Eyeshot (27 page)

The row of pictures told the story. Gage and Kimmie, together against the world. The team. Money very tight. Gage's clothes all with the worn look of hand-me-downs. Christmas trees with a few toys, some give-away coloring books, the tiny boxes of crayons they gave away in restaurants. Sonora thought of Kimmie, hoarding those boxes so her little boy would have more things to unwrap.

There were pictures of the new house—Kimmie twirling in empty rooms, none of Gage here. Where had he been that day?

And pictures of the nursery. Pretty as a wedding cake, white and lacy and coordinated with hardwood cherry baby furniture—canopy crib, bassinet, a little reading nook with a bent-wood rocker and a shelf full of brightly colored books.

“You say his mom drowned in the bathtub? Anything funny about it?” Sam asked.

Fontaine shook her head. “It was tragic, but it was an accident. They had one of those antiquey type tubs—large and deep with feet on it. Alex had it put in special for Kimmie. She'd been having a difficult time with the pregnancy. She had fainting spells. They think she ran the water really hot, and all the blood rushed to the surface of her skin, and she just … passed out. And drowned.”

Sonora picked up one of the pictures, held it up. Not a very good shot. Someone had been trying to get the nursery from the hallway. The room was light, sun streaming in, but not centered, and half the shot was of dark hallway. Standing in the shadows, next to the bright sunny nursery, was little Gage Caplan.

A year had made quite a difference. The happy, carefree child was gone, if he'd ever really existed. Gage was looking at the camera and posing with a smile so earnest it was painful to see, knowing that the man or woman wielding the camera had probably not even been aware he was there.

Sonora flipped the picture over. Someone had written
NURSERY
in block letters on the back. Not
NURSERY AND GAGE.
Just
NURSERY
.

53

Sam pushed the swing door into the bullpen and let Sonora go ahead. “What about Caplan's current wife?”

“What about her?” Sonora said.

“I don't feel good about her situation. Pregnant. Living with a wife killer.”

“Me either.”

“Maybe we should talk to her. Drop a hint.”

“Oh yeah. Meanwhile, Caplan will tear our heads off. Besides, I already did.”

Sam stopped at the edge of the desk cluster. “I've seen ant hives look lazy compared to this.”

Sanders was putting on her jacket.

“Lose another clown?” Sonora asked.

“We've got the killer.”

Sam whistled. “
Way
to go. What happened?”

“Caught the sucker red-handed.” Gruber's voice, as he came in through the swing doors between the crime scene unit and homicide. His tie was loose, and there were circles under his eyes, but his step was light and he had that eager attitude cops get when they circle in for the kill. Sonora envied him. She wanted a warrant for the arrest of Gage Caplan and the same kind of feeling in her stomach.

“Thanks, Gruber, I was scared I might have to finish a sentence.” Sanders tilted her head and peeped at him.

He grabbed his chest. “Direct hit, young Sanders.”

“But what happened?” Sonora asked.

“One-armed Bobo in a dunking booth. We were out surveiling Indian Hills, and this guy hits? Only Bobo's waiting for him now. Got a handgun in his pocket—don't even take it out. Nails him through the jacket pocket as soon as he catches sight of the deer rifle. Good thing he got him with the first shot. Kick knocks him off the platform and into the water, and now his gun's with the fishes.”

“Kill him?”

“No such luck. Winged, right arm, but to hear this guy squall you'd think he got repeatedly gutshot with an AK-47.”

“What's he like?” Sam said.

Sanders narrowed her eyes. “Nebbishy. Skinny guy in cowboy boots and a concave chest.”

Gruber was nodding. “Yeah, I noticed that first thing. Concave chest.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sanders said.

“Uniform is cuffing him, know what he's doing? Crying. Saying don't hurt me don't hurt me, get me a doctor.
Son
of a bitch. What a tough guy.” He looked at Sanders. “Hospital's going to release him into our custody, we're going over to get him right now, if Sanders here's got her lipstick on straight.”

“I borrowed yours,” she said, eyes shiny.

