The Reveal: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 6) (23 page)

Chapter 26

“Shit.”

“Well said.”

“You making fun of me?” We were standing in the
shooting range, gazing at the well-ventilated paper thug about twenty yards down
the lane. Richard Albright had just left after explaining to us why we weren’t
going to be able to nail him for torching Abby’s apartment and killing her
roommate.

“Not at all,” Ryan said. “I agree with you. I know
exactly what you’re going to say next, and I agree completely.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You’re going to say, ‘Goddammit, I was hoping it
was him. He’s a bad dude, but he’s not a stupid bad dude. He knows we have his
prints on file, so even if he was trying to kill Abby or scare the shit out of
her, he wouldn’t leave his prints on the bottle.’ Then you’d bookend it with
one more ‘Shit’ for emphasis to show how frustrated you were that we hadn’t
wrapped up the investigation.”

“For a polite young man, you’re quite obnoxious.”

He offered me one of his big grins. “I take it
that means I was right.”

“No. Well, yes, in a very obvious way—”

“Thank you.”

“You’re right in that Albright is too smart to
leave any evidence behind. But the real reason I know he didn’t torch Abby’s
place is that he’s too egotistical. He’s not gonna wait till it gets dark,
skulk around her apartment, and toss a Molotov cocktail through her window.
That’s too timid. He’s gonna decide whether she deserves to live or die. If
she’s gonna live, he’ll make speeches and write letters with his name on them.
If she’s gonna die, he’ll kill her—and take credit for it.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I buy that. So who’s left?”

“Let’s go through it,” I said. “Robert Rinaldi,
Virginia’s son.”

“Who we can’t locate and who has no criminal record.
There’s Krista and her pimp, Christopher James Barlow.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not Krista. She cared about
Virginia. Loved her. Or something. I don’t know what it was, but she didn’t
kill her.”

“Christopher James Barlow didn’t love Virginia.”

“True, but he’s a pro, like Richard Albright. If
he killed Virginia—or torched Abby’s apartment—he wouldn’t leave any evidence.
We already know it’s not his DNA under Virginia’s fingernails. Plus, he’s got a
wife who understands the law—she knows she doesn’t have to testify against her
spouse. So she’ll alibi him for anything we charge him with. We’re not gonna be
able to touch him.”

“Unless the fire marshal pulls his prints off the
bottle—”

“That’s not gonna happen,” I said.

“That leaves Abby Demarest and the fraternity boy,
Martin Hunt.”

“You’re practically their age,” I said. “Spin me a
scenario.”

He furrowed his eyebrows to let me know he was
never their age, even if the three of them were born the same day. “Say they’re
involved with each other.”

“Okay, they’re screwing. But why do they want to
kill Virginia?”

“You said, ‘Spin me a scenario.’ I’m not done
spinning.”

“Abby falls for Krista because she’s such a good
lay.”

“You’re a poet,” Ryan said.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t go back and watch the
video three or four times. Abby wants Virginia out of the way. She asks Marty
to help her.”

Ryan frowned. “I don’t see Marty making an effort
to help Abby.”

“Explain,” I said.

“Marty is completely Marty-centric. He hires
Krista to do five guys at the party, then drugs her and brings in an extra
five. If Marty is screwing Abby, it’s because she’s fulfilling some need for
him, not to help her explore her Sapphic side.”

I just looked at him. “What?”

“Marty wouldn’t help Abby go les or bi.”

I got a flash, but then it disappeared. That
happens to me a lot these days: I get an idea but it vaporizes before I can
grab it. “You said ‘Marty-centric.’”

“Indeed I did.”

“Tell me what you mean.”

“Okay. Martin Hunt is an unimaginative
utilitarian. He believes that people want to achieve happiness—whatever that
means to them—and avoid unhappiness. For Marty, happiness comes from pleasure
and power. Remember when you got him to shit his pants?”

“More clearly than I’d like.”

“What was he afraid of?” Ryan said.

“A rape conviction.”

Ryan nodded his head. “His biggest fear is prison,
as well as all the downstream effects: being unable to get a good job, being
listed as a sex offender,
et cetera
.
What I’m saying is, Marty is a very limited guy in that he cannot imagine the
lives of other people. He can’t empathize, or else he wouldn’t have drugged
Krista at the party—”

“Or hired her in the first place.”

“That’s right. He sees other people only as
economic actors that want to help him achieve his goals—or prevent him from
doing so.”

“All right,” I said. “He sees people as things.
Let’s say you’re right. So what is his relationship with Abby?”

