Since Trevino wasn’t my killer, I left the station after the interview. It had been a week since I last saw my parents, so I figured I might as well visit them while I was in town. I sent my mom a text message and drove to Kirkwood, their upper-middle-class suburb west of the city.
When I was a little girl, I lived out of a car with my biological mother. After Erin overdosed on heroin, the county’s Department of Children’s Services took me in and put me in foster care. I bounced around for years, but I never had a permanent place to live until I met Julia and Doug Green. They gave a broken young woman a home and a family without asking for anything in return. I could never thank them enough.
Dad must have seen me coming because he opened the door before I knocked.
“Hey, old man,” I said, smiling. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by.”
“Your mom told me you were coming,” he said, taking a step back. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
As I stepped inside, Dad hesitated and then put a hand on my shoulder. I reached my arms around his back and squeezed tight. He did the same.
When Doug and Julia took me in, I was a young woman whose previous foster father had raped her. Even the thought of anyone touching me had made me ill. It had taken years, but I liked hugs from other women now. Dad was still one of the very few men allowed to touch me. He made me feel safe.
“It’s good to see you,” I whispered.
“You, too, sweetheart,” he said, stepping back. “Your mom’s in the kitchen, but I’ve been tinkering in the garage. I’m building a Shaker end table. I’ve been watching woodworking videos on YouTube.”
I looked to his hands. “You haven’t cut off your thumbs yet, so it looks like you’re doing okay.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without the support of my children.”
I squeezed his arm. “Speaking of kids, where’s my little brother?”
“At work. He’s a lifeguard at the Ladue Country Club’s pool. I’m pretty sure he’s just there to pick up girls.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, nodding. “How do you like knowing you’ll be a grandpa soon?”
Dad flashed me a coy smile.
“You telling me something?”
“About me? No,” I said, smiling. “Based on what Audrey tells me, though, Dylan should have at least half a dozen kids on the way.”
He patted me on the shoulder and nodded down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“You’re hilarious,” he said. “Now go see your mom. I’ll be in soon.”
As Dad went to finish his project in the garage, I walked into the kitchen and hugged my mom. My mom had retired from the St. Louis County Police Department four weeks ago. She was in her late fifties, so she hadn’t planned to retire for several years, but sometimes life gets in the way. Mom had been an excellent cop, but she and her former partner had lost their ways over the years. Retirement was for the best.
I stayed at my parents’ house for an hour and had sandwiches and a few laughs. For that hour, I didn’t have to think about murder, or rape, or abductions. I could just be me. I had a home, and it was wonderful.
Even wonderful visits home had to end, though.
After lunch, I hugged my parents one last time and got back in my car for the drive to St. Augustine. The moment I sat down in my truck, the weight of my case pressed down on me.
Laura Rojas had died on Saturday night, and last night, someone murdered Jennifer McKenzie. Aldon McKenzie, Jennifer’s husband, was the key to all this. We needed to find him. I drove to St. Augustine, parked in the lot outside the station, and walked to the front desk, where Tricia greeted me with a subdued smile.
“Has Detective Delgado found Aldon McKenzie yet?” I asked.
Tricia shook her head. “If George has found him, he hasn’t brought him by my desk. You need to go to Harry’s office, though. He’s meeting with Shaun Deveraux and Councilman Rogers to talk about you.”
A mild headache spread from the front of my skull to the back.
“I’m assuming they’re not talking about giving me a medal for outstanding police work.”
“Fair assumption,” said Trisha. “Councilman Rogers looked ticked.”
I sighed. “All right. Thanks, Trisha.”
She smiled and wished me luck, so I climbed the stairs to the sheriff’s office. Harry worked out of one of the bigger rooms in the building, but that didn’t make it nice. Water stains dotted the ceiling, while wind and rain passed through his aging but enormous front window as if the glass didn’t exist. His desk, conference table, and chairs all came from secondhand stores in town. In the summer, the room smelled okay, but in the winter, it smelled like wet dog. As much as I would have enjoyed having a private office, I didn’t envy Harry one bit.
When I opened his door, three pairs of eyes turned. Harry sat behind his desk, while Councilman Rogers and Shaun Deveraux, the St. Augustine county prosecutor, sat in wooden chairs in front. Nobody looked happy to see me, but at least Harry stood up.
“Joe, I was hoping to talk to you,” he said. He looked to his guests. “If you don’t mind, let’s move this to the conference table where we can all sit.”
Rogers and Deveraux agreed, so Harry and I sat down opposite from them at Harry’s small conference table. For a few moments, nobody said anything. Then Councilman Rogers leaned forward and smiled a fake grin at me.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Detective. I hear you drove to St. Louis this morning.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I interviewed a murder suspect at the Fourth Precinct’s headquarters.”
“We’ll get to your interview in a moment,” said Rogers, folding his hands together at the table. “Before we do, though, I’d like to ask you a question: What vehicle did you drive to St. Louis?”
I hesitated. “My truck. Why?”
Rogers sighed. “The county provides a wide range of vehicles for our law enforcement officers. The vehicles we provide are fine, modern cars that get excellent gas mileage. I’m guessing that your old truck gets, what, ten miles to the gallon?”
“Better than that,” I said, eyeing him. “Why?”
“It’s just that gas is expensive, young lady, and your truck isn’t the most economical of vehicles. We’d prefer if you took one of our cruisers. It’d save us all some money. I understand you were driving your truck the day of the tornado, too.”
I hesitated again. “Yeah.”
“I bet you want the county to pay for your broken window, too.”
I glanced at Harry out of the corner of my eye and then to Councilman Rogers.
“Since I was on official police business, yes,” I said. “The department doesn’t have enough vehicles for everyone who needs one, so I drove my truck because it was available. I made the best out of a lousy situation. If the County Council gave us the budget they promised us every year, we wouldn’t have half the problems we do.”
