White Tombs (37 page)

The man in the hat caught up to Mendoza at the elevators and grabbed him by the arm.

Mendoza shook free and pressed the up button. The man spread his hands and seemed to be pleading his case.

“Looks like they’re having a disagreement of some sort,” Novak said.

The elevator doors opened, the men stepped inside and the doors closed.

“Stop it right there,” Santana said. He noted the time was 19:08. “We’ve got twenty-two minutes until Mendoza goes off the balcony.”

“You get the license plate number on the Honda, John?”

“No. Go back a few minutes and let’s see if we can get a better look.”

Novak keyed in a new time and in a moment the scene they had viewed before was repeated as Mendoza’s Mercedes entered the garage followed closely by the Honda.

“Pause it,” Santana said.

Novak froze the frame just before the Honda pulled into the parking space and while its back end was still visible to the security camera. “The damn plate is covered with mud, John.”

“He knew there were security cameras.”

“Who knew?”

“Zoom in on the dashboard and the rearview mirror.”

Novak leaned forward, clicked on the zoom and enlarged the picture. “Looks like rosary beads hanging from the mirror and a religious statue on the dash.”

Novak kept staring at the computer as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Then he looked at Santana and said, “Mendoza had incense under his fingernails. Now this. You telling me a you think a priest had something to do with Mendoza’s murder?”

“Not just a priest.”

Novak swallowed hard. “Holy shit!”

“Exactly,” Santana said.

F
rom where Santana was seated in Carl Ashford’s office, he could see sunlight between the slats in the blinds on the windows. See it burning through a thin layer of clouds, bathing the downtown landscape in a glow, as if a light switch had suddenly been turned on. The brightness outside was in contrast to the gloom that pervaded the room.

Pete Canfield was seated in the chair next to Santana, examining his manicured nails.

Rita Gamboni stood in a corner with her arms crossed and her back against a wall, listening as Santana told Ashford what he knew about the Pérez-Mendoza murders and what he suspected.

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Ashford said. “You’re telling us you believe Pérez and Mendoza were sexually abused by Richard Scanlon when they were children in Valladolid, Mexico. And when Scanlon became archbishop, Pérez and Mendoza decided they were going public with their allegations unless Scanlon withdrew.”

“That’s right,” Santana said. “According to Pérez’s wife and daughter, he had never talked to Mendoza. Then, right after Scanlon was named as archbishop, Pérez had four telephone conversations with Mendoza over a three-week period. In fact, the last phone call Pérez made on the day of his murder was to Mendoza. Both Pérez and Mendoza also made calls to Scanlon’s office. What do you suppose they were discussing, Chief? The weather?”

Gamboni cleared her throat and peered up at the ceiling, as though saying a silent prayer.

Ashford’s eyes narrowed. “They could’ve been discussing any number of things, Detective Santana. Unless you have a tape recording of their conversations, it’s purely speculation. And, I believe Pete would agree, it’s certainly not enough to indict Scanlon as an accessory to murder.”

Ashford waited a moment until Canfield looked at him. Taking his silence as a tacit acceptance, Ashford said, “Let’s hear the rest.”

“James Kehoe was a student at Seton Academy when Scanlon taught there. His name is on a copy of Kehoe’s transcript, so they knew each other. Scanlon has a cabin near Two Harbors. I talked to Kehoe’s ex-wife. She confirmed Kehoe used to go up to Two Harbors when they were married. The first photo I gave you, Chief, is of Hidalgo and Scanlon taken at Scanlon’s cabin. Hidalgo had it in a frame at his house. The date on the photo confirms it was taken just before Scanlon had his appendix removed. I believe Kehoe took that picture.”

Ashford glanced at the photo and then at Santana. “It’s supposition, Detective.”

“The other photo on your desk is also of Hidalgo and Scanlon.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because the man standing in the photo has an appendectomy scar. Scanlon had his appendix out last fall the same month the photo was taken. I think Mendoza told Scanlon he had the photo and would give it to the press if Scanlon didn’t withdraw as a candidate for archbishop. Scanlon was looking for the photo the night he killed Mendoza.”

“Any idea where Mendoza got the photo?”

“My guess would be Kehoe, but we’ll never know. What we do know is that the man on his knees performing fellatio is Hidalgo. Shortly after I showed Hidalgo this photograph, he committed suicide.”