“He could be sleeping with her, but it wouldn’t be
romantic. It would be transactional.”

“But he’s willing to screw prostitutes. So it’s
not about getting laid.”

“Correct,” Ryan said. “That’s not the kind of
transaction he’s interested in—at least not with Abby. If he’s screwing her,
it’s because he gets some ego gratification about screwing a girl like her—”

“You mean attractive?”

“It could be that he finds her attractive. Or
blonde. Maybe she’s Catholic or left-handed or vegetarian. It’s an algebraic
unknown. It’s
x
. It could be
anything. Maybe he always wanted a girlfriend. The point is it’s a transaction,
not a relationship with a person.”

This time the idea flashed in my mind and I was
able to grab it and hold on. “What’s the most basic transaction?”

Ryan said, “Money.”

I smiled. “He ran the camera.”

Ryan nodded. “He shot the video of Abby and
Krista.”

“Then he uploaded it to the porn site.”

“To make money.”

“Yeah, but more than that.” I was getting excited.
There’s nothing like making the leap that breaks a case. “What’s cooler than
being the pimp behind a porn star?”

“As an economic model, it’s far better than being
a traditional pimp. A guy like Christopher James Barlow is stuck in a
nineteenth-century industrial model. Martin Hunt is using a
twentieth-first-century information model.”

“Huh?”

“That’s it, Karen. You got it. A traditional pimp
gets a cut every time his girl does a trick. But she has to do the trick for
either of them to make any money. It’s like building cars. To make any money,
you have to build and sell another car. But a porn pimp makes one car and sells
it over and over.
 
The site owner takes a cut, but if the
product catches on, his market can expand geometrically. All from one video. He
rides that as long as he can, then he makes another video, which will do better
than the first one.”

“So who killed Virginia Rinaldi, and why?” I said.
“Marty, Abby?”

“Abby or Marty—or the two of them. Either of them
is big enough to do it alone. Together, they wouldn’t break a sweat.”

“So the tissue under Virginia’s nails could be
Marty’s. He doesn’t have a record. It’s not on file anywhere.”

“But we still don’t have the motive nailed down.”
Ryan looked hesitant. He likes to nail everything down.

“Does it really matter?”

“I think Larry Klein would like a coherent story.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Forget Larry. We’re
gonna get the killers to tell us a coherent story. When they confess.”

“All right, Detective.” Ryan wore a hint of a
smile. “Should I just head home and watch some sports, or would you like to
tell me how we’re going to do this?”

I was thinking about how to explain it to Ryan
when the guy from the desk opened the door and stuck his head in. “You two want
to do some
shootin
’? On the house?”

“No,” I said to him. “We’re good. Thanks.”

Ryan turned back to me. “Want to tell me in the
cruiser?”

“Yeah.” We thanked the guy again as we walked out
of his smoky office. It was good to escape the cigarette smoke and the acrid
smell of spent gunpowder. The sun was up, the sky cloudless. I leaned against
the hood of the Charger. Ryan stood there, hands on hips, waiting for the plan.

“I’m gonna tell you the plan. You’re gonna tell me
not to do it.”

“It’s that bad a plan?”

“No, it’s an excellent plan, but you’re gonna tell
me not to do it. Because it’s unprofessional.”

“Don’t I get an opportunity to decide?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Here it is. The killer—whoever it is, from
Virginia’s son to Krista and her pimp to Richard Albright to the two
students—is sitting pretty now. They know we don’t have any forensics to put
them at Virginia’s house or we’d have brought them in already. And they assume
we won’t get anything off the arson.”

“You’re assuming the same person did both crimes.”

“Yes, I am. I’m not a chief of police or a
university counsel. I add up two plus two, eight times out of ten I get four.
Okay, we’re running around like idiots, and the killer is hanging loose because
we don’t have any forensics and we can’t figure out the motive. You with me?”

Ryan shifted his weight. “I am. Continue.”

“You say Larry Klein would like a coherent story.
We don’t have one. So we make one up.”

Ryan tilted his head. “Won’t that make him sad
when he wants to file charges?”

“Don’t be a jackass. By the time he wants to file
charges, he’ll have the real story.”

“Which we don’t know yet.”

“But which the killer will tell us.”

“All right, Karen. Have you already made up your
phony coherent story?”

“Krista killed Virginia Rinaldi.”

He nodded. “Why did she do that?”

“Virginia discovered she was stealing things from
the house and threatened to go to the police.”

“That’s terrible. What was Krista stealing?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I waved my hand. “Silver. She
stole the silver. Virginia had a nice set she’d inherited from her parents. It
had great sentimental value to her. One day, she opens the box. It’s empty.
Krista pawned it. They get in a fight. Virginia goes down the stairs.”

