Liars, Cheaters & Thieves (17 page)

A light-haired boy of eight or so ran up to them. “Aunt Sasha, can I watch TV in the family room? Your guys are bugging me.”

This must be Adam.
Sophie studied him, realizing he didn’t look anything like Rafel.

“All right, but quietly, please,” Sasha said. “We’re still talking. And no adult shows.”

The boy trotted off, and his aunt apologized for the intrusion.

“No problem.” Sophie glanced at her questions. “Were you surprised when Rafel joined the National Guard?”

“Yes and no. I think he saw the guard as another adventure.”

“How did you feel about it?”

“I was proud of him, but a little worried too. I knew deployment was a possibility, even though Rafel didn’t believe it would happen.”

“How did your parents feel?”

“Dad was proud of him too.”

“Are your parents still out on River Road?”

“Our father is, but our mother left us when were young.”

“That must have been devastating. How old were you?”

“Rafel was twelve and I was ten. We were crushed.” Sasha’s voice grew quiet. “She left a short note but didn’t say a personal good-bye. I took it harder than the guys. They were stoic, and Rafel was quiet for a long time after she left.”

“And you’ve never heard from her?”

“No, but I still think about her sometimes. Her family disowned her when she married my father, then he forced his old-world ideas on her. I think she just couldn’t take the isolation anymore.”

“That’s tragic. Sad for her, and for you and Rafel.” Sophie was intrigued by the decades-old family drama and hoped to work it into her story that Rafel’s mother abandoned him at a young age. “Can I ask if the problem between the families was cultural? Is your father Islamic?”

“He followed many Islamic traditions out of habit, but I think he lost his faith in Allah. Neither Rafel nor I are religious, but we’re still Pashtun.”

“Was it hard for Rafel to fight the Taliban in Afghanistan?”

“You ask good questions.” Sasha closed her eyes for a moment. “Rafel and I are very much American, and my brother never expected to be deployed. He had just gotten married. So he had mixed feelings about his service, but he was loyal to this country and loyal to the fight against terrorism. Most Middle Eastern people hate the terrorists too.”

“It must have been difficult for Sierra to be alone for a year right after getting married.”

Sasha’s jaw tightened, and she reached for the recorder to shut it off. “Sierra is not the kind of woman who can be alone. She dishonored my brother, and I may never forgive her for that.”

Sophie understood the subtext and grudgingly let the subject go, despite her burning desire to know who Sierra had screwed while her husband was off fighting for his country. Sophie would ask someone else. Sasha was clearly distressed by the issue and not likely to tell her anyway.

Sophie turned the recorder back on and changed the subject. “The bomb squad was called out to Rafel and Sierra’s house yesterday after the police searched it. Do you know what that was about?”

Sasha pressed her lips together. “I don’t really want to talk about this, but I also don’t want people to speculate and make it worse.”

“I’ll minimize the subject in my story.”

Sasha drew in a weary breath. “Our father worked as a miner when he was young and used explosives on the job. He became a little obsessed and always kept a supply of dynamite. He used it around the farm sometimes, and Rafel became just as obsessed.”

Overwhelmed by the irony, Sophie didn’t know if she could ask the next question. Still, it worked its way out of her mouth. “How did you feel when Rafel lost his leg to an explosive device?”

“I was crushed by the news but grateful he was alive, just like anyone else would feel.” His sister’s lips trembled. “Yet I had this sense of the inevitable.”

“Did you know Rafel still kept explosives in his home even after his injury?”

“No, but I’m not surprised.”

Sophie was freaked out by it. “Were Rafel and his father close?”

“They were when Rafi was young, then over the years, I sensed a distance between them.”

“Any idea why?”

Sasha glanced away. “No.”

Sophie suspected there was something to pursue. “Will you give me contact information for your father? I’d like to talk to him.”

“No.” Sasha’s tone was unequivocal.

“When is Rafel’s funeral service?”

“Monday at eleven. We would have liked to hold it sooner, but they won’t release his body until then.”

“Is he having a military funeral?” Sophie was thinking of the great photos it would give her for the story.

“No. Our father won’t allow it. He’s bitter toward the military and wants a simple tribal burial.” Sasha gave a sad smile. “Or the American version of it.”

Sophie asked for details about the service, thinking she might attend and have a chance to talk to Rafel’s father. Or maybe run into Jackson and coax more details about the murder from him. She knew detectives often attended the funeral services of the victims whose murders they investigated.

“Is there anything else you want me to know about your brother?”

“He was a loving father. He also loved animals and volunteered in the clinic where Sierra worked. He had a good heart.”

CHAPTER 17

Saturday, November 12, 5:43 p.m.

Back at his desk, Jackson prepped for the meeting by adding his new notes to the main file. He’d already ordered pizza and planned to keep the discussion short. He hated making his team members work late on Saturday. He’d also made a call to the DA and left a message telling him about their eyewitness. Slonecker wouldn’t be impressed. If Prez couldn’t be counted on to show up in court, he couldn’t help them convict Sierra. Jackson knew he had to meet with Sergeant Lammers soon too and let her know they had a solid suspect.

He was pleased to see Quince in the conference room. Quince was young, but he’d made detective early in his career and his experience in the other investigative units made him a good asset. He touched the man’s shoulder on the way in. “Glad you could make it. How’s the fraud case coming?”

“It’s interesting, but I’ll wait until the others come in. They’ll want to hear this.”

“Did you get Mazari’s banking records?”

“I did. I went to Cranston’s house at eight thirty this morning, and he read the subpoena in his bathrobe.”

“Nice visual,” Evans commented as she came in. “Glad it was you and not me.”

“Cranston can be abrasive, but he comes through for us.” Quince turned back to Jackson. “The credit union opened at ten, and they made copies for me while I stood there. You gotta love local institutions. Meanwhile, I won’t get the charity’s records from the online bank until Monday—if I’m lucky.”

