Twisted Justice, page 7
Crawling on hands and knees through the filth, she made her way to the endless sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
The wailing stopped. She heard a sharp intake of breath.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Why are you crying?”
Much time passed before she heard a response. “My tummy aches.”
Probably from hunger. “Where does it hurt?”
“Down low. Near my waist.” She had a Spanish accent, but her English was easy to understand. “I’ve never felt anything that hurt so much.”
That didn’t sound good. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
Too young. But any age was too young for a life like this. “Where are you from?”
“Tijuana. My parents took me on a trip. I was shopping in the marketplace. And—And—”
“Men grabbed you?”
A long pause. “Yes.”
“Have you seen your parents since?”
“I’m sure they are missing me. I’m sure they are looking for me.”
Elena hoped that was true. It would be so much more pleasant to think there was someone out there who loved this girl enough to search for her. Much more pleasant than believing she had been sold. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. What’s your name?”
“Isabella. My parents call me Izzy.”
She reached out with her left hand. “Show me where it hurts.”
Izzy guided her hand to the lower right side of her abdomen. She pressed in, then released it.
Izzy screamed.
Jesus in heaven. Could this be appendicitis?
She was no doctor. But she knew appendicitis was serious. If Izzy’s appendix was not removed soon, she would likely die. In excruciating pain.
And she didn’t think their captors were likely to call for a surgeon.
Izzy continued sobbing, squirming, trying to escape the pain.
Something triggered inside Elena. Izzy had suffered too long. So had Izzy. They all had suffered too long. Endured too much.
But she was still alive, and while she lived, she would not surrender.
This little girl had no one else in the world. This little girl needed her. And even though the odds against her were a trillion to one, she would make the attempt.
She would find a way to help Izzy, to help them both. Or die trying.
Chapter 13
Dan felt guilty the moment he entered the jailhouse. In the first place, he had told a lie. That was never a good idea, but even less of a good idea when the bar association was trying to yank your license.
But the main reason he felt guilty was because he was breaking a promise to Maria. She was working hard to save him and he was not helping. He knew she cared about him. It showed.
When she told him to stay away from Camila, she was giving sound legal advice. The prosecution alleged that the two of them engaged in a criminal conspiracy. Why give them extra ammunition? The prosecution would be alerted about this visit instantly. The conversation would likely be recorded. The last thing they needed was another smoking-gun recording introduced at trial.
But he had to see her. His feelings for Camila were strong and intense, and had only strengthened since they’d been separated. He hadn’t felt anything like this for so long—he couldn’t even remember when it happened last. High school? She was gorgeous, sure, but more importantly, she was smart, and strong, and so accomplished. She had transformed this town during her time as mayor, and now she was in line to be equally effective in the US Senate. She could be exactly what this country needed right now.
And he missed her.
When Camila saw who sat on the other side of the Plexiglas screen, her first words were straight to the point. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You could’ve refused the visit.”
“I thought I was meeting my lawyer. Not someone pretending to be my lawyer even though he couldn’t be because we’ve both been charged with the same pack of lies.”
“I doubt I have to tell you this, but this conversation is probably being recorded.”
“Good. Let the scum behind this farce know how much contempt I have for them.”
“It might be best not to antagonize anyone.”
“You can be accommodating. I will dance on their graves.”
That answered his first question. Had she given up? Not hardly. “How are you doing?”
“How do you think? I’m in jail for a crime I didn’t commit. Again. I have work to do, a campaign to run, but instead I’m here. Plus, I look like hell.”
“I think you look beautiful.”
“Stop. No one behind bars looks beautiful. Probably wouldn’t be a good thing if I did. It would only make me more of a target.”
“Camila, you are so—so—you are—”
“Spit it out, Romeo.”
“You are very important to me.”
“How romantic. I’m important. Like an excellent pair of sneakers.”
“You know what I mean.” He fell back in the clamshell chair. He had been desperate to see her again. But this wasn’t going well. “I hate to see you like this.”
“You and me both. Even if I’m exonerated, some people will always prefer to believe I’m a killer. This accusation will haunt me forever. Many pundits are already saying my political life is over.”
“Others have overcome worse accusations.”
“Are there worse accusations?”
“Your campaign staff is handling this magnificently. They’re spinning it as a purely political attack. An attempt by extremists to take you out of the race.”
She shrugged. “What else could they say? I started this race as a low-polling underdog and this is not helping. But I do have an alibi, you know.”
“Yeah, me. I was with you all night.”
“No, I mean a good alibi. Before I came to the party at your office that night, I was at my campaign office. At least ten other people were with me. If it turns out the murder occurred while I was still at the office, I have an ironclad alibi. Where were you before the party?”
