Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5) Page 21

  I’d also called Judge Halloran again to see if he’d talk to me, but he didn’t answer and didn’t return my message. The surveillance man in his neighborhood reported that Halloran was staying put. I worried what might happen overnight.

  It was after ten when I came into the house. I felt as if I’d been gone for days. Harry was working in our office. I went in and put my arms around his shoulders.

  “Hey, babe,” I said and kissed him on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”

  “I always do.”

  He turned his head and kissed me on the lips. “You look tired.”

  I stepped back. “You’re the second person to tell me that today.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “You didn’t. But it’s been a hectic few days, and I don’t know how much longer this investigation will go on.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  I pointed at his laptop. “You’ve had a long day, too.”

  He nodded. “It’s just the usual stuff.”

  I couldn’t tell if some of his distance was still there. I was tired, and my relationship radar wasn’t working. I studied him.

  “Harry, I want to talk, okay? I want to make sure you don’t ever feel like my job is more important than you.”

  He stared at me, then stood up. “Sarah, this is a conversation for another time.”

  He took my hand, and we went into the bedroom. We undressed, got under the covers, and he put his arm around me. I wanted to stay awake, to talk, to make love to him, but I was exhausted. And a poor lover at that moment.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The killer stood in the dark, gripped a gun, and watched Halloran’s house. The night was cold and quiet, the hum from the nearby highway muted at this late hour. The other houses in the neighborhood were dark, but from Halloran’s, a single light glowed in a back window. The judge was up: thinking, brooding. Worrying. At least that’s what the killer hoped.

  And the judge should worry. His time had come. He would pay for what he had done, and then there would be only one left. The killer smiled and looked around. The neighborhood had been scoped out the day before, in anticipation of this moment. Right now, there was an unmarked police car down the street, watching Halloran’s house. Why they didn’t think to watch the back of the house, the killer didn’t know. A sigh. It would only make the satisfaction of the killing better, knowing it occurred right under the nose of the police.

  The killer thought for a second. If the police came, the killer didn’t care, had never planned to live through this. The killer hadn’t honestly believed it would get this far before the police stopped it. But they hadn’t, and the killer would finish.

  The killer continued to watch the house. The light in the window finally winked out. Nothing stirred. The killer waited a while longer, then sneaked up through a neighboring yard, over a fence, and into Halloran’s back yard. Still quiet, no sudden movements of an undercover cop, nothing. The killer crouched down and went to the back door, then pulled out a knife. It was easy to break in to a back door, but it wasn’t even necessary. The door was unlocked, almost as if Halloran knew someone was coming.

  The killer grinned. Even better.

  The killer took a deep breath, carefully turned the knob, and opened the door. The house was quiet as the killer stepped inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Early the next morning, I conducted a meeting with everyone working the McCleary and Nakamura murders. I gave an update on the previous day’s events, and then turned to Hernandez, who’d driven in for the meeting.

  “Any surprises from Nakamura’s autopsy?”

  He looked through reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he consulted a small notepad. “Nothing surprising, the gunshot wound to the head was the cause of death. There was no gunshot residue on his hands, and the coroner determined he was murdered. Nakamura had no drugs or alcohol in his system when he was shot.”

  “So, nothing helpful,” Ernie said. Hernandez frowned his agreement.

  “I got a report from Tara Dahl early this morning,” I said. “There was nothing on McCleary’s work laptop to indicate he’d been in touch with Nakamura or Halloran, or that he’d done anything illegal or suspicious. There were no emails between any of them.”

  “That matches what I have on Nakamura’s laptop,” Hernandez said. “Doesn’t look like Nakamura had contacted McCleary or Halloran. And no contact from Olivia Hartnell or Victor Marko.”

  “The closest we had to evidence that McCleary and Nakamura had phoned each other was records of calls between their offices,” Spats added.

  I tipped my head at Chad Lattimore. “What about Zack Newberry’s alibi?”

  “It’s good,” he said. “I talked to his girlfriend. Excuse me – ex-girlfriend. They indeed had broken up. And a guy who runs the campground confirmed Newberry had a booking there, and he confirmed seeing Newberry, too. I think he’s clean.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Any sign of Damien Edison? The defendant from Crawford’s trial?”

  “Nope,” Ernie said. “I’ve got a detective looking for him.”

  “Keep me posted,” I said. “And let’s keep digging.”

  Detectives dispersed, and Ernie, Spats, and I were poring over notes from the Bradley trial when Rizzo came out of his office. He sucked in a breath and held it as he gathered himself. I looked at him, and immediately knew what he was going to say.

  “Judge Halloran is dead.” He shook his head in disgust and frustration. “He was shot with a 9-millimeter sometime during the night.”

  Ernie swore. “That’s the same type of gun that killed Nakamura.”

  “Wasn’t there surveillance on the house?” Spats asked.

  Rizzo frowned. “Yes, and the killer sneaked through a back yard from another street to get to Halloran’s house. And Halloran made it easy: the back door was unlocked.”

