Page 22 of Nightshade

THE CASE OFFICER who had put out the warrant on Duncan Forbes for violation of probation was long retired. It took Stilwell fifteen minutes and four different phone calls to locate the inheritor of the long dormant and inconsequential file. His name was Rodney Willingham and he worked out of a satellite office in the south county. Stilwell’s first two calls were diverted to a message center that reported that Willingham’s message box was full. He finally got through to him on the third call.

“Willingham.”

“Uh, yeah, this is Detective Stilwell with the sheriff’s department. I got a guy here on one of your warrants.”

“Case number?”

“Fifteen-dash-seven—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—you’re talking about 2015?”

“I am.”

“You gotta hold on, then.”

“How long?”

“Let me just get my computer going.”

Stilwell heard the phone clunk down on a desk and waited. He heard typing and then Willingham picked up the phone and asked for the case number again. Stilwell gave it to him, heard typing, and then Willingham started reading from his screen.

“Forbes, Duncan. Violated May third, 2015.”

“That’s him.”

“This is a chickenshit case. Just book him and I’ll eventually make my way to him.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I want you to drop the violation and lose the warrant.”

“Now, why would I do that—what did you say your name was?”

“Stilwell. I need you to drop it because Forbes is an important witness in a case I’m working.”

“Really, now. What case?”

Stilwell had hoped he wouldn’t ask that. He had to have high stakes to convince Willingham to drop the warrant. Telling him it was a theft investigation wouldn’t cut it. Stilwell needed more gravity than that, but he knew if he mentioned the murder, he would be creating one more witness to his crossing the lines of authority.

“It’s a homicide,” Stilwell said. “And I need Forbes clean when he testifies. I don’t want him on the stand wearing Wayside blues. You understand, Rodney?”

Wayside was the former name of the Pitchess Detention Center, and Stilwell used it to signal to Willingham that he had been around the system for a long time and knew that the probation officer could do what he wanted him to do.

“I understand,” Willingham said. “It says here he stopped coming in to piss and skipped out on his rehab sessions. This mofo’s a regular douchebag.”

“I know all of that. He told me. But this was on a bust for something that’s not even illegal anymore. It’s chickenshit. You said it; you know it. So can you do me a solid on it or not?”

“Oh, yeah, I can do you a solid. The question is, what are you going to do for me?”

Stilwell shook his head. It seemed that everybody wanted something from him.

“I don’t know you, Rodney. What do you want?”

“Tell you what, I’m gonna keep this number—this your cell?”

“Yes, it’s my cell.”

“Then I’m gonna keep your number and call you next time I need a pickup, and I don’t want you to shine me on like you all like to do over there at the sheriff’s. I’ll say I got a guy needs to be tossed back into county and you have to help me go get him. That’s when you say, ‘I’m on it, Rodney.’”

Willingham had no idea that Stilwell was posted on Catalina, twenty-two miles from the mainland and even farther from the sheriff’s homicide bureau. Willingham was thinking a downtown deputy would owe him a favor.

“I can do that,” Stilwell said. “Deal.”

“All right, then, we good,” Willingham said. “We good.”

“So I can let Forbes walk?”

“You can set him free.”

“Beautiful. Thank you.”

“Have a good one. And remember, I’m going to call you.”

“Anytime.”

Stilwell disconnected the call. He unlocked his desk drawer and removed his sidearm. He holstered the weapon and got up to release Forbes. But the desk phone buzzed on his direct line and the readout said SHERIFF’S HOMICIDE . He sat back down and took the call.

“Stillborn,” he heard.

“A-Hole,” he said. “What do you want?”

“What I want is to take your badge, and this time I think I’ve got it.”

“You haven’t got shit, Ahearn. Why don’t you try to work on the case instead of on me?”

“I am working the case, and guess who I just talked to?”

“I don’t know, Ahearn, but I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”

“Your pal Peter Galloway, and he told me all about you knocking on his door last night. He almost didn’t talk to me because he said he already told you everything he knew about the girl.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit.”

