Justification for Murder (20 page)

B
oth detectives arrived back at the station with a few evidence bags, including the tin can with the burnt papers. Darcy spread them across his desk, and Sorensen called Jon over.

“Can you get these to the lab?”

“Sure. I could use some fresh air. I’ve been staring at my computer all day.”

Darcy walked to Virago’s office. The dog followed him. There were a few stares, but nobody said anything. He let the dog in and then closed the door. The captain was immersed in the massacre’s paperwork and didn’t even notice that Lynch had walked in. She jumped when the dog sniffed her leg.

“What the hell is that?”

Darcy stared back with his typical smug expression.

“Dogs are not allowed in the office.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to let detectives in the field if they haven’t passed their qualification, so I guess we are both breaking the rules.”

She pursed her lips and took off her reading glasses. “What do you want?”

“We got a potential lead. I just came to tell you that I’m going to follow it. Then I’m going to pick up Meadows from the hospital and see what else we can get from her.”

“I thought she wasn’t hurt.”

“She wasn’t.”

“What’s the lead?”

Lynch gave her a quick rundown of what they found in the house, as well as the conversation with Alton Lane.

“I’m not sure it’s going to be anything, but we’ve got nothing better.”

“Keep me posted with anything you find. Call me.” She went back to her computer screen, but before her fingers started typing, she said, “And take the dog with you.”

Lynch patted his leg, and the dog rushed to his side. He wondered how a semi-wild dog could be so well trained.

They both went to the garage, and Darcy opened the passenger door so the dog could jump in his car. Before he was able to go around, the dog moved to the driver’s seat.

“No driving today, girl. Move over.”

The dog obeyed and sat shotgun.

On the road, the air flapped the dog’s ears and jowls, and her eyes were closed to thin slivers. Darcy laughed and scratched her neck.

“You need a name.” The dog licked his hand. “And we need to get you some serious food and a bath.”

Darcy decided to go home. On his way, he stopped at a Petco and got a large bag of dog food. At the register, while he was waiting to pay, he added a Kong. He wasn’t sure what toys his new dog would like but it felt wrong to take her home with nothing to play with, except his shoes.

His house was of new construction. The second story had a large balcony with views of the Santa Clara Valley. A tall wooden fence shielded bystanders from a large backyard with a heated pool and a hot tub built into the ground.

Darcy went straight to the pool, took off his clothes, jumped in and started swimming. His body ached with each stroke. Before he got through half a lap, the dog jumped in and followed him.

“Oh no you didn’t. That’s disgusting.”

He was more amused than pissed. He got out of the water and watched the dog swim to the opposite side and walk up the stairs to get out of the pool. She shook her body a few times, sending beads of water a few feet away.

Darcy dried himself and then used the same towel for the dog. He left behind the dirty clothes but grabbed his gun and badge and went into the house.

“Hey, Lola, how are you today?”

The Betta fish seemed a little less vibrant than normal.

“Okay, I’ll change your water.”

Darcy filled a half-gallon bowl and counted thirty drops of the pH controller.

“I’ll feed you in the new tank.”

The dog watched his every move. Darcy got a bowl out and filled it with food.

He left the kitchen and ran a hot shower that turned his golden skin a weird tone of pink. He then put on dark blue jeans, a black shirt and a pair Donald J. Pliner shoes. The gunk to keep his hair in place was sticky, but it smelled good. That was the main reason he kept using it.

“Oh, shit, it looks like I’m going on a date,” he said out loud when he spotted himself in the mirror.

Back in the closet, Darcy changed into a dark gray suit and a white shirt, but kept the Pliner shoes. He knew the jacket would make him sweat, but he was still on the job.

When he returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, he scooped Lola out of the old tank and moved her to the one with fresh water. Her blue and red colors started coming back immediately. He pinched some food flakes and dropped them close to her. With a quick kick of the tail, she changed course and started eating.

D
etective Lynch left his house after giving his new dog a directive to not chew on anything. He left the sliding doors to the backyard open and hoped she wouldn’t jump in the pool again. From the car, he called Elena, the woman Alton Lane said would get the mysterious key, should Harper Johnson die.

“Hello?” Her voice was sweet and welcoming.

“Good morning. I’m Detective Darcy Lynch, with the Santa Clara Sheriff’s Office. I’d like ask you a few questions.”

“What is this regarding?” Her Spanish accent was barely noticeable.

“I would rather do this in person.”

“Very well. Can you meet me at the Big Basin Cafe in Saratoga?”

“I’ll see you there in a half hour.”

She agreed and hung up.

He checked his watch and sped up. Rush hour was starting and parking was an issue around the main strip of the little town. He managed to walk into the diner right on time.

The place was quaint. Only three tables were occupied, one with a family—they looked from out of town—one with an elderly couple, and one with a good-looking middle-age Hispanic woman.

“Elena?” he asked.

She nodded and extended her hand. He took it and sat down. The waitress came, and he asked for black coffee.

“You should have the apple crumb pie. It’s really good here,” Elena said.

“Let’s have it then,” he said, adding it to the order.

