Sitting at her desk Saturday afternoon, Rigas sorted through the case file on Agnes and Bernard Mills. She looked at photos of the crime scene, the marks around Agnes neck. The similarities were clear. Whatever was used to strangle Agnes was similar to what had been wrapped around Josh Barnes’ neck last night. He was lucky to be alive. He must have fought back hard with the dead guy. Nothing like protecting a family member to give you a little extra motivation, she thought. Her partner Crevins stopped by her desk.
“What’re you looking at that for? Something new come up?” He had become her partner just as the Mills case was put away as unsolved, so it wouldn’t hurt his close rate because he hadn’t caught the case at the beginning. Even though he’d get credit if it ever got resolved, he didn’t want his partner wasting time on a dead case when there were plenty of live ones to go around.
Crevins was no fool, though. He looked at the photos while Rigas continued to ignore him; he was used to her moods and put up with them because she was a good cop. A little prickly, a little hard to read, but reliable and fearless.
He made the connection right away. “You think the dead guy at Barnes’ house did the Mills woman?”
Rigas tossed the picture on her desk and looked up. “Maybe. No way to know. No physical evidence at the scene of the Mills murder.”
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell Crevins about her intuition that Barnes knew the guy he’d beaten to death. She wanted to play out her hunch, and Crevins liked to stick to the book. It was enough that he saw there might be a connection. It would make it easier to get his help.
“Go back and check the autopsy report on the Mills woman. The samples are still around. Maybe the DNA work didn’t run everything and the bozos in the lab missed something. If this guy was involved, we can do a match if anything turns up. Have them go over everything again, the scrapings from the fingernails, all the blood, whatever. Maybe a few drops weren’t hers.”
Crevins nodded. He was an experienced cop, but still junior to Rigas. He didn’t have a problem taking orders from a woman, but preferred them to be by-the-book. He could sink his teeth into reexamining the evidence. A visit to the Barnes’ would make sense, too, to see if the Josh knew anything else. And it would be better if he did it alone, given Rigas’ notorious bedside manner on display the previous night.
“It’s quiet on Saturdays over there. I can get the weekend guy to put some time into it right away. Let’s meet up around 8.”
Rigas nodded without looking up. Something had caught her eye in the file, something she hadn’t seen before. There was a request for information from another jurisdiction. It had come in a month or so after Bernard Mills’ suicide. The Pasadena cops wanted to know if there was a connection between Bernard Mills and a young woman name Gwen Pelletier. Pelletier had been found murdered in an apartment in Old Pasadena, a gentrified and fairly expensive part of town. Some cancelled checks from Bernard Mills had been found in the apartment, but no other connection. They were just following up on all leads. Rigas had not seen the note because it went in the file after she had moved on and no one had followed up.
Two murders and a suicide all the same week. Looked bad for Bernard Mills. Killed his wife, then his girlfriend, then himself. Hat trick. But how did the dead guy in Barnes’ house tie in? Worth a look into Bernard Mills and a chat with Josh Barnes, she thought. She flipped through the notes on Mills and got the name of his supervisor at his workplace. It was a software company in Glendale. Start with work; see how he had been performing, how he had been acting, then go back to the neighbors. Civilians like Mills were normal, not used to dealing with heavy stress. If something big were on his mind, it would’ve shown. She picked up the phone, but decided a visit would be better. She took out an aspirin bottle out of her desk drawer and dry-chewed three tablets. Allergies or a slight hangover, she felt like crap. The drive to Glendale would be a pain in the ass with weekend traffic being as bad as workday rush-hour and she wasn’t looking forward to it. She just hoped these guys put in Saturday hours.
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Rigas pulled up to the address in her notes and thought she had gotten it wrong. She was parked in front of a large residential house a few blocks off the main drag in Glendale. A woman walking one of those tall, narrow dogs that looked like they’d disappear if you faced them head-on went by with a plastic bag in her hand, in case the anemic-looking beast pooped. Residential neighborhood. She looked up at the house and noticed grates on all the windows, matching the heavy wrought-iron fence running the full length of the house. There was a buzzer at the 8-foot gate that made no sound when she pressed it, but must have alerted someone inside of her presence. One of six visible cameras on top of the fence was trained on her face. A voice sounding like a cop trying to be polite came from the speaker next to the buzzer:
“May I help you?”
