get a vic I feel is worthy of my services? I've gotta say that's going to cut my hours by a lot. No more crack whores, no more white trash-'
'I don't like that she's involved in this,' Weiss declared.
'So? I don't like that I just watched a dead girl get carved up like a side of beef. If you don't like the job, go drive a cab,' Landry said, turning away and starting down the hall. 'If you don't think you can work this case, tell the boss and get the hell out of the way for someone who can.'
His pager went off again. He swore, checked the display, then went back to the phone and dialed.
'Landry.'
He listened as he was told about an anonymous tip stating the exact location of evidence in the murder of Jill Morone. A kitchen cupboard in a town house occupied by Tomas Van Zandt.
'Make up your mind, Weiss,' he said as he hung up the phone. 'I've got to go see about a search warrant.'
I had no real way of knowing what happened to my 911 call. The operator had given me a hard time, clearly thinking I was trying to pull a hoax, and keeping me on the line so she could send a radio car to my location. I was as adamant as I could be that I knew Van Zandt had murdered 'my friend' Jill Morone at the equestrian center, that Detective Landry could find Van Zandt's bloody shirt in the kitchen cupboard of the town house owned by Lorinda Carlton at the specific address on Sag Harbor Court. I described the shirt in as much detail as I could, then I hung up, wiped my prints off the phone, and went to sit on a bench outside the Chinese place. A deputy cruised by shortly after.
I hoped the message had gotten to Landry. But even if it had and he had decided to do something about it, a lot of time was going to pass before he made it to Van Zandt's.
A search warrant isn't something a detective can just run off his computer. He can't simply go to his boss and get one. He has to write an affidavit, substantiating the reasons for his request, specifying probable cause for the search, and specifying in detail what he intends to search for. If he wants to execute the search at night, he needs to make a convincing argument that there is imminent danger of evidence being destroyed or of another crime being committed, otherwise executing a search at night can be considered grounds for harassment charges. The affidavit has to go to a judge, who decides whether or not to issue the warrant.
It all takes time. And during that time the suspect might do anything-ditch evidence, bolt and run.
Had Van Zandt been in the car with the woman? I couldn't say. I knew the car was a dark color, but I hadn't taken the time to register make and model. It might have been the Mercedes Trey Hughes had given Van Zandt to use for the season, or not. I assumed the woman was Lorinda Carlton.
Whoever had seen me, if they had seen the shirt in my hands, I had to hope it would be assumed I had taken it with me.
I checked my watch and wondered if there were uniforms knocking on doors in the neighborhood around my car. If I nonchalantly showed up with the key to a BMW in my hand, would I be questioned? I walked to the Chevron station, used the bathroom and washed up, checked my watch again. More than an hour had passed since my escape.
I took the long way back to Sag Harbor Court. There were no cops, no searchlights. Van Zandt's black Mercedes was sitting in the drive at Lorinda Carlton's unit.
He did not come running down the street to accost me. Things seemed as quiet on Sag Harbor Court as they had when I had arrived. I wondered if Carlton had called in the break-in after all, or if the siren I had heard had gone elsewhere. I wondered where in that time frame Van Zandt had shown up, and if he might have dissuaded her from calling because he didn't want a bunch of deputies in the house.
Unable to get answers to those questions, still twitching with the idea of being found out, I drove out of Sag Harbor Court and headed toward home with a detour through Binks Forest.
There were a couple of cars parked on the street on the Seabrights' block. Probably surveillance from the SO. The house was lit up.
I wanted to be inside, assessing the level of strain among the natives. I wanted to see Molly, to let her know she wasn't all alone. She had me on her side.
And I had just made the fuckup of the century, compromised my cover, and compromised evidence that might have linked Van Zandt to a murder.
Yeah. That would be a comfort to her. Me on her side.
Depressed and upset, I went home to regroup and wait for the worst to happen.
T his is an outrage!' Van Zandt ranted. 'Is this now a police state?'
'I don't think so,' Landry said, opening a cupboard door and peering in. 'If the police ran the state, I'm pretty sure I'd be making more money.'
'I can't believe anyone would think Tommy could do such a horrible thing!'
Lorinda Carlton had that look of someone who wished she had been a hippy once, but had probably gone to boarding school. She was forty-something with long dark hair in braids, and she wore a T-shirt with some kind of New Age bullshit saying on it. She would probably claim to be descended from Indian shamans or reincarnated from the ancient Egyptians.
She stood beside Van Zandt, trying to cling to him. He shrugged her off. Tommy.
'This is not even my home,' Van Zandt said. 'How can you come into Lorinda's house this way?'
Weiss showed him the warrant again, tipping his head back so he could manage to look down his nose at a man half a foot taller than he was. 'Can you read English? It has her name and address right on it.'
'He lives here, right?' Landry said to the woman.
'He's my friend,' she said dramatically.
'Yeah. You might want to rethink that.'
'He's the kindest, most honest man I know.'
Landry rolled his eyes. This one needed 'Victim' tattooed on her forehead. Her rotten little shit-ass dog circled her feet, growling and barking. He was built like a little torpedo with hair and teeth. No question he'd bite if he got the chance.
'I don't know what you think you are going to find,' Van Zandt said.
Weiss looked under the sink. 'Bloody shirt. Torn, bloody shirt.'
'Why would I have such a thing? And why would I keep it in a kitchen cupboard? It's ridiculous. Do you think I am stupid?'
Neither detective answered.
Landry reached up to move a stack of phone books off the refrigerator, and dust rained down in a thick cloud. The tip had specified the shirt was in a cupboard, but he had expanded the scope of the warrant to include the entire property, on the chance that Van Zandt had moved it. It was looking like he had. They had been through all the kitchen cupboards. A deputy was upstairs going through the cabinets and dresser drawers.
'On what grounds did you get this warrant?' Van Zandt asked. 'Or are you allowed to persecute just anyone who is not a citizen?'
'A judge determined we have probable cause to believe this item is in your possession, Mr. Van Zandt,' Landry said. 'We have a witness. How's that for grounds?'
'Lies. You have no witness.'
Landry arched a brow. 'And how would you know that if you weren't there and didn't kill that girl?'
'I haven't killed anyone. And who could know what I have in this house? I have had no one here but a burglar. I'm sure you don't care about that.'
'When did you have a burglar?' Landry asked casually as he looked in the closet that housed the washer and dryer.
'Tonight,' Lorinda said. 'Just as I got here from the airport. There was someone in the garage. Cricket chased him through the house, but he got away.'
The dog started barking again at the mention of his name.
'Was anything taken?'
'Not that we've been able to see. But that doesn't change the fact that someone broke in.'
'Was there a sign of forced entry?'
