Capital Crimes (12 page)

She had a point, Barnes thought.

Amanda said, “You must have really felt alone.”

“I did.”

“So then what did you do?” Barnes prompted.

“I called the cops and told them that our place had been tossed. I needed people to stop already with Davida and focus on
me.
She was dead, but I
wasn’t.
”

Minette’s egotism took neither detective by surprise, but her admission did.

“In the future,” Barnes said, “if you feel scared again, there are people who can help you and you don’t have to fib to get them to talk to you.”

“That’s all it was meant to be,” she sobbed. “A stupid fib because I was desperate! Am I in trouble?”

“You filed a false police report,” Barnes said, “so that could be trouble, yes. But I think the judge will take into consideration your circumstances.”

Minette nodded. “I should probably contact my lawyer.”

“Probably,” Amanda said. “If you can’t afford one, the county will give you one free of charge.”

“I’m okay with money.” She stood up on wobbly feet. “Can I call my lawyer now?”

“First, we need to read you your rights.”

Minette sat through the beginning of the routine, numb, inert. When Barnes got to the part about an attorney being provided, she said, “You just said that. I know all of it anyway from TV. I watch a lot of TV because she left me all the time.”

“She’s vain and egotistical and self-centered,” Barnes said once they returned to the other side of the one-way mirror. “But the real question is, did she murder Davida? We went through her house and her clothes. No blood-spattered clothing, nothing with gunpowder residue, no shoes with trace evidence of blood or carpet fiber. No gun registration and there’s no evidence that she’s owned an illegal firearm.”

“She could have hired someone.”

“Why would she want Davida dead?”

“Because she was cheating on her. Because Davida left her alone once too often.”

“Minette dealt with that,” said Barnes. “Doing her own cheating.”

“Minette is a selfish little bitch who probably flew into a narcissistic rage when she found out that Davida had someone on the sly.”

“Okay, so you like her.”

Amanda’s smile was weary.

Barnes said, “You really like her for it?”

“No, but I don’t want to rule her out. She’s unstable and she knew Davida’s habits better than anyone.”

No sense belaboring the subject. “Are you coming to Sacramento with me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Why are you even asking?”

“The memorial’s scheduled the day after the funeral. I set up the interview with Lucille Grayson for when it’s over.” Barnes smiled like a cat with feathers in his teeth. “Is that okay?”

“What’s on your mind, Willie?”

“After the funeral, I’m going to Don Newell’s place for dinner at five thirty.”

She stared at him. “And I’m not invited.”

“I can get you invited.”

“But…”

“It’s up to you.”

“But you didn’t mention me the first time around.”

“It was more of a social thing—old-boy barbecue.”

Amanda whistled. “Oh, man. First high school buds, then Jane Meyerhoff, then this. Maybe you’d like to take over the entire case by yourself?”

“C’mon, Amanda, don’t be—”

“You think I’m losing my touch? I was the one who just got Minette to confess to the break-in.”

Barnes had seen that as teamwork. He said, “That was great, but with Donnie Newell, there might be things I can—he might be uncomfortable talking in front of you.”

“Good-old-boy sex talk?”

“Woman talk,” said Barnes. “Specifically his relationship to Davida.”

“While you’re with him, I could talk to the wife who hated Davida. Or is she too hysterical and weak to pull it off?”

“I thought about that, Mandy, I really did. But then instead of the dinner being a friendly invitation, and the boys retiring for a cigar, it’s too much like a cop interview. You know, you take one, I take the other.”

He was making sense, although Amanda hated to admit it. “If you exclude me from anything one more time, I’m walking. This is a partnership, remember?”

“Mandy, you know how much respect I have for you—”

“Don’t go there, Will. I’m too pissed off for condescension.”

“Look, I really do respect your opinion. As a matter of fact, I took your advice.”

She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “What advice?”

“You know…me and Marge Dunn. I rented a convertible. We’re going to drive through Napa and Sonoma, do a couple of tastings.”

Actually, Barnes hadn’t prepared a damn thing but Amanda’s idea had been a good one, and it seemed like a dandy time to tell her. “Any idea if there’s a cheese shop en route? I think a cheese, fruit and wine picnic would be great. You agree?”

