CHAPTER 19
Callie parked in the shadow of a huge oak tree and looked up and down the street. She sent Sean a text to alert him before getting out of her SUV and trekking up the dark driveway where the minivan was parked.
The door slid open silently, but the interior light didn’t come on. Callie climbed inside. No heat. No radio. Only a soft snick as the automatic door eased shut.
“Damn, it’s an icebox in here.” Callie slid into the front passenger seat as Sean lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Brought you some coffee.” She set a cardboard cup in the console.
He muttered a thanks.
Callie glanced around, expecting to see the typical heap of discarded food wrappers. But the van was fairly tidy. She looked at Sean, who seemed to be in a foul mood. Not that she could blame him. He had seven hours left on his shift, whereas she was on her way home to a warm apartment.
“So, what’s the lay of the land?” She noted the for sale sign in the front yard beside the driveway where Sean was parked. “Is this house vacant, or are the people out of town?”
“Vacant.” Sean lowered the binoculars. “Mahoney’s house is across the street and to the right.”
“That’s a pretty big lot.”
“A full acre. There’s a long driveway leading up to it, gated at the top. That’s the only way in or out by car. The gate’s been closed since he got home around seven thirty.”
“You’ve been here since seven thirty?”
“I got here after nine. Ric was here before that. Wife pulled in at five, probably coming from tennis, based on what she was wearing. No one’s been in or out since seven thirty.”
Callie stared at the two-story brick house with black shutters. It looked expensive but not ostentatious. An autumn wreath decorated the front door, and spotlights illuminated two giant oak trees in the yard.
“I did some checking,” Sean said. “No dark red Ford or black Chevy pickup registered to the judge or his wife.”
“Of course. That would be too easy.”
“Yep.”
“You really think he’s our guy?” She looked at him.
“Don’t know, but I plan to find out.” Sean lifted the binoculars again. “How’d it go at Delphi?”
“I dropped off Samantha’s computer.”
“You give Alex Lovell a heads-up?”
“Yes, and she wasn’t happy that we don’t have either of the victims’ phones.”
“She’ll work around it.”
“Also, I confirmed the forensic artist for four thirty tomorrow. That’s what you told Kaitlyn Spence, right?”
Sean didn’t respond.
“Right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the problem?”
He rested the binocs on his lap and stared at the house. “Brooke thinks we should skip the artist.”
“Why?”
“She thinks the kid’s traumatized by the murder he probably witnessed and then yesterday’s shooting. She’s worried about him.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Honestly? No.” Sean looked at Callie, but she couldn’t read his expression in the dimness. “I met him at the hospital. He seems like a tough kid. I think he can handle it. It might even be good for him, like talking to a shrink. Could be cathartic.”
“Wow. That’s very evolved.”
“What?”
“Every cop I know hates shrinks and avoids them like a root canal.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you can’t.”
She looked him over, remembering the department-mandated psych visits he’d had to go through following the shooting several months ago. Sean seemed to remember, too, and shifted in his seat to stretch out his leg. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Your leg bothering you?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to give me that crap, Sean. I won’t tell anyone.”
He sighed heavily. “It hurts like a bitch. All this sitting makes it stiffen up.”
“You could tell Reynolds you’re not up for surveillance right now.”
“No.” Sean picked up the coffee and took a sip. “This wasn’t his idea in the first place. Ric and I had to talk him into it.”
She turned in her seat to face him. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, hey, thanks for consulting me on this. I’ve got an eight-hour shift tomorrow. So does Jasper. So does Christine.”
Sean shook his head. “Sucks to be you.”
“You know, just because you don’t mind wasting your time in some minivan doesn’t mean everyone else wants to.”
“It’s not a matter of want. We’ve got a viable suspect in the killing of two women. I’ll be damned if we’re letting him out of our sight.”
Callie turned to stare at the house. She knew Sean was right, but she really, really wasn’t looking forward to her shift tomorrow.
“A little surveillance work won’t kill you.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re a guy. The whole world is your urinal. Try sitting in a car for eight hours without a bathroom break.”
He smiled but didn’t look at her.
“And how long are we planning to do this? This thing could drag on for days. Or weeks.”
