Chapter 38

Seattle, Washington

Monday, March 9, 2020

Naturally, as I waited for the elevator at Seattle PD Headquarters, who should step off but my son, Scott—or Scotty, as he

seemed to be known around there. I don’t know which of us was more surprised. While working in the Tech unit, he had worn

a regular uniform. Now I tried to get accustomed to him being dressed as a full-scale detective, all decked out in a suit

and tie.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’m here to see Detective Sechrest.”

“About that Liberty Lake case?” he asked. “Sandy told me about that.”

“What about you?”

“I’m on my way to touch base with someone over at the courthouse.”

He looked like he was in a hurry, but I held up my hand. “Wait,” I said. “Before you go, have you heard back from your sister?”

Scott sighed and rolled his eyes. “I did,” he responded. “I asked her how things were going.”

“Let me guess. She told you everything was fine.”

“Yup,” he said, “like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was going on. How did you know that’s what she’d say?”

“Because she’s my daughter,” I told him. “She’s more than slightly stubborn, and she hates like hell to admit she might have

made a mistake.”

“Like marrying Jeremy, for instance?” Scott asked sarcastically.

I didn’t reply to that one.

“It annoys the hell out of me when she goes all big sister on me and treats me like I’m still a little kid who can’t be trusted

with anything important. I’m a grown-up now, for pity’s sake—a cop even, not just her baby brother. Where does she get off?”

I didn’t blame him for being pissed.

“Don’t feel like you’re the only one being left out of the loop,” I told him. “Mel and I wouldn’t know anything about what

was happening, either, if Kyle hadn’t told us.”

That seemed to mollify him. He turned to go but then paused again. “How long will you be here?” he asked.

“Not sure,” I answered. “I’m waiting for a call from the crime lab. Why?”

“I won’t be at the courthouse long,” he said. “If you’re still here when I get back, how about we grab some dinner together,

just the two of us?”

A chance to have dinner alone with my son? Are you kidding? That was even better than Kyle’s asking for us to watch a movie together. No way in hell was I going to pass on that offer no matter what time I headed home to Bellingham.

“Sure thing,” I said, doing my best not to sound too enthusiastic. “Why not? I’ll hang around upstairs until you get back.”

Scott left then while I boarded the elevator and pushed floor number seven. The desk sergeant was on the phone, so I gave

him a friendly wave as I passed by and made straight for Detective Sechrest’s desk. She was there, but she was on the phone,

too, so I took a seat and waited for her to finish.

“Scotty just left,” she told me once the call ended.

“I know. We met up by the elevator in the lobby.”

“What have you got for me?” she asked.

“A name and what I hope will turn out to be a ton of DNA evidence,” I said, “but we’ll have to wait and see how long it takes

for Gretchen Walther at the crime lab to obtain a profile. In the meantime, I thought we should do some old-fashioned police

work.”

Obligingly, Sandy pulled out a notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Suspect’s name?” she asked.

“Constance Herzog,” I answered. “She’s a longtime dispatcher at Seattle’s 911 call center.”

Sandy’s pen stopped moving in midair. “A dispatcher from the call center?” she repeated in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding at all, I’m sorry to say,” I replied, “and not an ordinary dispatcher, either. She’s a supervisor.”

Sandy frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“Reasonably so,” I replied. “She’s a quilter in her spare time, and I just forked over two thousand bucks to buy one of her

quilts, which I dropped off at the crime lab on my way here.”

“Hoping for touch DNA?” Sandy asked.

“Yup.”

“Obviously you’re willing to put your money where your mouth is on this,” Sandy observed wryly. “So what else do you know about her?”

“For starters, at age sixteen she was arrested but never charged with killing her father. She stabbed him in the back with

a butcher knife while he was in the process of assaulting her mother. Somehow the knife blade managed to slip past his ribs

and hit his heart. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The death was ruled to be justifiable homicide.”

