Ricochet (35 page)

“And the Wicked Witch of the West flew in on her broom and shot him.”

“It was just a thought, Worley,” she said snidely.

To her further irritation, she lost the coin toss and had to go out in the downpour to pick up lunch. She had just returned and was passing out the sandwiches when Cato Laird surprised them by walking into the office unannounced.

He looked like he’d lost at least a pound for each of the ten days his wife had been unaccounted for. His golfing tan had turned sallow. His eyes were sunk deep into their dark sockets. His shoulders were stooped. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella. His clothes and hair were wet, adding to his ragged appearance. His unexpected arrival silenced everyone in the unit. All eyes were on him as he approached Duncan, who was trying to work up enough enthusiasm to take a bite of the sandwich that DeeDee had foisted on him.

“Detective Hatcher, we need to talk.”

Duncan motioned for the judge to follow him into his tiny office. Once they were seated, the judge laid a manila envelope on Duncan’s desk, then glanced toward the open door. “I suppose they should be in on this, too.”

“DeeDee, Worley,” Duncan called, knowing they were well within hearing distance. They appeared almost immediately.

“Captain Gerard, too,” the judge said. “Is he here?”

“We’re all working overtime. I’ll get him.” DeeDee wheeled about and went to summon Gerard.

“Can I get you some coffee? Water?” Duncan wasn’t being hospitable. He extended the offer merely to postpone hearing whatever it was the judge was about to tell them regarding the manila envelope lying on his desk. It looked ordinary enough, but he had a bad feeling about it. If it contained anything hopeful, the judge wouldn’t be acting like the end of the world was nigh.

“Judge Laird?” Gerard squeezed into the room and shook hands with him. “Detective Bowen said you wanted to see us.”

Nodding, the judge reached for the envelope. The metal clasp remained closed, but the seam at the top had been slit open. “This morning, in an attempt to get my mind off Elise, I decided to attack the mail that had piled up since her… disappearance.

“I found this. I don’t know when it was delivered, but it’s postmarked the day of… the day Meyer Napoli died and Elise disappeared.” He glanced around at his raptly attentive audience. “I think this will explain… Well, you’ll see.”

And with that, he slid the contents of the envelope onto Duncan’s desk. There were about a dozen eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs. The grainy quality of some indicated that the pictures had been taken through a telephoto lens. Elise and Robert Savich were together in each of them, obviously unaware that they were being photographed.

“As you can see, the venues are different.” Cato Laird spoke haltingly, his voice fractured by apparent pain and dismay. “So is their clothing. That indicates several meetings over a period of time, wouldn’t you think?”

The detectives were studying the photographs, handling them carefully to avoid smudging any fingerprints that might be on them. Duncan hadn’t touched them, but he picked up the business card that had been sent with them in the envelope. It was engraved with Meyer Napoli’s name, business address, and several numbers where he could be contacted, exactly like the card they’d found at the scene of his murder.

Gerard said, “Napoli was blackmailing your wife.”

The judge sighed heavily. “So it would appear. And since he sent these to me, I suppose he intended to blackmail me also.”

“You didn’t know Mrs. Laird was acquainted with Robert Savich?”

DeeDee’s question sparked his imperious nature. “Of course not.”

In every shot, the two were fully clothed. All but a few of the photos had been taken outdoors, although the close-up framing made it impossible to determine the location. The pair didn’t appear to be intimate, merely comfortable with each other and engrossed in whatever it was they were discussing. There was nothing lewd, or even compromising, about the photographs, except that a superior court judge’s wife was in the company of a notorious criminal. That in itself was explosive.

“If I were to guess…”

“Please, Judge,” Gerard said, encouraging him to continue when he faltered.

“If I were to guess, I think perhaps Napoli stumbled across this… this… acquaintanceship when he was following Elise for me. When he saw her with Savich, her visits with Coleman Greer became of secondary importance.” He glanced at the photographs, then quickly away. “Napoli would have realized that these photos could be far more damaging to both of us. He was trying to cash in on his bonanza.”

“Trotter was his messenger boy,” DeeDee said.

The judge winced. “I suppose. Whether accidentally or intentionally — naturally I prefer to believe the former — Elise foiled that plan.”