“It could. But I’m counting on Alex to come through. If there’s a digital connection anywhere between the judge and these victims, she’ll sniff it out. She’s diligent.”
“Speaking of diligent.” Callie dug into her bag. “I brought you a little reading to keep you awake out here.” She handed him a manila file folder. “Samantha’s case file. Jasmine’s is in there, too—separate binder clip.”
He set the binoculars aside and opened the folder. “Farrah give you any trouble?”
“Surprisingly, no. I think she felt guilty. Like maybe if she’d cooperated sooner, we could have cracked this thing before something happened to Jasmine.”
Sean wasn’t listening. He’d taken out a red tactical flashlight and was already examining the papers.
“These are copies?” He looked at Callie.
“Farrah wouldn’t part with the originals. I made copies of my own to take home tonight.” She huffed out a breath. “The joys of single life. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do than go home to my cat and my Netflix.”
“You know, you don’t have to do it this way.”
She looked at him. “What way?”
“You don’t have to be married to the job. You should keep some balance in your life.”
“Sounds a little hypocritical coming from a man who traded his girlfriend’s warm bed for stakeout duty.”
Sean adjusted his leg again, then leaned back to look at the house. “She’s not my girlfriend. Yet.”
Callie smiled. “Listen to that can-do attitude of yours. I like that. It’s a good predictor of future success.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. If you don’t like the single life, how come you never go out with anyone?”
She bristled, even though she knew he was just trying to needle her. “Maybe no one’s asked me. You ever thought of that?”
“That’s an excuse.”
“How would you know?”
“You’re an assertive woman. If there’s someone you want to go out with, why don’t you ask him?”
“Maybe I will.”
She thought of Travis Cullen with his beautiful forearms. They were tan and muscular, and she liked the way they’d looked folded over his big chest as he’d stood in his lab talking to her. And his voice . . . That low, masculine voice had been on her mind all day.
“You’ve got someone on your radar. Who is he?”
“No one.”
“So, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”
“Whatever.” She didn’t want to get sucked into this conversation, mainly because Sean had a point.
“Listen to your own advice. If there’s something you want, go for it. If you’ve got your eye on some guy, ask him out. Don’t be such a wuss.”
“You’re right.” She sighed and turned to look at him. “Sean . . .” She rested her hand on his leg. “Will you go out with me?”
His jaw dropped. He glanced down at her hand. “I . . . um—”
“Kidding!” She burst out laughing. “Oh, my God, your face! That was priceless.”
He scowled at her, and she laughed so hard she felt tears coming.
“That was awesome.” She dabbed her eyes. “I needed that.”
“Hey, glad I could entertain you.”
She patted his knee. “On that note, I’m out. Enjoy your sleepless night.” She opened the door and a gust of cold air rushed in. “I hope you’ve got thoughts of Brooke to keep you warm.”
• • •
Brooke arrived at the lab before dawn, already alert and caffeinated. With no one around to distract her, she got straight to work on the cart full of evidence envelopes, powering through seven separate cases without even breaking for coffee.
The highlight of her morning was envelope three, a difficult lift on the curved lip of a beer bottle. Experimenting with casting silicone again—clear this time—she was able to lift two good fingerprints from the ridged surface. Because the material was transparent instead of white, Brooke didn’t need to reverse the print with digital photography. She was able to make a comparison right away with a suspect’s fingerprint card. She got a match, too—which was going to make the detective on the case very happy.
Brooke was back in the zone.
When lunchtime rolled around, she was immersed in her music, humming softly as she typed some notes on her laptop. She turned and peered into her microscope, adjusting the lens to bring dozens of spherical-shaped particles into focus.
“I knew it,” she murmured, typing her observations.
A shadow fell over her and she got an overwhelming whiff of campfire. She turned to see Roland standing behind her in filthy gray coveralls.
“You reek.” She plucked out her earbuds.
“Three-alarm fire up in Williamson County.” He took a swig of Gatorade.
“Any fatalities?”
“Negative.” He eyed her suspiciously and nodded at the evidence envelopes lined up on her worktable. “Don’t tell me you’ve done all those.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“No shit. Really?”
Brooke smiled as she entered a final observation before closing out of her document. Eight cases down. She’d hit her goal.
