Allison Brennan - See No Evil

Gage put up his hands. “Stop. This is a preliminary investigation and a crime scene, not a deposition.”

“Are you done upstairs?” Will asked.

“Almost.” He looked over Julia’s shoulder at Will.

“I get it,” she said, irritated. “You want me to leave. I will, right after you tell me what happened to Victor.”

It was Will who spoke. “He was killed in his den. His, um, penis was removed.”

She swallowed hard, unable to speak.

“Actually,” Gage said, “he choked to death. On his penis.”

Julia blanched. “And you think a young girl is capable of that ?”

“She couldn’t have done it alone,” Gage said. “At least two other people helped.”

“So you think that a sixteen-year-old girl could convince two others to choke to death a fifty-year-old judge with his own dick? What did the killer use? A knife?” Julia’s mind went through all the scenarios. “He’d have to have been drugged or restrained. Did you find rope, tape, or-”

“Ms. Chandler, we’re in the middle of the investigation and the district attorney will be getting our report shortly.” Gage suddenly looked tired and irritated.

“Did you know that Judge Montgomery just sentenced Herman Santos to death row?” Julia said. “He has enough people to pull off something like this, and-”

She mentally hit herself.

“Of course you know that.” Julia released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay. I understand. But don’t you think it’s odd that the wife of the victim didn’t inform dispatch that there was possibly a second victim in the house? What would a normal person do if you walked in and found your spouse murdered?”

Will said, “I’d hunt through the house for the culprit.”

“Don’t think like a cop.”

Gage nodded. “If I were in her shoes, I might leave the house out of fear. Call nine-one-one.”

“And tell them your daughter might be in the house.”

“Maybe she was too distraught. In shock. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”

“Murder never is, Dr. Gage.”

Will interjected, “Even if she was in shock, when the responding officers arrived, at the very least, she should have told them there was someone else inside. They searched the house per protocol, looking first for a culprit.”

“Exactly.” Julia nodded.

“Maybe the mother didn’t think she was home?” Gage offered.

“Emily is on probation,” Julia said. “She has to be at home from six p.m. through six a.m. every day unless she is with a parent or guardian.”

“What did she do to land probation?”

Julia took a deep breath. “She vandalized the courthouse last year.”

Recognition sparked in Gage’s eyes. “I remember. Graffiti.”

“She spray-painted ‘hypocrites’ all over the building,” Will said. “Some sort of political statement?” He looked at Julia for answers she didn’t have.

“Emily never talked about it. That’s why she was sent to a psychiatrist. That was one of the court orders.”

Will made note of that. “Dr. Garrett Bowen.”

“Right.”

“He prescribed a lot of medication for a teenager.”

Julia tensed. Now she needed to get out. She knew too much about the medication, too much about what Emily was and was not doing with it.

She would not jeopardize her niece, but she couldn’t lie to law enforcement. They were on the same side. She had to remember that.

“Emily did not kill Victor Montgomery,” Julia said. “That much I know.”

“But maybe she knows who did,” Will said pointedly.

Julia ached for her niece. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“Don’t interview her,” Will warned.

“I’m not,” she snapped. “She needs someone who loves her right now, and I think I’m the only person in the world who does.”

Will walked Julia to her car. “Julia.”

She turned to look at him, swallowing the fear and worry that rose in her throat. “What?”

“I have the utmost respect for you. You’re one of the best we have in the DA’s office. But I have to tell you something as a friend.” He stared at her, his expression stern. “The only thing you can do for Emily right now is to get her an attorney. And you have the money to hire the best.”

She put a hand on her stomach, feeling sucker-punched. “Is the evidence that damning?”

Will sighed. “It doesn’t look good.”

Julia slid into her car, then made the second call she didn’t want to make. This time, the person called picked up the phone.

“Iris Jones.”

“Iris, it’s Julia Chandler.”

Iris laughed, low and full of irony. At least, that’s how it sounded to Julia. “I heard about Montgomery.”

“News travels fast.”

“Helps when you’re listening. I knew you’d call me.”

Julia almost hung up. She didn’t like Iris Jones, attorney-at-law, or Iris Jones, the person. Oil versus water. Justice versus anarchy.

But Iris was as good at her job as Julia was at hers, and she had a grudging respect for the woman.

“Emily was taken to Scripps Memorial. Can you meet me tonight?”

“Give me an hour.”

Will watched Julia drive off, wondering who she’d been talking to on the phone. He motioned to Diaz. “Hey, follow the counselor. I think she’s going to the hospital to visit her niece. Relieve the guard we have on Ms. Montgomery’s room and let me know what they say, okay?”

“Roger that.” Diaz left.

Gage joined him on the drive. “Chandler is going to be pissed if she finds out,” Gage said.

“She’d be doing the same thing if she were thinking straight,” Will countered. “It’s pretty obvious what’s going on. Julia Chandler and Crystal Montgomery hate each other. Crystal was married to Julia’s brother. He dies, and Crystal wants the Chandler money but not the Chandler family. I remember when Emily ran away.”

“I don’t,” Gage said.

“Connor Kincaid was the PI who found her.” As Carina Kincaid’s partner, Will was an honorary member of the Kincaid family. He knew more than most about Connor’s life since he’d been pushed off the police force.

“I’ve called the e-crimes unit to dismantle and check the computers and security system,” Gage said. “They’ll be here in an hour.”

“By the book, that’s all we can do right now.”

One of the crime technicians entered the front door.

“Dr. Gage?”

“What?”

“We found shears with possible blood evidence.”

“Shears?”

The assistant held up pruning shears sealed in a clear, thick plastic evidence bag. The curved blades made up half the ten-inch length. Except for the dried blood, they looked new and unused.

“Where’d you find them?”

“In the gardening shed behind the house. We have some foot impressions and other possible evidence. We’re collecting molds right now.”

“Keep me informed.”

Will said, “If the killer put the shears back in the shed, it couldn’t have been the stepdaughter, not in her condition.”

“I never believed she acted alone.”

Justice? Revenge? Payback? Any way the police looked at it, his plan was working even better than he’d hoped. He smiled, confident he was in complete control of the operation.

He poured himself a Scotch straight up, a twenty-one-year-old Chivas, took it out on the balcony, taking in the cool midnight ocean breeze. The view of the brightly lit coastline, the ocean, black and endless, moved him. He observed the exquisite beauty of the moment, held it with his trained eye, imprinted the exact time and emotion in his soul.

This is how God must feel.

Victor Montgomery was dead. Not only dead, but killed in a manner that suited his lifestyle. He loved the irony of Montgomery’s murder, just like he’d enjoyed the irony of how he picked his killing team, how he planned the executions, how everyone involved recognized and worshipped his brilliance.