Guilt By Degrees

21

We caught up with him at his massage bed. He’d just leaned down to untie his shoes when Bailey badged him.

“Don’t panic,” she told him. “I just need a few minutes of your time.”

The patrol officer stood up, his face-which had been red with the exertion of bending over-now white with fear. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and simply nodded. He shuffled out behind us, his shoes still untied.

“Detective Keller,” Bailey said as she stuck out her hand.

“Harley Sahagan,” he replied, taking it.

“And this is Deputy District Attorney Rachel Knight,” she added.

I held out my hand, and Harley gave it a weak shake.

“I know this looks bad, but before you bust me, I want you to know I’m not just screwing off here. I got in a car accident on duty last year.” Harley, having found his voice, was talking fast. “Felony evasion, the guy crashed into a wall and we couldn’t stop in time. We rear-ended him hard. It messed up my back real bad. Riding in the squad car is killing me, but I used up all my leave, so I’ve gotta work. These guys”-he gestured over his shoulder at the spa-“saved me. I couldn’t afford a fancy spa, and insurance won’t cover a chiropractor. I was in really bad shape until someone told me about this place. I’m not cured, but at least I can deal.”

“Harley, that’s a lot of information, but I’m not here to bust you,” Bailey said. “And I’m glad you’re better. We just want to know if you have a regular masseur here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harley replied uncomfortably. Then he nodded to himself. “So I guess he told you. Yeah, Ronald Yamaguchi was my masseur. Matter of fact, he was working on me when I got the call about that homeless victim.” He shook his head, his expression perplexed. “I’ve got to admit, I never figured him for the type to do something like that.” Harley sighed. “Guess you never know.”

“Actually, in this case, you might,” I said. “The way the evidence is shaking out, we’re thinking he probably isn’t the killer. And you just helped confirm that by corroborating his story.”

“Good to hear,” Harley said thoughtfully.

“And just FYI: he never did give up your name.”

Harley acknowledged this with a little smile. “Heck of a guy.”

I had a feeling Ronald’s tips were about to get healthier.

“By any chance, did you interview any witnesses at the scene?” Bailey asked.

“Nah, just crime-scene control,” Harley replied.

“Okay, we’ll get back to you if we have any more questions,” I said.

“Glad to help.” He paused. “Uh…would you mind…?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Have a good one,” Bailey said.

Harley went back inside and headed for his massage bed. We went in and returned to the front counter, where we found the ponytailed masseuse deep in conversation with the older Asian woman. When we walked over to the young woman, she looked pointedly at her watch.

I decided to play my hunch. It was a low-risk proposition at this point. I introduced myself and Bailey, then got right to it.

“Wendy, I understand you and Ronald Yamaguchi are close,” I began.

“Yeah,” she said, flipping her ponytail back. “So?” she asked with attitude.

“He ever let you wear his jacket?” I asked.

The question took her off guard, as it was meant to. She frowned at first, then shrugged.

“Sometimes he lets me, other times I just take it,” she replied. “When I’m not working-it gets cold in here.”

“Mind if I take a look at your arms?” I asked.

Wendy looked at me suspiciously for a moment before answering. “Why?” she asked in a bitchy tone. “You want to bust me for killing someone too?”

“Maybe,” I replied. “Did you kill anybody?”

She rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking,” I said flatly.

She sighed again. “No. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“In that case, I just want to see your arms.”

“Why?” she asked, her tone now belligerent. “I’m not a junkie or nothing.”

This was getting truly annoying.

“Look, Wendy,” I said in a stern voice, “I don’t know many junkies who’re full-time masseuses, but assuming you’re one of the few, let me reassure you, I couldn’t care less. I’ve got a homicide to deal with that has very little to do with you, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with it. So how about you show me your arms and we’ll both get on with our day?”

Wendy didn’t immediately respond, but eventually she rolled up the sleeves of her white uniform and showed me her arms, palms down.

“Could you turn them over, please?”

She complied, and there it was. A deep two-inch-long scratch on the inside of her wrist. “What happened there?” I asked as I pointed at the fresh-looking wound.

“I took that silly bird”-she gestured at the parrot-“out of his cage and he lost his balance. He scraped me with his claw.”

“You remember when that happened?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “Probably about two weeks ago.”

“The day Ronald got arrested?”

“Right around there,” she confirmed.

A young woman in tights and leg warmers came in. Wendy waved to her. “Go on back, Riley. I’ll be right there.”

Wendy watched her go, then looked at me. “You done?”

“I am.”

She started to go, then stopped. “Ronald didn’t do it, you know. You got the wrong guy,” she said defiantly.

“I know,” I replied.

This caught Wendy by surprise, and her eyes got big. “You know?” she asked, incredulous. “Then why don’t you let him out?”

“We are,” I replied. I glanced at Bailey, who nodded. “Today, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh.” She took a moment to regroup after the unexpected response. “Well, good,” she retorted. “Never should’ve arrested him in the first place.” And with another insouciant flip of the ponytail, Wendy went back to work.

Bailey made the call to the county jail. I was supposed to get in touch with Eric. Instead, I waited for her to finish.

“The minute I tell Eric we cut Yamaguchi loose, the case goes back into the hopper,” I said.

Bailey agreed. “I’ll probably have to give it up too. I only got it because we had a suspect in custody and they needed someone to babysit it through the preliminary hearing.”

“So it’ll wind up an unsolved, probably forever,” I predicted.

Bailey nodded unhappily.

I couldn’t drop this case into oblivion without a fight. John Doe deserved at least that much.

“Technically, Yamaguchi’s still in custody, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Bailey answered slowly, guessing where I was going.

“So technically I don’t have to give up the case just yet.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s not even noon. That gives us a whole day and night to do…something.”

“That’s still not a lot of time. We need a tight game plan.”

My loudly growling stomach told me what we’d do first.

Bailey heard it and smiled. “Since we need to regroup anyway, we may as well do it over lunch.”

To save time, we went back to the coffee shop. I ordered a spinach salad with the dressing on the side, and Bailey, Queen Sadistica, ordered a cheeseburger and fries. They served us and we ate quickly. We had to pull a rabbit out of a hat in mere hours. At this point, we didn’t even have a hat.

I finished my salad and began to pick at Bailey’s fries-an endearing sign of trusting friendship, as I’ve explained to her on many occasions. Bailey says it really isn’t so endearing, but I know she doesn’t mean it.

“Other than nailing the perp, what’s the one thing you’d like to figure out before we have to let this case go?” I asked.

Bailey thought a moment. “Why the hell you had to call me when you got it refiled?”

“Close, but no,” I replied. “The burning question of the day is our victim’s identity.”

“Yeah, that too.” Bailey took a deep breath, then blew it out. “But that’s a tall order, Knight. This guy shows up nowhere. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But we have a clean photo of him from the coroner, don’t we?”

Bailey nodded, knowing where I was headed. “Yeah. But showing it around and hoping for an ID is like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

“Except I just might happen to have a magnet.”