Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (44 page)

“Here, let me turn the sound on,” de la Cruz said as he settled in and reached forward.

“. . . did not plant that earring as evidence,” Veck clipped out. “You have video—watch the damn recording. I didn’t plant the fucking—”

“But you were over by the Kroner evidence—”

“Just like every other detective in the house.”

“And Officer Reil y indicated that you were hoping to find a tie to the Barten case.”

Veck showed no reaction to her name. “And I did. But how does that correlate with planting something?”

The other detective—his name was Browne, if she remembered correctly—leaned in over his legal pad. “Your hand was in and out of your pocket.”

“You ever hear of change? Quarters, dimes, nickels?”

“You had been up in Sissy Barten’s bedroom.”

“As had others. I’m not the only rep from this department who’s been through that house.”

“Look, Veck, just tel me what happened.”

Veck leaned in as wel , his face flat-out furious. “I went to Sissy’s house to speak to her mother. I went upstairs, yeah, sure, but I didn’t take anything out of there, and I did not plant any evidence. You’ve already proved that I didn’t hurt Kroner. Why would I want to frame the guy—for a murder, incidental y, that I did not commit?”

“I’m not sure what we’ve proved with Kroner.”

Veck sat back again. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe you staged the attack precisely so you could put the Barten murder around his neck.”

“So you think I travel with trained mountain lions or some shit? Besides, Kroner knew where the body in the quarry was, not me.”

“On the contrary, Kroner mentioned the quarry.
You
found the body.”

“No, I didn’t. That was . . .”

“Who?”

At that, he reached into the pocket of the fleece he had on and pul ed out a pack of Marlboros.

Ah, so he’d lied about quitting as wel .

The other detective shook his head. “No smoking in here.”

Veck muttered under his breath as he disappeared the pack. “Look, you want my statement? It’s simple. I didn’t do it—the murder, the earring, any of it.

Someone is trying to frame me.”

“Can you prove that, Veck.”

God, she could practical y feel a cold rush of air as Veck bit out, “The question is more, can
you
prove it.”

“He kil ed her,” Reil y said roughly. “Oh, my God, he kil ed her, didn’t he.”

He knew how the system worked, knew the ways to get away with murder—he was a detective, after al . He’d been trained on the limits of the law and evidence and proof.

De la Cruz glanced over. “I’m not going to lie. This doesn’t look good, any of it.”

She thought back to the quarry, to Jim Heron, to Veck finding the body . . . it was the perfect staging piece.

And Kroner? Veck could have gone out to those woods with the plan of kil ing the guy, only to have a wild animal cut him off.

Luck, after al , didn’t just play in favor of the righteous.

If Kroner had died by that motel as he was supposed to, and the earring had been planted successful y, and Bails hadn’t seen those juvie records, Veck would have gotten away with murder—just like his father.

And he would have kil ed again.

That was what psychopaths like him did.

Reil y’s hand crept up to her throat. To think she could have fal en in love with a kil er . . . just like Veck’s mother had.

“The most important thing,” she heard herself say, “is that the charges stick. We can’t let someone like him get loose—or it’s his father al over again.”

“We’re going to need stronger evidence. Right now, he’s technical y just a person of interest.”

“We have to get into his house.”

“We’re lining up the warrant as we speak.”

She refocused on the screen. “I want to be there.”

Sitting on the “other side” of the interrogation table, Veck was on the edge of violence.

Someone, or something, was lining him up to take a fal , and, man, they’d done their homework. Between the condition of Sissy’s body, the bul shit about this earring, and the connection with his father, he was looking at a crossroads, al right.

No choice for him, though.

It was like the autopilot on his life had recalibrated a course right into the side of a mountain, and he couldn’t get the controls back. And the assslapper? His col eague across the way here, Detective Stan Browne, was using al the standard interrogation techniques. Hel , Veck could write the dialogue, and he knew the tricks; how the interviewer could shade things or suggest the truth even if there were gray areas. So there was no way to be sure exactly how much hard evidence they had against him.

