Bleed (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) Read online

  It did. Ellie thought that news brightened her day. “Alibi?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Today Grasso wore a beautiful dark blue suit, and she could swear his tie was monogrammed. She’d chosen a somewhat rumpled shirt out of the dryer, and promptly spilled coffee on her knee when she sat down at her desk, so she felt less than perfect next to his always immaculate elegance.

  “When will we?”

  “LAPD is cooperating.”

  “Which means?”

  His gray eyes were level. “That they’ll send us his file and question him. The case was dismissed as self-defense.”

  “Did you get a feel from the officer you talked to?”

  “I got a feel that the case was three years old and resolved and he didn’t work it. Does that answer your question?”

  Unfortunately, it did. In short, nothing. She blew out a frustrated breath. “We need to find out if her ex-husband had that alarm code.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  There was someone bussing a table close by, but Ellie hardly noticed the clang of the plates as the waitress stacked them in the tub. “They’re divorced. Would he protect her that way?”

  “Well, to quote Santiago, hell yes, he would.” Grasso smiled thinly. “She’s his meal ticket. The last show he produced didn’t do well, and though while they were married he was the successful one, that is no longer the case. She makes more money, and that clause was part of their divorce. For a certain amount of years he gets a cut, since he’s the one that hired her in the first place. Sort of a reverse alimony thing going on. The judge bought it, and maybe it is fair.”

  “He has motive then.”

  “Yes, but he would have to fly back and forth if he did it himself. So unless he’s a complete moron, he has an alibi.”

  “There are options. Trains, renting a car—”

  “All traceable. Surely he’s at least that smart.”

  Good point. Ellie glanced at the window overlooking the busy street. Cars were passing, people were laughing on the sidewalk as they walked along, but then again, they weren’t having this particular conversation. She sure as hell wasn’t laughing. “Yeah, proving that might be interesting … but we’ll check, of course. Hired hit?”

  “Here is the real sticking point; how would he know they were going to break in?”

  She picked up a spoon and idly stirred the congealing cream in her coffee. “Good question. What if he’s organized crime? I’m less familiar with it than you, but—”

  “Do you think?” he interrupted sardonically. “I’m not saying drugs aren’t run through the northern counties where you worked before MPD, but corruption down here is a whole different game. That said, I don’t think we have any idea here in Milwaukee what it can be like in a city about ten times this size like Los Angeles. If this is organized crime, we need the FBI. But I don’t see it that way.”

  That was interesting. She studied him thoughtfully. “How do you see it?”

  The waitress came and took away his plate, and Grasso smiled at her absently, but his eyes were distant.

  “I think she knows who did this.”

  * * *

  The trail led in mini-circles, like a wolf circling in the snowy woods, coming around but never getting anywhere. Yes, there were a few tracks, but none seemed to lead anywhere but right back to the same place.

  The hunt.

  That was their province.

  “We have an ID. At least for one of the victims.” Dr. Hammet was as businesslike as usual, but maybe a little tired. It was there in a hint of shadow under her eyes. “The crime scene team found a vehicle parked down the street that someone reported when they heard about the murders, and ran the tags. I took fingerprints from every available surface on the body or clothing, your forensics guy put them in the database, and wouldn’t you know, we got a match.”

  “Good teamwork,” Carl said neutrally. “Who is he?”

  The morgue didn’t bother him. He wasn’t sure why, but the sterile walls and cold floors were as impersonal as the body on the steel table. No ghosts for him; his ghosts were in his head, not in this environment of scalpels, and scales for weighing organs, and drawers for keeping the uncaring dead. It was over. They didn’t mind, and really, neither did he. These were not the gray faces that haunted his dreams.

  He’d been way too young when his parents were killed. Alone afterward. Adrift. Bereft. He was perfectly aware the closure had never happened. He just had no idea what to do about it. That big empty house didn’t help matters, but he hadn’t been able to come to the place where he could put it up for sale. It had been over twenty years. He wasn’t a psychotherapist, but he guessed it might never happen.

  The medical examiner picked up a clipboard. “Name is Hugh Cranz. Thirty-two years old and has a Bayview address, or at least he did when he last served time for aggravated assault in Illinois. I’ll leave the rest of it to you, because last I checked, you are the detective. Prison dental records confirm his identity.”

  “It’s a lead.” Carl took the piece of paper and nodded. “That’s great. What about the other guy?”

  “Not her ex-husband. We haven’t made him so far.” She crossed the room and slid open one of the drawers, her face contemplative as she surveyed the corpse, as if the victim could give her answers. “I’m going to say this though. Nice manicure. I found that strange. Fingers and toes. And he was dressed in black, like our friend Hugh, but his clothing was a lot nicer, from a good men’s store I’d guess. No tattoos, no sign of substance abuse, though he had an interesting mix of drugs in his system, but they were all legal. Mood levelers, anti-psychotics, that sort of thing. It will be in the report. Neither one got a shot off if they were armed. No residue on their hands.”

