In the Clearing (11 page)

Kins glanced at Tracy to gauge her reaction, but she remained poker-faced. “How do you think she got the injuries?” he asked.

Collins shook his head again. “Self-inflicted. I know it sounds crazy, but she had to have done it to herself.”

“Why?”

“To set Timmy up. She staged the whole thing. I had to get Timmy a criminal defense lawyer. When the attorney started pressing for additional facts, Angela didn’t pursue it. She couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she had no facts. It didn’t happen the way she said. Besides, she needed Tim to continue working so she could get the spousal support. It was just her way of letting Tim know she still had control over him, and that she would do anything to destroy him if he crossed her.”

“You say she isolated your brother from you and the rest of the family.”

“That’s right.”

“So you didn’t spend much time around them.”

Mark Collins cleared his throat. “No. But I know my brother, and I know he wouldn’t hit her or cheat on her. When she filed the divorce papers, he was really upset about the allegations. He was trying to keep things civil for Connor, but that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Connor signed an affidavit that his father pushed his mother.”

Mark shrugged. “Did he? I’d bet that was Angela who signed Connor’s name. She’s done things like that before. She’d get Connor’s cell phone and send Tim these horrible e-mails and texts, to make it look like they were coming from Connor. And even if Connor did sign the affidavit, what else could he do? He had to live with her, and he’s afraid of her. Angela has isolated him also. Have you met him? The kid is seventeen, and I swear he can’t boil water, never goes out with friends, never had a job or made his own money, and doesn’t have a girlfriend. He’s totally dependent on her.”

“What does he do?”

“Far as anyone knows, goes to school and goes home to his room to play video games.”

“What do you think happened to your brother?” Kins asked. “Why was he at the house that night?”

“He went to pick up Connor. He had him for the weekend starting Thursday night. I don’t know why he went inside. But I’ll bet Angela had something to do with it.”

“What was his relationship like with his son after his son’s affidavit?”

“Tim knew Connor loved him, and he knew what Angela was capable of. If anything, the affidavit only confirmed that he had to find a way to protect Connor from her.” Collins picked up a multipage document from the table and handed it to Tracy and Kins. “Timmy was in the process of redoing his will to leave everything in a trust for Connor, and he named me as the trustee. It wasn’t a fortune, not the way Angela spent money, but it wasn’t inconsiderable when you factor in Timmy’s share of the Greenwood house, a rental unit he bought before they married, and his Boeing 401K and life insurance, as well as what he stood to inherit.”

“You think she killed your brother for the money?”

“Since the divorce isn’t final and the new will isn’t executed, she gets everything as the surviving widow and has full control over his assets. How crazy is that? They were separated. They were getting divorced, she professed all kinds of vile things about Tim, but now she gets
all
the money as his widow? Why is there no law against that?”

“I don’t know,” Kins said.

“I have Tim’s iPad. I went to the apartment and took it. I don’t care if I wasn’t supposed to. Timmy had an appointment scheduled with his attorney for the Saturday after Angela shot him. I’m betting that meeting was to finalize his new will and the trust, and that’s why Angela shot him on Thursday night.”

“How would she have known your brother was redoing his will?” Tracy asked.

“Or about the appointment?” Kins said.

“Connor,” Mark Collins said softly. He motioned to the papers on the coffee table. “I found much of this right out in the open on my brother’s desk.”

“You’re saying Connor saw it and told his mother?”

“No,” Mark said. “Knowing Angela, she probably had Connor deliberately snooping for her.”

“Mr. Collins,” Tracy said, “what if I told you I have a suspicion that Angela confessed because she’s protecting Connor, that I think it might have been Connor who shot your brother?”

“Is there any evidence of that?”

“Nothing specific.”

Mark Collins seemed to give it some consideration. “Angela convincing Connor to commit the crime—yeah, I can see that,” he said. “But confessing? No. I’ve never known Angela to do anything that didn’t immediately benefit her. So if that turns out to be the case, you can be damn sure there was something in it for her.”

