Violent Crimes (18 page)

“What happened to your face?” Billie asked as soon as she and Hotchkiss were seated in Mark Hamilton's law office.

“I was in a car accident,” Hamilton said.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“It looks worse than it is.”

“Weird accident, huh?” Hotchkiss said.

“What do you mean?” the lawyer asked nervously.

Hotchkiss shrugged. “The injuries are odd, is all. I mean I can see breaking your nose and cutting your cheek, but how did the tip of your ear get cut off?”

“I . . . I blacked out. I don't have any memory about how it happened so I don't know how I lost part of my ear.”

“You reported the accident, right?” Hotchkiss asked. “You have to do that for the insurance.”

“Not yet but I'm going to. So, why are you here? I'm pretty busy and I'd appreciate it if you got to the point.”

“Yeah, the point,” Hotchkiss said. “I don't think you got those
injuries in a car accident. I think someone beat you up to make sure you didn't talk to us about (A) your plan to get Global Mining as a client by cooking your law firm's books, (B) the plot to murder Christine Larson when she threatened to go to Global, and (C) the plot to frame Tom Beatty for the killing.”

Billie was thrilled to see the color drain from Mark Hamilton's face.

“This meeting is over,” the lawyer said.

“There are two ways you can play this, Mark,” Hotchkiss said. “You can stonewall us. Do that and we'll get subpoenas for your books and you'll have forensic accountants crawling up your ass for months. When they figure out the scam, there will be grand jury appearances, indictments, and years of attorneys' fees.

“In scenario number two, you cooperate with our investigation. We're pretty certain we know the identity of the man who helped you kill Christine Larson. You can save yourself by helping us nail him.”

“I'm not saying another word. Now get out.”

Billie stood up to go. “I think you should talk to a really good criminal lawyer before you decide how to play this, because you are in way over your head and we're the only people who can throw you a life preserver.”

The detectives didn't say another word until they were alone in the elevator.

“How do you think that went?” Billie asked.

“He's scared to death.”

“I agree, and I think this case will turn on whether he's more scared of us or the person who carved him up.”

Kate Ross had majored in computer science at Cal Tech and had been recruited into the Computer Crimes Unit of the Portland Police Bureau right out of college because she was a gifted hacker. She had transferred to Drugs and Vice when she got bored with sitting in an office all day and began to crave more action. The last assignment Kate Ross was given before she left the Portland Police Bureau was to pick up an enforcer for a major drug dealer who was going to testify against his boss in exchange for witness protection. The enforcer insisted on turning himself in at a shopping mall. Kate had warned the DA that it was too dangerous to take custody in the mall, but the DA refused to listen. The dealer sent an assassin to murder the witness and there was a shoot-out. Kate killed the assassin, but there were casualties and the powers-that-be decided that Kate would be the scapegoat.

Even though Kate left the force under a cloud, she still had friends, like Billie Brewster, who knew the truth about what the press had termed “the Holiday Massacre.” Kate had called a
friend who had been with the bureau far longer than anyone else she knew and got the name of the detective in Internal Affairs who had investigated Reginald Kiner.

Neil Denton was living in an assisted living facility in Clackamas County. Denton's caregiver had placed his wheelchair in a sunny corner of a spacious lounge next to a picture window that looked out on a rolling river. A stroke had left the retired detective partially paralyzed, but the doctor she'd spoken to at the facility had assured her that Denton's mind was still razor-sharp.

“Thanks for seeing me, Detective,” Kate said as she sat in a comfortable chair across from Denton.

“Thanks for providing me with a little excitement. When they told me you wanted to talk to me about an old case, it made my day. I usually spend my time watching television or playing checkers.”

“Jack Nunez sends his regards. He wanted me to tell you that he still expects you to pay him the ten bucks you owe him and he plans to come out soon to collect.”

Denton laughed. “Did he tell you why he thinks I owe him the money?”

Kate smiled. “No, he said it wasn't something fit for the ears of a member of my delicate sex.”

Denton laughed again. “He's got that right. So, why are you visiting an old crippled retiree?”

“When you did a stint in Internal Affairs, you investigated a detective in Drugs and Vice named Reginald Kiner.”

Denton stopped smiling.

“If you're willing to talk about his case, I'd like to know everything I can about him.”

“Why?”

“Have you read about the murders of two of the partners at the Masterson, Hamilton law firm?”

“I thought Masterson's son confessed to killing his father and a crazy veteran murdered the woman.”

“Amanda Jaffe is representing both defendants. I'm her investigator. We think both of our clients are innocent, and we have reason to believe that Kiner is involved in the murders.”

