Sullivan's Justice (17 page)

“Feasible,” Mary said. “We still have Sullivan’s prints on the syringe.”

“Let’s use your scenario and say he touched the syringe without knowing it. We’ll make Goodwin the first to die.” He stared up at the water spots on the ceiling. “He injects her in the bathroom. She dies. He panics and leaves the syringe in the sink. After dumping her in the pool to make it look like a drowning, he jumps on his bike and returns to Porter’s house. He picks the lock and enters through the garage. She’s dead in her bathroom. He dumps her out on the lawn, then does a bang-up job of cleaning the place, now that he knows he can’t fool us into thinking the two deaths are accidents.”

“That makes sense,” Mary said. “He would have only had to break into one house because the victims knew him.”

“Somewhere in this mess is the key to what really happened. Right now, we go with what we have. I’ll call Kevin Thomas at the DA’s office . . . see if he thinks we have enough to arrest Sullivan. He lied about the wet clothes, so that will go against him, and the syringe will most likely turn out to be the murder weapon.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Mary said sheepishly. “If he went in the pool twice that night, he didn’t do it in the clothes we found in the laundry room. Only trace elements of chlorine, the type you find in tap water, not a swimming pool.”

What did he expect? Hank thought, bracing his head with his hand. To put the case together on the first day? “Doubtful we’ll get an arrest warrant, then. The big honcho over there is Sean Exley. According to Thomas, if even a remote chance exists that the state might fail to get a conviction, Exley won’t allow them to file.”

“Exley’s a dick,” Mary said, scowling. “He’s afraid he won’t be reelected. He isn’t getting my vote. I’d rather see a donkey in that job than a self-serving asshole like Sean Exley.”

“When you come back to work, I want you to question the principal of Ventura High where Goodwin taught. Find out who her friends were and see what they say about her. Also, see how many sick days she took last year.” He stopped and took a breath, trying to remember what else he needed her to do. “Find out what happened to her car and clothes. She didn’t walk to Sullivan’s house in her bra and panties.”

“Aren’t we putting all our energy into the Goodwin homicide and neglecting Porter?”

“No,” Hank told her. “I’ve got four men on Porter. Right now, we’ve got nothing to go on. Solve Goodwin and you’ll solve Porter. If it’s not a serial killer, the way things are stacking up, both these women were killed by the same person. Neil Sullivan was playing around with two women. Why not three? Find out if he knew Porter.”

“I understand,” she said. “We’ll make a full-court press after the holiday. Who’s going to talk to Melody Asher?”

“I’ll handle her,” Hank said, moving some papers around on his desk.

Mary got up to leave. “I’m sure you will,” she said, flashing a smile. “If you don’t get around to it, I know about five other guys who would be glad to do it for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

N
eil was drinking a cup of coffee in Carolyn’s kitchen when he heard a knock at the door. He hesitated, trying to decide whether to answer it or not. Looking through the peephole, he saw Melody. His pulse quickened. Carolyn’s words of caution resonated in his head.

Although she was the last person he wanted to see, he couldn’t leave her standing there. As soon as he unlocked the dead bolt, Melody rushed in and embraced him.

“I heard what happened, on television,” she said, a sharp intensity in her voice. She was wearing jeans, a pink cashmere sweater, and a full-length matching coat. Her feet were clad in pink K-Swiss tennis shoes. She’d fashioned her blond hair in a French braid, and her face was void of makeup.

“I’ve been trying to call you all night. Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”

“I was with the police.” They went into the living room and Neil dropped down on the sofa, clasping his hands tightly in his lap. Melody walked over and looked at the family pictures on the fireplace mantel. How could he explain what had happened with Laurel? He was disgusted with himself.

“Look , it’s your sister, the famous probation officer.” She held up a silver frame. “How’s her boyfriend?”

“Fine,” Neil said, trying to figure out how he could get her to leave.

“The paper said this Laurel woman was your girlfriend. Is that true?”

