Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) (14 page)

Chapter Thirty

“Fuck, fuck,
fuck
,” Christopher Rauh said as he stomped around his office.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Rick Hamada said. “But there is definitely enough to go to a grand jury. Especially now that we have the ballistics report on the bullet that was found during Carrie Blair’s autopsy.”

Robb and Santoro were smart enough to say nothing. They had already laid out their case and it was up to their superiors to decide what they wanted to do with it.

“Arrest Blair for murder and there is going to be a shit storm,” Rauh said.

“Which I am going to have to weather,” Hamada reminded him. “I’ll be prosecuting, which means I’ll be hit with the fallout if Blair walks.”

“So you’re okay with going for a murder indictment?” Rauh asked.

“We have a body, a motive, strong forensic evidence, and the murder weapon. Yeah, I’m good to go,” Hamada answered.

Rauh looked down at his desk. Then he looked at Santoro and Robb.

“You did good work. I’m proud of you. You didn’t let me stop you from going after Blair.”

“Thanks,” Santoro said. Robb didn’t say anything. She was still pissed off at Rauh.

“Okay. You two work with Rick to get the case in shape for the grand jury. If we get an indictment, you get to make the collar.”

The meeting broke up and Hamada followed the two detectives into the hall.

“I second what Chris said,” Hamada told them. “Let’s meet tomorrow morning and work up this sucker.”

Robb smiled but Santoro didn’t. Stephanie had pushed to go to Rauh and Hamada as soon as they received the ballistics report. On paper, the case looked solid. But Santoro wondered if the case wasn’t too solid. He hadn’t voiced his doubts because Robb’s arguments for going after Horace Blair were based on solid evidence, and his doubts were based on a queasy feeling.

Stephanie had a meeting with an assistant commonwealth attorney, so she walked with Hamada to the prosecutor’s office. Santoro went to the jail and asked the officer who was manning the reception desk for the visitors’ log for the time Barry Lester was incarcerated. Arthur Jefferson had visited several times. Most of those visits had been in the past few days, which was not surprising. Lester’s only other visitor was a woman named Tiffany Starr. That sounded like the type of phony name a stripper or hooker would use, which meant that Miss Starr probably had a rap sheet.

When he returned to his office, Santoro ran Starr’s name and discovered that she was on parole for a narcotics offense. Parole and Probation was on the floor below the Homicide Bureau. Half an hour later, Santoro returned to his office with a copy of Tiffany Starr’s pre-sentence report. Reading a tale of another wasted life was depressing.

Tiffany’s given name was Sharon Ross and she was the daughter of Devon and Miranda Ross. The Rosses were well off, and Sharon had gone to private schools, where her grades were mediocre. Her first brush with the law came as a juvenile, when she ran away from home. Shoplifting charges soon followed. The pre-sentence writer suspected that Sharon was using cocaine as early as the eighth grade and was stealing to finance her habit.

In her sophomore year of high school, Sharon spent two months at a fancy clinic, but rehab didn’t take and she was readmitted in her junior year. She dropped out of school at the beginning of her senior year and married Fredrick Krantz, an auto mechanic who was also a drummer in a rock band that played in one of the clubs Sharon frequented. They ran away to Oregon, where the marriage unraveled. Sharon returned to Virginia, where she faked a résumé and got a job as a bookkeeper. She was fired soon after for embezzling money.

Sharon received probation with a requirement that she go into rehab for her drug problem. When she violated the conditions of her probation, the judge sent her to prison in hopes that tough love would work where all else had failed. In prison, Sharon developed a heroin habit. After leaving prison, Krantz adopted the name Tiffany Starr and began dancing at various strip clubs. That is where she met Barry Lester.

Santoro was about to put the pre-sentence report away but he hesitated. He had the feeling that something he’d read was important though he didn’t know what it was. He started rereading the report from the beginning, and it didn’t take him long to see what he’d almost missed. Sharon Ross’s father was Devon Ross, and Kyle Ross was Sharon’s brother. On the Monday that Carrie Blair disappeared, everyone had been talking about
Commonwealth v. Kyle Ross
. Santoro tried to remember why. He recalled that there was something about evidence that had gone missing. Then Carrie disappeared and the case was quickly forgotten.

Santoro called the Narcotics Unit and learned that Mary Maguire was the prosecutor who had tried the Ross case. Maguire’s secretary told the detective that Maguire was handling a pretrial matter on the second floor of the courthouse.

Santoro walked over to the courtroom where Maguire was working and sat in the rear. When court was over, Maguire stuffed her paperwork in her attaché and Santoro intercepted her outside the courtroom.

“Judge Stiles can be a real hard-ass. I thought you handled him nicely.”

“Who are you?” Maguire asked, not bothering to hide her impatience.

Santoro showed her his ID. “I’m a detective over in Homicide.”

“Homicide? How can I help you?”

“I wanted to ask you about a case you tried,
Commonwealth v. Ross
.”

