Part 31 (1/2)
hardly registered in his mind. He'd been too stunned by the old scars and lines of demarcation where skinhad been grafted over tissue. She had taken a beating Thursday night, but she hadn't said anything about a s.e.x angle. She had surprised someone in the act of letting the horses loose. Wrong place, wrong time. Now he wondered if she'd come off lucky. Jill Morone had been in the wrong place at the wrong time too. Just two tents over.
”I don't know,” he said. ”What did the security people have to say?”
”Nothing. According to them, the place is virtually crime-free. The odd theft here and there. Nothing serious.”
”Nothing serious. They've got serious now. Estes said she didn't like the guard she ran into that night. I
spoke with him the next day. I didn't like him either. I meant to run a check on him, then-” ”Estes?” Weiss looked at him as if he was certain he had heard wrong. ”The vic,” Landry qualified. ”What's her first name?” ”What's it matter?” Landry said defensively. ”Not Elena Estes?” ”What if it is?”
Weiss turned his head, and his thick neck made a sound like heavy boots on crushed sh.e.l.l. ”She's a problem, that's what. Plenty of people would be happy if she was the one on that table in there,” he said, looking at the door to the autopsy suite.
”Are you one of them?” Landry asked.
”Hector Ramirez was a h.e.l.l of a guy. That b.i.t.c.h got his head blown off. I have a problem with that,” Weiss said, puffing up, his arms raising another inch from his sides. ”What's she doing in this? I heard she 'd gone off and crawled into a bottle.”
”I don't know anything about that,” Landry snapped. ”She's in the middle of this mess because she's helping somebody out.”
”Yeah? Her kind of help I don't need,” Weiss said. ”Does the lieutenant know she's in it?”
”Oh, for Christ's sake. What is this, Weiss? Kindergarten? Are you gonna tell on her?” Landry said sarcastically. ”She got the c.r.a.p beat out of her Thursday. Be happy about that and get your head where it belongs. We've got a dead girl here and one kidnapped.”
”Why are you defending her?” Weiss demanded. ”Are you f.u.c.king her or something?”
”I'm not defending her. I barely know her, and what I do know, I don't like,” Landry said. ”I'm doing my job. Are we picking and choosing vics now? Did I miss that briefing? Can I just go sit on my boat every G.o.ddam day until we get a vic I feel is worthy of my services? I've gotta say that's going to cut my hours by a lot. No more crack wh.o.r.es, no more white trash-”
”I don't like that she's involved in this,” Weiss declared.
”So? I don't like that I just watched a dead girl get carved up like a side of beef. If you don't like the job, go drive a cab,” Landry said, turning away and starting down the hall. ”If you don't think you can work this case, tell the boss and get the h.e.l.l out of the way for someone who can.”
His pager went off again. He swore, checked the display, then went back to the phone and dialed.
”Landry.”
He listened as he was told about an anonymous tip stating the exact location of evidence in the murder of Jill Morone. A kitchen cupboard in a town house occupied by Tomas Van Zandt.
”Make up your mind, Weiss,” he said as he hung up the phone. ”I've got to go see about a search warrant.”
I had no real way of knowing what happened to my 911 call. The operator had given me a hard time, clearly thinking I was trying to pull a hoax, and keeping me on the line so she could send a radio car to my location. I was as adamant as I could be that I knew Van Zandt had murdered ”my friend” Jill Morone at the equestrian center, that Detective Landry could find Van Zandt's b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt in the kitchen cupboard of the town house owned by Lorinda Carlton at the specific address on Sag Harbor Court. I described the s.h.i.+rt in as much detail as I could, then I hung up, wiped my prints off the phone, and went to sit on a bench outside the Chinese place. A deputy cruised by shortly after.
I hoped the message had gotten to Landry. But even if it had and he had decided to do something about it, a lot of time was going to pa.s.s before he made it to Van Zandt's.
