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Authors: P.T. Deutermann

BOOK: The Cat Dancers
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She had notified the bank, which informed her that number 2499, a check in the amount of five hundred dollars, had been cashed in Winston and that they would issue a stoppayment order for the other two checks—for a standard fee, of course. Cam decided to go out and get something to eat. He’d tackle all this in the morning. But first, he wanted to swing by Annie’s house to make sure she was all right and to
see what, if anything, Jay-Kay might have found in Annie’s computer. He’d made it out to the parking lot and was fishing for keys when his beeper went off. It was a message from field operations. “Call home, E.T.—911.” Those last three digits blinking on his pager meant something very bad had happened.
CAM UNLOCKED HIS CAR, slid into the driver’s seat, and used his Sheriff’s Office cell phone. The operator patched him through to the operations supervisor, who informed him that there had been two bombs at Judge Bellamy’s place after all. The second one had worked like a fucking charm.
Cam was struck speechless as a cold wave of acute nausea swept through his midsection.
“Lieutenant, you there?” the sergeant asked.
Cam found his voice. “Yeah, I’m here. The judge—is she …”
“Oh, yes, sir, she, her car, and her garage. Apparently, it was a big fucking bomb. I’m fixing to beep the sheriff right now. You going on-scene?”
Cam nodded, and then realized the sergeant couldn’t see that. “Affirmative,” he croaked, and hung up. BFB—just like the brick package had promised.
His hands were shaking and suddenly he couldn’t see all that well in the semidarkness of the police lot. He sure as hell couldn’t drive right now, so he called back into the operations center and asked for a cruiser to take him out there. He met the car out front on Washington Street and they headed out to Annie’s neighborhood with sound and lights going. The deputy driving took one look at Cam’s face and tended to his driving.
Annie was dead. Just when it seemed they might be able to get a life going again, now this. He couldn’t organize his thoughts or his emotions. He was just cold inside now, anxious to get to the scene, to do something. An image of the chair flashed through his mind.
It was a blue-light circus out there by the time they pulled up. Cam badged through two perimeters and three different sets of scene-entry logs. He could smell the disaster over the wall before he could see it. A heavy pall of smoke still hung in the air, polluting the beautiful ambience of the grounds and shrouding the smaller trees. It looked like every light in the house was on, but then he realized that every window on the garage side of the house had been blown in. The main crowd was back at the garage, or where the garage had been, because it wasn’t there anymore. Only one end wall was standing, and not much of that one. There were crime-scene people, the bomb squad again, the fire department, of course, two ambulances, one with lights going, one with lights dark, and several deputies milling around with flashlights. It looked like the medical examiner’s people were working at the darkened ambulance, while the EMT boys were swarming around the one whose lights were still spinning. One injured, one dead. Not too hard to figure that out.
The on-scene boss was the Sheriff’s Office watch commander for this shift, Lt. Frank Myers. Frank worked in the Major Crimes division. He was a big guy, also ex–Marine Corps, but he was of the gentle giant persuasion and well liked in the Sheriff’s Office. Cam headed toward him and found himself crunching through a thickening debris field as he crossed the dark lawn. His mind was in neutral, and the feeling of dread and nausea was returning. Part of his brain told him that he didn’t belong here just now, but he ignored that, pressed ahead, and got to where Frank was talking on a cell phone. The remains of Annie’s silver Mercedes smoldered in front of the garage foundations. Frank recognized Cam and cut off his conversation abruptly.
“Jesus, Cam, I’m sorry as hell about this,” Frank said, which surprised Cam. It was not something that the officer in charge on the scene of a bombing would say to the chief of the MCAT, and then Cam saw that several other cops were looking his way with expressions of real sympathy, as was Frank. It struck him then that his and Annie’s little secret may not have been so secret after all. He was overwhelmed for a
moment, but then the situation intruded. Fuck it, he thought, taking a deep breath. Let’s get this over with.
“Where is she?” he asked as quietly as he could, and Frank immediately pulled him aside. The other people were getting back to what they had been doing, but Cam noticed that there was a growing circle of space around the two of them out there in the ruined yard.
