'Turns out her injuries weren't as bad as they first looked,
so the MCT guys know it'll be hard to get attempted murder to stick.
But they kept working the case, even after they realized that they
could've handed it off to precinct detectives. This case is under
their skin.'
Any reluctance on the part of the Major Crimes Team to hand over a case
to precinct detectives was understandable. In theory, regular shift
detectives are perfectly good investigators, but in reality,
disappointed precinct detectives who were passed over for the elite MCT
frequently drop the ball, deciding their cases must not be sufficiently
'major' to warrant good investigations.
'I don't doubt their earnestness, but I still don't see why they'd come
to DVD with this, let alone to me. I've never even handled an MCT
case.'
'They figured because of the vice connection that someone in DVD might
take the case from O'Donnell and run with it on something more serious
than a general felony. And I've been watching you since you got here,
Kincaid. You're good, and this could be a case for you to show what
you can do when given the chance.'
'Don't think you can play me like that, Garcia. I know an ego stroke
when I see it.' Of course, recognizing the stroke for what it was
didn't prevent me from succumbing to it. The truth was, he was right.
I'd been eager to get my hands on a major trial. It's a no-win
situation: DVD cases aren't sexy enough to prove yourself to the guys
running this place, yet you're supposed to prove yourself before you
can try victim cases. Garcia was dangling a way for me to beat the
system.
I wasn't about to sign on for this, though, without knowing the
details.
'I don't think there's much I can do about it, but I'm willing to talk.
Have someone call me?' I asked.
'I can do better than that,' he said. 'I got two MCT detectives
waiting for you down the street.'
Garcia must've known he'd be able to work me. He had told Detectives
Jack Walker and Raymond Johnson to wait for us at the cafeteria in the
basement of the federal building. Created to provide subsidized meals
to low-level government workers, the cafeteria had found a cultlike
following among the city's law enforcement crowd. A three-dollar tray
of grease dished out by lunch ladies in hair nets had a certain retro
appeal.
I exercised some moderation and got a bowl of oatmeal while Garcia
waited for his plate to be loaded up with bacon and home fries. After
he'd paid for our meals, he led me to a corner table.
'Jack Walker, Raymond Johnson, this is Samantha Kincaid.'
I shook their hands. Jack Walker was a beefy man in his fifties,
starting to lose his hair, with a full mustache. His short-sleeved
dress shirt stretched tight across his belly, the buttons pulling in
front. His grip was almost painfully firm, and his palms were rough.
He looked like a cop, through and through.
Johnson was a different story altogether. A tall well-built African
American in his mid-thirties, Raymond Johnson looked and dressed like a
GQ model. He wore a collarless shirt with a three-button charcoal
suit. His hair was close-cropped, and he wore a diamond stud in his
left ear. He shook my hand and held it just a little longer than
necessary, which was fine with me.
'It's nice to meet you both,' I said. 'I've seen you around the
courthouse, but I don't think we've ever actually met.'
Jack Walker spoke first. 'Yeah, likewise. I've been hearing a lot of
good things about you from Tommy, here, and Chuck Forbes says you guys
go way back.'
Suddenly, Johnson's handshake made a little more sense. To say that
Chuck Forbes and I go way back is to sanitize the situation
considerably. I didn't think Chuck would tell all to his cop buddies,
but I wouldn't be surprised if he had said something in a certain way
with that grin of his that would clue a guy like Raymond Johnson in to
the gist of his reminiscing.
I hoped I wasn't blushing. 'Well, I don't want to disappoint you, but
it's a long shot that I'll be able to help.' I asked them to tell me
about the case from the beginning, and Johnson took over.
'We got the call around three on Sunday morning. A group of high
school kids went out near Multnomah Falls to party. They were all
pretty drunk, and a couple of them hiked into the forest to get it on.
The girl tripped over what she thought was a log. Turns out the log
was Kendra Martin.'
He explained the facts in detail; I could see why he enjoyed a
reputation among the DDAs as one of the bureau's best witnesses. 'She
was wearing a bra and a skirt pulled up over her hips, nothing else. No
purse, no ID. Real beat up, finger marks on her neck, blood coming out
of her bottom.' I looked down, trying to hide my discomfort. Johnson
continued. 'The kids called police and medical. Looking at her,
