“You don’t know what desperation is,” Rachel said. “Desperation is seeing the police department investigating the wrong person while a killer walks freely.”
“We have three people in custody, all of whom had a hand in the fraud perpetrated on Constance Wright. Nicholas Drummond, Samuel Wickersham, and Louis Magursky. Maybe you’re telling the truth, and you’re innocent of wrongdoing. But those three are not. Bottom line is we’re getting justice for Constance.”
“You haven’t charged any of those three with Wright’s murder.”
“Yet,” George clarified.
“Serrano was passed over for sergeant personally by Constance Wright,” Rachel said. “After his son died. He told me.”
George shook his head. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “And to be honest, I think the mayor made the right call. We nearly had to boot John from the force, his drinking got so bad. I’d never wish what happened to him on anybody. But I have a department to run and a hundred and twenty law enforcement officers under my command.”
“Serrano blamed Constance Wright for being passed over. He believes that promotion is the one thing that could have helped him move on from the loss of his son. He never forgot and never forgave. That’s motive right there, Lieutenant. And Constance was a much easier target as a civilian.”
George furrowed his brow and sawed his teeth back and forth, like he was chewing on an undercooked piece of meat. Rachel could tell he was being persuaded.
“I remember when Evan died,” George said softly. “I’ve seen humanity at its best and worst. But I’ve never seen the light leave a man’s eyes like it did John’s after Evan passed. That boy was his world.”
He paused.
“I don’t know if that promotion would have led John down a different path. Maybe, maybe not. But the man went through some dark times after his promotion was rejected.”
“And if he was ever going to get back at her for it,” Rachel said, “he knew he’d be better off waiting until she was out of the public eye. And given her personal and professional implosion, her suicide would seem understandable.”
“I have no reason to believe you or to trust you,” George said.
“But you’re still here.”
George said nothing. “I’ll look into it. But this will need to be treated very delicately. John and Leslie are good detectives. And they’ve both been with the department long enough to know when something is out of whack. You can’t tell anybody what you’ve told me today.”
“My lips are sealed. As long as you actually begin an investigation,” Rachel said. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours. If I don’t hear from you on any movement on Serrano . . .” She waved her cell phone threateningly.
“You are a piece of work, Ms. Marin,” George said. “But like you said, I can’t potentially have a killer under my nose and expect people to pull a lever for me come Election Day.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I just want justice for Constance Wright.”
“So do I,” he said. “She was a spectacular woman and a good mayor. And I’m glad the monsters who ruined her are going to rot.”
“Me too,” Rachel said. “For what it’s worth, you have my vote.”
He smiled. The lieutenant’s eyes were a sparkling blue, the color of a lake on a sunny day, and the crow’s feet on either side made him look distinguished.
He’ll win, she thought. Men who look like that and have a good head on their shoulders don’t lose elections.
“I need to be going,” George said.
“My kids will be home soon too. Don’t need them asking why another cop is in our home.”
George stood up. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you. Serrano and Tally pick up scents quickly, and they could catch a whiff of this if you call the station again.”
“You got it.”
“Mind if I use your bathroom before I go?”
“Sure.” Rachel pointed him to the bathroom down the hall. She hoped he wouldn’t judge the dirty children’s clothes overflowing from the hamper. Doing laundry for two children was a Sisyphean task.
When she heard the bathroom door close, Rachel went to the closet and took the lieutenant’s coat out for him. She could smell a faint whiff of eau de toilette—Yves Saint Laurent, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Out of habit, Rachel felt the inside pocket of George’s jacket pocket. A pen, a crumpled dry cleaning bill, and a parking stub. Nothing more. Then she checked the outer pockets.
One pocket had nothing. The other held a plastic bag with something blue inside. She took out the bag, unzipped it, and removed the items.
And her heart skipped a beat.
Her mind went back to the night she’d waited outside of Stanford Royce’s house. Before approaching his front door, she’d slipped on a pair of blue plastic shoe covers so as not to leave any imprints in the dirt.
The Ziploc bag contained a pair of the same type of shoe covers she had worn, coated in melted snow and caked in dirt.
Before she could turn around, Rachel felt a shockingly strong arm wrap itself around her chest and then a stinging sensation as a syringe was plunged into her neck.
“You had the wrong cop,” he said as Rachel’s world spun into black.
CHAPTER 40
John Serrano had a six-pack of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA waiting for him in the fridge at home. It had taken a long time to get control of his life to the point where a six-pack wouldn’t turn into a twelve-pack and then into a case and then a bottle of Jim Beam. Besides, sitting in his old maroon La-Z-Boy downing a few cold ones and a bag of pretzels while watching a movie was the perfect way to end a long day. He was in the mood for something a little old school. Maybe Stand by Me or Gremlins. He was leaning toward Gremlins. A very underrated Christmas movie. Gremlins and beer. A light snow was falling. It was a beautiful early evening, and he couldn’t wait to get home and let the day slide away.
His head was swirling after the talk with Bacik and the confrontation with Rachel. There was something dark in her past she was trying desperately to conceal, but he had a hard time believing she was capable of murder. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe what she could be capable of.
Serrano had pulled into his driveway and was opening the car door when his cell phone rang. Speak of the devil.
The Caller ID read Rachel Marin.
Serrano swiped to answer the call. “Rachel. I’m guessing you want to talk about today.”
“Detective Serrano?”
It wasn’t Rachel. Serrano recognized Eric Marin’s voice.
“Eric?”
“Detective Serrano, hi.”
“Eric, is everything OK?”
“I don’t know. I’m at home with Megan, and our mom isn’t here.”
A knot tied itself in Serrano’s gut.
“What do you mean? Tell me what’s going on, exactly.”
“The school bus dropped me off at home about two hours ago. Megan was sitting on the front step, alone. She said Mom wasn’t answering the door. I have a key, so I let us in. But our mom isn’t here. I don’t know where she is. This has never happened before.”