At this point, he had one and only one thing going for him: he actual y was innocent and the law favored innocent men.

“Don’t bother to get a warrant,” Veck said as he took his keys out and put them on the table. “Go through my house. Search my shit. You wil not find a single thing that wil tie me to Sissy Barten or Kroner.”

Assuming whoever was after him hadn’t planted their own version of a dove earring.

Shit.

Browne reached across and took the keys. “Do you want counsel?”div div width="1em">“I don’t need it. Because this is going nowhere.”

The other detective rubbed over his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I am.”

“So how do you explain the fact that the earring was not accounted for immediately after the truck was impounded and searched, and that it showed up after you’d been in the evidence room?”

“Like I said, how many people were in and out of there over the last few days? Have you looked at al the digital files from the security cameras?”

“We wil . We’re just starting our investigation.”

“Wel , you better get going. Because what I don’t see, Browne, is anything concrete.”

“Yet.”

“Ever.”

“Wil you take a lie detector test?”

Veck paused on that one. If they asked him whether he intended to hurt Kroner that night? How was he going to handle that?

“Yeah. Sure.”

Browne turned the page on his pad, even though he’d done nothing but scribble circles on the top sheet. “Okay, good. And I appreciate your giving your consent to go through your house.”

As if he had a choice? They were going to get permission from a judge anyway. What he real y wanted to know was who the hel had implicated him in this—

Reil y, he thought. That was what the conversation had been about last night—she’d already turned him in at that point. Either that, or she’d been about to.

But why the hel did she think he’d taken any earring? And she’d been there at the quarry with him when Jim had shown them where Sissy was. They’d both been surprised.

Unless she didn’t believe any of it. And if that was true, what had been the tipping point?

Fuck that . . . more like
who
.

“Would you mind doing the lie detector now?”

The subtext being:
while we search your house
.

Would Reil y go with them? he wondered. Probably. That was what he would have done in her shoes.

Veck lifted his eyes to the camera that was focused on him . . . and knew she was on the other side of it.

“Get the machine,” he said to the lens.

Browne rose to his feet. “It’l take us a little time to get set up. You sit tight.”

“Like I have a choice.”

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

As Browne left, Veck kept staring up at the little black eye on the buff-colored unit in the corner.

In slow motion, he mouthed,
I’m . . . being . . . framed.

He was dead clear on the fact that she wouldn’t believe him, but he wasn’t the type not to fight. And after that mute salvo, he refocused on the door. It didn’t take a crystal bal to know that he wasn’t walking away from this one with a reprimand letter or a real y beautiful shadow from IA. His career in law enforcement was over, even if he were cleared.

Which, given how thorough this setup appeared to be, wasn’t a given.

As he chewed on this new reality he had going on, that anger, that dark, vicious anger, took another crank behind his sternum. Tighter. Tighter stil .

“So what do you think, Jim,” he said softly.

The angel had been standing in the opposite corner the whole time, looming behind Browne—to the point that when the detective had first sat down, the guy had looked over his shoulder as if he’d sensed the presence.

Jim’s voice echoed in his head.
This is just the setup
.
The question is, where is this taking us. And you need to lie on the test. You tell them you went
out there to kill Kroner and you’re fucked—they may not let you out of here, and that makes my job harder.

In the silence that fol owed, the fury multiplied yet again in the center of Veck’s chest, and in a terrible moment of clarity, he realized he was ful y capable of kil ing someone. Right here. Right now. With the chair he was sitting on. With that blue-and-gold CPD pen Browne had left behind by mistake. With his bare hands.

And it would not be murder as in a “go apeshit, lose your mind, and white out” kind of event—as he’d assumed had happened with Kroner. This would be a very calculated murder, the sort of thing that would leave him in control of himself and his victim.

The sort of thing that took you away from this furious impotence and made you feel like a god.

