As soon as Rebecca entered Homicide the next morning, she headed for the stack of soon-to-be-closed cases that she was checking before sending to storage. She wanted to be sure that none of them matched the characteristics of Willow, MacKenzie, or the three missing Utopian Connection women Jared had discovered.
She was halfway through without finding any when the next folder she opened caused her blood to run cold.
It was Salma Najjar’s folder. Rebecca’s case, the one she had hated to pursue. Salma Najjar… the mother of Shay’s daughter, Hannah, and the only woman Shay had ever truly loved.
She brought the folder to her desk and sat. Inside, she found a statement from Bill Sutter signed a month after she’d been placed on administrative leave:
Per the attached information, the prime suspect into murders of Yussef Najjar and Fairuz Najjar has confessed to their murders, and is now deceased. The investigation of Salma Najjar is hereby terminated.
The statement shocked Rebecca. Salma was dead? With shaking hands, she turned the page to see what the evidence was, all the while wondering if Shay or Richie knew anything about it. Surely Richie would have told her if he knew, wouldn’t he? It had to be that he and Shay didn’t know. And if they didn’t…
She couldn’t help but think about Shay. What would this do to Shay?
The next sheet was from City Towing, the company the SFPD contracted with to tow away cars. The following sheet was from CSI directing the material to her. She flipped to the third sheet.
It was a letter from Salma Najjar. She read it, then put it down. It admitted that she had killed both her brother-in-law and mother-in-law, and was filled with remorse. But it went on to say that she could not bear to go on living separated from her children, and had decided it was best to end this nightmare now, to end her life.
Rebecca read and reread the note. It raised all kinds of questions in her mind, along with the realization that Sutter had had no questions at all, but had used the note as proof to close two murder investigations. Rebecca would never have done that without pursuing everything about the suicide note.
She sank back in her chair. Her first investigation into Salma Najjar had nearly destroyed her relationship with Shay. And now, things were already so bad with Richie, if she were to pursue all the issues this new piece of evidence raised in her mind and used it to further question Shay, there would surely be no coming back from that. Not even if they would be able to work out their prior issues… which she also doubted.
She had always envied Richie, Shay, and Vito their close friendship. All three of them had been through much together, including a lot that Rebecca probably never would hear about. And Richie was loyal to his friends to a fault.
Because of that, her issues with Shay had all but torn Richie apart. But then, Salma had disappeared, and the inquiry was put on hold until she could be found. All three of them acted as if the past was the past, and didn’t talk anymore about Salma.
But now, with this note in hand, the past came roaring back.
Everything about the note troubled her. To begin with, it was computer printed. Most people scribbled suicide notes. Why hadn’t Salma? Or, was she more comfortable typing it since her native writing would have been Arabic script, not Roman letters or cursive? Even if that was the case, it just didn’t seem right that a woman like Salma would use a computer for something so visceral. Also, the note was surprisingly factual and logical. It simply didn’t sound like a woman filled with such despair and grief she was about to take her own life. And it didn’t say how…
Rebecca looked back at the paperwork. Salma’s car had been towed from a space overlooking the Pacific. Had Salma gone into the water, swimming away from the beach until she could swim no more? It was too horrible to contemplate.
But most of all, Rebecca couldn’t believe Shay would have allowed such a thing to happen. He seemed to have all but a sixth sense when it came to people he cared about. And he had loved, desperately loved, Salma Najjar.
Before learning his background, Rebecca had sometimes wondered if he even liked women. Not that he seemed at all interested in men, but considering how good-looking, rich, and intelligent he was, it made no sense to her that he had no girlfriend, had never been married, and—as far as she knew—had never seriously dated. Personally, she found him too cold and strange for words.
But then, she had learned about Salma. Loving her had changed Shay’s life forever. And he’d never gotten over their breakup.
It was sort of like Richie and his former fiancee, Isabella. Maybe, in an odd way, their mutual losses had been a tie that bound the two men in friendship. Shay, along with Vito, had been with Richie to pull him through the many dark days he’d faced after Isabella’s death.
