CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was a scene with which Kate was familiar.
She’d been on both sides of this coin. Before she ever heard about Elijah Cox or the commandment killings, she had fixated on her father’s murder, going days without sleeping or showering, sometimes without eating, consumed with her desire to bring his killer to justice.
Her apartment had been filled with notes, clippings, scrawled speculations, sometimes just scrawls that made little sense to anyone.
It had come to the point where her mother worried that she was losing her mind. She wasn’t completely wrong.
Rachel Hartwell appeared to have a slightly better handle on herself, but only slightly better.
Her obsession with justice extended beyond Hammond and Santos.
She had files on dozens of defendants: acquitted, dismissed, commuted, or otherwise spared the fall of justice’s hammer.
The level of detail was impressive, worthy of any of the case files Kate had compiled over her career in the Bureau.
But the brightest stars in Hartwell’s constellation were undoubtedly Hammond and Santos.
The papers she was trying to shred included multiple pictures of both victims, their homes, and their workplaces.
Files detailing nearly every aspect of their lives since their acquittals filled the bottom drawer of Hartwell’s desk.
The door to the office opened while Kate was examining an account of Michelle Santos’s employment history with Midwest Regional, looking for clues that could demonstrate that Hartwell was using this information to assist her in her desire to enact the justice that the system had denied years ago.
Marcus stepped inside, carrying two water bottles.
He handed Kate one, popped the top of the other one, and drank deeply.
“How’d it go?” Kate asked. Marcus had gone to the station with Hartwell for the initial interview.
Marcus shrugged. “Lawyer got there two minutes after we did. Blustered about illegal search and seizure but stopped when we showed him the warrant. Wouldn’t let us talk to her.
Said his client issued two statements: one, she’s innocent, and two, while she was passionate about achieving justice for the victims, she fervently believed that violence was never the answer. ”
“Did she explain the files?”
“No. She posted bail but agreed to stay in town. I figure once we go through these, we can bring her in again and force a real interrogation.”
“It’s not going to do much if she’s lawyered up.”
“Maybe, maybe not. We can play it as a chance to be a martyr. Tell the world all about how she sacrificed her freedom and her soul to achieve justice. She wants that. She’s left you two very detailed notes about how much she wants it.”
Kate frowned. “So, you’re sure it’s her?”
Marcus looked at her. “You’re not?”
She leaned back and folded her arms. On the desk were two stacks of papers detailing Hartwell’s notes on Hammond’s and Santos’s habits. On her computer were organized records of their activities with headings labeled PROOF and SUSPICION.
“I’m sure she wanted to bring them to justice. I’m not sure she wanted to do so violently.”
“And she just happened to have the murder weapon hanging above her desk?”
“Did it come back positive for signs of blood?”
“Well, no, but cleaning chemicals are a thing.”
“Did it come back for cleaning chemicals?”
Marcus frowned. “Not all of them leave a residue.”
“True,” Kate admitted.
Marcus sighed. “But?”
“But look at this.”
She opened another desk drawer and pulled out a Moleskine notebook. The interior was filled with entries detailing Hartwell’s grief over the results of the Santos and Hammond trials and her desire for justice to be served.
“Check this out: ‘If only I’d done more. If only I’d fought harder.
If only I’d brought more convincing evidence.
It’s out there, I know it is. I just have to keep looking.
I’ll find it. The truth will out. I’ll find proof that Maricela Santana and Derek Hammond are murderers.
I’ll bring them the justice they deserve. ’”
Marcus sighed again and crossed his arms. “Okay, I think I see where you’re going with this. You think this supports her claim that she’s trying to do this the right way and bring them to justice through the system, not take it into her own hands.”
“All of the entries are like this,” Kate said. “Blaming herself for the results of the case, committing to finding the truth, promising that the victims’ families will see justice served.”
“From one perspective, they did.”
“Yes, but is it Hartwell’s perspective?”
Marcus unfolded his arms and planted them on his hips.
He stared at the shredder and the scattering of photographs in front of it.
“We’ve got clear evidence of obsession with the victims. We’ve got the murder weapon.
We’ve got a terrified suspect hiding behind a lawyer.
I’m having a really hard time thinking of ways Hartwell isn’t our guy. Or girl. You know what I mean.”
“I do, and she could be, but I don’t know that for sure. There are no references to the commandments anywhere in these files. No Bible verses anywhere.”
“She could have kept them out of her writings because she knew it would incriminate her if she wrote about that here.”
“But the dozens of photographs and the stalker files wouldn’t? And there’s nothing to suggest a connection with Cox. She didn’t seem to know anything about him.”
“And there it is. That’s the real issue, isn’t it?”
“It’s a real issue, Marcus.”
“But not always. Not in every case. Kate, Elijah Cox is in solitary confinement in a maximum-security prison. He can’t talk to anyone.
He can’t call them. he can’t write them, he can’t see them.
He’s as locked up as it’s possible to be.