“No, you’re bullshit. You fucking crossed the line, Stillborn, and I can prove it. I already went to Corum, and he’s got everything he needs to bench your ass. And that will be only the first step.”

“Ahearn, listen to me, I can help you. I have information, but you told me to fuck off. Now, if you want to close the case, let’s share what we’ve—”

“We’re not partners and you’re not homicide. You’re going to be a nobody as soon as Corum takes your badge. And you know what, I’m going to see if I can mount it on the wall here over my desk.”

“You’re pathetic, Ahearn. You’d put your shit with me over solving—”

He stopped. Ahearn had hung up on him. He sat still, trying to control the anger that was welling up in him. The phone buzzed again and he saw that it was another call from the homicide bureau. He answered with a full head of steam.

“I said, you’re pathetic. You’d put our shit ahead of closing the case when I—”

“This is Denise from Captain Corum’s office.”

Stilwell realized his mistake.

“Oh, um, sorry, I thought it was some—”

“Captain Corum would like you to come in today for a meeting. What time can I schedule it?”

“Uh… can I talk to the captain?”

“He asked me to set this up.”

“I’m not coming in, Denise. So please put him on the phone. I’ll hold.”

“Very well.”

She put Stilwell on hold and he rehearsed what he would say to the captain if Corum took his call.

A solid five minutes went by before Denise came back on and said the captain would be with Stilwell shortly. She hit the hold button again and Stilwell wondered if Corum was really tied up or simply playing a power game and making Stilwell wait.

When Corum finally came on the line, he came with fire.

“Goddamn it, Stil. I put you out there so you would be below the radar, and what do you do? You take out your dick and piss all over the place.”

“Captain, you’ve only heard one side of this thing. I can practically give Ahearn the case, but he’s only interested in burning me, not closing a murder.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not your case to give, but you’re off the island, running all over the county chasing it. You give me no choice here, Stil.”

“Can I explain something before you decide whatever you’re going to decide?”

“I don’t know what good it will do, but go ahead, say your piece.”

“Is Ahearn there? Sounds like I’m on speaker.”

There was a pause before Corum confirmed the obvious.

“He’s here but I told him to keep quiet,” he said. “Now, do you want to explain or not?”

“Sure, and I’m glad he’s there,” Stilwell said. “So he can fucking listen and stay quiet.”

“Fuck you, Stillborn,” Ahearn said.

“Ahearn, enough,” Corum said. “Stil, go ahead.”

Stilwell took a deep breath, tried to clear the image of Ahearn’s smug face out of his mind, and began.

“On Saturday we received a report of a theft of a supposedly priceless piece of art from the Black Marlin Club out here,” he said.

“A painting?” Corum asked.

“No, a small sculpture of a black marlin. It was taken from a display in the main hallway of the club, where it had been for almost a hundred years. Do you know anything about this club, Captain?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes. People with money and power.”

“Exactly. So, the report was taken by Deputy Dunne and it got lost for a couple days because Dunne was the deputy who got assaulted Saturday night and he’s out with a concussion. The report didn’t cross my desk till yesterday, and then I started working it.”

“What’s this have to do with you coming over here and interviewing witnesses in the murder case?”

“I’m going to get to that, Captain, if you let me tell the story.”

“Go ahead, but I don’t have all day here. You need to land the plane.”

“I went to the BMC and talked to the general manager, who had made the initial report. His name is Crane and he said no one noticed the sculpture was missing till Saturday, when he made the report, but that it had likely been gone a week. Then he pointed the finger at an employee he had fired the week before, Leigh-Anne Moss. He said he suspected that she stole the statue on her way out of the club right after he fired her.”

“Fired for what?”

“He said she was fraternizing with the members and that’s a big no-no.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Well, I ran down Leigh-Anne Moss and learned that she had a dyed streak of purple in her hair. I’d seen the victim we pulled out of the harbor, so I put two and two together and called Ahearn to give him the name. He invited me to fuck off, to use his words. So I did and kept going with my case. But everywhere I went, it rubbed up against the harbor case.”

