Icy Betrayal (3 page)

FIVE

T
he Rocklin County morgue was located in a nondescript bunker-like building a half-mile from the RC Justice Center. Unlike the morgues featured on television crime shows, the facility had low ceilings and bright fluorescent lighting. That day just a handful of the living were inside.

“We owe you for this one, Doc. I know you’re trying to get out of town,” Larry Voss told the coroner.

Dr. David Mora was hours from departing for a pathology conference in Miami. He wasn’t looking forward to the conference as much as the sunshine and warmth.

As per RCSO policy, at least one member of the accident investigation team was required to be present for victim autopsies, and it was usually Voss.

“I’ll have a cold one for you on South Beach, Larry,” Mora said as he began carving a “Y” incision into the deceased.

“I really appreciate this, Dave. We got a call on this one yesterday morning and there’s a lot that doesn’t add up.”

“No sweat, Larry. Besides, with the snow we’re expecting my flight will probably get delayed.”

Dr. Mora made the incision, which stretched from each shoulder to the sternum and down to within a few inches of the waistline. He pulled the skin back slowly with the help of a blade that sliced the connective tissue that had, until very recently, kept George Lombard’s skin attached to his body. Next, he pulled back the flesh, exposing the inside of the abdomen. He paused and peered closely at a yellow mass. “Well, that’s interesting,” Dr. Mora said.

It was nearly three in the afternoon as Mia sat at her desk trying to finish up some old accident reports. There was enough caffeine in her bloodstream from the double latte she had just finished to make her jump at the buzz of her cell phone. Caller ID told her the call was from Larry Voss.

“Hi, Larry.”

“Hey, Mia, Dr. Mora found a few surprises with our accident victim yesterday—I think I need to give you a rundown. You gonna be around for the next half hour?”

“Is this going to wreck my weekend?” Mia asked.

“Yeah, it kinda looks that way.”

It wasn’t easy getting time with Captain Mick McCallister, but Mia lucked out and caught him in the break room doing battle with the soda machine. He’d put in his dollar, but the machine was refusing to deliver his Diet Coke.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

“Captain, have you got a minute?”

McCallister sighed in defeat.

“Sure, come on in,” he responded, nodding towards his office just around the corner. “This about your fatal TC?”

“Yep.”

Mick McCallister was charged with overseeing all RCSO investigations. His office was small but had a window with a view of the parking lot and snowy grounds of the Justice Center.

“Have a seat. Whatcha got?”

“A lot of stuff that’s not adding up,” she said.

“Like what?”

Mia looked down at her notes and began to recite the facts of the case.

“The victim is 56-year-old George Lombard of Castle Springs. Best we can figure, he was out deer hunting off Highway 46 early yesterday morning when he was struck by a car and killed. The driver, 32-year-old Lisa Sullivan from Rosebud, says Lombard suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Speed was 25-30, she says she had no time to react and hit him head on. He was thrown onto the hood of her Ford Fiesta, his head hit the windshield, which didn’t break, and he was thrown clear to the shoulder face down and dead.”

“Okay, so far so good,” McCallister replied.

“Well, not for him,” she replied with a bit of a smile. She cursed silently to herself at the feeble attempt at being cute with her boss.

Their affair hadn’t ended badly; Mia Serrano and Mick McCallister parted on good terms and remained friends, seeing each other nearly every day at the station. They both knew their relationship was against RCSO policy given Mia worked in McCallister’s division. The couple had managed to keep the tryst a secret from both their co-workers and the command staff for eight months. But as Mick’s career blossomed, and he became the “talked about guy” to replace the sheriff when he retired, they decided it would be best to cool it.

The relationship had started off innocently, mostly playful flirting. There were a few emails and before they knew it they were having drinks at a small neighborhood bar in Denver. Over time, the relationship became serious, but there was always concern that they’d be discovered.

A holiday weekend trip to Las Vegas turned out to be the deal breaker, thanks to a close call with a RCSO deputy renowned for his big mouth. Fortunately, they saw him before he saw them, and while they were able to quickly switch hotels, they spent the weekend looking over their shoulders. Romance is hard, they’d learned, when you’re always watching your back.

Both had a lot to lose. Married and divorced in his early twenties, Mick’s life was more or less the RCSO. A department romance could do a lot of damage to a career he’d poured his heart and soul into. And Mia had a lot to lose as well. If word got out there would be rumors and claims she’d slept her way to her coveted investigator position. It wasn’t fair, but it was department politics and human nature. They’d both worked too hard to see it all go down the drain.

