Fixed in Blood Page 8

  “Any idea where this was shot?” Mort asked.

  Schuster shook his head. “The camera captured only the top of the Space Needle. Unfortunately, the Needle’s round. Without a shot of anything lower, we have nothing to orient on.”

  “What about it being Photoshopped?” Micki Petty asked. She sat at Mort’s computer and zoomed in on the last frame recording Crystal Tillwater’s gruesome murder. Micki’s auburn hair was piled on her head and she was wearing a crisp white shirt with jeans. Mort wondered how she could look so fresh after working twenty hours straight. He chalked it up to youth and the resilience of thirty-three-year-old skin. “Seattle’s all the rage as a movie location. Could have been shot in a warehouse in Tacoma for all we know and doctored to look like here.”

  Schuster shook his head and walked over behind her. “Our tech guys broke this film apart. It was shot from two different cameras and edited by a pro. But there’s been no splicing beyond camera takes. No Photoshopping. Not even so much as an enhancement of color or shadow. The cameras caught the scene exactly as it was.”

  “Besides,” Jimmy added, “Crystal’s body was found less than eight hours after she was killed. That limits us to a pretty tight radius where this could have gone down.”

  Schuster leaned over Micki’s shoulder, rested one arm across the back of her chair, and pointed to the shot of the Space Needle. “The perspective gives us some idea how far away the room is. We can make some relative estimates based on standard size of furniture and extrapolate it out. When we juxtapose it to the size of the Space Needle represented in the window, we can zero in with a certain degree of confidence.”

  “What did you come up with?” Mort asked.

  “We can be relatively certain Crystal was killed somewhere in a circle no closer than a half mile to the Space Needle and no farther away than a mile.”

  Jimmy scoffed. “I’m sure the algebra involved was fun and jazzy. But, with all due respect, that gives us nothing. That circle you’re talking about covers some of the densest residency in the state of Washington. There’s gotta be, what…thirty thousand addresses in that path? Maybe more? I’m not ready to hang my hat on ‘relatively certain.’ ” Jimmy’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “I lost a hundred bucks last week on a game I was relatively certain the Mariners would take in a walk.”

  Schuster proceeded with the patience of a seasoned professor instructing a curious student. “We can narrow it down further if we calculate in the angle. The view from the window was high. We’re looking straight across at the top of the Needle. Unobstructed by neighboring rooftops. Whatever house was used here is high on a hill.”

  Jimmy let out a coarse chuckle. “Good thing we only have seven of ’em. And everybody wants to build a house there.”

  “Behave yourself, Jimmy,” Micki warned. “Or I’ll have Bruiser take you for a walk around the block.” She turned to smile over her shoulder at Schuster. “Baby gets cranky when he needs a nap.”

  Mort laid a hand on Schuster’s shoulder. “This is a big help. Thanks. We’ll get guys out into the hills right away…see if we can narrow things down even more.”

  Schuster stood. “We’ll work together on this, of course. Your team takes the lead on the murder—”

  “That’s what we do,” Jimmy interrupted.

  Schuster continued without missing a beat. “And my team gets busy tracking down the production and distribution angle. You’ll have full access to any information as we gather it.” He reached into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled out an envelope. “Like I said, the editing on this thing is professional quality. And Micki’s right. Seattle’s a hot place for filming these days. Now, the film crew could be a bunch of freakishly good freelancers. But I’m betting someone with the kind of skill demonstrated here does this for a living.” Schuster turned to where Jimmy sat. He handed him the envelope.

  “What’s this, now?” Jimmy asked.

  “According to the city’s permitting office, there’s six crews currently shooting in the area. Four indies and two major studios. I pulled their contact information and shooting schedule.”

  Jimmy tapped the envelope against his knee and nodded. “Good a place to start as any, I guess.” He looked to Mort and shrugged. “I’ll let you know what we find out.”

  Schuster wished them all good luck and left. Mort waited until Schuster’s footsteps were out of range before he spoke to Jimmy.

  “We gonna have a problem here?”

  Jimmy’s face reflected innocent confusion. “What d’ya mean?”