  I thought of the judge, of his mood of resignation when Ernie and I had spoken to him. “Are we surprised? He practically said he knew he was going to die. I don’t think he forgot to lock it. I suspect he left it open.”

  Rizzo nodded. “Well, if that’s the case, it worked out just as he figured, I guess. Sarah, I told the Golden detective at Halloran’s house – Dean Williams –that you’d be over there soon to take a look at the crime scene.”

  “Right,” I said and glanced at Spats and Ernie.

  “Flip you for it,” Ernie said. Spats shook his head. “No, you go. I’m going to keep working on the Bradley trial.” He tapped a legal pad on his desk. “I feel like I’m close to something.”

  Ernie looked at me and gave me his “roll ’em” gesture. “Let’s go.”

  Two squad cars and a couple of dark sedans were parked in front of Halloran’s house when Ernie and I arrived. As we walked up to his front door, two men came out pushing a gurney with a body covered with a sheet. We stepped aside and let them pass, then put on booties and latex gloves. An officer at the door logged us in. The living room was empty, and we heard voices down the hall so we followed that to Halloran’s office. Standing in the center of the room was a man in khakis, a light blue shirt, and a blue coat. He turned when we entered.

  “You must be Spillman and …” He raised his eyebrows at Ernie.

  “Ernie Moore.” They shook hands, and Ernie looked around. “What do you have?”

  Williams was a burly young man with short brown hair, a sharp nose, and a square jaw. He pointed with a pen at Halloran’s desk. A pool of blood had congealed on the surface, and a faint metallic smell wafted to me. The smell of death is hard to describe, but it was definitely in the air. I stared at the blood, then turned away, and for a moment, a sense of utter hopelessness washed over me. Why, Halloran, why? I finally found my voice.

  “Fill us in.”

  Williams tapped a notepad with his pen. “Halloran called his eldest daughter last night and apparently had a conversation that she felt was a little strange. Acco
rding to her, it was almost like he was telling her goodbye. She asked if he was okay, and he insisted that he was and that he was going to bed. So she left him alone last night, but this morning she woke up worried and came over here. She has a key to the house and she let herself in, then of course, found this.” He pointed at the desk. “Halloran was shot in the back of the head. There doesn’t appear to be any sign of a struggle, and no forced entry. The back door was unlocked.”

  Ernie and I nodded. “Yeah, we heard that,” Ernie said.

  “The daughter freaked out and went outside,” Williams went on. “She called the police and they rushed over.” He looked around the room. “I already talked to her, and she didn’t have any idea who did this or why. Another detective went with her back to her house, and they talked more there. She didn’t have anything else to tell us, except that her dad had seemed a little quieter the last few days. That’s according to Halloran’s wife, who told the daughter that.”

  “Time of death?” Ernie asked.

  Williams shrugged. “Hard to tell too much right now, but he’d probably been dead for several hours.”

  I moved over to the desk. “Did the neighbors hear anything?”

  “Not that we could find.” He joined me near the desk. “He was slumped over. The killer stood behind him and pulled the trigger. An execution.” He pointed to some spatter on the wall. “A bullet was in there. 9-millimeter. I’ve already got a detective taking it to the lab for forensic analysis.”

  “I’ll bet it matches the same gun that killed Nakamura,” I said dryly.

  Williams looked at me. “Yeah, my commander gave me the lowdown on your cases. It wouldn’t surprise me if the same weapon was used in Nakamura’s death.” Now he tapped his teeth with the pencil. “Can you flesh out your investigation so far? The details.”

  I went over everything about McCleary and Nakamura – I was getting really good at that – as a tech dusted the window sill for prints. When I finished, I pointed at the desk. “Have you searched that yet?”

  Williams shook his head. “Not yet. I went through the closet, didn’t find anything but some office supplies and some old files, and I was waiting on the ME to remove the body.”

  “In the old files, did you happen to find one for Scott Bradley?” Ernie asked.

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  I moved to the desk. “Mind if I check? Halloran denied receiving any threatening notes, but since the other two judges did …”

  “You think he got one,” Williams finished.

  I nodded.

  We went to the desk, and I carefully opened and searched each drawer. Finally, in the bottom drawer, underneath some papers, we found a plain envelope. I glanced at Williams and Ernie, then took it out and opened it. Inside was a note that read, “Your judgment is coming.”

  “There you go,” Williams said.

  Ernie’s eyes tightened. “I’ll bet we don’t find any prints on it except Halloran’s, and maybe his wife’s.”

  “Let’s see if there are any other notes,” I said. I continued to search, and Ernie went back to the closet for a second go-round. After a few minutes, we locked eyes.

  “Nothing,” Ernie pronounced.

  I looked at Williams. “Could you check with your department to see if the judge reported receiving the note? I’ll bet he didn’t, but let’s make sure.”

  “Sure,” Williams said.

  “Are you getting Halloran’s phone records?” I went on.

  Williams nodded. “Yes, I’ve got a detective working on a warrant now.”

