Proof Positive (2006) (20 page)

Guzman started to leave, but Cashman stopped him. He had waited a reasonable amount of time to discuss Mary Clark with his superior. It would only be natural for Mary's colleagues to be concerned about her unexplained absence, and Bernie wanted to make sure that everything he did was consistent with the actions of an innocent person. Besides, the analysis of the evidence was finished, and it all pointed to Jacob Cohen. Cashman had heard through the grapevine that the detectives and Hannah Graves were convinced Cohen had murdered the unidentified woman in the vacant lot. No harm could come to him now if authorities discovered Jane Doe's identity.

I'm concerned about Mary Clark, Cashman said. She hasn't been in for several days. Have you heard anything from her?

Guzman frowned. I'm worried, too. I' ve left a few messages on her answering machine and on her cell but she hasn't returned my calls.

I can't get through to her, either. Do you think something's wrong? It's not like Mary to just take off like this without telling anyone where she's going. She's very responsible.

When was the last time you saw her or spoke to her? Guzman asked.

We worked this case the liquor-store robbery. It was early morning, two, two-thirty. I spoke to her right before we left. She said that she was going home.

So that's what, two days ago?

Three. I hope there's nothing wrong.

Me, too.

Guzman couldn't stop thinking about Mary Clark after he left Cashman. As soon as he got back to his office, he picked up his phone and dialed one of the sergeants at central precinct who attended his church and was an occasional golfing partner.

Fritz, Carlos Guzman here. I' ve got a favor to ask.

Shoot.

Do you know Mary Clark?

She's one of your people, right?

Yeah.

I know who she is. Why?

She worked a crime scene with Bernie Cashman a few nights ago, and no one has seen her or talked to her since. I' ve left several messages on her answering machine and cell phone, but she hasn't returned them.

You want me to send a car out to her place?

That's what I was thinking. She's not the type to get sick or go somewhere without letting us know.

Consider it done, the sergeant said.

An hour later, Sergeant Fritz Auslander received a call from Philip Moreland, the officer he'd sent to Mary Clark's house.

What's up, Phil? Auslander asked.

I'm uncomfortable with this, Sarge, Moreland said. There was no car in the driveway. I rang the bell and knocked on the door and no one answered. Then I tried the knob. The door wasn't locked. I opened it and yelled that I was a cop. No answer. Then I noticed that she has an expensive alarm system, but it was off. It doesn't make sense that someone who'd pay that much for a house alarm wouldn't put it on and would leave the front door unlocked when she left the house.

Did you talk to the neighbors?

Not yet, but I was thinking that she could be in the house, hurt. Do you want me to go in? I wasn't sure I could do it without a warrant.

We' re not looking for criminal activity. Maybe she had a heart attack or something. Go on in and get back to me.

When Moreland called back twenty minutes later he sounded nervous.

No one's home, and it doesn't look like she was going anywhere. Her toothbrush, hairbrush stuff like that are still in the bathroom. I checked her drawers and closet. They seemed full, and I saw a set of luggage. There's no sign of a struggle, either. Everything is neat and in place.

Moreland hesitated, and Sergeant Auslander sensed that there was something else the officer wanted to say.

What aren't you telling me, Phil?

There's a wastebasket in the bathroom. I could see a syringe in plain view. It's sitting on top of some balled-up tissues. And there are two glassine envelopes like you keep heroin in. I got as close as I could without touching anything. There are traces of some kind of powder in the envelopes.

Sergeant Auslander was quiet for a minute. Moreland waited.

Look, the sergeant said, get her plates from DMV and run them. Put out an APB for the car. Maybe she was in an accident. Check the hospitals.

Will do. What about the stuff in the basket?

Leave it. Let me do some thinking, and call me if you get something on the car.

I'll get back to you, Sarge.

As soon as Moreland was off the line, Auslander called Carlos Guzman and told him what the officer had found.

You think Mary is using heroin? Guzman asked. He sounded incredulous.

