Missing Justice sk-2 Read online

  Did she need to stay distracted from the death itself? Was it a means

  of obtaining control over a world that felt unpredictable? Or was it

  just an earnest desire to help those who weren't as strong as she was?

  Whatever Susan Kerr's motivation, I was glad someone close to Clarissa

  could play that role. Having seen Townsend attempt to deal with the

  mere possibility of his wife's death, I couldn't imagine what the

  confirmation of his worst fears had done to him.

  I replayed the message to scribble down her phone numbers, then went on

  to the next voice mail. "Hi, Samantha, Susan Kerr again. Just wanted

  to let you know I think I'll go ahead and call Duncan, just to make

  sure you've got all the support you feel you need, OK? Thanks,

  Samantha. I appreciate having someone devote her personal attention to

  my friend."

  I wasn't surprised that someone with Susan Kerr's resources already

  knew my boss. If she wanted to make sure he was giving me all the

  support I deserved, I was all for it.

  With the voice mails out of the way, I called Johnson to check in.

  "We broke the news to the family last night. The parents and sister

  first, then the husband. Nothing unusual. The sister gave us the

  official ID while we were working on the search."

  "The husband didn't have a problem with it?"

  "No. We explained that a search of the vies house is standard and that

  we had a warrant. He said he understood that the investigation needed

  to proceed."

  "Did you find anything?"

  "Nothing that means anything yet. We took bank records, credit card

  statements the usual stuff that sometimes means something down the

  road. But we already knew from the walk through the other night that

  we weren't going to find any obvious signs that she'd been done in the

  house.

  "Chuck and Mike came through on getting records for the recent credit

  card charges and cell calls. We're still working on getting the toll

  records for the home phone.

  "We've got a charge at Nordstrom on Saturday. Adds up to the items we

  found in the shopping bag, plus the pants and sweater she was wearing

  on Sunday. The only charge after that was on Sunday, right after noon,

  at the Pasta Company."

  I knew the place. Or places, I should say. The Pasta Company is a

  popular local chain.

  "Which one?" I asked, since I could think of six or seven locations

  off the top of my head.

  "Terwilliger and Barbur." Made sense. Only a mile or so from the

  Easterbrooks'.

  "I sent a patrol officer over there with her picture. A couple of

  employees said they recognized her because she's in there a lot, but no

  one could place her there for sure on Sunday."

  "There's no way to know if she was alone?" I asked.

  "No, but she probably was. One order of linguine in browned butter, no

  tip. A carry-out order, it turns out. Walker drew short straw and got

  trash duty. Duly noted beneath the sink: one empty Styrofoam container

  from the Pasta Company."

  "So she picked up lunch on Sunday and ate at home by herself. Great.

  All that work, and the credit card records don't get us any closer than

  we were the other night."

  "Did I say I was finished, Kincaid? Damn, girl, anyone ever tell you

  you're a glass-half-empty kind of woman? I haven't told you about the

  autopsy yet."

  "The ME's done already?" It usually took a couple of days.

  "It's been a light week so there's no backup. He made the cuts first

  thing this morning. Report should be finished tomorrow, but I just got

  off the phone with him a minute ago. You want to continue to interrupt

  me, or do you want to get to the good stuff?"

  "Consider me quiet."

  "Yeah, right. I'll get in what I can. Anyway, cause of death is what

  we assumed: blunt force trauma to the right side of the head. He was

  having some difficulties with time of death, though. He couldn't use

  some of the factors that help when the body's fresh. It had clearly

  been awhile, because she was cold."

  "How long does that take?" I asked.

  "That puts us back to yesterday. But things get tricky past that

  window. And they were even trickier in this case, because we were

  right about her being moved. I'll spare you the details, but the ME's

  got a problem interpreting things like bloating and bugs when he

  doesn't know what kind of environment the body was in. We couldn't

  tell him if she was inside, outside, wet, dry, in a heater,

  whatever."

  So

  "Patience, woman. See, you were about to say, "So he can't tell us the

  time of death," right?"

  "Maybe." Definitely.

  "See, now, that'd be an inaccurate statement. ME calls and tells me he

  might have to give us a wide window for time of death unless I know

  when she ate last. At the time he called me, I didn't, but, you see,

  now I do. And the ME tells me she died within one to three hours of

  eating noodles, which he found in the stomach contents. Assuming she

  ate the food around twelve-thirty, she died between one-thirty and

  three-thirty."

  "Broad daylight."

