Rogue Justice (38 page)

Jefferson County Prosecutor's Office,

Port Townsend, Washington.

Crime—Homicide.

Victims—1 Katrina Eliza Kincaid, Age 35.

Location—Fort Worden State Park.

"Did Towers give you this file?" Steiger asked, hiking an eyebrow. "I better call Ripley's."

Rosekrans snickered. "Yes. He had no choice, really. If he
does
track down Dr. Kincaid's killer—and I'm not holding my breath—I'll be prosecuting the case. Not much to go on, though. And I've gone over this stuff nine ways from Sunday since you called."

Stepping closer, Steiger took the next few minutes to peruse the crime scene photos, lab results, autopsy report, and half a dozen aerial photographs of Fort Worden State Park taken from a TV helicopter. "Point taken, Scott. Not a damn thing here that can lead us to the killer—no fingerprints, footprints, hair, DNA residue, weapons, or anything else that might be mistaken for physical evidence."

"Which is precisely why I'm anxious to hear what you've got, Cloyd." Rosekrans was now perched on the edge of his desk.

Steiger pulled up a chair, took a deep breath, then launched into his narrative. Over the next twenty minutes, he sorted through the intermingled threads of the two cases exactly as they'd unfolded in his head during his brief reflections on the bluff a few moments earlier.

Rosekrans reacted with surprise and shock, taking some time to gather his own thoughts. "That's really tragic about Ms. Flynn's mother," he said. "But what about the rest of her story, disposing of Samson's body, capturing the other orca?"

"No reason to doubt any of it. This woman doesn't make shit up."

"Okay, let's back up then. Tell me about this Preston Tradd character. Presumably he's the blackmailer who showed up in Sitka?"

Steiger nodded. "There wasn't much left of him, but from my description over the phone, Flynn seemed certain it was the same guy."

"It's why Colby Freeman lawyered up when you pressed him for more information."

"Right. And why he lied about Samson's so-called
escape
."

"Listen, did you ask him if he knew Dr. Kincaid?" Rosekrans asked.

"Yeah. He said he felt bad about what happened to her and all, that she'd been treating the sick whale and making good progress. Then he clammed up."

Rosekrans sighed. "Obviously a lie, but a clever one when you think about it. He covers his tracks on phone calls and e-mails between them, admitting nothing beyond that. So it's his word against Ms. Flynn's."

"Exactly. Only now there's no proof she actually
captured
another whale. It's like trying to make a homicide case without the body. Which means there's no way to connect the man behind the curtain to
any
crime, let alone blackmail and murder."

"
Oz
being Mitchell Chandler."

"He's the reason you sent Zora Flynn to see me in the first place, right, Scott?" The answer was obvious, but Steiger had asked the question anyway. "You knew the history there, what went down with my ex-partner."

Rosekrans gazed around the room then looked back at his friend. "That's a big part of it, yes. Like I told you the other night, Cloyd, I got that call from Jake Towers not five minutes after I'd finished the prelim exam on Dr. Kincaid. He told me he was taking over the investigation—
hijack
would be a more accurate description. It just didn't pass the smell test. What, I'm supposed to believe he's clairvoyant? That he somehow
knew
her death was not an accident? Anyway, the next thing that popped into my head was the tormented face of that young rape victim over in Port Ludlow."

Steiger nodded. "The scumbag who destroyed her life made a mockery of the justice system, all courtesy of Towers and SIU."

"Exactly. So when Ms. Flynn told me about meeting with Dr. Kincaid shortly before she died, about Samson's prognosis, about the blackmail scheme involving the capture of another whale..."

"Déjà vu all over again," Steiger said. "Only this time there's an even
bigger
reptile."

Rosekrans sat quietly for several long moments, nervously tapping his fist into his hand. "Listen, I had a feeling this bubble was gonna break sooner than later, so I did some research." He explained that, according to his own inside sources, Mitchell Chandler had funneled millions of dollars into Governor Ryan's treasure chest through a group called the Evergreen Foundation, a nonprofit arm of Chandler Global Enterprises. All on the up-and-up, too. There was no legal requirement that the names of donors be disclosed and no limit on the size of donations.

Steiger knew about Chandler's cozy relationship with the governor, but not about the secret fund. "Crony capitalism at its best," he said.

"Sure is," Rosekrans replied. "Chandler and his fat-cat friends pony up a few hundred grand and walk away with millions in no-bid government contracts. But you know what, Cloyd? Nothing really surprises me anymore. I was still living in Houston when Enron's house of cards collapsed. Remember that?"

Steiger did, in fact, remember. All too well. Two corporate crooks named Ken Lay and Jeffrey Skilling had cooked the books, bamboozling everybody from Wall Street to Main Street. Steiger had invested some of his own hard-earned cash into the company soon after
Fortune Magazine
had crowned it, "Enron the Incredible." Like everyone else, his money had gone up in smoke.

Rosekrans continued. "The thing I can't figure in
this
deal, though, is what's in it for the governor? He can't be that desperate for cash." The DA paused, the ghost of a smile creasing his face. "Unless he pulled a page from the John Edwards/Schwarzenegger playbooks and has a love child out there somewhere."

"Might not be as far-fetched as you think, Scott."

"Ryan? No way, I don't see it."

"Not a mistress necessarily, but maybe some other little secret he's got squirreled away in the closet."

"You're saying he's gay?"

