“Okay, so assuming he didn’t kill himself, who’s the mostly likely suspect? His defense attorney?” Owens picked up a sheet of paper, reading from it. “Leah Battles?”
“At this point I think everyone’s in play.”
“Everyone?” Owens shook his head. “You said something about forensics?”
Tracy nodded, but the lack of sleep was setting in and she did not feel like she was speaking clearly. “The inside of his car was wiped clean . . . with an antiseptic wipe, including the air bag, which was the best source of DNA for whoever was driving the car at the time it hit the boy.”
Owens sat back and sipped his coffee. He said, “Battles is a lawyer, she knows evidence, and according to my detectives, you said she lives in Seattle.”
“Pioneer Square.”
Owens nodded. “So she could have helped him that night, if anyone did. And she could get to him in the brig, right, to talk to him?”
“She could.”
“And as a JAG, she would have known that you still had jurisdiction over him in Seattle. If she were somehow involved, which I’m not convinced she was. It sounds to me like you’re fishing and not getting a lot of strikes.”
Tracy gave the last comment some thought. “Your detectives spoke to his wife?”
Owens nodded. “She said he left the house just after nine to pick up some groceries.”
“Was that something he did regularly or did he get a phone call?”
“She didn’t know.”
“We need to check his phone.”
“I got guys already on it.”
“Did she say whether he was right-or left-handed?”
“I’m not sure my detectives asked, but we will.”
After a beat Tracy asked, “How’s she doing?”
Owens gave another shrug. “About as well as you’d expect for a woman who just lost her husband violently and unexpectedly.” Owens scowled. His voice changed. “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark on this. If you intended to pursue the hit and run over here, I would have liked a little heads-up. Maybe this could have been avoided.”
Tracy nodded, but she wasn’t about to apologize. Her cell phone rang, which was odd, given the hour. She checked caller ID. Del’s cell phone. He’d called her earlier, but she couldn’t take his call at the time. She excused herself, stepped into the hall, and explained where she was and what had happened.
“Then that’s a problem,” Del said.
CHAPTER 36
After speaking to Tracy, Del went home, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. He drove the Impala far enough forward for the second car to pull into his driveway. Celia McDaniel lived thirty-five minutes away. At three in the morning, that was too far to be driving home. At least that’s what Del told himself when he’d invited her to spend the night. She winked and told him she’d brought a change of clothes.
So she’d been thinking about it also. He felt both excited and anxiety stricken.
On the drive home, Del kept his mind occupied by contemplating Tracy’s news that Laszlo Trejo had been shot in the head. It certainly seemed to jibe with what they’d learned that night from Evans—that Trejo had been delivering heroin. Free from the brig, somebody saw Trejo as a liability, especially after SPD and the prosecuting attorney put out the statement that they intended to go after him. The best way to keep that from happening—to keep Trejo quiet—was to put a bullet in his head. Someone had succeeded.
Del and Tracy had speculated on what this would mean to D’Andre Miller’s family, and about how the conspiracy theorists would start crying foul and speculating that the Navy was somehow involved—that Trejo had been killed to hide a secret. Del and Tracy doubted the heroin had anything to do with the Navy, as far as they could tell, anyway. Still, they couldn’t deny that Trejo’s death muddied the water—“bloodied” might be the better word.
Del exited his Impala and met Celia, who was opening the back door of her Honda. “Let me help with that.” He carried her overnight bag and led Celia up the front steps.
The heavy rains and wind had passed, leaving a partially cleared sky with billowing clouds and gaps of silver moonlight.
“You’re tired,” she said.
Del had pulled down the knot on his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He carried his sport coat over his arm. “Yeah, I’m beat. Night shift gets harder every year. But this has got to be really late for you.”
“Why do you and Faz still wear ties, Del?”
Del shrugged as he flipped through his ring for the key to the deadbolt. “I do it out of respect for the justice system,” he said. “Faz? I think he’s too cheap to buy another set of clothes.”
She smiled and looked at the window. “Sonny must be going stir-crazy.”
“I got him out for his walk earlier,” Del said, “but yeah, I’m sure he is.”
When Del inserted the key in the lock, Sonny came running. Time was inconsequential to him. He leapt onto the back of the couch and furiously pawed at the window.
“Okay, okay,” Del said. “Don’t break the glass.”
Del opened the door and Sonny bounded from the couch to the front hall to meet them, dancing on his hind legs. He toppled over onto his back, rolled, and got right back up again. When Celia bent to greet him, he ran from her—down the hall, into the kitchen, and back out the door into the living room, a loop. After three circles he came back exhausted, his tiny tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting.
“Let me get him a treat to calm him,” Del said. He put her overnight bag down at the foot of the stairs. Celia followed him into the kitchen, the heels of her shoes clicking on the parquet. “You want a glass of wine?” Del asked.
“Small one,” she said.
He got Sonny a treat from the pantry but didn’t immediately give it to him. “Watch this,” he said. “He’s a true police dog. Okay, Sonny, don’t let me down.” He held up the treat. His other hand made a gun. “Bang,” he said. Sonny, who’d been on his back legs, promptly fell over, legs in the air.
“That’s terrible,” Celia said, though she was smiling and laughing. “But smart as hell.”
Sonny popped up, took the treat, and hurried out of the room. It would comfort him for the moment.
“Does he do other tricks?” Celia asked.
“We could bore you for hours.” Del opened a cabinet and pulled out two tumblers. “I hope a glass is okay. It’s the way my parents drank their wine.”
“When in Rome,” she said.
“Turin.” He pulled a bottle of Italian Chianti from another cabinet.
“Why a Shih Tzu?”
Del glanced at her as he poured two glasses half full. “I bought him for my ex, but she didn’t want him and he didn’t want her.”
“Well, I think he made the right choice then.”
Del held up his glass to hers. “Salute.”
“Salute,” she said. “How long have you been divorced?”
“More than four years.”
“How long were you married?”
“Six. I got married late in life. It was a mistake,” Del said.
“Getting married?”