He’s been plucked out of his spiderweb and put in a concrete box. He’s done.”
“He’s not done. He won’t be done until he’s finished with me, and he’s not finished with me.”
“Is he not finished with you, or are you not finished with him?”
Kate’s nostrils flared. She glared at her partner, but he held her gaze, not backing down an inch.
His insistence that she was just being paranoid reminded her of her conversation with Gabe in his office a few days ago.
This was one of the few times she could guarantee she wasn’t obsessed with Cox.
She knew he was involved because he had to be.
This case had commandment killings written all over it. It had to be him.
A tiny voice in the back of her head asked if it really had to be him. And hadn’t she thought just a few hours ago that it very well might not be him? That Hartwell might be acting on her own?
She looked away. “No Bible verses, no reference to Cox or the commandments, and no stenography. I’m not giving up on her as a suspect, I just don’t want to throw all of our eggs into that basket yet.”
“But you’ll throw them into Cox’s basket?”
“Jesus Christ.” Kate threw her hands into the air. “Marcus, have I ever been wrong about Cox’s involvement?”
Marcus looked away. “Not… exactly.”
“Right. I’ve been wrong about what he’s planning, how he hopes to achieve it, and who he’s using, but I’ve never been wrong when I’ve looked at a case and determined that he’s involved.
I… accept that it’s possible that this killer is independent.
But I find it very unlikely. And before we tell Winters—and our victims loved ones—that we’ve caught our killer and solved this case, I want real proof.
All of this?” She gestured around the room.
“Is circumstantial. It’s not enough. That’s all I’m saying. ”
Marcus looked down at his chest, lips pursed. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth. Closed it again. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Fair enough. We need more. So where do we go? How do we find more?”
“We get a warrant for Hartwell’s apartment first and foremost. I’m sure she’s been home, and we’ll probably find no evidence left, but we’ll give it a shot.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Actually, I want you to delegate that to the police. I want you and me to follow up on another possible suspect.”
“Another suspect? You don’t think we should finish with the suspect we have?”
“I think we stay in process with her while pursuing other leads. I just really don’t like the lack of commandments anywhere in this office. She doesn’t even have a pocket Bible.”
“Maybe we’ll find one at her apartment. Or maybe you were right earlier when you theorized the Bible was just ancillary, and she was probably Googling verses on her phone when she was inscribing the ciphers.”
“Maybe. I just really hate the word maybe.”
He chuckled, and his lips spread into a smile. “Yeah. Me too.” He sighed and lifted his smile to meet her face. “Okay. What’s the other suspect you have?”
Kate pulled one of the files unrelated to Hammond and Santos and set it on the desk. “Julia Whitmore. Murdered five years ago. She was abducted on her way to her dorm room. Her body was found in the Chicago River, naked and… Well, the details aren’t important.”
Marcus scoffed. “Lovely. Let me guess. Killer got away.”
“Yes. Leroy Washington’s DNA matched that found on the victim. Unfortunately, it was obtained without his consent and without a warrant when the police raided his trash can and got it off a takeout box.”
“And because it was on his property and not in public, it was deemed inadmissible,” Marcus guessed.
“Exactly. Enter James Whitmore. According to Hartwell’s file on Julia, Mr. Whitmore—her older brother—went ballistic. Ended up doing six months for aggravated with a deadly when he jumped Leroy Washington with a tire iron.”
“Ouch. That could have been attempted murder.”
“That’s what he was charged with. He plead down.”
“Okay. But why would he go after a guy who offed his business partner and a woman who killed her mother? Allegedly, of course.”
“So, I looked him up,” Kate said, showing Marcus her phone.
He took it and read aloud. “Justice For Julia. Advocating for Victims of Miscarriages of Justice.”
“Click on Julia’s Blog and read the first post.”
He did, and his eyes widened when he read James’s words celebrating the deaths of their victims and claiming the killer was an instrument of God’s justice. “Why didn’t you start with this when I walked in?”
“I was still deciding if I thought it was worth pursuing or not. I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“Talk it over? I suggested you were wrong about Hartwell, and you nearly bit my ear off.”
She grinned. “Sometimes I need you to tell me I’m wrong. It makes me desperate to prove you wrong.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do me a favor. Be a little less like Cheryl.”
Kate flushed and for one of the very few times with Marcus had no idea what to say. He turned beet red himself and cleared his throat. “Okay. Yeah, let’s go talk to Whitmore.”
“Call about the search warrant for Hartwell’s apartment first,” Kate said.
“I’ll call on the way.”
They left the office for Whitmore’s apartment in nearby Lincoln Park.
Kate’s heart wanted to linger on Marcus’s comment about Cheryl, but her mind knew she needed to keep her focus on the case.
They were orbiting the answer now, but their orbit was fragile.
Focus, and they would find their landing spot.
Lose focus, and they would be flung into outer space.
And their killer would continue to take God’s judgment into their hands.