Saturday Afternoon
It was nearly two when Lucy arrived at the sheriff’s office. Garrett King was in a holding cell—he’d been well on his way to drunk when a deputy located him at a bar near his apartment. They had him drinking coffee and sobering up all afternoon, and Jerry felt he was ready to talk.
They executed a warrant on his apartment and truck while he slept off his drunk. That he’d started drinking early in the morning seemed suspicious at a minimum—kill his dad, drink off the pain.
Except for Dillon’s voice rattling around in her head. That the killer would be cold. Calculating. Arrogant.
Profiles could be wrong. Look at the profile in the case Jerry Walker had worked that resulted in a murder-suicide.
Jerry walked into the small room they were using, which was now cramped with people working—going through statements and records and information gathered from Garrett King’s apartment. “Bingo,” he said.
“You found the gun.”
“No. But I found one more connection. Remember how the Browns said Garrett was fired a few months ago? Guess where he worked.”
Lucy was tired, but she didn’t need to guess. “Sun Tower.”
“In the catering kitchen.”
“He’s connected to all four victims.” It was loose, but Garrett King was the only person they had identified with a connection to all four victims. Now to prove he had a motive to kill each of them.
“We haven’t found any physical evidence yet,” Jerry said, “but I sent a search team to the area surrounding Victor King’s house. The neighbors say Garrett keeps odd hours, can’t tell when he comes and goes. We’re going through his phone and computer now, but I’m having him brought over from holding.”
“I’m ready.” She wanted to face the man who had destroyed so many families. She didn’t know what she expected to see—remorse? Guilt? Gloating? Or the cool, calm arrogance she expected from this organized killer?
They went downstairs to the interview rooms. Garrett King was already sitting in one, video camera on in the corner, clutching a water bottle. His clothing was disheveled and he looked exhausted. When Lucy and Jerry walked in, he glanced up at them. His eyes were red and he smelled like body odor and beer.
“My dad is dead. Why am I here?”
“Drunk and disorderly,” Jerry said, sitting down.
“I wasn’t.”
“You took a swing at the deputy who found you. He just wanted to talk to you about your dad, and you took a swing at him.”
“I thought he was lying to me.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Lucy said in her most sympathetic tone as she sat directly across from him. While she could play bad cop well, it was clear that Garrett was far more intimidated by Jerry. He was an imposing cop, and he’d already hauled him into holding. It was best for her to be the sympathetic one. And based on the little they had gathered about his background, he had probably gone to his mother for support and encouragement. It wasn’t until after his mother died that his father was firm about Garrett finding—and keeping—a job.
“Thank you,” he said and sniffed.
“When was the last time you saw your dad?” Lucy asked.
“Couple weeks ago. We—we had an argument. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Brown already told you that. They didn’t like me much.”
“Families argue,” Lucy said. “I have six brothers and sisters and I’ve had some huge fights with them over the years. My dad was in the military, and he was a great dad, but you couldn’t disagree with him about anything. His word was law.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he grumbled.
“What did you argue about?” Lucy asked.
“Look, I made some mistakes. I borrowed money without asking, and I said I was sorry, that I would repay him, but he didn’t believe me. So I didn’t talk to him for a while. But … I went over there on Labor Day, you know, to just talk to him, ask him for a little help … did you see my apartment? It’s shit. It’s a shitty apartment and I can’t think let alone sleep with all the noise, and I just wanted to move back in, for a couple months until I got a regular job.”
“I completely understand,” she said. “And he didn’t want to help?”
“Said that I was almost thirty and needed to stand on my own two feet. But he had all that space—he let me keep stuff there. Why not live there? Why should I pay six hundred dollars for the shit of an apartment when I could give him the six hundred?”
“And he didn’t want to take rent?”
“I didn’t get that far. I just—I can’t believe that the last time I saw my dad, we fought. I wish—damn. Damn!” He pounded his fist on the table.
“Do you know who might want to hurt your dad?” Lucy asked.
“No one. I mean, he was cheap and all, but he was a nice guy, you know?”
“So no one threatened him? Did he have problems with any of his neighbors?”
“No. They’re all old-timers. A couple people have vacation cabins nearby, come up on weekends and stuff. But no problems.”
“Can I show you some pictures? Tell me if you recognize any of these people.”
“Okay.”