  “Like Ms. Garrison, sleeping in her bower upstairs.” Carl crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the dead man. “This feels like a comic book, with a superhero stealing in to do away with the bad guys and disappearing into the night before the maiden ever even wakes up.”

  The drawer slid back into place. “Look at it however you want, but this isn’t a comic book and she isn’t sleeping beauty either. Two men are dead. I know it to be fact since I was the one who sliced them open and tried to find anything that might help you catch your vigilante. Other than that one name, I can’t do a lot more.”

  “You’ve done pretty well anyway. A name is like gold, Doc.”

  She made a face. “I’m not fond of the nickname, but everyone seems to use it. Call me Janis. I’m fine with that.”

  Janis suited her. Elegant, like she was, under those professional scrubs.

  “Will do.” Carl took the stairs up—he hated elevators, always had. Maybe it was the idea of being trapped in a steel box, but if he could avoid them, he did.

  The minute he was at his desk, he punched up Cranz on his computer. Yes, he’d done time. Several stints, in fact, in Illinois, but none maximum security. He wasn’t a good guy, Carl decided after perusing the records, but not a true bad guy. Some violence, but nothing deadly, or at least nothing he’d been caught for before he was popped by their player.

  Who was his just-as-dead friend?

  If asked, he would guess it was someone Greta Garrison knew. The nice clothing, the disabling of the alarm, the whole way it went down, showed someone was in the know. Her?

  That would be his guess.

  Whoever orchestrated the break-in disabled the alarm.

  That was irrefutable fact.

  Whoever killed them knew they were coming.

  Those two things were part of the same equation.

  But they didn’t add up in a cohesive way, and therein was the problem. He picked up the phone and punched a button.

  “Yes?” MacIntosh sounded professional as usual.

  “You with her?”

  “Greta? No, not yet. I made an appointment and I am waiting.”

  The vague hint of annoyance did not go unnoticed. Homicide detectives were not used to
having to make appointments, but Greta was hardly the usual suspect. For that matter, she really wasn’t a suspect. He said, “Dr. Hammet didn’t have a lot to offer, but I think we need to go with what she didn’t have.”

  “Didn’t have?”

  “I find it often means more than what the ME does have.”

  “I get it, no disagreement here. Fine. Like what?”

  “One ID. He’s not a first-timer, but murder would be a step up. Assault. Some minor crimes. Hammet couldn’t make the second guy, but he was different. No prints in the system. Dressed better than the other one, and neither was armed.”

  Silence on the other end. Finally she said, “They were robbing her? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Not necessarily.” That was true. He’d thought about it sitting by the pool last night, feet up on a chair, a glass of scotch in his hand. The lights had shimmered, the clouds had moved overhead like spectral shadows, and he had come to a couple of conclusions. “Two of them, through the window … that’s robbery, right? But it took some planning, and the system needed to be disabled, but it was done in way she wouldn’t notice. So either she has something really valuable we don’t know about, or they were there for her.”

  “It just sounds like the husband.” MacIntosh spoke in brisk words.

  He planted his elbows on the desk. “That worries me too. Deflection is the mark of an excellent criminal.”

  “Who said that?”

  “I think I did just now.”

  She laughed. It was spontaneous and lovely and for a moment he experienced a pang for the lost relationships in his past. There had been a few women … possibilities, but he’d never been in love quite enough.

  “Let me know what Garrison has to say.” He gently pressed the button and ended the call.

  3:00 P.M.

  It was the waiting that scraped along her mind like a knife on a raw bone. They would come sooner or later, she knew it.

  The window showed a peaceful afternoon, with blue skies and high clouds that moved in slow horsetail formations, and there was just a hint of red and orange in the leaves on the maple tree right outside.

  The killings had to be done.

  That really wasn’t the question.

  The introspection centered around what exactly she would say when—if—they figured it out. Self-defense would not work.

  Maybe not work. There might be a 40-percent chance if there was a prolonged trial and every single bit of evidence dragged out and plastered across the news, but it wouldn’t matter. Premeditation was a deal-breaker.

  Rules were rules. It was simple enough in the judicial system. You can do this in self-defense, but not that.

  She’d definitely done that.

  And it had worked.

  Only if she didn’t get caught.

  * * *

  The house was very quiet, and Ellie could swear the metallic smell of blood still hung in the air, though it was doubtful that was the actual odor.

  It was more, she decided as she stepped through the doorway, an aura of disuse. This was a house, not really much of a home. Spacious, well-decorated, modern, and … sterile.

  She thought about Bryce’s house, which was in an affluent suburb. Shady trees. Green lawn. Older and comfortable.

  Not quite the same.

  Bryce Grantham, her lover, and though she wasn’t used to it working this way, a friend as well.… Their relationship was evolving slowly but surely into something more and more serious and she could never decide if it just plain scared her a little.

  “Come in, Detective … MacCray, is it?” Greta waved a hand airily and walked back down a tiled hallway toward a huge kitchen done in dark granite counters and pale gray cabinets. Outside a set of French doors, a pool shimmered in the middle of a slate patio. She looked better than she had the day before, but it was artificial, like maybe there were drugs involved. Her eyes were a shade dilated, and though she wore fitted jeans and a soft blue shirt of some material that draped her breasts and clung to her torso, the latter wasn’t quite properly tucked in.