Ashford shook his head slowly and examined the notes he had written on the yellow legal pad on his desk. “I don’t believe this,” he said, but without a whole lot of conviction. He peered again at the photos Santana had given him and then handed both to Canfield.

“So tell us how you think all of this went down, John,” Gamboni said.

Santana had kept her out of it. He hoped she would back him, despite her misgivings. He continued.

“Kehoe found out about Mendoza’s visa scam through his snitch, Luis Garcia, who he’d busted a couple of times when he was working narcotics. Kehoe decided to blackmail Mendoza into giving him a share of the take. Mendoza paid Garcia for muscle to keep the illegals quiet, and he paid Kehoe to keep the cops off his back.”

“You think Kehoe’s accounts are going to show the monthly deposits?” Canfield said.

“I doubt it. I’d say he took the payoffs in cash to avoid any trace.”

“Got any idea what he did with the money?”

“We should look into that.”

“Go on,” Gamboni said.

“Everything went smoothly between Mendoza, Garcia and Kehoe until Scanlon was chosen to be the next archbishop. Mendoza told Kehoe what Scanlon had done to him and Pérez when they were children in Mexico, not realizing what Kehoe’s relationship was with Scanlon. Pérez had already convinced Mendoza to give Córdova the story on Scanlon, which was going to be published in
El Día
, Pérez’s newspaper. I figure Mendoza told Kehoe that Córdova was squeezing him about the visa scam. Kehoe decided that if Mendoza was willing to tell the press about Scanlon, maybe he was willing to talk to Córdova about the visa scam as well. Kehoe and Scanlon decided to kill Pérez and Mendoza and set up Córdova to take the fall. Kehoe had Garcia break into Córdova’s house and steal the gun he could use to frame him for the murders.”

“You have evidence Garcia broke into Córdova’s house?” Gamboni said.

“I found fresh scratches on the bolt. And Garcia will testify that he broke in.”

“How’d Córdova know about the visa scam?”

“He got a tip from an illegal named José López.”

“You think Córdova suspected he was in danger?”

“That’s what he told Angelina Torres when he asked for the gun back. The same gun Kehoe used to kill Pérez and gave to Scanlon.”

“How the hell do you convince a priest to commit murder?” Ashford asked.

“The archbishop was either a willing participant or Kehoe blackmailed him. I’m guessing blackmail because of the sexually explicit photos Kehoe has of Scanlon in his house.”

“How do you know Kehoe has these photos in his house?”

“I was there last night while Kehoe was at the mayor’s fundraiser.”

Ashford gave Canfield an incredulous look.

Canfield shrugged.

“I didn’t take anything, Chief, or leave any prints.”

“I hope like hell you didn’t.” Ashford closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his forehead as though he had suddenly developed a severe headache.

“Go on, John,” Gamboni said.

“Scanlon went to the Riverview Lofts with the intention of murdering Mendoza and planting Córdova’s gun in a place where Kehoe or someone else from the department would conveniently find it. The idea was to make it look like Mendoza killed Pérez and then committed suicide by jumping off his balcony. The security camera tape from the garage placed Scanlon there approximately thirty minutes before Mendoza was murdered. Córdova signed in at seven twenty-eight. When Scanlon realized Córdova’s was coming up, he panicked. There was a struggle and Mendoza went off his balcony.” Santana looked at Canfield. “If we get hair samples from Scanlon, they’ll match the ones Novak found under Mendoza’s nails. There was also incense under Mendoza’s nails and on his clothing. Tony Novak identified it as the same type used in the Catholic Church.”

“Do you know what you’re suggesting?” Ashford said.

“I know exactly. Scanlon is a pedophile, Chief, and a murderer. I think he was still in Mendoza’s condo when Córdova arrived. Córdova recognized the gun and realized someone was setting him up. He grabbed it and took off. I heard Córdova opening the stairwell door and went after him. Kehoe and Scanlon caught a break when Anderson killed Córdova. There were no witnesses, no one to tie them to the murders. Pérez, Mendoza and Córdova were all dead.”

“Why kill Pérez?” Canfield asked.

