Why didn’t I think this through?
She scanned the scene again, unable to deny its emotional pull. Decades of guilt, of being haunted by Vanessa’s ghost, had clouded her judgment.
Brennan had arrived and was near the car with Reddick and the technician, huddled over Kate’s camera and phone, while Reddick continued searching the contents of her bag. Occasionally Reddick pointed to the scene, with the technician nodding, before Brennan approached the car and helped Kate out.
“I asked you not to come here, Kate. You know full well we have to protect this scene. Anything and everything is considered evidence.” He shook his head. “You misrepresented yourself to the state trooper, you breached our scene and tromped though it, contaminating it, or, possibly planting evidence. You’re facing possible interference and criminal trespass charges. I can’t understand why you did this.”
“Why?” Adrenaline and fury coursed through her and she let go. “I can’t believe you have to ask me that! You found my sister’s necklace out there in that—that killing ground and she’s—”
“We haven’t confirmed it’s hers yet.”
“You know and I know it’s hers!”
“No, we don’t. Kate, everything we have to this point is circumstantial. Nothing’s conclusive.”
“You found her necklace out there! My God, she was supposed to have drowned twenty years ago in Canada! So you tell me how did it get there?”
“We don’t know and we don’t know that it’s your sister’s. You of all people should understand the huge emotional and legal consequences of making assumptions that result in misidentification.”
“Then tell me why you have contacted Canadian police.”
“I’m not discussing this case with you.”
“Yeah. Remember, Ed, you called me to help you! That’s why I’m here. I’ve lived with this for twenty years! I deserve to know the truth! That’s why I did what I did!”
A few tense seconds passed.
“Did you take, touch or leave anything, Kate?”
“No, all I took were some pictures with my camera. That’s all.”
Brennan returned to the others for another long discussion, then returned with her things and Reddick, who removed her handcuffs.
“The technician found no pictures on your phone, so we’re returning it.”
“I told you, I didn’t take any pictures with my phone.”
“We’re keeping the memory card from your camera and the additional memory cards we found in your bag. The technician tells me that your camera had wireless connectivity but that you didn’t send any images anywhere.”
“I didn’t. Are we done? Or are you going to go full-bore cop and strip-search me?”
Brennan let her comment pass.
“No. I don’t have a female officer on duty, for one. I’m going to make a judgment call here, but I think we’ve covered this given the circumstances and the situation.”
“So I can go?”
“Not yet. Now, you’re going to show us your path into the scene so we can mark it,” Brennan said. “Then we’re going to need impressions of your shoes and take your fingerprints. When we’re done, Officer Reddick will drive you to your car.”
“Am I being charged?”
“No, but if you interfere again, we’ll bring the charges back. Understood?”
Kate met Brennan’s stare and she nodded.
“I appreciate your help,” he said, “and what you’re going through. Go home, Kate, and let us do our job.”
Rampart, New York
The grill of Reddick’s patrol car filled Kate’s rearview mirror for several miles after she’d left the rest stop.
Driving to town, she bit back on her tears and her anger at Rampart police but mostly at herself. She was churning with rage and an underlying ache, because she’d never been this close to Vanessa.
I’ve got to think clearly.
Kate looked at the time.
Even with the drive to Syracuse she had a few hours before her early evening return flight. Enough time to check into the other part of the case.
Carl Nelson.
She’d become so consumed by the necklace that she’d overlooked his role. She knew nothing about him, the man the local press had named as the second fatality in the fire, the reclusive computer expert. Remembering his long hair and beard from the driver’s license photo Brennan had showed her, Kate thought Nelson fit the image of a creepy eccentric. What part did he play in this? What was Vanessa’s relationship to him? And what about the rumors of a suicide note?
Kate needed to talk to Nelson’s family, neighbors and coworkers.
Stopped at a traffic light, she was glad to see Reddick had backed off. Kate concentrated on her GPS and entered Carl Nelson’s address, 57 Knox Lane, which she’d memorized from his driver’s license.
Is going there a smart move after what happened at the scene?
This is a democracy, and people have a right to talk to other people, she thought, searching her mirror for any sign that Reddick was still tailing her.
Nothing.
She headed for Nelson’s neighborhood and came upon his home, a modest ranch-style house with a neat yard and a detached garage.
And a Rampart police car parked out front.
Kate cursed to herself and let out a long breath.
She wanted to knock on the door, talk to anyone who was there, and Nelson’s neighbors. She wanted to do her own digging for answers, but not with a cop sitting there eyeing the quiet street.
Kate bit her lip, taking in the house as she drove by slowly, knowing the cop was likely recording her plate. No, this wasn’t going to work. Kate rolled down the street for a few blocks, coming to a gas station.
Maybe somebody at the station can tell me about Nelson and point me to people he worked with at the call center.
When Kate stopped and signaled at the intersection, she spotted another Rampart patrol car parked on the street.
Reddick again.
He’d been watching her.
Un-freaking-believable.
