Some Degree of Murder

Monday, April 19 th 0834 hrs Taylor Residence

TOWER

I gave the door a graveyard knock. The bottom of my fist hammered on the door, making it rattle. I gave five solid knocks, waited twenty seconds and gave five more. Then I waited thirty seconds and was about to give five more when the door opened.

Steve Taylor’s hair was tousled, with one side standing straight up and the other matted down. He wore a thin, white robe that I guessed actually belonged to his wife and had just been the first thing he could grab when he scrambled out of bed to see who the hell was breaking down his door.

“Detective?” Sleep clouded his eyes, and the alarm in them was already fading once he saw it was me at the door.

“Good morning,” I said briskly. “May I come in?”

He nodded and stood aside. Once inside the large entryway, he closed the door quietly and asked me, “Has there been a breakthrough in Fawn’s case?”

“No. Not a breakthrough,” I told him. “A development. I need to speak with your wife.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Uh, she’s still sleeping.”

“This is something you need to wake her for, Mr. Taylor.”

“Um, okay.” He padded toward the staircase, then stopped. “What time is it?”

“About eight-thirty.”

He nodded, then gestured toward the kitchen. “The automatic coffee-maker kicked on at eight, if you want some.”

“Thanks,” I said, but didn’t move.

He climbed the stairs and disappeared.

I wandered into the room to my left, sitting down on the piano bench. I looked down at the piano keys and was tempted to touch one to see if the Taylors kept it in tune. They probably did, even if no one played it. I shook my head at how ridiculous it was to pay a piano tuner to tune a piano no one played.

I sensed Steve Taylor come in the room and turned to face him. He held two steaming cups of coffee and offered me one. I hesitated, but took it.

He glanced around the room through his John Lennon specs. “We can talk in the library, if you prefer. There’s better seating there.”

“How long will your wife be?” I asked, rising to follow him.

He opened his mouth to reply but another voice interrupted him.

“She won’t be long at all,” Andie Taylor said from the foot of the stairs.

She wore a silk, floor-length nightgown, a vibrant peach color. The white robe Steve had answered the door in was belted loosely at her waist. Her hair was brushed out and it seemed to shimmer in the morning light that shone through the skylight above the front door. I met her eyes from across the room and said nothing.

“The library?” Steve asked me.

I nodded and followed him. I took the chair and Andie curled into the corner of the couch. Steve sat next to her and offered her his coffee. She took one sip and handed it back to him.

When both of them had settled their eyes on me, I looked directly at Andie Taylor and asked her, “Mrs. Taylor, are you at all interested in seeing your daughter’s killer brought to justice?”

Surprise leapt into her eyes, but I saw a flicker of something else there, too. Panic.

“What kind of question is that?” she sputtered. “Of course I do.”

“Then why did you lie to me?”

“About what?” she asked. After a moment, she added, “I haven’t lied about anything.”

I didn’t answer right away. Now that she wasn’t weeping in full blown grief, I saw a certain brand of arrogance creeping back into her personality. It was the arrogance of the rich, a haughtiness that came with thinking that money made you smarter and better than some people and above certain things.

Andie looked to Steve, then back to me. “Is that why you’ve come here this morning and woken me up, detective? To throw accusations at me? Isn’t it enough that you thought Steve was — “

“I know he’s here in town,” I told her.

She gasped in mid-sentence and her lips hung open for a second before she pressed them back together. “I…I don’t know who you might mean,” she said lamely.

“Yes,” I told her. “You do.”

Andie looked back and forth between Steve and me, her eyes frantic. Steve sat quietly, watching me, his cup perched near his bottom lip. I fixed Andie with a hard stare and said nothing, content to watch her squirm.

She didn’t last long. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I — “

“Fawn’s bio-Dad is here in town. He’s looking for her killer. And he’s not being nice about it.”

I looked for surprise on their faces, but saw none. Andie bore the look of a socialite caught snooping in someone else’s medicine cabinet while Steve just sat quietly, holding his coffee cup close and sipping from it occasionally. What I had just said wasn’t news to either one of them.