“The judge’s remains are in that dark ambulance over there,” he said. Cam immediately turned in that direction but found that Frank had a hold of his arm and wouldn’t let go. Cam had to stop before he pulled himself off his own feet. He looked at Frank, who shook his head. “Don’t go there,” he said. “Keep what you got, Cam.”
Cam tried to pull away again, but Frank was a big man, so then he just quit, which is when Frank let go of his arm and put a big paw around his shoulder. Cam felt tears streaming down his face. He didn’t know what to do, and Frank turned him gently away from the crowd of cops and lights and walked him out into the darkness of the lawn, still stepping through broken bits of wood, glass, and even metal—and possibly bits of Annie, Cam realized.
Big
fucking bomb.
After a minute or so, he got control of himself, sort of, took several deep breaths, and asked what had happened.
“Those FBI people left and then the judge decided she wanted to go out for a drive,” Frank said. “All of a sudden. Said the house was giving her the creeps, all this shit going on. The inside deputy informed the outside guy and central ops, said he’d go get the car. She said no, she’d get it, told him to meet her at the front gates.”
“So he didn’t actually go with her?”
Frank shrugged. “It was Arnold. He’s a second-year probationer, just off his tour at the LEC. She was a judge. He did what he was told.”
“And then?”
“The outside deputy was Merriweather. He got the word, saw the backyard spotlights come on, saw the judge walk across the drive, heading back toward the garage. He said his
night vision was shot to hell by all the spots, so he drifted back toward the front wall to get some trees between him and the house. Heard the garage doors go up, thinks he heard the car start, then doesn’t remember anything after that. The EmTs say he got hit with a piece of the roof. They’re fixing to transport him now.”
“Badly injured?”
“Whacked in the head,” Frank said. “Who the hell knows.”
“And Arnold?”
“Physically, he’s fine,” Frank said pointedly, giving Cam a look that said, Don’t go out there and beat up on him for not going with Annie to the garage. Because if he had …
“Okay, okay,” Cam said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, that’s how we see it right now. If anything, they should have had the outside guy go look in the garage, make sure there were no bad guys lurking in there. Of course they’d never have seen this coming.”
“I should have,” Cam said. “They did this before.”
“They’? “What’re you talking about?”
“Diversion. The night they shot up the house. One guy in the alley, making noise, while the shooter pulls up front and pops the real cap. Same deal here. They deliver a fake bomb, we go off on it, find out it’s a fake, stand down. Then the real deal. Plus, the bomb squad swept the house, but none of the other buildings.”
“I don’t know, Cam,” Frank said after a moment. Cam thought Frank was being obtuse, but then he realized that he was still looking for someone to blame—that is, besides himself. “Whoever did this couldn’t have known she’d want to go out for a drive on the spur of the moment.”
“Depends on who it is and how well he knew Annie,” Cam said. He’d meant to say “the judge.” He hesitated, but Frank was a totally straight-ahead guy. “I—we—thought we were keeping what we had going … well, something of a secret.”
Frank looked down at the grass for a moment. “Probably not, Cam,” he said. “This ain’t the LAPD, you know? I mean, hell, there was nothing improper about it. You’d been married
before. Most of your friends thought it was probably a good thing—for both of you.”
“You think this”—Cam pointed with his chin to the smoldering remains of the three-car garage—“was about her decision to dismiss on the minimart?”
Frank’s face settled back into a professional mask. “I have no fucking idea what this was about, Cam,” he said. “You do understand that you can’t work this one, right? Plus, this is most definitely for the feds.”
Cam nodded. Then he said he needed to go over to that darkened ambulance. Frank gave him an appraising look and then nodded, but they went together.
The ambulance’s emergency lights were dark, but the medical examiner’s staff people were there. One of them recognized Cam and nudged the other people. They closed the back doors and stood back as Cam approached. Hell’s bells, he thought, who
hadn’t
known?
