Chapter 4: Objectivity
"Morning, sunshine," Bridget called from the hallway behind me. I was stumbling my way from the lab to the elevator, my mind still occupied with Ms. Grange-Martinson and what about her set me off. I stopped and stood to the side of the hall until Bridget caught up to me.
"Hot off the press: DNA results." She brandished a set of papers at me.
"That was fast." I wrinkled my nose. The lab generally was too far backlogged to do anything so delicate so quickly.
"I called in a favor with Chad." Bridget said. She reached out and shoved the door open for both of us. We sat side by side a table and opened the file.
"Inconclusive, but suggestive? How?" I drummed my fingers against the table top. "What samples are they comparing this to?"
"Hair. McLynn convinced DuPret to get in there and get hair samples on those three you were talking about."
"Three? You mean the two women and the missing security guard?"
"Those ones, yeah." Bridget flipped a page and squinted at a chart. "Doesn't look like they ran toxins, though."
"How did McLynn know about the three people?" I muttered. "I don't remember saying anything."
"I told her." Bridget turned toward me and tossed her hair behind her shoulder with a swift chopping motion. "DuPret was talking about the two women, so I just added on the missing security guard. Voila."
"They got hair on all three." I said flatly. I had serious doubts about the security guard hair sample, frankly.
"Don't look at me like that; I didn't do it." Bridget grinned. "McLynn put Chad in charge of getting the samples."
"Well, he doesn't often screw things up." I allowed. Chad was the crime scene tech McLynn and I liked to fight over. He was sharp, thorough, and fast. "Does he speak Spanish?"
"Honey, everybody but you speaks Spanish." McLynn's voice carried over from the door. She grinned at us. "You two want to tell me about my brilliance now?"
"Yeah, I do." I said, laughing. "I don't know how you get DuPret to do what you want whenever you want it."
"I'm a mother, honey." McLynn said.
"Bridget tells me you had Chad on this?" I asked.
"Yeah; he wanted to talk to you about the Ramos sample. The lady said something about another detective with black hair?" McLynn raised her eyebrows at me. Bridget turned in her seat and peered at me expectantly.
"She might've meant Karne." I said, hoping that'd be enough.
"Oh my lord, Connell," McLynn said forcefully. "Do not tell me you are going around with that man after the way you met him."
"It's not like that," I protested.
"Wait, you're going out with the hot guy?" Bridget asked.
"No!" I yelped. "No, I'm not going out with him. And yes, I have done some interviews with him." Bridget grinned broadly. McLynn crossed her arms over her chest.
"Don't be an idiot, Connell." McLynn said in a warning tone.
"I'm not. He's got a department pedigree." I said.
"He does—I looked it up. And he's hot." Bridget noted. I gave her a light smack on the upper arm. McLynn's face softened. She joined us at the table.
"So you've seen him?" She asked Bridget.
"I've seen a picture." Bridget noted. She turned to her computer and brought up a photograph of Karne nearly scowling at DuPret at a departmental awards ceremony. McLynn leaned closer to the monitor.
"He is attractive, isn't he," McLynn said quietly. "So, you're mixing business with pleasure?" She turned to me, and Bridget did as well.
"No. He just cares about the case. That's all." The two of them looked at me like they weren't going to argue, but they didn't believe a word I was saying. Fair enough. They didn't need to believe me for it to be true.
I thought Bridget would drop the box of evidence she was holding when Karne walked into the lab. I could tell he caught her reaction, but he acted as though he hadn't. I was grateful. I gathered up my briefcase and walked out with him, mentioning to Bridget that I'd be back in the early afternoon for the case meeting. She merely nodded, still clutching the box just above the lab table.
Once we were on the freeways I grabbed the copy of the DNA report from my briefcase. With the level of inappropriate information-sharing I'd already done, I figured I'd just keep at it. I suppose that's exactly the kind of thinking that kept me from being a cop or a lawyer in the first place.
"We have DNA profiles on hair samples from the two women, Ramos, and the hand." I shifted the papers in my hand. Karne's forehead wrinkled.
"DuPret had the presence of mind to order hair samples?" He said at last, frowning.
"No. McLynn told him to do it, and told him which techs to send on the job." I sighed. "I didn't have time to speak with Chad before I left, but I'll get to him this afternoon. I'm not sure about that hair sample for Ramos."
"Chad?" Karne raised his eyebrows.
"Crime scene tech. He retrieved the samples." I paused. "He's McLynn's first choice for difficult jobs."
"Good." Karne's expression flicked from irritation to curiosity, then quickly returned to neutral.
"The hand sample is consistent with the Ramos hair sample. I'm especially suspicious of that, actually—I think they might've found the baby's hair." I muttered the last part.
"They may have. Did the lab test the hair for toxins?" Karne flicked his eyes toward me. I flipped to the second page of the report to verify what Bridget had noticed earlier.
