BLUE MERCY (10 page)

“Whoa. What do you mean
them,
Kay? Someone killed Regester. Singular, not plural. Eales killed those other women.”

Kay gathered the photos and started to put them away. “They’re the same, Finn.”

“Come on, we got the right guy. You saw the reports. I
know
you went over them a million times. How can you doubt the evidence?”

Kay shook her head, examining the photos again. There was a naked confusion in her face. As if she wanted an explanation, needed it, but knew it was out of reach.

“I know you didn’t see the evidence, that you didn’t see Eales’s house. But
I
did, Kay. I was in that hellhole. We got traces of the women’s blood from everywhere. Living room, hallway, bathroom. Even in his bed for Christ’s sake. They found hair samples that matched the Jane Doe and the Chisney girl, and they found Harris’s underwear in his goddamned dresser—with her blood on them.

“Bernard killed those women, Kay. I know it. And so does every other cop who set foot in that house.”

“Then how do you explain these?” She held up the photo of Regester’s chest.

“I don’t know. We’ve got a copycat. Christ, Kay, except for those knife wounds, the MO doesn’t even fit.”

Kay shook her head and tossed the photo onto the desk with the others, her gaze lingering on them. “I just want to understand, Finn. I want to know why he cuts them.”

“Why? I can tell you why. Because Eales got off on it. Because he liked to victimize women and it made him feel powerful. Because everyone at school laughed at him when he had his first public hard-on in gym class. Or maybe because his junkie mother locked him in the closet
with a rubber band around his dick when he was a kid. Who the hell knows? And why does it matter? We got him.”

Finn left her office, moving through the cluttered hallway to the living room. Kay followed.

“We got Eales,” he said again. “And there’s boxes of shit from his house down in Evidence Control that prove it. As for Regester, fine, I’m willing to work with the possibility that it’s related to Eales. Maybe she was killed because of her testimony. Or maybe she was more connected to Eales than she let on. But it’s a fresh murder, Kay.”

“So where do
you
suggest we go from here then?”

Seeing her standing in the middle of her apartment, hands on her hips and her thin robe revealing just a little too much, the memories twisted in his mind, unbidden. How many times had he wished those memories away, wished there’d never been that spark, that fire between them, leaving so many ashes for him to sift through?

“I want to talk to this Patsy Hagen broad. And anyone else Eales is connected to,” he said, drawing his gaze from her at last. “Including the knucklehead’s brother.”

“William Coombs? He can’t tell you anything.”

“He’s the son of a bitch’s brother. And
someone’s
paying Eales’s legal fees.” James Grogan was one of Baltimore’s top defense attorneys. The man hadn’t lost a case in years. That kind of slime cost big bucks. “Unless Grogan’s taking Eales pro bono, someone’s forking over the greenbacks.”

“Well, even if it is Coombs, he and Eales haven’t spoken in years.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I talked to him a year ago. On the phone. So did Varcoe and Jimmy Holewinski. Even back then Coombs hadn’t seen his brother in years. He didn’t even
know about his brother’s arrest until he read it in the papers.
And
he’s never visited Eales in prison. He doesn’t know anything, Finn.”

“Well, then, he can tell us that himself tomorrow morning. I’ve set up a meeting with him.”

THE DINER JUST SOUTH
of the Maryland line on the old York Road catered to a smorgasbord of truckers and locals, with the occasional traveler blown off course from the I-83. The diner being less than a couple miles east of the former North Central Railroad, someone had decided on a train motif as the decor. An electric engine and cars rattled along a track suspended one foot below the ceiling and running the circumference of the dining area, while the walls boasted an array of clocks in a locomotive theme.

In his pressed suit and crisp tie, William Coombs looked patently out of place seated in a corner booth at a heavily lacquered maple table. He had waved them over the second they stepped through the door, and Kay decided then that she and Finn looked far too much like cops.

The arrangements Finn had made with Eales’s half brother accommodated the car salesman’s schedule, forcing him to take only a minor detour off his route to Philly on business. Still, he seemed mildly put out by the meeting, but Kay guessed it had nothing to do with the early hour or the detour.