They reached the side of the vehicle and Frank left Cam alone after signaling the ME’s people to back on out. Cam knew he wasn’t going to open those back doors. The lights were on inside the unit, but he didn’t dare look inside, either. Keep what you got, Cam, he told himself, remembering Frank’s words. He just stood there for what seemed like a very long time, leaning his head on the boxy white sides of the ambulance. The metal was cool against his forehead, and the sounds of the crime-scene activities faded behind him. A part of his mind sensed that he might be going into shock. Then suddenly, Bobby Lee was there, putting his arm around him and walking him firmly away from that ambulance and the mortal remains of Annie Bellamy.
THEY TOOK CAM HOME about two hours later. One of the county hospital doctors who tended to the Sheriff’s Office gave him some pills, and Bobby Lee stood there to make sure that he took one, and only then did he allow Cam to be driven home. There were no lights on in the house when they arrived, and the deputy offered to go in and light the place up. Cam told him no, he preferred darkness right now. He let himself in, thanked the guy for the ride, and was shucking his tie when he discovered that Kenny Cox was sitting there in his darkened living room, the two-German shepherds flanking his chair comfortably. Cam realized then that he’d seen Kenny’s pickup truck out front when the cruiser dropped him off but that it simply hadn’t registered. Not much was registering right at the moment, and he knew that pill was beginning to take effect.
“I take it you heard,” Cam said, peeling off his gun belt and turning on some more lights. There must have been something in his voice modulating the combination of fatigue, hurt, loss, and whatever meds the doc had given him, because Kenny didn’t get up. Cam thought he saw the glint of a glass in Kenny’s hand, and then he heard the tinkle of ice cubes. Cam wanted a drink right then, too, but the doc had told him in no uncertain terms: no booze with these pills. He flopped down into one of the living room chairs and stared at nothing.
“I came to make sure you were okay,” Kenny said.
“I’m not okay,” Cam said. “Not even close, although this pill is starting to work. Surprised the hell out of me, to tell the truth.” The two shepherds, well used to Kenny, heard the pain in Cam’s voice and quickly surrounded him, pressing noses into his hands and making small noises.
“Didn’t know you loved her.”
Cam smiled in the darkness and told his dogs to lie down. “
Love
’s too strong a word,” he said. “But—”
“Yeah,” Kenny said. “‘But.’ I hear you.”
“I hear myself,” Cam said. “It’s baffling the shit out of me.”
“Another thing I’ve heard,” Kenny said finally, “is that you think cops are doing this shit.”
“Doing what shit?” Cam asked somewhat disingenously. There was a warm fog at the edge of his brain. C’mon, fog, he thought.
“The chair. The threatening messages to the judge. Now this bombing. Killing Annie Bellamy.”
Fucking Kenny, Cam thought. The consummate ear to the ground. Calling her Annie, too, like they’d been big buddies. He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything. He realized he was that tired, and, in addition, the blessed fog was gaining ground.
“Do you?”
“It’s possible, Kenny,” Cam said. “The threats, the bombing—all that would require access, the kind of access cops have.”
“You think maybe I’m one of them?”
“Of course not,” Cam said quickly. Maybe too quickly, he thought. “It’s been a bad night, Kenny,” he said. “And I’ve got no evidence. Besides, you of all people are too smart for that kind of shit.”
The ice cubes tinkled again. “I hated that woman,” Kenny said. “No, that’s not right. I didn’t really know her, not in a personal sense. I hated what she stood for. For what she did in the courtroom—to me and to other cops. That’s what I hated.”
“But not enough to screw up your whole life.”
“Killing a judge? No, even I’m not that stupid.”
“I didn’t think so.” Cam sighed.
“Glad to hear it, boss,” Kenny said evenly. “But you still think it could be cops?”
Cam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. At the moment, he didn’t give a shit about anything. He opened his eyes when he heard Kenny’s truck start up outside, but then he closed them again and let the world go away.
