Silent Witness (2 page)
Detective Lieutenant Kate McConnell of the Salt Lake City Police Department Homicide unit was attending a retirement party for one of her colleagues in a Park City restaurant when the call came. She had planned to spend the rest of the evening at the home of her boyfriend, Sam Kincaid. So much for the best laid plans.
She and Sam had become involved after having been thrown together in a high visibility murder investigation six months earlier. Like her, he was a cop and a damned good one. Kincaid managed a unit within the Utah Department of Corrections called the Special Investigations Branch (SIB).
The SIB was a small, covert organization that operated out of offices at the state prison. They were responsible for gathering intelligence information about the activities of inmates inside the prison as well as parolees in the community. The unit also investigated allegations of employee misconduct and served as an important liaison to state and local law enforcement agencies. Sam reported directly to the executive director of the department and was required to maintain offices at both the state prison and at department headquarters in Salt Lake City.
The dispatcher gave her only the basics. “DL1, see the officers at the parking garage, 220 East, 300 South. Unknown white male reported down at that location.”
“Ten-four.” A parking garage in downtown Salt Lakeâprobably a mugging gone bad, she thought.
By the time she arrived, the area had been cordoned off and the forensics team was busy at work. The victim, a middle-aged male, had been stabbed and bludgeoned to death.
“What have you got, Rob?”
“Not a hell of a lot so far, Lieutenant,” replied Sergeant Rob Porter, supervisor of the CSI team. “The vic never made it home from work. Somebody at his house reported him missing. The uniforms started looking for him at his accounting office in the Towers. When they couldn't locate him, they backtracked here where they found him lying next to his car. The EMTs hustled him to the hospital, but I'm afraid it was too late.”
There was blood everywhere. Almost to herself, Kate said, “God, what a mess.”
“You're right about that, Lieutenant,” said Porter, glancing around the concrete floor. “Stab wounds and blunt force trauma always seem to produce the biggest bleeders.”
“For sure. Did anybody report seeing anything?”
“Not that we know of. The garage attendant saw the victim enter but doesn't recall seeing him leave. Of course, that's because he didn't leave. The attendant is a college kid who, I'm guessing, doesn't pay much attention to the comings and goings of this place. Nobody's taken a formal statement from himâfigured you'd probably want to do that.”
“Yeah, I'll talk to him. Any evidence left lying aroundâlike maybe the perp's wallet with a picture ID and a current address?”
Porter smiled, “Afraid not, Kate. One of the EMT's mentioned blunt force trauma to the back of the victim's head and a jagged stab wound in the chest area. We haven't found any physical evidence here consistent with those types of wounds. We did find the victim's wallet dumped on the next aisle over, minus credit cards and cash. We'll process the wallet for latent prints as well as his Passat.”
“Okay. Have your people conduct a thorough search of every floor of the garage. Also have them canvass a two block area in every direction. There's an alley immediately east of us with a couple of dumpsters. Search those as well. If you need more help, call in the uniforms.”
“Will do.”
“By the way, who is our victim?”
Porter reached for his clip board. “Driver's license identified him as Arnold Ginsberg, white male, age forty-four.”
Kate looked puzzled. “That name sounds familiar to me, but I can't place it. Has anybody run him through records?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Porter.
McConnell radioed the dispatch-records office and ran Ginsberg's name through the system. Before dispatch could respond, it came to her. Why hadn't she remembered? Arnold Ginsberg was a witness in the upcoming trial of rogue, polygamist leader Walter Bradshaw. In fact, Bradshaw was scheduled for a preliminary hearing in the next few days. She'd heard that from members of the homicide team who'd handled the original investigation. Ginsberg's murder might have been a coincidence, but McConnell didn't much believe in coincidences.
A chilling thought entered her mind. There had been another witness in this case, a female college student from the University of Utah. When records came back confirming Ginsberg's status as a witness in the case, Kate also asked for the name of the second witness and her home address.