Garrett hadn’t asked for a lawyer. He hadn’t asked any questions about how his dad was killed—he was told he was attacked and murdered while walking his dog, but given no details.
Lucy had printouts of everyone she’d shown the other families, but she only wanted to show him the victims. She pulled out Standish.
“Do you know this man?”
He scowled. “Yeah. He worked on my dad’s deck. I could have done that work, I don’t see why my dad paid him a ton of money for something I could have done for half the cost.” He frowned. “Did he kill my dad?”
“No,” she said. “He was murdered eight weeks ago.”
“Oh. Well. That’s too bad.”
She showed him Steven James. “What about him?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know him.”
“His name is Steven James. He’s your father’s accountant.”
“Oh—yeah, I know him. I mean, I don’t know him, but he was my dad’s estate planner.” He rolled his eyes. “My dad was always cheap, but he got cheaper after he hired that guy.”
“When was that? This year?”
“Two or three years ago. Right after my mom died. My mom handled all the money in the house. She was really smart, a math teacher and everything, and Dad had never been that good with money. So he hired that guy to help him with tax stuff.”
“And you’ve never met him?”
“No, why would I? But my dad thought he was brilliant. He told my dad to put more money into his retirement account, which was ridiculous because he had like a great pension, you know? He’s been a teacher forever, why did he need to save more money?”
“More for you?” Jerry said.
“That’s not what I meant. But James enabled my dad, you know? Enabled him to be cheaper than he already was.”
This guy was clueless. He had no idea that Jerry had been baiting him. If he was guilty, wouldn’t he have been suspicious?
He knew the other victims. No one else knew all three victims.
She showed him a photo of Julio Garcia. “Do you know him?”
“Well, yeah, of course. I worked for him for like six months.”
“At Sun Tower?”
“Yeah. Until I was fired. I screwed up one time and they fired me.”
“When was that?”
“July. Why? What’s going on here?”
Now he was suspicious.
Lucy laid out the three pictures, then added the DMV photo of Garrett’s dad. “These four men were all killed by the same person.”
He stared, his brows furrowed. He was confused … or a good actor.
It took an actor to set up those crime scenes. Was he playing them like he had been playing them with the murders?
“That sucks,” he said.
Jerry slammed his fist on the table. “They were beaten to death and shot in the face.”
Lucy wanted to tell Jerry to tone it down. So far, Garrett was chatty.
“I’m sorry,” Garrett said.
“Where were you last night?” Jerry said. “Start at eight p.m. and go from there.”
He blinked. “Home.”
“Alone?”
“So?”
“You were drinking in a bar at ten this morning. We were at your apartment before eight to tell you about your dad, but you weren’t there. Where were you?”
“I was standing in front of Home Depot trying to get a day labor job. Rent’s due on Tuesday, man. I got there at seven. When I didn’t get hired, I went to the bar for a bite to eat. Drank a bit too much because I hadn’t eaten much. I didn’t mean to hit the cop.”
Lucy slid over a pen and tablet. “Can you write down exactly where you were? Who you talked to?”
“Why? Why—you don’t think I killed my dad, do you?”
He stared at the four pictures and then what Jerry had said came clear to him. “All four of those guys are dead?”
“Yes, Garrett,” Lucy said. “The same person killed all four of these men.”
“Not me. I have never killed anyone. Ever. I didn’t.”
“We need to verify your alibi, and then we’ll talk again, okay?”
“I need a lawyer, don’t I?”
“Do you?” Jerry asked.
“Yes. Yes. I think I might. Are you arresting me?”
Jerry picked up the pad, looked at the one line Garrett had written. “I’ll be right back.” Then he walked out.
Garrett looked at Lucy. “Where’s Justice?”
“We’re looking for justice, for your dad and all these men.”
He blinked, confused. “No. My dad’s dog. His name’s Justice. Is he okay? You said my dad was walking his dog. Justice is my dog, but I couldn’t keep him in the apartment. And Dad loved him, said he would keep him. Justice would have protected my dad. I mean, he’s a Lab, he’s friendly, but he wouldn’t let someone hurt him.”
That was odd. “Justice is at the vet. He has a broken leg and might need surgery for internal bleeding. He was hit with, we believe, a sledgehammer.”
Tears leaked from Garrett’s eyes, and Lucy didn’t think it was an act. “He’s going to be okay, right? I mean, it’s not serious, right? Who would hit a dog? He’s a Lab, he’s the friendliest dog on the planet.”
