Dead Ringer (31 page)

She told him about the DVDs and the identification of Lupita Ruiz and Andy Baer as probable cause for a search warrant, specifically for Ditto’s records for the specimens used in Hong Kong and also for a wire on Ditto’s phones. What surprised Wendy was that after the initial surprise, Redwing didn’t hesitate.

Redwing asked, “You have the proper papers prepared?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll approve it, but I don’t think we can get a judge to sign off on this for another three days or so.”

Wendy shook her head. “I already have one available and ready to sign off. Judge Walker.”

Redwing didn’t seem happy to hear that, but agreed to move ahead with obtaining the warrant.

“W
HAT IS IT THIS
time, Detective?” Ditto stood next to the reception desk, the matronly receptionist busy at a computer monitor, as if this little drama weren’t happening.

Wendy handed him the warrant. “I want copies of the death certificates and all related paperwork for the four heads that were used in Hong Kong during the date in question.”

He smirked. “It would be my pleasure. Follow me.” He led her to his office, sat down at the computer.

Before he could even type a command, Wendy said, “Not electronically. I want to see the actual paper.”

Ditto smiled. “No problem.”

Wendy didn’t return the smile, just waited and watched, her mind sorting through the various scenarios that might be playing out. Ditto didn’t seem rattled at all, which could mean one of two things: he’d been tipped that the warrant was coming and switched papers. The second option was that she was completely wrong about his involvement in the missing women. She watched him at the filing cabinet, going through a drawer of hanging folders. He withdrew one and handed it to her.

“It’s all here. Should I have copies made for you, or do you wish to inspect them here?”

Wendy sat down and flipped through the file. Four death certificates. Four TSA and customs forms. The dates were correct. The seals looked valid. But the names on the death
certificates did not include Lupita Ruiz or Andy Baer. Interestingly, the donors’ names were not required on the TSA or customs forms.

Now what?
For several seconds she was frozen in place, her mind spinning.
Well, shit, anything can be faked
.

Validate the death certificates with the Department of Records
.

Wendy stood, said, “Copies of all four death certificates would be very helpful.”

Ditto held out his hand. “It will only take a minute. You may wait here.”

She didn’t hand the folder over. “I’ll go with you.”

“Not a problem.”

Wendy followed him into another room with a large copier.

“Here you go.” Ditto gave Wendy copies of the four death certificates. “I hope this satisfies you. But I must advise you that any future conversation
s
will be handled by my attorney. In addition, should you persist in these personal attacks against my integrity, you can expect to be sued for slander.”

The smug son of a bitch
. Wendy felt her face burn with anger.

Ditto added, “I don’t understand why you don’t like me, but obviously this crusade of yours has become personal. What exactly have I done to provoke this?”

Without answering, she turned and walked out.

Wendy opened the car door, threw the copies at Lucas before sliding into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. She
jabbed a finger at him. “Not a goddamn word. Let me cool off first.” Then she fired the ignition.

Lucas asked, “You okay to drive?”

Glaring, she spun around. “What’d I just say? Not a goddamn word.”

L
UCAS PICKED UP THE
scattered sheets of paper and shuffled through them. Death certificates. He looked for Andy’s name but didn’t see it. Nor did he see Lupita’s name. There were, however, two males and two females. The females’ ages were listed as forty-five and forty-nine. But there was no way the woman he saw in Hong Kong was over thirty-five.

“There must be some mistake” was all he could say.

“Only mistake I made was not shooting that smug, arrogant son of a bitch.” Wendy flipped a toggle to trigger blue flashers hidden behind the car grille. A siren screamed as she accelerated.

Lucas saw cars ahead pull to the side of the road. “Where we going?”

“To check the death certificates. All four are listed as King County deaths. I plan to cross-check every goddamn one.”

“The Department of Records?”

“Damn straight. If we can get there before the office closes.”

W
ENDY AND LUCAS SAT
side by side on hard oak chairs in front of a heavily smudged computer screen as Wendy typed in the password that would give them access to the electronic copies of the four death certificates.