When he’d pushed aside his breakfast and stood to greet them, Coombs’s expression was taut. In his narrow shoulders Kay sensed tension, and a muscle along his jaw twitched as he sat down with them.

She searched for recognition, but found none in Coombs’s unsettled expression. If he
did
recognize her from the papers or by her name from over a year ago when they’d spoken briefly on the phone, he didn’t let on.

He was a small man, fine-boned and lean, the polar opposite of Eales and clear proof of their different fathers. His face was pleasant, with a neatly trimmed beard, chiseled features, and a cleft chin. His perfect teeth capped the winning smile that Kay didn’t doubt sold a steady stream of high-end cars. The only feature he shared with Eales was the eyes. They were the same blue, but on Coombs they worked.

“I’m really sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell,” he told them, flashing that endearing smile to the waitress as she collected his plate.

“Valerie Regester was a witness in your brother’s case.”

Coombs nodded, fastidiously dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin while the electric train took another pass above their table. “The girl the papers mentioned?” he asked. “The one who says she saw him in the park?”

Finn nodded.

“I remember now. And you say she was murdered?”

“Two nights ago.”

“You’re not thinking my brother had something to do with her death, are you?”

“It’s just one possibility we’re exploring,” Finn said. “If there
is
a connection, we’re trying to figure out who might have done it for him.”

“Well, Detective Finnerty, I’m not sure how I can help. I honestly don’t know Bernard’s circle. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“When was the last time?”

Coombs’s gaze fell to the coffee cup he cradled in his
hands as though his mind was tracing back over the years. “I guess it would have been six …no, more like seven or eight years ago. Around the time I bought him the house on Gettings Street.”

“Pretty generous of you for a brother you never see,” Finn suggested.

“I owe Bernard a lot. Our mother died when I was eight. It was Bernard who raised me. But before you get the wrong idea, Detective, my debt to Bernard ended with that house. Even then he was already into the drugs and drinking. I wanted to help out but I wasn’t willing to support his habit, so I bought him the house and cut the ties. You understand, I’m married. I have a baby daughter.”

“Congratulations,” Finn said with sincerity.

“Do you have any children, Detective?”

Finn nodded. “I have a daughter. Fifteen.”

Coombs smiled. “Then you’ll understand why it is I have to exclude my brother from my life. I have to think about my own family now.”

“So you two never spoke? Never called?”

“Sure, Bernard called. When he needed money. But the calls ended a few years ago. I think my wife finally said something to him.” Coombs waited as their waitress refilled their coffee. “Like I said to the detectives who called last year, when it comes to Bernard and his friends and acquaintances, I really can’t help.”

“Do you know a Patricia Hagen?”

“Actually, yes, I do.”

“Any idea how she knows your brother?”

“Her father employed Bernard years ago. The Parkview Funeral Home down on Fort Avenue. Why, are Patricia and my brother involved?”

Finn nodded. “You sound surprised.”

Coombs shook his head and this time let his gaze wander past the grimy window to where a rusted-out pickup with Pennsylvania plates pulled out of the crowded lot. “At this point, Detective, not a lot surprises me about my brother.”

Kay stirred sugar into her black coffee. Working on nothing more than the diner’s burned brew, four Excedrin, and a breath mint, she had let Finn do most of the talking this morning. Besides, it was his interview. She’d known already last night they weren’t going to get much from Coombs. Last year when he’d been nothing more than a voice over the phone, even with all the hatred she harbored for Eales, Kay had felt a semblance of sympathy for Coombs. But now, sitting across from the man, she felt sorry for him.

Still, Kay had questions of her own. Questions there’d been no need to ask Coombs a year ago when his brother’s case was a slam dunk.

“Do you have any idea why Bernard might have killed those women last year?” she asked carefully.

