“The request for Casey’s records is pretty tight,” Max noted. “He’s a suspect in Julia’s murder. We’ve got his lawyer telling us he’s in this study, and we’ve got the shrink telling us that manic depression could be relevant to both the murder and his disposition on the night of the arrest.”
Rogan slapped his palms and then rubbed them together. “All right, then. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“But you’re also looking for Brandon Sykes’s records.”
“And we’ve got it all spelled out here.” Ellie reached around Max for the keyboard and scrolled down to the relevant paragraphs of the affidavit. “If Brandon lied to get into the study, then we need to know that before you put him on the stand. Conversely, if he is manic-depressive, then Bolt says it’s possible he’d be more likely to lie to us. It’s relevant either way. We lay that all out here.”
“Except the records won’t actually tell us if he lied to get into the study. We don’t even know if he’s in the study. It might be too tangential. And if the judge thinks we haven’t done our work on the Sykes part of the warrant, he might ding us on the request for Casey’s records, too. I don’t think we can risk it.”
“So what choice do we have?”
“Talk to Brandon Sykes first, just to be safe. At least see what he says, so I don’t look like an idiot when the judge asks me.”
Ellie looked at her watch. “It’s already seven o’clock. Unless Bolt takes appointments on the graveyard shift, we won’t get to Brandon and a judge and to Bolt’s office tonight. You only have four more days before the clock runs out on Casey’s hold.”
“I know, but if I go to a judge now and get slammed, it’ll be even worse. Go find Brandon.”
Chapter Forty
Chung Mei Ri was not happy to see them.
Even when Gundley’s people had stormed into Promises with Casey to search his room, Ms. Ri had been exceedingly polite to Rogan and Ellie, despite her displeasure. She offered them coffee and joked that they worked even longer days than she did. She also told them they were wrong about Casey. She insisted that this was all a misunderstanding and that they would see they were mistaken. But she maintained the same calm voice and warm smile throughout the encounter.
Today, though, something had changed at the Promises Center for Young Adults. Same welcoming glass atrium. Same girl with the pink mohawk stationed out front. Same Ms. Ri charging into the lobby with her no-frills suit and black stockings. But this time there was no warm smile. And the calm voice had been replaced by a low hiss.
“I tried to tell you. I tell you that Casey is innocent. I tell you I know he could not hurt a flea.” What had been a faint accent grew stronger as she seethed. “I also tell you about Brandon Sykes and Vonda Smith. I do not like to say bad things about the people we are helping here. It goes against everything we stand for. But I did it. I told you about them so you would know not to trust them.”
“We’re still looking at the case, Ms. Ri. The DA’s office has a few days before convening a grand jury. That’s why we’re here to talk to Brandon. We’re still gathering information.”
“Thanks to you, there is no Brandon. There is no Vonda or Brandon or Casey.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Ms. Ri.”
“What were you thinking, giving them that kind of money?”
“We didn’t give them anything. Julia Whitmire’s parents—”
She waved an irritated hand at them. “You, the parents. You work together. What were you thinking? I turned her away last night because she causes so many problems. Then today he comes back and takes all of his things.”
Ellie was having a hard time following her from one sentence to the next. “Brandon left because Vonda couldn’t stay here?”
“I don’t know if that was his reason or not. But ten thousand dollars to two drug-addicted children? He says he doesn’t need to be here anymore.”
“Who said that? You mean Brandon?”
“Yes. Brandon. They got their reward money. They’re gone, Detectives. He said they were going west. Until they shoot up all of that money or die, they’re gone. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”
Chapter Forty-One
Four days later . . .
“Are you two okay with this?”
“Yes,” Rogan said. “No question. Absolutely. Sí. Oui. We are totally down.”
Max had asked them the same question three different ways already. Ellie cut in before her partner could continue with his list. “I think what Rogan’s trying to say, Max, is that we can’t recall having an ADA be so concerned with what we thought about a charging decision.”
“And I can’t recall ever having two detectives who were so peachy keen about springing a suspect loose from custody.”
“This case was a no-go from the very beginning,” Rogan said. “This whole mess with Casey is all that damn Bill Whitmire’s fault. You best be boycotting his records from now on, woman.”
“Request noted,” Ellie said. Bill Whitmire had sabotaged their investigation. He had been the one to wave that exorbitant award money around. He had been the one to hire Earl Gundley, the private investigator whose team had taken Casey into custody. They still weren’t entirely sure what Gundley’s people had done, but Gundley had since admitted some of his tactics might have been “aggressive.”
It was a mess.
The tipping point had come when Casey had volunteered for a polygraph over the weekend and passed it.
Granted, the test results were inadmissible. And knowledgeable experts could assure them that well-versed liars can beat the machine.
But then they’d met the previous night with the Whitmires to detail the status of the case. Although Max said he could probably get a murder charge against Casey through the grand jury, he explained why he would never be able to prove the case beyond a reasonable doubt at trial. Casey had a key to the apartment, but there was no evidence he had used it that night. Vonda Smith and Brandon Sykes were gone, and there was no guarantee they’d be found before trial. And on top of it all, there would be no shortage of red herrings a good defense lawyer like Chad Folger could use at triaclass="underline" the possibility (probability, in Ellie’s view) that Julia had in fact committed suicide; Casey’s diagnosis as bipolar and his use of an experimental treatment; and evidence that Julia had been threatening her friend’s mother, perhaps with a still-unidentified accomplice who continued to harass the woman. Plus, Max had added, there were the troublesome polygraph results.
At Max’s mention of the poly, Ellie had known immediately that something wasn’t right.
Bill looked huge on the tiny settee in the Whitmires’ living room, his feet crossed at the ankles like a child. He stared at his hands, planted on his knees, and did not look up when he finally spoke. “I was only trying to help.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Max had asked.
“I was trying to help.”
Ellie couldn’t hold her tongue. “Like you helped by paying Vonda and Brandon before trial, even though we specifically warned you against it?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I was—oh my God, are you telling me I may have been wrong?”
She’d wanted to scream at him. Of course what he did was wrong. But that is not what he meant.
“I was so sure she did it. This fucked-up girl who thinks she’s a boy had a key to our house, and two of her friends told us she did it. I was so sure. Damn it, I screwed this up. I told Gundley to do what he had to do. That’s what I told him, exactly: ‘to do whatever you have to do.’ ”