Fool Me Once

He brought up the video. This one was in color. It was shot from the side of the cash register. The two guys’ faces were clear now. One was black. The other looked lighter-skinned, maybe Latino. They paid in cash.

“Cold,” Kierce said.

“What?”

“Look at the time stamp. This is fifteen minutes after they shot your husband. And here they are, maybe half a mile away, buying Red Bulls and Doritos.”

Maya just stared.

“Like I said, cold.”

She turned to him. “Or I got it wrong.”

“Not likely.” Kierce stopped the video, freezing the two men. Yes, men. They were young men, no question about it, but Maya had served with too many men that age to call them boys. “Take a look at this.”

He hit an arrow button on the keyboard. The camera zoomed in, blowing up the picture. Kierce focused in on the Latino. “That’s the other guy, right? The one who wasn’t the shooter?”

“Yes.”

“Notice anything?”

“Not really.”

He zoomed in closer now, with the camera focused squarely on the guy’s waist. “Look again.”

Maya nodded. “He’s packing.”

“Right. He’s carrying a gun. You can see the handle if you zoom close enough.”

“Not very subtle,” she said.

“Nope. Hey, I wonder how all your open-carry patriot buddies would react to these two guys strolling down their street strapped like that.”

“I doubt it’s a legally purchased gun,” Maya said.

“It’s not.”

“You found the gun?”

“You know it.” He sighed and stood. “Meet Emilio Rodrigo. Got an impressive rap sheet for a young punk. They both do. Mr. Rodrigo had the Beretta M9 on him when we arrested him. Illegally owned. He’ll serve time for it.”

He stopped.

Maya said, “I hear a ‘but.’”

“We got a warrant and searched both of their residences. That’s where we found the clothes you described and identified today.”

“Will that stick in court?”

“Doubtful. Like our ponytailed pal in there said: They’re red Cons. Lots of people own them. There was also no sign of ski masks, which I found odd. I mean, they kept the clothes. Why throw out the ski masks?”

“Don’t know.”

“They probably dumped them in a garbage can. You know. Right away. They shoot, they run, they rip off the masks, they dump them somewhere.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah, except we searched all the nearby garbage cans. Still, they could have found a place, maybe a sewer or something.” Kierce hesitated.

“What?”

“Thing is, we located the Beretta, like I said. But we didn’t find the murder weapon. The thirty-eight.”

Maya sat back. “I’d be surprised if they kept it, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess. Except…”

“Except what?”

“Punks like these guys don’t always dump the gun. They should. But they don’t. It has value. So they reuse it. Or they sell it to a buddy. Whatever.”

“But this was a pretty big case, right? High profile, lots of media?”

“True.”

Maya watched him. “But you don’t buy that, do you? You have another theory.”

“I do.” Kierce looked away. “But it makes no sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

He started scratching his arm. A nervous tic of some kind. “The thirty-eights we took from your husband’s body. We ran them through ballistics. You know. To see if the bullets matched any other cases in our database.”

Maya looked up at him. Kierce kept scratching. “I’m guessing from your expression,” she said, “that you found a match.”

“We did, yeah.”

“So these guys. They’ve killed before.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you just said…”

“Same gun. Doesn’t mean the same guys. In fact, Fred Katen, the one you identified as the shooter, had a stone-cold alibi for the first murder. He was serving time. He couldn’t have done it.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When was the first murder?”

“Four months ago.”

The room chilled. Kierce didn’t have to say it. He knew. She knew. Kierce couldn’t meet her eye. He looked away, nodded, and said, “The same gun that killed your husband also killed your sister.”

Chapter 8

Are you okay?” Kierce asked.

“Fine.”

“I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Don’t patronize me, Detective.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s go through this again, okay?”

Maya nodded. She stared straight ahead.

“We need to look at this in a whole new way now. The two murders seemed random and unconnected, but now that we know the same gun was used for both…”

Maya said nothing.

“When your sister was shot, you were deployed in the Middle East. Is that correct?”

“At Camp Arifjan,” she said. “In Kuwait.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“We checked. Just to make sure.”

“Make sure…?” She almost smiled. “Ah. You mean like to make sure I didn’t somehow sneak home and shoot my sister and then go back to Kuwait and, what, wait four months and kill my husband?”

Kierce didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. “It all checked out. Your alibi is rock solid.”

“Super,” she said.