I don't know what to think. I don't know the woman. But if I were you I'd go through the narcotics cases she handled recently to see if any of the evidence is missing.

Guzman swore.

Hey, Auslander said, it's never easy. One of my first partners had a habit. The precinct was like a funeral home the day they busted him. But you' ve got to look.

You' re right, Guzman said with a sigh. This could turn into one motherfucker of a day.

Chapter
26.

GARY BRINKMAN HAD BEEN A BIT OF A BOOKWORM IN HIGH school and college, where he'd earned a degree in computer science. The idea of competing in a sport never crossed his mind until his doctor told him that lack of exercise was affecting his health. He still might have remained overweight and physically challenged if he hadn't started dating Wendy Franz, a fellow engineer at Intel, who had gone through college on a track scholarship. After his doctor's appointment, Wendy insisted that he start a regimen to lose weight and get in shape. Gary started running and dieting. The farther he ran, the slimmer he got. Running soon became an addiction that Wendy heartily supported. Gary transformed himself from an overweight computer geek into a slim, muscular long-distance runner with a goal of completing the Portland Marathon.

The forested paths of the Wildwood Trail ran for more than twenty miles through Portland's park system. On a cool, clear Saturday, Gary and Wendy were pacing their way through a twelve-mile workout when Wendy slipped on a rock that had rolled down the steep, brush-covered hillside towering above the trail. She pitched sideways and rolled halfway down the lower slope, where a tree trunk arrested her fall. Gary scrambled down the hill.

Are you all right? he asked his girlfriend, who was gripping her side and scrunching up her face in pain.

Gary knelt beside Wendy and helped her into a sitting position. It was while she was sitting up that she saw something in the thick foliage in front of her.

Wendy, are you okay? Gary repeated.

Wendy pointed toward the thick underbrush.

Is that ? she asked, unable to complete the sentence.

Gary looked where she was pointing. He stood up and walked over, bending from the waist as he got closer.

Holy shit, he whispered when he realized that he was looking at a human hand.

Zeke Forbus swore loudly as he stumbled down the steep hillside for several feet before arresting his slide. As soon as he caught his breath, he started edging down the hill again toward the body.

Why can't these fucking felons murder their victims in a sports bar, someplace nice? Forbus bitched. Why do we have to go to dumps that smell like cat piss or the fucking woods all the time?

Maybe we should make that a condition for leniency, Billie Brewster answered. A perp can reduce his sentence by five years, say, if he kills the victim where we can get a beer and a decent burger.

Goddamn it, Forbus swore again as the hillside gave way, spraying dirt and small rocks in his wake.

Just below them, a criminalist and Dr. Sally Grace were kneeling by the body, while above them, on the trail, the runners who had discovered it waited under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer.

So, Sally, what have we got? Brewster asked as soon as she skidded to a stop near the bushes where the body had been hidden.

A dead guy, the ME answered as she stood up.

I told you she was brilliant, didn't I? Brewster said to Forbus, who was brushing dirt and leaves off his clothing. Care to share any more technical information with those of us who didn't go to medical school?

What's left of him doesn't look good. Animals got at him but I'm guessing heroin messed him up first. I saw a lot of needle marks. And he wasn't killed here.

So he was killed by someone? Brewster asked. We' re not dealing with an OD or a heart attack?

Dr. Grace shook her head. He was shot in the back of the head.

Can I take a look? Brewster asked.

Be my guest.

The ME stepped aside and Brewster did a deep knee-bend to get down close to the corpse. Forbus stood behind her and looked over her shoulder. Most of the dead man's face was gone. Forbus frowned.

You find any ID? Forbus asked.

His name is Juan Ruiz, the criminalist told Forbus, handing him an evidence bag containing a wallet. Forbus had on latex gloves, but he still handled the wallet gingerly.

