Judgement Calls Read online

  "He doesn't. I haven't told him."

  She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.

  "Look, I realize that I might've had more pull with Griffith if I

  hadn't been fooling around with Chuck." I paused. "To be honest,

  Grace, I don't know what to think. I mean, I seriously doubt that

  Chuck coerced a confession out of Margaret Landry, but what if he did?

  That cocky independence of his could translate into some questionable

  police tactics."

  "Or he could be a perfectly honest cop, Sam. I thought it was that

  cocky independence that appealed to you in the first place.

  "No, I know. I just want to make sure that my judgment's clear on this

  one."

  "That's so unlike you, Sam. You're always so quick to say you're a

  good judge of character. That every egg's good or bad, and you can

  tell right off the bat."

  "That is what I always say," I confirmed. "But what did Roger turn out

  to be?"

  "Well, blow me over. You're beginning to sound like someone who's

  willing to accept some gray areas in her life."

  I half smiled.

  "And how's Lucky Chucky taking it?" she asked.

  "He's not I mean, I haven't exactly explained it to him. In fact,

  we're not actually speaking at the moment, I don't think. Which is a

  bit inconvenient, because I want him to go pick up Derrick

  Derringer."

  There went that eyebrow again.

  "And I miss him," I added.

  Fifteen.

  Before I left for the day, I checked in with my Southeast Precinct pals

  to see if they'd had any luck, but there was still no sign of Derrick

  Derringer. It's hard to arrest someone when you've asked the few

  uniformed patrol officers working on it not to do anything that might

  tip the suspect off, like knock on his door or ask for him at work.

  I thought again about calling Chuck on my way home, but I held myself

  back. I'd thought the evidence through backwards and forwards, but it

  kept coming back to him. Either he'd coerced a confession out of

  Margaret Landry, or somehow she'd managed to squeak through the

  polygraph while someone else wrote letters to the Oregonian in an

  attempt to exonerate her someone who had access to details about

  unsolved crimes.

  But something was bothering me about the letters too. It seemed

  peculiar that the Long Hauler had confessed to every strangling case in

  the Northwest Regional Cold Case Database that didn't involve DNA

  evidence. Why did all the killings happen to occur in the handful of

  states that cooperated in the database? And what were the odds that

  every strangling without DNA in those states had been committed by the

  Long Hauler? The perfect correlation struck me as odd. But every time

  I felt like I was close to putting my finger on the missing piece, I'd

  come back to the obvious: maybe Chuck just wasn't the person I thought

  he was.

  So I hadn't called him. I decided that if Derrick didn't get picked up

  tonight, I'd call in sick tomorrow and sit outside his house until he

  came home.

  Maybe if I hadn't gotten so caught up in fantasizing about Derrick's

  impending arrest scene, I would've noticed when I opened the door that

  Vinnie hadn't waddled up to meet me. It wasn't until I was locking it

  behind me and realized I didn't hear the alarm beeping that I

  registered the deja vu. Bracing myself for another crack on the head,

  I heard a familiar voice, the one that had called my cell phone the

  night I left Grace's. "Welcome home, Samantha."

  The good news was I'd managed to find Derrick Derringer. The bad news

  was he was standing behind me with a very large gun.

  "Why don't you join us in the living room?" He waved his gun to

  indicate that I should walk in front of him.

  The bad news got worse. Tim O'Donnell was tied to my Mission-style

  chair, Frank Derringer sat on my sofa with the remote control, and

  Vinnie was whimpering, presumably relegated to the pantry again.

  I noticed, though, that Derrick was pacing behind the sofa, and Frank

  was chewing the cuticle of his right thumb.

  They were nervous, and I tried to take advantage of it by faking

  confidence.

  "Nice to see you were enjoying a little TV. Anything good on? I try

  to stay away from the reality shows myself," I said.

  Derrick wasn't amused. "Maybe that explains why she didn't listen to

  you, Tim," he said, glancing at O'Donnell, who looked truly terrified.

  "Has trouble with reality. Now, if I were you, sweetheart, I'd shut

  the fuck up and have a seat."

  "Stop it, Sam." A puddle under my Mission-style chair and spots on

  O'Donnell's pants suggested that things had already gotten ugly before

  my arrival. "This is some serious shit."

  Derrick laughed at him. "Figure it out, ass-wipe. This bitch don't

  listen, not to you, not to anyone. But you had to tell us you'd handle

  everything, you'd get it all taken care of. But what the fuck happens?

  Nimrod here," he said, gesturing to his little brother, "gets his case

  dismissed, and I wind up under indictment. Well, I'm through letting

  you and Frankie fuck this shit up. This shit ends tonight. My way."