“Because Pérez knew about Scanlon, too. And because Córdova worked for Pérez. The reason we couldn’t find any evidence of forced entry at Pérez’s house is because he let Kehoe in after seeing his badge. They went into the study where Kehoe killed him. It was easy for Kehoe to make it look like Córdova had the means and the motive. When Angelina Torres’ print was found on the murder weapon, Kehoe tried to implicate her as an accessory before the fact.”

“If what you’re saying is true, John, the case against Torres won’t hold up. I’ll have to kick her loose. But I need more to nail Scanlon and Kehoe.”

“Like a confession,” Gamboni said.

“There’s still one loose thread,” Santana said.

“Garcia,” Gamboni said. “He’s the only one who can tie Kehoe to the visa scam.”

“I’ll offer Garcia a deal if he gives up Kehoe,” Canfield said.

“What about this?” Ashford asked, holding up the CD from the security cameras.

Santana could tell by Ashford’s tone of voice that he was becoming a believer.

“Kehoe knew there were security cameras in the garage as well as the main entrance because he’d been to Mendoza’s before. So he took what he thought was the only copy of the garage tape to cover Scanlon’s tracks. The tape is in a box in a dresser in Kehoe’s bedroom. But Kehoe made a mistake. There’s a digital copy and Scanlon’s on it. He borrowed a car and covered the plates with mud went he drove to Mendoza’s. But the digital copy clearly shows a statue of St. Jude on the dashboard and rosary beads hanging from the rearview. It’s his secretary’s Honda. I checked.”

Ashford drummed the pencil he held in his hand on the legal pad and said, “I know you’ve had your disagreements with Detective Kehoe before, but this is …” He made a sweeping gesture toward Santana’s open briefcase on the corner of his desk, appeared to be struggling for the right word. “Well, I don’t know what the hell to say.”

How about, Thanks,
Santana thought, but he figured that might be pushing it.

Instead he said, “I could never figure out why Kehoe was always one step ahead of me, Chief. But he knew how everything went down. Once he was put in charge of the investigation, he could direct it any way he wanted.”

Ashford shifted his eyes from Santana, studied the tip of his pencil.

Not wanting to embarrass Ashford further, Santana tossed him a bone.

“Look, Chief, Kehoe is one of the mayor’s special investigators. Politically, it’s going to be a disaster for the mayor when Kehoe goes down for this. Especially when he’s running for re-election.”

Santana could see the wheels turning behind Ashford’s eyes as the assistant chief imagined the mayor trying to quell the political fallout after one of his chief investigators was implicated in a double homicide. It would be great theater and a golden political opportunity for Ashford, especially if he could take credit for solving the murders and quieting the outrage in the Hispanic community. Santana saw the slight smile on Gamboni’s face.

Ashford said, “Let’s get a subpoena for a sample of Scanlon’s hair. We’ve got to convince Garcia to roll over on Kehoe. We still don’t have enough evidence linking Kehoe to the murders. And no reason yet to issue a search warrant for his house.”

He looked at Santana. “Pick up Garcia. I want to hear what he has to say. And for God’s sake everyone, let’s keep this out of the press until we have all our ducks in a row.”

S
antana went to Rick Anderson’s cubicle. He thought he saw tears in Anderson’s eyes, but maybe it was just the light.

“They cleared me on the shooting,” Anderson said. “But not the breath test.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait until the chief makes a decision,” he said. “What else can I do?”

Santana pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “I need you to do something for me.”

A glimmer suddenly shone in Anderson’s eyes. “Name it, partner.”

“I want you to tell Kehoe that I’m investigating him for the murder of Julio Pérez.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I want you to tell him I believe he’s responsible for Pérez’s murder and that he tried to frame Córdova for it.”

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. I told you before I might want you to give Kehoe information. Tell him I’ve been to Seton Academy and looked at his school records. Tell him I know he’s been up to Scanlon’s cabin near Two Harbors. I want you to act like you don’t believe he’s involved. Like you think I’m crazy.”

“That won’t be hard. Are you?”

“I’ll recap the case and let you decide.”

Santana spent the next thirty minutes going through his case notes and the evidence, explaining to Anderson why he thought Kehoe and Scanlon were good for the Pérez-Mendoza murders.

When he finished Anderson said, “Maybe if you play hardball, you can get Scanlon to drop a dime on Kehoe.”

“Maybe I could, if he had a conscience.”

“So now what?”

“I’m worried Kehoe could walk if Garcia can’t or won’t testify. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”