First Born (25 page)

Caldwell took a seat. “Thanks. I got completely wrapped up with the Jones/Harding scene.”

His jaw fixed, Lake unwrapped his sub.

“I got Moore coming in tomorrow for additional questioning,” Caldwell said.

“Good.”

“What happened with Hitomi?”

“Dr. Seduction?” Lake asked.

Caldwell grinned.

“Too bad she’s a mad scientist, otherwise I think she and I could have something,” Lake said.

Caldwell almost spit out his Coke.

“Good to see you laugh, Simms. You look like shit.”

“Right back at ya.”

Lake’s mouth twitched. “Kennesaw police pulled over Hitomi for reckless driving several miles from the Liu crime scene yesterday.”

Caldwell stopped eating.

“Yeah, time period fits. Her house and lab were interesting. I believe she had cleaned up the place before our visit. But I got all kinds of info from her neighbors this time. She definitely had people coming to her home. My guess is that she held her own side projects out of her home lab that she has in the basement. We seized syringes, logbooks, files, and her laptop as well as office equipment.”

“Anything of significance?” Caldwell watched Lake. He was building to something important. His tell was the slight extension of his neck, the elevated position of his chin—
totally pleased with himself.

Lake wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled out an evidence bag from his briefcase. “Really interesting stuff in there.” Wings dominated the cover of a Japanese mythology book.

“Thanks Uncle Wocky, you brought me a present. Is this my bedtime story?”

Lake took a sip of Coke before wiping some lettuce off his white shirt. “Got her in lock-up.”

Caldwell put down his sandwich. “What’s she doing there?”

“Gee Simms, I don’t know, entertaining the guards.”

Caldwell smirked. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Steroids. We found a large stash of steroids in her basement. No Inderal, but at least we’ve got her on something.”

Caldwell removed his tie and stuffed it in his pocket. He rolled up his sleeves, before donning booties and gloves. Breaking the seal, he entered the Sinclair duplex with Tiny bobbing along behind him in his Powerstriders.

“You think I’m crazy?” Caldwell asked.

“Yeah, ’bout a half a bubble off plumb,” quipped Tiny.

Caldwell glared at him.

Tiny cackled. “Ooooh, you scary!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tiny,” Caldwell said. He turned to look at him. “Thanks for coming back in here with me.”

“Not a problem. Ya gotta follow your instincts,” he said.

Caldwell turned and bashed his head on the pendant light in the foyer. “Damn! Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. You can’t help it you’re vertically challenged.”

Caldwell rubbed his head and looked at Tiny.

“What? Ask me if I
ever
hit my head on things. That would be ‘no.’ Don’t give me that look, Simms. You do all right for being slightly brain damaged.”

“What?” Simms asked.

“Think about how many times you hit your head in a month. Seriously, that has to have some accumulative effect.” Tiny grinned.

Exasperated, Caldwell closed his mouth and continued to make his way through the thousand-foot condo. The off-white carpet in the living room was worn, but clean. The astringent odor of strong cleaners mixed with decay. The six plants in the bay window had succumbed to their abandonment.

“Cool photos,” Tiny commented, looking at framed photographs of Sumatran villagers and wildlife.

“She led an interesting life.” Caldwell worked his way from the living room to the spare bedroom that Ms. Sinclair used as an office. The antique desk appeared neat and orderly. Tiny checked the drawers and closet, as well as in and under the pull-out sofa.

As they entered the master bedroom, Caldwell stopped to survey the décor. The four poster bed was dark walnut. Green and tan cushions covered every surface coupled with earth-toned fabric cascading from windows and walls to create a womb feeling.

“Almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” Tiny asked.

“Yeah.” He hadn’t noticed before with the slew of people in the space the day Clemens discovered Sinclair.

They searched the room, looking behind cushions, fabric, prints. Caldwell noted the reading material stacked on the nesting tables by her bed:
National Geographic Magazine, Utne Reader,
Sudoku puzzles,
Selected Poems
by E.E. Cummings,
The Oxford Book of Fantasy Stories,
and Dr. Seuss’s
Are You My Mother?

Tiny shifted the mattress, checking the corners and feeling along the box spring. The sound was barely audible—soft like the scuff of a shoe heel on a wood floor.