Rebecca had been sure she could never replace Isabella, but then Richie had sweetly told her that while Isabella would always be in his heart, he was quite capable of loving Rebecca as well. And when he told her he loved her, she had believed him. She still did, in fact. The thought of how good it had felt to be loved by Richie suddenly came rushing back to her with the force of a hurricane.
She had to wait a moment before she could focus once more on Salma and Shay.
The more Rebecca thought about it, the less could she believe Salma had killed herself. Not only would Shay have noticed the slightest hint of suicidal tendencies in her, he would have moved heaven and earth to help her. Salma had to know that. She may have used him to get away, knowing her daughter would be much safer with her wealthy, protective father, then on the run with her. At the same time, Salma knew her older child, her son, would be safe with his father, Salma’s husband.
It made sense. So much so, Rebecca became convinced Shay had played a part in Salma’s disappearance. He had the money and means to spirit her somewhere safe, possibly even out of the country. But then, if Salma was a murderer, he had become complicit by helping her escape.
Rebecca rubbed her forehead as she stared at the supposed suicide note. The whole situation was heartbreaking. All the evidence had pointed to Salma as a murderer, that she had murdered her brother-in-law and very likely her mother-in-law. That simply wasn’t anything Rebecca could overlook—no matter who Salma’s “baby daddy” was.
Of course, if Salma hadn’t killed them… might Shay had done it for her? That was at the heart of Rebecca’s biggest fear. She honestly didn’t know how she could handle it if the evidence led her to Shay. Or, even worse, how Richie would handle it.
For the moment, at least, nothing pointed to Shay. Thank the Lord!
She feared that in time, she would have no choice but to take the note to Shay and get his reading on it. Maybe he could convince her that the note truly had been written by Salma – that everything it said was true, and that Salma had killed herself.
That made the case easy to deal with, but Rebecca hated the thought of Salma being dead. She went to the window. It was raining again, but not even rain could wash away the ugliness of the street, sooty, trash-filled, and cast in dark shadows from the nearby raised freeway. She couldn’t forget all she had learned of how horribly Salma’s husband, Gebran, and his mother had treated Salma as a young bride brought to this country to marry a man she had never met. She’d been little more than a slave to them. The mother was especially hateful toward her; and later, when her brother-in-law learned of her affair with Shay, he had tried to use that “shame” to force her to have sex with him. That was when he died… but at whose hand? Salma’s? Shay’s? Or perhaps Salma’s father, who apparently had been nearby when the brother-in-law attacked her. Plus, someone—someone strong—had buried the brother-in-law’s body to a place where it had remained hidden for nearly a decade.
It was all too much.
She put the note aside. Now was not the time…
Someday she would have to deal with it, but not now. Not when her own feelings were so raw. Was that wrong? Probably. Was it human? Probably far more than a homicide inspector should allow.
It was all she could do to force thoughts of Salma from her mind. Yes, it was her case, her only open case, in fact. But there was another situation going on right now, a situation filled with immediate danger.
More than ever, being stuck here on “desk duty” was unacceptable. She had to act. And she would.
When Bo came back from interviewing witnesses, she handed him MacKenzie Lamb’s folder. “This is Bill Sutter’s suicide case,” she said. “He’s getting ready to clear it. If it comes to me to send it to storage, I’ll refuse to do it. Rather than wasting any more time, I’m giving it to you now.”
He looked amused. “You telling me he forgot to dot an ‘i’ or cross a ‘t’?”
Everyone knew she’d been given a job normally assigned to untrained officers. “It’s not a screwup. And it’s not a suicide.”
She put Willow Kassel’s photo next to MacKenzie Lamb’s. “Both these women have links to Utopian Connections, MacKenzie as a customer, Willow as an escort.”
“What?” Bo looked stunned. “I know Willow was. I’ve looked for links between her and my old case, Heather Clegg’s suicide, but I haven’t found anything at all yet. How did you find that out about MacKenzie Lamb?”
Instead of answering, Rebecca asked, “Would you show me a photo of your Utopian Connection client?”
“Sure.” Bo took a photo of Heather Clegg from his file and placed it beside Willow and MacKenzie, then gawked at them.
He glanced wide-eyed at Rebecca. “Oh, no,” he murmured. “Three dead woman, all fair, blue-eyes, blond hair, close in age. Man. This could be very, very bad.”