The search field opened up and she said, “Okay, give me the first name.”

She entered it as he recited it. Then she asked for the date of death. Once these fields were filled in, she hit enter. A moment later a copy of the death certificate popped up. Field by field, they cross-checked the information. Everything matched.

They did the same thing for the second death certificate. Again, every data field matched.

All four certificates exactly matched those on file with King County.

Wendy sat back and shook her head. “They’re all valid death certificates.”

Lucas said, “But they’re just not the right ones for at least two people; Andy and Lupita.”

“Right. There’s just no way to prove that.”

L
UIS RUIZ POINTED AT
Wendy. “You said yourself he saw them in Hong Kong. No fucking way it’s not them.” He pointed at Lucas. “Fuck, you saw them on the video, right? His friend. Lupita. Saw them both.” Ruiz wore a glitter print hoodie over a red Chicago Bulls T-shirt, black Pelle Pelle jeans with legs bunched up over multicolor Adidas sneaks, and a gold chain fat enough to rig an 18-wheeler.

Wendy, Lucas, and Ruiz stood in an asphalt parking lot next to the alley that ran the length of the block, one of the few remaining downtown lots not yet converted into highrise condominiums. Small, just a half block in depth. The Alaskan Way Viaduct sliced under First Avenue to the north, cars shooting past into the Battery Street Tunnel. Rhythmic thumps vibrated through the wall of a hip-hop nightclub to the south. The alley door opened, casting a rectangle of yellow light into the alley as the music suddenly grew louder. Ruiz turned to look. The door closed again.

Ruiz’s two homies stood guard ten feet to either side of him, one watching the alley, the other with his eye on the street. The stink of urine and rotting garbage from the Dumpsters grew stronger, then eased each time the breeze picked up.

Wendy said, “I’m sorry I had to tell you she’s dead.”

“Fuck!”

She could hear the emotion in his voice. The two homies shifted weight uneasily and looked around as if embarrassed by it.

Ruiz said, “Tell me again what Ditto looked like when you asked him for the death certificates.”

On the drive here she debated how much to disclose. “He wasn’t surprised. He knew I was going to ask for it.”

“You mean, like, he has a source in the police department?”

“Obviously.”

Ruiz seemed to think that over, his rage barely contained. “Tell me again how we know those death certificates are real?”

“We checked.”

“Checked what? What’s to say the motherfucker’s not filling out counterfeit certificates? Man can put any name he wants on them. Yours, mine, his.” He pointed again at Lucas.

Wendy motioned for him to cool down. “Let me finish. See, that’s the thing. They
are
legit. All four of them. Each death was recorded here in the county. We checked the Department of Records. We put the certificates side by side and compared every damn detail. They’re exactly the same. What I’m telling you is, Ditto gave us copies of legitimate records.”

“You’re not listening, bitch. What I’m asking is, okay, sure those records may be copies, but how do you know for a fact those names are for people who died?”

Wendy lowered her voice, hoping maybe Ruiz would take the hint and pipe down too. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We checked. We looked up relatives for each one of those deaths and called them and verified the name of the person on the death certificate. And we got the same answer every time. They’re dead. Every damn one of them is dead. What’s more, all four died within the past couple months. From legitimate causes. There is no way we can say those records aren’t legitimate. They are.”

Ruiz walked a tight circle, pounding his palm with a fist. He stopped, glared at her. “If that’s true, how do you explain my sister showing up in Hong Kong?”

Wendy shrugged. “Same thing you’re thinking. The records lie. The records he showed us are legitimate, but they aren’t the records for the people in Hong Kong. That’s the only way it works. And it’s exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Well, then fucking do something about it. Don’t come tell me the investigation’s dead. Do your fucking job.”

“Believe me, I’m on it.”

“The fuck you are!”

I
T OCCURRED TO LUCAS
that maybe Elliott was trying to provoke Ruiz into doing something. Like maybe putting a .38 hollow point between Ditto’s eyes.

