Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

She decided it couldn’t hurt to tell Gnoble that much, and so she related a short version of this.

“And after that?” Gnoble asked.

She looked over at him as they walked, tried to determine if this was mere curiosity on his part, or something more, but his gray gaze told her nothing. “Flames. That was pretty much it.”

“You woke up to the fire?” he asked. “Not before?”

She closed her eyes, tried to remember, and realized something else woke her, made her notice the fire… “I remember the couch was behind the office door, which was open, and I looked through the crack in the door, saw the flames… and the front door closing.”

“Someone was leaving?” Prescott asked.

She was sure of it, and she couldn’t say why. Nor did she want to say why. “I have no idea,” she lied. “Who knows what it was. I was thirteen, for God’s sake. I don’t remember a thing.”

“It must have been Wheeler,” Gnoble said. “Right after he broke in through the storeroom, then killed your father.”

For twenty years she’d kept the past at bay, and allowing it finally to intrude tired her mentally and physically. She didn’t want to think about what had happened anymore, and she gave the leash a slight tug. “Let’s go home, Topper.”

But once they rounded the block, she became acutely aware that she did not want either of these men in her apartment. Thankfully they seemed to have other plans, because as they neared the Town Car, Gnoble told Prescott, “I’ll be there in a minute. I’d like to have a word alone with Sydney.”

Prescott eyed Sydney, gave her something close to a smile, and said, “I’m sorry about your accident.” He left the two of them alone, walked back to the car.

When Prescott disappeared inside the Lincoln, Gnoble turned to her, his hand on her shoulder. “I know what this seems like, my coming to you at this late date. But your father meant something to me. And the fact you feel that the man imprisoned for killing him might not be guilty, well, that means something to me. Prescott’s going to have a shit fit if he knew I was telling you this. But I’m going to look into it, even if it does cost me the election.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of his little speech, considering that in two days it would all be too late for Wheeler. “I appreciate it.”

He squeezed her shoulder, gave a nod of what she believed was reassurance, then walked to the Town Car. It took off just as Carillo pulled up.

“I got a call from Scotty to get my ass over here,” he said, watching the senator’s car drive off. “He’s tied up on something, and couldn’t leave.”

Sydney didn’t move at first, thinking about what Gnoble said, about looking into Wheeler’s case. She eyed Carillo. “Do you know why politicians get elected? Because they make you want to believe in them. Always be sincere, even if you don’t mean it.”

“Sort of the point, I think. Maybe my good news will counteract the crap he just fed you. First thing is that our DOJ guy is making progress with the photos. He’s hoping to finish up, get them out to us maybe as early as this evening.”

“Any indication on what he found?”

“Like I could even understand the guy? Positive to negative something or other, Gaussian, Fourier analysis, noise reduction. I have no idea what the hell he was saying. He was talking math, music, and God knows what else. But if you ever need someone to sit on the stand and impress a jury, he’s the man. More importantly, I got word that Jazmine Wheeler’s out at the clinic, so we should take a run out there, but only after we go pay a visit to Becky Lynn McKnight up north. We know Jazmine’s going to be at the clinic for the rest of the day. No guarantees on the ex-Mrs. McKnight.” “Becky Lynn? You found something more on her?” “When I was digging through that file box in the back of

Scotty’s car at the hospital, I ran across some of his notes on the BICTT banking scandal, which, coincidentally or not, sort of came to a head about twenty-two years ago. That would be right around the time Robert ‘Boston’ Orozco fled to Baja.”

“But this we already knew. So, other than the timing…?”

“There were also some copies of phone records, showing calls to Baja.”

“Whose?”

“One Becky Lynn McKnight, which is why I’d like to pay her a visit. She’s got a nice house in Sausalito, where she’s apparently lived ever since her divorce from McKnight.”

“He must have been paying her some hefty alimony.”

“Not exactly, which might be part of the reason her name’s popping up in our data banks. They weren’t married that long, she signed a prenup, and the moment they were divorced, she hightailed it back here to the Bay Area. She’s been wheeling and dealing something to maintain that lifestyle.”

“Orozco did mention that his only contact was playing both sides of the fence.”

“She certainly fits that bill, especially since it turns out McKnight did testify about BICTT, and, if the calls are any indication, she’s been feeding info to a guy who was supposed to testify but fled.” He glanced up, then down the street. “How about we talk in the car on the way over? A little more private that way. Well, as private as we can be with a couple guys shadowing us.”

“Let me put Topper in the house, then go get that age progression drawing.”

“Ah, bring the sheep.” He opened the back door, and Topper hopped in.

She sighed. “Sorry, Topper. Your daddy’s coming home soon, and he won’t be happy if you’re not here.”

The dog hesitated, but jumped down when she clapped and called his name. “Come on, Top. You can wait upstairs until he gets home.” She locked the dog inside Arturo’s place, then retrieved her briefcase from her own apartment.

Back in the car, she pulled out the sketch, holding it up. “You’re never going to guess who this is.”

“Okay, a middle-aged guy named Frank White?”

“Yes. But guess who he resembles? I didn’t really see it when I first looked at the photo McKnight sent, but then I wasn’t really looking for it, either.”

“Looking for what?” he asked, inserting the key into the ignition.

“A resemblance to Johnnie Wheeler.”

Carillo eyed the sketch. “The guy in prison?”

“The same.”

“ This is him?”

“No. But they might be related. Father, uncle, who knows? You can’t go by the name, but you definitely can go by the resemblance. We should show it to Jazmine Wheeler and see.”

“I’m gonna have to take your word on it, since I’ve never seen the guy. Question is, what the hell does it mean?”

“Maybe that Wheeler is telling the truth. Someone set him up.”

“Question is, did they set him up on purpose, or was he just a convenient patsy?” He looked at his watch. “We gotta get moving, or your shadows are going to raise all sorts of hell, and I’d like to make sure they don’t do it before we make both contacts. Since I told Dixon I was going to stop by and make sure you were okay, then go to lunch, we could stop at the Taco Bell near the methadone clinic where Jazmine works.”

“You don’t think we should stop by the clinic before we go to Becky Lynn’s?”

“Just the opposite. It’ll put me back in town when Dixon starts chomping at the bit, wondering where I’ve gone off to. And by the time we drive up north, see Becky Lynn, then come back down and hit the drive-through before we make our stop at the clinic, it’ll be too late for your shadows to do much about it.” He started up the car, looked over at her. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with Scotty and whatever repercussions come out of that, because you know these guys are gonna blow a gasket when they figure out what we’re doing.”