  Micki moved out of Mort’s chair to take the seat next to Jimmy. She tossed her oversized handbag to the floor. “You were riding Schuster’s butt every time he opened his mouth.”

  Jimmy looked away. “Guy rubs me the wrong way is all. Used to be guys in Vice looked the part. Weren’t afraid to get themselves a little scuffed up. This guy’s always so calm. Looking like some corporate techie buying his granola and organic apple juice down in the cafeteria. I don’t trust a guy like that could be counted on when the chips are down.”

  “Times change, Jimmy.” Mort sat behind his desk. “There’s a new breed of bad guy out there. Demands a new breed of good guy. Schuster’s good police.” He alternated his attention between Micki and Jimmy. “This team is better than any in the country at tracking down murderers. And we’re going to use every bit of help we can get. Even if that help eats granola and drinks organic juice.” He paused and shook his head. “But for the life of me, I can’t see how anybody can stand that stuff. Now, what have we got?”

  Micki reached into her bag and pulled out her notepad. “I’ll go first. Tessa got me the father’s name on Crystal’s daughter’s birth certificate.”

  “Nyla,” Jimmy said.

  Micki nodded. “Little Nyla’s having a hard time. I mean, she goes to bed dreaming about her birthday and gets awakened by the sound of police knocking on the door…babysitter nowhere to be found…wondering where Mom is. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.”

  “She know her mom’s dead?” Jimmy asked.

  Micki shook her head. “Nyla knows her mom can’t be with her right now and Tessa says the foster home she’s in is one of their best. I think they’re hoping a family member will step up. They’ll let them decide what to tell her and when.”

  A vision of Lydia and the tortures she’d endured as a child in the system flashed into Mort’s consciousness. He wondered what “one of the best” meant and sent a wish out to the universe that the little girl was safe. “Any luck tracking Nyla’s father?”

  Micki flipped open her notebook. “Better than that. I met the guy.”

  Jimmy snapped to attention. “You met the asshole? Why didn’t you take me?”

  “Easy, Jim,” Mort said. “Tell us, Mick.”

  “His name is Dalton Kingsley. Goes by Dax. His name and DOB are on Nyla’s birth records. A fast couple of clicks on the computer and I had him. He’s twenty-three years old now.”

  “Two years older than Crystal,” Jimmy noted. “That would have made him eighteen when he got her pregnant. Young…but old enough to know better. You said you met him?”

  Micki nodded and referred to her notes. “I got lucky. Sergeant First Class Dalton Kingsley is a medic. Stationed at Joint Base Lewis-McChord. I called his commanding officer, introduced myself, and Sergeant Kingsley and I met two hours later. The army was kind enough to supply an interview room…along with Major Daniel Goodnature, who commanded him to answer all my questions. Captain Maureen Marshall from the JAG’s office was there to advise him.”

  “If this was yesterday,” Mort said, “I’d be asking if you liked him for the murder…but this snuff film business colors it in a whole new light.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mort,” Jim said. “Dickwad scum enough to abandon a girl he gets pregnant…not to mention little Nyla…might just be that special type of slime who’d pimp his baby mama out.”

  Micki shook her head. “It’s not like that
at all. Dax is a good man. He said he hadn’t seen Crystal in years. According to him they dated a few months in high school. To hear him tell it, they were Romeo and Juliet. His parents didn’t take kindly to their boy dating someone from Crystal’s side of the tracks. Apparently her mom had run off a year before the two of them met and her dad spent most nights at the corner bar. Crystal didn’t fit in with his parents’ plans. Dax was expected to become a doctor, like his mother and father. When his parents realized how serious the two kids were, they packed him off to military school. He wasn’t allowed access to phone or Internet, so he had to rely on letters. Dax said he wrote Crystal every day but never heard back from her.”

  Mort shook his head. “Parents probably made sure those letters were never mailed.”

  “Most likely. When Dax gets back home at the end of the school year, the first place he heads is Crystal’s house. But there’s a new family living there. They have no idea who Crystal is. The high school tells him Crystal dropped out about a month after Dax transferred. He lost track of her and joined the army three days after his own graduation.”