  A little high. Definitely.

  “MacIntosh.” Ellie followed, “I just have a few more questions. I won’t stay long.”

  “Drink?”

  She eyed the bottle of wine that the actress pulled out of a shining refrigerator. “No, thank you.”

  Greta already had a glass on the counter. She shook back her long red curls. “Yeah, I forget. On duty and all that. Have a seat.”

  “More that it is a little early in the day.” Ellie chose a barstool and rested her elbows on the counter. “Can you tell me if you have ever heard of anyone named Hugh Cranz?”

  Chardonnay splashed against crystal. “I don’t think so.”

  “He was killed in your dining room night before last. Think on it and tell me if for sure you don’t recognize the name. I’ll wait a minute. Take a drink and mull it over.”

  The admonishment seemed to sink in and Greta leaned a hip against the polished counter, her beautiful face in an introspective frown. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you think we can connect him with your ex-husband?”

  “Sam?” There was a short laugh and the actress took a small abrupt sip. “I have no idea. Ask him, but good luck. He isn’t the most cooperative man in the world and doesn’t have a lot of respect for the police.”

  “Some particular reason for that?”

  “If you are asking if he has a record, no, not that I know of anyway. My ex is definitely a self-made man. He’s from Milwaukee too, you know. He grew up in a kind of rough neighborhood. It was funny at first, since we actually met each other out in L.A., to realize we were both from the same hometown. The difference is, he hates it here and I hate it there. I go when we film, and then I come back home. It didn’t help our marriage, but that was hardly the whole problem.”

  The information was useful. Cranz was also a Milwaukee native and roughly the same age as Sam Garrison.

  “Considering what happened here in this house, may I ask what was the problem?”

  “Because he has absolutely no subtlety in his soul.” Greta eyed Ellie above the rim of the glass. “I don’t know if you’ll get this, but he’s … larger than life in some ways. What you see is what you get, Detective. I found it fascinating for a while, but then it gets tiresome. Have you ever met a man like that? It can be like being run over by a freight train. If he didn’t like what I was wearing or, for instance, a meal in a restaurant, he was blunt to the point of rudeness, and I got tired of having my feelings hurt or being embarrassed in his company.”

  She had met someone exactly like that, hands down. Jason Santiago, her injured partner, was about as subtle as a swarm of flesh-eating ants. “I believe I have. Is there any chance your husband knew the victims?”

  “I take some exception to them being called the victims. After all, they were illegally in my house.”

  “Until it can be established that they harbored ill-intent, they were technically only breaking and entering. They weren’t armed.”

  “Still.”

  Ellie went on deliberately. “Your alarm was disabled. There is nothing to prove you didn’t do it yourself. I could see, if we had a viable suspect who could possibly be arraigned, that the defense attorneys involved might point out there was nothing to prevent you from setting these two men up. After all, the moment they entered your home, they were essentially gunned down. Someone waited for them. That part no one is going to argue unless you can come up with a more plausible explanation.”

  “That’s backward, isn’t it?” Those signature green eyes stared at her across the counter. “I didn’t think it was my job to come up with an explanation, but yours to prove there was any sort of intent. My doctor can tell you that my medication makes me sleepy and I was in bed when it happened. That’s really all I know. Sam doesn’t have keys, by the way, or the code to the alarm.”

  “Someone did.”

  “So catch them.”

/>   This was a different Greta than the shell-shocked woman they had interviewed the day before. Flying a little high, but also with a defiance that was unexpected.

  Ellie smiled in a conciliatory way, all the time assessing the change. “We want to. Are you protecting him?”

  Greta’s chin went up another notch. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, whoever shot those men protected you, didn’t he?”

  She didn’t fall for it, but it had been worth a try. The actress shook her head and fingered her wineglass. “I don’t know.”

  But there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

  The first faint crack. Ellie put her elbows firmly on the island and clasped her hands. “You know, we could use some help here. I should hope that if there was a homicide involved, much less two, you would volunteer any information you might have. Loyalty is a difficult dilemma when someone might have saved your life, even if they broke the law. I am not really asking you to give up your ex-husband if he is involved. All I really want from you is a nudge in the right direction. The ironic thing is this: If you are afraid to talk to us because you might have information that could lead to an arrest, I promise you the guilty party is very afraid of that too. He will be sitting there, wondering just what you said, and at some point—here is the kicker—feel the need to find out.”

  She’d thought of that already. It was in her eyes.

  Oh shit. Grasso was right. She knew something.

  “He might come after you.” Ellie was pragmatic and getting tired of the dance, and as a double murder was no picnic a little cooperation would be nice. “At least that is my guess, because that is what I would do if I thought you could link me to a crime that would put me behind bars for the rest of my life. You know how the media is going to handle this. There will be no mercy for you or for us. I’ve been through it before myself. Neither of us want any part of it.”

  The bravado faded then, like the air going out of a punctured life raft adrift above a coral reef.