Still, neither Mick nor Mia had closed the book on the relationship completely. Maybe as they advanced, perhaps into different divisions at RCSO, they could give it another go. There were plenty of personnel at RCSO involved with each other, either in dating relationships or marriages. It was a very common thing in law enforcement. But most everywhere, relationships between bosses and subordinates were simply forbidden, and RCSO was no exception.

“Anyway,” she continued, “this seemed like a pretty cut-and-dried fatality, car versus pedestrian.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The autopsy. Lots of issues, I’m afraid.”

“Like what?”

“Glass splinters in the victim’s scalp, for starters.”

“But he didn’t break the windshield,” Mick said, proud that he could keep his concentration. He loved it when she wore her hair back. “What else?”

“The victim’s core body temperature was much colder than it should have been given the pathology. The ME tech on scene had him at 89.3 just four hours after the accident.”

“It was pretty damn cold that morning.”

“We asked about that, but Dr. Mora says while the weather may have been a contributing factor, no way does it explain a nine degree drop.”

“Shit.”

“There’s more. Mora found lividity that was consistent with a victim found on his back. My vic was found face down. He also looked at the stomach contents of our vic—looks like his last meal was a nice big steak. Problem is, unless he had that steak dinner at 3:30 in the morning, the digestive time line doesn’t add up. That steak hadn’t been in his stomach more than an hour or two. Oh, and there’s problems with the guy’s rifle and ammo. Other than that…”

Captain McCallister considered his options.

“Okay, you convinced me. It looks like this may be more than some random accident, so I want to bring in somebody to assist you.”

Mia hesitated. “Okay, that’s fine.”

“I’m going to ask Jack Keller from homicide to partner with you on this. He’s got some quirks, but he’s the best guy we have, and you can learn a lot from him.”

All homicide investigators with RCSO started off in small units, a few even coming from traffic. She knew this case could be a great opportunity to showcase her skills and learn at the same time.

“Okay, Captain.”

“I’ll email Keller and let him know.”

Mia stood to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Mora said the vic had pancreatic cancer. Probably had only three or four months to live.”

“Are you thinking suicide?”

Mia shrugged. “I don’t know. It still wouldn’t explain everything.”

“Anything in the victim’s car found at the scene that could point to that?”

“No note or anything. Nothing really out of the ordinary.”

“You might want to check with family and friends, just the same. Anything else?”

“No, sir,” she said with a smile.

Mia suddenly realized how much she had missed him.

SIX

J
ack Keller didn’t have many friends outside the department, or inside for that matter, but the few friends he did have would do virtually anything for him. Divorced twice, he swore he’d never go down that path again. Women found Keller’s distinguished features attractive, but he had rarely dated in the fifteen years since the last divorce. It had left him both bitter and broke.

He had arrived in Rocklin County almost seven years earlier after doing a thirty-year stint with the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department in Missouri. At SLMPD, Keller spent more than half his career working homicide cases—investigating more than 250 murders and posting an unheard of conviction rate of nearly 75 percent. But burnout among detectives was commonplace in his old division at SLMPD and the late night call outs, drive-by shootings, and drug-fueled murders pushed many good, hard-working detectives to an early retirement. Jack Keller lasted longer than most but ultimately went the way of the others.

His first marriage was to his high school sweetheart; for the first few years, things went well. The marriage produced a daughter, and Jack and his young family settled in a nice middle class St. Louis neighborhood. Life was good for the Kellers and the future looked bright.

But over the next couple years, as Jack became more and more involved with his career at the PD, things changed dramatically. He landed a coveted position within the department working undercover, but the assignment took everything he had, both physically and emotionally, leaving him with very little time or energy for his young family. The time he did spend at home was spent self-medicating, with Southern Comfort being his medicine of choice. As time went by, Jack’s drunken spells became more and more prevalent and the result was a very troubled marriage. Finally, on a cold January night, Jack returned home from working a double shift, only to find his wife and young daughter gone, never to return.

So, Jack Keller worked harder. The department was all he had.

“Come in,” McCallister called out from his computer screen after hearing a rap on his office door.

“Sorry, Captain, quick question.”

Mick looked up and saw Keller holding his cell phone, pointing to the email displayed on the screen.

“What’s this shit?”