Page 63 of Den of Iniquity

That’s when I explained about how, with help from Gretchen at the crime lab and by examining Yolanda Aguirre’s five-year study of overdose deaths, I had managed to establish several common denominators that now linked four separate cases, three of which had happened in Seattle—the pairs of hundred-dollar bills, the domestic violence arrests, the homeless woman equipped with an Apple Watch, and the unidentified female DNA profile.

“How can I help?” Ben asked when I finished.

“What I’ve found so far all came from studying that initial set of interviews. But here’s the deal,” I said. “There are now several more interviews that have raised enough red flags for me to want to look into them as well. This morning I received a whole new set of interviews, which need to be scanned to see if any similarities turn up.”

“That’s all you need, then,” Ben asked, “another pair of eyes doing initial run-throughs on that new batch of interviews?”

“Exactly.”

“Count me in,” Ben said. “Send along as many as you like. I have the next three days off. I’ll be glad to dive into them.”

“What about Detective Sechrest?” I asked.

“Sandy? She’s good people. Why?”

“When I was headed for the Evidence unit, she gave me the case numbers I needed and made my life infinitely easier. I knew going in that at some point she had spoken with Matilda Jackson, but I had no idea she and her partner had been summoned to the crime scene for one of my other victims, Loren Gregson. Do you think she might be interested in helping out?”

“Maybe,” Ben said. “Let me give her a call. I’ll let you know. In the meantime feel free to start sending files to me. I’ll get right on them.”

After getting off the phone, I forwarded a dozen or so interview transcripts to Ben. About that time Sarah meandered over to me and laid her massive head on my knee. I have now learned enough about dog-speak to know that she was ready to go for a walk. Guilt ridden from having neglected her for the last couple of days, I complied. We went for a walk.

We’d made it to the top of the driveway and turned down Bayside when my phone rang.

“J.P.?” a female voice asked.

I didn’t recognize it right off. “Yes,” I said. “Who’s this?”

“Sandra,” she replied. “Sandy Sechrest. I’m guessing you’ve found out that I was called to Loren Gregson’s death scene.”

“I did notice that. Why didn’t you mention it when you gave me the case number?”

“Because I didn’t want to skew your investigation one way or the other, but it pissed the hell out of me when they shut down that investigation. It just didn’t look right. Gregson’s apartment was onlya couple of blocks away. Given that, why the hell would he sit down under a blackberry bush in the dead of winter to shoot himself up? Why not go home to do that?”

“Why not indeed?” I agreed.

“So how can I help? Ben said something about a bunch of files in need of reviewing.”

I took her through the case, starting with Yolanda Aguirre’s five-year study of overdose deaths. By now I was feeling like a broken record, but if she was going to help sort through files, she needed to know all the pertinent details.

“Okay,” Sandy said when I finished. “That’s what I’m looking for—victims with a history of domestic violence arrests and/or convictions and ones found to be carrying inexplicable pairs of hundred-dollar bills. In addition to a homeless woman, especially one wearing an Apple Watch, who may have been seen in the vicinity of the crime scenes.”

“That’s the ticket,” I said.

“You said that the Liberty Lake victim...” Sandy began.

“Jake Spaulding,” I supplied.

“Spaulding died within a week of his being released from prison. That would suggest his killer was either a family member or someone close enough to the family to know about his upcoming release.”

“As far as I can tell, those have all been ruled out,” I told her.

“Have you considered someone with a law enforcement background?” Sandy asked.

“You mean like a cop gone rogue?”

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “What about a first responder of some kind, like a medic or even a 911 operator? When it comes to domestic violence situations, they may not be on the scene, but they’re still in the thick of it. They’re the ones who deal with womenscreaming while kids are crying in the background. They’re also the ones who know how many of those assholes do the same thing over and over and walk away every time because the victims are too scared to press charges. It’s frustrating as hell.”

“Am I by any chance hearing the voice of experience speaking?” I asked.

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