He awoke the next morning with a neck ache. The shepherds were nudging him, still worried. He looked at his watch. It was 1:15. He looked out the window. There was daylight. Okay, so it wasn’t morning. Good pill, that. He was still slumped in the living room armchair, hence the aching neck, and the phone was ringing. Answering the phone wouldn’t bring Annie back, nor would it cure the neck ache, so he decided to ignore it. He fed the dogs and shooed them outside through the dog door, then shuffled down the hall to his bedroom, stripped down, and took a long, hot shower with the nozzle pointed at the side of his neck that hurt the most. He shaved while he waited for the hot water to do its magic. It seemed to work right about the same time as the hot-water heater admitted defeat.
He got out, dried off, and then the phone started up again. Fair enough. Time to rejoin the human race. It was Bobby Lee. He asked how Cam was doing. Cam told him that he was alive, had just awakened, and needed coffee. The sheriff said he was sending a car and that then they were going to meet with Special Agent McLain, if Cam was up to it. Cam dutifully said he was. Bobby Lee didn’t sound convinced, nor was Cam, but it would probably beat sitting around the house. He went to make coffee and then find a fresh uniform.
When he got to the office, McLain was already there, along with the sheriff, Lt. Frank Myers of Major Crimes, and the supervisor of their bomb squad. A captain was there from the State Bureau of Investigation.
McLain led off by reciting the standard formula that they were there to help. Everyone dutifully nodded. The feds were always there to help. He said no decision had yet been made to take over federal jurisdiction in the bombing incident at the judge’s home, although they probably would. The sheriff said that he fully expected the federal authorities to assume jurisdiction, and that his office was ready to cooperate in any way it could. McLain announced that terrorism was probably not a factor in the fatal bombing, and everyone nodded sagely. The next ten minutes were occupied with similar pronouncements. Cam mostly just sat there. He was thinking about Annie, and repeatedly telling himself that she had never known what hit
her. One moment, she’d been starting the car; the next moment, there’d been nothing but a lingering echo.
“Lieutenant?” the sheriff said, and Cam realized he’d missed a question.
“Sorry,” he said, not sure who had asked it. “It was a long night. Say again, please.”
“I said,” McLain repeated, “do you believe the bombing is linked to that minimart case and the subsequent executions on the Internet?’”
“Yes,” Cam replied.
“Why?”
“She shouldn’t have dismissed those charges.”
That provoked a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Cam realized that he needed to dress that comment up a little.
“Four significant things happened prior to this bombing,” he said, “Simmonds disappeared, and we now know he was executed. Butts disappeared, and we know he was at least abducted. Given the video, he, too, presumably was executed.”
“Why ‘presumably’?” McLain asked.
“We have K-Dog’s body,” he said. “We don’t have Butts’s.”
McLain nodded and made a note.
“The other two things were the ‘You’re next’ message to the judge via a supposedly private and secure judicial network, and then the shooting incident at her home. So, yes, I think the bombing is the culmination of a revenge effort.”
“On the part of this James Marlor,” McLain said.
Cam hesitated and saw Bobby Lee giving him a warning look. “That’s been our assumption. Marlor’s gone completely off the grid, with one exception—a hit on his checking account a couple of days ago.”
“Is it possible that Marlor has had some help?” McLain asked.
The sheriff jumped in on that question. “As in?”
“As in some local police,” McLain said. Cam saw that the sheriff didn’t seemed shocked at this suggestion, which told him they had already kicked the notion around before he got there.
“Possible, but not likely,” Bobby Lee said. “I mean, we’re
talking abduction, murder, obstruction, a hit on a judge. That’s a big step for any cop to take, no matter how pissed off he might be about a judge’s ruling.”
“Your people get pissed off at her ruling?” McLain asked.
“You bet your ass they did,” Bobby Lee said promptly. “So did I. She was way off base, as far as I’m concerned. But of course that’s not our call. And once the AG blessed it, the issue became moot for us. My cops will bitch about it, but that’s about it.”
McLain nodded and looked down at his notes. “Lieutenant Richter, I understand that you had a personal relationship with Judge Bellamy?”
“Yes, I did,” Cam said.
“What was the nature of that relationship, if I may ask?”