Amanda sighed. “Actually, I do have an address. Also, try The Olive Press near Sonoma. And if she’s still tolerating you by the end of the day, I’ve got some dinner recommendations.”

“That would be super—”

“Now cut the crap and rent that car and stop bullshitting me. I’m still pissed, Will.”

“I know you are. How about coffee at Melanie’s? I’ll pay.”

She cracked up. “You think you can get me to come around with a measly mocha latte?”

“Lunch?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Chez Panisse? I know one of the waitresses, maybe if it’s slow—”

“Thanks, love to.” Amanda smiled. “I’ll pull out the car while you check your wallet.”

19

T
hough she had no children, Davida Grayson had left behind a legacy. Her lust for life, her obsession with justice for the underclass, her dogged pursuit of righteousness were iterated and reiterated by each speaker. Those who eulogized her knew her well enough to make it sound real. Everyone pledged not to let Davida’s dream of creating a new stem-cell line perish with her.

In the end, Lucille Grayson had acted with class and had allowed Minette Padgett to speak. Surprisingly, Minette was clear of thought and steady of balance. She spoke briefly—always a sign of discretion—and from the heart. If Barnes hadn’t known what a nutcase she was, he might’ve choked up.

When the hour was up, the casket was loaded into the hearse, and a community that had loved Davida offered its final good-byes. The graveside service was to be a small and private affair.

Amanda checked her watch as she and Barnes filed out of the auditorium. They joined the massive black wave undulating toward the exits. It was shortly after three. “Your man-to-man dinner still on for five thirty?”

“Far as I know.”

“Did you see Newell here?”

“I looked for him, couldn’t find him anywhere,” Barnes answered.

“We’ve got time to kill. Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

“Why not?”

She walked slightly ahead of him, made her way through the throng. Civil but still pissed off.

Outside the auditorium, Barnes caught up with her. “I called Newell this morning. You’re invited for dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Because you should be there. After dinner, I’ll take Donnie, and you occupy Jill Newell, just like you said.”

Neither detective spoke for several footsteps.

Barnes said, “You know I’m a loner, Amanda. I work well with partners but only up to a point. I feel a little bad about that, but not too bad. I am what I am. But that doesn’t mean that when someone calls me on my bullshit I can’t set it right.”

They walked a couple more steps in silence.

“Did you tell Newell I was definitely coming?”

“I said you might. Didn’t know if you had other plans.”

“I don’t now.”

“So I’ll call Donnie and tell him it’s a go.”

“How about if I call Jill and ask her if it’s okay for me to come to dinner? Then when she says yes, I’ll thank her personally and ask her if I can bring anything.”

“Woman to woman,” said Barnes.

“Person to person.”

As a state capital, Sacramento played a fine host to its politicians. It had classy restaurants, several art museums courtesy of Crocker Bank, concert halls, a few theaters and the ARCO arena with its NBA team, the almost-champ Kings. But like most cities, it had multiple identities.

In Sacramento’s case, that meant a mining history and agricultural presence. When the Kings made the play-offs, the fans came armed with cowbells.

Barnes had grown up in a semi-rural, farming community twenty quiet miles from the capitol dome, where, like most of his schoolmates, he learned how to shoot a rifle and use his fists. The music of choice was country for the masses and bluegrass for those serious about guitar and fiddle. Having a gay brother and living in Berkeley had altered Barnes’s perspective but had never totally erased it. As Amanda had pointed out, sometimes he reverted to the cowboy thing. Sometimes to his detriment.

But this wasn’t one of those times. Sitting at the Newells’ big pine dinner table, wearing his bolo tie, a soft pair of Wranglers and well-broken boots, he felt right at home.

The ranch-style house sat on ten acres of oak and eucalyptus in a semi-agi neighborhood with barns and paddocks. The furniture was a chain-store leather ensemble complete with two La-Z-Boy lounge chairs fitted with cup holders that faced a sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Whatever art in sight was made by the Newell kids. Most of the table conversation centered on the kids asking the adults to pass around the food. Everyone praised Jill on her fine cooking, which was no lie. Jill seemed to take little joy in the attention. Shy woman, she always had been.

