Authors: Alafair Burke
Never Tell (16 page)
C
asey looked a lot happier when he was doing handstands in Union Square Park. Now he was hunched over in a plastic chair in the lobby of Promises, his head burrowed in his crossed forearms, flanked on each side by large men dressed in matching black suits. Ellie could tell from his trembling shoulders that he was crying.
He jerked up at the sound of the door opening.
“What is going on here?” Ellie asked.
One of the men in black rose to his feet. He had to be at least six-four.
“Miss Heinz came with us of her own accord. She consented to a search of her property.”
Ms. Ri was storming down the hallway toward them. “Thank goodness. Real police. I was just about to call you. These people arrested Casey. I told them to get out, but Casey told me to let them in his room. I still tried to stop them, but back they went.”
“Is that true, Casey? Did you tell Ms. Ri that you wanted these people to go into your room?”
He nodded but still hadn’t spoken a word.
“Look at these people,” Ms. Ri said, waving an angry hand in no particular direction. “They obviously forced him.”
From the grass stains on Casey’s clothing and marks on his face, Ellie already had her suspicions.
“If these men have done something—”
The standing security officer cut her off. “Which side are you on, lady? Nobody forced anybody to do anything.”
Rogan was already making his way past the lobby toward the hallway adjoining the tenant rooms. When they got to the third room on the right they found two more men in suits, one young and enormous—an identical triplet to the two towers in the lobby—the other equally handsome, but with light-gray hair and a regular human-sized body.
The older man beat them to the punch with introductions. “Earl Gundley, Detectives.” The firm, confident handshake matched the man.
“We would have appreciated a call,” Rogan said.
He gave them a smooth smile. She could imagine why he would be successful as hired corporate security. “I would have said the same thing when I was on the job.”
“Casey Heinz looks terrified,” Ellie said. “What did your guys do to him to get him to let you in here?”
“
Him?
” He shared an amused look with his younger colleague. “Times, they sure do change, but I can be progressive, too. We didn’t do anything to
him
I didn’t do on the job. And even if the kinder, gentler NYPD has a new
pretty please with a cherry on top
consent policy I don’t know about, here’s the beauty of being strictly private. No government action means no constitutional violation, which means no motion to suppress. Whole lot faster than a search warrant.”
“Except now we’re here,” Ellie said. “So there’s your government action. We need you and your monochromatic giants to leave. We’ll be retaining custody of Casey Heinz, and we’ll determine whether to search further and with the proper legal authority.”
“Nothing more to search.” Gundley pointed to a cardboard box filled with evidence bags identical to the NYPD’s. “You’ll see they’re all properly marked. Chain of custody begins now. You’ll be particularly interested in this one here, I suspect.”
She noticed he plucked two bags from the box. He handed her one, holding the other against his suit jacket.
Inside the bag was a single key attached to a dangling silver unicorn. Gundley looked very pleased with himself as he extended the second bag. “Not entirely certain about these, but I’m pretty darn sure they don’t belong to
him.
”
The second bag contained a pair of black lace bikini panties, the tiny La Perla tag visible at the waistband. Ellie had seen a neatly folded stack of identical pairs inside Julia Whitmire’s dresser.
Ellie followed Gundley to the lobby. She wanted to make sure he and his hired help were out of here before she and Rogan decided what to do next.
Casey’s eyes moved directly to the evidence bags in her right hand. A glimpse of recognition crossed his face.
“Am I under arrest? Because I want to talk to a lawyer.”
A
s they unhooked Casey Heinz’s handcuffs to place him in the holding cell, Ellie heard a voice call out to them. “Detectives? Hello? Rogan? Hatcher?”
Ellie recognized the PAA who worked part-time at the reception desk. He had strawberry-blond hair and a gap in his teeth. The guys in the squad called him Doogie, and she had forgotten the kid’s real name too many months ago to ask now. For tonight, he was the lucky guy who got to deliver the news: “Your lieutenant said to see her ASAP.”
As if they needed another reminder of the mounting political and media pressure, they arrived at Tucker’s office to find that she’d already called in the riding ADA. Max rose when they entered, choosing to lean against Tucker’s office window as they took the two guest chairs. Max at least made eye contact with her, but the usual crooked smile was still absent.
Rogan brought them up to speed on the last few hours. As it turned out, Promises had a signed agreement with each client making clear that individual residents had no expectations of privacy. After convincing Ms. Ri to allow them to “double-check” what the private investigators had already done, Ellie got her to agree to a search. CSU was looking for physical evidence, but they had left with nothing other than the items Gundley’s team had inventoried. Casey had invoked, so an interrogation was a no-go. He was in a holding cell downstairs. Of most obvious relevance were the missing key to the Whitmire townhouse and a pair of Julia’s underwear.
“Casey could always say Gundley planted it,” Ellie said. “One look at that guy and I can tell he makes Mark Fuhrman look like the ACLU’s dream cop.”
“We’ve got no proof of that,” Tucker said. “I made a few calls. Gundley had a good reputation.”
“Are you seriously telling me that every detective who retires with a good reputation is beyond placing a thumb on the scale, especially if his access to Bill Whitmire’s wallet is at stake?”