“Is that why she chooses victims who are domestic violence offenders—because she’s got daddy issues?”

“When we catch her, maybe we can ask her about that,” I said. “And then there’s the money. Remember those hundred-dollar bills

found at all our crime scenes?”

Sandy nodded.

“Years before Constance’s father met and married her mother, he lived in Cincinnati, Ohio, under his birth name of William

Landon. While there, he was involved as the inside man in a Brinks armored car robbery. That happened in 1956. He left his

coconspirators to take the heat, while he grabbed the money and ran. He settled in Butte, Montana, where, using the identity

of his deceased older brother, Frank, he went to work in the copper mines. That’s where he met and married Constance’s mother.

It’s also where he was killed—in Butte. After his death, Constance and her mother moved to Seattle where they bought a house

in the Northgate area without needing a mortgage.”

“Purchased with money from the armored car robbery maybe?” Sandy asked.

“That’s my guess, but not all of it by any means. Supposedly Landon got away with a cool four hundred thousand dollars.”

“Unbelievable,” Sandy muttered. “And all this background information came from where?”

“From a woman named Harriet Bonham who lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She had entered her DNA into GEDmatch in hopes of tracking

down her mother’s favorite cousin, someone she called the ‘black sheep of her family.’ I work with a volunteer cold case squad

called The Last Chance. Our DNA expert ran the profile obtained from the Liberty Lake homicide through GEDmatch and got a

hit.”

“Do you happen to have Constance’s address?” Sandy asked.

“I certainly do.”

As I read off the address of the derelict house on Evanston, Sandy ditched her pen and notebook in favor of her computer keyboard.

“No known police activity reported at that address,” she said a moment later.

“No surprises there,” I said. “She lives alone in an accessory dwelling unit out back. The ADU doubles as her quilting studio.

If someone wanted to rob the place, they’d have to use a machete to cut through the jungle of blackberry bushes. But a red

Prius was parked out front. Here’s the plate number.”

More typing followed. “Okay,” she said a moment later. “That vehicle is registered to Constance Marie Herzog. Is she married?”

“Used to be. Divorced.”

“Let’s hope,” Sandy muttered. “With her for an ex, the poor guy could be dead, too.”

That made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Sandy asked.

“That was my first thought, too, but he’s still alive and well and living somewhere near Phoenix.”

“Okay,” she said, “here’s another vehicle registration. This one is for a 2007 Dodge Caravan.”

“That makes sense. Witnesses reported that Darius Jackson was helping an old lady back to her van when he disappeared, so presumably she had one, but I didn’t see a van parked anywhere near the residence when I was there earlier this afternoon.”

“And when you bought that quilt from her, she had no idea you were actually investigating her?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“And there’s no chance that she’ll run for the hills?”

“I doubt it. She set our meeting for two p.m. so she could make it to work this evening. She said she was working the night shift this week.”

Sandy took a breath. “Okay,” she said, “let’s hope she didn’t tumble to the idea that we’re onto her. Buying that quilt was

a brilliant way of getting a sample of her DNA, but it won’t stand up in court. We’ll need a search warrant for that.”

“Obviously,” I agreed.

Sandy stood up then. Thinking our visit was over, I started to get to my feet, too.

“No,” she told me, “you sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To have a chat with my captain,” Sandy said. “I’m going to lay out everything you’ve just told me. If Gretchen gets a profile

that matches up with that Liberty Lake case, we sure as hell had better reopen ours!”

While she was gone, I took the opportunity to call Mel and let her know what was up and that I had no idea what time I’d be

getting home.

“Fair enough,” she said. “Sarah’s with me at work, and Kyle and I will be fine without you.”

“Wait a minute,” I objected. “I thought I was indispensable.”

“Don’t you wish,” she replied. “So are you going to see Scotty and Cherisse while you’re there?”

“I ran into him when I came to the department. We’re going to grab some dinner together.”

