The Call of the Mild

Chapter Thirty-Three

Of course Chris Rasmussen had wanted to run to the Pasadena Police and give a full report. But Henry’d had no desire to spend the next few hours waiting in a holding cell until the locals had determined that the bloated body on the floor had been dead for several days and that Henry and Rasmussen were unlikely to have committed the crime, so he passed on that plan. He did agree to call in an anonymous tip from a pay phone. Then he called Lassiter from his cell and filled him in on what they’d discovered. They agreed to meet at Ellen Svaco’s house as soon as Henry and Rasmussen could make it back.

“That’s my jurisdiction,” Rasmussen pouted.

“It’s your interagency task force,” Henry said. “More important, it’s a murder that happened to one of your citizens on your turf. If you let any ridiculous, petty concern like jurisdiction stand in the way of making that right, then you obviously didn’t understand a single word I said when you were in junior high.”

Henry slammed his foot on the gas and hoped the look of determination on his face would serve the same function as the cherry he didn’t have to put on his hood. It did-or maybe they simply didn’t cruise past any cops. Either way, they made it back to Isla Vista in less than two hours. Rasmussen sulked the entire way.

When Henry pulled up outside Ellen Svaco’s house, two squad cars and a plainclothes vehicle were already parked at the curb. The crime scene seal had been cut, and uniformed officers were going in and out of the house.

Lassiter met Henry and Rasmussen at the front door.

“What have you found?” Henry said.

“Nothing directly connecting her to her cousin,” Lassiter said. “Except all that Fluffy crap, of course.”

“Fluffy’s the key,” Henry said. “I’ve been thinking it over on the drive back up. I think Ellen and her cousin were partners in some illegal enterprise. Arnold kept his half of the money, but she had him donate hers.”

“An illegal enterprise in peaceful Isla Vista?” Lassiter said. “If only the local constabulary had noticed. Ellen Svaco might still be alive.”

Rasmussen stared down at the ground and didn’t say anything.

“It’s the only way I can put it together,” Henry said. “Still one thing that doesn’t work for me, though. Officer Rasmussen spoke to all the neighbors. You’d think if she had been that emotional about losing a pet, even more than five years ago, someone would have mentioned it. It’s the kind of thing that defines a person.”

Rasmussen was still staring at the ground, but they could see his mouth moving. Although Henry couldn’t read lips, he was pretty sure the word “jurisdiction” was muttered more than once.

“What’s that you’re saying?” Lassiter said.

“It’s a transitory population,” Rasmussen mumbled. “College town. People don’t stay here long.”

“Except for Ellen Svaco,” Henry said. “She stayed here one day too many.” He looked at Lassiter. “Did you find anything in the house?”

Lassiter sighed. “Got to give the kid credit for that one,” he said. “It doesn’t look like he missed anything at all. And he did come up with Fluffy, which my people might have missed entirely.”

Juliet O’Hara appeared in the doorway holding a cordless phone. “Officer Rasmussen, in your background investigation did you happen to notice if Ellen Svaco had any legal troubles?”

“There was no record of any,” Rasmussen said. “I would have mentioned it if there were.”

“Then did it occur to you to wonder why her last phone call was to the most prestigious law firm in town?” O’Hara pressed the REDIAL button, and the phone beeped itself through seven digits. After two rings, a voice on the other end said, “Rushton, Morelock, and Weiss.” O’Hara disconnected the call.

“This might have been nice to know about,” Lassiter said to Rasmussen. “You didn’t think it was worth sharing?”

“I didn’t know,” Rasmussen stammered. “I didn’t think to hit the redial. No one ever told me.”

Henry shook his head in disgust. Shawn might be infuriating, but he’d never have made a rookie mistake like that. “Junior high is where you start learning, not where you stop.”

“What do we do now?” O’Hara said.

“Let’s go back and talk to the chief,” Lassiter said. “If Rushton, Morelock is involved, everything just got a lot more complicated.”

“No, it didn’t,” Rasmussen said. “It’s a murder investigation. We proceed like we would with anyone else.”

Henry clapped a hand on Rasmussen’s shoulder. “It’s been fun, kid. But it seems like we’re looking at a criminal conspiracy that could possibly involve one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Santa Barbara. Even if I were still on the force, this would be above my level. As a civilian, I can’t have anything to do with it. Isn’t that right, Detective Lassiter?”

“I don’t want to make any decisions before we bring the chief in on this,” Lassiter said. “She’s the one who’s going to have to take the heat, so she’ll have to let us know how she wants us to play it. But it’s safe to say that this is no longer a case for a retired cop-or the Foot Patrol.”

“But justice is supposed to be blind,” Rasmussen said. “ ‘As officers of the law we’re supposed to follow the case wherever it takes us, without fear or favor.’ ”

“It’s a nice thought,” Henry said. “Too bad we all have to grow up sometime.”

Henry climbed in his car and drove away. The last thing he saw in his rearview was Rasmussen staring after him, looking like he was going to cry.