Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (3 page)

A
fter
lunch, Lucier dropped Diana at her house and returned to the district to gather his team. “Willy, the tattoo must be gang-related, but I don’t recognize the chain and padlock, do you?”

“No, but I’ll check with Mendez. If a new gang’s on the streets, he’ll know.”

“Good. Run the victim’s stats. Diana said her first impression was Hispanic, but he might be multiracial or Middle-Eastern. Leave the ethnicity open.”

“The community will keep silent if he’s illegal, or even if he’s legal.”

“Do the best you can. Concentrate on the eye color and the tattoo. Those set him apart.”

“I’m on it,” Cash said.

“Check out Moran’s friends, Sam. His lovers too. Mickey, canvass Moran’s neighborhood. Did anyone hear or see something that night or notice a regular visitor or familiar car? Diana and I will visit Kitty’s Kabaret tonight. Someone there might know if Moran had a special person in his life.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll update the captain.”

“On our way,” Beecher said, answering for both of them.

Lucier knocked on Captain Jack Craven’s door. “Got a minute, Captain?”

“Come in, Ernie,” Craven said. “I was going to call you.”

“I wanted to fill you in on the Moran shooting.”

“Good. Superintendent Zamora stressed he wanted you on lead.”

“He did?”

“Said you were the best man for the job. Have a seat.”

Lucier hid his pleasure at the compliment while he explained the status of the investigation to his boss.

“Zamora said to keep Moran’s involvement with the NOPD out of the case file. We’d recently asked him to investigate a leak in the department. Not exactly illegal, but Zamora wouldn’t want to defend the action in court. We don’t need Moran’s work for us to catch the interest of the media. Zamora said if he finds out who the leaker is, he’d better have a nest egg, because he’ll be out of a job. Jake Griffin gets the news first, but he swears he doesn’t know who’s feeding him the stories.”

“I don’t believe him for a minute. He gives newsmen a bad name. Diana’s been his target from day one.”

“Too bad that psycho after your girlfriend last year didn’t knock him off, but if you mention I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Craven slammed his fist on his desk.

The leaks were getting to him, Lucier thought.

“I understand Moran was in Ms. Racine’s employ for a few years,” Craven said when he calmed.

Though it shouldn’t have, Craven’s disclosure about Moran’s employment surprised Lucier. How extensively had the captain checked Diana’s former business?
“
He
was, for five years. Jason Connors took over the position after Moran decided to settle down here.”

“Yes, I know.”

Of course. What else does he know?

Craven guffawed. “You should see the look on your face. Come on, Ernie. I know Ms. Racine is on the level, but I’ve also seen her act. Oh, she was clever in the way she zeroed in on an audience participant. She knew exactly who to choose. Maybe it’s the suspicious nature of a cop, I don’t know, but I saw through the acting. Could be you were too blinded by her charisma to notice.”

“You’re probably right. By the time I saw her act for the first time, I was smitten.”

“If I thought she used her subjects’ information to cheat them in any way, I would have hauled her in, but she never did. Nor did she humiliate anyone.”

“No, they seemed to enjoy her exposing their deep, dark secrets.”

“Audience participants were free to refuse her reading,” Craven said. “Once they gave their consent, they became entertainment and fair game. I followed up on some of her local subjects. No one ever had a break-in or theft, so she wasn’t setting them up.”

“She didn’t need Moran or Connors,” Lucier said. “She did it because of ―”

“Her father,” Craven interrupted. “Slick little man, putting his young daughter through all that. Whatever she did, I’m sure it was out of self-preservation.”

“How did you get a list of her audience participants?”

“Old man Racine got them to sign a release after the show to use their names in promos. The kind of thing where a person says no one else knew what Diana Racine mentioned in her reading. Your girlfriend covered all her bases, but the charge of fraud followed her, no matter what the promos said.”

“She survived.”

“So, did she have one of her … visions?”

The way Craven said the word sounded condescending, but Lucier wasn’t about to call him out. Instead, he recounted the morning’s events. “We’re checking on the neighbors, gangs, and everything else we can think of. I plan to take Diana to Kitty’s Kabaret tonight. She might touch someone and have one of her, you know, visions.”

“Sorry if that sounded patronizing, but I still find it weird that she can do that.”

“Took me awhile too.

