But any seasoned investigator knew that simple plans often ran into complications.
CHAPTER 29
PROSECUTOR TIMOTHY DENTON WAS sitting at his desk with a small halogen light on. Files were piled high around him, almost haphazardly, even though he always professed to anyone who commented on its disarray that he knew where everything was. A half-filled cup of black coffee sat on his desk, left over from this morning.
Detective Bill Jennings walked in without acknowledgment — and sat down heavily on the thinly padded chair in front of Denton’s desk. “I’m exhausted,” he said, popping open a can of Barq’s and throwing his boots up on top of Denton’s desk. He moved a couple of files over with his heel so he had a spot to rest his feet comfortably.
“How’s the investigation going, Detective?”
“Why so formal?” Jennings asked, “You never call me ‘Detective’ unless there’s someone else in the room.”
Closing the law book he had been reading, Denton looked up at Jennings for the first time. “This is a big case, Bill; I’ve got to devote all of my time to it. If we screw this up, I’ll be hearing about it from now until the next election. So...if you have something of substance to say, please, regale me with it; otherwise, get your boots off my desk and your ass out of my office.”
Jennings, not one to mince words, took a swig of Barq’s. “I hear that Ryan Chandler is investigating this case for the defense.”
“Yeah, so, who the hell is Ryan Chandler?”
“Let’s just say that he’s not one of my favorite people.”
“And what possible relevance does this Chandler guy have to this case?”
“‘Relevance. Goddamn lawyer talk. Why’s everything gotta have relevance? Can’t it ever just be personal?” He paused, noticing that Denton was not following him. “It’s relevant because I hate the guy’s fucking guts.” He pulled his boots off the desk, leaned forward, put his Barq’s down.
“Fifteen years ago Ryan Chandler left the Sacramento PD and became an investigator for the DA. They had a suspect in custody in a serial murder case when, all of a sudden, there’s a killing that’s kind of similar in Stockton, where I was working at the time. The Stockton case was assigned to me. Chandler suggested we work together on it, because he thought it was the same killer. I didn’t agree. The MO was so different that I thought there’s no way this could be the same guy.
“Chandler said the MO had changed only because the killer was adapting to what he’d learned in the prior murders. He thought the guy was getting better at what he did and because of that the MO looked different. I thought Chandler was full of shit and I fought his efforts to merge the cases. He kept pushing his theory and pissed me off in the process. I was going through my divorce at the time and didn’t need any more bullshit in my life. I told him to fuck off.”
Denton, who had only been half listening, realized that Jennings was going to finish his story whether he was paying attention or not. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck.
“Chandler persisted, and kept working up his case that way. Leaked it to the papers. Reporters from the Bay Area, from Stockton, Sacramento...they started asking questions, following me all over the goddamn place. Do we have a serial killer in Stockton? Is it safe to go out? Is it true that you’re refusing to cooperate with Sacramento authorities in their investigation? How many more people have to die before you take this seriously and cooperate with them? Shit like that. The heat was on. But I wouldn’t back down. Didn’t give Chandler shit. I blocked everything I could. Tied everything up in red tape,” he said with a slight smile.
He rooted out a cigarette from his sport coat pocket and lit it. Denton was about to object, but realized that getting into an argument over smoking in his office would only prolong the time Jennings would be interrupting his evening.
“Finally,” puffed Jennings, “Chandler got the FBI involved and convinced them that the cases were related. They drew up a profile that supported his theory about the different MOs.” He took another puff. “Everything got all fucked up. Too many cooks, you know?” He blew a mouthful into the air above him and watched it hang there for a couple of seconds.
“Five days later another victim went down in Stockton. Two days after that, one in Old Sacramento. The killer’s signature matched the one downtown a couple of weeks earlier, and was pretty damn close to the ones in Stockton. With the help of the profile, Chandler and a dick friend of his in Homicide nailed the guy a couple of days later and got a confession on all the murders.”
He paused, bowed his head. Blew the smoke down onto his boots. “I fucked up, Tim. Looked real bad. Drew a reprimand from the captain and everything. Chewed my ass real hard. Had I cooperated with Chandler from the start those last two people might not have gotten killed. One was a woman with two little kids. Took me years to get over the guilt.”
Denton realized that Jennings was near the end of his story. He sat forward to say something, but Jennings interrupted him.
“Hearing Chandler’s name brought back the memories. The nightmares.” He took a long drag. “That’s the fucking relevance.”
“We’re all adults, Bill. That was a long time ago. You’ve matured as a person, and as a cop. Look at this as your chance to make up for your past mistakes.”
Jennings was brooding, silent.
“It if helps,