Hearing Melody say her name was surreal. He felt a wave of emotion. Laurel had been the love of his life. The woman standing in front of him was repulsive. “I think you should go.”

“I’ll go after you answer my questions,” Melody said, a devilish look on her face. “Who was this woman? Was she or was she not your girlfriend?”

“I . . . she was a friend of mine since high school. We saw each other every now and then.” Neil couldn’t force himself to tell her the truth. He’d never seen her really angry before. Her nostrils were flared, her lips compressed, and her movements jerky. She was a different person, not at all attractive. Maybe this was how she really looked, he thought. Everything was an illusion. Her eyes frightened him.

“Was she stalking you or something?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Neil said, fumbling for the right words.

“Then what was it?” Melody snapped. “Were you sleeping with her?”

“Well . . . um . . .”

“You were fucking her,” she said, giving him an icy look. “And to think you had the nerve to call me a slut last night. Of course it’s socially acceptable for a man to sleep around. But if a woman does, she’s a whore. You never answered my question. Were you sleeping with her?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it. I knew it.”

“We were lovers.”

“That’s great. Now the police are calling me,” Melody said, pacing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest. “They must think that I killed her in a jealous rage. I didn’t kill her. You killed her.”

“You’re talking crazy,” Neil said. “Settle down. Let me explain our situation.”

“No, let me explain
your
situation!” Melody yelled. “This is your problem, not mine. You’re the one who was sleeping around behind my back. You’re the one who found your so-called lover dead in your pool.” She stopped and pointed at her chest. “You think I’m going to be your alibi? Think again.”

“But I was with you last night.”

“Who says?”

“What do you mean?” Neil said, shocked. “You even made a video of us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Melody said, her voice low and controlled now. “I was with Richard last night. You must be having another breakdown, Neil. Did you tell the police you spent time in a mental institution? They should know that their prime suspect has a history of violence against women. They’re going to find out eventually, you know.”

Neil felt like ripping her throat out. “I didn’t kill Laurel. I loved her.”

“Love, huh?” Melody spat at him. “Nice of you to tell me, Neil. What were you going to do, invite me to the wedding?”

“You were with me last night, not this Richard guy.”

“Oh, really?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve met Richard Fairchild. Blond hair, about your height and build. Of course he’s younger and better looking than you. His picture was on the cover of
Esquire
last year. Richard’s not a loser like you. You can’t even sell your stupid paintings.” She stopped and paced, then yelled at him, “I refuse to have my name smeared. I don’t want to get involved.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. “You’re not going to tell the police the truth?”

“Nope, at least not right now.” Melody smirked, pleased with his reaction.

Everything suddenly made sense. Melody insisted on taping them, even called out the name Richard. “You found out I was seeing her. Then you threw her in my pool so the police would think I did it.”

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Melody said, only inches from his face. “You’re so whacked-out, you don’t even know what you did last night. You have no control of your life. I’m always in control. I can do anything I want. You can’t even walk across the street without getting lost.”

“You murdered her, didn’t you?”

“No, you murdered her!” she shouted. “You killed her before you came to my house. They’re going to arrest you, and when they do, they’ll find out about your little drug problem.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “I won’t let you ruin my life.”

“Temper, temper,” Melody said in a playful tone. When he released his grip, she pushed him hard. He lost his balance and slammed back onto the sofa. “You’re outmatched, Neil, both mentally and physically. Want to play rough? You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

 

 

Hank received a phone call from the desk officer, advising him there was a problem at Carolyn’s house. When he got the probation officer on the phone, she confirmed that Neil was at her house. Now he knew why the media was camped out on her lawn. He decided to drive by and attempt to run them off. He didn’t want his suspect to panic and leave town. Then his attorney could file for a change of venue, claiming his client couldn’t get a fair trial in Ventura County.

Neil Sullivan belonged behind bars if he was guilty. Facts didn’t lie. The truth would make the decision for him, regardless of his feelings for Carolyn.

