Chapter Eight
In Hallie’s mind, the similarities between the two alleged carjackings and the fact that Eckhart’s killers were still at large led her to believe that the unsubs could be one and the same.
This possibility notwithstanding, she didn’t reject at all the likelihood that Eckhart’s suspected involvement in public corruption led to his death, as Cooper Reid contended.
On the contrary, Hallie had every reason to think that the carjackers had executed Eckhart in cold blood as hired assassins.
And it was all but certainly related to the building inspector’s assumed criminal activities.
But that didn’t mean that the carjackers might not have targeted someone else—either related to the Eckhart homicide case or as a separate, unrelated carjacking.
Hallie, who was behind the wheel of her SUV, sighed and said, “It boggles the mind how these people continually see themselves as above the law when deciding to break it.”
Robyn, who sat in the passenger seat, was thirty-five, short and slender, with brown hair in a cropped pixie cut and blue eyes.
She responded tonelessly, “Most people who take that path seem convinced that it can be worth their while and they can get away with the crime—till proven otherwise. If that happens to be the case.”
“Let’s hope it turns out that way here,” Hallie said. “And if the perps happen to be the same ones responsible for Horace Eckhart’s murder—and we take them into custody—all the better. Including for the Feds, who will want their crack at them too.”
Robyn ran a hand through her hair. “They’ll have to wait their turn. First, we need to catch the unsubs of the latest carjacking.”
That Hallie agreed with. She increased her speed before they reached the spot where the female victim waited for their arrival.
“Let’s see what she has to say,” Hallie muttered under her breath, after parking. They exited the vehicle and spoke briefly with the first responder, Officer Chad Hassler.
“Looks like a typical carjacking in this city,” he said, yawning.
Robyn told him humorlessly, “Looks can be deceiving.”
Chad nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“We’ll get back to you on that,” Hallie told him. She and Robyn approached a petite Asian woman in her fifties, with short and feathered brunette hair, wearing round eyeglasses. Hallie asked, “Are you Dora Nguyen?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice quivering.
“I’m Detective Flores and this is Detective Henstridge,” Hallie told her. “You want to tell us what happened?”
Dora sucked in a deep breath and answered, ill at ease, “As I told the officer, after leaving that shop—” she pointed at a boutique “—I was about to get into my car, when two men approached me. They were carrying handguns and demanded I give them my car keys…or they would shoot me…” She drew a breath. “I did as they asked—”
That was a smart choice, Hallie told herself. She gazed at the victim, who looked shaken but otherwise unharmed, but asked to be sure, “Did they hurt you?”
Dora replied, “No. But they took my car—a Genesis GV80 Coupe—and left me without a way to get home.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Robyn assured her. “Can you describe the men who stole your vehicle, ma’am?”
“I never had the chance to get a good look at them,” she responded. “I was too scared. Just average-looking, I think.”
“So, their faces weren’t covered?” Hallie asked.
“No,” Dora told her.
Hmm, that doesn’t stack up to the men who carjacked and murdered Horace Eckhart while wearing ski masks covering their entire faces, Hallie thought. Had they changed their MO for a victim they considered too helpless or frightened to be able to identify them? “Were they wearing gloves?”
“I don’t think so,” Dora replied, giving Hallie reason to believe that the unsubs would leave behind fingerprints once the vehicle was located.
Robyn pressed her for more information on height, hair color, race or ethnicity. All Dora could say was that they were white, taller than her, and she thought that both had dark hair.
“Did they have another vehicle that one or the other drove?” Robyn asked.
Dora shook her head. “They were on foot when approaching me and taking my car.”
Hallie regarded her sympathetically, imagining the trauma she had been through in having guns put to her face. “We’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back,” she promised.
Shortly after they radioed in the info on the stolen luxury SUV, an automated license plate reader spotted the stolen vehicle a few blocks away. A nearby patrol car stopped it and officers placed the two occupants inside under arrest without incident.
Hallie and Robyn instructed Chad to get Dora home safely, and then they drove to the scene where the carjackers were being detained in the back of the white Chevrolet Tahoe patrol car.
