“This tunnel links to the criminal courthouse. I need to request that transcript before close of business.” She jerked her head. “Come on.”
“I thought you said the courts weren’t connected.”
“I know a back channel.”
“Of course you do.”
“Hurry.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught his look of disapproval. “And try not to be conspicuous.”
Charlotte was hiding out in a windowless conference room when Diaz found her.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked, bringing the smoky scent of barbecue into the room with him.
“Close the door, would you?”
He dropped a pair of foil-wrapped bundles on the table and sank into a chair.
“Oscar’s truck is out front.” He twisted the top off a Dr Pepper. “Two-for-one sandwiches. Want one?”
“No, thanks.” She sighed. “I’ve got a yogurt in the break-room fridge.”
He nodded at the binder in front of her. “What’s that?”
“The murder book for Ava Quinn. Thought I’d take a look.”
He swigged his drink. “McGrath know you’re poking around his biggest case?”
“He’s not here,” she said. “And I’m just perusing.”
Cops were extremely territorial, and McGrath was the worst of them all. Even Charlotte perusing was enough to get his hackles up.
Charlotte pivoted to the TV screen and aimed the remote control at it. “I’ve been reviewing the press conference.”
“Which one is that?”
“Day after the murder, when Quinn asked for the public’s help catching his wife’s killer.”
She pushed play on the broadcast, and she and Diaz watched as a visibly shaken Gavin Quinn stood in front of the police station with Ava’s family, pleading for anyone who had information about the home invasion and murder to contact police. Ava’s parents and brother stood beside Gavin, struggling for composure as reporters peppered them with questions. The mom and brother broke down crying, but Gavin held it together.
Charlotte paused the tape, studying the doctor’s face for hints of guilt instead of grief.
“Anything interesting in there?” Diaz nodded at the murder book.
“Plenty. For instance”—she leaned back in her chair—“I noticed in both murders, the victims were attacked at home during a robbery. Ava Quinn was confronted by her attacker at her back door, then he bound and gagged her and emptied the safe in the house before shooting her in the back. Logan and his people were also attacked at home around the same time of day.”
“Okay, lemme play devil’s advocate.” Diaz unwrapped a sandwich, and the tangy scent of barbecue made Charlotte’s stomach growl. “In our case, Oliver Kovak wasn’t at home. It was Logan’s home, and nothing was stolen except files and electronics.” Diaz tossed his tie over his shoulder and picked up his sandwich. “Sounds totally different.”
“Not totally. In both cases, someone came in and out of a house in an upper-crust neighborhood without attracting attention.”
“Mrs. Quinn’s killer didn’t attract attention because it was her husband. The crime scene was staged.”
“You assume.”
Diaz smiled. “No, McGrath does, which is why the doctor was arrested and charged. They got gunshot residue on Quinn’s hands, and he had his wife’s blood all over him.”
“Yeah, I read all that.” Charlotte waved him off. “I’ll let the lawyers duke it out at trial. My point is, in both cases, someone slipped in and out of a fancy neighborhood without attracting notice. And our guy, whoever he is, was driving a BMW.”
“You think the crimes are connected?” Diaz asked around a mouthful of food.
“How can they not be? Our perp gunned down Logan and his investigator and took off with the files for the Quinn murder case six days before trial.”
“So you do think Quinn had something to do with it?” Diaz’s brow furrowed. “He’s sitting across town under house arrest with a GPS on his ankle. And why would he want to hurt the people trying to get him off?”
“I’m not saying he did,” she said. “I’m just thinking about those case files. Why would someone kill for them?”
Diaz wiped sauce off his lip. “Maybe someone didn’t like what was in them. Thought Logan was going to expose something damaging in open court.”
“Problem is, Logan said he doesn’t know what it could be,” Charlotte replied.
“And now you’re all trusting? Of a lawyer?” Diaz smiled. “Just yesterday, you told me half the stuff people tell us is bullshit. For a lawyer, you could probably double it.”
She frowned. “You think Logan knows the motive, but he’s not telling?”
“Maybe. Defense attorneys hate us, we hate them. It’s mutual.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he thinks we’d leak the details of his case strategy to the prosecutor. Whose case is it again?”
“John Healy.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “And I wouldn’t leak a word to that guy. He’s a prick.”
“Logan doesn’t know that.”
“Everyone knows that. At least, every woman does.”
“I mean Logan doesn’t know you think the guy’s a prick.” He polished off his sandwich with a big bite.
“Still, I don’t see Logan holding back if he knows the motive for the murder of his own investigator. Oliver Kovak worked for him for years.”
Diaz shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve interviewed Logan three times now, and I get the same impression every time.”
“Which is?”
“He says just enough and nothing more. Keeps his cards close.”
Charlotte sighed as Diaz unwrapped the second sandwich. “Did you come here just to flaunt your fiendishly high metabolism? Or are you working on something?”
He slid the envelope toward her. “Report came back on the bloody shoeprint from the breakfast room. It’s only a partial, so they couldn’t determine the size. It’s a Nike men’s running shoe, and it’s their second-most-popular style.”
Charlotte grabbed one of the folders in front of her and combed through until she found the eight-by-ten crime-scene photo of the shoeprint on the FedEx envelope.
“In other words,” she said, “there were a gazillion sold yesterday.”
“Pretty much.” Diaz picked up the crime-scene picture and looked at it. “The report says there’s some wear on the tread, so if we get a suspect and if we get a warrant and if he happens to have a pair of shoes like this sitting in his closet, we might be able to get a match. Other than that, the shoeprint is a dead end.”
“Maybe not.” Charlotte took the photo from him and studied it. “I have another idea.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN THEY made it to Ollie’s office, it was worse than Kira had imagined.
Bookshelves had been toppled, file drawers emptied, pictures pulled off the walls. The mini fridge stood open, the contents pulled out and strewn across the floor. Kira stepped over a sofa cushion that had been gutted with a blade.
“You get clearance from the police to be here?”
She turned to Jeremy. “Spears wants me to make a list of anything missing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes, I got clearance.”
He really was a Boy Scout about everything.
On the other hand, their last foray into Ollie’s world had landed Jeremy in the back of a police car, so she couldn’t really blame him for asking.