Juan Ruiz, he muttered as soon as he saw the picture on the dead man's driver's license. Yeah, Ruiz. I knew I knew him. Forbus looked at Brewster. We questioned him about that Dominquez killing about a month ago.

He works for Felix Dorado, right? Brewster said.

Which means we look at Martin Breach's men for this, Forbus answered.

Brewster turned to Dr. Grace. As soon as you do the autopsy, let me know if you find any bullet fragments. I'd be curious to know how they compare with the slugs that killed Vincent Ballard.

*

WHEN THE JAFFES NEEDED A FORENSIC EXPERT, THEY USED PAUL Baylor, a slender African-American who had worked at the Oregon state crime lab for ten years before going out on his own. Paul had been willing to meet at Jaffe, Katz, Lehane, and Brindisi, but Frank liked to get out of the office when he could, so he and Amanda drove to Oregon Forensic Investigations.

So, how did your date with Mike go? Frank asked as he turned into the entrance of an industrial park near the Columbia River.

How did you know I went out with Mike? Amanda asked, a little put off by the question. She loved her father dearly, but he did have a tendency to stick his nose into her personal affairs.

His secretary mentioned it when I was at the DA's office this morning.

Amanda was relieved that Mike hadn't blabbed to her father, but she didn't appreciate her social life being a topic of gossip at the DA's office. She had to admit, though, that she'd had a good time. The movie was better than expected, and she'd enjoyed their dinner conversation. If she was going to be totally honest with herself, she would admit that she'd been sorry when the evening ended at her front door.

It was just dinner and a movie, Dad. Amanda said as they drove down a street flanked by warehouses.

Do you know the Cohens well? she asked, to distract her father.

Frank shrugged. The rabbi and I have talked after services and at a couple of men's club meetings and I' ve seen him and Valerie at parties, but I'm not a close friend, more of an acquaintance. Why?

I'm looking into the possibility of a mental defense, and I was wondering if you had any insight into Jacob or the family.

It's common knowledge that Jacob has serious problems. I know something happened when he was living in Chicago and he went to the penitentiary for attempted rape. The rabbi set up an appointment to see me when Jacob was arrested. Then he canceled. I never knew why.

If you hear anything you think will help, let me know, okay?

Will do.

Frank parked in an open space in front of an unremarkable concrete building. A ramp led to a walkway that passed in front of an export import business and a construction firm and ended at Oregon Forensic Investigations. The door opened into a small anteroom furnished with two chairs that flanked a table covered with old copies of Scientific American and BusinessWeek. In one wall of the reception area were a door and a sliding glass window. Baylor's secretary was sitting at a desk on the other side of the glass window, preparing a report for a client. Amanda gave the secretary her name. Moments later, Paul Baylor walked out, wearing a herringbone jacket, an open-collar blue dress shirt, and freshly pressed tan slacks.

It's been a while, Baylor said with a smile as he ushered his clients into a cramped office furnished with an inexpensive desk, mismatched chairs, and a bookcase stuffed with scientific journals and case files. The office was for meeting with clients and writing reports. Paul's real work was conducted in a large lab behind the office.

Frank, Amanda, and the forensic expert made small talk for a few minutes before getting down to business. There was a legal pad on the desk. Baylor picked up a pen.

Tell me what you' ve got for me.

Ladies first, Frank said.

Have you read about the Jane Doe who was murdered in the lot on Hobart and Queen Anne? Amanda asked Baylor.

There was something on the evening news a few days back. A rabbi's son was arrested, right?

Jacob Cohen. He's my client. Jacob is a paranoid schizophrenic with a history of sexual assault. He was living in an abandoned car in the lot where the murder occurred. The detectives found him kneeling next to the body. The woman was beaten and stabbed. He admits he handled the knife.

Baylor looked confused. What is it you want me to do?

My client swears that someone else killed the woman.

Did he identify the killer?

Uh, yes. He believes that the murderer is Mephistopheles.

Baylor gaped at Amanda for a second. Then he laughed. The devil?