“What makes you think that?” Denton asked.

Kate explained that there were certain aspects of the case she couldn't talk about. Then she filled in the retired detective on the links between RENCO, Masterson, Hamilton, and the murders of Dale Masterson and Christine Larson. After Kate finished, Denton stared out at the river. A motorboat was cruising by and a man in a shell was straining against the current. Kate let Denton think.

After a while, Denton turned his eyes back to Kate. “Kiner is scum, someone who should never have been allowed to become a cop. I could never prove it, but I'm sure he was paid by a Mexican cartel to kill a dealer who was going to cut a deal with the DA and I'm pretty certain he made a key witness in another case disappear, and those were just the most serious of his felonies.”

“Why wasn't he prosecuted?”

“Funny things happened with the evidence and the witnesses.”

“Funny how?”

“They kept disappearing. For instance, there were disparities in the money defendants claimed Kiner confiscated in raids and the money logged into the evidence room. When we started to look at the situation, the evidence and the logs disappeared. Then there was the witness I was going to talk to who OD'd.”

Denton shrugged. “It was like a magic act. He was always one step ahead of us. We never figured out the trick by the time he quit and went to RENCO Oil. I tried to make a case for a while after he left. I would have loved to find enough for an indictment, but I never got there.”

“Did you ever have a theory about how he was able to avoid prosecution?”

Denton nodded. “I'm certain he had help, someone who was working with him. He had to, because we had him under surveillance on a few occasions when he wormed out of trouble.”

“So you have no idea who was working with him?”

“I had ideas but never any proof, and if you're thinking of asking me for names, don't. I'm not going to ruin someone's career when all I've got is gossip.”

“But you had more than gossip when it came to Kiner?”

“Kiner was dirty. I knew it in my heart. I just couldn't prove it.”

There was a crisis in Nigeria. Some members of Kiner's security force had gotten into a fight in a bar in Lagos and there had been civilian casualties. The press was calling with questions Kiner had no intention of answering, and his bosses were bombarding him with questions he couldn't answer yet.

Kiner's secure cell rang.

“We have a problem,” the voice on the other end said.

“I'm in the middle of something at work. Can this wait?”

“No. We need to meet right away. There's an abandoned construction site by the waterfront. No surveillance cameras and no night watchman. We met there when we talked about that problem.”

“Okay. I'll be there at eight, but it will have to be quick. I'm in the middle of something and I'll probably have to be in my office all night.”

Kiner parked his car near a high-rise several blocks from the construction site. This area had been an industrial wasteland un
til developers got a hold of it. Suddenly condominiums started sprouting like mushrooms, until the boom busted. Kiner's destination was a wide-open field that was supposed to have been an apartment complex but had stalled at the concept.

Kiner walked by one apartment building before the streetlights became scarce and the area gave way to shadow. He was upset about the meet because he needed to be at the office near his phone, but there was no way he could refuse. Kiner was almost at the lot when he heard a car approaching. His hand went to the gun in the holster on his belt and he made a half turn. The car slowed, and Kiner tensed. Then he relaxed when he recognized the driver. The car stopped even with Kiner. He took a step toward the car and leaned down until he was flush with the window.

“What's so important?” he asked when the window lowered.

The driver smiled reassuringly just before he shot Kiner between the eyes.

Billie Brewster swore silently as she did a knee bend to get closer to the corpse. It was two in the morning, but the lights the lab techs had set up illuminated Reggie Kiner's body and the blood-encrusted hole in his head.

“You know what's bothering me?” Billie asked Alan Hotchkiss.

“No, but I'm guessing you're going to tell me.”

“What's bothering me is that the head of security for RENCO Oil is lying on a sidewalk with a bullet in his head in the middle of nowhere. Look around you. There's not a store, a bar, or a residence for blocks. And where is his car?”

“Obviously, Kiner was meeting someone and they didn't want to be seen so they chose this empty lot,” Hotchkiss said.

“You know what I find interesting?” Billie said. “A few weeks ago I'd never heard of Reginald Kiner. Then his name started to pop up all over the place. RENCO is a client of Masterson, Hamilton. Then there are the two guys in the trunk. They worked security for RENCO and at least one of them bled in Tom Beatty's house. And there are the bodies in the park who are linked to Dale Masterson and Tom Beatty through the pokeweed berries. They also provided security services for RENCO. And Greg Nowicki tells me Kiner knew Carol White. So we have connections between Kiner and Tom Beatty, Dale Masterson, and Christine Larson, and it looks like we've got our killer. But now we're back to square one.”