  “Did he know Crystal was pregnant when he left?” Mort asked.

  “Said he had no clue. And I believe him. He about keeled over when I told him he had a four-year-old daughter. Was silent for about a minute, then turned to the JAG officer and immediately asked how he could gain joint custody.”

  “Which is when you informed him of Crystal’s death,” Jimmy said.

  “And that’s when he lost it. Big strapping military man broke down and bawled until he couldn’t breathe.”

  “Do I need to ask about an alibi?” Mort asked.

  “Dax and his unit just got back yesterday morning from a three-week field exercise outside Yakima. He worked double shifts in the infirmary. No less than a hundred soldiers…probably more…can swear he was two hundred miles away.”

  Mort knew it was too much to ask for an easy close to this case. Crystal’s role in the snuff film changed everything. “Good work, Micki. I trust this means good news for Nyla?”

  Micki smiled and any gloom associated with the damp day disappeared. “Army’s helping him every step of the way. According to Tess, Dax will meet his daughter for the first time tomorrow at noon.”

  Mort contemplated how Nyla’s life would change. Living over an Italian deli was all she ever knew. Food scarce. Mom loving, but working long hours. Now her mother was gone and she was the brand-new owner of a military father and the granddaughter of two physicians. The image of Lydia again came to him. How would her life have changed if she’d had a father step in? How would she have blossomed if she’d had even one person to love her?

  Stop fooling yourself, he thought. Love doesn’t guarantee anything. Allie was loved beyond distraction. Straight-arrow cop for a father, doting dancer mother, protective champion brother. And she’s hooked herself up to a criminal of international legend…holding innocent people hostage to ensure she gets whatever she wants.

  Mort pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to shift his attention.

  “You ready, Mr. Chief of Detectives?” Jimmy asked.

  “I am. You tie up a dangling end like Detective Petty here?”

  “Well, I tried,” Jimmy said. “You can forget about Esme. As always, she was less than happy I dropped by, but once she realized I was going to haunt her lovely bridal boutique until she talked to me, she came around. There’s nothing there. Esme’s girls are all college educated and polished. Of course, she discussed this with me all in the hypothetical. But I did scare up something that might get us somewhere.”

  Mort’s radar jumped at the tease of a lead. “Go.”

  “I’ve got a description of Jennifer, our mysterious babysitter, from the neighbors who saw her arrive at Crystal’s. The black stretch limousine that delivered her caused quite a stir.”

  “Limousine?” Mort’s radar kept sounding. “That’s quite a ride for a teenager.”

  “Try to imagine how many eyes were peering through blinds that night.” It was Jim’s turn to refer to his notebook. “We have, upon reliable witness of twelve neighbors, that the person getting out of the limousine was a tall thin girl with long, straight, shiny black hair. Most of them made allusion to her looking Native American. All the witnesses put her in jeans, but we have varying descriptions of the top she was wearing. Those same watchful eyes said about ten minutes after Jennifer got out of the limo, Crystal got in. Most of them had that glittery dress pegged the right color.”

  “Nyla said her mother was going to work,” Micki reminded them. “And the rooms in that house looked pretty expensive…like they might belong to a person who could dispatch a babysitter in a limo.”

  “Anybody see Jennifer leave?” Mort asked.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Jimmy answered. “Folks get bored. Reality TV beckons. And unfortunately, we’re not getting much with the phone records. Seems Jennifer made the call to the cops from a prepaid burner. Records put it as part of a multi-phone purchase by a chain of convenience stores. Jennifer could have picked it up any number of places. I’m checking the inventory lists to see if we can narrow it down.”

  “Let me know when you catch a break,” Mort said. “What else you got?”

  Jimmy sat straighter in his chair. “I checked out the Shoe Stop where Crystal worked. Folks on the morning shift couldn’t have been more cooperative. Told me all about how Crystal was a good girl, loved Nyla, always looking to pick up extra shifts, yadda, yadda, yadda. There’s a couple of older women, been there for years. Kind of took Crystal under their wing. Tried to get her to date, go back to school, that kind of stuff. None of ’em had any idea why Crystal might end up dead in the park. I thanked them and said I’d be back in a few hours to check in with the people working the afternoon shift. Everything was nicey nice. They fell all over Bruiser and gave him coconut cookies. They even gave me a coupon book filled with discounts. Like I have a need for cheap women’s shoes.”