“Except you saw that look on Casey’s face,” Rogan said. “He knew exactly what you were holding.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve got to make a decision, campers.” Ellie felt a moment of melancholy, knowing that Max had picked up the term from her. “If we cut Casey loose, he’ll disappear. If we charge him, we can’t mess around.”
They all knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to unfold. Sometimes they hit that sweet spot in an investigation—that moment when they knew it would happen. A piece of evidence falls into place that makes you sure there will be a prosecution and that you’ll be able to give the district attorney what he needs to make the case.
There was still so much they didn’t know about Julia Whitmire. Why had the wild child recently calmed down? Had she started seeing someone? If so, who, and why hadn’t she told Ramona? Because it was Casey? And why had she been threatening her best friend’s mother?
Gathering the answers to all those questions would take time. And time was something they no longer had. They could only hold Casey for twenty-four hours without a probable-cause hearing.
“There’s no way we can build this thing up to PC for murder in a day,” Rogan said.
Max drummed his fingertips on the wall behind him. “Here’s what we do. We’ve got the key to the Whitmire house, the panties, and the previous statement from Casey, making it sound like he barely knew Julia. We put all that together, and I can get a burglary charge past a judge: unauthorized use of the key, the taking of the underwear—we’ll be fine.”
Rogan was nodding in agreement. “That might at least keep the press off our backs.” Unlike murder, a burglary charge wouldn’t trigger a closer read of the blotter by reporters.
“But the kid’s got no ties,” Tucker said. “He makes bail in a couple of hours, and then he’s on the next bus to God-knows-where.”
Max was already prepared with a response. “In a closed courtroom, I’ll make sure the arraignment judge knows about the connection between the burglary charge and the Julia Whitmire investigation. If we’re lucky, we’ll get our no-bail hold and also keep news of the arrest quiet.”
“Not sure that’s so lucky,” Ellie said. “You get a no-bail hold, and we only have a few days to convene a grand jury for an indictment, right?”
“Six days or the defendant gets released.”
They would have six days to return a murder indictment. Once the case was indicted—
if
it was indicted—it would be scheduled for trial. They wouldn’t be able to backpedal. The DA’s office wasn’t in the habit of dismissing murder indictments.
They’d lost all control over the timing of the investigation.
S
he climbed into the backseat of Rogan’s two-door BMW, yielding the front to Max. Rogan’s offers of a ride home were part of their daily routine. So were her
no thank you
’s. Her apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from the precinct.
But today she had taken him up on the suggestion. She had also accepted Max’s offer to come over. They hadn’t been alone since the drama at the courthouse. The short car ride with Rogan would delay the conversation she knew was waiting for them.
It started the second they stepped into her elevator. “I’ve been thinking about that conversation we had today,” he said.
“Not right now, okay? Let’s see if Jess is home.” Max had wanted her to spend the night at his place, but she honestly had run out of clean laundry in the dresser drawer she kept there.
Part of her had hoped to find Jess in his favored position on the sofa, concocting dinner from open boxes of Special K, Apple Jacks, and peanut butter Cap’n Crunch, but she unlocked the door to find an empty, quiet apartment. She knew they couldn’t continue ignoring the land mine they had stumbled upon in their relationship. This time, she was the one who broached the subject as she kicked off her shoes and tossed them in the corner.
“I’m sorry if what I said today caught you off guard. I really did think you and I were on the same page when it came to children.”
“Why would you think that, Ellie? We’ve never talked about it.”
“But you know me, probably better than anyone ever has. You know my life and my work and, well, just the way I am. How in the world would I ever fit a kid in?”
“These are the things couples work out. People make it work.”
“That’s only if they want to. I don’t
want
that. I’ve never wanted it.”
“This is crazy, Ellie. You’re barely thirty years old. There’s plenty of time—”
“It’s not a matter of time. It’s a chip in my brain that’s missing, okay? I don’t melt when I smell a newborn. I don’t suddenly have a higher voice and a lisp when I talk to babies. I don’t hate them, but I also don’t need them. I know exactly who I am, and I’m not a mommy-person.”
“You know exactly who you are right now, and that’s one of the million things I love about you. But who you are changes over time. And if we’re together, maybe life would be different enough for kids to be in the picture.”
“No. Life isn’t going to be different. Not
my
life, at least.”
“I can’t believe you never thought to mention any of this.”
“It’s not like you ever asked. What was I supposed to do? Declare on our first date that my womb was strictly off limits?”
“That is so
you
, Ellie. Instead of having an honest discussion, you throw out some sarcastic one-liner.”
Things went downhill from there.
During her second round of crying in the bedroom, she caught sight of the digital readout of the alarm clock. They’d been at it for over an hour. They were no longer talking about the prospect of children. They weren’t even talking about who was to blame for never having revealed their preference on the subject. They were fighting about the fight they’d been having about the original fight.
They were both fading. She knew where this was going. This was turning into one of those horrible nights where they would keep talking at each other until their voices gave out. Nothing would be better. Nothing would get resolved. And they’d both be spent in the morning, stumbling to make it through the day without sleep.