“I went to the beach. Spent some quiet time. Alone. Went kitesurfing. Blew off some steam.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“Damn. Should’ve known. These bastards have us by the short hairs.” Her head dropped, forehead to the countertop.
“Camila?” He pressed his hand against the acrylic screen. “I miss you.”
She raised her head. Her eyes softened a bit. “I miss you too, you stupid, sentimental man.”
“This too shall pass. The circle will be unbroken.”
“How many clichés can you utter in a single breath?”
“You might be surprised.” He pressed even harder against the screen. “You’re the most important thing in my life.”
“I will be a happy woman when this is finished. When I’m out of here. Back on your boat.”
“Really? What do you like best about the boat?”
She smiled. “You’re there.”
“I could say something about how you really rock my boat.”
“Please do not.”
“This isn’t easy for me to say, but...but...”
Again the smile. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”
“But I will. I love you.”
She pressed her hand against the other side of the screen. “And I you.”
Chapter 14
Maria stared at the hideous tableau before her, thinking this was the most disturbing, most inhuman sight she had ever observed.
Somehow, as she struggled through law school, supported by her beloved father who wanted her to build a better life for herself, she never envisioned it leading to this. A filth-ridden back alley. A bloody fence. The scent of the ocean mingling with the stench of death.
“It was worse when the body was still here,” Detective Kakazu noted.
No doubt. The corpse was gone, but the smell lingered. She could see holes in the fence where the stakes were used. In her mind, she could visualize the entire scene, the helplessness Belasco must have felt. Overpowered. Injured. Mutilated. Then murdered. Or did the killer leave him there for a long time before delivering the killing blow, allowing him to bleed slowly to death, his life’s energy seeping away, each moment more excruciating than the last?
She shook her head violently, trying to force those images out of her brain. “How can you stand it?” she asked Kakazu. “Do you get used to this sort of thing eventually?”
Kakazu gave her a flat response. “Sadly, yes.”
She shook her head. “I never will.”
“First crime scene?”
“Does that surprise you? I’ve been a criminal lawyer most of my career. But I never felt the need to view the horror in situ.”
“Dan does. All the time.”
“That’s Dan. He wanted to come to this one, but I forbade it.”
“And he let that stop him?”
“Only because he knew I was right.” She crouched down and scrutinized the alley. She expected to find the rotting food, the stench of alcohol. They were behind Beachcombers, after all, a popular if somewhat sleazy bar near the marina.
Empty crates barely concealed human waste. Someone was using this back alley as a toilet. Probably homeless people. This strip of the waterfront had an above-average share. Camila had created many homeless shelters. But it seemed there were never enough. And some people refused to go, claiming they preferred life on the streets. She didn’t know whether to believe that, or to attribute it to the mental illness that led to homelessness in the first place.
“CSI techs have already been over this, right?”
“Of course,” Kakazu replied. “I would never have let you in otherwise.”
“Then why the boots and gloves?” She pointed to the protective gear marring her stylish Dolce & Gabbana ensemble. “Isn’t that overkill? If you’ve already got what you want?”
“You never know. A new lead might send us searching for something new. But that’s not the primary reason we have to be careful.”
“What is?”
“The fact that grasping defense attorneys are always looking for ways to criticize the way we gather, store, and process evidence.”
“That’s our job.”
“Yes, I know. On the witness stand, your job is to make all police officers look like bumbling stooges. Never Dick Tracy. More like Laurel & Hardy.”
“Actually, I don’t do that. Neither does Dan.”
“Dan has put me through the wringer in court on numerous occasions.”
“But he never questioned your integrity. Or your competence.”
“He’s above average, as defense attorneys go.” Kakazu glanced at his watch. “But he’s still a defense attorney. Well, now he’s a defendant. Which some of my colleagues feel should have happened a long time ago.”
“Jake, you know damn well Dan did not commit this murder.”
“I don’t know that. And frankly, neither do you.”
“He’s not the type.”
“There is no type. Unless you’re talking about serial killers. And this was not the work of a serial killer.”
“You’re sure?”
“Look at those photos. This is not the product of insanity. This is the product of outrage. Anger. Vengeance.”
“I don’t know. Looks pretty crazy to me.”
“Crazy in a human way. Not a twisted psychosexual maniac way.”
“Your distinctions elude me.”
“That’s because this is your first crime scene.”
She pivoted around. “You can pontificate all you want, but you’ve known Dan for years. You cannot seriously believe he would commit this brutal, vicious crime.”
“I’m sorry, Maria, but none of us truly knows what lies in the heart of another. We can make guesses based upon external appearances, but we do not know. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my many years on the force, it’s that anyone is capable of anything, given the right circumstances. We all have a breaking point.”