“What’s this you’re working on? You look smug.”
“I am. I just found a detective his smoking gun.”
“Which case?”
“The home invasion from Kerrville. Residue from the shoe print on the door matches the suspect’s boot. Here, take a look.” She stepped back to let him see, and he was so tall that he had to hunch to get eye level with her viewfinder.
“What is this?”
“Particles of polyurethane mixed with sawdust. I’d bet money this guy’s in construction. He’s got this stuff all over his boots, and it’s a perfect match with the material recovered from the victim’s door.”
“Damn. Nice work.” Roland eased back and looked at her. “You’re killing it today. What time’d you get here?”
“Five thirty.”
His gaze narrowed.
“What?”
“What are you up to, Brooke?”
“Nothing.” She switched off her microscope and removed the slide from the stage. She dropped it into an evidence envelope and resealed it, then scrawled her initials on the label with the date and time.
“Brooke?”
She turned to Roland.
“Seriously, what’s up? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve done two days’ worth of work in one morning.”
She slid off her stool and gathered up all the envelopes she’d processed. “I’m taking the afternoon off.” She replaced the packages on the cart to be returned to the evidence room.
“Why?”
“There’s something I need to look into. And trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to hear about it.”
“A secret mission? Now you definitely have to tell me.” He leaned back against the counter and waited.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Brookie . . .”
“Whatie?”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the floater from yesterday, would it?”
She wondered what exactly he knew about it. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing much. Just that the same team that’s investigating the Samantha Bonner murder is also investigating the woman they found near the dam yesterday morning.” Roland swigged the rest of his drink and lobbed the bottle into a trash can. “Let’s see, that would be Callie McLean, Ric Santos, and your new boyfriend. What’s his name again?”
Brooke didn’t comment as she shut down her computer.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re involved with him.”
She rolled her eyes.
“So, what’s he got you doing for him, rushing evidence? Running samples for free?”
“None of the above. This has nothing to do with him.”
“Except that it’s related to his case, right?”
She sighed. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Roland grinned. “This is better. Tell me about your mission this afternoon.”
“It wouldn’t interest you.”
“Why not?”
She crossed her arms. “Because it’s completely outside my job description, and I know how much you hate that. It’s also ethically questionable.”
“Sounds right up my alley.”
“And as an added bonus, it has the potential to screw up my personal life as well as my job.”
Roland smiled. “This could be interesting.”
“It could also be a disaster, and I don’t need an accomplice, so you’re off the hook.” She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay?”
“No way. Whatever you’re up to, I’m in.”
• • •
Sean sidestepped puddles as he walked through the alley that smelled of piss and garbage.
“Yo, Sean.”
He turned around to see Jasper approaching him. He wore street clothes instead of his typical uniform, but Sean noted the pistol bulge under his plaid shirt.
“Thought you worked the night shift,” Jasper said as he caught up to him.
“I did. I’m just checking in with Ric. Are you taking over for him?”
“Yeah, at two o’clock.”
They walked together down the alley toward the minivan where Ric was set up.
“What’s with the tie?” Jasper asked.
“I’ve got a deposition.”
“Bummer.”
Bummer was right. Sean was in a severely shitty mood right now, and only part of it was due to lack of sleep.
Today’s deposition was for the case in which Sean had taken a bullet and fucked up his leg, one of the worst days of his life. Rehashing it all with a bunch of attorneys was the dead last thing Sean wanted to do right now.
What he wanted was to fall into bed. Preferably with Brooke. He wanted to have mind-blowing sex with her and then sleep for about a week.
Would it be a violation of their “casual” relationship if he showed up at her house for the third night in a row? He sure as hell hoped not, because he needed to see her. Soon. He was feeling desperate, and the hours he’d spent in that freezing minivan thinking about her had only made it worse.
When they reached the minivan, Jasper rapped on the panel. The door slid open, and they climbed inside.
“How’s it going?” Jasper asked as he squeezed his bulk into the front passenger seat.
“It’s going,” Ric mumbled, staring through the binoculars. He lowered them to his lap and turned to look at Jasper, then Sean.
“What’s with the tie?”
