“Have a seat.”
He squeezed past the desk, brushing up against the books and papers that were bursting out of the shelves, and sat down in what she observed was an old-fashioned oak office chair with a padded leather seat and backrest. She also noticed that on the shelf next to him was a brass Buddha. Not a fat, smiling, happy Buddha, but rather one of the serious, spiritual-looking versions, a serene expression on his face, right hand raised to chest level with the thumb and index finger touching to form a circle. People who kept statues of the Buddha near to them, in her experience, fell into one of two categories: those who were so full of loving kindness that they just had to share it with everyone and those who needed to be reminded to exercise loving kindness instead of taking a swing at somebody. She was beginning to get a strong sense of which category Verraday fit into.
He noticed her looking at the statue.
“A gift from my sister. She thinks I need it.”
“And do you?”
Verraday smiled faintly. “Probably. So what can I help you with?”
“Can we talk in confidence? Nothing I say can leave this room.”
He hesitated. “Fine, but if anything comes up that’s related in any way to my case, then we have to stop immediately.”
“Fair enough,” replied Maclean, leaning forward.
“Two days ago, a young woman’s body was found in a cranberry bog down in Buckley.”
“I heard about it on the news. A Jane Doe.”
“We’ve ID’d her now. Her name is Rachel Friesen, and she lived in Seattle. We’re treating it as a homicide, and I’ve been assigned as lead investigator. She was beaten and strangled. The MO is extremely similar to another homicide that happened in Seattle six months ago. The Alana Carmichael case.”
“I thought you had a suspect in custody for that?”
“The department has a suspect in custody.”
“But?”
“But I don’t think he did it. The lead investigator on that case is a guy named Bob Fowler. I believe you’re familiar with him.”
“I know who he is,” said Verraday. “Some of the Somali refugees I worked with a few years ago said that he planted dope on them when he was on the drug squad, told them he’d get them deported if they didn’t give him information about criminals higher up the food chain. I saw his name in the papers after he was charged with corruption.”
“That’s him,” responded Maclean. “There were four of them named in that case: Fowler, Garson, Babitch, and Perreira. Fowler was the ringleader. The charges against them were conspiracy, assault, extortion, and theft. These drug dealers claimed that Fowler and the other three entered their homes without warrants, beat them up even though they didn’t put up any resistance, and then stole their dope, jewelry, and cash. A week before trial, the key witness was found floating by Harbor Island with a couple of nasty exit wounds in the back of his head. Some of the surviving dealers suddenly retracted their statements. The trial went ahead without the key witness, and in the end, Fowler and most of the others were acquitted. Only the junior officer, Perreira, was convicted on a reduced charge and got forty-five days’ house arrest. Guess the jury was just glad to hear some drug dealers got slapped around.”
“Right,” said Verraday, “even if the guys doing the slapping were getting freebie blow out of it and pocketing some cash and jewelry.”
“After it was over, Fowler was transferred to homicide,” continued Maclean.
Verraday frowned. “I guess they figured he couldn’t get into too much trouble dealing with people who were already dead.”
“Unfortunately, I think they were wrong,” replied Maclean. “Fowler is building a case against the wrong guy in the Carmichael murder. I can’t tell if he actually thinks he’s got the right suspect in custody and doesn’t have the evidence to prove it yet or if he’s just too stubborn or afraid to admit that he screwed up.”
“From what I’ve heard about Fowler,” replied Verraday, “he’s dumb enough and crooked enough for it to be either scenario. But how do I fit into all this?”
“Professor, if I’m right about the similarities between the victims and the way in which they were murdered, that means we’re looking at a serial killer. I need your help profiling him if we’re going to have any chance of catching him before he kills again.”
Verraday sat back for a moment.
“Detective Maclean, I don’t like the idea of a serial killer wandering around the streets any more than you do. But I don’t see how I can work with the Seattle PD when I have an outstanding lawsuit against the department and one of its officers.”
“You wouldn’t be working with me or the department in any official capacity,” replied Maclean. She paused. “In fact, it would be very important that they never even know you’re involved.”
“Okay, this is getting weird.”