THE HEADQUARTERS FOR the Santa Barbara Police Department is a two-story cement building with a tile roof that looks more like a school building than a police station. It’s east of State Street in the upper downtown area smack in the middle of a mixed-use neighborhood.
The desk sergeant was a woman about my age. Sergeant Lance. She had a square jaw and a ruddy complexion that might have come from too much time outside in the sun or too much time inside a bar.
“Rick Cahill and Leah Landingham here to see Detective Mitchell,” I said to Sergeant Lance at her cubbyhole just inside the front door.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Landingham.” Lance looked at Leah. “Krista was a great cop and an inspiration to a lot of us on the force.”
“Thank you.” The mimosa-pink in Leah’s checks went a shade darker and her lips quivered. She blinked glossy eyes.
Sergeant Lance picked up a phone and announced our presence. I pulled Leah a few feet away. “Are you okay? You don’t have to go in with me. You can wait out here or I can take you home and come back.”
“I’m okay.” She tried a smile, but her eyes still threatened tears. “It’s the damn champagne. It always makes me emotional, and I basically chugged two glasses.”
“Leah.” A man’s voice behind me. “Are you doing okay?”
A man in his early forties, dressed in detective gear of slacks, dress shirt, tie, and blazer, approached us.
“I’m fine, Detective.” Leah didn’t give him a smile.
Detective Mitchell. My forthwith demander. He was a couple inches taller than me but leaner. I vaguely remembered him from my time on the job. He worked on the Special Enforcement Team dealing with gangs and probation violators while I worked patrol.
“Nothing that we can discuss just yet, but we are making progress,” he said to Leah.
“Why can’t you discuss it?” Her voice, a little too loud for the tiny lobby in police headquarters. “Krista was my sister and somebody ran her over. I need to know what you’re doing to find her killer.”
Sergeant Lance looked worried after Leah’s outburst.
“You have to let us do our job, Leah. We’re making progress.” Mitchell side-glanced me. “Now, I need to discuss something with Mr. Cahill. You can wait here or I can have a uniform drive you home.”
“Rick’s investigating Krista’s murder because I asked him to. Whatever you have to say to him, say to me, too.” She folded her arms and raised her chin. “Everything he’s done has been at my behest.”
“This really is specific to Mr. Cahill, Leah.” Mitchell’s voice had a snip in it.
“Should I call a lawyer for Mr. Cahill, Jake.” Leah out-snipped him. “Or would you rather have me join you for your talk?”
I was glad Leah was on my team and that I was on team Leah.
“Follow me.” Mitchell regained his calm. Staying snippy would be admitting defeat.
He led us through a couple doors, up a flight of stairs, and down a hall into a room with a shingle outside the door that read “Master Investigative Unit.” There were a couple sets of back-to-back desks with computers and files on them and a small office in the back of the room.
A detective-looking woman in her late forties stood next to Jim Grimes in the middle of the room.
“Have a seat, Mr. Cahill.” Mitchell pulled out a chair from a desk.
“I’m good.” I raised my hand, palm open to chest level, like Mitchell’s statement had been an offer rather than a demand. “Everyone else is standing, I don’t want to be odd man out.”
“Very well.” He gave me a smile that fell short of sincere, and I got a grimace from Grimes out of the corner of my eye. I hadn’t been asked to headquarters for a pat on the back. “This is Detective Glenda Flora and you both know Jim Grimes.”
Mitchell nodded to the woman. Dark hair and complexion with a crescent-shaped birthmark on her left cheek. She smiled at Leah and stone-faced me. Grimes glared at me.
“Mr. Cahill.” Detective Mitchell couldn’t conceal his contempt for me. “You made some libelous accusations against Detective Weaver this morning. Explain yourself.”
Bingo. Finally, the reason I’d been forthwithed. Weaver must have come crying to headquarters about our chat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to ambush Detective Weaver?” Grimes jumped in and stared me down before I could answer Mitchell.
I looked at Grimes, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his show.
The door opened and Captain Kessler, in uniform, stepped inside and closed the door. He gave everyone his politician’s smile. “Please, proceed.”
“Mr. Cahill has it out for this department and is going to do his damnedest to make us look bad in the investigation of Detective Landingham’s death.” Mitchell back in charge.
“I don’t give a shit about this department.” I was already tired of the inquisition. “I’m here to do a job, and from what I’ve seen so far, you could use the help.”
“Does your help include accusing a decorated detective of your wife’s murder?” Flora got hers in.
“My help is to find the truth. And the truth is that Tom Weaver was in Santa Barbara at the time of my wife’s murder, but he told everyone he was still in Fresno working a case. I’m guessing he falsified his expense report for that night or never turned one in.”
“I’m confused.” Captain Kessler from the front of the room. “What does Colleen Cahill’s murder have to do with Detective Landingham’s hit-and-run investigation?”
“Not a thing, Captain. Rick here is just trying to stir things up for personal reasons.” Mitchell put his hands on his hips. “And he thinks he has the right to throw around false accusations about good cops.”