And that’s when Lucy knew that Garrett wasn’t a killer, no matter what the evidence said.
“I’m having a difficult time believing that Garrett killed these four men,” Lucy said when she and Jerry were alone in their small conference room.
Jerry slammed his fist on the table. “He knows all four victims. He has motive. Julio fired him. James was encouraging King to be more frugal, which may have led to King kicking his adult son out of the house. Standish took a job that Garrett King thought he should have gotten. His dad cut him off. He’s a spoiled brat.”
“It’s his dog.”
“People can be cruel to animals. Isn’t that Serial Killer 101?”
“The dog was hit with the same weapon that the killer used on his victims.”
“Maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing.”
“The killer was cold and ruthless. He shot the victims in the face.”
“Maybe the reason that he shot them in the face was because he was picturing his father. Maybe leading up to it.”
It was an idea … and actually a logical deduction based on psychology, because it was often easier to kill or dehumanize people you didn’t know or didn’t know well than it was to kill someone you loved, or had a love–hate relationship with, like Garrett and his father. But Lucy didn’t think that Garrett King was smart enough to execute such a well-planned murder spree, and she said as much.
“It’s possible,” she said, “but Garrett is not ruthless or smart.”
“It’s an act. You were with me on this. When we searched King’s house. When we talked to the Browns. Garrett King matches the damn profile you begged me to consider.”
“First, that was preliminary and verbal. No one can make a solid profile on limited information. And second, King does fit it … to a point. But he’s not cold or calculating, and I’ll bet he barely passed high school.”
“And the profile could be wrong. I’m not letting him go because he doesn’t line up in all those shrink boxes. He’s a whiny, entitled brat who—just like the profile said—was dealt a severe blow when his father cut him off.”
“I don’t see him meticulously planning four murders over the course of two months.”
“Maybe the first three were him building up to killing his father, who was his real target.”
That was certainly possible, and she acknowledged as much.
“And Standish,” Jerry continued, “he was a big guy. He knew Garrett, he fought back. And if he saw Garrett broken down by the side of the road, he’d probably stop to help.”
Reasonable assumption.
“We didn’t get a confession. Being nice cop sure didn’t help, and now he wants a lawyer.”
She considered what Garrett had said at the beginning of the interview—she was playing it friendly to get the most information. As soon as Jerry started getting confrontational, Garrett clammed up. There was no way the DA would prosecute without at least some physical evidence. The gun, the mallet, trace … they needed something.
Jerry knew all of this, so she didn’t tell him. She simply sat down and began to go over the facts and evidence they did have.
“Garrett Ronald King, twenty-nine, an unemployed contractor, has been arrested this morning, only hours after his father, Victor King, a history teacher from Canyon Lake, was found murdered. Stay tuned to Channel Five for details as they come in,” the reporter said on the news.
Lucy was livid. They should have kept this under wraps—until they had something solid to share—but someone had leaked King’s arrest to the media.
They should never have arrested him. That put them on the clock—they had seventy-two hours before he had to be arraigned and if they didn’t find something solid, he would be released. And then he could disappear, especially if he was guilty.
And though Jerry didn’t agree that he might not be guilty, he was just as furious that the report had been released.
“Dammit,” he muttered.
“But you think he’s guilty.”
“Yeah, I do, but on the off-chance we can’t build the case, we’re going to have to let him go, and that’ll embarrass the sheriff and my department. I told them to keep it under wraps for the weekend while we finish executing the search warrants.”
Assistant Sheriff Jimenez walked into their small conference room. “Before you come storming my office, you should know it wasn’t leaked on purpose.”
“How did it happen? We have no physical evidence tying him to any of the murders. And he wasn’t arrested for murder—he was arrested for drunk and disorderly, just to keep him in lockup for a couple days while we keep digging. So how?”
“A reporter had been talking to the PIO about another case and picked up on the search warrants coming in. He eavesdropped on a couple cops, then saw the arrest report for Garrett King—didn’t see it was for the D and D—and he knew through the PIO that the fourth victim was identified as Victor King. He ran with it, though fortunately he didn’t connect it to the other three murders—yet.”
“Well, shit,” Jerry muttered. “We should never let reporters into our house.”
“If we have the right guy, we’re fine.”
