Couples

Chapter 68

"There are things you usually see with an accident," Lanie explains. "People try to slow down, speed up, dodge, get out of the way somehow. If something falls on someone, it's usually not a square hit. Accidents don't aim. And we look at medical histories too. Some conditions will make a person unaware. Neurological diseases make people stumble and fall a lot. While detectives look at whether a victim made someone mad enough to kill them, we look at whether there are medical reasons for a victim to be accident-prone and what the injuries look like. We can tell you that a death looks suspicious, but you have to decide if it's a homicide."

"Right," Kate agrees. "Detectives know we're the ones that class deaths as homicides. But I'm finding out more and more, that detectives keep them accidental because they don't want to be bothered with a further investigation. That leaves the families with having to find and pay for a lawyer and spend the time, maybe years, pursuing their causes."

Johanna shimmers into Kate's view. "I had more than a few like that, with loved ones trying to find some justice. From what I've observed, your dad is picking up on some of them now too."

Lanie waves her hand in front of Kate's face. "Girl, are you with me?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, Lanie. I was just thinking about my parents taking some of those cases. But they wouldn't have had to if some police detectives were more honest. Could you pull some old autopsy reports for me and tell me how suspicious the deaths were? I may have stumbled into a string of murders."

"Which is one more reason for a killer to come after you," Johanna insists.

"I'm not backing off!" Kate proclaims.

"Of course you're not," Lanie declares. "Kate Beckett never backs off anything. I'll go over the files for you, but keep watching your butt."

"I am," Kate assures both her visitors.

"Kushman and Flatt are responsible for a string of deaths," Kate and Rick exclaim in synchrony when she arrives at the loft.

"OK, we agree," Kate considers. "From what we talked about when I checked in this morning, while I've been studying court documents, you've been reading true crime stories."

"Not exactly," Rick points out. "The accounts were for the most part out of the AP stylebook, not purple prose. But anyway we look at it, those two have been getting away with murder for years, and Roan's been enabling them."

"Which gives us a stack of circumstantial evidence, and Lanie's working on more from the medical end. But I haven't got the connection that seals the deal enough for me to pull Roan in and drag him over the coals. Do you?"

"No," Rick admits. "Kate, we're trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle with two of the most important pieces missing from the middle. We need to know who the body on Celia Bulova's floor was and/or who killed him and left him there. Why not start back at the boutique with a connection we can find? Didn't Merdebutte tell you that Kushman's locksmithing connections could have provided a key to Celia's back door?"

"He did," Kate confirms.

"I did some research on locksmiths in New York for one of my books. They have to be licensed, and part of that process involves being fingerprinted. I'm wondering if someone with lock-picking skills got caught opening a lock that should have stayed closed and had to find an employer that would consider it a plus. Somewhere, there must be a list of naughty locksmiths with unrenewed licenses."

"You're right, Babe!" Kate exclaims. "And I can always bring a locksmith with a record in for questioning about an illegally opened door."

Rick wiggles his brows. "Under the category of rounding up the usual suspects?"

Kate rises on her toes for a kiss. "Exactly."

"Mama!" comes a plaintive demand from the corral.

Rick sighs. "Better go greet our daughter. She has a new trick. She's making Gamoee do wheelies. Definitely the influence of the Beckett side of the family."

Kate gives Rick a quick peck. "This I've got to see."

"What's wrong?" Lorne asks as Lanie pokes at a bowl of linguine. "Usually, you can't wait to get into the massive load of carbs you only allow yourself once a week."

"I was thinking about some files I dug up for Kate today. They were all deaths officially declared as accidental, but some of them could have been homicides."

"Things do slip through the cracks," Lorne acknowledges. "That's one of the reasons I have my new job. We take a second look at cases like that. But the families have to have the resources to hire us."

"Considered doing a little pro bono work?" Lanie inquires.

"I've done some before at disaster scenes in poor communities," Lorne replies. "Otherwise, some bodies would never have been identified. Their loved ones would have wondered what happened to them forever."

"There may also be some loved ones with serious questions in the cases Kate asked me to find," Lanie realizes. "I start work earlier than you do. Want to join me for an hour or two tomorrow morning and have a look at those files? I can always use a second set of eyes."

Lorne leans across the table for a saucy kiss. "Glad to help."

Lanie enthusiastically rolls linguine onto her fork. Suddenly she's starving.

Disgraced locksmith Willie Green hates police stations. He's not fond of cops and likes answering their questions even less. The two detectives who picked him up this morning were polite – if you didn't count the dirty look on the sp*c's face. But the pair didn't tell Willie much about why he was here. They just sat him in a metal chair at a metal table and told him to wait for a Detective Beckett – probably some ogre who enjoys torturing suspects.

At first, Willie thinks the woman who enters the room must be a secretary or a clerk or something. She's damn pretty to be a cop, much less a detective. But the badge on her belt is unmistakable. Smacking a thick leather folder on the table, she takes the seat opposite him. "Mr. Green, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I'd like to talk to you about your employer."

"I don't have an employer," Willie claims. "I work for myself, kind of freelance. I help people out."

"How?" Kate asks. She opens her folder and passes a document across the table. "You lost your locksmithing license. I have information that you've accepted jobs from a Michael Roan. What is it that you do for a lawyer, Mr. Green?"

Willie squirms under Kate's gaze. "This and that. I'm kind of a jack of all trades. There's no law against that, and you don't need a license."

"And if I were to tell you that a camera in the alley behind the Bulova Boutique caught you examining the lock on the back door?" Kate inquires.

"There ain't no damn cameras in that alley!" Green protests.

"You're right, Mr. Green, there aren't. But you wouldn't know that unless you'd been there. So what were you doing behind the Bulova Boutique?"

"Just having a look, that's all, at what kind of lock the store had. That's not illegal, even without a license, as long as I didn't touch it."

"Providing information that leads to the commission of a felony is illegal, very illegal, Mr. Green," Kate informs him. "But I'm a homicide cop. I'm not interested in busting a locksmith – as long as he doesn't obstruct my investigation. So tell me, Mr. Green, who were you having a look for?"

"I don't know for sure. I just got a message promising money if I left a draft in a private email, describing the lock and a key that would open it."

"Can you still access that draft, Mr. Green?" Kate presses.

"Yeah, I saved it so I wouldn't lose it. I wanted to make sure I got my money."