“I-“ Andie began.

I held up my hand, interrupting her. “Before you even try to deny knowing about this, let me tell you what we’re talking about here. First, we’re talking about a vigilante, who is hurting people to get to the person he’s looking for. People who had nothing to do with Fawn’s death.” I grimaced inside at that lie, but it was necessary.

Andie swallowed, listening.

“Second, he’s destroying any chance of my investigation gathering enough evidence to convict Fawn’s killer. I know that probably doesn’t matter, since you think that this guy will find him first and kill him. But it does matter. Because I will find him first and arrest him. Only, this guy will have torched so much physical and testimonial evidence in the process, I’ll never get a solid conviction. The killer will get some weak sentence at best, serve a few years and be out. You want that?”

“No,” Andie whispered.

“That’s where this is headed. That’s if he finds the right guy. He doesn’t have a lab to check DNA, fingerprints and fiber samples. He doesn’t have criminal history to compare. All he has is wild conjecture that comes from street people who wouldn’t know the truth if it came with a bottle of fortified wine.”

I leaned forward slightly, my eyes moving back and forth between Steve and Andie. “Innocent people have already been hurt. You know what he’ll do to the person that he thinks killed his daughter, don’t you? Of course you do. But what if he finds the wrong guy? You really want to be responsible for some poor, innocent bastard dying a terrible death just because some crack-head or pimp dropped his name as Fawn’s killer?”

The panic in Andie’s eyes grew. “I — “

I held up my hand again, stopping her. “Let me tell you what’ll happen if he finds the wrong guy. Or even if he finds the right guy. Before I even work that crime scene, I will come to this house with a patrol officer and I will slap you in cuffs. I could do that now for obstructing my investigation. But if I come back after he’s killed some guy, it won’t be for obstructing. It’ll be for conspiracy to commit murder.”

Andie Taylor stared down at her knees with unfocused eyes, giving small little shakes with her head.

Steve Taylor placed his cup on the table, then put his arm around Andie. He leaned in to her and whispered in her ear. I don’t think he thought I could hear him, but his words were very clear in the morning silence of their home.

“Just tell him, An,” he said in her ear. “Tell him or I will. Tell him for Fawn’s sake.”

At the whisper of her daughter’s name, Andie’s eyes filled with tears and some of her pretensions melted away.

“Yes,” she said thickly. “He’s here.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “I’ve only spoken to him twice.”

“By phone or in person?”

“Both.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. She held out her hand to Steve and he put his coffee cup in it. She took several sips while I waited.

Finally, she began to speak. “His name is Virgil Kelley. Fifteen years ago, we had a brief fling. It didn’t last long. He left town and I figured it was over. Then I found out I was pregnant.”

“His?” I asked.

She glanced at me sharply. “I was young and stupid, detective, but I was not a whore. There was no doubt as to who the father was.”

“Did you tell him right away?”

“Of course,” she snapped, then paused. “Well, not right away. It took a few months to hear from him. Then we talked about it. He said he’d be a lousy father. I figured I could raise her alone. Young and stupid, like I said.

“He sent some money. Quite a lot, actually, though there was a period where he didn’t send much at all. Even so, for that first couple of years, I only had to work part-time and was able to go to school on grants. It worked out, I suppose. I sent him pictures of Fawn every year, but he never called or wrote letters. Just sent money with a note that said ‘thank you for the photos.’”

“How long did this go on?”

Andie met my eyes. “It never stopped.”

I motioned toward Steve. “After you married?”

“He still sent money. Of course, we didn’t need it then. I put it in an account for Fawn. It was supposed to be her nest egg. She never knew about it. Or him.”

“Fawn was three when you two were married?”

Both Steve and Andie nodded.

“Did you know about this?” I asked Steve.

He half-shrugged. “I knew about him.”

“Did you know he was in town?”

“Yes.”

“Did you call him after Fawn’s death?” I asked Andie.

She shook her head. “I didn’t have a number for him. I never have had one. All I have is a post office box in California. So I sent the newspaper clipping.”

“When?”