“This is not how Dan would handle a desperate situation.”
He gave her a long look. “This may have been the only way to save himself. Or the woman he loves.”
“You think he did this for Camila? Is that the fairy tale you’re planning to tell at trial?”
“I’m not the prosecutor. I have no idea what their theory of the case will be. But I do know this.” He took a step toward her. “I’m only telling you this because I genuinely...appreciate you, Maria.”
What? Was Kakazu coming on to her?
“Your partner is in a massive amount of trouble, and so far, I have seen no indication whatsoever that he is being framed. I get why you’re representing him. You had no choice, given the circumstances. But...don’t get too attached. That will only make it difficult to detach. When it becomes necessary.”
She turned away abruptly. This conversation was pissing her off. Kakazu thought he knew everything because he studied at Oxford and had a fancy British accent. But this time he totally missed the mark. She was sure of it.
Absolutely. She was sure. Right?
“DRT?” Which she knew was cop slang for, Dead Right There.
“We don’t know yet. But the medical examiner should be able to tell us soon.”
“I can tell you right now. He was killed somewhere else, then dragged here and pinned to the wall.”
Kakazu arched an eyebrow. “And you know this...how? I assume it isn’t because Dan confessed.”
“Common sense. And observation.”
“I thought that was your partner’s schtick.”
“Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two in the time we’ve worked together.”
“Please explain.”
“Take a step back. Look at the scene from the rear.” She led him to the entrance point. “Imagine that the crucifixion spot on the fence is the focus. Twelve o’clock. You enter the alley with a body. How do you get to the fence?”
Kakazu squinted. “By...walking?”
“If Belasco was able to walk. But why would he come back here willingly? Surely he would know he was never coming out alive.”
“He might be drugged.”
“But then he wouldn’t be walking. Not without help.”
“Maybe he thought it was some kind of rendezvous. Maybe they met here all the time.”
“I don’t buy it. Squint a little and stare at the point where the body was found. Notice anything unusual?”
Kakazu hesitated several moments before answering. “A path.”
“Exactly. The crates and trash and debris have been rearranged to create a clear passage to the only point on the fence strong enough to hold a body. And I don’t think that could be done at the last moment, especially not when they risked being spotted. That had to be done in advance. By a murderer who planned to bring a corpse in later.”
“The killer might have a travois or similar device to help port the body.”
“And that would require a path.”
“If a body was dragged in here, there should be traces.”
“Except that it rained that night, remember? The police report said that when the officers responded to the anonymous call, they found the body in the rain.”
“That is true. But it’s not proof.”
“Let me show you something else.” She marched all the way to the fence. “See any signs of a struggle?”
“If he was affixed to the wall—”
“And he stood there calmly while someone pounded something through his chest? I don’t think so. If he were still alive, he would start struggling as soon as he saw the stakes, if not before. And after he was staked, he would thrash and squirm and try to get free. See any signs of damage to the fence, other than the stake holes?”
“No. But there is blood.”
“Some. Which means one of two things. Either the murder was so recent that rigor had not set in...or the more likely, though more disturbing possibility.”
“Which is?”
“The killer collected the blood at the time of the murder. Saved it. Then splashed a little around the fence.”
“To make it look like he was killed here when he wasn’t. But why go to all that trouble?”
“To confuse you, super-cop. This is more proof that this whole horror show was planned by someone with a specific goal. A motive. Once we figure out what that motive was, we might be able to figure out who killed him.”
Chapter 15
Maria paced around the long semicircular sofa in the middle of the living room—what they called the lobby of their office.
“Of course the grand jury returned an indictment. Did I really think anyone was going to do us a favor? No one has so far.”
Garrett sat in the center, watching as she passed by in a blur. “The grand jury does what the prosecutor wants. It’s a farce. A constitutionally required waste of time.”
She crumbled the document in her fist. “But it still hurts to see it all written out on paper.”
“Should you put that in the file?”
“I made copies.”
“So you could rip them all up in anger?”
“How well you know me.” She continued pacing. “This is infuriating. As if it weren’t enough that the cops destroyed our beautiful workplace.”
“Mr. K is sending cleaning and repair squads.”
“And a carpenter, I hope. They tore this place to shreds. Just for spite.”
“To be fair, they did find at least one significant piece of evidence tucked behind the wall. And they took other items they haven’t identified yet.”
“That burner phone doesn’t prove anything.”
“I agree. But the prosecution would be remiss not to examine it. So we can’t say the destruction was completely unnecessary.”
“You’re much too logical, Garrett. It’s simpler to hate everyone and everything they do.”
He smiled a little. “You’re stressed.”