  "Look, I got you in just like you wanted," O'Donnell whined. "You said

  you'd let me go if I was telling the truth about knowing her alarm

  code. Let me out of here, and I won't say a word."

  All that money for my super deluxe alarm, down the drain. If I got out

  of this mess, I'd be smart enough not to use the security code from

  work as my home password.

  Derrick laughed again. "What are you gonna do, Tim, call a judge and

  say I broke my word? This ain't some plea bargain, counselor. You

  don't get to walk just 'cause you flipped on someone."

  "Jesus, Derrick, I've done everything you wanted!" O'Donnell was

  practically whimpering.

  "No, you did everything you wanted!" Derrick was pointing the gun at

  him now. "I thought the Zimmerman girl was behind us, and now dumb

  fuck here goes and does it to some other girl, and you say you'll take

  care of it again, but I'm the one who winds up getting fucked in the

  ass."

  O'Donnell was blowing it. The Derringers had been showing signs of

  doubts about their plans, but now Tim was getting Derrick wound up, and

  Derrick was reverting to his aggressive mode. I had to find a way to

  make Derrick anxious again.

  "Look, Derrick," I said, speaking very slowly. "I don't know what's

  going on between you and Tim here, but killing us will only make things

  worse. There's no murder beef on you right now. You kill us, and

  you're going to feel heat like you never knew before on what do you

  have, a few forgeries or something? Don't do this."

  It didn't work. Now the gun was pointed at me. And Derrick was still

  ranting. "Don't you pull that shit with me. You know exactly what's

  going on here, and that's the whole problem now, isn't it? You

  couldn't let it alone. You got a major hard-on for this case and

  couldn't let it drop. Now this dumb-fuck DA's calling me, telling me

  you got a fucking indictment against me."

 
I couldn't stop to figure out how O'Donnell knew about the indictment

  or why he would tell the Derringers.

  "Derrick, listen to me. The indictment was a bluff. Grand jurors will

  indict anyone the prosecutor tells them to indict. I just wanted you

  picked up so the police would talk to you about the case. I don't have

  any evidence against you or your brother." I could tell he was

  beginning to tune in, so I talked a little faster.

  "Here's what we're going to do. Tim, as a supervisor at the

  District Attorney's Office, you are on official notice that I am hereby

  resigning from my position as a deputy district attorney. Derrick,

  give me some money. A dollar, whatever, and tell me you want to talk

  about your legal problems. Attorney-client privilege will protect

  everything you say to me, OK? Let me talk to you about this."

  Derrick was looking at me, not saying anything.

  Frank couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Derrick, give it to her," he

  said.

  "Shut up, Frank," Derrick said. "She's full of shit, and she's gonna

  die, so I don't give a shit about privilege."

  "Think about it, Derrick." Frank was beginning to sound desperate.

  "Just in case something goes wrong, the judge won't let her rat on

  us."

  "Yeah, well, nothing's going wrong," Derrick retorted, clicking the

  safety off his gun and pointing it at me. "You're the one who leaves

  people alive who are supposed to be dead, not me."

  "Stop! It's not supposed to happen till after eight!" Frank yelled.

  Hearing they'd apparently penciled in my death for a specific time made

  me dizzy. Luckily, I seemed to have found an ally in Frank. He fished

  a dollar out of the front pocket of his jeans and asked if that would

  work for both of them.

  "Derrick, do you accept my representation?" I asked.

  "Sure, what the fuck? Three times I went down, I wanted to kill my

  lawyers. Guess I can fulfill my wish."

  I always wondered what it would be like to go into private practice.

  This wasn't what I pictured, but I offered my advice anyway.

  "Frank's got a free ride on anything that happened with Kendra Martin.

  The trial started, so double jeopardy protects him. And there's no

  physical evidence to link you to anything, Derrick. Not that I'm

  saying you did anything, because I don't know that you did, of course.

  And, on Zimmerman, two people have already been convicted, so that

  pretty much creates reasonable doubt for anyone else the State tries to

  charge down the line."

  He was thinking about it, I could tell. What I couldn't tell was

  whether his brain was big enough to comprehend it all.

  "Nice try," he said, "but you left out my fucking eyewitness over

  here."

  "Your brother?" I asked. "Frank's not going to turn you in, are you,

  Frank?"

  This pissed Derrick off for some reason. He said, "I told you she was

  full of shit, Frank. Don't pretend like you don't know what's going

  on, bitch. My first mistake was letting Master Crime Fighter here live

  when it turned out he was a DA and not some salesman from Idaho like he

  said. Dumb and Dumber here meet each other in a chat room. So one day

  Frankie tells me he knows a furniture salesman from Idaho who's willing

  to pay big for a gang bang on a young' un We set him up with Jamie,

  and next thing you know the girl's dead and, lo and behold, the

  salesman's a DA. Should have killed you then, O'Donnell."