Schak came in carrying a tall coffee. The rich aroma made Jackson salivate. “You didn’t get me one?”

“Sorry.”

“You can take the board.” Jackson grinned.

“I’m still not letting go of the coffee.” Schak dropped his carryall and moved to the long whiteboard, still clutching his cup.

“Let’s get started,” Jackson said. “I have two major updates. One, we have forensic evidence linking Sierra Kent to the crime scene—or I should say the vicinity of the crime scene.” Jackson passed out his updated case notes as he talked. “We also have an eyewitness to the attack. He can’t specifically identify the killer, but he thinks it was a woman with a long ponytail. And he heard the person throw something into the canal, so I’ll be searching for it first thing tomorrow. You can join me if you want to.”

“Should we be out there right now?” Evans was ready to bolt from her chair.

“It’s nearly dark. Our time will be better spent in the morning. The eyewitness is a homeless man named Prez who may not ever make it to court, but I want you to hear his statement.” Jackson
played the recording, and Evans and Quince strained to hear the dialogue over the noisy restaurant background.

When it was over, Evans said, “The whistling is a little odd. Women don’t whistle very often.”

“Some do,” Schak countered. “What about the attacker putting their face next to the victim? Men don’t do that with other men.”

“Sierra will sound believable to a jury.” Evans gestured with her hands. “Unless she confesses, I say we keep open to other suspects. For example, Pittman lied about his alibi Thursday night. He told you he went home to his wife after leaving the tavern. When I talked to Hailey Pittman this morning, she said she left him months ago. They don’t even live together.”

Jackson hated being lied to, even though he expected it. “We have to question Pittman again, maybe bring him in this time. He walked out on our last conversation, and now we have a lot more to discuss.”

“What about Mazari’s autopsy?” Schak asked. “In Sierra’s interview, you mentioned he didn’t have a penis. Were you serious?”

“Yes. He’s got nothing but scar tissue there now.” Just thinking about it made Jackson uncomfortable.

“It seems pretty fucked up for a man who lost his junk to a land mine to keep dynamite in his house.” Schak’s eyebrows expressed his disbelief.

“It’s weird, all right,” Jackson said. “I wonder what a shrink would say.”

“Maybe he’s facing his fears,” Evans offered.

“Maybe. But I don’t see how it’s relevant to the case.” Jackson wanted to move on. “What else have we got?”

Schak updated the board as Evans looked at her notes. “I also learned Pittman was an Iraq veteran, so I asked his wife if he’d
come into any unexpected money lately. She said she didn’t know, but she looked scared and her voice quivered. She also recognized the name Veterans Relief Fund. I’d love to get a look at Jake Pittman’s bank records.”

“I would too,” Quince said. “My investigation of the fraud involving the charity is still premature, but two of these friends were ex-military, both had money troubles, and one was murdered.”

“Did you find anything interesting in Mazari’s bank files?” Jackson asked.

“I haven’t had time to look. I spent the day tracking down fraud victims.” Quince handed Jackson a thick file. “I found seven local people who made voluntary contributions to the charity in amounts ranging from fifty to three hundred dollars. The scammers targeted senior centers and retirement homes through e-mails and flyers slipped under their doors. So nobody had direct contact with the charity’s founders, and so far, Molly Pershing is the only victim to have money stolen from her.”

“I’d like the names of the people who donated to the charity and the amount of each contribution,” Jackson said. “I’ll cross-check them against Mazari’s bank statement.”

“The money went to an online bank,” Quince said. “Unless Mazari was stupid enough to link the fraudulent charity account to his own, you may not be able to make direct connections.”

“You think Mazari and Pittman might have set up the phony charity and conned old people into donating to it?” Evans nodded as she summed up the possible scenario.

“We don’t know yet,” Quince said. “I’m still waiting to hear from the website’s hosting company, so I won’t have more information until Monday.”

“It’s worth checking out.” Jackson wasn’t invested in the theory, but money was one of the leading motivations to kill.

“I’ve got Molly Pershing’s computer, but there’s almost nothing on it,” Quince added. “And her neighbors didn’t see her with anyone suspicious, but I haven’t talked to them all yet. Now that we have a second military connection, I’ll go back and show Mazari and Pittman’s photos to Molly’s neighbors.”

The pizza arrived, and they ate without much discussion. As they finished, Jackson said, “You guys might as well call it a night. Enjoy what’s left of your Saturday evening.”

“What are
you
going to do?” Evans narrowed her eyes at him.

“I was thinking I’d go out and see Pittman again. Find out why he lied to me.”

“You’re not going alone.” Schak and Evans said it simultaneously.

Jackson laughed. “I guess not. Evans, I hear you have a date with Stricklyn, so I’ll let Schak ruin his Saturday night.”

“Netflix will be disappointed, but my wife probably won’t care.” Schak grinned. “I’ll skip the dip in the canal in the morning and let Evans get wet instead.”

“That’s a shitty deal,” Evans complained halfheartedly.

“Better make your date special then.” Quince winked at her.

Evans pushed aside her pizza. “I will. See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and waltzed out.

Jackson started gathering up the remains of the pizza meal.

“Are you sure we need to do this tonight?” Schak asked. “We have a solid suspect in custody and no reason to think Pittman is going anywhere. I say we wait until tomorrow.”

Jackson considered it. He had bank records to look at and unpacking to do. “Tell you what. I’ll call Pittman. If he answers, we go round him up. Otherwise, we’ll find him tomorrow, right after we search the canal.”

“Deal.” Schak pulled his hands together as if in prayer. “Please let him be out drinking and not hear the phone.”

Quince burst out laughing. “Are you getting too old for this?”

Schak gave him the finger.