Amanda nodded. The red guy with the horns.

And you want me to look for trace evidence of what brimstone?

You find brimstone, and I guarantee I can get the DA to drop the case, Amanda said.

It shouldn't be a problem, Baylor said. I' ve got a specific test for brimstone. If it's there, I'll find it. Is there anything else you want me to look for pitchfork marks, tail tracks?

Amanda smiled. Then she got serious.

Actually, there are some things that bother me. Jacob is very insistent that he didn't commit the murder.

How many of your clients admit they' re guilty? Baylor asked, flashing Amanda an indulgent smile.

Not many, but my co-counsel, Doug Weaver, has represented him before. He says that Jacob is so crazy that he doesn't think he can lie. It's hard to explain, but he's very serious about everything.

You think he's innocent? Baylor pressed.

Amanda sighed. No. I think he's delusional. He probably murdered the woman and convinced himself that the devil did it so he wouldn't have to face the truth, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't have you double-check the lab's work. The cops found two T-shirts in Jacob's car with the victim's blood on them. Jacob admits that they' re his shirts but he says that he wasn't wearing them when the victim was killed and he says that he has no idea how the blood got on them. I'd like you to make certain that it is the victim's blood on his shirts.

Then there is something else that I found odd. The woman was stabbed repeatedly and bludgeoned with a crowbar. Both weapons were found next to the body. Jacob admits handling the knife but he says that he never touched the crowbar. The crime lab found Jacob's prints all over the knife, but there are no prints on the crowbar.

Who worked on the case for the state? Baylor asked.

Ron Toomey and Bernie Cashman.

They' re solid, Baylor said.

I know, but everyone makes mistakes, though I doubt it in this case.

You have the reports for me? Baylor asked. Amanda handed him a thick manila envelope. Baylor took it and placed it to one side.

I'll arrange to look at the evidence. If I need to perform tests here, can you get me a court order so I can bring the stuff over?

Write me an affidavit and I'll make a motion to the judge.

Good. He turned to Frank. Tell me your troubles.

Art Prochaska has been indicted for the murder of a junkie named Vincent Ballard. The guy was executed at the Continental Motel with two shots to the back of the head.

Was there anything special about Ballard?

Not that I can tell. He used to be rich, made his money in one of those dot-com start-ups. But it went under when the bubble burst in the nineties. Ballard had developed a habit back when he could afford it. After he went broke he went downhill fast. He'd been scratching out a living doing temp computer work. From what we' ve learned, his habit was really bad toward the end.

That doesn't sound like the type of person that Martin Breach would have Art hit.

I agree. And Art is adamant that he's been set up.

Why do the cops think Prochaska did it?

Art's fingerprints were found on a beer can in the victim's room. The can wasn't in the room when the maids cleaned, so there's a small time frame when it could have been put there. Art swears that he was never in the room and that he never touched the can.

Also, the bullets that killed the victim are consistent with bullets found in Art's house, but Art says he didn't shoot Ballard.

Who are the criminalists on the case?

Bernie Cashman and Mary Clark.

Okay. I'll take a look at the ballistics stuff and the fingerprints and I'll get back to you.

Chapter
28.

CARLOS GUZMAN WAS WORKING AT HIS DESK WHEN THE RECEPTIONIST told him that Sergeant Auslander was on line two.

What's up, Fritz?

We found Mary Clark's car.

Where?

It was parked at the end of Hobart near the vacant lot where that Jane Doe was murdered a few nights ago. Do they have an ID for the victim yet?

Jesus, you' re not suggesting ?

Word is the victim was a user. What happened when you looked through Clark's files?

This is just between us, Fritz.

Sure.

There was heroin missing from several cases. Internal Affairs is looking into it.

That's too bad. Don't take it personally. And, if you want my advice, I'd take a look at the Jane Doe.

As soon as Guzman hung up, he remembered something and dialed an extension in the district attorney's office.

Hannah Graves.