“Stop,” Caldwell said with his hand up. “You knocked something loose.”

He approached the intricately carved headboard while shining his flashlight on the wood. The corner of the center square inlay appeared offset.
Is it an illusion?
Caldwell dislodged the square to reveal a hidden space in the headboard.

“Good night!” Tiny whispered, cautiously shifting the mattress back in place.

Caldwell let out a loud breath as he surveyed the space with his flashlight.

“Well go on Petunia, we ain’t got all night,” coaxed Tiny.

Caldwell flipped him the bird before reaching in and drawing out a stack of papers including a yellow padded envelope.

“Elvis has left the building!” shouted Caldwell, startling Tiny. “What’s the matter, I scary now little man?”

Tiny grimaced. “It’s late. You’re lucky I have a sense of humor or I’d knock you into Tuesday.”

“I guarantee this is the same type of envelope and label found at the Hitomi lab. And that the ink matches the Hitomi computer printer,” Caldwell said.

Tiny sauntered up to examine the seal on the envelope. “You lucky SOB. I bet we can get DNA from the saliva on that seal.”

Caldwell hardly heard him. He was too busy reading the love letter from Charles Moore to Mona Sinclair. The notepaper was yellowed and wrinkled like jaundiced old skin. “This is from Arthur Moore’s father.” Tiny looked over his elbow to scan the print.

“What’s the deal with the envelope?” Tiny asked.

“This, obviously, is more recent. My guess is that Dr. Hitomi was sending her syringes of Inderal in these padded envelopes. No return address, but as you noted, someone licked the envelope to seal it.”

“You’re reaching.”

“It’s all I got—my gut.”

“Let’s get back,” Tiny said. “I’ll send it off right away.”

Seth managed to get back into town much later than he anticipated. He got stuck in traffic on Interstate eighty-five. Detective Simms had called to schedule another interview tomorrow at ten. His body felt clammy when he considered how that would go.

He looked around the parking lot. No one was around other than a single mom toting her two children and groceries into the redbrick apartment building next to his. He saw the stray cat he had been trying to care for in the last several weeks slink low beneath a parked car, seeking refuge from the Atlanta heat. “Oscar, that is not a safe place to rest.” He sighed. The stress from the last twenty-four hours hit him suddenly. “I am so screwed!”

He had no idea how he was going to make it through tomorrow. He hadn’t slept much since Lily’s attack. Pushing the car door open, he stretched his legs and breathed in the hazy Atlanta air.

He carried some comfort with him—a large anchovy pizza. He chuckled to himself when he considered Katie’s look of disgust the first time he had ordered one. His humor vanished as he approached his front door and smelled Koko. That wasn’t what upset him. It was the unfamiliar scent at his threshold and the door’s appearance that had the hairs on his neck at attention. His pulse quickened as he swallowed. Someone had kicked in the door. He listened. Whoever had been there was gone now. He could actually see a footprint on the surface of the door.

Seth shoved the door open the rest of the way. Someone had tossed his place. His headache felt as if it were taking on a life of its own, strong tentacles grasped the sides of his head and squeezed. Instead of shutting his eyes to block it out, he made himself look. His belongings spilled from drawers and open cabinets. Seth waded through the living room, kitchen, and into his bedroom. Nothing appeared missing except for his Inderal. It didn’t surprise him that Koko had been in his apartment. However, someone else had been in his apartment as well.

He didn’t want to call the police. He needed more time to devise an exit strategy. They most likely would discover the cell phone with Lily’s blood left at the Ansley Park Manor and tie it to him. His explanation of things would only land him in the looney bin. Besides, he had more questions than answers.

Only an idiot would walk into the situation in the morning without a lawyer, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name that his mother used.
Looks like tomorrow I’ll be facing the firing squad.
He didn’t clean up his apartment. He was too damn tired to care anymore. As he inhaled his pizza, he flipped on the TV. That’s when he saw the news coverage about Larry Jones.

Could this situation be any more messed up?
He stretched out on the futon and put his head down to rest his eyes.

