Page 94 of Den of Iniquity

Who’d a thunk it?

Chapter 43

Bellingham, Washington

Friday, March 13, 2020

When Friday came around that week, Mel was back to being her old self. That’s what you have to do when you’re a cop. You have to set your personal opinions aside and do your job. She called shortly after the nonexistent final bell sounded on distance learning for the week. Kyle was relieved, and so was I.

“Hey,” she said. “Our favorite Thai place sent me an email saying they’re switching over to takeout from now on. Do you want me to bring home dinner?”

I held the phone away from my face and relayed her question to Kyle.

“Absolutely!” he replied.

It was over dinner that the conversation finally turned to his father. I don’t know if Kyle was aware of it, but as far as Mel and Iwere concerned, his looming departure had been the elephant in the room all week long.

“I’ve made up my mind about Dad,” he said.

At that point the dinner table went completely silent.

“And?” Mel was the one who asked the question. For some reason, I couldn’t quite make my voice work.

“It’s not my fault that he can’t keep his pants zipped,” Kyle said. “Kayla and I talked it over. She said Mom’s never been happier. I think she always knew Dad was fooling around on her, but she tried to hide it from everybody, including us. So Mom’s not going back to Dad, and I’m not, either. If it’s okay with you, that is.”

“Fine with me,” I managed, trying to play it cool.

“With me, too,” Mel said.

At that point Kyle Cartwright favored both of us with one of his sly grins. “It’s settled then,” he said. “You’re stuck with me for the duration, distance learning and all.”

Chapter 44

Bellingham, Washington

Sunday to Monday, March 15–16, 2020

There’s a reason media consultants advise political clients to break difficult stories on the weekends. Weekends are regarded as slow news days, so that’s when second- and third-string newscasters and reporters are on duty. On Sundays in particular, people are often caught up in family activities—going to church, watching or participating in sports, and going on outings.

The only one of those that applied that Sunday in March of 2020 was the part about the second- and third-string newsies. People everywhere else were on lockdown. Church services were canceled. Bars and restaurants were closed. Everything fun and entertaining had been blasted into pandemic oblivion for the foreseeable future.

So when Seattle Police Chief Nathan Palmer announced a live news conference for noon on Sunday, hardly anyone showed up,and that was the whole idea. By Monday the Constance Herzog story would literally be yesterday’s news.

Since it appeared that the majority of her victims were from the Seattle area, Seattle PD and the King County Medical Examiner’s Office were both about to take big hits, along with, unfortunately, blameless 911 operators everywhere.

Bellingham doesn’t have its own TV stations. The news we see here is what’s broadcast from Seattle. The guy reporting live on our TV screen that morning looked like he was barely out of junior high, but he did his best to brazen it out.

According to Chief Palmer, three of his homicide detectives, Sandra Sechrest, Benjamin Weston, and Scott Beaumont, had been given reason to believe that some overdose deaths that had been written off as either accidents or suicides were in fact unsolved homicides. Their investigation had led them to a 911 supervisor who had used her position to target victims she felt were habitual domestic violence offenders who had gone unpunished.

Through DNA evidence and recovered vape gun serial numbers, the female perpetrator had also been linked to a homicide that had occurred in Liberty Lake, Washington, and she was now in the Spokane County Jail where she was being held while awaiting trial on charges of second-degree homicide. She had been taken down during a shoot-out at a public storage facility in Smokey Point where she had gone in an attempt to flee the jurisdiction.

Ho hum! The way Chief Palmer related the story, it seemed boring as hell and hardly important enough to merit a live news conference. That was clearly our peewee league reporter’s impression, too. He seemed at a loss as to what all the fuss was about.

Palmer didn’t go into detail, nor did he pass along any names or numbers. He also didn’t mention how reluctant his departmenthad been to reopen any of their own cases. He didn’t mention how Yolanda Aguirre’s work with grieving family members had brought the cases together. He didn’t mention Elena Moreno, her hardworking intern, who had gone through all those interviews carefully redacting the names. The only time he uttered the wordBeaumontwas in regard to Scotty, and that was fine with me. At this point in my life, I’m more than happy to fade into the background.

The following Monday, driving the rented Cadillac Escalade that an insurance company representative had brought to the house on Saturday, I headed to Seattle to make the rounds and speak to the affected families. That’s what homicide detectives do. They can’t talk about cases while they’re active, but once they’re closed—once the investigation is over and before the prosecutors take charge—it’s time to talk to the grieving wives and mothers and sisters and grandmothers, too.

Detective Sechrest went with me as the official representative of Seattle PD, but for most of the families, I was the individual they knew. We were there to provide closure, and maybe we did. Once Xavier Delgado’s mother understood he hadn’t committed suicide, maybe his sons would have their grandmother back. Our investigation had given Greta Halliday back her father’s Elks ring and his iconic Chris-Craft in a bottle. As for Leann Loper? Although both her parents were still dead, only one of them had committed suicide. Would that lessen her burden? I hoped so.

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