“That true? He gave you the name?” Corum said.

Stilwell knew he was speaking to Ahearn.

“He mentioned the name,” Ahearn said. “But we made the ID through DMV on a thumbprint. I go to the address on her DMV, and the boyfriend tells me the sheriff’s already been there. Stillborn should have called me before he even got on the ferry.”

“Did you not tell him to fuck off?” Corum asked. “And stop using that name. I find it offensive.”

“I meant stay the fuck away from my case, and he didn’t,” Ahearn responded.

“Jesus Christ, what am I going to do with you two!” Corum erupted. “Stilwell, did you take it further than that?”

Stilwell paused to compose a truthful answer as well as open a path through this thicket that would allow him to keep his job.

“There are no cameras in the BMC, so there was no way of confirming who stole the sculpture from the display,” he said. “But I went over to the harbormaster’s tower and reviewed video from the harbor cams that had angles on the club. I saw something suspicious on the night after Moss was fired and the theft presumably occurred. This involved a boat that belonged to a member of the club. A man named Mason Colbrink. He lives in Malibu. I followed that up and just this morning confirmed that both an anchor and a sail bag had been taken from the boat and replaced with new ones.”

“You have a suspect?” Corum said urgently.

“No. Colbrink and his one-man crew, a guy named Duncan Forbes who lives out here, both seem to have pretty solid alibis for that whole weekend,” Stilwell said.

“So, then, what’s your theory?” Corum pushed.

“I think Leigh-Anne Moss was killed inside the Black Marlin Club,” Stilwell said. “Then her body was put on the boat in the middle of the night and the next day taken out of the harbor. The body was put in the sail bag, weighted with the anchor, and dumped out in the bay. The underwater currents brought her back in once the body began to bloat.”

Stilwell heard Ahearn make a derisive chortle. He didn’t respond to it, but Corum did.

“All right, let’s stop there,” he said. “You did good work on this, Stil, but it’s a homicide and it’s not your case. There are special circumstances because you’re over there and the case is over there and you know the lay of the land. I want you part of the investigation. How soon can you get back here to get in a room with these guys? You need to hash this out and decide next—”

“We don’t need him,” Ahearn interrupted. “Sampedro and I can handle the case.”

“He’s already jumped the case four moves ahead of you,” Corum said. “This is a perfect setup. You’ll have him on the island. He knows the people out there. He’s inside the wire.”

“We can handle it,” Ahearn insisted.

“Are you forgetting who’s in command of this unit?” Corum asked.

“No, sir,” Ahearn replied meekly.

“This is not a suggestion,” Corum said. “It’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Ahearn said, his voice almost inaudible over the speaker.

Stilwell wished he could see Ahearn’s face.

“We’re talking about a murder here, gentlemen,” Corum continued. “Put aside your petty differences, get your heads out of your asses, and get the job done. If you can’t do it, I will find people who can. Am I clear?”

“Clear,” Stilwell said.

“As glass,” Ahearn said.

“Stil, how soon can you get over here?” Corum asked.

“I’ll jump on the next Express,” Stilwell said.

“Good,” Corum said. “I’ll have Ahearn and Sampedro meet you at the dock to drive you in.”

“I’ve got a car in a lot over there.”

“Let me send them. By the time you’re back here, I expect you three to be working like a well-oiled machine. I hear anything suggesting otherwise, there will be consequences. That’s it.”

The call was disconnected. Stilwell sat at the desk unmoving for nearly a minute. He was apprehensive about the setup. He didn’t expect Ahearn to change his attitude toward him, but he was pleased to be officially on the case. He thought of the woman with the purple streak in her hair and how someone had taken away her hopes and dreams of a better life. Stilwell knew he could put up with Ahearn and Sampedro as long as together they brought her killer to justice.