When they were alone again, she looked at him but waited for him to speak first.

“Do you know Harper Johnson?”

Surprise filled her face. She leaned back into her chair and interlaced her fingers on top of the table.

Darcy pulled Harper’s DMV photo and showed it to her. She nodded in acknowledgment.

“I know Harper. I didn’t know his last name.”

“AA?”

She shook her head. “I run a support group for people who’ve lost a loved one to cancer.”

“His mother.”

“Right.”

The waitress brought the pie and topped off both of their cups.

“He came to the meeting for the first time a few years ago. Very shy man. I never thought he would come back, but he did. Every week. He rarely talked. Just listened. His eyes were half-cast, his arms always crossed, but he kept coming.”

Lynch took out the key inside the evidence bag. “Do you know what this is?”

She inspected it from across the table, then took it and checked the number inscribed on the key holder.

“Yes. Well, sort of. About a month ago he stayed behind to help me clean up. He did this on and off. I noticed that he kept looking around, as if checking to see if there were still people around. He was fidgety, but in this job you learn not to push, to just let people open up if and when they want to.”

She took a tiny piece of pie and savored it before continuing. Darcy mirrored her and was surprised by the warm, sweet and also slightly tart taste of the pie.

“This is really good,” he couldn’t help commenting.

“I told you.” She smiled and continued: “After everybody had left, he asked me if we could sit for a few moments. We did, and he told me that one day a man named Alton Lane would come and give me a key with the number 6213 on it. It was a key for the local storage unit. You know, the one up the street. He told me that he had there a little money he wanted me to donate to some nonprofit organization related to cancer.”

“He told you this only a few weeks ago?”

“Yes, about three or four.”

“Did he have any friends or anybody he was more social with at the group?”

“No, not really. We have a fairly steady group. Most people come every week. There are a few who come every once in a while and then we have a few first-timers who never come back. But the core group is pretty steady. But no, Harper just came, listened and left. He didn’t even talk that much to me. That’s why I was so surprised when he entrusted me to do this for him.”

“Did you ask him what cancer organization he wanted you to donate the money to?”

“I did ask him, but he said I could choose.”

“Did he say what he expected would happen to him?”

“No. And as I said, we tend to not ask a lot of questions in this job. I assumed he was probably diagnosed with cancer but didn’t want to tell anybody. Many people decide not to fight it. I remember thinking that the police probably has great medical insurance, and that he could probably beat it, but I didn’t say anything, since he didn’t share.”

“The police?”

“Yeah. One of the few things he ever shared was being a retired police officer.”

Darcy didn’t correct her.

“You do these meetings at the Sacred Heart Parish?” he asked, recalling the worn piece of paper in Johnson’s wallet.

“Yes. Every Wednesday at seven.”

“Can I get the list of names of the regulars?”

She hesitated. “I only have the first names.”

“That’s better than what I’ve got.”

He smiled, inviting her to relax. He noticed how comfortable it felt to talk to this woman. She was a natural.

“You never told me why you’re so interested in Harper,” she said, pulling a notebook out of her huge purse and scribbling a list of first names on it. “Why aren’t you asking him all of these questions?”

“Harper Johnson went into a coffee shop this morning and shot at everybody who was there.”

Elena stopped writing. Her face drained of color. She put the pen down and covered her mouth with both hands.

“He killed and injured several people.”

“Somebody mentioned this at work, but not the name. He was a kind man. I don’t know why he would’ve done this. Are you sure it was him?”

“After he shot all those people, he killed himself.”

She gasped. Her eyes showing disbelief.

Darcy gave her a few moments to process the information. He finished his pie and asked a few more routine questions, more as a distraction than anything else.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a family therapist.”

“I never asked you for your last name.”

“Fernandez.” Her smile trembled. Darcy could see that she was still processing the news. He wished he hadn’t told her.

T
he storage unit was less than three miles away. Lynch got in his car and turned left on Saratoga Sunnyvale Road. As he drove, he thought about Harper Johnson, the man who had massacred a dozen people, who had probably killed Emma Hughes in cold blood and who had tried to kill Saffron several times. The same man who had entrusted an acquaintance to donate his probably tiny savings to a cancer organization.

The thing that nagged him the most was that he still didn’t know what could have possessed this otherwise ordinary man to do these horrible things to these specific people.

In less than five minutes, he saw the bright green sign for the storage facility and made a left into the parking lot. The office was a small building with large windows and a green stripe painted right below the shingles. The place was empty and well air-conditioned. A short, stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair sat behind the counter, playing with his phone.

“How can I help you?” he asked when Darcy reached the counter. He put the phone back in his pants pocket.

“Can you tell me how to get to unit 6213?”

The man eyed him for a second, probably trying to decide whether he cared enough to ask questions or not. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and then asked, “Is it your unit?”

Lynch had hoped to avoid the formalities, but he wasn’t so lucky. He pulled his badge and introduced himself.

“Don’t you need a warrant or something?” the clerk asked. His eyes were shining a little, now suddenly interested.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Lynch almost found it funny. People watched too much TV these days and thought they knew everything.