“He still may be our killer,” Hotchkiss said. “The new question is who killed him?”

“When I learned who the victim was I spoke with some people at RENCO,” Billie told her partner. “There was a shooting in Lagos, Nigeria, involving members of RENCO's security force. From what they told me, this is a real hot potato. No one knows why Kiner would leave his office in the middle of a high-profile crisis but he must have believed the meeting was very important.”

“It seems to me that we have two possible killers,” Hotchkiss said. “Tom Beatty would want revenge if Kiner and the partners at Masterson, Hamilton killed Christine Larson and framed him for the murder.”

“Who is killer number two?” Billie asked.

“Mark Hamilton. He knows he's a suspect, so he would have every reason to get rid of a witness who could link him to multiple murders.”

An hour later, Brewster and Hotchkiss parked next to the front door of Mark Hamilton's house. It was pitch-black in the countryside, but lights illuminated the grounds around Hamilton's mansion. An armed man had checked the detectives' ID at the bottom of the driveway and radioed ahead to the bodyguard, who was now waiting for them at the door. He was thickset and broad-shouldered, and he carried an automatic weapon.

“Mr. Hamilton says he doesn't want to talk to you,” the man said.

Hotchkiss stared into the bodyguard's eyes. “We don't give a fuck what Mark Hamilton wants. Go inside and tell your boss that Reggie Kiner was murdered tonight, and he'll talk to us now or in an interrogation room downtown.”

The bodyguard turned pale. “Mr. Kiner is dead?”

“Yeah,” Billie answered. “Someone shot him right between the eyes.”

The man thought for a moment. Then he made a decision.

“Wait here. I'll tell Mr. Hamilton.”

“Before you go,” Billie said, “were you with Mr. Hamilton all day?”

“No. We're here at night. Then we drive him to work and pick him up when he's ready to go home.”

“When did you pick him up tonight?”

“He worked late. We got him at nine thirty.”

As soon as the man disappeared, Hotchkiss turned to his partner. “The people at RENCO say that Kiner left their headquarters at seven forty.”

“We need to check the surveillance cameras at Masterson, Hamilton and talk with anyone who was in the office tonight.”

Ten minutes later, the bodyguard returned.

“He'll see you. I'll take you in.”

Hamilton was waiting in the den, and he looked worse than he had a few hours ago when they'd talked to him in his office. He had thrown on a warm-up suit. Salt-and-pepper stubble covered his cheeks, and his eyes, red-rimmed and still dull from sleep, wouldn't meet the detectives'.

“Did your security guard tell you why we're here?”

“Yeah, but I don't know what it has to do with me.”

“Where were you tonight between seven thirty and nine thirty?”

“I don't want to talk to you two,” Hamilton said. There was a tremor when he spoke.

“That's your right, Mr. Hamilton,” Billie said, “but it's going to go really bad for you if you can't prove where you were during those two hours.”

“I want to talk to a lawyer. You told me to do that.”

“We did, but you can take your name off our list of suspects in Mr. Kiner's death if you can prove your whereabouts during those two hours.”

“Lawyer,” Hamilton repeated stubbornly.

“While you're lawyering up, Mark, we're going to do a little detecting, just like Sherlock Holmes,” Hotchkiss said. “We're going to look at tapes from security cameras and talk to witnesses, and if you killed Reginald Kiner we'll get you, and your lawyer will get on TV when he escorts you past the cameras while we perp-walk your ass into a police car.”

“I think Hamilton's in this up to his eyeballs,” Hotchkiss said, “but with Masterson and Kiner dead there's no one left to implicate him.”

“I just thought of another person who might be involved,” Billie said.

“Who is that?”

“Veronica Masterson would have a motive to have her husband killed. She's going to be a very rich woman when Dale Masterson's will is probated. I've done some checking: There's a prenup but it only cut her out of the estate if there was a divorce. And there's scuttlebutt that she was having an affair with Mark Hamilton.”

“Interesting, but there's no way she beat hubby to death,” Hotchkiss said.

“No, but what if Mark and Veronica decide that Dale has to go. Then Larson is beaten to death, Beatty is framed, and he takes
off. So they get the bright idea of getting Kiner to have someone create a copycat murder so they can blame Beatty for committing a revenge killing.”

“Then Hamilton kills Kiner to get rid of the only person who knows he and Veronica were behind Dale's murder,” Hotchkiss said.

“Or Veronica kills Kiner,” Billie said.

“Now that is an interesting thought,” Hotchkiss said.