BLACK in the Box (17 page)

“Yeah. Right. Well, we’ll run her through the system. She’s not going anywhere. Probably won’t even remember the bust when she comes to in the tank.”

“They never learn, do they?”

“That’s why we get paid. See you back at the station.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Chapter 32

Black mulled over the possibilities that Mary’s murder and the stash of methamphetamine had introduced as he drove back to the store. Stan was right – if the prosecution could, it would theorize that Bethany had been involved in the drug business with Alec, and the killing had been a lethal disagreement. Any decent defense attorney would get it thrown out absent any proof, but Black knew that juries, even if instructed to disregard something, would often continue to add the weight of the theory to their deliberations. It was human nature – if you told someone not to think of a panda, the first thing that would pop into their mind was one of the black and white beasts, where it would stay for as long as they tried not to think about it.

Nancy had refused to discuss Alec’s drug use. A refusal to discuss could be just as good as an admission, he knew, in the right hands. She’d be forced to answer questions about it in court, and her answer would be the nail in the coffin for Bethany.

The glowing lights of a convenience store beckoned to Black, and he drifted into the lot and parked. Several youths loitered outside, and he rethought his impulse until a police cruiser parked next to the Cadillac. The boys suddenly discovered someplace else they needed to be, taking to their BMX bikes like roaches scuttling when the lights came on.

Black followed the cops in and bought two cups of coffee, barely resisting the urge to toss in a pack of Marlboros. But with Roxie there, he didn’t dare. He’d already taken enough of her crap, and didn’t need to give her an open invitation to berate him further.

He pulled around to the back of Home World and took a slot near the employee entrance. As he meandered to the door, he noticed there were a few more cars in the lot than when he’d left, and another big rig was backed into the loading dock, the driver standing by the hood as workers emptied the trailer.

When Black reached the office, he struggled to open the door with both hands holding coffee, and managed only after two failed attempts. Roxie looked up from where she was working.

Black smiled and approached her. “I got you coffee,” he said.

“Coffee’s poison. I guess after almost three years, it’s hard to remember who on your huge staff does and doesn’t drink what.”

Black flushed. “Sorry. Forgot. It’s been a long day.”

“Did you find Mugsy?”

“No. But he’ll turn up when he’s hungry. Which is every hour on the hour, judging by his girth.”

“I can’t believe you let him escape. There are forklifts in here. He could get hit.”

“We’ll find him. Make any progress?” Black asked, sipping one of the cups as he set the other on a file cabinet.

“I hit an all-time personal best for online poker.”

“I was thinking more about the case.”

“Oh.” She returned to the screen.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried about Mugsy…”

He frowned. “You’re F-ing with me, aren’t you?”

“You’re like psychic or something. You see through me like you’ve got X-ray vision.”

Black took a calming breath. “So?”

“It’s eerie. Can you see through my clothes?”

“What have you got for me, Roxie?”

“I got in.”

“Really?” Black asked, moving closer to her.

“Of course. Did you have any doubt?”

“Not for an instant. And?”

“Nothing much. I mean, nothing that didn’t look work related.”

Black’s shoulders sagged. “So much for that.”

“Although…” Roxie turned back to the screen.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing.”

“Are you enjoying this? Surely there are some flies you can pull the wings off, or some ants you can step on.”

“Well, it’s weird. Someone accessed his files after he was killed.”

Black tilted his head. “After?”

“Exactly. So either he’s got a hell of a story to base a religion on, or someone else has his password and was snooping around.”

“Any way to tell if they deleted anything?”

“Not if they covered their tracks. I already looked in the file allocation tables and the recycle bin. Nothing.”

“Do you know when they accessed them, or from where?”

“Yes. Yesterday at four in the morning. From terminal six.”

“Don’t suppose you know where that is.”

“It’s the terminal back by the loading area.”

“Which is also the employee entrance. So it could have been anyone.”

“Pretty much. Except Alec, of course.”

“Damn.” Black shook his head. “Now what?”