“Two days after you came here to tell us about Fawn.”

“And when did he come here?”

“He never came to the house. He called about a week ago. Then I met him at a restaurant downtown.”

“Which one?”

“Aphrodite’s. We talked.”

“And he told you why he was here. And what he was planning to do.” It wasn’t a question, but Andie nodded anyway. “When was this?”

“A week ago.”

“What’s his story?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know much. He works for some mafia type down in California. He said he fixed problems.”

My eyes widened. “Mafia type? He’s a hitter?”

A trace of a smile touched her lips. “I asked the same thing. He said I read too many mysteries.”

“Then what kind of problems does he fix?”

“I think…the kind that put people in the hospital,” Andie answered. “But he isn’t a killer.”

“He told you that?”

She nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“What else did he say?”

“Not much. Just that he was going to fix this problem, too.”

“Mrs. Taylor, I need to find this guy before he kills more people. Before he — “

“More people?”

“Yeah,” I said. “More people. He’s already killed a guy.”

She gulped air in and let it out in a moan. Her gaze jumped between Steve and me. “Was it…”

“Fawn’s killer? I don’t know. I doubt it.”

Andie looked back down at her knees, that unfocused look in her eyes again.

“What can you tell me besides his name?” I asked her after a few moments of silence.

“I don’t know.”

“What town is he from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where do you send the pictures?”

“Sacramento.” She gave me the box number and zip code.

“You have it memorized?”

She glanced at Steve. “I didn’t want to leave it laying around.”

“I see. Who’s his boss?”

“He didn’t say.”

I sighed. “Did he use any other names? Did he have tattoos? Was he arrested here in River City?”

She shook her head slowly, then said, “He said he was in prison for three years.”

“When?”

“Sometime around when Fawn was born.”

“Do you remember where?”

“I don’t know if he ever said. Somewhere in Southern California, I guess.”

I leaned back and watched her. She stared at her knees with unfocused eyes. Her lower lip was quivering slightly and tears had formed in her eyes, but didn’t fall.

“Can you think of anything else?”

Andie didn’t respond. I took that as her answer and rose from my chair.

Steve rose with me and followed me toward the door. He opened it and held it for me. “Are you going to arrest my wife?”

“I think she’s been through enough,” I answered and left.

“Virgil Kelley,” I told Lindsay. “Write it down.”

He scratched it out on his notepad, pausing at the last name. “E-Y or just Y?”

“I don’t know. Try both. Run him local and WACIC, just in case. Then do him through NCIC. The records might be fifteen years old, so if you don’t get a hit, I need you to call California Department of Corrections directly and get someone to do a hand search or whatever it takes. I want to know who Virgil Kelley is.”

“Okay.” Lindsay wrote down everything I said. “Who is this guy? A suspect?”

“Maybe. Don’t get ahead of yourself, though, Lindsay. Okay? Just run the check for me and stick with it until you get some answers.”

“Will do.” He gave me a fraternal clap on the shoulder and headed back to his desk.

I sat down and looked at my case files, turning the pages but not reading. My mind was whirring.

Virgil Kelley was Fawn’s father. He’s some sort of criminal, a leg-breaker or something. He got the article from Andie Taylor at his PO Box in Sacramento. The mail would take a day or two to get it there. By then, the murder would’ve been four or five days old. Then how long goes by before he checks that post office box? Either way, it took two weeks for him to get up here.

I picked up my phone and called Billings at his desk. He answered on the third ring.

“Billings,” he said in a bored voice.

“Ted, it’s Tower.” He didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I need you to check something for me on this case.”

“I’m kinda busy,” he muttered.

“On a homicide?” I asked him.

“No,” he sighed. “Go ahead.”

“I gave Lindsay a name. I need you to check that name and any aliases he finds for a PO Box in Sacramento, California.” I gave him the box number.

There was a long pause. Then Billings said, “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Do you have any idea how many PO Boxes there must be in a city that size?”

“Probably a lot.”

“Yeah, no shit, a lot.”

“I need it done and I can’t do it myself.”

