Chasing Darkness (6 page)

Sam
rubbed her temples and nodded. “What about visitors?”

“None.
He didn’t even see his wife. She came about a month before he was executed, and
he sent her away. He had also gotten a few letters, all from the same address,
but they showed up unopened in his trash.”

There
had to be a connection between this murder and Sloan. Who else would’ve copied
the M.O. so exactly? “No outside contact at all? Phone calls? Anything?”

“I
wish I had more for you, but no. He didn’t use telephone privileges except once
to his attorney in the two months before his death.”

Sam
tried to think of another way that Charlie Sloan could have found someone to do
his killing. “Anyone from his cellblock released over the past couple months?”

“Uh,
only one that I can think of, but not someone who had any interaction with
Sloan.”

Sam
was perplexed. She thanked the warden and hung up the phone, wondering if Nick
was right. Maybe this wasn’t Sloan. Maybe it was someone else. But only a few
people would have had access to the detail about the six-leafed eucalyptus, and
she hated to entertain the possibility that a cop was involved. Of course,
maybe she had to face that possibility. If the theory was right and a cop was
the killer, then the most likely suspect was someone who had been directly
involved in Sloan’s case.

Starting
with her own name, she copied the list she had faxed to the sheriff’s
department of the people involved in Charlie Sloan’s case. After so long,
anybody could have found out the details. What she was counting on was that not
just anybody had.

She
started the list with herself as detective. Corona had known about the case because
she had testified after she started working at the D.O.J. Sam wrote “Director
Andy Corona.” Gary Williams had attended her testimony and seen the evidence
docket. Her gaze paused on Gary Williams’ name. His interest in the case had
seemed peculiar, but he always wanted to know what everyone else was up to. He
was insistently nosy.

She
tapped her pen and moved past Williams. She added the two officers who had
arrived on the scene, Amanda Nakahara and Bob Haber. Her detective sergeant was
Garrett Bouton. There were six cops who were involved peripherally in
interviewing witnesses and following up on leads. She added their names to her
list: Monterra, Sansome, Wyatt, Bradley, and Cole. Was that all?

The
crime scene team would have seen the eucalyptus. She tried to remember who they
were but couldn’t. It wasn’t in her file, either. She wrote a note to check her
journal for the names. Sam kept a binder at home with her personal notes on
every case she had ever worked. It included everything from the evidence to the
smell of a room and her own thoughts and opinions on a case and the suspects.
If the names weren’t there, the Antioch P.D. would have a record of them.

Assuming
there were three or four of them, that made approximately fifteen people who
had seen one of Charlie Sloan’s scenes. As she compiled the list in her own
handwriting, Sam considered each person. No one on the list made a good
suspect. She put a call in to the clerk at the sheriff’s department, but had to
settle for leaving a message on his voice mail.

Standing,
she stretched her arms and decided to go get lunch. When she picked up her
purse she noticed writing on the back of a pink message slip sitting on the top
of her garbage. Leaning over, she snatched it and turned the message right side
up.

You’re
not invincible.

Sam
stared at the message and blinked hard, wishing she hadn’t touched it. The
handwriting wasn’t familiar, but there might’ve been prints on it.

Aaron’s
chair was stopped in the doorway. “You okay? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Careful
not to touch the note further, Sam tucked it into her blazer pocket. It seemed
impossible that an ex-con working on Sloan’s behalf could have gotten into her
office. It would be one thing if Sloan could have paid someone, but he was
dead. Nick’s theory that the killer was a cop was seeming increasingly
possible. The idea gave her the chills. “I’m fine.”

Aaron
shrugged, though the look on his face suggested he didn’t quite believe her.
“This just came off the fax, and Derek’s on line one.”

Sam
put a finger up to indicate that Derek should hold for a second while she
skimmed the faxed toxicology report on Sandi Walters. According to the autopsy,
she was pumped full of heroin when she died. Not an overdose, but getting
close.

“Derek
sounds urgent,” Aaron said.

Sam
nodded and reached for the phone. “How come you’re home early?”

“I
just am,” Derek snapped.

“I
thought you had physical therapy,” Sam continued.

“I
did. I’m done.”