“Did anyone give you the insane ninja computer skills vibe?”

“Hardly. And nothing in the personnel files. Could it have been the other IT guy?”

“Depends on how good he is. What time does he come to work?”

“Nine.”

“There’s your answer.”

Black’s eyes narrowed. “It has to be Nancy. He wouldn’t have told anyone else. She was engaged to him.”

“Sounds reasonable. Oh, and there’s another file that’s also password encrypted, but it’s not the same password.”

Black turned and made for the door. “Keep poking around. I’ll be right back.”

“There’s one other thing…”

“Let me find Nancy. She’s got some explaining to do,” Black said over his shoulder.

Roxie shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Chapter 33

Stan stood outside the garage as the forensics technicians dusted the enclosure for prints and took photographs of the suspect footprint. The lead tech, Melanie Hodgkins, finished her measurements and rose. Stan watched her expectantly as she approached.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Size eleven Nike hiking boot, by the looks of it. Distinctive tread.”

“How do you know off the top of your head?”

She smiled. “Spend about a dozen years staring at shoe prints and you get decent at it.”

“Definitely a man’s shoe, then.”

“That’s where I’d put my money. And it’s not a cheap shoe.”

“Any residue you can see that might tell us what was stored in here?”

“Not yet. But we’ve still got a ways to go.”

“What was your take on the drugs?”

“High-grade meth. Most of what we see these days is. Not hard to make, but a lot of the home-based labs wind up screwing it up anyway. Lot of impurities and residues. At first blush, this seems pure. Probably imported.”

“Mexico?”

“That’s the likeliest. Since weed got quasi-legal, the cartels have replaced the lost income with methamphetamine. It’s a growth business, as you know.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen a huge increase in drug-related killings over the last five years.”

“The irony being that it’s more popular with white kids than in the inner cities. Crack’s still king there, although since we freed Afghanistan, heroin’s giving it a serious run for its money.”

“Yup. You done with the apartment?”

“Almost. I’ve still got one person dusting in there. Only a few print sets, though. We’ll place them, but my hunch is we’re looking at the victim, the landlady, and maybe a few dates.”

“Where do they get this stuff on TV where the good guys find a micro-fiber or a single hair and trace the killer?” Stan grumbled.

“I love
CSI
! If only that was how it really worked most of the time.”

“Don’t get me started.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve got a head crushed in with a blunt object, either a pipe or something metal, because there’s no sign of any slivers or paint that would narrow it down. And the perp still has it; or rather, took it with him. If you’re lucky, he’s still got it.”

“More likely is he pitched it in a dumpster somewhere after wiping it down.”

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”

“Ah, well. Thanks for the update. I’ll be back in the apartment till I hear from you.”

“Give me another half hour. Sorry I don’t have more, but it is what it is.”

“What about the car?”

“That’s next.”

“I’ll take a look at it right now.”

“You know the drill.”

Stan nodded. Melanie returned to where her tech was brushing a surface, and Stan retraced his steps to the apartment to get Mary’s keys. He’d worked with Melanie on numerous other cases and had faith in her. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman, he thought. Divorced, two kids, six years younger than Stan. Alas, he’d learned long ago that dating in the force didn’t work out most of the time. Between his hours and hers, it would never work. Besides which, he didn’t need the complications. His life was simple at present. As he got older, he placed a lot of value on simple.

Back inside the apartment, he studied the unpaid bills again. He did a quick mental calculation – there was several thousand dollars’ worth, which was a hefty amount for someone at Mary’s income level. He knew from her DMV record that she drove a four-year-old Ford Mustang, and there was one parked on the street, so he wouldn’t have to look far.

The car was clean, the ashtray empty, and nothing but a few dandruff flecks on the driver’s headrest. The passenger seat appeared to be virtually unused. Mary apparently didn’t have much of a social life. He popped the trunk and moved around to the rear of the vehicle. A couple of dirty rags, some cheap tools. He lifted the deck to inspect the spare tire compartment and nodded to himself. Inside were two red boxes, a name embossed on each in gold – Cartier. He opened one and whistled at the glint of a gold and steel Santos men’s watch.

