Guilt By Degrees

89

Bailey and I got up the next morning at the crack of dawn. One of us was happy about this.

“You know,” I said when she shook me awake at six fifteen a.m., “you can probably go back to your own pad now.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Besides, what’s the rush? I’m not filing on that guy without ballistics and DNA results-”

Bailey held up her cell phone and waggled it under my face. “You got ’em. The blood on Simon’s shirt came back to him, and the gun he was carrying matches the one used to shoot Gary. Good enough for you?” she asked.

That had to be the fastest I’d ever seen DNA come back. This case had a lot of people fired up. “It’ll do,” I replied.

Bailey drove us to the courthouse for what I figured would be the last time. With Simon’s killer in custody, I’d be walking to work again. Though we hadn’t lucked out and caught Lilah going to or from her parents’ house, I was confident our newly arrested killer could be persuaded to tell us where she was. Besides, now that she knew we had the evidence on Tran’s case, Lilah had nothing to gain by killing us. She seemed to be a fairly pragmatic murderer.

We were so early, we beat the morning courthouse crowds and got an elevator within seconds. Two minutes later, we’d settled in my office. I woke up my computer.

“So do we have a name for our perp?” I asked.

“Chase…” Bailey fished out her notebook. “Erling. Was a bouncer at Les Deux a few years back. But his full-time gig-that is, before he went to work for Lilah-was in computer hardware and electronics. Used to work for a gadget company named Omni-”

“Electronics and computers?” I frowned. “What the hell?”

“Must have something to do with Lilah’s business.”

“When he’s up and running, do you think he’ll be willing to cough up some information on Lilah in return for a choice of prison placement?”

Bailey shook her head. “I’d say negatory-”

“Though you really shouldn’t, ’cause it sounds silly,” I observed. “But why not?”

“Because we found this inside the lining of his jacket,” she said, holding up her cell phone.

It showed a photograph of a watch. TAG Heuer, to be exact.

I frowned at Bailey. “Okay,” I said. “He’s got the watch we saw on the video. So why does that mean he won’t talk?”

“Check out the next picture,” she instructed.

I hit the arrow. A photo showed the underside of the watch. It was inscribed. Fondly, L.

“Lilah,” I said. Then I put the rest of it together. “After he saw our photo, he knew he couldn’t be seen wearing the watch anymore. But he didn’t want to dump it because it was a keepsake from his…girlfriend?”

Bailey shrugged. “I wouldn’t necessarily go that far, but there was obviously some kind of relationship, and it meant something to him.”

I turned back to my computer. “Two counts of murder…use of a deadly weapon on Simon…use of a firearm on Gary. Even if the judge stays sentence on the deadly weapon, this guy’s getting seventy-five to life.”

We shared a satisfied smile.

“I’ll be done with this in fifteen minutes,” I said. “If I walk it down, we’ll be ready to arraign him within the hour. Think you can get anyone to move him in for the afternoon session?”

“Let me find out,” Bailey said. She went into the hallway to make the calls.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back. “Our boy will be on the afternoon bus.”

“Excellent.” With a DA investigator as one of the victims, the press would likely get interested in the case. It’d be nice to at least have the arraignment done without the hoopla. I hit print and took the pages as they spit out.

I looked at the clock on the Times Building. It was only ten thirty. I stood up and put the papers into a plain file folder to shield them from view. “I’ll be back,” I said. I turned on my heel and left.

The clerk got the case filed as fast as I’ve ever seen. Within half an hour, I was on the elevator and headed back to my office. I dumped some sandwiches on the desk in front of Bailey.

“Turkey and Swiss for me, ham and cheddar for you,” I said.

“Looks great,” Bailey said. “I do miss that silver tray, though.” Her cell phone rang. She looked at the number on the screen.

Bailey answered the phone. “Keller here.”

That was pretty formal for her.

Suddenly she dropped her feet to the floor and grabbed the desk. Her face looked pale. “When?”

She listened, and I stood up. What? I mouthed. But Bailey wasn’t looking at me.

“How?” she asked.

I was ready to pull out my hair. What the hell was going on?

When Bailey ended the call, her expression was thunderous. “Chase Erling,” she said. “Someone attacked him on the transpo bus.”