Best Laid Plans(4)
CHAPTER THREE
The White Knight Motel was near the freeway, on Camp Street, not far from San Antonio PD central headquarters. It could have been cloned from any number of dives in the area—two-story crumbling structures with questionable rental and cleaning policies. Lucy had investigated a murder at a place just like the White Knight when she’d been in D.C. last year. A prostitute had been brutally murdered and Lucy had moved heaven and earth to work that case and find the killer.
This time, the john was dead, and Lucy had no sympathy.
The coroner’s van was already on site, along with several SAPD cop cars. It was barely dawn and the onlookers were mostly drunks or other guests at the motel—keeping their distance, wary of the police.
Juan had given Lucy the bare minimum of information—he’d hardly spoken to her outside of work for the two months she’d been back on duty. She’d hoped her two-week administrative leave had been enough time for her boss to forgive her, but Juan was still angry. Maybe not angry—disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.
Suck it up, Kincaid.
Before she got out of her car, she read over the brief memo Juan had emailed to her and the other agent assigned to the case, a nearly twenty-year veteran named Barry Crawford. She hadn’t partnered with Crawford before. In the six months she’d been in San Antonio, she’d noticed that Crawford was one of those agents who did his job and went home. He seemed to be smart and competent, but she couldn’t remember him ever working past five or taking an extra assignment.
Juan’s memo was brief and to the point. The deceased was Harper Worthington, owner of Harper Worthington International, a global accountancy corporation that primarily handled government contracts and audits. Because he specialized in auditing defense contractors, he had a high-level federal security clearance. In addition, he was married to Congresswoman Adeline Reyes-Worthington.
Worthington had been found dead and partially clothed in a motel room at the White Knight at approximately 1:00 A.M. by the motel manager when a taxi driver retained by Worthington insisted management check the room. The driver had been waiting for over an hour for the deceased, who had requested the pickup, and he’d witnessed a teenaged girl leaving just after midnight. When SAPD arrived and checked the deceased’s ID, they recognized the name and contacted their chief, who in turn contacted the FBI.
Juan ended with:
This case is need-to-know. I don’t have to explain the sensitivities of not only Worthington’s position as a government contractor, but the potential media interest because of his congressional ties. I expect this case to be handled with complete discretion and the utmost professionalism.
Lucy checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Sean was right, she looked tired. She added more concealer under her eyes and a touch more makeup than she usually wore before she got out of the car.
Lucy recognized Julie Peters, one of the deputy coroners. Lucy had met many of the SAPD and county staff during the two months she’d spent working on Operation Heatwave, which had culminated in hundreds of arrests of wanted fugitives through the combined efforts of all levels of law enforcement.
Julie was leaning against her van talking to one of the cops as Lucy approached. “I heard the feds were taking over,” Julie said.
“By mutual agreement,” Lucy said. “Good to see you again, Julie.”
“VIP,” Julie said and rolled her eyes. “Agent Kincaid, meet Officer Garcia. Garcia, Kincaid. She’s okay for a fed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lucy extended her hand to Garcia.
“You should. Julie doesn’t like anyone,” Garcia said.
Julie snorted. “Not true. I just prefer dead people. They don’t lie.”
Lucy didn’t know Julie’s story, but she was about forty years of age, dressed down almost to the point of being sloppy, wore no makeup, and had a barking laugh. She’d also graduated from the prestigious university Texas A&M with a degree in biology and a minor in chemistry. She was a well-respected forensic pathologist.
Lucy asked, “Is the body still inside?”
Julie nodded. “Waiting on the crime scene techs. I swear, they’re a bunch of prima donnas now that they have a gazillion television shows about them. Think they run the world. Well, that body’s gonna start stinking to high hell as soon as the sun comes up, so they’d better get a move on.” She glared at Garcia.
“I’ll make another call.” He stepped over to one of the patrol cars and picked up the radio.
“Is Agent Crawford here?”
Julie scowled. “Perfect Hair? Not yet.”
Lucy barely refrained from laughing. The moniker fit Crawford.
“Wanna see the body? He was caught with his pants down, literally. That’s why I love the dead. They have no secrets.”
She did want to see the room, because crime scenes were her specialty. But she’d been on thin ice for two months, and Barry was the lead agent. “I should wait for Barry.”
Julie shrugged.
Garcia came over and said, “Five minutes out, they said.”
“They mean fifteen,” Julia countered. She looked at her watch. “It’s quarter after five. They’d better get their asses here or I’m going to chew them a new one. I want the body on my table this morning—and considering who he is, he’ll go to the front of the line. If there’s anything wonky here, I’ll find it.”