“Between the time you heard the shots fired and when you reached the study, did she have time to hide a set of these photographs?”

He gave a small nod. “She could have stashed them somewhere, intending to retrieve them later. In fact, I’ve caught her in the study several times recently, startling her when I came in. Guilty reactions, I realize now.” He dwelled on that for a moment, then said, “She probably destroyed the set of photos Trotter delivered. But Napoli, being Napoli, would have had a backup set. This set.”

“The night of the bridge incident, Napoli told her that he had mailed these pictures to you,” Gerard surmised.

“I suppose she became enraged and…”

“And used your missing twenty-two to kill him,” DeeDee said, finishing for him.

The judge covered his face with both hands and began to weep.

“Is there someone you’d like us to call?” Gerard asked quietly.

He shook his head, but he didn’t lower his hands from his face, and he didn’t speak.

Gerard indicated the door and the detectives shuffled out. “I think he deserves a few minutes of privacy,” the captain said to his subordinates once they were outside Duncan’s office.

“He’s got some heavy shit to absorb,” Worley said. “Napoli’s one thing, but
Savich
? Jeez. But how does he factor in?”

Duncan had no answer for him, but he’d been trying to stave off a most disturbing thought. Was it even remotely possible that Savich had sent Elise to him? He recalled the smug manner in which Savich had taunted him about his evident interest in her. Had she been Savich’s secret weapon, the one Duncan had feared he wouldn’t see coming? The one that would destroy him?

Breaking into his thoughts, Gerard said, “I’ll clear it with the chief first, but I think it’s time we had another go-around with Gordie Ballew.” He asked DeeDee to call Gordie’s pro bono lawyer and make the arrangements. “We want to talk to him as soon as possible,” Gerard told her as she moved away to make the call. “Tonight. Make sure he understands that.”

“Got it.”

“Looks like for once the little weasel is telling the truth,” Worley remarked. “Who’d have thunk it possible?”

Judge Laird emerged from Duncan’s office, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “I feel I should inform Chief Taylor of this myself. Will you come along with me, Bill?”

“Certainly.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“It’s going to get ugly for you, Judge, once all this gets out,” Gerard said.

“I’m aware of that. However, the only thing the photographs really prove is that Elise and Savich are speaking acquaintances. They’re doing nothing criminal in them. They’re not sexual. And perhaps I’m wrong about the timing of them. For all we know, they could have been taken years ago, before she even met me.”

Gerard glanced at Duncan, effectively assigning him the job of dispelling that myth. “Actually, Judge, someone has come forward. He claims to have seen Mrs. Laird with Savich at the club where she used to work. This meeting took place only days before she disappeared.”

The judge took a staggering step backward. “What? That recently?”

“So he says.”

“Who is this individual?”

“A guy presently in jail on an assault charge,” Duncan replied.

“How long have you had this information? Why wasn’t I told?”

Gerard jumped in. “This man is a repeat offender with a long record. Chief Taylor figured he was only after the award, maybe a reduced sentence. He asked that we not bother you with his story until we had corroboration.”

“However,” Duncan said, “he’s been questioned at length and swears he’s telling the truth. If he is…” He paused to swallow the bile that filled the back of his throat. “If he is, then it’s possible Savich was somehow connected to your wife’s disappearance.”

“This man in jail… what’s his name?” the judge asked excitedly, showing more animation and hopefulness than he had in recent days.

“Gordie Ballew.”

“If he’s acquainted with Savich, maybe he knows more than he’s telling. Maybe he knows where Elise is.”

The man’s renewed optimism was almost more heartbreaking to witness than his earlier despair. Even if they found his wife alive, she would be charged with Napoli’s murder. He seemed to have forgotten that. Or else he didn’t care, so long as she was alive.

Gerard tried to match his hopefulness. “If anybody can wring information from Ballew, it’s Duncan. You’re welcome to observe when he questions him again.”

“He won’t be questioning him again.” Though DeeDee had addressed all of them as she approached, she was looking at Duncan. “About an hour ago, Gordie Ballew opened his carotid artery with the tine of a plastic fork. He’s dead.”