“We do.”
Jimenez looked at Lucy. “You concur?”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She wanted to support Jerry, but she couldn’t lie about her opinion.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I won’t go so far as to say he didn’t do it, there’s just a few things that aren’t matching up. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Jerry stared at her. It didn’t matter that she’d hedged, he expected her to support him 100 percent.
There would be no reasoning with the man, unless she found irrefutable evidence of Garrett’s innocence. Yes, there was a chance Garrett was guilty. Lucy could see him killing someone in a rage—spontaneously. He was certainly no saint. But planning four perfect murders? Because until Victor King was killed, Garrett’s name hadn’t even come up in the investigation. Sun Tower hadn’t mentioned him as a disgruntled employee. Susan Standish hadn’t mentioned that he’d harassed her husband. Nothing.
If he had an alibi for just one of the murders, he would be cleared. No matter what they might find. It wouldn’t even take a good lawyer to get him off—anyone with a brain would see that four murders + same gun + same MO = same killer.
Unless he had a partner. Someone smarter, savvier than him.
It was a possibility. But who would trust this man with their identity? He was a wild card, and wild cards notoriously talked when they were arrested.
When push came to shove, Lucy didn’t believe that Garrett King—who had been a solidly mediocre student, who couldn’t hold down a job, and who blamed everyone else for his problems—could have executed this killing spree.
Jimenez looked from Jerry to Lucy and back. “I’ll talk to the sheriff and we’ll get the media to eat some crow, but find something, and fast, because this is spiraling out of control and the last thing we want is a bull’s-eye on our back for the media to take aim.”
“I can’t believe you don’t see it,” Jerry said after Jimenez left. He paced the small office, seeming frustrated by the lack of space. “The guy is connected to all four victims. He has motive for each. Standish took a job he thought should be his. James encouraged his father to stop supporting him. Garcia fired him. His father cut him off. The kid is a mess. So he doesn’t fit neatly into the profile your brother cooked up, he does fit the key components. Your brother said he wants at least one of the people dead, and possibly all of them. He wants his father dead the most, the others are just people who wronged him, and he was working himself up into killing his father. Patricide isn’t easy.”
Lucy agreed. “We need something solid. I also can’t discount that while there was a lot of conjecture in the profile, there was something clear that Hans and Dillon agreed with—and that I have been saying from the beginning. The killer is cold. Methodical. Organized. Drunk Garrett is none of the above.”
“And Dr. Kincaid said that he wasn’t writing this up because there wasn’t enough information to give a clear profile and he didn’t want to screw a conviction.”
“That’s not exactly accurate—”
“Listen, keep your theory to yourself. Talk to me, but if it leaks out to the press that we have doubts about this arrest, whichever slimy-ball defense attorney takes King’s case will use that against us in court.”
“Other than my boss—and she will understand the sensitivities of this—it stays here.”
“You tell your boss, she might just pull this case.”
“She won’t. You need to trust me.”
He was torn, but just shrugged. “I’m going to follow up with the cops executing the search warrants. We’re searching the areas around the crime scene for additional evidence, and Ash is at the vet collecting evidence from the dog.”
“Is the dog okay?”
“Broken leg and the vet’s keeping him overnight to monitor his other injuries. Minor surgery to close a wound. The vet wants to keep him calm and sedated and make sure that there’s no other problems. The dog may have bitten the attacker. Not serious—he couldn’t find any skin or blood in the dog’s mouth—but there were some fibers embedded between teeth. That’s why Ash is there, to protect the chain of evidence. Plus we might get lucky and swab the mouth for human DNA, but Ash said that it wouldn’t last long in a dog’s mouth, and could be easily contaminated.”
“Still, that’s terrific,” Lucy said. “A piece of clothing the killer wore? That’s something we can possibly trace, or find the match.”
“You want to come and supervise the warrants?”
“We should interview Mitchell Duncan about Garrett King’s termination. He might remember something important that he didn’t before—it was three months ago, he may not have thought to mention it to us.”
“Agreed.” Jerry glanced at his watch. “It’s three thirty—I’ll call him and see when he can meet.”
“I’ll call William Peterson and see what he says about Steven James’s relationship with Victor King, and what might have set Garrett off.”
