“I’ve heard that before. So you said NCIS took your statement?”
“They called the next day, said that a tape was missing and wanted to interview the janitor who’d worked the DSO building that night,” Buchman said.
“I never saw a cassette tape,” Tulowitsky said. “And I don’t touch anything on the desks, ever.”
“I understand,” Tracy said. “I’m just trying to get a better understanding of your process cleaning that building.”
Buchman suggested they all sit. Tulowitsky took the chair next to Tracy, pulling it away and angling it before sitting. He smelled of fresh cigarette smoke and had the telltale signs of a chain-smoker—lips deeply wrinkled, his teeth yellowed, along with the fingernails of his right hand. He’d likely puffed down a cigarette in the car or parking lot just before coming in.
“You want me to tell it to you?”
“Please,” Tracy said.
“Okay. First I empty the trash cans. Then I clean the bathrooms, vacuum, and straighten up. But I don’t touch anything on the desks,” Tulowitsky again offered.
Tracy needed to slow him down and press him for details. She took out a notepad. “So you go into the offices? You clean inside the offices?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tulowitsky said, though they were likely about the same age. He had a habit of shutting his eyes and tilting back his head, as if defiant, but it was likely a tic of some sort. “But we don’t touch anything on the desks. A scrap of paper to you could be an important name or phone number to the person working there.”
Buchman gave him an approving nod, and she got the sense that Tulowitsky had properly recited a company mantra.
“Do you remember cleaning Lieutenant Battles’s office that evening?”
“I do, but only because I was asked about it. I clean all the offices on the first floor.”
“You don’t remember seeing a box on her desk?”
“No. No box.”
“And there was nothing on the floor?”
“Not that I saw. Like I said, NCIS called the day after. What I told them is likely most accurate. I would have remembered a videotape. The most I would have done—if one had been on the floor—would have been to maybe pick it up and put it on her chair so I could vacuum, but that didn’t happen. I never saw one.”
“Can you run me through your routine in that building?”
Tulowitsky shrugged. “The DSO? Okay.”
He glanced again at Buchman and it made Tracy wish Buchman wasn’t present, but she knew if she asked Buchman to leave it would make everyone even more uncomfortable.
“That’s building 433,” Tulowitsky said. “It’s the first building we clean. It’s the first building inside the Charleston Gate.”
“Is it just you or do other janitors also clean that building?”
“That building there’s two of us, me and Darren, but I clean the first floor.”
“Does Darren clean the upper floors?”
“That’s right. Fewer offices up there.”
“NCIS took his statement also,” Buchman said. “I tried to reach him this morning but wasn’t able to get him.”
“I understand you enter the last four digits of your Social Security number to gain entry into the building,” Tracy said.
“The door is locked; you can’t access the building without your Social Security number,” Tulowitsky confirmed. “And your number, the last four digits anyway, have to be approved.”
Buchman sat up. “It’s computerized,” he said. “There’s a security office where the numbers are stored. As I said, we’ve never had a problem.”
“Nobody’s ever stolen someone’s number?” Tracy asked.
“Not one of our employees,” Buchman said, but then added, “Not that I know of anyway.”
Tracy asked Tulowitsky the last four digits of his Social Security number, then said, “Okay, you were going to run me through your routine inside the building.”
Tulowitsky wrinkled his brow as if to indicate that he already had. “Like I said, first thing I do is empty all the trash cans in the offices.”
“Everything has to be shredded,” Buchman interjected. “Some of the Navy personnel do it themselves. And the garbage is taken to a designated facility on base and destroyed.”
Tracy looked again to Tulowitsky. “So you empty the trash. What’s next?”
“I take the trash out to the truck and get the cleaning supplies and the vacuum. I clean the restrooms on the first floor, and just sort of tidy the offices. I vacuum and work my way out of the building.” He shrugged.
“How long does that take?”
“Everything altogether?” He glanced up at the ceiling. “The whole thing is about forty-five minutes to an hour—sometimes a little longer if we have to spot clean the carpets, but the offices are never really bad so it’s fairly straightforward.”
“So when did you arrive?”
“I usually arrive right around eleven o’clock, and I’m usually done in that building by about midnight.”
“And do you recall seeing anyone else in the building that night?” Tracy looked at her notes. “March 18.”
Tulowitsky shook his head. “I told NCIS the same thing. If someone had been in there, I would have remembered seeing them.”
“And when you leave the building to take out the garbage, do you lock the doors?”
“The doors lock automatically. All I have to do is exit. Doors close behind you. Simple as that,” Tulowitsky said.
Maybe, Tracy thought, except nothing in this case, it seemed, was simple.
CHAPTER 39
Del and Faz had inadvertently opened a can of worms, and a good many of those worms were sitting around the conference room table just outside Chief of Police Sandy Clarridge’s office midmorning. The two detectives sat with their sergeant, Billy Williams, and their captain, Johnny Nolasco. Kevin Dunleavy, the King County prosecuting attorney, sat with Rick Cerrabone. Also present were Anthony Rizzo, sergeant of the SPD Major Crimes Task Force, and Scott Disney, detective with the Narcotics Proactive Squad. Disney had long hair and a wispy beard, which meant he’d been working undercover for some time.
At the moment, Del had the floor, explaining their arrest of Nick Evans, and Evans’s subsequent statement that his supplier had fingered Laszlo Trejo. “Was this firsthand knowledge?” Rizzo asked. Clean-cut, Rizzo looked like an accountant and sounded skeptical.
“No,” Del said. “He was relating what he was told by his supplier, Eric Tseng.” Evans had provided Tseng’s name in exchange for a plea of guilty with a reduced sentence in the county jail. Further research revealed that Tseng was twenty-nine years old, had no criminal record, and had not served in the military. He was flying well under the radar. Narcotics had no knowledge of him. “Could it have been bullshit?” Rizzo asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Del said, “but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Rizzo challenged.