Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

Amanda was medium-sized, slim, thirty-eight, delicately beautiful with honey-colored hair layered short and enormous brown eyes. She had on a charcoal pantsuit that didn’t show the dirt. Armani Couture, but tailored to look run-of-the-mill.

The scene was gruesome and bloody with crimson spray all over the desk and the walls. Not at all the kind of murder that Amanda was used to seeing. When BPD dealt with homicides, they were usually drug killings confined to the dark alleys of the West Berkeley region, brutal but ultimately mundane crimes that often germinated in Oakland.

Amanda studied the body again. Someone had been serious. When she looked closely, she could see shotgun pellets embedded in flesh. Brushing honey-colored locks from her eyes, she turned to Will. “This is nauseating.”

“Lots of spray…a couple of partial shoeprints.” Barnes pointed to several spots. “If the past is any predictor of the future, someone somewhere is dumping bloody clothing. But the idiots always think twice about tossing the shoes.”

“Who called the murder in?”

“Jerome Melchior- Davida’s chief aide. I’ve got him stowed away in a cruiser, drinking coffee, hoping we can steady his nerves. I’d like to interview him while his memory is fresh, get him away from the magpies before the press conference.”

Barnes checked his watch. “We’ve only got about an hour, Mandy. Ready to hustle?”

“Go interview him, I’ll take over here. Then, while I’m working the microphones with the brass, you can have a look around and we’ll compare notes.”

“You got it.” His perfectly organized partner. After a year they synched well, like a nicely tuned clock. Will hadn’t been thrilled to work with someone who’d married into a hundred million bucks, had heard the ice-queen dilettante chatter, figured how could it be otherwise. But Amanda worked as hard as anyone. Harder. Maybe those lottery winners who claimed they’d never quit their day jobs were righteous.

She smoothed the jacket of one of those designer pantsuits with gloved hands, took another look at Davida and shook her head. “You ever have any dealings with her, Will?”

“Not professionally.” Barnes sighed. “She’s a Sacramento girl. I knew her.”

“Well?”

Barnes shook his head. “Her older sister, Glynnis, was a couple of years younger than me. She died when Davida was a kid. My brother, Jack, knew Davida in high school. They ran in different circles, but I know when she came out in her senior year, it had a big impact on Jack.” He turned to face her. “What about you and Larry? You guys go to parties with pols.”

“Good deduction, Detective Barnes. Yeah, I’ve run into her a few times but no extended conversations. She came across as a reasonable person. Not pro-police but not as antagonistic as some of the others we’ve had. When she talked, though, she got animated. I guess that was passion about what she believed in.”

“If you’re passionately for something, chances are there’s somebody that’s passionately against the same thing.”

“The stem-cell deal, that egging last week,” said Amanda. “Wonder if SPD has anything on that.”

“I still know people over there. I’ll check.”

“Maybe we should visit the capital,” Amanda suggested. “Scope out her enemies and her friends.”

“At the capital, they can be one and the same. Sure, good idea, but I think hobnobbing with those in the know is more up your alley, Mandy.”

“What’s your forte, compadre?”

“Talking to her folk.”

Amanda knew he meant the gay and lesbian community. Of all the contacts that a detective might cultivate, she couldn’t have thought of a more odd combination than Will and gays. But he got info from them like no one else could. Perhaps they trusted him because he was the last person in the world to be condescending or patronizing. “Sure you don’t want to take on the Gray Suits, Willie? It was originally your territory.”

“My territory, but never my people.”

Jerome Melchior sat with his head between his knees in the backseat of the cruiser. He was compact with weight-lifter arms that stretched the sleeves of his black long-sleeved tee. Weeping his eyes out.

Melchior looked up as Barnes approached. Deep-set dark eyes, cinnamon hair highlighted gold and cut close to the skull. He wiped his eyes, dropped his head again. Barnes slid in next to him. “Horrible morning, Mr. Melchior. I’m sorry.”

Melchior sucked in air. “I thought she was sleeping. Sometimes she does that.”

“Falls asleep at her desk?”

The aide nodded. “When she pulls an all-nighter.”

“How often was that?”

“More often lately because of her bill.”

“Stem-cell bill?”

“Yes.”

Barnes patted Melchior’s shoulder. Melchior straightened and threw his head back and stared at the roof of the police car. “My God, I can’t believe this!”

Barnes gave him time. “When did you realize she was dead?”

“I don’t know why. I just came over and gave her a gentle shake on the shoulder. When I pulled my hand away there was blood on my fingers. It didn’t register at first…then it…did.” Melchior reached around and touched the nape of his neck. “The hole. ”

Barnes took out a notepad. “So nothing immediately clued you in that something was wrong?”

“Nothing looked out of place if that’s what you mean.” He regarded Barnes. “I touched her again. Blood all over my hands, I’m sure I left bloody fingerprints- oh, God, is that going to mess up your investigation?”

“Not since you’ve told me. Your call came in to dispatch at around eight in the morning. How long after the discovery did it take you to call emergency?”

“About…two minutes, maybe less. But I was so fucked-up I dialed 611 instead of 911, I was shaking so hard. ”

“That’s normal, Mr. Melchior. Let’s talk about Ms. Grayson. Politicians have lots of people who don’t like their views. Anyone in particular stand out?”

“Not enough to kill her.”

“Give me names anyway.”

“I’m talking other representatives,” said Melchior. “They may be sleazy but they’re not…okay, okay…Mark Decody from Orange County…Alisa Lawrence from San Diego couldn’t stand Davida, either. They’re both Republicans. She was also having some problems with a Democrat. In name only. Artis Handel. He’s actually been the most ferocious about the bill.”

“Why?”

“Catholic and makes a big point of it. The whole abortion-fetus thing.”

“Anyone else?”

“There’s a civilian- a nutcase, really. Harry Modell. Executive director of some fringe group called Families Under God. We’re talking extremists. I’ve heard their unspoken motto is kill liberals, not babies. He’s a kook and a grandstander, can’t say I’ve ever thought of him as this bad but…who knows.”

“How’d Davida react to the egg throwers?”

“That.” Melchior frowned. “She sloughed it off as crazy kids. I agreed, but now…”

Melchior cried some more. When he was through, Barnes offered him more coffee.

“No, thanks.”

“Anything else you’d like to say or add that you think might help?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“How about I call you in a day or so? Sometimes after the shock wears off, you remember things.”

“Sure.”

“In the meantime…” Barnes took out his card. “If you think of anything else that might help me out, give me a call.”

Melchior stuck the card in a trouser pocket.

“One more thing, sir. Would you happen to know any of Representative Grayson’s passwords for her computer?”