A patrol sergeant, Dennis Martinez, met Kate at Robin Joiner's home. It was an older apartment complex about a mile south and west of the university campus. Joiner occupied a ground floor unit that had a covered patio and a sliding door at the rear. Kate sent Martinez behind the apartment to cover the patio exit while she approached the front door. She saw it immediately. The door had fresh pry marks dug into the wood around the lock. Somebody had used a screwdriver or pry bar to jimmy the lock. Kate drew her nine millimeter, quietly turned the door knob, and pushed open the front door. She paused momentarily. The apartment was dark and quiet.
“Hello, Salt Lake City Police.”
Silence.
She slipped into the apartment and turned on the light in the hallway. She moved quickly through the living room, opened the drapes, and unlocked the sliding patio door. A cursory search of the apartment failed to turn up any sign of Robin Joiner. Equally disturbing, it was clear that the apartment had been tossed. Drawers in the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom had been pulled open, and the contents dumped on the floor. Somebody was obviously looking for something.
“What do you make of this, Lieutenant?”
Martinez was standing in the small kitchen looking into a round fruit bowl on the dining room table containing two overly ripe bananas in it. On top of the bananas was a hand-printed note. It read:
I'M LOOKING FOR YOU AND I WILL FIND YOU
.
“I haven't a clue, Sergeant, but let's not touch it. I'd like you to sit tight for a few minutes. I'm going to request a forensics team and see if I can locate an on-site apartment manager. Maybe the manager will be able to tell us something about the whereabouts of Ms. Joiner.”
“Okay.”
Outside McConnell found an âapartment manager' sign stuck in the front lawn with an arrow pointing south to an adjacent building. She located a woman who was just putting the finishing touches on a lease agreement with a new tenant. When she finished, Kate introduced herself and flashed credentials.
“Sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for the tenant in apartment number 106. Robin Joiner is her name.”
“I haven't seen Robin for the past couple of days but that's not unusual. Is everything okay?”
“I hope so, but we're not sure. Does Robin rent the unit by herself or does she have a roommate?”
“The lease is in Robin's name only, no roommate as far as I know.”
“How about friends? Do you have any idea who she hangs out with?”
“That's almost impossible to keep track of. Most of our tenants are students attending Westminster College or the University of Utah. We've got people coming and going at all hours of the day and night all the time.”
“Do you recall ever seeing her with anyone?”
She paused. “Come to think of it, I guess I have seen Robin a time or two, mostly with young women I assumed were her friends, probably students. But I don't have any names for you. Sorry. Can I ask what this is about?”
“Robin is a witness in a case of ours. I just need to ask her a few questions. How about boyfriends? Anybody come to mind?”
Another pause. “Yeah, one guy a few times. Never met him though. I'm sorry that I'm not being more helpful.”
“That's okay. You're doing the best you can. Do you think you could describe the boyfriend for me?”
“Sure. He was a cute guy, tall, maybe six-two, six-three, slim build, sandy hair, fair complexion.”
“About how old?”
“I'd say early twenties.”
“Thanks. Would you happen to know what kind of vehicle she drives?”
She smiled. “I can help you with that one. It's an older, red, subcompact, a Honda, I think, but let me check her lease application.” It turned out to be a 98 Honda Civic with Nevada plates. On her way back to the apartment, Kate checked the parking lot. No sign of the car.
McConnell didn't like the feel of any of this. Could Robin Joiner have suffered the same fate as Arnold Ginsberg? The note left in her apartment gave Kate hope that the intruders hadn't found Joiner, at least not yet. But where could she be? It had Walter Bradshaw's name written all over it, yet he was sitting in a cell at the Utah State Prison.
Kate reached for her cell phone and made two calls. The first brought a crime scene unit to Robin Joiner's apartment. The second call went to the home of Sam Kincaid.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when I heard the phone ring. I couldn't get it, but I knew Aunt June would. It was the third consecutive night that I hadn't been able to get my nine-year-old daughter, Sara, settled down in bed. Since the traumatic events surrounding members of the Commission five months earlier, things in our home had not been the same. The incident traumatized Sara beyond anything I could have imagined. Most nights she wanted to sleep with either me or Aunt June. Putting her to bed alone required leaving the bedroom light on and was usually accompanied by stalling and lots of tears. I had her back in weekly counseling sessions with a child psychologist.