“Stealing silver. Doesn’t sound that exciting.”

A double tractor trailer rumbled past us, spewing
diesel fumes that disappeared into the blue sky.

I waited a second so Ryan could hear me. “It
doesn’t have to be exciting, numbskull. It has to be plausible. Krista’s a
prostitute. Stealing shit is part of her skill set. Virginia doesn’t have any
small, expensive things—no jewelry or any girl stuff. Krista stole the silver.”

“Okay, now what are we going to do with this phony
coherent story?”

“We’re going to spread the word to all the
players.”

“Including Krista?”

“Yes, Krista is the most important person. If she
doesn’t sign off on it, it won’t work.”

“And the others? Krista’s pimp? Richard Albright?
Abby and Martin?”

“All of them.”

“How do we get to Abby? We don’t have a phone for
her.”

“Mary Dawson does.”

Ryan frowned as he thought through whether Mary
Dawson would play along. “What if she tells Arthur Vines? It’ll take five
minutes for Vines to contact the chief. Ten minutes for us to get fired.”

“No, she’s not gonna tell Vines.”

“Because?”

“Because I’ll explain to her why she shouldn’t. If
she wants us to catch whoever killed Virginia—and Jennifer Taylor—she’s going
to cooperate.”

“If Vines doesn’t know what we’re doing, I assume
the chief doesn’t, either.”

“That’s right, the chief doesn’t know. It’s better
to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.”

“And once we tell everyone we’re going to arrest
Krista for Virginia’s murder, what happens next?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I haven’t thought that
far ahead.”

“Are you planning to?”

“Of course. I’m planning to. But I’m not sure
what’s gonna happen next.”

“I don’t like it.” He was shaking his head.

“Good. I don’t want you to like it. Now tell me
you feel strongly I shouldn’t do it. And if I decide to do it, I should get the
chief’s okay first.”

“Consider it said.”

“Okay, you’ve registered your objections.”

“But you’re going to do it anyway?”

“No. I’m not gonna do it. So there’s no reason for
you to tell the chief.”

“All right. I won’t.”

“One other thing, Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

“Leave your phone on.”

“It’s always on.”

“Good, let me drop you back at headquarters.”

“Are you done?”

“What?”

“Are you done with why you have to do this alone?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m riding along. You don’t have a plan. You’ll
end up dead.”

“You’ll be fired.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’ll get fired. I’ll
just get a formal reprimand. You know, youthful indiscretion. I’m very
impressionable. Especially with mother figures.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Asshole.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” He put on a
sheepish expression, then looked down at his shoes. “Mommy.”

Chapter 27

We drove over to Krista’s
apartment. Even if we did have her phone number, we wouldn’t have called. It’s
better to show up unannounced. Suspects get antsy two or three days after a
murder. Guilty or not, they’re afraid they’re going to be arrested. In this
situation, with the arson death all over the news, there were plenty of reasons
for Krista to jump in her car and take off. Now we just had to hope she was
home.

I knocked on her apartment door and waited to feel
her footsteps through the cheap floor. Nothing for about half a minute. Then, I
felt the vibrations. She made it to the door and took a few seconds to check us
out through the peephole. I held up my shield. “Open up, Ms. Moranu.”

The door opened partway. I pushed it open all the
way and walked in. Ryan followed me.

“What is it?” Krista said. She wore jeans and a
T-shirt, no socks or shoes.

I closed the door behind us and waved her over to
a chair. “Sit. We need to talk.” Ryan and I sat on the couch.

She took a seat on an upholstered chair. “Is it
the fire?”

I shook my head. “We’re not here to accuse you of
anything. Just listen to what I say.”

“You scare me.”

“Ms. Moranu, you’re not in any danger, and you’re
not gonna be. But I need you to pay attention. Will you just listen to me?”

She nodded and folded her hands in her lap.

“Okay. Here is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna
pretend that we’re arresting you for the murder of Virginia Rinaldi.”

Her face contorted. “I didn’t kill Virginia.”

“Listen to me, Ms. Moranu. We know you didn’t kill
Virginia. And we’re not really gonna arrest you. But we need to tell people
that we arrested you.”

“Why you do that?”

“We’re gonna say you’re telling us exactly what
happened—with Virginia and the video with Abby. When the killer hears this,
he’s gonna do something.”

“Just arrest them now.”

“We’re not sure who the killer is. We’ll know
later today. Right now, we know it isn’t you.” I looked at her.