Gruber glanced back at Sam and Sonora. “How's your thing coming along? 'Cause if you got time on your hands, you can, like, dust Interview One for us.”

Sonora looked at Sam. “Is it my imagination, or is this man insensitive?”

Sam showed him a middle finger. “Dust this, babe. We got work. Where's Crick?”

“In his office celebrating, I'm sure.” Gruber followed Sanders out the door.

Crick's door opened just as they got there. He did not look like he was celebrating. His gaze rested on Sonora and her knees went weak. The man did not look happy.

“There you are,” he said. Mildly over the volcano. “Just the two I want. In my office.”

He didn't have to add now. Sam exchanged looks with Sonora and they went inside. Sonora sat down without being asked because standing up was hard when Crick had that look on his face. Crick did not keep them waiting. He sat on the edge of his desk—too close and too big.

When he spoke, it was in a very steady tone. “I've had a call from the district attorney's office, and I want to get a few facts straight.”

Sonora wondered how much trouble Caplan was going to cause. She'd just been to London, Kentucky to see his in-laws and commandeered his toolbox. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction—that she had learned in grade school.

“Sonora. How often have you interviewed the counselor alone?” Crick watched her steadily. The cat-at-the-mouse-hole look.

The question did not sound good. Sonora frowned. “He was supposed to meet me at his house a few days ago, but didn't show. I talked to his wife—”

“You talked to his wife?”

“Yeah and—”

“Why?”

“Why
what
?”

Clearly, in his eyes, she could see he did not like her tone of voice. But she did not like being interrupted and cross-examined rudely when she was busting her ass on a case.

“Why did you go to his home and talk to his pregnant wife?”

“Why not?”

Crick looked at her. “Then what?”

“After I talked to his wife? He asked me to drive her to his office, and then he said he'd talk to me there.”

“He asked you to come then? During his big victory celebration?”

Sonora leaned back in her chair. Wary. “Yeah. He did.”

Crick looked at Sam. “What about you? Where were you?”

“I was running follow-up on this guy Barber, and the people who saw Julia Winchell at the conference.”

“How come you two split up?”

Sam shrugged. “Just worked out that way.”

“You're excused, Delarosa.”

Sam looked at Sonora. He made no move to leave.

Crick did a double-take. “I said you're excused. Detective Blair and I have some private business to discuss.”

Sam kept looking at her. Sonora nodded her head and he got up, squeezed her shoulder with his left hand, glanced back at Crick, and headed out.

“Close, the door behind you,” Crick said.

Sam shut the door firmly. Sonora put her hands in her lap.

Crick sighed. Rubbed a hand across his face. “District Attorney Caplan has had a talk with the lieutenant.”

“I'm sure he has.”

Crick raised an eyebrow. “Oh you are, are you? And why is that?”

“Because he's a killer. And he's a DA. And I'm going to nail his ass, and he knows it. I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner.”

Crick leaned back, folded his arms. “That's not the nature of the complaint.”

“What is the nature of the complaint? Sir?”

“Caplan says you've made unwelcome advances toward him, hounded his wife and family, including his mother- and father-in-law, and shown up in his office at times orchestrated to embarrass him.”

“
What
?”

“Sit down, Blair. Caplan knows about what went on with the Selma Yorke thing last year. About your relationship with a family member of one of the victims. What he said, basically, was that you were at it again.”

Sonora dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. “Conceited, arrogant, son of a bitch.”

“Is that all you've got to say?”

“You
know
what he's doing. You know Sam and I are getting floods of make-work requests from the DA's office, you know we've been subpoenaed to appear in court on cases we had nothing to do with. And.
How
did Caplan know I was at his in-laws'? We got a leak, sir, otherwise how could he have known?”

Crick laughed so hard it was a howl. “Got a leak to the prosecutor's office? No shit, I wonder who it could be. I can think of only fifty possibilities. And for that matter, how do you know his in-laws didn't call him?”

“I don't believe that, sir.”

“What matters here is what I believe.”

“Did you expect Caplan to take this sitting down?” Sonora clenched her jaw.