Kins looked to Tracy. She shook her head to indicate that she had no further questions. They stood. “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Kins said. “We’ll keep you advised on our investigation.”

“Why isn’t she in jail?” Collins asked. “Why isn’t she in jail if she admitted she shot him?”

“The judge didn’t deem her a flight risk,” Kins said, “and she has no prior criminal record. She’s out on bail. That doesn’t mean she’s out of the woods. It’s not uncommon for the prosecutor to wait until all the evidence is gathered to charge someone.”

“But you indicated she came in and reconfirmed what happened.”

“She did,” Kins said. “But we have reason to doubt she’s telling us the truth.”

Collins exhaled, clearly exasperated. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s lied. Far from it.”

“Sometimes these things take time, Mr. Collins,” Tracy said, “but in the end, the system usually delivers justice.”

Mark Collins looked somber. “Maybe so, Detectives, but the judicial system doesn’t ordinarily deal with the likes of Angela.”

CHAPTER 9

K
ins dropped Tracy back at the Justice Center, telling her he had an appointment to talk with his son Eric’s high school counselor. Tracy set her purse in her cubicle, scanned the documents Mark Collins had provided, then e-mailed them to Cerrabone with a note for him to call her.

She’d no sooner hit “Send” when Faz materialized. “You have lunch plans?” he asked.

“No,” she said, sensing that he was interested in cashing in on his free lunch. “What did you have in mind, Faz?”

“I took the liberty of booking us a reservation at Tulio,” he said. “Best clams in the city.”

“Very considerate of you. My Visa card thanks you. It has cobwebs on it, but I can use the air miles.”

“Wait till you get the bill,” Del said, pushing back his chair. “You’ll have enough miles for a trip to Europe.”

Tulio was within walking distance, north on Fifth Avenue. The nice weather was holding, midfifties with clear skies. As they walked, Tracy filled Faz in on the interview with Mark Collins.

“So what did you think?” Faz asked.

“I think he sounded like someone trying to protect his brother. I’ve never bought the ‘she threw herself down a staircase’ theory.”

Faz held the door for her, and they stepped inside. The dining area consisted of half a dozen tables draped with white cloths, and booths along the walls. The kitchen was at the back, and diners could watch the two chefs at work.

“I can taste the clams already,” Faz said.

“While you salivate, I’m going to wash my hands.” Tracy spotted the sign for the restrooms and started for the back of the restaurant.

Halfway there, she thought she heard a familiar voice and glanced to her left, into the dining area. Kins sat in a booth near a window, leaning forward, engaged in conversation. Opposite him sat Amanda Santos, the FBI profiler who’d worked the Cowboy investigation, and a dead ringer for Halle Berry.

Del was waiting when Tracy and Faz returned. “All right, Fazio, get it over with. Tell me how the clams were the best you’ve ever had.”

“Garlic and onions, a little salt and pepper.” Faz kissed his fingers and let them bloom. “Magnifico.”

It was a worthy performance. Maybe Faz could have been in the movies. He didn’t have the clams. They didn’t eat at Tulio. Tracy had done a one-eighty when she’d spotted Kins and returned quickly to the front of the restaurant. She’d had no idea what excuse she’d use to convince Faz they had to leave, so she was glad when she didn’t need one.

“I saw him,” Faz had said, already opening the door for her and stepping outside. “I figured something was up. I’ve heard him on the phone a couple times keeping his voice low. Then the suit. Who wears a suit anymore if you don’t have to?”

“I knew things weren’t great at home,” Tracy said, now wondering if Santos was the reason she’d beaten Kins to the Collins crime scene. “But he said he and Shannah were working things through.”

“Hey, we don’t know he’s done anything.”

“No,” she said. “But he lied and said he was meeting his son’s high school counselor.”

“Not our place to judge,” Faz said. “Nobody knows what goes on between a man and a woman in the privacy of their own home.”