She held my gaze. “Who you think it is?”

I shook my head. “All you need to know is it isn’t
you. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

“You bring me to police department now?”

“No, we’re not gonna bring you to the police
department. You’re gonna put two or three days’ worth of clothing in a bag and
leave town.”

“Where do I go?”

“Go to a motel. Not here in town. Anywhere else.
Go at least ten or twenty miles away. Park your car so it you can’t see it from
the road. When you check in, use a different name, not a name Christopher James
Barlow would recognize. If you have to pay up front, use cash. Do you have cash?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t leave the motel room. Call for takeout for
your food. Don’t make any calls and don’t answer any calls except from me or
Detective Miner.” I pointed to Ryan. “Your screen will show ‘Miner, Ryan’ from
him and ‘Seagate, Karen’ from me. Do you understand everything I’ve told you?”

“What do I say to Mr. Barlow when he sets me up a
job?”

“We’re gonna tell him we arrested you. He won’t
call you.” I paused. “Do you understand what I’ve said?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me your cell number.”

She told me. Ryan and I each wrote it down.

“What happens next?”

“Next, you pack a bag and drive away, check into a
motel. I hope to call you later today to tell you it’s all over and you can
come home.”

“What about fire?”

“The arson fire? We’re gonna get that person,
too.”

“Then what happens?”

“Then you go back to your life.”

“I’m scared.”

I nodded. “I understand that. But if you do what I
just told you, nobody will be able to hurt you. They will think you’re in jail,
which is the safest place you could be. The people who have nothing to do with
killing Virginia will be glad we caught you. The person who killed Virginia
will be trying to figure out what you’re telling us—and how it’s gonna screw up
their lives. They’ll know they can’t get to you now. It’s too late.”

She looked at me. “Why you believe I didn’t hurt
Virginia?”

“When this is all over, I’ll tell you why. Now you
work on getting out of here, okay? Wait for my call.” I paused. “Will you do
that?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Ryan and I left her apartment. We were about to get
into the Charger when Ryan said, “You sure she’s going to do it?”

I stopped. “Good point. Let’s go over there and
wait.” I pointed to the entrance to the next building in the development. From
there we could see her car in its numbered spot under the carport roof.

We walked over there and stood out of sight.

“Dial her pimp for me and give me the phone, will
ya
?” Ryan did it. Christopher James Barlow picked up. “Mr.
Barlow, Detective Seagate.”

“How can I help you?”

“I don’t think you can. Just calling to let you
know we’re arresting Elena Moranu for the murder of Virginia Rinaldi. We had a
nice talk.”

“What about?”

“Oh, all kinds of things: murder, prostitution.
And arson. She’s a very intelligent person. When the prosecutor brought up the
concept of reduced charges in exchange for incriminating evidence—I was
kinda
worried she might not understand. You know, because
her English isn’t that good? But she was fine. She caught on right away. Just a
heads-up. The bazaar is open, so if you got something you
wanna
sell us, you get in touch. First come, first served. You have a good day.”

I ended the call and handed Ryan his phone. “Now
Richard Albright.”

Ryan dialed Albright’s number and handed me his
phone. Albright didn’t pick up, so I left him the message that Krista was
talking to us and how he should get in touch if he wants to deal. I returned
the phone.

Ryan kept an eye out to see if Krista got in her
car and drove off. I stood back, in the shade. I was starting to doubt the plan
would work. What if Krista threw an empty suitcase into the truck of her car
and drove off—straight to Christopher James Barlow’s house behind the expensive
gates? Even with her broken English, she wouldn’t need more than two minutes to
explain my half-assed plan to him. He would need another minute to get in touch
with Chief Murtaugh. The chief would need another minute to dispatch a couple
of patrol cars to seal off the two entrances to Krista’s apartment complex. The
plan would be dead in the water, and I’d be unemployed. All before lunch.

“There she goes,” Ryan said.

I stuck my head around the corner. “Is there
anything in the bag?”

“What?”

“Can you tell if there’s anything in the suitcase
she’s carrying?”

He looked at me, confused. “No, how could I tell?”

“I’m just asking if it looks like it’s empty or
full.”

“Interesting question. Why would she carry an
empty suitcase to her car?”

“Never mind. Too late.” We watched her get in her
car, back out of her space, and drive off.

I pulled my phone from my bag and speed-dialed
Mary Dawson in the dean of students’ office. She picked up.

“Dean Dawson. Karen Seagate. I need to talk to
you. Right away.”

She sighed. “Don’t tell me.” She sounded wrung
out. “I don’t think I can take another incident.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. But we have to talk.”

