Gregg Hurwitz - The Crime Writer

Kaden and Delveckio finally returned, carrying chairs and looking dyspeptic. At least Kaden did; from what I knew of Delveckio, that was just his normal expression. Reading their faces, I felt nothing short of elation. Wudn'tme. Wudn'tme.

They sat opposite. The folder in Kaden's lap carried a sweat mark from his hand.

"We saw the footage," Kaden said. "The lab seems to believe it wasn't doctored. No glitches in the continuity."

I blew out a breath that kept going. The relief was so intense it made me light-headed.

Kaden was talking. "But you could've had an accomplice. Or maybe the coroner's time of death was inaccurate. You were off the tape for just about all of the afternoon and the early part of the night."

"I have alibis. I was at a friend's for the afternoon, then my editor came over."

"This still doesn't play right," Kaden said. "Why's an innocent guy an innocent guy that all the evidence at the crime scene just weirdly happens to nail set up an airtight alibi?"

"Because I thought I might have chopped my own foot in my sleep, and I was worried I was losing my mind."

Kaden laughed. "'Losing'?"

"Let's start this over." I extended my hand. "Drew."

Kaden stared at my hand like he was about to spit on it, but after a moment he nodded. Delveckio grudgingly followed suit.

"Okay. You don't like me, and I'm not particularly fond of you guys." I glanced at Delveckio. "Especially you."

"Why especially me?"

"That insult-to-injury thing was lame. Kaden may posture more, but he cuts a more impressive swath, so I figure he's entitled to it. But" I paused for effect "you've both got a case weighing on you. Maybe two. I'm stuck in this investigation. Uniquely so. I'm here, and I'm not lawyered up. So take advantage of the situation."

"You know what I like even more than smart-ass Hollywood types?" Kaden asked. "Reopening cases I already closed."

"If my case is closed, who killed Kasey Broach?"

My using her name set him back a moment, but then his eyes pulled to the crime-scene photo between us. "I don't know, Danner someone who has your exact hair, exact blood, and uses your trash can. So guess who we're coming after when we figure out this digicorder crap and have probable cause again?"

Probably not the guy who framed me.

I stared at Kasey Broach's corpse, wondering what, if any, was her connection to me. Or to Genevieve. Maybe there was a connection between Broach and the surviving Bertrands. Or maybe she'd been killed merely to set me up. Who had a motivation to see me locked up? That is, aside from the detectives right in front of me. Had Genevieve been seeing someone new, who didn't think I should be driving the streets with impunity? Maybe Luc Bertrand had hired someone to bring me down by any means possible. Hard to believe with his droopy blue eyes, but hey, so was a brain tumor. My mind continued to spin, reeling in an agent I'd fired, a guy whose nose I'd accidentally broken on the basketball court, a bizarre letter I'd received from an anonymous reader after Chainer's Link.

"How can I help you look into this?" I asked. "Where do you start?"

Delveckio said, "We don't have anything we can disclose at this point in time."

"Did Genevieve and Kasey Broach have anything in common?"

"Grieving parents. Devastated younger sisters." He shook his head. "I did the advise-next-of-kin for Adeline. I wish I'd borrowed your camcorder first so I could make you watch her reaction."

I resisted giving him the reaction he was looking for. "So you haven't found any connection between the victims?"

His grin faded, and the skin tensed around his eyes. "Just you."

Kaden stood to leave, Delveckio rising on a slight delay.

"You find anything unusual in her bloodstream?" I asked.

They halted. Kaden pivoted, slowly. "Why would you ask that?"

"Two nights ago I felt really hazy when I woke up. I thought it was brain-tumor fallout or stress. But maybe I was drugged so someone could cut my foot." I leaned back in the chair, folded my arms. "Take my blood."

Delveckio raised his eyebrows at Kaden, who took two solemn steps back to his chair and sat. "Why'd you wake up so quickly, then? If you were drugged?"

"Dunno. I have a pretty good tolerance from my misspent youth. Can we run my blood?"

Kaden fished a cell phone from his pocket and dialed. "Kaden here. Get me Wagner." He rose and walked out of the room.

"Lloyd Wagner's on this case?"

Delveckio looked peeved to be stuck with me. "Of course. He worked the first murder, didn't he? Isn't that why you called him? You knew him from your trial and figured you could harass your way in?"

"I knew him before. He's helped me on some projects."

"Yeah, well, I think it's safe to say he's not interested in helping you anymore."

Kaden's voice hummed through the walls, but I couldn't make out the words. Delveckio did his best not to make eye contact with me.

I asked, "On the footage did you notice… did you see me move anything from the nightstand?"

"Huh?"

"Something in a jar?"

"I was hoping this could get weirder."

"Did you?"

"No."

So my tumor had already crawled off by the time I set up the recorder. Which meant it had likely vanished around the time my foot had been cut. Another oddity to toss on the heap.

Kaden returned. "Would've cleared your bloodstream by now."

I asked, "What would have?"

Kaden shifted from one foot to the other, giving me the stonewall.

"Come on. If I may have been drugged, at least tell me what I could've had in my system."

"Xanax and sevoflurane. Alprazoblah-blah that's Xanax is shorter-lasting. The other, too. It's a knockout gas. 'Rapid elimination from the bloodstream,' the man says."

"So how'd you catch it in Broach?"

"Quick response. Patrolman radioed in the body. We heard that it looked similar to Genevieve Bertrand, called in the cavalry so no one would trample evidence. Our criminalist had dropped a trace-evidence report at Rampart, was just a few blocks away having a burrito. Hot-assed it over to the crime scene. They always draw blood right off."

Delveckio licked his dry lips. "Plus, Broach's metabolism wasn't working so fast when we found her."

"Why give someone Xanax if you're gonna knock them out?" I asked.

"You wouldn't," Kaden said. "We're thinking she took it before bed."

"So she was grabbed in her sleep?"

"Signs of a struggle."

"The sevoflurane didn't do the trick?"

"Or was given to her later."

"Take her kicking and screaming and subdue her after?" I asked. Kaden shrugged, so I added, "What kind of struggle?"

"Sheets dragged off the mattress, stuff knocked from the night-stand, alarm clock lost its battery at ten twenty-seven."

"How old-fashioned."

"A battery-operated alarm clock?"

"The clue."

"You have a suspicious mind."

"Let's make use of it."

"We're not gonna invite a key suspect to dick around in our investigation."

"You don't need to invite me anywhere. Just let me look at photos from the scene. See the body, how it was left. Maybe something'll trip my memory."

"Memory of what?" Kaden eyed me, then tapped Delveckio on the knee with his file. "Let's go."

"Whether you believe me or not, I don't know what happened the night of September twenty-third. And whether you believe me or not, I want to know if I did it. You need answers. You're professional interrogators. I assume you're capable of getting what you want from me without giving up what you don't want to."

Kaden stared at me, then chuckled and tossed the file on the table, the papers spilling out. I spread them across the surface. They were laser printouts, pretty good resolution, with multiple duplicates of each shot.

Kasey Broach's naked body had been dumped under a concrete freeway on-ramp. She lay on her back, chin tossed up and to the side as if she were trying to flip the hair from her face. A nasty abrasion mottled her right hip, and the skin looked split on her right cheek. Her wrists were bound with tape, her ankles with white rope. Around her, weeds pushed up from cracked asphalt. The skeleton of a fence remained in the background, chain-link sloughed from three remaining posts. A beater of a coupe sagged on slashed tires, windows smashed in, roof dented down to the headrests, hood dense with bird shit. Behind it on the sloping underbelly of the ramp, a graffiti artist had abandoned a work in progress.