DeeDee’s announcement had the effect of a death knell. Worley moved to his desk and began rifling drawers in search of a forbidden cigarette, which he saved for emergencies.

Gerard sat down on the corner of a desk and despondently stared at the floor.

The judge didn’t seem to understand the impact of Gordie Ballew’s suicide. “You can still implicate Savich, can’t you? Why don’t you question him directly?”

Duncan had begun to feel that he would suffocate in this room. First the photographs of Savich with Elise. Then his gnawing suspicion that his seduction had been orchestrated by Savich. Now the loss of Gordie Ballew.

Although he’d felt like ranting over each of these disclosures, somehow he had managed to function with the cool detachment that was expected. But the judge’s inane question caused his anger to erupt.

“Why don’t we question Savich? Don’t you think we have?” he shouted, his voice quaking with wrath. “Gordie Ballew is dead. So Savich’s meeting with your wife might just as well never have happened. It’s been deleted. Like that.” He clapped his hands together as though squashing a mosquito between them.

“And isn’t it just a little late for you to be gung-ho to nail Savich? You let him go! If not for you and your damned mistrial, he would be behind bars, not out destroying people. Destroying lives.”

“Duncan.” That from Gerard. He spoke softly, but the admonishment couldn’t have been more effective.

Every cell in Duncan’s body throbbed with fury. He felt like hitting something, hurting something, but he clamped his jaws shut to keep from saying anything more.

DeeDee cleared her throat and said diplomatically, “Savich denied any such meeting with your wife took place, Judge. It’s unlikely that anyone else will come forward now.”

The judge exhaled a shuddering sigh and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. “The photographs explain a lot. Elise was leading a double life. It culminated with her killing Napoli. Then she jumped from the bridge.” He made eye contact with each of them, as though hoping someone would dispute the hypothesis. None did. “All this time we’ve been searching for her and hoping we’d find her alive, she’s been dead, hasn’t she?” His voice gave out and he sobbed. “I guess it’s over.”

“Wrong,” Duncan said. “It’s not over until her body is found.”

He stormed out of the VCU and was halfway to the detention center before he even realized where he was headed. Mistrusting what he might say or do if he stayed a moment longer in the office, he’d been intent only on escape.

But subconsciously he must have resolved that Gordie Ballew’s death would not go unnoticed. He was the latest of Savich’s victims, as surely as if Savich himself had dug into his neck with that fork.

Somehow Savich had gotten to Gordie Ballew and persuaded him that even a bloody suicide was a far more graceful way out of this life than the violent exit Savich had planned for him.

Jail bars would have been no barrier. Savich had tentacles everywhere, in every field of commerce, every branch of local government, every law enforcement agency. His influence was far-reaching and pervasive. If he wanted to get a message to Gordie in jail, he could have done so with shocking ease.

But Duncan was going to make it harder for him to get away with it.

Unmindful of speed limits, he cut by half the drive time from the Barracks to the jail. He parked and got out, then strode toward the entrance. His plan was to spend some quality time with the guards, whose inattention had allowed Gordie Ballew to commit suicide. At least one of them had to be on Savich’s payroll.

Just then, as though his thoughts had conjured him up, he spotted Savich, strolling coolly through the lobby of the building on his way toward the exit.

Duncan reached the doors first, barged through them, and blocked the man’s path. Savich’s surprise over his sudden appearance was momentary. He smiled pleasantly. “Well, hello, Detective. Fancy meeting you here.”

Duncan’s hands formed fists at his sides. “Did you come to see for yourself that Gordie Ballew is good and dead?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard about poor Gordie. He’d had such a tragic life, and true to form, it ended badly. I came to claim his body, give it a decent burial.”

“Bullshit. You came to make sure he’d done what you told him to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He tilted his sleek head and gave Duncan a critical once-over. “You’re flushed. Are you that upset over this? I didn’t realize that you and Gordie were that close.”

“Did you dip your finger in his blood?”

“What a revolting thing to say.”

“You had to make certain that Gordie was silenced forever and no longer a threat to you. You wouldn’t trust the newspaper story of a jail cell suicide. You had to check it out for yourself, see if that plastic fork did the trick.”