“I know Caplan is riding high since he nailed Drury. I know he gets along with almost every cop who's worked with him in court. I know he's got a lot of friends and a lot of influence.”

“How about the cops that investigated the murder of his first wife? Did they get along with him too?”

Crick didn't answer.

Sonora got up and walked out.

54

Sonora stopped by her desk long enough to kick the chair, then headed for the women's bathroom. The door was on a “slow hinge” and refused to slam. She ran water in the sink and splashed some on her face, aware, suddenly, that something was hanging from the mirror.

A jockstrap.

She had called this one wrong. She wondered what had made her think she could gross out male cops.

She snatched the jockstrap off the mirror, pulled the elastic back like a slingshot, and jettisoned it.

The bathroom door opened and Sam stuck his head in. “Girl, you in there?”

“Yeah?”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but that was a male undergarment, wasn't it?”

“So?”

He came in carrying a chair, two Cokes, a package of peanut butter crackers. He jammed the chair up against the door, flipped the latch, and sat down.

“Privacy.” He sighed, handed her a Coke and the package of crackers. “If your temper tantrum is over, why don't you tell me what's going on?”

“Crick just said that Caplan has put in a complaint about me coming on to him during questioning.”

Sam did not look surprised. The office grapevine was in good working order, no duh. “You got your tapes, don't you?”

“All he has to say is I turned them off.”

“He ain't got nothing. You're a good cop. Let your record stand.”

Sonora looked at him. “Idiot. That's the problem.”

“Oh hell. That Keaton Daniels thing.”

He said Keaton's name like it was a disease.

“You never did like that guy,” Sonora said.

“It's not that so much as it was a bad career move on your part.”

“Tell me something I don't know.”

He smiled at her. “Bitchy under pressure. One of the things I like about you, Sonora. You're not noble. In the South, women make martyrdom an art form.”

“You have that Southerner's way of insulting me politely.”

“Ingrained. But back to my point. It's a man's problem. See, what you want to do is emote and carry on and have long drawn out discussions on stuff like ‘how could he' and ‘what did I do to bring this on?' If you got a man's problem, use a man's solution.”

Sonora unclenched her jaw. She wanted to say something about the emote and carry on remark, but wouldn't that mean she was emoting and carrying on?

“Just what is a man's solution? Shoot it? Flush it down the john?”

Sam shook his head at her. “Ignore it.”

“Ignore it?”

“Yep. Then the ball's in their court. Then they got to put up or shut up, and you don't sit there and spin, which is what they want. Don't do that, girl. Just go on with your regular shit.”

Sonora thought for a minute. “You know, Sam, I'm beginning to understand why men always get the upper hand.”

55

Crick looked at Sonora, arms folded. He stood outside his office. “Sudden call of nature?” he asked her.

Sonora felt Sam at her back. “Yes sir.”

“That's the only explanation I could come up with. I wouldn't want anybody who works for me thinking they can get up and leave because I say something they don't like.”

“No sir.”

Crick sat back down behind his desk. Started talking before they settled. “Not a damn thing in that vacuum cleaner bag, boys and girls.”

Sonora sat down slowly, stared at Sam.

“I see by the way your mouths are hanging open, you expected otherwise.” Crick snorted. “Did you really think he would use a cabin that belongs to his mother- and father-in-law? When he knows damn well they hate him?”

“That would make it all the better, as far as he's concerned,” Sonora said.

“Nice theory, Blair, but it didn't pan out and he made an ass out of both of you. What we got now, boys and girls? We got the counselor, just nailed Jim Drury, and got a lot of good press and pats on the back. His first wife was murdered, heinously, but he's rebuilt his life. New wife, new baby, daughter he adores. He's made himself available to talk to you time and time again. You've been to see his wife, you've been to see his in-laws, you've talked to his step-aunt for crissakes. You make accusations and took physical evidence from a cabin where you suspect he dismembered a woman he says he never met. And guess what? It's clean. No blood, no hair, no nothing. Now the big vacuum cleaner coup is his trump card, not ours.