“Good,” Mel said. “The two of you could use some father/son time.”

I was sitting there twiddling my thumbs and thinking how different this squad room was from my old one back in the Public

Safety Building when Detective Sechrest reappeared, grinning from ear to ear and giving me a thumbs-up from across the room.

“Got it,” she said. “If the crime lab obtains a profile that matches the one from Liberty Lake, our cases will be reopened.

A match will give us enough probable cause for the search warrants we need. I’ll get those typed up so they’ll be ready to

go the moment we hear from the crime lab. What all should I ask for?”

“Go for her home, studio, and both vehicles along with all her electronic devices.”

“Home and work computers?” Sandy asked.

“By all means,” I answered. “And don’t forget to include her Apple Watch. That appears on surveillance video from at least

two of our crime scenes.”

“If the warrants come through tonight, are you interested in doing a search warrant ride-along?”

Not wanting to be labeled a dirty old man, I managed to keep from jumping up and giving Detective Sandra Sechrest a hug around

the neck. “Is the pope Catholic?” I replied.

She grinned back at me. “I’ll be sure to bring along an extra vest.”

Scott turned up then. “I’m seeing smiles all around,” he said. “What’s up?”

I gave him a brief rundown. “So where shall we eat?” he asked when I finished.

“How about the Metropolitan Grill?” I suggested. “That’s nearby and the food should be good.”

“Fine with me,” Scott said.

The restaurant was only a few downhill blocks away, but without knowing exactly where we’d be heading afterward, Scott and

I both drove our own vehicles there and utilized the valet parkers. A lot of the items on the restaurant’s menu weren’t available

that night because the kitchen was trying to use up inventory before the inevitable pandemic axe fell. That was disappointing,

but the truth is, we weren’t much interested in the food. We were really there to talk, and talk we did.

It turned out that Scott and Cherisse were dealing with their own pandemic issues. Helene Madrigal, Cherisse’s mom, lives

in France. She’s a widow who had come to the States for a short visit with the kids. Now, with all the uncertainty about international

travel, Cherisse was reluctant to have her mother return home, knowing that once there, she might not be able to come back.

“We’re trying to talk Helene into staying on with us until this Covid thing sorts itself out,” Scott told me.

I like Helene, but having your mother-in-law hanging around for an indefinite period of time seemed like a bad call. I didn’t

say that out loud.

“She’s really good with JonJon,” Scott continued. “Cherisse really appreciates the help, especially with a baby coming.”

That one almost got past me. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Did you say ‘baby’?”

Scott grinned. “I certainly did. We only found out a couple of weeks ago. We wanted the pregnancy to be a little further along before we told anyone, but that’s the real reason we don’t want Helene to leave. She might not be able to come help when the baby’s born.”

“Congrats,” I said. “Do you know what it is?”

Scott grinned again. “Who cares? It’s a baby, and you know us. We don’t plan to find out what it is until we unwrap it.”

Dinner was over and our waiter had just presented the bill when my phone rang. The caller was Gretchen Walther.

“You’ve got a hit!” she said. “The profile from the quilt matches up to that taken from both Jake Spaulding’s crime scene

and Darius Jackson’s. I’ve already sent the results to Detective Byrd in Liberty Lake. Where else should they go?”

“To Detective Sandra Sechrest at Seattle PD and to Detective Boyce Miller at Kent PD. Tell him it’s in regard to the Xavier

Jesus Delgado homicide. The last time I saw Detective Sechrest, she was preparing to write up search warrant requests with

the hope that we might be able to execute them tonight.”

“We?” Scott repeated once the call ended. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

“She said I could ride along if I wanted to.”

“Then I’ll go, too,” Scott declared. “Let’s get back to the department and figure out a game plan.”

As we walked out of the restaurant, the other diners may not have noticed, but I was doing a close approximation of a happy

dance. Not very dignified for a guy my age with two fake knees, but who cares? We were about to nail a serial killer!