Rigas kept looking at the camera and held up her badge.
“Here to see Lou Tyson. Detective Joann Rigas.”
“Please hold the badge steady.”
Two minutes passed without a sound. After thirty seconds she put away the badge. Rigas knew what was happening, but couldn’t understand why – they were calling her squad to verify her identity. Obviously they worked on the weekends and were pretty careful about security. Not something you normally run into when visiting a place of business in Glendale. The soft click and whir of a motor pulling back a deadbolt confirmed the high security and the gate opened outward. Rigas had to step back, but noted the thoughtfulness of this small feature – it’s harder to break down a gate that opens outward. She stepped through and went to the door. Heavy, reinforced, and with similar electronically controlled bolts. The place was like a bank vault. She noticed a small rectangular plate where the doorbell would have been. It was smooth and metallic but had a liquid quality to its surface. The door opened as she reached out to touch the plate and she found herself looking at the face of a retired military man. Early fifties, hair still cut short and tight to his head, rigid bearing in the blue blazer and khaki pants that were probably the uniform for the company’s security. He did not hide the slight bulge under his armpit that showed through the coat and told Rigas he was armed. His smile, though, was incongruously pleasant.
“Good afternoon, Detective. Michael Hanratty. I run security for Calypso Software.”
Rigas shook the extended hand and followed him into the foyer.
“Lots of security for a little company in a three-bedroom house that ought to have a bunch of kids and yuppies running around…”
Hanratty laughed. “Easy to defend an isolated position. Easier to identify hostiles.”
He didn’t say anything about the need for such a company to have so much security. He led her into a large waiting room with a receptionist and several very hip couches. Rigas didn’t need a tour of the place to see it had been completely re-done on the inside. The foyer she had entered was blocked from the rest of the house by a large, steel wall. The reception area she sat in had a metal door behind a heavy glass divider – probably bullet-proof –and was no doubt all controlled electronically by Hanratty or his colleagues from a secure room where screens contained images from all the external cameras she had seen and the many more inside, like the one focused on her now in the reception area. The house had been gutted and fully refitted; two stories above ground and at least one, maybe two, below. Nice setup. She wondered about the kind of software they made.
Hanratty nodded at the camera and a door in the glass divider popped open. Only after it was closed did the metal door whoosh open on a hydraulic that suggested heaviness. Hanratty directed her to a room on the left. It had a metal plate similar to the one on the front door. Hanratty put his left thumb against the plate. A few seconds later the door’s lock released. Fingerprint ID for biometric security screening. Very fancy. They entered the security center. It was not what she had expected. Brightly lit and with three other men wearing the same blazer-khaki uniform, all with the bearing of military or police training, the room had several dozen plasma monitors and the look and feel of an entertainment center. Hanratty offered her a seat. She chose to stand.
“Mr. Tyson will be here in a moment; he’s wrapping up a call. Can I be of any help?” It was his job to know what was going on and he didn’t want to be out of the loop, Rigas could tell. She didn’t care about what he wanted, but he may have information.
“Bernard Mills.”
Hanratty’s brow wrinkled slightly and his lips thinned. It looked like disapproval. That was interesting information right there. “That was unfortunate. He must have been very distraught over the death of his wife.”
Rigas wasn’t impressed with his condolences. Hanratty didn’t like Mills and she wanted to know why. “What kind of work did he do here?”
“He was a skilled engineer.”
That didn’t really tell her much. Skilled engineers build bridges or software programs; they don’t blow their brains out.
“Why don’t you like him?” Rigas took the direct approach.
Hanratty smiled, but didn’t seem taken aback by her directness or her implied observation. “I neither liked nor disliked him. I’m sorry for his passing. Has there been a development in the case? It’s been over a year and I assumed it was a straightforward suicide.”
“I’m just filling in some blanks. Did Mills have any financial problems? Was he cheating on his wife? Using one of the extra bedrooms here for a little fling with one of the other ‘skilled engineers’?”
Hanratty almost snorted. “Not likely. He was…well, he wasn’t that kind of man. Not the daring sort.”
That was it. Hanratty thought Mills weak for some reason. Rigas waited. Hanratty waited. She held his gaze. A door on the opposite side of the room from where they had entered opened and in came Lou Tyson. She did not break eye contact with the silent security chief. Tyson stepped between them, seemingly oblivious, and clasped Hanratty on the shoulder while looking directly at Rigas.
“Lou Tyson, Vice President of Sales for Calypso, Detective Rigas. I’m sure you’re here to talk about Bernard Mills.”
Bleach-whitened teeth, beach tan, coiffed, slicked-back hair, twinkle in his eye, expensive, very good-looking suit and flawlessly knotted tie. He was smooth and confident as he led her out of the security office, up a short flight of stairs, and into his own office. Corner, with two windows – both covered by bars – and all the shiny, high-tech furniture and technology you’d expect. Rigas hadn’t said a word yet. Tyson knew it was about Mills and not something else, meaning the call Hanratty made to check up on her was pretty thorough. Tyson ushered her into the office with a hand on her elbow and had her sitting on an embarrassingly comfortable chair in the blink of an eye. He sat next to her, in an equally comfortable chair, instead of across the desk. Building rapport. Clasping his hands on his knees, he leaned in and asked:
“It was a terrible tragedy, but Bernard seemed to have been under a great deal of personal stress around that time. I seem to recall his being agitated, very upset. Maybe it was a personal matter. But that was some time ago. How can I help you now, Detective?”
Rigas had interviewed a thousand people. When someone volunteered something, especially a confident guy like Lou Tyson, it meant there was something he knew you wanted to know but wasn’t going to tell you. And this one looked at her like she was the token female detective sent out to follow up on a cold case. She wasn’t a threat. Rigas knew the only way to get what he knew was to play that up. She was going to be the sweet little thing sent by the real cops to follow up on a dead end lead. When Rigas was with someone she liked, felt comfortable with, she would let the guard down and be that other person. The one who didn’t worry about whether the guy she was with was sizing her up for whether to respect her or not. When it happened, though it was rare, she felt refreshed, renewed. She wished it would happen more often. But here and now, it had to be an act, a manipulation.
“Mr. Tyson…Lou. Can I call you Lou?” She gave him a sweet smile, like she was really, really sorry to bother him and would go away as soon as humanly possible.
Tyson smiled, thinking to himself this was confirmation the pretty little thing in front of him was mostly a police department errand girl. “Of course, call me Lou, Detective,” as he patted her knee. Not sexually, maybe just a little condescendingly. He wanted to help.
Rigas looked down, letting him know she was reacting as a woman, not a cop. “Please, I’m Joann.” Crevins would laugh milk out his nose if he saw this.
Lou leaned back, totally comfortable now that he was in control. Rigas looked up. “I’m just trying to tie up a few loose ends. Mr. Mills seemed to be a pretty regular guy. The death of his wife must have really upset him.”
Lou looked genuinely sad, but there was a hint of something else. “Yes, Bernard was a good man. Dedicated. And very talented. He didn’t speak of his wife often, but I’m sure he was committed to her and very broken up by the tragedy. That must have been why he felt he couldn’t go on.”
Rigas tried to express naïve enthusiasm. “What exactly did Mr. Mills do here?”
Smiling, Lou shook his head. “Well, we develop very complex, very confidential software at Calypso. Mills was extremely good at getting teams to look beyond what they thought they were capable of, beyond what they may have thought was even possible. His groups did amazing work.”
That wasn’t really an answer. Rigas knew it but Lou didn’t know she knew it. She shook her head. “Wow, that sounds very complicated. What exactly does your product do?”
Lou put his fingers to his lips. “Very hush-hush. Can’t talk about it, or I’d have to…well, that’s not something I’d say to an officer of the law, but you know what I mean.”
Rigas tried to blush, unsuccessfully. She gave a laugh that bordered on a giggle instead. “Do you know if he was having any personal problems? Or anything at work that might have been bothering him? I’m just trying to get a better idea of what his state of mind was.”
Lou put on a helpful expression. “He did seem pretty agitated for a while, just before his wife was…well, died. But it’s hard to remember exactly the timing – it really must have hit him hard.”
Rigas was comfortable that Lou thought her the pretty little policewoman now. Angie Dickinson reincarnated. “Mr. Hanratty doesn’t seem to have liked Mr. Mills very much, I thought.”