“Hell, if I were guilty of anything, I’d never touch her. No one with a secret wants to touch her. You’re about the only person I know who doesn’t have a dark corner in your life. Who else could make love to her?”

Lucier didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was stunned to find the captain thought about Diana that way. Did everyone?
Had Craven forgotten when my wife and kids were killed?
How dark did life have to be?

The shock on his face must have been obvious because Craven let out a long sigh and said, “Damn. Sorry again, Ernie. That was insensitive. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Do people talk like that behind my back?”

“No, and that’s the truth. That bunch of hooey was all mine. I need to learn to filter my thoughts before I speak.”

“She doesn’t get visions every time she touches someone. She once said she’d go bonkers if that happened. She has to concentrate, find a conduit, an article of clothing or something personal that connects to the other person. In her private readings she takes the sitter’s hands, but that person is more open because she wants the reading. A person can purposely pass a thought to her, like what happened last year. She’s rarely wrong.”

“If I remember correctly,” Craven said, “she was wrong about the last case you two worked on.”

“Only partly wrong.” Lucier didn’t know where to go with this conversation other than, “You okayed her involvement in this murder, Captain. Do you want her off the case now?”

“Did you see the picture of you two going into Moran’s house in the online newspaper? Smartphones will be either the best thing that ever happened to law enforcement or the worst.” He turned his computer monitor so Lucier could see.

A smiling Diana acknowledged the crowd with Lucier standing at her side like a clueless bodyguard. “Jeez. The crowd recognized her. What was she supposed to do, stiff them?”

“No, but wherever she goes, nothing’s secret.”

“If she gives a crowd the cold shoulder, the papers will rip her apart. Snotty bitch psychic, they’d say. If she waves and smiles, she’s after publicity. For what, I don’t know. She doesn’t perform anymore. Damned if she does; damned if she doesn’t.”

“Just try to keep a low profile, okay?”

“I hate to say this, but that’s hard when Diana’s around. Maybe the CSU will come up with something, but till now, she’s given us the only lead we have.”

“I know, I know. She’s a paparazzi magnet. Every time a member of the Fourth Estate draws a bead on her, they assume there’s a murder.” Craven scratched his jaw. “That’s been the case, though, hasn’t it?”

Lucier shrugged. What could he say?

“Do your best and keep me informed. Oh, and have fun at Kitty’s Kabaret tonight. Watch out for those reporters.”

“First I’ll visit the tech department and talk to Rudy Hodge. See if he could salvage anything from Moran’s computer that might shed light on his murder.”

Craven twisted his mouth in contemplation. “Good idea.”

Lucier strode toward the door, turned back. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“No, I’d better not tell you. It was something Diana said the first time she shook hands with you.” He waved off. “Forget I said anything.” He slipped out the door.

“Wait, Lieutenant. Come back here.” Unmistakable panic shaded Craven’s voice.

Lucier kept walking, silently laughing. Now he understood what Diana meant when she said everyone has secrets.
Hmm, wonder what Captain Craven is keeping to himself
. Finally, Lucier was far enough away from his boss’s office to laugh out loud.

R
udy
Hodge sat in front of two computer screens in his own cubicle, down the row from two other techs. His expertise targeted wiretapping, surveillance, and computers. Most of his cases involved harvesting digital evidence for use in court. He’d been in the department the longest, and the boss said he considered him the best.

Extracting anything from a smashed hard drive proved difficult but doable in some cases. In this particular case, Hodge didn’t want to extract anything from the component sitting in front of him. He wanted to make sure not even an experienced FBI forensic computer tech could recover data, though this murder wouldn’t warrant any more technical scrutiny than what he’d do. That entailed degaussing to erase anything remaining on Moran’s computer. His email was another matter entirely.

Hodge predicted trouble when Chenault told him what happened. There were only two reasons for Moran to send the photo to himself. One, he planned to send it to the authorities after Chenault left; or two, he blind-copied the email to someone else because he feared for his life and wanted to make sure someone would look into his death. The latter would lead back to Chenault and Alba.

Getting his hands on Moran’s phone still wouldn’t solve the problem. With Moran’s skills, his email would have ironclad protection. Even if Hodge hacked into the dead man’s account, he couldn’t stop whoever Moran sent the photo to from opening his email.