Rogers held up his hands and nodded.
“Mr. Deveraux and I didn’t come here to talk about the council. We’re not even here to talk about your questionable expenses. We came to talk about Laura Rojas.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “As this is an active investigation, Councilman Rogers should step out, though.”
Rogers lowered his chin. “Watch yourself, Detective. Don’t forget that I pay your salary.”
I matched his posture and lowered my voice. “You’re on the board that allocates my department’s budget. From that budget, I get a salary. That’s quite a big step from paying me.”
Rogers opened his mouth to retort, but Harry cleared his throat. “If the councilman would like to stay, he’s welcome. This is an active case, though. I trust that everyone will be discreet about the things they hear.”
“Of course,” said Rogers, smiling at Harry. “You have my word, Sheriff Grainger.”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Deveraux cut him off before he got a word out.
“I got a phone call from a colleague in the St. Louis County Prosecutor’s Office this afternoon. Why is Duke Trevino sitting in a holding cell in St. Louis instead of here?”
“Because he had illegal drugs in St. Louis County,” I said.
“But he killed a woman here. He had the murder weapon in his possession, and detectives found his fingerprints in the victim’s home,” said Deveraux. “I understand you lost evidence that might have tied him to your crime scene during the tornado, but you’ve got enough for an arrest.”
“I might agree if he didn’t have an alibi,” I said. “Not only that, we don’t know where Laura died. Someone could have shot her in Chicago for all we know.”
Deveraux shook his head.
“We’ve got the body, the gun, and his prints. That’s enough to charge him. Pick him up, let him sit in a cell for a few days, and then we’ll see whether we can get him to talk about a plea deal.”
“I won’t arrest somebody for a crime he didn’t commit,” I said. “At the very least, we need to wait until Detective Blatch checks Trevino’s alibi.”
Councilman Rogers spoke before Deveraux responded.
“I understand your trepidation, Detective,” he said, nodding. “It speaks well of you that you want to withhold judgment until you have all the facts, but you’ve got to understand something: St. Augustine is a tourist town. We can’t let a murder go unsolved.”
“I’m not letting a murder—”
“Let me finish,” said Rogers, interrupting me before I could tell him off. “I understand you’re not comfortable making an arrest, but you’re not the only detective in town. I’ve already spoken to George Delgado. He’s ready to move on this.”
“George is a good detective,” said Deveraux. “He’s good on the witness stand, too. If he’s comfortable making an arrest, I am, too.”
“I don’t care if George is comfortable,” I said, shaking my head. “This is my case, and it’s premature to make a move against Trevino. Not only that, he’s sitting in a jail cell right now on felony possession charges. He’s not going anywhere. If we arrest him now, we’re all going to look stupid when it blows up in our faces.”
Rogers sighed and then closed his eyes.
“This story is all over the news, Detective,” he said. “The St. Louis Post-Dispatch had it above the fold on the second page this morning. People don’t want to visit a town where naked ladies turn up dead in the woods. We’ve got to do something now before our businesses get hurt.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You think they’d rather visit a town where the village idiot might arrest them on shitty evidence and half-cocked theories?”
“George Delgado is far from the village idiot, and he doesn’t think the evidence is shitty,” said Rogers. He looked at Harry. “You need to weigh in here and control your officer, Harry.”
Harry looked at me, his expression a mix of sympathy and annoyance.
“Detective Court, if you continued working this case, could you find Laura Rojas’s killer?”
“I don’t know. The tornado tore apart our crime scene, we’ve got no eyewitnesses, and there’s little forensic evidence to work with.”
“We appreciate your honest answer,” said Councilman Rogers, nodding. He turned to Harry. “You’ve got to put George Delgado on this. He’s got the experience, and he’s willing to put St. Augustine first.”
I didn’t understand what it meant to put the county first, so I said nothing.
“What more do you need to make an arrest?” asked Deveraux.
I looked at him. “Better evidence than I have.”
“How do you plan to get it?”
“For a start, I’d love to look at Laura Rojas’s office. She was a practicing attorney. It’s possible a client killed her, but I can’t get a peek at her client list without a warrant. I’d also like to talk to Aldon McKenzie. He and Laura have exchanged dozens of phone calls over the past two weeks. Not only that, someone murdered Aldon’s wife yesterday.”
Deveraux drew in a breath and then nodded.
“I’ll call the prosecutor’s office in St. Louis County and see about putting together a warrant for Laura Rojas’s office, but it won’t be easy. The court will appoint an attorney to examine her files so we don’t see anything protected by attorney-client privilege. It’ll take time, and I can’t guarantee you’ll find anything helpful.”
“It’s a start,” I said.
“I think George Delgado could handle this case better,” said Rogers. “He’s an experienced man.”
“Detective Delgado is busy on a case already,” said Harry, his voice sharper than it had been a moment earlier. “If we had more detectives, I might move him around, but since we’re already shorthanded, Detective Court will do. Repeated questioning won’t change my mind. Is that clear, Councilman?”
It wasn’t a ringing endorsement, but at least Harry had shut him down. The civilians bickered for ten more minutes but left when they ran out of complaints. Harry asked me to stay. When we were alone, he looked at me and sighed.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Small-town politics. It’s nothing personal. You know how it is.”
Actually, the previous sheriff had kept me pretty well insulated from it in the past, so I didn’t know.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Your job. Close this case,” he said, standing. I stood and walked toward the door. Harry followed a few feet behind me. “Councilman Rogers is an asshole, but people listen to him. You don’t close this thing soon, we might both lose our jobs.”
“So no pressure,” I said.
He smiled. “Good luck, Detective.”
I probably needed it.