Seth awoke in the middle of the night and grabbed his car keys off the coffee table. He closed the door with its bent frame the best he could. As he drove out of the complex, his thoughts went to Katie and what she must think. He hadn’t been talking to her much. Lying was not his favorite thing, although he’d done a lot of it lately. When he returned home an hour later, he felt better. He had taken some steps toward a plan. The plan was a crazy one, but it gave him hope, albeit a false sense.

The next morning his alarm roused him from a miserable sleep. For breakfast, he took a bite of cold pizza but was too nervous to eat. After a quick shower, he started to head out the door. As an afterthought, he exchanged his ACDC t-shirt for a white polo shirt. On the way to the station, he let Lily know what was going on with his apartment. He advised her to call Dr. Gladson if he wound up in jail. He disconnected when she began to rant.

* * *

Lake, Caldwell, and Tiny had a quick pow-wow in the lieutenant’s office before Seth Moore’s arrival.

“So, the hair matches Frank Harding. We’re ninety percent sure the Sinclair syringes came from Dr. Hitomi. The footprints at the Liu crime scene could be Harding’s—shoe size matches. Hitomi was a mile from the Liu crime scene about the right time period, but there’s no evidence placing her there. She wears a size five and a half shoe. Tread pattern is consistent with a bigger person. Don’t think she could pull off wearing a size nine boot,” Lake said pacing the small space in front of his desk.

Caldwell stood by the crime board. “Lily Moore was at the Ansley Park residence. The bloody cell phone belongs to Seth Moore and his fingerprints are on it. Hitomi’s in custody. The drug charges will stick. Hopefully we’ll get results from the saliva on the envelope seal and any trace evidence on the package found in Sinclair’s house. May be a match with Hitomi. May not.”

“Anything else?” Lake asked.

“Found the mystery bullet,” Tiny said.

Both detectives looked at him.

“In the Harding/Jones backyard, we retrieved a bullet matching the one pulled from the Liu studio wall. Looked to be covered with DNA material.” He looked to Caldwell. “Blood type matched Ms. Moore’s.”

“Harding?”

Tiny shrugged. “Ballistics says the bullet markings indicate it was shot from a polygonal barrel. From the gun receipt found in Harding’s desk, we know he owned a Sig Sauer P220 which has a
traditional
barrel.”

“Harding could’ve used another gun we don’t know about,” Caldwell said.

Lake nodded as he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “We need to pressure Jones some more. See if we can gather anything useful on Harding. Still can’t believe he doesn’t know anything about Lily Moore’s whereabouts, either.”

“I can’t believe her brother doesn’t,” Caldwell said.

The Lieutenant blew air, puffing up his cheeks. “We have the security tape from Colony Square showing the Shih Tzu with Seth Moore from over a week ago.”

“And we know Mr. Jones had the dog as well. Those sunglasses found at the Liu crime scene have Jones’s fingerprints on them as well as Lily Moore’s. What are we gonna do with him?” Caldwell asked.

“Lean on him like you said,” Lake spat. “He’s in this crap up to his neck.”

They both looked at each other, catching the lieutenant’s choice of words at the same time. Lake cracked a quick smile. Caldwell knew he was thinking about the image of Larry Jones in the beer helmet holding the pooper scooper.

“We get the search warrant for Seth Moore’s phone records, computer, and apartment?” Lake asked.

“Got the call. The team’s going in as we speak. They’ll call me ASAP with any interesting info,” responded Caldwell.

Carrie, the receptionist, poked her head inside the door. “Seth Moore is here.”

“Thanks, Carrie. Show him into the interview room,” Lake said. He collected his paperwork while downing the rest of his Coke.

Seth Moore sat behind the table bouncing his knee. His eyes were puffy with dark rings around them. Lake and Caldwell exchanged looks concerning his appearance.

“Mr. Moore.” Lake nodded at Seth.

Caldwell sat across from him while Lake took the chair to the side of him.

“How have you been holding up?” Caldwell asked.

Seth flashed them a half smile, almost a grimace. “Not real well.”

“Honestly, you look like shit,” Caldwell said. “There something you want to get off your chest?”

Moore rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. “I know Larry Jones didn’t hurt my sister. I saw the news last night.”

“Why do you say that?” Lake scrutinized him over his reading glasses.

“I just know that Larry never hurt Lily or knew her whereabouts.”

“Now how could you know that?” Caldwell asked.