No wonder his father had been addicted to the rush. And weaklings like Kroner craved it. The ultimate power was to take away life, to see someone beg, to hold in your hands the future of another person and their family and their community . . . and then crush al of it.

Fear was the master and pain was the weapon.

And in Veck’s current state, even with the angel right behind and sticking with him, he was only a step away from fil ing his father’s shoes.

Sweet spot, indeed.

A
s Reil y drove over to Veck’s house with half a dozen other officers, she was prepared to let her col eagues’ fingers do the walking.

She was in observational mode and going to stay that way: eyes peeled, but hands staying in her pockets. Frankly, she was lucky to be al owed to come along at al .

By the time the various cars were parked in Veck’s driveway, it looked like a cop convention, and as she got out of her unmarked, she caught sight of a couple of neighbors peeking through blinds. His reputation in his neighborhood was not her concern anymore, however.

Now, she was worried about keeping these people safe from him.

As the front door was opened with his own keys, the talk of her col eagues faded into background music for her, everything receding from notice as she entered behind the others.

The first thing she did was look at the couch. There was a pil ow down at the far end, as if Veck had spent the night there, but no blanket, even though it was stil cold at night. An ashtray ful of butts along with two crushed packs of Marlboros and a red Bic were on the floor . . . right where his wal et had landed three nights ago.

Reil y fled that scene fast, and heto the kitchen, not out of any design, but just because that was where her feet took her.

Cursing to herself, she knew she had to put her detective hat on. Boxes . . . where would the moving boxes be?

“Is this the cel ar?” someone asked as they opened the door to the hal bath.

She almost pointed the guy in the right direction, but held off. The last thing she needed to do was demonstrate how wel she knew the house.

“It’s over here,” somebody else replied as they opened a different door and hit a light switch.

Reil y went over and fol owed that officer downward. As she stepped off onto the concrete floor below, the musty air tickled her nose and the chil made her pul her coat in closer.

“And I thought the upstairs was empty,” the officer muttered, his voice echoing around.

You got that right, she agreed. Aside from the furnace, and the hot water heater, there didn’t appear to be anything in the basement.

Even stil , they walked around, taking separate routes, and then she stood to the side as he took a flashlight out to check behind the HVAC stuff.

“Nothing?” she said.

“Nada.”

After they returned to the first floor, she stayed in the kitchen, and got a look at the back of every cupboard Veck hadn’t used and the bottoms of al the drawers he hadn’t fil ed and the empty rods of the closet he hadn’t hung anything in. Officers were taking photographs of al the vacancies, and there were the sounds of people walking up above on the bare floors.

God, had she ever real y been with this man? she wondered.

No, she thought. She’d been with the image he’d wanted her to see.

With a shudder, she went up the stairs and glanced into the master suite. The bed was messy and there was another pack of Marlboros and an ashtray on the side table. Two duffel bags were in the corner, and she went over and nudged open the one that was unzipped with her foot. Leathers. Fatigues.

What looked like a black AC/DC shirt. Black socks.

The kind of stuff you’d take for an overnight, except nothing that she’d seen Veck wear before—but like that counted?

Frowning, she edged past the other officers and leaned into the bathroom. Two toothbrushes on the counter with a tube of toothpaste. A third brush standing upright in a glass.

Who the hel else was staying here?

And why was there a towel over the mirror . . . ?

As a flashbulb went off from behind her, the flare was caught in the panes of the window she’d seen him through that first night.

Grimly, she wheeled away and went out into the hal way. There were two other bedrooms with nothing in them, and another bath. With nothing in it.

“Been up in the attic yet?” she cal ed to the other officers. When they shook their heads, she reached up with a gloved hand and pul ed down the folding stairs.

Stepping aside, she let a col eague go up first with his flashlight. God, with this much available storage space, you’d think no one would bother to take anything to the third floor, but Bails had said he’d humped boxes on stairs—and there was nowhere else to check.