"No, I'm not saying that either," Steiger said. "I'm saying that maybe Towers has been dealing from the bottom of the deck. He found some dirt on the governor, something explosive, and sold the information to the highest bidder."

"Mitchell Chandler again."

"Bingo! It's why we need to find out what else is on the Kincaid woman's hard drive besides the e-mails. There's not enough there to make a case. Where's the computer now?"

"Still with Towers as far as I know," Rosekrans said. "He sent over a copy of the evidence file, that's as much as I know."

"Which actually tells you a
lot
, right?"

Rosekrans nodded, glanced at his watch. "Listen, give me a few minutes, okay? I need to speak with the Circuit Court judge before she leaves on vacation. Be right back."

After the DA left, Steiger pulled out his cell phone and exchanged calls with a colleague. They spoke for several minutes. He clicked off on the second conversation shortly after Rosekrans returned. "That was a friend of mine, Scott. He works in the forensics lab over at Washington State Patrol. I assumed that's where Towers had taken the hard drive. But no cigar. It's not there."

"Not there!" Rosekrans exclaimed, then frowning demanded, "Where is it?"

"Same question my friend asked. He's got a snitch inside the SIU offices in Olympia, one of the analysts. She told him the box had been sent to a private lab just outside Seattle, outfit called Data-Locke. And you'll never guess who owns it?"

"Something tells me I'm about to find out."

"The governor's brother-in-law." Steiger went on to explain that a report had been sent from Data-Locke to SIU the previous afternoon. According to the snitch, the document included a glut of scientific mumbo jumbo, but no mention of any hidden file.

"Any chance they could've missed it?"

"Highly unlikely, Scott. I'm told Data-Locke hires only the best and brightest, geeks who can find anything on a computer—hidden, disguised, deleted, whatever. I'm speculating here, but I'd bet even money they never
saw
the hard drive. Instead, the brother-in-law pulled an end around, dummied up a report, and then destroyed the drive."

"Figures." With a snort of disgust Rosekrans moved from his desk to the window and stared outside. "So we're back to square one. Without that hard drive, Chandler's untouchable."

"Unless we con the con, Scott."

Rosekrans instantly spun around, squared himself with Steiger. "What do you mean?"

"Look, it's a long shot, but this game's already rigged, so it might be our
only
shot. What we do is this. We get Chandler to come over here, meet with you. Let's see if we can jam him up a little, maybe get something we can use, some inside juice."

"Under what pretense? I mean—"

Steiger stopped him with a raised hand. "Tell him you know how badly he wants the Kincaid case solved. You say Towers is a fine investigator and all, but you hint that he's not getting the straight scoop from one of the park's employees."

"And who exactly do I say
that
is?"

"You don't. Tell him you promised to keep the person's name confidential. Stress to him it's information you're certain he'll want to know." Steiger took a deep breath. He knew he was lobbing a Hail Mary. He too had done some digging on Chandler and the man was obsessed with secrecy to the point of paranoia. His management style: rule-by-fear. And nobody in the organization talked out of school, not if they wanted to remain in his employ.

"But why on earth would he divulge
anything
to me?" Rosekrans asked. "Even if he takes the bait, which is one helluva big
if.
"

Steiger readily agreed. "Look, there are no guarantees here, but I can think of two good reasons why he'll bite. First, Towers might just be holding a hammer over Chandler's head, too, the proverbial double-cross. He's a conniving little twit, and I wouldn't put it past him. Second, you know Chandler's type as well as I do—arrogant SOBs who always think they're the smartest guys in the room."

"In his
case, he probably is."

"Maybe so. But if the man's dirty, he'll want to know everything
you
know, which means he'll purposely interject himself into the investigation. Happens all the time. And don't forget about the other wild card here..." Steiger trailed off, letting his colleague fill in the blank.

"Zora Flynn!"

Steiger slowly nodded. "You would never accuse that woman of bringing a knife to a gunfight, Scott, and right now she's got Chandler square in her crosshairs. Hard to say what she might do. She damn near ripped me a new one on the phone. Personally, I'd pay to see a showdown between Flynn and Chandler. Professionally, I can't go there."

"No, we're a nation of law and order," Rosekrans agreed. "There are lines you just don't cross and legal avenues to settle scores. That said, we should probably bring
her
to the Courthouse, too, otherwise we've got a loose cannon on our hands. Where is she now?"

"Somewhere in Puget Sound, on her way back from Seattle."

Rosekrans shifted a bit and stared out the window again, as if looking for the boat. Turning back to Steiger he said, "Then make the call. As for Chandler, I read that he brings a team of bodyguards with him wherever he goes. So even if he
does
fall for our little ruse, having a bunch of armed commandos rolling into town, well, it's—"

"We can play that game, too, Scott. I'll put a SWAT team on standby. We do it all the time, and believe me nobody messes with these guys." Steiger thought back to his own days as a SWAT dog, remembering how the adrenaline started pumping the instant the phone rang. It would take a half hour or so to bring the unit together, but once assembled the officers could be airborne in under a minute.

"Okay, that works," Rosekrans said. "But meeting with Chandler still feels like a crap shoot to me. You know he'll bring along counsel, and it won't be some ham-and-egger street lawyer, either."

Steiger flashed a mischievous smile. "I don't think so, counselor. Only guilty men walk in with their attorneys."

Chapter 41

4 April, 12:30 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington