Killing Justice Page 3

  “Wednesday at a fundraiser.”

  “Where?”

  “Chops,” he said, referring to a popular restaurant.

  “Who put on the event?”

  “It was an Assembly leadership fundraiser.”

  “I need a guest list.”

  “My secretary can get it.”

  “And Ms. Zaren was there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “Six, six-thirty.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “Eight. I had another event to go to, a dinner.”

  “With whom?”

  “Several people, including another senator and two Assembly members, a couple of major donors. My wife Cindy. My secretary has all that information.”

  “Where was the dinner?”

  “Morton's.”

  Morton’s was a pricey, five-star restaurant. “And you didn't see Ms. Zaren after leaving Chops at eight?”

  “No.”

  “I'll need information about the legislation you were working on together.”

  “Why?”

  “Gambling is a touchy subject. It’s a good place to start.” But a better place to start, John thought, was to find out why Wyatt was acting guilty if, as Lara believed, he was innocent.

  VI.

  John went to speak with Tiffany’s partners in the lobbying firm of Nygrant, Prescott and Zaren. They had a suite of offices in the Senator Hotel directly across from the Capitol. After her secretary gave him copies of her schedule, client list and contact information, he went to speak with Steve Prescott. He learned Zaren had joined as a partner two years ago and handled primarily Indian gaming plus some small unions. She was well liked, smart, and had brought in a lot of business for all three partners.

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know of anyone specific,” Prescott said. “She dated a lot, but I don’t know that she was serious.”

  “Past boyfriends? Someone who was bothering her?”

  Again, Prescott shook his head. “I’m married, have two kids. I go home at night whenever I can. Tiffany liked the fundraisers and parties; she was our public face.”

  “And your other partner? James Nygrant?”

  “He works out of our L.A. office. He hasn’t been here in over a month.”

  “What about Senator Wyatt?” John asked.

  Prescott appeared surprised by the question, but John wasn’t sure it wasn’t an act. “Wyatt’s married.”

  “That doesn’t mean a beautiful woman like Tiffany wasn’t involved with him.”

  “They worked together. That’s all I know.”

  From the way he avoided John’s eyes, he definitely suspected there was more than a working relationship.

  Something in the conversation bothered John, so he remained silent and waited for Prescott to break. It happened quickly.

  “Look,” he said, “I don’t know anything firsthand, just rumors. If she was involved with Wyatt, it was very quiet. I hadn’t heard about it from anyone, it was more how she acted when she was going to meet with him, if you understand.”

  John nodded when the lobbyist hesitated.

  Prescott continued. “Last year, Tiffany had been involved in a very public affair with Kevin Andersen, the Assembly minority leader. It’s over. He wasn't married, there was nothing controversial about it, but some of our clients felt it could compromise their position. Since then, she’s dated several other men, publicly, all outside of the issues we represent. So if she was involved with Wyatt, it wasn’t something she would share with me.”

  “She broke it off with Andersen?”

  “As far as I know.”

  While there was nothing unusual about an attractive lobbyist being a revolving door for relationships, it gnawed at John.

  John next went to her loft. Her car was in its parking slot, and he confirmed with the landlord that the last time she entered the garage was at eleven p.m. the previous Monday. That correlated with her secretary’s assertion that she usually walked the five blocks to work.

  Nothing was amiss in her loft, which could have been called “minimalist.” The mail on her desk had been opened and dealt with. Nothing past due, bank statements showed a healthy but not excessive balance, and her expenses were in line with her income. Organized. Tidy. No journal or diary. A laptop computer sat on her desk. John called Simone and asked her to come and pick it up, as well as Zaren's computer at the lobbying firm. He'd ask for extra help to work the gambling angle. He'd read an article awhile back that implied Nevada gaming interests weren't pleased with the expansion of Indian gaming in California. But he couldn't figure out how killing a lobbyist would help either group. Unless it was to cast suspicion on Wyatt. But if someone was smart enough to frame a senator, John didn't think they'd be so damn obvious about it by leaving the body in the office. That whole scenario just didn't feel right to him, and after twenty years as a cop, John trusted his instincts.

  By the time he arrived back at the Capitol, it was well after five. The crime scene people were done, the victim had been taken to the morgue, and Wyatt's office was still sealed. John spoke to his officers, who were reviewing security tapes starting at eight p.m. Wednesday night, when Tiffany had last been seen. So far, there was no evidence of foul play on the tapes. John wanted to seal off the entire historic building, but he came up against brass who said that if she'd been killed elsewhere in the building, the scene was already compromised, and the Chief wasn't going to take the heat for further inconveniencing staff and elected officials.

  Damn politics. A woman was dead and his boss kept catering to the politicians.

  John went down to the Assembly Minority Leader's suite, hoping he wasn’t too late to speak with the victim’s ex-boyfriend. The secretary immediately escorted him to Kevin Andersen's private office. Andersen's office was well-appointed with awards and diplomas covering the wood-paneled walls. His desk was clear except for an expensive-looking silver pen and pencil set positioned dead center and a short stack of files in the corner.

  “I'm stunned.” Andersen was in his early forties with perfect hair that may have been a rug.

  “When did you last see Ms. Zaren?”

  “It must have been the leadership fundraiser on Wednesday, but she left before I did.”

  “You were involved with her for how long?”

  “Why is this relevant?”

  John simply watched him, reminded how much he disliked politicians.

  Andersen sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s this building. Gossip, most of it false. We saw each other for about eight months.”

  “And she broke it off.”

  “It was mutual.”

  “Alleged impropriety because of her gaming clients?”

  “It was mutual,” he repeated. Then he added, “Tiffany’s career was important to her, and I respected that.”

  “Do you know if she was currently involved with anyone?”

  “I don't keep tabs on her anymore.”

  Andersen stared him in the eye. Good liars can do that, but good liars were rare. Still, he was in the lion's den.

  “Where did you go after the fundraiser?”

  “Dinner with my staff, then home.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. Is this an interrogation?”

  “I'm just asking questions.” John put on his simpleton face. Andersen wasn't buying it.

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Do you?”

  Andersen tensed, then responded curtly. “The fundraiser was cocktail event—wine, cheese, like that. After the fundraiser, I took my staff out to dinner as a thank you for helping on their own time, then walked two of the girls to their parking garage because I don't like the idea of women walking around downtown Sacramento at night. Julia and Hilary. They're in the office today, you can confirm with them. Then I walked back here, picked up some files, and left. I wasn't here long.”

  “Where was your car parked?” />
  “In the Capitol basement.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “Probably. Couldn't say who.”

  Everything Andersen said could be verified through the security tapes, so he made a note and thanked the Assemblyman for his time.

  John left Anderson’s office and found his officers viewing security tapes in the CHP office on the first floor of the annex, across from the governor's office. He said, “It's after six. I'm going to head back to the station and write up my report. I want someone on Wyatt's office all night, and if you see anything on the tapes, call me. I need a list of everyone entering and exiting the building from seven p.m. last Wednesday until the body was discovered this morning, time-stamped.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  John was about to leave when he saw someone familiar on one of the closed-circuit screens. “Is this live?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the commanding officer said. “These are coming in from all the cameras. Some are fixed, some rotate in five-second intervals.”

  What was Lara James doing looking at the camera on— “Where's this?” He tapped the screen.

  “Third floor annex. Outside the main elevator bank.”

  What was she up to? John left, found the camera—but Lara was gone.

  VII.

  Lara knew most of the flaws with the security in the Capitol building, but that was because she had been trained to be observant. At first glance, security appeared to be tight. Visitors and staff entered through metal detectors, their possessions scanned by X-ray machines. Throughout the public areas of the building were both CHP officers and extensive security cameras, which fed live to the CHP office as well as digitally recorded. CHP monitored the cameras, walked the halls after hours, and were posted at key positions on the ground floor.

  Even with all the precautions, however, there was a huge hole in camera security. While the public floors were well monitored, upstairs, where staff and legislators worked, there were fewer cameras. And in the historic building where Tiffany Zaren's body had been found, the only security above the main floor were cameras aimed at the elevators and chamber entrances.

  What the criminalist had said to John bugged Lara. Someone had intentionally moved Tiffany's body into Wyatt's armoire. Why? Convenience? To frame him? Or maybe both? More important, how could someone move the body and not be caught on camera? So Lara walked both the annex and the historic building, top floor to the basement, to map out a path where someone could theoretically bypass all security cameras.

  She came to a startling conclusion: If someone knew the building well, it was possible to get almost anywhere above the first floor in the historic structure—and certain areas of the adjoining annex—without being seen by any camera.

  “What are you doing?”

  She spun around. It was John Black.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I was checking the tape in the CHP office and saw you staring at one of the cameras, with that expression you get when you're deep in thought. I’ve been tracking you since. I figure you have some thoughts in that smart head of yours that relate to my case. Will you share?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  He started up the stairs, and she swallowed her embarrassment to ask, “Can we take the elevator?”

  John’s expression showed concern, but he simply said, “Sure.”

  She sighed, relieved he didn't comment further. She’d walked far too much today, and she hated having a bum leg. She hated a lot of things, come to think of it. Being unable to continue her career in the military. Living with constant pain.

  Lara shared with John her observation about the security cameras and concluded by saying, “Whoever killed Tiffany Zaren has intimate knowledge of this building. They had to know there were blind spots in the security cameras.”

  “An insider.”

  “Staff, former staff, or anyone who is in the building often, like a lobbyist. If her body was moved into Wyatt’s office, the killer must have planned the route meticulously. Perhaps even planned the murder. Pre-mediated.”

  “Why would someone bring her here to kill her?” John asked. “Then plant her body in Wyatt's office?”

  “The crime lab hasn't discovered where she was killed?”

  “Not yet. But it has to be in the building. Even if someone could get her body into the building, which I could probably figure out how to do but it would be difficult, I can’t see why they'd do so.”

  “To embarrass Bruce? To prove they can? There's been some wacky stunts around here by people trying to get political or media attention.”

  “But murder?”

  Lara didn't have an answer to that.

  They exited the elevator on the sixth floor. Most people had left work—it was well after six—but a few stragglers remained. Lara spoke quietly as she led John through the corridor that led to the historic side of the Capitol.

  “Someone wanted to frame Bruce Wyatt.”

  “Maybe he killed her.”

  She shook her head. “I don't buy into that. He's not that dumb.”

  “Maybe he's counting on people to think that.” Lara didn't say anything, and John continued. “I know he's your friend, but you know as well as I do that sometimes the people we think we know are strangers.” John rubbed his temples.

  “Headache?” she asked.

  “I missed lunch.”

  Without thinking, Lara said, “We should get a bite to eat.”

  John grinned. “It's a date.”

  “I mean—”

  “Too late to backpedal, Lara. I'm holding you to dinner.”

  They found themselves on the Assembly side of the historic fourth floor. “This place is a freaking maze,” John said. “I don't know how anyone can find their way around. Was that passage we just walked through on the roof?”

  “Yes, the original Capitol roof. A couple of protesters broke through the maintenance door a few years back and draped banners over the side,” Lara said. “Now there's a dedicated security camera there and alarms on the door.”

  John glanced around; they were standing outside the freight elevator. “There're no cameras here,” he said.

  He punched the button and stepped in when the doors opened. Lara followed, not sure what he was thinking.

  “There're no cameras on any of the historic stairwells, only on the public elevators,” Lara said. “I've been thinking about this all day. Tiffany had to have been killed on the historic side. The annex has far more security. No one can walk down the halls without being observed. And while staff and members come and go at odd hours of the day and night, wouldn't a killer try to hide?”

  “Unless he had a reason for being here,” John said. “Like he is a staffer or elected official.”

  The freight elevators opened. She pointed at the door to the right that led to the stairwell. “See? No security.” She opened the door and gestured. “None inside, either.” She stared at another door across the banister.

  “What are you thinking?” John asked.

  She didn't respond, but walked around the landing of the stairwell to a door that looked exactly like one she'd often walked past on the Senate side. Expecting it to be locked, she tried the knob.

  It opened.

  “Lara—”

  “I rarely come over to the Assembly side of the building, but in the Senate stairwell, there's a door like this. I think they connect.”

  The hallway was dark and Lara couldn't find a light switch, but saw light coming from under a door thirty feet away. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with supplies like toilet paper, towels and toilet seat covers. A maintenance closet.

  “Lara?”

  Suddenly fluorescent lights came on. John had found the switch.

  “This goes directly to the Senate side,” she said. “I never knew this was here. I thought the only way to get to the Senate side of the building was the front hall, by the ornate staircases under the Governors’ portraits. Very visible. But this . . . ”

  �
�Coupled with the fact that there is virtually no security over here and, frankly, few people.”

  “There are only four legislative offices, some staff and committee rooms, but most of the people work in the annex.”

  “And at night?”

  “Zero, unless they're late on passing the budget. Do you know the time of death?” she asked.

  “Simone said more than seventy-two hours. I'll know for sure after the autopsy tomorrow. I’ll have Simone's team check out this hall.”

  “If no one saw her on Thursday, wouldn't it reason that she was killed Wednesday night?”

  John agreed. He walked down the corridor and put on a glove. He tried the door. It opened.

  “It was locked from the other side,” Laura said.

  “You tried it earlier?”

  “I was curious.”

  He closed the door and faced her. “You've always been curious, haven't you?”

  Lara swallowed, anticipating a change of subject to one she wasn't as comfortable with as murder. “Is that a problem?”

  He shook his head, his mouth firm but his dark eyes lit with something that made Lara's heart flutter. “I've learned something in these last couple of months.”

  “What's that?”

  He took a step forward and she had to look up at him. She was considered tall, but standing next to John, she felt petite and feminine. “My feelings for you have never changed,” he said. “But seeing you again, face-to-face, I realize they have. I miss you, Lara. I shouldn't have called you. I should have come to your office and not left until you agreed to move in with me.”

  “John—”

  He kissed her. For a long moment, her mind went blissfully blank, her entire body focused on his mouth. She wanted to protest, she wanted to tell him it wasn't the same for her.

  But that would be a lie.

  John stepped back, a grin on his face. “I love you too. Let's get dinner.”

  VIII.

  John learned several things during the autopsy on Tuesday morning. Time of death was established Wednesday night between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. Tiffany Zaren died of massive internal bleeding when a knife—likely a letter opener—punctured a corner of her heart and her lung. There were also extensive post-mortem markings, indicating that her body had been manhandled.