  "You got it. Makes an abduction off the street less likely but still

  possible."

  My phone beeped, indicating that another call was coming through. The

  name of the DA's secretary flashed on the caller ID screen. I let the

  line go to voice mail.

  "What else?" I asked Johnson. "Was she raped?"

  "Unclear. Looks like she was naked when she was hit. The ME says

  there was no spatter on the clothes, either low or high velocity, which

  he'd expect to find. But there was brain matter and blood transfer

  like smears inside the sweater, as if it was pulled on afterward. Also,

  he found spermicidal jelly in the vaginal canal, but no boy juice and

  no substantial tearing. No skin under the nails, no sign of a

  fight."

  "What's all that mean?"

  "Means she probably had sex, but it might or might not have been rape.

  The stuff he found was the spermicide nonoxynol-9, which conics on most

  condoms. There was a time when that would've ruled out a rape, but

  things have changed since the bad guys learned about the DNA databank.

  And if she was just trying to get through it alive, she might not have

  fought back."

  "On the other hand," I said, "maybe it's not a sex crime at all, and

  the coroner found something left over from consensual sex."

  "Right. So I need to follow up with the husband and see what he has to

  say."

  "How much are you going to tell him?" I asked.

  "Nothing. If it's about to go public for some reason, we'll get to

  them first. Other than that, it's on a need to know basis. I'll ask

  him the last time they had sex and what kind of birth control they use.

  He'll no doubt draw some inferences about that and ask me if she was

  raped, but I'll tell him what I'm going to tell the rest of the family,

  which is the truth: We don't know."

  "How about Melvin Jackson? Have you had a chance to talk to him

  yet?"

  "Who's that again?"


  "The evicted guy? Wrote mean, threatening letters? I gave you the

  file yesterday."

  "Right. Sorry, we've been juggling a lot here. When we broke the news

  to the family last night, I asked them if the name sounded familiar,

  but they didn't think Clarissa ever mentioned him by name. We haven't

  followed up yet with Jackson, but it'll happen."

  "Very good. Anything else?"

  "You know, we're also checking on everyone close to the vie. I even

  checked out our girl Susan Kerr. At the museum all day setting up for

  a fund-raising auction, then schmoozing all night, just like she said.

  So we're working from the victim out, but Jack and I agree we also need

  to take the location into account."

  These were standard investigative approaches. On the assumption that

  the crime isn't random since they rarely are police look to the aspects

  of the offense that are unique. That usually means investigating

  everything there is to know about the victim. Victim's a working girl?

  Most likely killed by a trick or her pimp. Dealer? Probably a

  transaction gone bad or a robbery.

  But crimes have also been solved by focusing on location. Who, for

  example, would know the layout of the home from which the sleeping

  child was kidnapped? A neighbor. Maybe a handyman. And here Johnson

  made a good point. The Columbia Gorge and Forest Park were the locals'

  favorite body-dumping destinations. Who would find their way to the

  edge of a previously nonexistent office park?

  "Do we know who the future tenant is?"

  "There isn't one. It's one of those 'if you build it, they will come'

  things." In recent years, Portland's suburbs have enticed out-of-town

  firms to relocate operations to this area with the promise of tax

  subsidies, an educated workforce, and ready-to-go infrastructure.

  "We're going over lists of the usual suspects within a two-mile radius

  of the crime scene and the Easter-brooks'. Jack's working on getting a

  list of workers at the construction site. There's a couple different

  unions and subcontractors involved, so it's taking a little longer than

  we'd like. We're also looking at old police reports involving any

  incidents along Taylor's Ferry Road. It's mostly car prowls and a few

  robberies."

  "Page me if you need anything," I said. "As soon as I'm done screening

  custodies, I'm going to review Clarissa's files." Unfortunately, no

  one at City Hall knew that yet.

  "We can send someone over for that," he offered, assuming I had

  permission to go in.

  "No, I better do it. I'll be able to get through them faster." "I'll

  try not to take that personally, Kincaid." "Hey, law school's got to

  be good for something, right?" A decent morning at work never lasted

  long. When Johnson and I were done, I retrieved the message from

  Duncans secretary. The boss wanted to see me.

  Duncan was tan as ever, despite the rain. He had to be closing in on

  fifty, but in appearance the guy was strangely age-ambiguous: a full

  head of white hair, the kind of wrinkles that are "distinguished," and

  a movie star smile that in my presence has left his face only once.

  "How was Salem?"