“I—”

“Aunt
Sam,” Derek interrupted. “I’m trying to tell you that the police just called,”
Derek said, sounding out of breath. “Rob’s been drinking at his job.”

“Drinking?”

“He’s
drunk, Aunt Sam.”

Sam
clenched her teeth and nodded. “Where is he?”

“At
the Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Department.”

“I
know where it is.” Sam hung up and grabbed her purse.

“Nick’s
on the line,” Aaron said from the doorway. “Wants to talk about Rob.”

Sam
shook her head. “Tell him I’ll call him later. I’ve got to go, Aaron. What do I
have this afternoon?”

Aaron
ran his finger down her calendar. “Nothing I can’t reschedule.”

“Thanks.”
She handed him her note about the crime scene team and asked him to call the
Antioch P.D. for the information. She handed him the fax. “Fax this over to
Nick. He’s probably got it, but I want to be sure. And I’ll try to get back
later this afternoon.”

“Don’t
bother,” Aaron said. “I’ll call you at home if anything comes up, and I can
always fax you there.”

“Thanks,
Aaron. I mean it.”

“No
problem.”

As
she rode across the Bay Bridge, anger rose like a hard pulse in her chest,
bringing with it a question she’d often pondered over the past eight years. Why
had Polly done this to her? Leaving her children to Sam without even consulting
her. Sam reprimanded herself for those thoughts. Still, she wasn’t fit to be a
mother. She hadn’t made the choice to have children—it had been taken from her.
And now she had two of them—teens, no less. She rubbed her eyes. But it wasn’t
anger she felt. It was frustration. She would never ask to be rid of the boys.
She loved Rob and Derek.

Sam
thought about the hate she’d seen in Rob’s eyes at the baseball game the night
before. She’d been unable to look at him. His anger was always right there at
the surface—all his emotions were. She just didn’t know how to handle them.

She’d
spent so long burying emotions that Rob’s nature seemed completely foreign. Had
she done something to deserve such incredible anger? Or was Rob simply angry at
the world because of his parents’ deaths?

She’d
been over it a million times but was never able to come up with a solution. Had
Rob been that pampered by his mother? Sam hadn’t really known Polly in the last
twelve years of her life, but she couldn’t imagine that Rob could have been so
spoiled that the life Sam was providing was unacceptable. And Derek was
completely mellow. How could two identical brothers be so different? There was
no one who could answer that question for her.

Sam
remembered the first time she’d taken the boys to the emergency room. Only six
months after they’d come to live with her, Derek had come down with a fever
that had persisted for three days. He’d been barely nine years old. Sam had
been frantic. At the emergency room, she had struggled to fill out the forms.
Did the family have a history of heart disease? Mental illness? Allergies? She
didn’t know.

It
turned out he had tonsillitis. “I don’t want to treat him without knowing what
he might be allergic to,” the doctor had explained. “Is there a family
physician we can contact?”

Sam
had shaken her head. No doctor information had come with the boys. No set of
instructions.

“Is
there a family member you could call for that information?” the doctor had
asked.

Sam
could see Polly’s face in her memory—her wide blue eyes and long blond hair, as
it had been when she was fifteen. Her brother’s face flashed through her memory
and then her mother’s. Her father’s face came next, and she squeezed the image
away. “No, there’s no one,” she answered quickly.

The
doctor had prescribed erythromycin rather than penicillin in hopes of avoiding
an allergic reaction, and Derek had recovered without trouble. Sam hadn’t
prayed that much since she’d escaped the South. To this day, she hoped the boys
would never be so sick that she had to call anyone in Mississippi. Just the
thought made her shudder.

Sam
walked out of the sheriff’s department with Rob trailing a few steps behind.
Knowing the details of Rob’s arrest didn’t make her feel any better.

He
had gotten a job working for a landscaping company for the summer. He and
another kid were supposed to work the afternoon at Milton Peters’ house in
Lafayette. When they arrived, an hour late, Mr. Peters noticed that the boys
smelled of alcohol and promptly called the police. Sam was glad he had.

“You’ve
been fired from your job,” she told Rob.