“I got a million things going on here, but I
promise I can fit you in.”

“That’s not gonna work. It has to be off campus.
Leave your building, get onto the Greenpath, head two-hundred yards upstream.
Detective Miner and I will be sitting on the bench. Ten minutes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand, Mary. You need to
be at that bench in ten minutes.” I ended the call.

Ryan gave me a smile. “This is exciting, huh?”

“Let’s go, goofball.”

We got into the Charger and drove over toward
campus. I parked in the lot behind a small industrial park near campus. We
walked the fifty yards down toward the Greenpath, a paved walkway that followed
the Rawlings River ten miles in each direction from the city.

Bicyclists, joggers, and little old ladies passed
us by in either direction as we sat and waited for Mary Dawson.

“Is she gonna show?” Ryan said.

“Yes.”

I saw a figure that looked like her walking toward
us along the Greenpath. She seemed to pick up speed when she recognized us.
When Ryan and I stood up, she said, “This is so not a good time for me to take
a walk along the river. What is it?”

“Mary, I’m really sorry to have to do it this way,
but we needed to get you out of your building. We need to talk to you
uninterrupted. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“Do you know how many calls I’m getting from
parents about the ‘
pornstar
on campus’? And now I’m
getting national media about the arson. The student paper has put together the
address of the arson and the identity of Abby Demarest. In about two hours this
thing is going to … it’s going to fucking blow up.” I could tell she wasn’t
used to cursing, the way she emphasized the word.

“Mary, I need you to take a deep breath. It’s
going to work out. You’re going to get through this. You’re smart and you’re
honest and you care about the kids, right?”

“I have worked here at CMSU for twenty-three
years, and everything I’ve tried to build …” She started to break down.

Ryan helped her onto the bench.

I sat next to her and took her hand. “Mary, listen
to me. We don’t have a lot of time. I want you to be able to get back to your
office. But I need your full attention now.”

She wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. This is just …”

“Mary, we need your help in arresting the person
who killed Virginia Rinaldi and Jennifer Taylor.”

She looked at me. “Who is it?” Her voice was calm
and determined.

“A student.”

“Who?”

I shook my head.

She nodded, as if I meant I couldn’t tell her.
“What do you want me to do?”

“Call Abby Demarest and tell her we’re gonna
arrest Krista for Virginia’s murder.”

“The sex worker?”

“Yes.”

“You know she did it?”

“We know she didn’t do it—either crime.”

“I’m confused.”

“We need Abby to think we’ve arrested Krista.”

“Shouldn’t you call her yourself? Why do you want me
to call her?”

“You have to call her. She trusts you.”

“You’re asking me to lie—as part of my
professional duties?”

“That’s right.”

“Arthur Vines would never approve of it.”

“Neither would my boss. I haven’t told him. And
you don’t tell Mr. Vines. You just do it.”

“What happens after I call Abby?”

“One student is gonna try to kill another
student.”

“And you’re going to stop it.”

“That’s the plan.”

She shook her head and put up her palms. “This is
madness. I can’t do it. My entire career is on the line. This is all I’ve ever
done. This is what I love to do. This is my life. I could be fired.”

“No, if this goes bad, you
will
be fired. Your career will be over. You’ll never get another
job in a college.” I paused a moment. “Mary, we don’t have any evidence. We
don’t know who killed Virginia—or who killed Jennifer Taylor. That person—those
persons?—he’s out there, and I can’t promise you he’s done killing. For all we
know, there’s still some loose ends he needs to take care of. Somebody out
there who knows what’s going on.” I let that thought hang there for a moment.
“This is our best shot at flushing him out.”

“Why did you tell me that Krista is innocent?”

“What?”

“You want me to call Abby and tell her you’re
going to arrest Krista, but then you said she’s innocent. You’re lying to
everyone; why not just lie to me, too?”

That was a good question. I took a moment.
“Because you’ve always been straight with us. We made it clear we don’t think
Arthur Vines is telling the truth, that he’s covering his ass now that Jennifer
Taylor’s dead. You’re the only one we trust.”

Mary Dawson looked at me, then at Ryan. “I won’t
lie to a student and deceive my supervisor.” She shook her head and stood up. “I’m
sorry. I can’t do it.” She turned and started walking back on the Greenpath
toward her building.

A couple of joggers in spandex ran past, water
bottles in holsters around their waists. They were talking to each other, their
voices too loud, laughing and having a great time out by the river on a
beautiful spring day.

Ryan had his hands in his pockets, his head down.
He looked up at me. “Shit.”