"No. I can order them." I said. Karne nodded.
"Ms. Grange-Martinson expects me to do most of the talking. I've told her I'm a gardening enthusiast interested in her use of dwarf plants. She understands you're not much of a gardener, and are there primarily to accompany me." Karne flicked his eyes toward me again. "And take that ring off; she can't think you're hiding your wedding band."
"Of course not." I rolled my eyes, but did as he said. I slid the large silver ring I'd been wearing to cover my fake tattoo over to my right ring finger.
"I've led her to believe you work in business in LA. I've been imprecise. You may want to invent a more thorough story." He paused to navigate a long, curved overpass. "I've told her I work as a landscape architect."
"I'll tell her I work in publishing."
"Why?" Karne lifted an eyebrow.
"Because it's boring. She won't ask for details." I explained.
"Good." Karne smirked. "Though she wouldn't have no matter what you said. She's utterly self-absorbed."
"Great." I sighed. The drive took us past an improbable stretch of houses with the kind of green lawns that only come from private gardeners. We eventually pulled up at the gate of a shingled house with an outlandishly-designed shed behind it. I assumed, since the outbuilding didn't seem sure whether it wanted to be an aircraft hangar or a potting shed, that it was her studio. We pulled down the stamped concrete drive toward it.
Karne opened the passenger door for me, and I stood just in time to see Ms. Grange-Martinson giving me a sour scowl. She shifted her features into a winning smile as she walked toward the car, and seemed to turn the full force of her charm on Karne the moment he faced her way.
"Welcome to my home," she said brightly, her bleached teeth conspicuous against her glossed lips.
"Thank you," Karne said smoothly. He took her hand and brought his lips to her knuckles like an eighteenth century gallant. I had to tighten my stomach muscles to keep from laughing. "Victoria, this is my beautiful wife Violet." Karne gestured toward me. Violet. How in the hell had he found out about my real name? No one, but no one, calls me Violet. I gritted my teeth.
"Charmed," the woman said, her shining teeth tight together.
"Likewise," I said, using the voice I use on my mother when she starts talking about hairstyles.
"I've got tea laid in the greenhouse, if you'll follow me." Victoria stretched a hand out toward the main house. Karne took my elbow and we fell in behind her. "I'm so flattered you wanted to see what I've done with plants, Mr. Connell; I've only picked up what I know from experimenting."
"But you know a great deal, clearly," Karne replied. I'd nearly choked when she said the name. You'd think he would've mentioned that we were using my surname.
"You're too sweet," she purred. We arrived in the greenhouse, which was populated with several of Victoria's finished pieces. A small table set with tea and small sandwiches sat in the center with three chairs. An elk head loomed out of a thicket of ferns near the door to the house, and the potted flowers were alive with stuffed rabbits and squirrels. Karne guided me into the seat that backed against the wall of the house and placed his own back toward the room. Victoria sat against a glass wall.
As we ate they fell deep into conversation about small plants. I lost the thread fairly early but was impressed by several recurrent themes in Victoria's speech. She mentioned several times the amount of care her landscapes required, and that anything less than complete attention would make them imperfect. She'd talk about finishing the illusion, or keeping the landscape "dreamlike." It was as though she wanted to spend all her time and energy creating something so perfect that it ceased to exist in the real world. She also exhaustively catalogued all the landscapes she'd created that turned out to be imperfect, and the ways she destroyed them. She was judge, jury and executioner.
Karne held his own throughout the discussion; their conversation required only the barest nods from me. I put all my attention into looking at the stuffed animals Victoria kept hidden in her plants. It took several minutes of cataloguing the area around me, but eventually I noticed that she stuffed birds as well as mammals. In the upper reaches of the more stout plants in the greenhouse there were small nests that held tiny songbirds. The nests appeared to be made of grass, but as I stared at them I realized the material had to be something else. Finally Victoria got up to get more water for tea, and I took the opportunity to peer more closely at one of the birds. Hair. The nest was lined with hair.
She returned moments later and I tried to swallow my revulsion. Sure, the hair was probably horse hair or other animal hair from her taxidermy. But the woman struck me the wrong way, and her having a greenhouse full of hair-lined bird nests really struck me the wrong way. Karne covered with small talk for a while, but Victoria seemed to sense something was off.
"We're neglecting you, Violet," she said, smiling. "Are you much of a gardener?"
"I'm not, actually," I stalled. "That's Oliver's specialty." I gave her a smile I hoped didn't look too strained. "Actually I was noticing your tea. It's not like any blend I've tasted—do you mind my asking what it is?"
"Oh it's my own blend," she fanned out her fingers toward the teapot. "I tend several herbs and make up blends of them; it's something of a hobby." She looked over at Karne and gave him a broad smile. "I'm afraid I've annoyed my friends with my custom tea blends."