Coombs let out a breath, and she thought she saw a sadness behind his eyes then. “I don’t know what went on with Bernard the past few years. I only know what little I read in the papers. And I know he was into drugs and alcohol. I guess I’d like to blame that, the drugs. I mean, it’s hard for me to believe my own brother could … do those things.”

“I think it’d be hard for anyone to believe of a sibling,” she offered.

“Bernard always did have a temper though.” When Coombs looked at Kay then, she sensed a genuine compassion behind his soft eyes. “But I think you already know about that. You’re the detective he beat, aren’t you?”

Kay nodded.

Coombs’s gaze went unbroken. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

“Thank you.”

Next to her, Finn cleared his throat. “So, Mr. Coombs, you’ve had absolutely no contact with your brother?”

“No. Like I said, I had to sever the ties. For the sake of my family.”

“And your brother’s defense? Who’s paying for that?”

A flicker of confusion seemed to touch his narrow features then. “I’m sorry. I …I’d assumed it was the state, that Bernard had been assigned a public defender.”

“Not exactly. He’s being represented by James Grogan.”

“Should I know that name?”

“He’s one of the top criminal attorneys in the city,” Finn explained. “And he doesn’t come cheap.”

Coombs shrugged. “I didn’t know that. Honestly, I haven’t been following the situation. I hope you understand.”

He drank his coffee and looked up as the electric train trundled past, his eyes following its route around the room.

“It’s been a difficult year,” he said. “My wife, she already couldn’t stand Bernard, and then … with the media attention … You’d think having a different surname would give us at least a modicum of privacy. But it didn’t seem to matter. Within days of Bernard’s arrest those vultures were circling. The attention’s died off a bit now. We’ve been able to get on with our lives. But you’re always waiting, you know? Waiting for the press to swoop in.”

When he looked back at them, Kay saw a premature tiredness in his young eyes.

“I guess, with this murder you’re investigating, I might hear from them again, hmm? The media?” Coombs asked.

“It’s quite possible,” Finn said. “If you run into problems, you can call us. There might be something we can do.”

“I appreciate that, Detective. But I’m getting pretty skilled at handling it. Do you know, I even found my name on some asshole’s website because of all this? I finally had to threaten the guy with a lawsuit so he’d take my name off.”

“What website’s that?” Kay asked.

“Some guy, Arsenault I think. Yeah, Scott Arsenault. He had a website up and running, about my brother. The murders. God knows what else. I didn’t look at the whole site. Stopped when I found my name.”

“Do you know if the site’s still up?”

Coombs shook his head. “I have no idea. It’s not the kind of thing I keep tabs on, you know?”

BERNARDEALES.COM
was a load of Ethernet horse-shit.

They’d driven back to Baltimore and Headquarters in the same awkward silence that had settled between them earlier on their way up to meet with Coombs. In Kay’s silence, Finn guessed she was imagining the content of the website Coombs had mentioned, questioning why someone would go to the trouble, and wondering who Scott Arsenault was.

Within minutes of stepping off the elevator on the sixth floor, Kay had logged on to the last available computer in the unit while Finn pulled up a chair next to her. And as she scrolled through the pages, one by one, Finn felt his hostility unraveling.

The entire site was dedicated to “saving” Eales. A red banner at the top of the main page announced the wrongful
arrest of Eales, and the opening notes detailed claims of police brutality, evidence tampering, and a gross miscarriage of justice.

Act now before this innocent man is convicted!
A photo showed Eales standing next to a large, black vintage car behind his Gettings Street house, a polishing rag in one hand, a can of Michelob in the other.

Kay scrolled past the smarmy grin and started clicking links to articles about the prostitutes’ murders and Eales’s arrest, press clippings and evidentiary summaries, court documents, even articles from law publications. At the bottom of the main page, a link offered to take visitors to the Eales message board.

“The prick’s got himself his own fan club,” Finn said, feeling tension settle in his jaw.

“And look at this”—Kay pointed to the flashing red link beneath it—“visitors can even contribute to a defense fund.” She kept scrolling. “Tell me this isn’t for real.”