Stan pulled up a website on his phone and did a quick scan, and saw that the discounted price of that model was a couple thousand dollars.

“That’s a nice sideline. Somebody’s been naughty with the store inventory,” he whispered. He wasn’t surprised. People with drug habits routinely ripped off their employers.

Which reminded him. He pressed redial and waited for the line to pick up.

“McCarthy.”

“Sean, it’s Stan again. Did you ever get a chance to give my buddy a call?”

“Not yet. I’m knee-deep here. I’ll get to it. I promise.”

“I might have something for you. Another Home World employee showed up dead. Head wound, at her house. The manager.”

McCarthy didn’t speak for several seconds, and Stan could hear his breathing over the phone.

“I remember her. What was her name…?”

“Mary Allenston.”

“Right.”

“They’re probably connected. And we’re pretty sure it was a male.”

McCarthy sighed. “Damn. I thought I had a clean one.”

“Hate when that happens.”

“All right. Where are you?”

“At her apartment.” Stan gave him the address.

“Any reason for me to come up?”

“Only if you’re bored. Nothing to see here. I’ll send you everything we get once we’re done. Forensics is sweeping the place right now.”

“I’ve got a double down here. Couple of yo-yos with 9 mms. Fifteen and sixteen. I should be done in about an hour. I’ll call your bud once I finish up.”

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Guess it’s back to the drawing board on axe boy.”

“Yeah, not sure you’ll be able to make the girl fit it now. Decent defense attorney will connect the dots and hand you your head.”

“Maybe an accomplice?”

“Could be, but we both know that’s a stretch with what you’ve got so far. Oh, and we found meth and some stolen watches. So could be dope or a theft ring. Partner in crime.”

“Why you have to go complicate my life?”

“Sorry ’bout that. You still got my buddy’s number?”

“Yep. I’m on it.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah. You too.”

McCarthy sounded glum, and Stan knew what the man was feeling. Most homicides were straightforward and were solved by either a confession or something basic – security camera footage, a witness, a careless blunder. The ones that went unsolved were usually the more complex cases where there was no obvious motive or suspect. If it wasn’t a family member or a rival, it got harder. The worst were serial murderers. But a close second were those that were somehow linked, but not in a clear way. Unless the murderer made a stupid mistake, it was much more difficult to close the case. So far all they had was that it was a male who favored hoodies. That covered about eighty percent of the male population under the age of thirty in this neighborhood.

Stan replaced the watch and waited for Melanie, any hopes of a quick close gone.

Chapter 34

Black started at the front of the store and negotiated the candy aisle as he looked for Nancy. Henry Heung saw him and stalked toward him, the expression on his face livid and some sort of leather rag in his hand.

“Black, look at what your cat did!” he said, holding whatever it was aloft.

Black studied it, unsure what the security man was clutching, until dawning awareness convinced him that he was looking at the remnants of a jacket.

“You found Mugsy! Where is he?” Black asked.

“Gone. He demolished my office and ruined my jacket.”

“I’m sorry. He can be an ass. How much do I owe you?”

“Two hundred.”

“Dollars? What’s it made out of, human skin?”

“That’s what these cost.”

“Damn. Well, I’ll have Larry reimburse you. Again, I’m sorry. But where did you last see him?”

“You can follow the trail of destruction back by my office.”

Black nodded resignedly. He wasn’t a bit surprised by Mugsy’s handiwork, but he could see that even though he would get a new jacket, Henry was still angry.

“Listen, I’ll catch back up with you, but right now I have to find someone. Have you seen Nancy?” Black said.

“I…no. But don’t blow this off. That jacket had a lot of sentimental value.”

“I’m sure it did. But there’s nothing either of us can do other than me making good on it. I wish there was.”

Henry watched as Black moved away from him before throwing the jacket on the floor with a curse.