"I don't see how you could have; the tea is excellent." Karne demurred. "Though I'd think you'd have to be a bit careful with your fertilizer and pesticide on the herbs you use. Do you grow them organically?"
"Oh no," she said, fanning her fingers out again. "I go lightly on them, but I do use chemicals."
The two fell into a conversation about pests and pesticides that was indecipherable to me. I tilted my tea cup and looked at the color of the brew, a reddish amber. To my surprise Karne reached over the table and took my hand. He ran his thumb across my knuckles, and I could see Victoria tense as she saw it. He turned to me.
"I've got to return you to your office this afternoon, don't I, love?" He asked.
"You do. But I know you were so looking forward to seeing the bonsai." I demurred.
"Well, we should see them at once, shouldn't we?" Victoria got to her feet and pushed her chair back in place. We followed her from the greenhouse and onto the lawn, then into the studio building. Karne instantly darted to a rank of bonsai and started exclaiming about them. Victoria followed him. I wandered slowly around the room, trying to memorize what I saw there. I was disappointed that it all seemed so standard: the basic tools of carpentry and gardening, a selection of long knives, thick threads and needles, and a rank of glass bell domes. I walked closer to what seemed to be the stitching area. On the table was a bird, eyeless yet and awkwardly posed. When I lifted my head my sight was right in line with what I first thought was an aquarium. Then I recognized it: a de-fleshing tank. One of my biology professors had one. In goes a dead animal, out comes a skeleton.
I wandered back over to Karne and Victoria, who'd come to a stop before a row of chemicals. They were again discussing pesticides and fertilizers. Karne had to be on to something, I knew, but I couldn't see it.
"He had him arrested?" I repeated. "Mr. Martinson. The lawyer. DuPret had him arrested?"
"Yes, for the millionth time." Bridget blew a piece of hair out of her face. "And yes, he is claiming the bones are from the women and that Martinson is a serial killer."
"What about the hand? What about Ramos?" I blustered. "He can't even prove those bones belong to the women. He can't! If I can't he can't."
"I know. He's a moron. The DA has made a mistake. DuPret is going to make us all look like a bunch of amateurs. Chocolate?" She shoved a bar of dark chocolate across the desk to me. Half the squares had been snapped off already.
"Drowning your sorrows?"
"Yeah. DuPret was just in here trying to find you. Fair warning." I pushed the remainder of the bar back to Bridget, who pushed it back toward me. "Take it with you to see McLynn. I think she needs a hug."
"I'm going, I'm going." I took my file on the bones and the chocolate, and was headed toward the door when McLynn came through looking harried.
"Lock the door before that blowhard gets here, will you?" She said, her voice tight with irritation. "I've been telling that jackass he's wrong all day, and he's still…"
"Doc!" DuPret walked through the door to the lab with a large grin on his face. He stood on the opposite side of one of the lab tables from the three of us, and for a moment I had an impulse to overturn it on top of him. "I bagged Martinson. Turns out those missing women were secretaries he'd hired away from Magique."
"Did he confess?" I asked flatly.
"Nah, course not," DuPret said. "But you've got bones for two victims. He'll cave."
"I have bones for two victims and that's it, DuPret. I'm not testifying to anything more than that." My tone got terser as I went.
"And I'm not telling a jury that hand has any relation to Martinson, DuPret; you can kiss that goodbye." McLynn chimed in.
"Oh I'll have a confession by then. Probably with some details about the rest of the remains. That's how these things go." DuPret puffed his chest out.
"That is not how this will go." Karne's voice cut through the nascent argument. Bridget's eyes widened.
"Karne! What the hell are you…" DuPret began.
"Yes, yes. What am I doing here?" Karne snarled. "DuPret, you're an idiot."
"Karne," I began, moving toward him and putting a hand on his forearm.
"Tell us, detective." Karne said coldly. "How did Martinson kill the victims? Why? How did their remains come to be in the ficus trees at his office?"
"I told you, he'll…" DuPret protested.
"You told us nothing." Karne snapped. "You have no theory; you've made a stab in the dark." Karne turned toward me, his face suddenly calm again. "Connell, I'll need your assistance this evening. Are you free at seven?"
"Sure," I said, puzzled.
"Good." Karne nodded. He walked nearly out of the door, then turned back to say goodbye. DuPret, seething, followed him out.
"Just what are you assisting that young man with, Connell?" McLynn raised her eyebrows at me. When I didn't say anything she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"I don't usually know until it happens. I go with him to interview people, mostly." I explained. McLynn uncrossed her arms, and I considered the interrogation over. "You know, there's something he said."
"Yeah?" Bridget asked.
"He asked whether we'd tested the hair samples for toxins." I said. "Suppose we could do that?"
"I'll order it." McLynn said. "DuPret's wrong about that lawyer." Bridget made a noise of agreement and I nodded. Not only was he wrong, he was wrong and trying to head to trial. That could do nothing but protect the real killer.