Maguire flushed angrily. “Thanks for ruining my day.”

“Pardon?”

“I was hoping never to hear about
Commonwealth v. Ross
ever again.”

“Why is that?”

“I had the single most embarrassing moment I’ve ever experienced trying that case.”

“What happened?”

Maguire told Santoro about the cocaine that was mysteriously transformed into fizzing baking soda.

“And Charles Benedict was the lawyer?”

“I’m certain he switched the cocaine, and Carrie was convinced she knew how.”

“Carrie Blair?”

“She was my supervisor. The judge had her come down so she could decide whether to dismiss. She was furious. She told me not to blame myself because she knew what happened.”

“And what was that?”

“She never told me.”

“But she suspected Benedict?”

“I can’t remember if she came right out and said it, but I’m sure she was convinced that Benedict engineered the switch.”

“Has anyone followed up on the investigation?”

“No. Carrie was going to do it. Then . . . well, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you want to know about the Ross case?”

“It came up in something I’m working on.”

“Something involving Benedict?”

“I can’t answer that right now, sorry.”

“I get it, but I wish the worst for that bastard.”

Santoro had discussed
Ross
with Maguire as he walked her to her office. The important additional information he’d gotten from the young prosecutor was that Carrie Blair seemed angrier at Benedict than Maguire would have expected. On the way back to his office, Santoro wondered whether Blair and Benedict had a history. He also wondered if Benedict, whose specialty was drug cases, had ever represented Kyle Ross’s sister.

When he got to his desk, Santoro looked up the court records for Sharon Ross’s cases. Charles Benedict was listed as the attorney of record in her last two brushes with the law.

Santoro let his mind wander. It seemed far-fetched, but Santoro was nagged by the idea that Charles Benedict might have something to do with Carrie’s murder. He wondered if Carrie had come in contact with the attorney after court on the day she disappeared.

Santoro swiveled toward his desk and searched his file for the log of the information found on Carrie Blair’s office and home computers and Carrie’s phone records. He didn’t find any calls or e-mails from Carrie to Benedict, but he did note that Carrie had run an Internet search on a private investigator named Dana Cutler a few days before she’d disappeared. Why was Blair interested in a private investigator?

Shortly before Carrie conducted the Internet search for information about Cutler, she had called the Department of Motor Vehicles. Then she called a lawyer named Alice Forte and a number in Seattle, Washington. When Santoro dialed the Seattle number he was connected to an answering machine for the Queen Anne Players. Now Santoro was thoroughly confused.

Chapter Thirty-One

Dana meant to get in touch with the detectives in charge of the Blair case but she had been on the go, constantly building a defense for the football player who had been accused of beating his girlfriend. The evening after Carrie Blair’s body was unearthed, Dana staggered home at ten thirty and collapsed on the couch to watch TV while she ate chicken lo mein out of a take-out carton. The lead story on the news killed her appetite.

On the screen, Horace Blair was being perp-walked to a police car by a stocky woman in a brown suit. A voiceover informed Dana that Carrie Blair’s body had been found in the Blue Ridge Mountains and that her husband, Horace Blair, had been accused of her murder. Before she could think too much about Blair’s arrest, her cell phone rang.

“Cutler,” she answered.

“I hope I’m not calling too late,” a vaguely familiar voice said.

“Who is this?”

“Marty Draper.” There was a pause. “Rene Marchand.”

“Oh, hi, Marty. What’s up?”

“I was watching CNN and they had a story about the Blairs.”

“He’s been arrested for his wife’s murder.”

“I know. They showed her picture and it made me remember something. Did you know that Carrie was an actress?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“There was one time when she came to the gallery without Horace. I was getting ready to close and go to a restaurant down the street from the gallery. I asked her if she wanted to join me. She seemed grateful for the company.

“Anyway, we both had a little more wine than we should have and we got to talking about our childhoods. Mine was a little rocky, but hers was bad.”

“Oh?”

“She told me that she never dreamed of being a lawyer when she was young. Her exact words were, ‘I was too busy trying to survive.’ ”

“What did she mean?”

“Her mother was an alcoholic. She abandoned Carrie when she was eleven. That was after her father died of a heart attack while he was serving a prison sentence for auto theft. Carrie said that Children’s Services shuffled her around through a series of foster homes. She didn’t go into detail, but I got the impression that she was sexually and physically abused. That’s where the acting came in.

“Carrie said she ran away when she turned sixteen. She ended up in Hollywood, planning to become a movie star. She said she made money any way she could, but she didn’t go into detail.

“You only saw Carrie in her disguise, but she was really beautiful. She told me that she was cast in minor roles in a few low-budget films. I think one was a vampire flick, and there was another one about a giant alligator at a summer camp for teens. But she caught on pretty quickly that the directors who offered her the roles didn’t do it because she was a talented actress. When she finally came to grips with the fact that she was not going to be the next big thing, she married another bit player for security, but her husband was abusive and the marriage didn’t last very long.”