  “We want to see those as soon as you have them,” Ernie said. “We didn’t see Halloran’s number on McCleary or Nakamura’s phone recs, but maybe we missed something.”

  “Halloran said Nakamura came over to talk to him,” I said. “We’ll need to cross-reference all three of their records, to see whether they were phoning someone in common. We haven’t found that, but the running theory is that the same person killed all three.”

  Williams scratched his forehead and nodded thoughtfully. “I could see that.”

  “What about Halloran’s wife?” I asked. “The judge told us yesterday that she was going out of town for a few days. Any luck tracking her down?”

  Williams grimaced. “No. Even the daughter doesn’t know where she is. We’re trying to get credit card records to see where the wife went, if she checked into a hotel.”

  “So she doesn’t know yet?” Ernie swore softly. “Man, what a thing to hear.”

  “I’ll want to talk to the daughter,” I said. “And we should compare notes on your investigation with what we found with Nakamura and McCleary.”

  Williams took a deep breath, sensing the workload to come. “Yeah, okay.”

  Ernie jerked his head at me. “Let’s take a look around the rest of the place.”

  “Yes.”

  I followed him out of the room, and we walked through the house. We didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, nothing that seemed a clue to a killer. Another dead end. We finished back in Halloran’s office. Williams was on the phone, and when he ended the call, he used the pen as a pointer again.

  “Halloran didn’t report the threatening note,” he said.

  “I’m not surprised.” Ernie sighed. “The judge wasn’t telling anybody anything.”

  I nodded sadly. “And he paid the price.”

  “Why don’t I go talk to Halloran’s daughter?” Ernie suggested. He looked at Williams, who gave him her address and phone number.

  “I’m not doing any good here,” I said. “I’ll head back to the station.”

  “I’ll let you know what we find out once we get the CSI team out of here,” Williams said. “Well, I’ll keep you posted about everything.”

  I thanked him and followed Ernie out the door.

  After leaving Williams, I drove back to the station. When I got to my desk, I rubbed my temples and collected my thoughts. I was now coordinating three murder investigations, and I needed to get all the information gathered together. It was a big job.

  Spats walked into the room with sandwiches from a café near the station. “I figured you might be hungry.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I gratefully unwrapped a roast beef sandwich and took a bite. “That’s good.”

  “Uh-huh.” He removed his suit coat and hung it on a coatrack hanger – never just a hook. Then he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves and smoothed them down, and tucked his tie between shirt buttons without wrinkling it. Then he sat down at his desk, unfolded a napkin onto his lap, and only then did he begin to eat his ham and rye. I smiled at his ritual. After a few bites, he wiped his hands on a napkin and held up a file. “I’ve been going over the Bradley trial. Nothing new to report.”

  “Any luck finding him?”

  Spats shook his head. “I talked to his parole officer again, who told me about a friend of Bradley’s. The guy lives in Littleton, and I phoned him. He doesn’t know where Bradley is, says he hasn’t talked to Bradley in several weeks.”

  I stifled a yawn. “Do you believe him?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I do. I pressed him really hard, and he said that he drove Bradley to a few of his parole meetings, heard him talk about moving ahead with his life. Bradley was quiet overall, and he didn’t say anything about his time in prison. I asked him if he knew whether Bradley was working, and the friend didn’t know.”

  “And the parole officer?”

  He snorted. “Once Bradley went AWOL, he reported it, and he hasn’t heard a word from Bradley since. There’s not a lot he can do about it, other than that.”

  I frowned. “So Bradley just completely disappeared?”

  “I know it’s frustrating, but yeah, it looks that way.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  I shook my head, then focused on my laptop. At noon, I got a call from Williams.

  “I finally got Halloran’s phone records.”

  “And?”

  “There’
s a phone call to his daughter last night. He made the usual calls to his wife and kids. I don’t see where he called McCleary or Nakamura, but there are a few in the last week that I thought you might want to know about. He called Jones Limited.”

  “Who – or what – is that?”

  “Yeah, I wondered the same thing, so I did a little research. It’s a ‘family office,’ which I’d never heard of, and had to look it up. These firms provide all sorts of financial management services for extremely wealthy clients, ‘ultra-high-net-worth-families,’ as they’re referred to in the biz.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “And why would Judge Halloran be calling a place like that? Was he secretly wealthy?”

  “I don’t think so. I called Jones Limited, but I wasn’t able to get much information over the phone.”

  I stared across the room. “I think it’s time to pay Jones Limited a visit.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jones Limited was located in a downtown high-rise not too far from the station. Williams had done a little research on Jones for me. The company employed two lawyers, three accountants, and some other assistants. I’d called ahead and made an appointment with Ryan Jones, a lawyer and one of the principals of the firm, so he was expecting us. Spats and I parked in a lot near 1999 Broadway, a uniquely designed building that frames the historic Holy Ghost Church, while leaving the church fully intact and functioning. We took the elevator to the tenth floor and walked around a corner to the offices of Jones Limited. When we entered, a woman at a circular reception area near the door looked up and smiled.