“I know,” she said, biting her lip. Knowing as she did, about three more women, made this even worse than Bo imagined. If this was a serial killer, they hadn’t had one of those in years.
“Heather Clegg died one month ago,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Then, MacKenzie last week, and Willow this week,” he murmured. “Time to question the owner again. Dietrich Maxx seemed really helpful when I was there. He opened his books and all, only wanting to be sure the business name didn’t get into the papers. Still, what the hell’s going on?”
“Willow may have been killed because she knew something,” Rebecca offered. “But you said Heather, like MacKenzie, was first thought to be a suicide, right?”
“Yes, but nothing added up. She was bright, optimistic, had recently been hired as a grade-school teacher. There was no reason…” Bo all but whispered his next words. “This can’t be what we’re both thinking.”
He looked seriously rattled that he might be investigating a serial killer. She patted his arm. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find him. But right now, I suggest you talk to Eastwood about this while I go through a few more of these cases.”
“I guess I have you to thank,” Bill Sutter roared as he strode up to Rebecca, his face tight.
She jumped, startled by his nearness and his tone. She’d gone back to the usually quiet corner of the bureau and was concentrating hard as she flipped through folders, hoping she wouldn’t find any more situations that were similar to the three on Bo Benson’s desk.
“Whatever are you talking about?” she asked sharply.
His lips pursed. “Eastwood told me your theory about MacKenzie Lamb. Eastwood said you tried to convince Benson of similarities between our cases. How do you know about Lamb’s case when you never looked at my case file? Or, did you check my file behind my back?”
“I did not!” She wasn’t about to rat out Jared who had already done about ten times more investigation on the case than Sutter had. “I’ve only heard what you had to say, what Bo was saying, and put two and two together.”
“And came up with five, if you ask me,” he said hotly. “Even Ramirez said Lamb’s death was a suicide, a mix of alcohol and Clonazepam. Period.”
“And?”
“And nothing. There’s a timeline and a psychological report. Lamb had been dating a lot – online dates. And she grew increasingly unhappy, according to coworkers. She had a date on the night she died. She also had sex that night. Who knows what happened, what was said, or anything else, but she took too many pills, washed them down with alcohol, and died. She has no bruises, no defense wounds to show she fought off anyone. Case closed.”
Rebecca was speechless as she listened to Sutter make pronouncements about the victim’s psychological state. Based on what? A few coworkers? Clonazepam was a strong drug that could cause all kinds of reactions, along with slow breathing and a near paralysis. He had no way of knowing if she took the pills or was forced to take them. Finally, she said, “There’s no way you can simply –”
“Stop! Right there,” Sutter demanded. “Look, while you sit around here, I’m out there flying solo looking at all kinds of cases that normally have a pair of detectives on them. I’m getting quite sick of it, too, Mayfield. But that doesn’t mean I’m shirking my job. I followed the evidence as I should. If you don’t like it, I just may have to ask Eastwood for a different partner.”
“Be my guest.” She stared hard at him, since he knew as well as she did that none of the other detectives would put up with half of what she did. There were times she liked Bill a lot, and other times she would have gladly strangled him.
“Or,” he added, “I’ll show all of you I don’t need a partner. Turns out, my accidental drowning is actually a clear case of homicide. I’ve now got his fingerprints and learned he’s a low-level criminal with a foot-long rap sheet and thanks to the city’s easy-going justice system, hardly any jail time. But he’s done it now. He’ll never be arrested and let go again. In my opinion, I don’t know why anyone cares who the hell killed Frank Parks, but I’ll find out.” He spun on his heel and walked off.
She hurried after him. “Wait! The victim, the guy with the green insides, is Frank Parks?”
His eyebrows rose. “You know him?”
“No… but…” She stopped, her mind racing. “Willow Kassel knew him. They were lovers. She was worried when she couldn’t get hold of him.”
“Lovers? Her and that little clown? Incredible,” Sutter said. “Of course, I’m sure a lot of people wondered why he had gone missing, especially the people who bought drugs from him. Anyway, I’ll let Bo Benson know that there may be some coincidental connection between those cases.”
“I’m sure you will,” Rebecca said, then strode back to her desk, her mind racing with the implications of this latest information.