Shit, Lucas and Wendy both knew Ditto was involved in covering up Andy and Lupita’s deaths. They just couldn’t prove it. So maybe Elliott was trying for her own brand of justice. And it probably wasn’t the first time a cop assumed the role of judge and jury. The way Lucas felt about Ditto, it was definitely justified.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Elliott replied.

Ruiz fumed, shuffling his garish Adidas and kicking a discarded 40-ounce Coors, spinning it under a tricked-out Honda Civic. “Fuck, man, you got the video. That’s worth something.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“It shows the motherfucker’s lying.”

Elliott shook her head. “Tell me something I don’t know. Every one of us standing here knows that. That’s not the
problem. The problem is proving it. Sure, we can all look at the video and sign affidavits that two of the four specimens are from Lupita and Andy, but Ditto has the death certificates and paperwork for specimens that his man took through customs both here and in Hong Kong. Meaning, if it comes down to his word against ours, who will they believe? Him.”

“But—” Ruiz started to say.

She cut him off with, “Then there’s the issue of chain of evidence. More precisely, there is
no
chain of evidence. Any defense lawyer would blow that piece of evidence right out of the water. And before you ask, I already spoke with the prosecuting DA about it. When I described the situation, she just laughed and shook her head, said, ‘This is the digital age. You ought to know that. Anything can be morphed.’ Even a video. You can make anyone look like anyone you want. She wouldn’t even consider it sufficient evidence to have Andy declared legally dead.”

Ruiz kicked at the ground.

Elliott said, “Then there’s the whole other issue. To go after Ditto, I need to have a crime. What are we claiming Ditto’s guilty of? Lying? We have no evidence of murder.”

Ruiz fisted his palm again. “Fuck!”

Wendy glanced at Lucas, like she wanted him to say something supportive.

But what was there to say? Besides, he was trying to control his own rage at Ditto. For all the good that would do. Christ, talk about being impotent and useless.

Lucas said to Ruiz, “I feel your pain. I feel the same way. This isn’t over yet.” But in his heart he knew there was nothing left to do. It was over.

L
UCAS COULDN
’
T SLEEP
.

An hour ago he’d given up even trying and instead resigned himself to a night of tossing and turning until it became obvious there weren’t enough hours left to make sleep worthwhile even if it did come. At which point, he finally rolled out of bed and brewed a pot of coffee.

Insomnia happened occasionally the nights before an extremely difficult case. He’d lie in bed mentally working through the surgery, trying to anticipate each move, along with problems that could arise. The approach, the dissection plane, the three-dimensional configuration of the tumor, the location of vital structures in relation to where his instruments were. If his patients ever had an inkling of how sleep deprived he sometimes was by the start of their surgery, they’d be horrified.

All night he ruminated on Ditto and how he had gotten away with murder. Maybe Ditto didn’t actually kill Andy and Lupita, but he certainly had disposed of their bodies in spite of what the records showed. How did Ditto do that?

After pouring a cup of black coffee, he trudged to his study, dropped heavily into the desk chair. On a pad of yellow legal paper, he jotted down every fact he could dredge from memory about DFH and Ditto. Every word Gerhard had said, as well as other bits of information from Wendy and her visit with the anatomy professor at the med school.

As he worked, an idea niggled at him. It didn’t come from anything one person had said; rather, it formed from an amalgamation of facts that coalesced into one thought.

Holy shit!
For a stunned moment he sat and wondered how he’d missed it. Excited, he reached for the phone.

“Wendy. Lucas.” He paced the second-floor hall, phone tight against his ear, thinking through how Ditto might have worked it.

“What’s wrong?” Even coming right out of sleep, she sounded concerned.

“I’ve been thinking.” He realized it was past two in the morning. “Sorry to wake you,” he said, returning to the desk with the pad of legal paper in front of him. “But remember the conversation you had with the professor at the UW?”

“Boynton. Yeah. What about him?”

“Didn’t he say something about wondering how Ditto could get enough material to meet demand?”