
“We’ve been down this road before, Detective. I believe we reached a dead end. It will again. If it doesn’t, if you go running to the papers with what you believe to have been the real story, I will place the blame for the failure to catch the killer directly at Captain Nolasco’s feet, as well as those task force members who remain, including Vic Fazzio. If I burn, they’ll burn with me. The decision is yours.”
Weber gave them both a wicked try me gaze before she left the room.
After a long minute, Tracy looked to Nolasco. “Your call.”
Nolasco scoffed. “My call? I know there’s no love lost between us, Crosswhite, so does the chief. It’s why she said she’d also implicate Faz. She knows you won’t burn him. Not for anything. Not even to finally be rid of me.”
“You’re wrong, Captain. So is she. I wouldn’t burn you. That’s not what partners do.”
Nolasco sighed. He looked like a man resigned to his fate. “Let’s not fool ourselves and think we’re going to go out and have a kumbaya moment, okay? We both had a job to do, and we did it. We got our guy. That’s the most important thing. It’s over. Cesare is dead. The families have closure. So do I. Time to move on.” He took a breath and started from the room, but he stopped at the doorway and turned back. “Just so you know. I wouldn’t have burned you either.”
Nolasco walked back through the pressroom, Tracy following.
“Detective.” Angela Waylon, the mother of one of the victims, who had spoken to Tracy at the earlier press conference, stopped Nolasco.
“My daughter, Cathy, was one of the victims.”
“I’m sorry,” Nolasco said.
“I wanted you to know that my husband, Cathy’s father, died two nights ago, but I had the chance to tell him that Cathy’s killer had been found, that you’d killed him. I wanted you to know my husband died peacefully. Thanks to you.”
“I’m glad,” Nolasco said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“My husband did woodwork in retirement. He made these pens.” She opened one of two boxes in her hand. Inside was a beautiful wood pen. “I brought one for each of you. I wanted to thank you for what you did, and I thought maybe, when you used the pen, you’d think of Cathy, and of our family, and remember that what you do matters.”
“That’s very kind,” Nolasco said. “It means more to me than you’ll ever know. Thank you.”
He took one pen, glanced at Tracy, and departed.
Tracy took her pen and thanked Waylon. She made her way to her office. Faz and Del waited inside. They’d both been in the room at the press conference.
“What just happened?” Faz said, looking and sounding incredulous.
“Closure,” she said, and she looked at the box in her hand.
“Bullshit. That wasn’t closure,” Del said. “You know the truth. I know the truth. Go to Anita Childress again. She’ll get the story out like we got it out before.”
“Maybe not closure for us,” Tracy said thinking of Angela Waylon and Nolasco. “But closure for those who needed it most. We should respect that.”
“You don’t believe that. Not for a minute,” Del said.
“In this case, there are more important things than the truth,” Tracy said.
“Such as?” Faz asked.
“Family,” she said. She thought of Dan and Daniella, but also of Faz and Vera, and of Marilynn Edwards. She’d do as Mrs. Edwards had done. Tracy would swallow the truth, to protect her family. To save Faz, Daniella’s godfather.
“I’m thinking of calling Dan and having him meet me for dinner and a couple of bottles of wine. You got any pull at any Italian restaurants in Fremont?” she said to Faz, alluding to Antonio’s restaurant, Fazzio’s.
“Not me,” Faz said. “But Vera? She’s got an in with the owner.”
“I’ll give Kins a call too,” Del said. “He and Shannah should be there, huh?”
“Be good to have the gang back together again,” Faz said.
“That’s the most important thing; isn’t it?” Tracy said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As previously mentioned, with each novel I give myself a challenge. I believe it forces me to write better and to produce more intriguing novels in the Tracy Crosswhite series for my loyal readers to enjoy. This particular challenge started with my editor, Gracie Doyle, asking me to write a short story for Amazon Original Stories. Since I was in the process of writing What She Found, an involved novel about a missing investigative reporter and the four explosive stories she was pursuing, I decided to tell the backstory to that novel, which involved Seattle Violent Crimes detective Del Castigliano’s first homicide case. Thus, I wrote “The Last Line.” Though it does state on the Amazon site that “The Last Line” is a short story, many of you loyal readers were not happy it was so short or with an ending that didn’t wrap up in a nice bow. I took that as both a compliment and a lesson learned, and I advised my readers to just hold on, that more was coming.
Thankfully, many of you did hold on, and What She Found, Tracy #9, became a bestseller.
One Last Kill, Tracy #10, is the final piece to the trilogy within the now ten-book series. It can be read on its own, but also as part of the trilogy and the Tracy Crosswhite series. Writing three stories that piggyback off one another but that still can be read individually was a challenge for me. I had to keep track of all the details in not just one story but three. It proved more difficult than I anticipated. If I made any mistakes, they are mine alone. I hope this struggle resulted in better stories for you, my loyal readers, and you got a kick out of this, sort of like watching a television series within the series. I also hope new readers found each story a good read.