A search warrant isn't something a detective can just run off his computer. He can't simply go to his boss and get one. He has to write an affidavit, substantiating the reasons for his request, specifying probable cause for the search, and specifying in detail what he intends to search for. If he wants to execute the search at night, he needs to make a convincing argument that there is imminent danger of evidence being destroyed or of another crime being committed, otherwise executing a search at night can be considered grounds for hara.s.sment charges. The affidavit has to go to a judge, who decides whether or not to issue the warrant.
It all takes time. And during that time the suspect might do anything-ditch evidence, bolt and run.
Had Van Zandt been in the car with the woman? I couldn't say. I knew the car was a dark color, but I hadn't taken the time to register make and model. It might have been the Mercedes Trey Hughes had given Van Zandt to use for the season, or not. I a.s.sumed the woman was Lorinda Carlton.
Whoever had seen me, if they had seen the s.h.i.+rt in my hands, I had to hope it would be a.s.sumed I had taken it with me.
I checked my watch and wondered if there were uniforms knocking on doors in the neighborhood around my car. If I nonchalantly showed up with the key to a BMW in my hand, would I be questioned? I walked to the Chevron station, used the bathroom and washed up, checked my watch again. More than an hour had pa.s.sed since my escape.
I took the long way back to Sag Harbor Court. There were no cops, no searchlights. Van Zandt's black Mercedes was sitting in the drive at Lorinda Carlton's unit.
He did not come running down the street to accost me. Things seemed as quiet on Sag Harbor Court as they had when I had arrived. I wondered if Carlton had called in the break-in after all, or if the siren I had heard had gone elsewhere. I wondered where in that time frame Van Zandt had shown up, and if he might have dissuaded her from calling because he didn't want a bunch of deputies in the house.
Unable to get answers to those questions, still twitching with the idea of being found out, I drove out of Sag Harbor Court and headed toward home with a detour through Binks Forest.
There were a couple of cars parked on the street on the Seabrights' block. Probably surveillance from the SO. The house was lit up.
I wanted to be inside, a.s.sessing the level of strain among the natives. I wanted to see Molly, to let her know she wasn't all alone. She had me on her side.
And I had just made the f.u.c.kup of the century, compromised my cover, and compromised evidence that might have linked Van Zandt to a murder.
Yeah. That would be a comfort to her. Me on her side.
Depressed and upset, I went home to regroup and wait for the worst to happen.
T his is an outrage!” Van Zandt ranted. ”Is this now a police state?”
”I don't think so,” Landry said, opening a cupboard door and peering in. ”If the police ran the state, I'm pretty sure I'd be making more money.”
”I can't believe anyone would think Tommy could do such a horrible thing!”
Lorinda Carlton had that look of someone who wished she had been a hippy once, but had probably gone to boarding school. She was forty-something with long dark hair in braids, and she wore a T-s.h.i.+rt with some kind of New Age bulls.h.i.+t saying on it. She would probably claim to be descended from Indian shamans or reincarnated from the ancient Egyptians.
She stood beside Van Zandt, trying to cling to him. He shrugged her off. Tommy. ”This is not even my home,” Van Zandt said. ”How can you come into Lorinda's house this way?” Weiss showed him the warrant again, tipping his head back so he could manage to look down his nose at a man half a foot taller than he was. ”Can you read English? It has her name and address right on it.” ”He lives here, right?” Landry said to the woman. ”He's my friend,” she said dramatically. ”Yeah. You might want to rethink that.” ”He's the kindest, most honest man I know.” Landry rolled his eyes. This one needed ”Victim” tattooed on her forehead. Her rotten little s.h.i.+t-a.s.s dog circled her feet, growling and barking. He was built like a little torpedo with hair and teeth. No questionhe'd bite if he got the chance. ”I don't know what you think you are going to find,” Van Zandt said.
Weiss looked under the sink. ”b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt. Torn, b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt.”
”Why would I have such a thing? And why would I keep it in a kitchen cupboard? It's ridiculous. Do you think I am stupid?”
Neither detective answered.
Landry reached up to move a stack of phone books off the refrigerator, and dust rained down in a thick cloud. The tip had specified the s.h.i.+rt was in a cupboard, but he had expanded the scope of the warrant to include the entire property, on the chance that Van Zandt had moved it. It was looking like he had.