Aunt June handed me the phone. “It's Kate.”
“We missed you tonight. Is everything okay?”
She sighed. “Sorry I couldn't make it. Homicides never seem to happen at convenient times anymore.”
“Ain't that the truth. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Be careful what you wish for, but, as a matter of fact, there is. I've got a disturbing murder, maybe two, and I think they might be connected to Walter Bradshaw.”
“Hmm. In what way?”
“I don't know whether you remember the witnesses from the armored car robbery and murderâthere were two. Tonight we found one of them murdered. We can't find the other one, and it looks like her apartment has been tossed.”
“That's not good, but I can't say I'm surprised. With the other family members still at large, and the old man in prison, it stands to reason that they might try something.”
“That's exactly what I've been thinking. Maybe we should have anticipated that something like this might happen and taken steps to protect those witnesses.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself, Kate. Nobody could have predicted this. Let's just hope the second witness is still alive and you can find her before they do.”
Kate paused. “You mean I better hope the second witness is still alive and WE can find her before they do.”
“Now I get it. You'll have to pardon me. I can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”
“I've noticed.”
I laughed. “Don't be a smart ass, particularly when you've got your hand out asking for help.”
Her turn to laugh. “Good point. Walter's preliminary hearing is scheduled for the day after tomorrow.”
“I'm aware of that. We've been asked to lean on every snitch in the joint to see if anybody has heard any scuttlebutt about the whereabouts or intentions of the rest of the Bradshaw clan. Prisoner transportation and courtroom security are top priorities right now.”
“Learn anything from your snitches?”
“Lot's of rumors, but so far, nothing reliable. The most consistent story we're hearing is that the family split and has gone into hiding somewhere in southern Utah, along the Arizona strip. But I don't put much credence in that.”
“Because?”
“First, consider the source. The inmate rumor mill is rife with misinformation. Besides, I just don't believe that the Bradshaw family is willing to abandon the prophet to whatever fate awaits him, which might well be a date with the executioner.”
“Makes sense,” said Kate. “You think they're unwilling to put Bradshaw's fate in the hands of the Lord?”
“Doubt it. What kind of help do you need?”
“Why don't you start with Walter Bradshaw. Why don't you pay him a visit and see what he has to say. And I know you're going to love this one, but how much will it cost me to get you to attend the autopsy?”
“It's going to be very expensive but everything's negotiable. In the meantime, what will you be doing?”
“I'll start scheduling interviews. There's going to be a boatload of people to talk to. I'll also find out what the CSI unit has come up with, although it might be too soon on that score. After then we can hook up and see where things stand.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“What about your new boss? Should you touch base with him before you commit to work on this one?”
“Thanks for asking. The rules of the game have definitely changed, but I think he'll go along.”
The new boss Kate referred to was Benjamin Cates. Cates had recently been appointed executive director of the Utah Department of Corrections.
In the aftermath of the massive scandal that had rocked the corrections department, the governor, with the encouragement of the state legislature, had moved quickly to make changes. His first step was to fire my former boss, Norm Sloan, and replace him with a reform-minded, retired sheriff from the King County Sheriff's Department in Seattle, Washington.
From what I had learned, Benjamin Cates was a highly regarded sheriff who also had the responsibility of running one of the largest jails in the country. He purportedly ran a tight ship and had a zero tolerance policy for staff who tried to operate outside the rules. That was a good thing.
Cates had wasted no time cleaning house. He left probation and parole largely intact, but came down with a vengeance on the prison. He demoted several prison managers, reassigned others, and fired two, including the second highest ranking member of the department, the Director of Institutional Operations. Several other supervisors with enough years in the system simply opted to retire.
As for me, I had somehow managed to survive what the newspapers had dubbed the “weekend massacre.” My unit, the Special Investigations Branch (SIB), had emerged from the scandal relatively unscathed. The closet thing to criticism we received came from a couple of state legislators who made vague public statements that the scandal should have been discovered and squashed before it ever became one.
Yet my relationship with Cates felt like a tentative one. I was under the microscope. He knew it, and so did I.