Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

“And Minette’s younger,” said Amanda. “Give her time to develop her own cirrhosis.”

Barnes nodded.

Amanda thought a moment. “If someone knew Davida drank herself asleep, be easy to take advantage and shoot her while she was out.”

“And who would know more about her drinking habits than Minette?” said Barnes. “Minette’s hetero fling, Kyle Bosworth, told me he left the apartment by two in the morning. Kyle’s partner verified Kyle was home around two fifteen. Minette had plenty of time to go down to Davida’s office, share a bottle with her lover, wait until Davida had nodded off and blow her head off.”

“Clear opportunity,” said Amanda. “Clear means if we can connect her to a shotgun. Now what’s the motive?”

“Davida had the clap and Dr. Williman said it was passed easier from man to woman. Maybe she was having her own hetero fling.”

“Still, it’s not impossible from female to female,” she said, louder. Barnes put his finger to his lips and Amanda dropped her voice. “Any indication that Davida had a man on the side?”

“Not yet. No special guy shows up in any of her e-mails.”

Amanda played with her hair. “To my mind, Willie, it makes more sense that Minette got it from Kyle and gave it to Davida. Minette was the one with the free time to carry on an affair and we know she slept with a man.”

“Dr. Kurtag thought Davida might have suspected Minette’s affair. Maybe she learned Minette had given her gonorrhea and blew up big-time. When Davida tried to break it off, Minette became enraged, an argument ensued and boom.”

Amanda said, “Minette passed the gunpowder test.”

“All that means is that she washed her hands really well. Man, I’d just love to examine her clothing for blowback blood spray…or powder.”

“Do we even know if Minette ever came near a shotgun, let alone knows how to use one?”

Barnes shrugged, took out his pad and pen, and scribbled some notes.

An assistant to one of the councilwomen poked her head in. “Berkeley PD, you’re on in two.”

The detectives stood. Amanda lifted Barnes’s bolo tie, let it fall back to his chest and smiled. “This and that big-ass belt buckle, pard. Taking out a billboard that says, ‘I’m a shit kicker’?”

“Hey,” said Barnes. “This is the land of tolerance. And you’re doing most of the talking, Ms. Couture. Ready for your close-up?”

Amanda smoothed her black wool skirt and tucked in her white blouse. “Ready as I’m going to be.”

As they neared the stage, she saw Will straighten his tie. Tight jaw; she hadn’t meant to rattle the big guy.

She said, “I like your theory about Minette drinking with Davida and blowing her head off. And I’d love to see Minette’s clothing, too. Unfortunately, a theory’s not enough to get us a warrant to search her apartment.”

Barnes’ss brain ran through a series of possibilities. Now his jawline was a track for ball bearings. “How about this: Minette’s apartment is also Davida’s apartment. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting a victim warrant. If we happen to find bloody clothing and brain tissue in the sink’s drain traps…well, then, that’s the way it goes sometimes.”

“Viva accidents,” said Amanda.

“That and Zapata,” said Barnes. “He’s one of the good guys around here, right?”

As he stepped into his pajama bottoms, Will thought about the town hall meeting and the press conference. Amanda had summarized the investigation better than he could’ve, speaking clearly and simply, personable but terse. Captain Torres did a decent job of easing community fears, keeping his cool under a barrage of questions thoughtful and stupid.

Then there was him.

Speaking into the microphone with that little nervous stutter in his voice that told the world he was a shit-kicking dufus. The tie and buckle didn’t help either; he could almost taste the contempt.

Made him drawl even more, until he ended up sounding like Gomer Pyle on downers.

What a- he stopped. Self-reflection was for chumps.

The phone rang. Good. Maybe Laura, that new relationship biting the du…Torres’s voice shot over the line. “You know the warrant that you requested to search Davida’s apartment?”

“I haven’t put it in yet, Cap.”

“Don’t bother, you won’t need it. Minette Padgett called in a 911 emergency about twenty minutes ago. The whole damn place has been ransacked.”

“They got me as I walked through the door,” Amanda said. “What about you?”

“I was just about to go to bed.”

Amanda made a sour face. “I wasn’t anywhere near going to bed. This commute is a killer. I really should move.”

“You shouldn’t even be working,” Barnes retorted. “Man, if I had a thousandth of your money, I’d be sailing or playing golf or- ”

“Willie, if you quit the force, you’d be cranky twenty-four/seven.”

“I’m already cranky twenty-four/seven!” Barnes looked around at the living space in complete disarray. “What a total shit pile.”

“That’s the bad news,” Amanda said. “The good news is now we can look for evidence against Minette without raising any hackles. So stop sneering, pard, and let’s get to work.”

Barnes took out a camera and began snapping pictures. Had it been tidy, the living room would have felt generous with the wall of picture windows and a high ceiling. But it was hard to look beyond the mess. Craftsman-style seating had been overturned, madras throw pillows were strewn across the floor. Oak bookshelves had been emptied, a couple of cheap glass vases- the kind that come with flower deliveries- were shattered.

The only breakage in plain sight. The open floor plan allowed Barnes a view of the kitchen. Cupboard doors flung open but the crockery within was untouched. The contents of the kitchen drawers, on the other hand, had been emptied and dumped on the floor.

The detectives walked as best as they could, trying not to squash evidence under the soles of their paper-sheathed shoes. The condo had three bedrooms- a master and two smaller guest rooms identical in size. The first of the smaller bedrooms had been converted into a home office; the floor space of the second was taken up with gym equipment.

When you got past the disorder, the master bedroom was a great space- generous and airy with a striking view of the city below and the bay beyond. Davida’s sanctuary at the end of a hectic day?

The room’s current ambience was chaos, clothing tossed on the floor, drawers dumped, bed linens stripped from the mattress.

The first word that came to Barnes’s mind was “staged.” Despite countless movie scenes, most thieves didn’t randomly ransack because disorder made it difficult to find valuables.

He nodded at Amanda and she got it without his having to say a word. The two of them moved to the home office and surveyed a snowstorm of paper through the doorway. Same drawer-emptying, file-dumping mess, books and videos on the floor, the swivel desk chair overturned in a way that suggested calculation. Barnes’s large feet couldn’t manage a baby step without crunching something under his feet and he retreated.

“Someone really did a number,” Amanda said.

Barnes said, “All this disorder and the plates and dishes are intact? A lot easier to clean up paper and upright couches and chairs, much bigger hassle clearing broken china.”

“Why would Minette stage this?”

“Could be her or someone setting her up.” Thoughts were rolling around Barnes’s brain. “Or maybe even the real deal. When I mentioned Harry Modell to Dr. Kurtag, she told me that Davida wasn’t afraid of him because she knew some things about him.”