When he pulled up at Carolyn’s house, Hank saw at least ten reporters standing on the sidewalk, itching for any scrap of information they could obtain. The story became hot when a leak from within the police department exposed Neil’s romantic relationship with Melody Asher. The media put two and two together and realized they had a sensational story. It spread like wildfire. The headlines in the morning paper read SCHOOLTEACHER DIES IN LOVE TRIANGLE. A different paper declared: HEIRESS MELODY ASHER TANGLED IN HOMICIDE. If the press were judge and jury, based on the articles they’d written, Neil would get the death penalty.

Ironically, whoever killed Laurel Goodwin and Suzanne Porter might meet a similar fate—death by lethal injection. Personally, Hank preferred the smoking, convulsing, crap-in-their-pants electric chair. Shooting a vicious murderer full of drugs and watching him die peacefully wasn’t that satisfying. Martha, his ex-wife, had called him sadistic until he’d made her look at pictures of an adorable little girl who’d been raped by five gang members and carved up like a watermelon.

As Hank approached the front lawn, the door opened and a woman emerged. Her blond hair glistened in the morning sunlight. When the door slammed shut behind her, he caught a glimpse of Carolyn’s brother. Reporters swarmed the woman. She held up her hands with an annoyed expression, saying something he couldn’t make out.

The flashing of cameras and clamoring reporters were no match for the detective. Hank forced his way through, almost knocking a female reporter down. He reached out and grabbed Melody Asher.

“Who the hell are you?” she yelled, yanking her arm free.

“Listen, lady,” Hank said, “want to get out of here? Or should I leave you to be picked apart by these vultures? I’m not one of them.”

“Fine,” Melody said, following him.

“Are you Neil Sullivan’s other girlfriend?” a reporter with thick glasses asked.

“Melody Asher, were you with—” another reporter blurted out.

“Miss Asher won’t be answering any questions today,” Hank said, escorting her toward his unmarked police unit. When he opened the door, she slid into the seat, flashing her blue eyes at him. He thought he saw a tinge of gratitude, then realized it was nothing but the glance of a beautiful woman.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Hank said, steering the Crown Victoria toward the main road. “Big bucks, looks, and a boyfriend who’s in one hell of a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s it to you?”

“I’m Hank Sawyer, with Ventura PD homicide,” he told her. “Why were you at Carolyn Sullivan’s house?”

“I was giving Neil a blow job,” Melody said, smiling as she waited for a reaction. “You know, you’re not a bad-looking man. When was the last time your wife took care of you? Marriage is bad for your sex life. That’s why I’m single.”

“Very funny,” he said, a fake grin plastered on his face. “You’re a real comedian.”

“I don’t think my comment was funny at all,” Melody told him with a stoic expression. “Just the truth.”

“Okay, you were in a relationship with Neil Sullivan?”

“Not really. I was having sex with him. If you call that a relationship, then . . . I guess the answer is yes.”

The car fell silent as Hank tried to size up the woman sitting next to him. How could someone who looked like Miss America have such a filthy mind? If she were his daughter, regardless of age, he’d lock her in her room in a state of perpetual grounding.

Melody’s testimony would be crucial. Extracting information from her wouldn’t be easy. He hadn’t given it much thought, but a possibility existed that she’d killed Laurel Goodwin in a jealous rage. Afterward, she could have driven around the block looking for another victim, someone who resembled Goodwin in order to trick the police into believing they were dealing with a serial killer. Now that he thought about it, his scenario wasn’t that outlandish. Suzanne Porter had been out jogging. Her running clothes had still been damp when they’d arrived on the scene. Neither of the women incurred any substantial injuries. Men usually spent time punishing their victims before they killed them, especially in sex crimes. Nothing precluded the killer from being a woman. A needle was a fairly sanitized way to take someone’s life. He could see how it would appeal to a female killer. She wouldn’t have to risk getting hurt, and no blood would even be splattered on her clothing. He looked over at Melody in her fancy pink outfit, asking himself if he could be sitting next to a murderer. There were more female killers than anyone realized. They didn’t get caught because no one was looking for them.