“Well, I’ll put my world on hold then,” he said and slammed the phone in my ear.

I replaced the receiver. It rang almost immediately.

“Detective Tower.”

“John? Matt Westboard.”

“Yeah?”

“You left me a message to call you.”

“I did? Oh yeah. The Field Interview on Serena Gonzalez.”

“You’re investigating that one, huh?”

“Yeah. I was just wondering if you actually had her hooking or just walking through the area looking like a hooker.”

He paused, thinking. “I don’t remember her ever contacting cars or anything, if that’s what you mean. She was dressed slutty, but she said she worked at the Club Tip Top. At the time, I didn’t believe her. She was too good-looking for that place.”

“Did she say anything about anyone bothering her? Anyone suspicious?”

“Nah. She was a little pissed that I stopped her. Told me she wasn’t a puta. I did the FI, anyway.”

“You stop anyone out there stalking the working girls?”

“No. Just the usual creeps looking for a date.”

“What about the Brotherhood? How active have they been on your shift?”

“Kinda quiet, really. At least until this guy Sammy G. turned up dead. Now everywhere they go, it’s in a swarm of bikes. Three or four at a time.”

“I meant with the girls, though. Any of them suspicious?”

“Not that I saw,” Westboard said.

I thanked him and hung up.

I picked up the phone and called Renee.

“I know it’s a long shot,” I told her, “But can you run the moniker of M? I’m looking for a black male, twenties.”

I heard the tapping of her keyboard. “What’s the connection?”

“The hooker that came in, Toni, told me that Fawn had a boyfriend that supplied her crack. Or hooked her up with a dealer. Something. Anyway, she called him M.”

“M, huh?”

“Yeah. Why? You get a hit?”

“No, no hit. Well, actually about twenty-seven hits, with another forty-two variations. M is apparently a popular letter.”

“Money. Money starts with M.”

“Exactly. Murder, too. But here’s something else interesting for you. On Wednesday of last week, the Sheriff’s Department had an assault out at the Denny’s on Edward Road. A young black male was beaten badly and is still in a coma. He had a little bit of a drug history.”

I brought my fingers to the bridge of my nose and rubbed, knowing I wasn’t going to like the rest of this. “What was his name?”

“Malcom.”

After I hung up the phone, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the white rectangles on the ceiling. Things were coming into focus and I walked myself through the process silently.

Virgil Kelley gets the clipping about his daughter’s death.

He comes to River City and contacts Andie Taylor. What did she tell him? What or who did she give him that she didn’t give me? Or did he just get different results with the same leads?

Either way, he finds out about M. Malcom. He gets what he needs from Malcom and then beats him senseless. The assault doesn’t even make a blip on my radar screen. It’s in the County, not the City. It’s not a murder, not a female and not in the Corridor.

Then what? Virgil skulks around East Sprague and gleans information from the hookers and crack heads out there. I knew for sure that he talked to Grace. I wondered who else I’d interviewed that he’d also talked to. Probably more than a few people, I guessed.

How did he find out Toni knew about Fawn? Someone must’ve pointed her out. She tells him about Sammy G. He must’ve figured Sammy G. would know who killed Fawn. Maybe he thought it was Sammy G. that killed her. Hell, maybe it was.

No, I decided. A guy that won’t smack a woman in the face for business reasons is not my killer. Too practical. Not sociopathic enough.

When Virgil finds Sammy G., what happens? Something bad, because Virgil killed him. But what did he tell him first?

Did he tell him about Rowdy? Because that sick bastard was on my short list.

I felt a tinge of shame. Browning was working the Sammy G. case and had zero leads. Here I was, ten feet away, with a pretty damn good idea who iced his victim and I wasn’t saying a word. I could help out the County detectives with their Malcom case, too, but I wasn’t saying a word. I had two dead girls, almost assuredly killed by the same sick individual who was not going to stop but would undoubtedly kill again, but I wasn’t saying a word. I had a vigilante who was responsible for a death and a good beating, who was certainly planning to kill at least one more person before he was through, but I wasn’t saying a word.

Because this was my case. My responsibility.