“The owner is deceased. Now please direct me to where the unit is.”

The man seemed disappointed with the simple explanation.

“I’ll take you there,” he said opening the partition on the counter and headed toward the side door.

They walked in silence by a long row of green doors. Then they turned right, passed two more identical rows and turned right again on the third one. The fourth door was the one they were looking for. This row contained narrower storage units.

“This is where our five-foot-by-five-foot units are,” the clerk explained. “They’re the smallest ones we offer. Surprisingly enough, they’re one of our most popular.”

Lynch nodded. Then he asked, “Have you seen anybody coming around to use this unit?”

“No. The patrons can just walk in directly, so most of the time they don’t even stop at the office.”

“Okay, thank you for your help. I can take it from here,” Lynch said, facing the closed unit.

The stocky man took three or four steps back but didn’t leave. Lynch waited, but when there was no further movement, he turned.

“Please go back to the office. I’ll come and get you if I need anything else.”

The man puffed in disappointment but left, dragging his feet a little, like a small child, and looking back every other step. After he turned the corner, Darcy put on latex gloves, tore open the evidence bag and took the key out. He got down on one knee and inserted it in the padlock. It opened after a couple jiggles.

The storage unit was empty except for a large black garbage bag tied in a loose knot. He opened it and found three three-by-seven-inch yellow envelopes. Darcy grabbed one. It was about two inches thick. The front had written in blue ink “S.D.” Then underneath, “T.N.” and below that, “B.D.” The envelope was open. He peeked inside and found a bundle of money. He leafed through it. There was probably about $30,000 in $100 bills. He placed back the envelope and took the one that was next to it. This one only had two sets of letters, “H.I.” and “E.S.” It was thinner. It also had money, but he eyeballed it to be around $20,000.

He heard a car get closer and turn into his row. He put the envelopes back into the garbage bag and took a few steps out of the storage unit into the middle of the lane. A heavy-set woman approached him in a rusty brown Oldsmobile. Darcy pulled his badge out and stepped in front of the car. The woman slammed on the brakes, startling the toddler in the back seat, who dropped his sippy cup.

“Police business. Please come back later,” Lynch said, walking toward the driver’s side.

The woman stared at the badge, and nodded. She looked toward the storage unit, then put the car in reverse and left without saying a word.

Once she was out of sight, Darcy walked back inside and checked the remaining envelope. It was the same as the first one but had a different set of letters. He took a few pictures with his phone, then placed the envelope back into the garbage bag and put that into a large evidence bag, sealing it and labeling it before he closed and locked the storage unit, taking the bag with him.

He called Lou Davis, who promised to send somebody in the next few minutes. Then he called Virago.

“I’ve got loads of cash in a storage unit. I’m sending you a picture right now.”

“Whose is it?”

“From what it looks like, Harper Johnson’s.”

“Holy shit.” She paused for a few seconds. “Get CSU there ASAP.”

“Already on their way. I need to secure the area and I’m heading back…”

“Anything else?” she asked.

“No. See you in a few.”

He hung up and headed out to find the help he needed. He walked back into the office and found the clerk glued to his phone again. He looked up from behind the counter.

“I need to talk to your supervisor,” Lynch said.

“Actually, he’s on vacation. I’m the person in charge.”

Darcy didn’t believe him, but didn’t have time to argue.

“Very well. I need you to close all access to storage units on that row. CSU is on its way and I’m going to put some tape on both entrances to the row, but I’m making you responsible that nobody enters that area.”

“What did you find?” His face was twitching a little, as if he couldn’t figure out whether to be excited or scared.

“You know I can’t discuss an active investigation, but what I can tell you is that what we found is very important evidence in an ongoing case,” Darcy explained, attempting to make this man feel a part of the action.

He took out Johnson’s picture from his jacket pocket.

“Have you seen this man around here?”

The man took the picture. After a few seconds, he nodded. “Yes, I think I’ve seen him a few times in the last several weeks.” He returned the photo as if it were impregnated with poison.

Darcy nodded. “When was the last time you saw him?”

The man thought about it for a while. “I’m not sure. The days kind of run together, you know? Has he done something?”

Darcy looked at him, and the man said, “Right. You can’t discuss.”

“Can I count on you to make sure nobody enters that row?”

“Yes, of course.” He nodded his head violently up and down, then stopped suddenly and said, “Do you want me to call you if he comes back?”

“Sure,” Lynch said, knowing that any other answer would generate many more questions. “I’ll be right back.”

He left the air-conditioned office and headed back to his car. He grabbed some yellow “Do not cross” tape and went back into the office.

“Can you come with me?” Darcy asked.

The man left his post and met Lynch on the other side of the counter. They both walked back to the storage unit. Darcy taped the entrance to the row, taped the door of the unit, put some tape around the lock and finally walked to the other end. When he was done, he said, “Please, stay here until CSU arrives. Remember, I’m counting on you: no one in or out.” He extended his hand, as if he were making a pact. “What’s your name?”

“Raul. Raul Sanchez.”

“A pleasure having you on the team, Raul,” Darcy said and saw the man stand a little taller before he walked out.