“Agreed, but I’m not his wife. I’m his partner.”

When Tracy made Homicide, her first partner quit, not willing to work with a woman. The second asked to be reassigned when his wife complained. Kins had readily accepted her, and for the eight years they had worked together, they’d agreed to a policy of total honesty.

Back at her desk, still upset, Tracy busied herself going through the Collins file and trying to catch up on all the reports. The neighbors said they all knew the couple had separated, though they didn’t know the reason. No one had ever heard or seen anything to confirm Angela Collins’s accusation of physical or emotional cruelty.

Nearly two hours later, Tracy turned from her computer when Kins returned. She watched him hang his coat on a hanger and hook it to the top of his cubicle.

“How was the meeting?” she asked, drawing a glance from Faz.

Kins shrugged. “You know, same BS. Took a bit long, but Eric’s doing better. He’s got his algebra grade back up to a B.”

“That’s got to be a relief.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. You got that list of names from the brother? I’ll start making calls.”

Tracy handed Kins the list without further comment, and he went to work. So did Tracy. She made good progress talking to Tim Collins’s friends and other relatives. Each confirmed, to varying degrees, what Mark Collins had told them—that Angela isolated Tim, seemed to pick unnecessary fights, and could be particularly “difficult” when she didn’t get her way. That, however, was a double-edged sword, since it also confirmed the couple’s relationship could be volatile.

The emergency room doctor had also returned Kins’s call, and Kins relayed the substance of their conversation. The doctor didn’t specifically remember Angela Collins, but he’d pulled her chart, which confirmed that Angela had minor bruising along the right side of her torso and near her ribs. Angela had told the doctor that her estranged husband had shoved her into the door frame and she fell over a table, but X-rays didn’t reveal any fractures. He’d sent her home and told her to take an anti-inflammatory for the pain. He said he’d never questioned whether or not Angela was telling the truth about how she’d been injured, or if her injuries were consistent with her explanation.

Early evening, Kins grabbed his suit coat, draping it over his shoulder. “I’m going to hit it. Will has a soccer game.”

“You don’t want to miss that,” Tracy said.

“Shannah will have my head.”

“Before you go, there’s something I need to talk with you about,” Tracy said. “My friend, Jenny Almond—”

“The one who became sheriff?”

“Right. She’s asked me to take a look at a 1976 case her father worked.”

“Cold case?”

“Not exactly. The facts are complicated. I don’t want to keep you from the soccer game. Just wanted you to know I’m going to ask Nolasco to let me work it, and I wanted to make sure you’re all right with it.”

“You want my help?”

She shook her head. “Nolasco would never allow both of us to work it. He may not even allow me to.”

“He’s been pretty quiet around here with OPA on his ass,” Kins said. “You want to do it, go for it. Collins isn’t going anywhere fast, and Faz is itching to stay involved.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I was doing something behind your back.”

“No worries,” Kins said, departing.

“Subtle,” Tracy said to herself. “Real subtle.”

She checked the time on her computer. She’d put off talking to Nolasco about Kimi Kanasket until the end of the shift, because a day not dealing with Nolasco was always better than a day dealing with him. Time, however, had run out. She walked along the outer glass wall to Nolasco’s office, thinking, again, that the man would have a killer view of downtown Seattle and Elliott Bay if he ever opened his blinds. He didn’t.

Nolasco sat at his desk, head down. Tracy knocked on the open door. “Captain?”

Nolasco looked annoyed. He always looked annoyed. “Yeah.”

“Got a minute?”

Nolasco very deliberately set down paperwork on one of many piles on his desk and motioned to one of two empty chairs. Tracy entered and sat. She could see files on the carpet behind Nolasco’s desk and pieced it together. Nolasco had his old case files pulled and was going through them, likely preparing for OPA’s inquiry of possible improprieties in those investigations, an inquiry he no doubt blamed on Tracy. They said timing in life was everything, and Tracy couldn’t have picked a worse time to want something.