It took only one look by Hallie at the slender suspects—one with a brown textured pompadour and the other with a black temple fade haircut—for her to realize, and verified by the arresting officers, that both suspects were juveniles.
Neither of them conformed to the surveillance video images of the unsubs who killed Horace Eckhart, then stole his BMW M8 Gran Coupe.
This told Hallie that they were looking at two different sets of carjackers—with the deadly culprits still very much on the loose.
COOPER WAS AT his desk when he got the call from Hallie Flores, informing him that a carjacking on North Second Street that she had suspected might have been perpetrated by the unsubs who carjacked and shot to death Horace Eckhart turned out to be a case of mistaken identity.
She based this on the physical description that had been ascertained of Eckhart’s killers versus the most recent carjacking.
Well, it was worth a shot, Cooper told himself, as he headed over to Amelia Touray’s office to brief her on the investigation.
Things weren’t exactly where he’d hoped they would be at this stage.
But then, he hadn’t counted on Eckhart being executed before he could answer to the bribery accusations.
Cooper was sure, though, that the building inspector had been in a world of trouble before his death and may have made matters worse by some of his decision-making toward the end. Which, more likely than not, seemed to be pivotal in his being snuffed out like a candle.
Relaying this to the special agent in charge, as well as the continued efforts by the Bureau and Hallie Flores to put the pieces together, Cooper finished with, “We’re working hard to see where this goes as a public corruption case that evolved into a homicide case.”
Sitting behind her desk, Amelia gazed at him on the other side of it, and said approvingly, “I know you are, Agent Reid. Obviously, Eckhart was up to no good and it very likely cost him his life.” She rested her chin on a hand.
“I realize that his murder seems to be related to the bribery investigation and real estate developments—with the carjacking a smoke screen—but what about his ex-wife? From what you tell me, there was no love lost there. Could she have maybe hired someone to do him in? Wouldn’t be the first time for delayed revenge where it concerned ex-intimates. ”
Cooper leaned forward and answered matter-of-factly, “Yeah, I have thought about that. I actually plan to pay the ex-missus a visit—if only to see if she can provide any background info on Eckhart or offer other relevant thoughts. As for this being a domestic murder-for-hire, that doesn’t seem probable at this point.
The ex-wife gained more by Eckhart staying alive and continuing to pay alimony than dying. But…you never know.”
“That’s what scares me,” Amelia told him. “Not knowing…but wanting this case put to rest, sooner than later.”
“I hear you.” Cooper got the message loud and clear. Get it done. Even if he had to step on a few toes to do so. He kept that in mind as he left her office and headed out to see Eckhart’s ex-wife.
It took only ten minutes for Cooper to reach the M.E.
Hair Salon on North Central Avenue in Uptown Phoenix, which was owned and operated by Maureen Eckhart.
After parking in the lot, he went inside the midsize salon and noted a few customers seated in front of picture windows, getting their hair done in one way, shape or another.
Likely in order to please someone—if not themselves—for the holidays.
A slender, tall woman in her forties—with honey-blond hair in a half-bouffant style and blue eyes behind wrap glasses—who was clearly orchestrating the work stepped toward Cooper and said in a friendly voice, “Greetings. How can we be of service to you?”
“Are you Maureen Eckhart?”
She tensed. “Yes.”
He showed her his identification without speaking aloud to alarm her employees or customers, but was sure she got the picture. “Is there somewhere that we can talk?”
Maureen nodded, then said calmly to her staff, as if they would be lost without her presence, “I’ll just be a minute.”
Cooper followed her through a back door into a small, cluttered office with contemporary furnishings.
Rounding on him, she asked contemplatively, “I’m assuming you’re here to ask me about my ex-husband, Horace?”
Cooper gave a nod. “That’s right. At the time of his death, he was under federal investigation for public corruption.”
Maureen pursed her lips. “I know. Aside from hearing about it on the news—though, honestly, it wasn’t too surprising—the police detective who came to see me mentioned this as a possible factor in the carjacking that she was investigating.”
“I’m working with Detective Flores to see if Horace Eckhart’s murder had anything to do with allegations of bribery,” Cooper said, peering at her. “So, why did it not come as a shock to you that your ex-husband was suspected of criminal misconduct?”