“How did she get to be a lawyer?”

“It’s a great story. After getting divorced, Carrie worked low-paying jobs and barely got by. One day it dawned on her that
education
could be a way out of her situation. She got a GED, graduated from a community college, and ended up at Berkeley, where she graduated summa cum laude with a degree in history. That got her into Georgetown Law School, which is how she ended up on the East Coast.

“Anyway, the reason I called you was to tell you about the
acting
.”

“Did you tell her about the Queen Anne Players?” Dana asked.

“I definitely mentioned it.”

“Then that’s the link.”

“Carrie would know how to fake a French accent,” Draper said, “and how to disguise herself as this Margo Laurent woman.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next morning, Santoro had to be at the courthouse at nine to testify in a motion to suppress. He was at the office of the prosecutor who was handling the hearing forty-five minutes before court was to start. They went over the evidence and walked up to the courtroom together. Santoro had his cell phone turned off while he was testifying. When he left the stand, he walked into the hall outside the courtroom and checked for missed calls. Stephanie had phoned him twice.

“Where are you?” Robb asked as soon as Santoro called her.

“I was in court on the Danny Fong case. I told you.”

“You did. I forgot. Can you meet me at Horace Blair’s estate? I’m on my way.”

“What are we going to do there?”

“I have an idea and I want to see if it pans out.”

Robb was parked on the side of the road next to the gate to the Blair estate. Santoro parked behind her. Sitting beside Robb was Wilda Parks, a feisty woman in her early sixties who had been working in the crime lab since well before Santoro joined the force. Santoro walked over to Robb’s car. She rolled down the window.

“Why are we here?” Santoro asked.

“Wilda found Horace Blair’s prints on the key from the grave.”

“So?”

Parks was holding three plastic evidence bags in her lap. Robb pointed to one bag which held a single key.

“That’s the key we found in the grave,” she said.

She pointed to another bag which held a key ring with several keys.

“That’s the key ring we found in the purse that was buried with Carrie Blair.

“And these,” she said, pointing to the third bag, “are the keys we took from Horace Blair when he was booked into the jail.”

Santoro looked confused. “What are you going to do with these keys?”

“There is a key on Carrie Blair’s key ring that looks exactly like the key we found in the grave. What if they both open a specific door in the Blair house but none of Horace’s keys open that door?”

“You think Blair dropped the key in the grave by accident?” Santoro asked.

“It’s possible. If he buried Carrie at night he might not have noticed.”

Santoro pointed to a key on Horace Blair’s key ring. “That key looks exactly like the key we found in the grave.”

Robb shrugged. “I could be wrong. If I am, we wasted a trip out here. Hop in and let’s see what happens.”

Robb pressed the button on an intercom attached to the wall next to the gate. Moments later, Walter Paget, Blair’s houseman, answered. Robb identified herself and asked to be admitted to the estate.

“I can’t let you in without Mr. Blair’s permission.”

“Actually, we don’t need his permission, Walter. I have a search warrant that authorizes me to enter the grounds. If you don’t open this gate right now, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice, your choice.”

The houseman was silent. Robb waited patiently. Moments later, the gate opened and Robb drove up the driveway to the front door. Walter was waiting for them.

“Thanks for letting us in,” Robb said as she showed him the search warrant.

“How can I help you?” Walter asked in a tone that could only be described as frosty.

“We want to see if a few keys fit any of the doors in the house,” Robb answered.

“What doors?”

“We’re not certain but we might as well start with the front door,” she said. “Can you close it and lock it for us, please?”

Paget hesitated for a moment before stepping inside and closing the door. Robb took the key that had been found in the grave out of the evidence bag and Parks began filming the proceedings.

Robb held up the key. “I am Lee County detective Stephanie Robb and I’m standing at the front door of Horace Blair’s house. This is a key that was found in the grave where Carrie Blair’s body was discovered. The crime lab found prints matched to Horace Blair on this key. I am going to insert it in the front door of Horace Blair’s home.”

Robb bent down and inserted the key in the front door lock while continuing to describe what she was doing for the camera. She twisted the key and opened the front door. Parks caught the expression of surprise on the detective’s face. Obviously Robb never thought it would be this easy.

Robb put the key back and removed the keys found in Carrie Blair’s purse. She selected the key that looked identical to the key found in the grave and identified it for the camera. Then she put it in the lock and opened the front door. Finally, Robb took out the keys on Horace Blair’s key ring and tried the key that looked like the key found in the grave. It looked newer than the key from the grave and the key found in Carrie Blair’s purse. Santoro frowned as Robb tried the key. It did not open the front door. Robb tried every other key on the chain. None of them opened the front door.

Robb told Parks to stop filming. Then she smiled. “We got him. Blair fucked up.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Santoro agreed, but he didn’t sound completely convinced. Robb was too excited to notice.