“So
what,” he mumbled, looking miserably hung over. Sam felt a twinge. She
remembered that feeling. It had been a decade since she’d had a drink, but
before that, hangovers had been quite regular.

“No
job, no bike.”

Rob
shot a look at her. “You can’t sell the bike.”

“Like
hell I can’t. My name’s on the title.”

“But
I paid for it.”

“We
had conditions when you got it, Rob. Do you remember them?”

“I’ll
still pay the insurance on it. I’ll get another job,” he argued.

“I’m
not worried about the money.” She turned and looked at him. “I don’t like
what’s happening here. I’m not going to sell the bike yet, but you can’t drive
it, not until I see your behavior improve. In the meantime, you and I are going
to work out what’s going on, okay?”

Rob
started to respond when a man cursed behind them.

Sam
turned around to see what looked like a father and son standing on the
sidewalk. The man was just about six feet and thick. He wore an ill-fitting
pinstriped suit and cheap shoes. His suit jacket was gripped in one hand, and a
gaudy red tie was pulled loose at his neck. “You idiot! What the fuck were you
thinking?” The man raised his hand, and the boy moved quickly backward away
from his fist, stumbling and landing on the ground.

Sam
took a step toward them.

“Don’t,
Aunt Sam.”

She
looked back at Rob. “You know them?”

“It’s
Billy Jenkins and his dad.”

“The
one you were working with?”

Rob
nodded.

Sam
studied the lines of fear in Rob’s face. She couldn’t tell exactly what he was
afraid of. Had Mr. Jenkins threatened Rob?

“Let’s
go,” he said. “I want to go home.”

Sam
put her hand on Rob’s shoulder and watched the father and son. The father had
pulled the son up off the ground and was cursing him in more hushed tones. They
still hadn’t noticed that Sam and Rob were watching.

Mr.
Jenkins raised his fist again, shaking it in the air.

Sam
started toward them.

“Please,
Aunt Sam. Don’t.”

This
time Sam didn’t listen. Anger was rising inside her like bubbling oil. She was
ready to spit. “Excuse me,” she said to Jenkins.

He
looked at her and made a noise like a low growl.

“I’m
Sam Chase, Rob’s aunt.”

“I’m
fucking busy here,” Jenkins sneered in response.

“Maybe
you could take a moment out from abusing your son so we could talk,” she
continued, folding her arms and feeling her right hand on the butt of her gun.

Jenkins
took a step toward her, but Sam didn’t move. He was fat and smelled of sweat
and stale booze. “I ain’t got time for your shit, lady.”

Sam
felt Rob come up behind her. “Come on, Aunt Sam. Let’s go.”

She
could sense the fear in his quick breaths. She didn’t risk turning her back on
Jenkins. “Wait for me at the curb.”

“That’s
who you been hanging out with?” The man spoke to Billy and motioned to Rob,
eyeing him head to toe. “That pussy? Jesus Christ, boy. He don’t look like he
could hold a six-pack.”

Billy
didn’t answer.

Jenkins
grabbed his son by the ear and shoved him. “You answer me when I talk to you,
boy. You been hanging out with that pussy?”

Billy
nodded.

Sam
took another step forward until she was next to the boy. “You okay, Billy?”

Wide-eyed,
Billy looked at her and then at his father and nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

The
man took her arm and pulled her around. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Sam
twisted her arm free. “Don’t lay a hand on me.”

The
man laughed and pushed at her shoulder. “What you going to do?”

He
was like an ox. She knew that when he went down, he’d go down hard. But she
knew she had to warn him first. “You ever heard of assault, Mr. Jenkins? That’s
what you’re doing to your son. And if you touch me again, that’s called
assault, too.”

The
man let go. “How about I take out my dick and we can call it assault with a
deadly weapon?” he said with a slur. He groped at his pants and took a step
closer to her.

She
shook her head. “I’ve seen pinky wrestling. Don’t think it would be considered
deadly.”

“Bitch!”
he spat after a moment of silence. He lumbered forward, raising his right fist
to swing.

Sam
ducked out of the way and then kicked her right foot behind his left, giving
him a shove that sent him flailing backward. He landed with a hard thud and let
out a groan.