  "Useless as always. Legislators just don't get what we're trying to

  accomplish. I was down testifying yesterday about drug courts. The

  liberals don't want to see anyone go to prison on a drug case, and the

  law-and-order types want to lock 'em all up, whether it works or not.

  But you're done with drug cases now, aren't you?"

  "Looks like it," I said. "Thank you again, Duncan, for giving me a

  chance in Major Crimes."

  "Well, I know it's what you wanted. You might not remember this,

  Samantha, but you told me that the first time I met you. It's the only

  time a job candidate has ever admitted wanting to prosecute murder

  trials. Most people try to hide that kind of ambition."

  "You asked me what appealed to me about being a state prosecutor after

  having served as an AUSA, and I told you the truth. The feds rarely

  get a murder case."

  "Still, it showed you had balls, if you can excuse the phrase."

  "You might not believe this, sir, but that's not the first time I've

  heard that particular compliment. Some day we might even get a

  gender-neutral word that captures the same gravitas."

  "See, that's a perfect example of what I'm talking about. You showed

  that same personality during your initial interview. When you choose

  to, you can say what you mean and still be very charming."

  When I choose to. For now, I chose to ignore the backhanded part of

  the compliment. But if he didn't get to the point soon, that voluntary

  charm of mine was going on strike.

  "I asked you to go with the police to the Easterbrook home on Sunday

  for a reason. You've proven that you've got a real compassion for

  victims, and I know you've got the ability to be diplomatic and to show

  this office in its very best light. I also thought it was a chance for

  you to ease into the new rotation with an MCT call-out.

  "But I assumed at the time that Clarissa Easterbrook would turn up.

  Obviously, she did not, and as a result of my decision you're now on

  one of the highest profile murder cases we've had in a long time. If

  we're going to take you off it, we should do it sooner rather than

  later. Less disruption for the family and for MCT."

  "I don't want to be pulled off," I said. "I've already talked to Russ

  about this, and he's going to oversee as necessary."

  "My concern isn't with your experience or your skills. You're a

  terrific attorney."

  "But you have a concern?"

  "Susan Kerr called me today," he said, sitting back into his chair and

  steepling his fingers.

  "She told me she was going to. I take it you know her?"

  "It's hard not to know her when you've got a public life in Portland.

  Bert Kerr had his hand in everything, a big fund raiser for progressive

  causes. I remember when I first ran for this office, he bought me an

  eighteen-year-old whiskey at Huber s and asked me what I was going to

  do as district attorney. He wasn't happy with the typical sound bites;

  he pressed me on everything: standing up to the police about reverse

  drug buys, the death penalty, improving the quality of life for

  neighborhoods. When we were done and I'll never forget it he said,

  "You're about as good a man as we're gonna get for a job that puts

  human beings in cages." A month later, he raised $40,000 for my

  campaign on a single night.

  "Susan don't call her Sue or Susie was his new wife back then, and you

  can bet the tongues were wagging. She was probably about your age,

  and, my God, she was wild. Everyone assumed she was in it for the

  money and would be banging the pool boy on the side. But once people

  talked to her, they just fell in love. She never tried to act like

  something she wasn't. And she came through for Bert in the end. He

  was a mess his last couple of years, and she worked her tail off to

  make sure no one knew it. A good friend of mine told me that by his

  last days she was basically running the show, si
gning his name, doing

  whatever she needed to create the appearance that Bert was still going

  strong. So, yeah, she can throw her weight around with the best of

  them, but I have a lot of respect for her."

  "What did she say about the case?"

  "She said she appreciated the police coming to her home for her

  convenience. She was also pleased to have an attorney on the case so

  early. Less likely to have any problems that way. She wanted

  assurances you'd be free to oversee things, which I. of course, gave

  her."

  "But?"

  He chuckled. "Always jumping to the bad news, aren't you? As far as

  buts go, this one was minor. Let me ask you: Where is this

  investigation heading? Is the husband a suspect?"

  "Not at this point. He hasn't set off anyone's hunch bells yet, and

  he's alibied at OHSU all day Sunday. But he's not cleared, either, so

  it's natural that the police are still keeping him in mind."

  "Susan was concerned about the tone of the questions about the victim's

  marriage. She got the impression that the police might be looking in

  only one direction."

  I tried to assure him that the police, if anything, were leaning

  against the husband as a suspect. I told him about Melvin Jackson and

  the search for any sex offenders near the crime scene.

  "Why did the police ask Dr. Easterbrook to take a polygraph last