“I didn’t accuse Weaver of anything. I just stated the facts and wanted to know what he did after he saw me in bed with his wife on the night Colleen was murdered.” Time to see what everyone knew and what Weaver’s story had been when he complained to Mitchell about me.
“What!” Grimes’ face flared crimson.
Mitchell’s left eye staccato-blinked six or seven times and his jaw tightened. Kessler frowned and Flora gave nothing.
“What’s this about Weaver seeing you and Krista?” Grimes still apoplectic.
“That’s enough, Jim.” Captain Kessler walked into our contentious circle. “You don’t have a badge anymore. We’ve been more than accommodating in letting you piggyback on this investigation. We’ll take it from here.”
“All due respect, Captain, I worked Colleen Cahill’s murder for three years and I just learned from Krista two weeks ago that this asshole had an alibi all along.” Grimes pointed at me. “That’s two people, one a good cop and one shitty one, who could have saved me valuable time and resources from going down a rathole investigation to nowhere. Now I’m finding out another cop knew Cahill couldn’t have killed his wife and never said anything?”
“And is a possible suspect,” I said.
“Shut up, Cahill.” Mitchell’s eyes cinched down on me and his lips turned white. “Tom Weaver didn’t have anything to do with your wife’s murder. He stayed at my house that night.”
“You knew, too?” A flick of saliva flew from Grimes’ mouth.
“Anyone not wearing a badge better shut their mouths right now.” The politician in Kessler morphed into mob boss. “Or I’ll find a reason to give them a two-night stay in jail.”
Grimes’ eyes bulged and he mashed his lips together. I didn’t need to be told twice. I’d spent a week in the Santa Barbara jail fourteen years ago. That was enough for a lifetime.
“Now,” Kessler continued with order restored, “Detective Mitchell, please explain your last statement.”
“I will, but after the civilians leave the room.” Mitchell eyeballed Grimes and Leah and me. “This is police business for police ears only.”
“Unless what you’re going to say jeopardizes an open investigation, Detective Mitchell, I suggest you proceed right now,” Kessler said. “We have one very agitated ex-homicide detective here, who I think you know, will use all his resources to get to the bottom of this even if I throw him in jail. Proceed.”
“I didn’t know Tom had found this asshole in bed with Krista. He told me that he saw someone with his wife and split before he went crazy and killed them both. He didn’t stick around long enough to get a good look at the guy. He got drunk and I gave him a place to stay and dry out.”
“What time did he get to your house?” Grimes couldn’t help himself. I suddenly respected the guy more than almost anyone I knew.
“Jim.” Kessler was back to smooth politician. More dangerous than crime boss. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my command? I just did you a favor by letting you stay and now you choose to disrespect me this way?”
“I apologize, Captain. It’s just that I worked that case for—”
“Enough.” Kessler put out his hand. “Now, Detective Mitchell, what time did Detective Weaver arrive at your house on the night Colleen Cahill was murdered?”
“Sometime after one thirty in the morning.”
Grimes vibrated but kept his mouth shut. I had to fight to do the same. Using Mike Richert’s earliest time estimation of what he saw on East Beach, after one thirty gave Weaver just enough time to leave Colleen’s body on the beach and make it to Mitchell’s house. Richert had said somewhere around one a.m. But there were two people on that beach. One in civilian clothes, like a detective might wear, Weaver, and one in a police uniform.
My stomach dropped and I glanced at Leah. She had no reaction. She’d missed what was jackhammering in my head. Two people on the beach. One dressed as a cop. The other not. Mitchell worked on SET when Colleen was murdered.
In a uniform.
“Sometime after one thirty doesn’t give Detective Weaver an alibi, Captain Kessler.” I hoped there was still some cop in Kessler underneath the politician.
“That’s enough, Cahill,” he snapped at me.
“Captain, this is really only for our ears. This concerns a man’s reputation. A good cop,” Mitchell pleaded.
“Judging by what I’ve heard today, his reputation is already in jeopardy.” Kessler stared down Mitchell. “Speak up, Detective.”
Mitchell blew out an angry breath. “Tom was in the Santa Barbara Jail in the drunk tank from eleven p.m. until I picked him up and brought him to my house.”
“How did he end up in the drunk tank?”
Mitchell didn’t say anything. He gave Kessler a look most cops wouldn’t have the guts to point at a supervisor.
“Answer me, Detective.” Kessler returned the look.
“He was pulled over by a sheriff’s deputy for a DUI in Carpinteria.”
“Hmm.” Kessler pursed his lips. “I think I’d remember a detective from SBPD getting arrested for a DUI. That would constitute a suspension and possible dismissal.”
“SBSO didn’t charge him. They gave him a break because he was a cop. He gave them my name to call. He’d just seen his wife screwing another man, Captain. He blew a gasket like we all would. Please don’t jack him up over this.”
“Is there a record of this?” I couldn’t help myself. It was all too convenient.
“I warned you, Mr. Cahill.” Kessler, playing the bad cop.
“And does anyone know where Weaver was when Krista was run over?” I asked.
Kessler glared at me. “Detective Flora, handcuff Mr. Cahill.”