  “So nothing new?” Mort asked.

  “Hold on. I go back later expecting the same treatment. Bruiser’s chomping at the bit when we pull up, ready to mope for more cookies. We get ten steps in the store when the manager trots up to see me. Says no one there wants to talk to me. Tells me I need to leave immediately and by the way they don’t allow dogs in the store. Bruiser’s heartbroken. I ask the lady what’s changed. She gets all sheepish and lowers her voice. Whispers to me that the head honcho got his yell on when the morning ladies told him about my visit. Screamed that no one was to talk to the cops about anything that goes on at his store. Tells the manager that if I want to talk to anybody, I better have a warrant.”

  Mort glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. “Let’s call it a night and start fresh tomorrow. Jim, give Micki that list Schuster gave us. Mick, check out those film sites. Find the crew who worked on this piece of filth.” He turned to Jimmy. “Stores open at nine tomorrow morning. Let’s you and I drive on by the Shoe Stop and start that owner’s day with a little chat.”

  Chapter 15

  Lydia jolted awake. On instinct she pulled her bedside drawer open and rested her hand on the Beretta PX4. She heard the sound again, sat up, and turned on the light. There had been times when the sounds in Lydia’s night were sinister, but tonight it was only her phone. She cleared the sleep from her throat and answered.

  “This is Bella from the answering service. I have an emergency call for Dr. Lydia Corriger.”

  Lydia’s alarm clock announced it was 4:23 A.M. “This is Dr. Corriger.”

  “I have Delbe Jensen on the line. Says she needs to talk with you. I tried to take a message and let her know you’d get it first thing, but she said she wanted to say goodbye. She sounded pretty upset.”

  Lydia snapped wide awake. “Put her on.” Four seconds later the line clicked over. “Delbe? Are you there?”

  Her voice was barely audible. “It’s me, Dr. C. Thanks for taking my call.”

  “It must be pretty important if
it’s interrupting your beauty sleep. What’s up?” Lydia pulled her cellphone onto her lap. If Delbe was actively suicidal, she’d need to contact the police while she kept her patient talking on the landline.

  “I’m so sorry I woke you.”

  “Then let’s not keep either of us awake any longer than we need to,” Lydia said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I have to leave, Dr. Corriger. I can’t stay here anymore. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done. Not just with me not being able to sleep. For the other stuff, too.”

  “It doesn’t seem like I did a bang-up job helping you snooze tonight, does it? Tell me what has you awake at this hour.”

  Delbe’s voice cracked. “There’s no other way. Remember you said we’d figure out a way to fix things?”

  “I do. And we will.”

  “Well, there’s a new plan and it means I have to be gone.” She broke into full sobs. “Oh, Dr. C. I’m so scared.”

  “Delbe, where are you right now? Are you home? Is your mom or dad there?”

  “They went to Ocean Shores. I’m glad they’re not here.”

  Lydia activated her cellphone. “Tell me about your suicidal thoughts.”

  Sounds of crying came through the receiver.

  “Talk to me, Delbe. Have you hurt yourself?”

  A whisper finally broke through. “No. I feel so weak. Like I can’t breathe.”

  “That’s despair you’re feeling. Overwhelming, right? Trust me, it’ll pass.”

  “No, it won’t. I have to go. There’s no other way.”

  Lydia tapped 911 into her phone and rested her thumb over the call button. “Delbe, do you intend to hurt yourself? I’ve got to hear it. Yes or no, okay?”

  A sarcastic chuckle broke through the sobs. “I can’t damage the merchandise.”

  “Yes or no, Delbe. Are you going to hurt yourself?”

  “No.” Her patient’s voice sounded drained of hope. “I’m so scared. They branded me, Dr. C. I’m a piece of beef and he’s shipping me off to market.”