This is Carlos Guzman at the lab.

Hi. What can I do for you?

You' re handling the Jacob Cohen case, right? The murder in the lot?

Yes.

Did you try Cohen's attempted rape case with the prostitute?

That was mine too.

Who testified in court about the lab work in that case?

Mary Clark. Ron Toomey did some stuff but we stipulated to that. Mary was the witness. Why?

This isn't public knowledge yet, but Mary has been missing for several days. I had a policeman check her house. She's usually very responsible. I thought she might be inside. Maybe she had a heart attack or was seriously injured. Mary wasn't at her home, but the officer saw a syringe and what he thought was heroin in a wastepaper basket in her bathroom.

Did he touch it?

No. He was there to see if Mary was hurt. Anyway, I checked to see if heroin was missing from any of the cases Mary was working on. It was. Then I got a call about Mary's car. They found it on the same block as the vacant lot where Jacob Cohen killed the Jane Doe.

And you think ?

What if Mary developed a habit and she needed a fix? She knows where she can get heroin on the street. So she goes to Queen Anne and Hobart and Cohen sees her and remembers that she testified against him.

Guzman waited patiently while Graves digested what he'd told her.

Thanks, Carlos, Graves said after a few moments. You may have made my day. We thought Cohen killed the victim because he's nuts, but you' ve just given me a hell of a motive. Has anyone gone to view the Jane Doe since you found out about the car?

No. I'm going to the ME's office as soon as I get off the phone with you.

Let me know as soon as you know if the dead woman is Mary Clark. This could be a huge break.

Hannah Graves sounded very excited, but Guzman could not share her enthusiasm. If he was right, Mary had died a horrible death.

Hey, Billie, I fished the bullet fragments out of Juan Ruiz's skull, Sally Grace said as soon as the detective picked up the phone.

I'll have someone from the lab pick up the fragments and check them against the bullets in Prochaska's case. If I can get Prochaska for a second homicide I owe you a cold one.

And dinner. I'm not a cheap date.

The women talked for a few more minutes before Dr. Grace hung up. She had another autopsy to perform, and she was getting ready to leave her office when the receptionist told her that Carlos Guzman and two detectives were in the reception area and wanted to talk to her. Moments later, Guzman, Steve Hooper, and Jack Vincenzo trooped into her office.

That was fast, Dr. Grace said.

What do you mean? Guzman sounded puzzled.

Isn't this about the bullets I took out of Juan Ruiz's head? the ME asked.

No, Sally, that's not why I'm here. He sounded grim This is about the Jane Doe from the lot at Queen Anne and Hobart. Do you still have the body?

Yes.

We'd like to look at it.

Dr. Grace picked up the phone and asked to have the body of Jane Doe brought to the autopsy room. Then she led the men to the back of the building. It was normal for the people she brought to her work area to talk, to relieve the tension of being in the presence of the dead; but this time no one said a word during the short walk from her office.

The body was wheeled in moments after they arrived. The men gathered around the corpse. Guzman took a deep breath, then turned pale when Sally exposed the victim's face. Hooper swore.

What do you think? Vincenzo asked.

Guzman was appalled by the damage that had been done to the victim's face, but he forced himself to look. He fixed Mary Clark's face in his mind, then mentally rearranged the face of the corpse as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. When he was satisfied, Guzman nodded.

It's her, he said, then turned away from the body and faced Sally. She thought he might be on the verge of tears.

Do you know this woman? she asked.

I'm pretty certain she's Mary Clark, one of the criminalists from the crime lab.

Dr. Grace had met Mary. She stepped forward and stared intently at the battered face.

Oh, my God, she whispered.

Bernard Cashman, Carlos Guzman, and Steve Hooper followed Patrolman Philip Moreland up the stairs to Mary Clark's bedroom. Below, criminalists and detectives were swarming around the house, looking for clues to her murder. Cashman suppressed a smile, knowing that there were none to be found.