During the meal, Barnes snuck several sidelong glances at Amanda who ate sparingly and complimented the behavior of the Newells’ three kids.

As far as Barnes could tell, no thanks to Don who was loose and jocular and made no attempt to act parental.

It was Jill who ran a tight ship.

She was statuesque, about five ten, with a weathered oval face, high cheekbones, and piercing brown almond eyes that suggested Indian blood. Her lips were full but she rarely smiled. Her hands had been roughened by use, her fingers long but her fingernails short. She wore tight jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied up in a high ponytail.

Like that artist…Georgia O’Keeffe.

“I don’t remember the last time I ate so well.” Barnes patted his stomach. “Man, that was terrific, Jill. Those ribs, unbelievable.”

Jill acknowledged the comment with a slight smile and a soft thank you. When she got up to clear the plates, so did Amanda.

“Sit, Amanda,” Jill told her. “The kids will do it.”

“I really don’t mind,” Amanda said. “Besides, I know it’s a weekday and they must have homework. I sure don’t mind helping if you want them to get a jump on it.”

“Well, okay—if you’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Jill nodded. “All right, you three, you caught a break. Go to your lessons and no computer privileges until all three of you are through.” She turned to her oldest—a fifteen-year-old boy named Ryan. “If I catch you sneaking online before you’re done, there will be hell to pay. Understood?”

Her son gave her a look somewhere between a smile and smirk. “I hear you. Thanks for dinner.” Then he grinned at his father, who gave him a wink behind Jill’s back.

Amanda, the millionaire, fit in seamlessly. She said, “I can wash or dry.”

Barnes knew she’d grown up hard. Could still relate to anyone.

“We have a dishwasher,” Jill said.

“Even better, I’ll load.”

“You need help, hon?” Don asked, not even pretending to mean it.

“We’re fine,” Amanda answered.

Don said, “Jill, would you mind if I show Will your new shotgun?”

“Go ahead,” Jill said.

“
Your
new shotgun?” Amanda said.

“Jill’s a crack shot,” Don said. “We could use people like her for SWAT but I’d rather have her cooking.”

Jill frowned. “Shooting people don’t interest me.”

“See, there’s where we’re different.” Newell managed to kiss his wife before she could turn away. “See you in a bit, ladies.”

After they were gone, Amanda took in a pile of dishes and began to push the leftover food into the garbage. “Where’d you learn how to shoot?”

“My daddy. He took me hunting when I was ten. At the time, I hated it, but I loved my daddy, so I went along. I never like to kill any animals, so I took up skeet. I discovered I had a good eye and good coordination. When I was fifteen, I started entering competitive shooting. I have enough blue ribbons to paper my powder room. But to me, competition is silly…a guy’s thing, you know? But it made my daddy real proud. The shotgun’s for turkey hunting. Donnie bought it for me—one of those gifts men get you ’cause they want to use it themselves.”

“Donnie’s the hunter in the family?”

Jill nodded. “I used to just tag along, you know, but lately I decided if I was going to cook the holiday turkey, I should be honest about where our meat comes from. So now I pull the trigger. I gotta say, there is nothing like fresh game. It is positively delicious.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“You hunt?”

“No…but neither did my dad…not that it mattered.” Amanda smiled. “I didn’t have such a great relationship with my father, but I don’t dare complain. My husband more than makes up for that deficit.”

Jill was silent. Then she said, “We all have our crosses to bear. Donnie’s got good intentions.” She shrugged. “You know what they say about good intentions.”

“I do.”

“He just gets caught up in stuff,” Jill said. “He don’t always think things through. It’s cost him some promotions.”

“How’s that?”

“Instead of studying for the Sergeant’s tests, he’s helping this old friend or that old friend or just shooting the bull down at Brady’s.” She faced Amanda. “Sometimes people take advantage of him.”

“That’s not good.”

“Not good at all.” Jill exhaled. “But like I said, he’s a good man.”

Actually, she said he had good intentions, but Amanda didn’t correct her. “How long have you two been married?”

“Twenty-one years. We met in high school.”