They needed to stop. At least for tonight.
“Max, I can’t do this anymore.”
“That’s not fair, Ellie. You can’t just walk away because it gets rough.”
“I’m not walking away.”
“You just said you can’t do it anymore. You’ve done this before. You push me away. You say you’re not cut out for relationships. You try to sabotage your own happiness.”
She reached for his hand and held it in both of hers. “No, not like that. I just can’t fight anymore. Not tonight. I’m exhausted. I just want to go to sleep. And I want to go to sleep with you, okay?”
His eyes softened, but he wasn’t done talking yet. “I love you, Ellie, but I don’t know how to help you when you do this. You do it to me, but mostly you do it to yourself. You cling to this caricature of your own identity. You’re so tough. You’ve seen it all. Everything’s so cut-and-dry. And that attitude gets you into trouble. Not everything’s black-and-white.”
She loved Max. She trusted him. And she knew he had a point about her rush to judgment. But, inside, a part of her was screaming that he was wrong. That it was condescending to suggest she didn’t know something so basic about herself as whether or not she wanted to be a parent. And damn it if a part of her didn’t want to end it right then and there. But she didn’t want to lose him over a child neither one of them was ready to have right now. Maybe someday it would come to that, but not tonight.
She moved to kneel at the foot of the bed between his knees.
“I hate it when we fight,” she said, looking up at him. “I really am sorry this came up the way it did. I’ve missed having you with me.”
He bent down to kiss her, gently at first, but she returned the kiss more deeply. They had been apart for the last five nights. They both knew how to find temporary peace.
When they were finished, she lay naked on her back, the air cooling her damp skin. He turned on his side next to her and brushed her hair away from her face with his fingertips.
“It’s almost back to where it was,” he said, kissing her shoulder.
The night after their first date, a madman had chopped her hair off and nearly killed her after she had gone by herself into a serial killer’s house, willing to trade her own life for another’s. The episode had earned her a Police Combat Cross, but she knew why Max was mentioning it now.
That attitude gets you into trouble. Not everything’s black-and-white.
She rolled over to face him. “I really do love you, Max.”
He gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “We’re going to figure it out. As long as we don’t give up on each other, we’ll be okay.”
She smiled and kissed him again, then closed her eyes, needing to find sleep. But when she heard that first click in the back of his throat—a sign he was out for the night—she felt a tear slide down her cheek into the pillow.
She was so sure Max was different. He was supposed to be the one. But now he had become yet another man who had convinced himself that in exchange for his patience she would eventually change.
A
grinding sound pulled her upright. Had she even been asleep? Her hand automatically slapped at her nightstand, searching for the cell phone buzzing its way across the wood top.
She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hatcher.”
“Detective Hatcher, it’s Ramona Langston.”
She had to stop giving her cell phone number to witnesses. Beside her in bed, Max rolled toward her, draping one arm across her thighs.
“Hi, Ramona.”
The teenager sounded out of breath. “You’re wrong about Casey.”
Ellie looked at the nightstand. It was just past seven in the morning. Ellie was sick and tired of the Whitmires, but they did lose a daughter. The last thing she wanted to deal with now was the Langston family. Daddy George, the anal-retentive lawyer who had no idea how to handle the chaos that had just been thrown into their lives. Evasive Adrienne, who was obviously in denial about Julia’s connection to those vile comments on her blog. Now Baby Langston had robbed her of her last opportunity to get a few minutes’ sleep before she had to return to the real world.
She took a deep breath and kept her voice strong and steady. “The district attorney’s office will be the one to make the charging decisions—” She neglected to mention that the ADA who’d be making that decision was in bed beside her at the moment.
“You’ve been wrong about everything. You said Julia was the one who was posting that crap on my mom’s blog? Well, pull up the website. Look at the blog right now. Read the comments.”
Ellie wanted to hang up on the girl but instead walked into the living room, finding her laptop on the floor next to the sofa. She typed the website’s URL into the address bar of her Internet browser, then scrolled down to the most recent comments.
Ramona’s words were still spilling out through the phone. “I don’t think my mom’s seen it yet. She went running and left her stupid cell phone at home again. Whoever’s been doing this crap is still at it. That means Julia couldn’t have been the one. And neither could Casey. My mom is still being threatened. And whoever’s doing it knows who she is.”
Ellie stared at her computer screen.
“Blog by ‘Anonymous’? Yeah, right. I know who you are, Adrienne. Stop writing your drivel or die.”
According to the time stamp next to the post, the threat was typed that morning, only twenty minutes earlier.
“Are you there, Detective? You were wrong. And you’re wrong about Casey. I think whoever’s threatening my mom was the one who killed Julia. You have to do something. You have to help my mom.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Max was standing above her, also reading the screen. “Great. Even if we do decide Casey’s our killer, that post gives the defense attorney a convenient red herring. Any way you cut it, we’re going to have to figure out who’s been posting this stuff. It obviously isn’t Casey or Julia.”
She still felt in her gut that Julia Whitmire’s death was a suicide, but even she had to admit there was no easy explanation for the connection between Julia’s laptop and the threats on Adrienne’s website.
And then just like that, Ellie saw it.