“I’ve got a deposition. Where’s Mahoney?”
“Still having lunch at Cajun Jay’s. He’s been there almost two hours with a couple buddies. Callie’s got eyes on him inside the restaurant.”
“Man, a two-hour lunch? Must be nice,” Jasper said.
“Yeah, he wrapped a big trial this morning, so I think he’s in celebration mode.”
Sean gritted his teeth. He couldn’t wait to take this guy down.
“Who’s he having lunch with?” Sean asked Ric.
“Tom Moore and Dave Garver.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Who’s that?” Jasper asked.
“Moore is another judge,” Sean told him. “Garver is a sheriff’s deputy.”
“Retired sheriff’s deputy,” Ric corrected.
“Total dirtbag,” Sean said. “We caught him up in an undercover operation—what was it, four years back?”
“Five,” Ric said. “We did this sting op at a motel off the interstate, busted a prostitution ring. Lot of the girls were minors, one as young as fourteen.”
“Garver’s car was in the parking lot,” Sean said.
“He claimed he was there meeting a girlfriend, not a hooker, and we could never make anything stick,” Ric said. “But I always suspected he was there for one of the kids.”
“A few months later he took early retirement,” Sean said. “I’m pretty sure his brass knew what he was up to.”
“What, like, he had a track record?” Jasper asked.
“Probably something like that. Whole thing smelled bad from the beginning.” Ric looked at Sean. “Kind of like this.”
Sean stared across the town square at the restaurant where Eric Mahoney was probably eating crawfish and sucking down beers. And meanwhile Jasmine Jones was laid out cold in some funeral home by now. Sean didn’t have a clear picture of the judge’s connection to the most recent victim—or to Samantha Bonner—but he had some ideas.
“Check it out,” Jasper said. “He’s on the move.”
Sean leaned forward in his seat so he could see through the windshield. Mahoney stood in front of the restaurant now, slapping his buddy Garver on the back. Moore stood beside Mahoney, handed him a cigar, then offered him a light.
After shooting the shit for a few minutes, the trio split up, with Garver heading north toward some parking meters and the two judges heading south toward the courthouse.
Ric’s phone beeped and he dug it from his pocket.
“Callie’s on her way. She slipped out the back.”
Sean watched with disgust as Mahoney and Moore continued down the sidewalk, puffing their cigars. Moore was short and stocky, but Mahoney was tall and in pretty decent shape for a fifty-year-old. Once upon a time he’d played football for UT El Paso, and he still carried himself like a jock.
“Be nice to have that cigar,” Jasper said. “Think I should follow him?”
“No,” Ric said.
“Why not? Maybe he’ll toss it before he goes inside.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t use DNA for a warrant this time.” Ric looked at Sean. “Any word from the cybercrimes unit at Delphi?”
“Alex is still working it.”
A sharp tap, and then Callie opened the door. “Hey, look. Everyone’s here.” She squeezed past Sean and slipped into a seat. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a deposition this afternoon.”
“I’m getting an update.” Sean checked his watch.
“Man, that was a long lunch.” Callie rubbed her stomach. “I ate that whole damn po’boy and dessert. I think I might throw up.”
“Hey, take it outside,” Jasper said. “I’m in this van for the next eight hours.”
“What’s the word on Mahoney’s lunch bunch?” Callie asked Ric.
“Nothing new on either of them. I ran their records.”
She leaned forward. “You know about Garver, right? About the rumor he got caught in a prostitution sting a couple years back?”
“He was never charged,” Ric said.
“Yeah, but still.”
“We’ll look into it. Do you think any of them saw you in there?”
“I had a corner booth in the back. None of them noticed me.” She looked at Sean. “Neither did Brooke.”
Sean got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?”
“She was in there, too. Showed up right after the judge.”
“There she is now,” Ric said.
Sean grabbed the binoculars to see for himself. And there was Brooke exiting the restaurant wearing a baseball cap, shades, and an oversize brown jacket. She glanced around before heading north down the sidewalk. Then she stopped at a meter and hopped into a black Toyota 4Runner. Some guy was behind the wheel, but Sean didn’t have a good view of him.
“What the hell is she doing?” Sean looked at Callie.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell us.”