  "Frank's the one who killed her, Derrick, not me," O'Donnell said.

  "He's the one who got out of control. Luckiest thing that ever

  happened to you was me being on call when her body was found. I got

  you guys out of that jam, and I've been getting you out of this one."

  O'Donnell was getting Derrick riled up again. "That's bullshit, man!

  You helped yourself out on that first one, but now you've been screwing

  us."

  "Tim, you were involved in this and then told Landry what to say?" I

  asked, trying to follow the conversation between the two of them.

  "That's how she knew everything about Jamie?"

  "I don't know how she knew, Sam, I always assumed it was Forbes. But I

  ran with it and got the convictions, didn't I, Derrick? And, even

  though we were supposed to be even after that, I've been trying to help

  Frank out ever since. When he got popped in Clackamas County, it was

  me who told him to argue consent instead of that stupid alibi. And it

  got him a damn good plea deal, didn't it? I've been trying to get him

  out of this one, too. I used information from confidential police

  databases to write those Long Hauler letters. Even tonight, I've done

  everything you asked. You wanted me to leave a message for Sam, I did

  it. I got you the alarm code. I've helped you."

  Tim obviously didn't care anymore about lying to me; he was doing

  whatever he could to save himself before the Derringers killed me. His

  pleas hadn't seemed to work.

  "And now I'm under fucking indictment," Derrick said. "So it's time to

  put this thing to rest."

  "What message? I didn't get any message." I was frantically stalling

  for time before they could implement whatever plan they had in mind.

  "Yes, you did, and the police will find it with your bodies," Derrick

  said.

  Frank went into the kitchen and pushed a button on my answering machine

  with his knuckle. I heard Tim's voice say, "Sam, it's Tim O'Donnell. I

  just wanted to make sure we're still on for tonight to talk about the

  case. If I don't hear from you, I'll be at your house around eight.

  See ya."

  Frank came back in, looking very proud of himself. "See,

  Tim tells us that the FBI's waiting for the Long Hauler to make a big

  splash. So he's going to come here tonight to kill you both."

  Derrick laughed. "Yeah, Tim. Thanks for the imaginary friend. It was

  brilliant. He'll take care of the two of you, and down the road we'll

  take care of Haley and the Martin girl after we've turned them out for

  a few more months. They'll just be a couple of dead prostitutes."

  "Yeah, maybe the Long Hauler can write a letter about it," Frank added,

  laughing with his brother.

  They were psychopaths, but I had to give them credit. They were smart

  psychopaths. My head was reeling. There was no Long Hauler. O'Donnell

  had access to the Northwest Regional Cold Case Database. He'd written

  the letters, carefully selecting details only from cases that lacked

  DNA evidence. He'd probably mailed them when he was out of town at his

  fishing cabin.

  "Frank, Derrick," I said. "It doesn't matter that Tim was there when

  Jamie died. There's a rule that says a co-conspirator's testimony

  alone isn't enough to convict. Even if Tim testified against you, the

  State would need other evidence to corroborate the testimony. There

  isn't any. Anyway, he's the last one who's going to turn you in. It

  implicates him too."

  O'Donnell finally clued in. "She's right, Derrick," he said. "I'd

  never testify against you, but even if I did, the rule she's talking

  about would keep there from being any case."

  The tag team approach seemed
to be working. "You're better off blowing

  town than killing us," I said. "You commit a double murder, and you're

  looking at the death penalty. They won't just assume the Long Hauler

  did it. They'll check for copycats, scour the files we were working

  on. They'll find the pictures I have of you with Haley. They'll find

  Travis Culver.

  Once the police are done fishing around, you'll wind up on death row.

  As it is, you can bail."

  Derrick thought about it for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Nice

  effort, but our previous counsel here already gave us some advice. I

  tried like hell to get those pictures back to be safe, but O'Donnell

  here tells me they don't show much. Hell, my face ain't even in 'em.

  As for Culver, he'll be shot during a robbery gone bad at the Collision

  Clinic."

  "Derrick," O'Donnell said, "don't you think the police are going to put

  it together? A witness, the DA, and the victim in Frank's trial all

  turn up dead? Don't do this, man."

  They needed to see that their plan was starting to fall apart. "The

  police will find the transcript of the grand jury testimony against

  you," I said. "They'll draw the same conclusions I did. Right now,

  there's not enough proof, but with two dead DAs they'll put it

  together. And the grand jury testimony will be admissible in court if

  any of the witnesses are dead."

  "What grand jury testimony?" Derrick asked. "Tim, you said there was