“Good—he’ll want a warrant, I’ll talk to the DA and make it happen.” He left, and Lucy called Peterson. Jerry was right—he couldn’t release specific client records without a warrant—but he did say he couldn’t recall anything odd about the account. “We have weekly staff meetings to go over clients and their needs, and as far as I know everything related to King was standard retirement planning. His wife had always done their taxes and he didn’t feel qualified to do so when she passed, so he hired Allied. It’s a smaller client than we usually take, but I vaguely remember that one of our clients referred King to us.”
“If you could ask that the files are copied, I’ll let you know when we have the warrant and can pick them up.”
“I’ll have them ready first thing Monday morning.”
Lucy loved working with private citizens like William Peterson who didn’t make their job difficult. The warrant was to protect law enforcement, Allied, Victor King’s privacy, and Garrett King’s rights, and she certainly didn’t mind going through the process.
She called Rachel and filled her in on the case. When her boss didn’t immediately respond, Lucy thought she’d screwed up.
Rachel finally said, “It sounds like you don’t think this guy is guilty.”
“Does it?” She was trying to be impartial.
“I’ve worked with you for nearly a year, Lucy. If you think someone is guilty, you make the case, even with minimal evidence. If you think someone is innocent, ditto. You’re hedging. What are you not telling me?”
“Did you read my memo about the profile?”
“The unofficial, unwritten profile that we can’t use.”
That really sounded bad, Lucy realized. “Here’s the thing. I interviewed Garrett with Jerry. Garrett is a spoiled, self-absorbed, overgrown kid who is mad that his dad cut him off and won’t let him live rent-free at home. He can’t keep a job. He drinks too much. There is nothing about him that says that he’s organized or has above-average intelligence. There’s nothing that says to me that he can plan out these four murders and leave not one shred of physical evidence at any of the crime scenes. And Justice is his dog.”
“King’s dog?”
“Yes—he said that his dad was taking care of the dog because he couldn’t have him in the apartment. Garrett has problems, and his life is a mess, and I don’t particularly like him, but I don’t think that he would hit his dog so hard as to break his leg.”
“He has motive.”
“He does. He knows all four victims, though he claims to have never met Steven James in person. Julio Garcia fired him three months ago, and that may have been the trigger—coupled with the fact that his dad hired Standish to build his deck when Garrett has a contractor license.”
“Motive drives this case. I read all your reports, and each victim may have had another enemy to fear—there are other motives out there, from Mrs. Standish’s lovers to Mrs. Garcia allegedly being raped. But Garrett King is the only one who connects to all four victims.
“And,” Rachel continued, “in my experience, when a life is cut short by death, be it murder or accident, secrets have a way of coming out. Most of those secrets have nothing to do with the death, but they may embarrass surviving family, or show the victim in a better—or worse—light. I worked a case in Phoenix where a divorced woman was killed in a hostage situation. She was a respected trauma nurse who went to church every Sunday and sang in the choir. In our follow-up we learned that she had an extensive porn collection and more dildos and vibrators in her bedroom than I’ve ever seen outside of a sex shop. We kept the information private, but all her belongings were ultimately handed over to her family—the porn collection I personally gave to her sister, and suggested that she decide whether the parents and grown children needed to know about it.
“Everyone has secrets, Lucy. And they come out—especially in an investigation as deep and detailed as this. Doesn’t mean those secrets led to murder.”
Sadly, true. Lucy had once wondered what people would learn about her that she didn’t want them to know, if she suddenly died. In the past, there was a lot she kept hidden. Since she met Sean, much less. Because Sean knew everything about her.
But Jesse’s mother had secrets, and when she died those secrets were exposed, and the poor kid had to figure out how to come to terms with what he now knew about his mother, and how he remembered her before she died.
Lucy said, “I took something different from the profile than Jerry took. Namely, that the killer is so cold, so calculating, so organized that he will not break. Even if confronted with hard evidence, he will remain calm. His arrogance will shine through. And the fact that we all believe, based on the crime scene, is that Steven James knew the killer. Garrett King said he never met him.”
“And King could be lying about that.”
“But he didn’t lie about Garcia and Standish.”
“Maybe because there were witnesses.”
“Maybe I’m overthinking this.”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate, Lucy. Do the work. The answers will come. Just keep an open mind. Garrett King may in fact be guilty of murder—and kicking his dog. I believe in psychological profiling, but not to replace hard evidence. Find the evidence, the rest will follow.”