Hodge expected a detective to follow up on the smashed hard drive, but he didn’t expect Lieutenant Lucier. He remembered seeing Lucier and his girlfriend all over the media going into Moran’s house. The psychic gave him the willies.

After they exchanged greetings, Lucier pointed and said, “That Moran’s hard drive?”

“Yup. Normally, I’d work on a clone, but that’s not possible this time.”

“Could you recover anything?”

“Nada. The hard drive’s completely destroyed. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“Damn,” Lucier said. “When was the last time you worked with Moran?”

“About a week ago. The department only called him in when there was something either out of our expertise or something outside department parameters. I’m not a hacker ― not that Keys was, mind you ― but he had specialties I don’t.”

“The last time he was here, did he work on anything that might have caused someone to take his life?”

“Moran sat in another office. A closed one. His work came from the higher-ups, and he was as tight-lipped as they come. I’m sorry someone killed him, but I don’t know anything about his murder.”

“What about friends? Lovers?”

“You’re kidding, right? Do you think I’d actually question him about his personal life? I knew he was gay, but what someone does in private is none of my business.”

“Just thought I’d check. Thanks for your time.”

“Not a problem.”

Lucier patted him on the shoulder and left. Hodge heard him talk to the other two techs before he left. They knew less than Hodge.

Much less
.

He pulled a phone from his satchel, punched one number. Chenault answered on the first ring. “Lucier was here.”

“Lucier?”

“Yeah. I just finished degaussing the smashed hard drive when he came in.”

“Jesus. Of all people. He’s like a hound dog on a blood scent. Did you find anything on the hard drive?”

“If there was, it’s not there now. I’m turning it over to property.”

“One problem down.”

“You mean the forwarded email?”

Dead air lasted an uncomfortably long time. “Yeah.”

“I need Moran’s phone and yours too. Now. If by some miracle I can crack his email, I’ll know if he forwarded it to anyone. If he did, and I can hack that person’s email, I can delete it. Nothing I can do if it’s been opened.”

“That’s a lot of ifs.”

“Yup.”

“Which means whoever got the email will see it was forwarded from my phone and who sent it to me.”

“That is correct. Now quit yakking and bring the phones to my apartment. I’ll say I’m sick. I can’t work on them here.”

After breaking the connection, Hodge checked the hard drive into property, played sick with his boss, and drove home. Chenault was waiting when he got there with the two phones in a paper bag.

Hodge took the bag. “You deleted the photo off your phone, right?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Did you delete it off your computer?”

“No, but I ―”

“The email might still open if you haven’t refreshed. So make sure you do it.”

“Okay, okay, but no one sees my email but me.”

“Do it.” Hodge took the two phones out of the paper bag. “Alba’s a loose cannon. What the hell was he thinking, sending that photo to your main phone?”

“He wasn’t thinking.”

“Have you told the boss?”

“No, and don’t you. You’re the only one who knows where I was when this happened. I want to keep it that way. Moran’s death has nothing to do with me, understand? I’ll talk to Alba.”

“If he forwarded the photograph from your phone, it has everything to do with you. The email puts you at Moran’s house the night he was killed.”

Chenault ran his fingers through his hair. “If my sex life is outed, I’ll say I dropped the phone when I took Moran home. We had a drink, and I left. Then you guys can alibi me for later.”

“Alba’s gotta go. Lucier puts the screws to him, and he’ll fold like an accordion.”

“I said I’ll take care of Alba, but I don’t like killing one of our own, even if he is dumbshit stupid.”

“He’ll send us all to death row. Do what has to be done. We’ll cover for you.”

“Shit.”

“And, Denny, tell the boss. Better to be up front than do something behind his back.”

Chenault sighed. “Okay, but Lucier will be all over this one.”

“It’s either Alba or all of us.”

“Find out who Moran sent that picture to.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t stop whoever received the email from opening it. I’ll be over to your place after your shift to delete the photo permanently from your computer. Be home. Now I’ve got work to do. Track down Alba and arrange a meeting, then call me. I’ll help you get rid of the body.”

Chenault exhaled a long breath. “Okay,” he said and took off.

With both Alba and Chenault’s names as senders, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest, even without a body. Goddamn Alba. Goddamn Chenault.

Hodge pulled out his burner phone.