Still being Mr. Helpful, Lou frowned. “Well, Hanratty is an excellent mother hen and doesn’t like anything threatening the golden eggs. Bernard’s behavior…” He stopped, catching himself. Rigas knew that whatever he said now was recovery for having let something slip. “Now that I think about it, Mills had been having some, well, attitude problems and Hanratty had a couple of chats with him around the time all this happened.”
Rigas knew this was backtracking. She had gotten what she wanted. Mills had done something to worry Hanratty, something he had told Lou Tyson about. Hanratty was all about security, so that’s where Mills had created a problem. This was a good start. She had something to play off Hanratty now.
“Mr. Tyson – Lou – thanks so much for taking time away from your important schedule.” Standing, she put out her hand. Tyson, a little surprised, jumped up and took her hand for a long, warm shake. For a minute she thought he was going to pat her on the head. He touched a button on his computer and a few seconds later the door opened. Hanratty waited in the hallway as Rigas thanked Lou again.
“It was my pleasure, Joann. Please let me know if I can be of any further help.”
Rigas, pretending to look down out of shyness, caught the raised eyebrow Tyson gave Hanratty. She and Hanratty took a different route from before back to the reception area. Her regular exterior was fully back in place. She’d need a shower later to wash off the coy act. When they got through the reception area and were standing at the outside door, Rigas turned to Hanratty.
“I know about Mills. Was he really a security threat?”
Hanratty looked at her for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rigas played her hunch. “Your boss likes to hear himself talk. Mills’ behavior was worrying you. You were going to do something about it if he hadn’t eaten a gun.” She waited for Hanratty to draw the conclusion that she knew more than she really did. He shook his head. “I was handling any security problems internally. I’m sure they were unrelated to his suicide.” That was it. He wasn’t going to give up any more, but this confirmed her suspicion that Mills was doing something related to the company.
“Uh huh. Not related at all. Bullshit. C’mon Hanratty – what was Mills up to? Stealing paperclips? Not ironing the crease in his khakis?”
Hanratty gave her a tight smile. “Please let me know if I can be of any help, Detective. And good luck with the case.”
Rigas had just been baiting him, knowing it would go nowhere, but she felt the need to balance against the demure detective act she’d put on with Tyson. Now she was done. . She left without another word.
Walking back to her car in the quiet neighborhood, Rigas considered what she thought she had learned. So Calypso made some kind of super-secret spy satellite software, or some shit like that. Rigas didn’t really need to know or care. What mattered was Mills had suddenly started acting differently, Hanratty believed he was stealing something important, and Mills killed himself after his wife was murdered along with a girl in Pasadena who had canceled checks from Mills. Time to check out the girl’s apartment.
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An hour later, another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Rigas sat in her car outside Gwen Pelletier’s apartment building. Three neighbors and the landlord had confirmed it: Gwen was Mills’ little something on the side. For the three months prior to her death, Mills visited at least twice a week, sometimes during the day. He also paid the rent, though not directly. The manager had seen this kind of thing before – Pelletier paid the rent check about an hour after a visit from Mills.
Rigas strummed the dashboard, wishing for a cigarette. She settled for a couple pieces of gum. She thought about what she knew as she chewed. Distracted, she slipped off a shoe and began massaging her foot. As she kneaded harder and harder, her chewing slowed. She had a picture now. Mills’ wife is murdered. A few days later, his girlfriend is killed. Just before all this happens, he starts acting agitated at work and tries to steal some super secret technical bullshit from a place built like Fort Knox. Somebody was extorting him. Whether he killed himself because he couldn’t take the loss of his wife, or his girlfriend, or his job didn’t matter. What mattered was he had been squeezed, hard. Having your wife and girlfriend killed is pretty heavy persuasion.
She stopped chewing the gum and her hands stopped massaging at the same time. Josh Barnes knew something, he knew the man he had killed. She was sure of it now. If it was the same man, the one who nearly decapitated Agnes Mills with a wire and had almost done the same with Barnes, then the answer was easy. The same person or people who had extorted Mills were doing the same thing to Barnes. And the fact Barnes didn’t tell her about it – she remembered his lie and the resolute look on his face – meant the dead guy wasn’t working alone.
“Now that’s some fucking detective work,” she muttered. Shoes back on, hand turning the ignition, eyes straight ahead. She was ready for a serious no-bullshit chat with Barnes. This wasn’t just about a breaking and entering or even an old murder case. Something bigger was going on and Rigas was going to be in the middle of it.