“Oh.” Amanda feigned ignorance. “Did you know Davida Grayson? She was also a local.”

“Yes, I knew Davida.”

“Were you at the memorial service today?”

“Donnie was, but I couldn’t make it. Conflict with the school…parent-teacher thing.” Jill shrugged. “It must have been sad.”

“Very.”

“To be honest, I didn’t want to go…too freaky, you know? To know someone who was murdered.”

“Were you and Davida friends?”

“Oh heavens no. I didn’t like her at all back then, but that was probably ignorance. She’d already come out when I was a sophomore and I thought it was gross—you know, women with women.”

“Sure.”

“Anyway, that was a lifetime ago. It didn’t help my feelings that Donnie had dated her also. Did you know that?”

Amanda shook her head. Keep those bald lies coming.

“Anyway, after she came out, Donnie was sorely traumatized. He got lots of ribbing from his friends.”

“I can imagine. Did you start dating him right after?”

“Pretty much, yeah. The rest, like they say, is history.” Jill smiled tightly. “How many children do you have?”

Changing the subject. Amanda said, “None, yet.”

“They bear watching. Kids. My oldest one really bears watching. He’s sneaky…like some other people I know.”

The implication was obvious, but Amanda didn’t press her for more. When people opened up too quickly, there was often a backlash of anger. “You ever practice shooting on your own property? What do you have here, like twenty acres?”

“Ten and a half but it looks bigger ’cause a lot of it’s clearing. Sometimes when I’m in the mood, I do target practice on a bull’s-eye that I got hanging on the trees. If I used my shotgun on the oaks, I’d blow them to a stump.”

“Well, maybe one day we can go shooting together. I’m not a bad shot but there’s certainly room for improvement.”

Jill hid a smile. “Be happy to show you whatever I know.”

“That would be great.” Amanda was very satisfied with the turn of events. Both Donnie and now Jill could be suspects. If she went shooting with Jill, it would be a good way to pocket some shotgun casings.

Barnes looked at the twelve-gauge Browning Gold Lite pump gun. “Nice piece of equipment. Didn’t know you were a hunter.”

Newell gave him a chance to hold it, then took it back and placed it on the gun rack, locking the bar into place. “Oh, yeah, for some years now. Life can get tedious, Willie. A man needs a hobby.” He turned to Barnes. “You’ve been itching to get me alone all evening. What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think?”

“Don’t turn that question with a question shit on me,” Newell said. “I’ve been a cop long enough for you to respect me. Now either spit it out or go home.”

Barnes said, “Fair enough. You need to tell me about your relationship with Davida Grayson and you need to be honest.”

Newell smiled and shook his head. “I knew this was coming.”

“So you’ve had time to think about it.”

“Nothing to think about, Willie. Davida was an old friend and a controversial politician. If she needed police help, I was happy to give it to her. Buddy, that’s it.”

“What about your past with the woman?”

“That’s what it is, Will. It’s a past.”

“I need to know about it, Donnie, because this case seems to revolve around it.”

“How so?”

Barnes was caught in his lie. “Wish I could tell you, but you know the drill.”

“Am I considered a suspect?”

“You were one of the last people to talk to her. I only have your word what the conversation was about.”

The men were silent. Newell shrugged. “Like I said, there’s been nothing between us for the last twenty-five years. Not that I would have minded, because at one time, I was crazy about that girl. She fucked like a bunny, you have no idea. When you’re seventeen, that’s all a girl’s got to do to make you crazy about her.”

“I know all about that,” Barnes said. “So you had no idea she was gay.”

“I don’t think
she
had any idea she was gay.”

Barnes was silent.

“All right, maybe she did know,” Newell told him. “She was the one that suggested doing a threesome with Jane Meyerhoff. I was a normal, red-blooded American teenage stud and that meant I was horny all the time. When she suggested a threesome, man, I thought I died and went to heaven. I guess looking back at it, she used me to get to Janey.”

“How’d it happen?”

“It was one of those pivotal moments, Willie. We were double dating and went back to Jane’s house because her parents were never home…always off to some fancy destination. There were four of us—Jane’s date, some loser, Derek Hewitt.”