“Personal,” Cam said.
Bobby Lee made a face. “They were married many years ago, Special Agent,” he said. “When the lieutenant was just starting out as a cop and Bellamy was just another lawyer. They got a divorce, and lately they got back together. She’d been through two husbands in the interim.”
“What’s the relevance of this?” Cam asked. “You think I set the bomb?”
“No, Lieutenant,” McLain said. “But we’ve done some initial checking. You know, basic stuff. Like who might benefit if the judge died.”
“You mean pending cases?” Cam asked, puzzled.
“No, Lieutenant. Who might benefit
personally
.” He looked at Cam to see if he understood. Cam, clearly baffled now, looked at him and then at the other people in the room.
“Yeah, and?” he said.
McLain leaned forward. “Actually, I called her attorney. Asked about her estate. Did you know what was in her will, Lieutenant?”
Cam thought McLain was starting to sound like an Internal Affairs officer. He shook his head. “She went through three husbands, including me,” he said. “She divorced two and one died. She never had children, and she was an only child. I have no idea of what’s in her will. Why would I?”
“Because you are the sole beneficiary of her estate,” McLain said with a thinly disguised note of triumph. He looked up from his notes. “You, Lieutenant, are now a millionaire.” He paused to let that news sink in.
Cam blinked. He didn’t know what to say.
“Literally a millionaire,” McLain continued. “And this is news, I take it?”
“Sure as hell is,” Cam said. He shook his head in amazement. “I never thought about it. I guess I assumed …”
“Assumed what, Lieutenant?”
Cam shrugged. “I never really thought about her estate or her money. When we split, she was making a lot more than I was as a detective, so we just split and that was that. Actually, she offered to pay me alimony, but I declined. But money, wills, estates? That never came up between us.”
“Something north of ten million,” McLain said, consulting his notes again. “You see our problem, Lieutenant?”
“No,” Cam said. “I don’t. What is your problem?”
“Motive, Lieutenant,” McLain said. “James Marlor had a motive to kill the two suspects who burned up his family. He had somewhat less of a motive kill the judge, although one can make that case. There are indications that someone inside law enforcement might be playing in this game. So who might that be? Who might also benefit if the judge dies?”
“And that would be me?” Cam asked in astonishment.
No one said anything. Cam looked at Bobby Lee, who mouthed the word
lawyer.
Cam shook his head angrily. “Look, Special Agent, you’re way the hell off base with this. Annie Bellamy and I were seeing each other. I’d best describe it as an extended experiment. There were no rules, no deals, no promises.” He paused for a moment. “The only special thing about it was that we were all each other had in the way of a personal relationship. I don’t date, nor did she. It was kind of—I don’t know—a relief not to have to do the dance every time, like you might with a brand-new person.”
No one said anything for a moment, and then Bobby Lee leaned forward. “Do you think you two might have made it permanent?” he asked. “I don’t mean marriage, but—”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Cam said. “And now I guess I never will. But to answer your question, Special Agent, no, I did not kill Annie Bellamy. I don’t have expensive tastes or habits. I’ve basically got all the money I’ll ever need, and no one to support or leave it to. I drive a really old car and a used pickup truck. I live in a modest two-bedroom house out in the burbs. I don’t gamble. I don’t do drugs. I don’t lust after young boys or farm animals. The best part of what Annie and I had going was that that was all we had going, understand?”
McLain nodded slowly, and Cam saw the other people around the table relax. “Then we have to find out who did do this thing,” he said briskly, as if everything was settled. “Okay. I’ve talked to ATF—they’ll probably take the lead in the bombing investigation. Sheriff, we’ll need your statements, the evidence bucket—you know, the usual.”
Bobby Lee said they’d get any support they needed. McLain offered to merge his information with theirs, because in his opinion, Marlor was still the main suspect. Cam just sat there, bemused at how quickly McLain had moved on to other things after putting him through the wringer with a virtual accusation of murder. Bobby Lee gave him a signal and the two of them excused themselves and left the others to talk. They stepped out into the anteroom.

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