Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

H I, BETH,” DEVINE SAID TO Walker as he joined her along one wall in the Sand Bar where she was typing on her laptop. She had on her blue scrubs and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore an SPD ballcap over it.

“Hey, Travis. You back for more sleuthing?” She tacked on a grin.

“Trying. I had a good talk with Braddock yesterday before I headed out of town. He’s one determined detective.”

“Yes, he is.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “Did he tell you about…?”

“He did. I’m glad they nailed the scum.”

“Steve’s boys are both off to college on the East Coast now, so his work really is his life. And he’s been a wonderful mentor to me and some of the other young detectives coming up.”

“Speaks well of him.”

“You said you went out of town?”

“Just checking into something else I’m working on. So how are things going in the Seattle cop universe? You guys holding your own?”

“Case clearance rates have fallen across the country and Seattle is no exception to that. Some of it is lack of resources, and our rank-and-file numbers are way down, just like other departments. Lots of retirements and not many recruits who want to replace them. We’re down nearly a third on our uniformed division. So everyone has to work harder and that is not good for morale, even with the bump in pay we’ve been seeing lately. But we bust our tails to get the job done.”

“They can never pay you guys enough. Look, I was going by Rollins’s apartment later to check things out. Braddock said they didn’t find much, but he told me I could snoop around. You want to come along?”

“I’m just about finished here, and I did want to take a look as well. We’ve been so busy here, another tech team processed his place.”

“Nothing new here?”

“Unfortunately no. Give me ten minutes and we can head out.”

“Sounds good, my rental is right outside. I can bring you back here.”

Rollins had lived in a decrepit apartment building in a crumbling neighborhood a few miles outside of downtown in an area that Walker told him was “transitioning.” What it was transitioning to, she wasn’t clear about.

“His ‘business’ wasn’t going too well, I take it,” said Devine as they walked up to the second floor, where a police officer was stationed outside Rollins’s door.

They were admitted to the apartment and stood there looking around.

She said, “They found no prints other than Rollins’s.”

“Did he have a car?”

“We could find no registration in his name.”

Devine walked to the center of the small main room, off which was a bedroom and a bathroom. The kitchen consisted of an under-the-counter fridge and a microwave. There was little food in the cabinets. A few grimy clothes were piled in the closet. An old deodorant can and a worn-down bar of soap were in the bath. There were no books, no photos, no knickknacks, nothing personal really.

“I think someone was on to Rollins before he started following me.”

“You’re referring to the timing of his death?” she asked.

“Right. I think they were trailing him, saw him talking to me, then followed us both to the bar. After I left, they killed him. Which means they knew Rollins had some information that they didn’t want him to sell.”

“Sounds plausible, but how does that help us?” she asked.

“Not sure. You find his cell?”

“No. He has a phone registered to him but it wasn’t on his person. And there was no phone found here.”

“Which means they took it after they stabbed him.”

“Most likely yes.”

“Can you get into the data?”

“We have a warrant request in.”

“The thing is, I don’t figure Rollins for a loose lips kind of guy. He made his money by finding secrets and then selling them. So how did they latch on to him in the first place?”

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Well, he offered me dirt on Danny Glass, so maybe he offered it to others.”

“Including the people who killed him?” said Walker in a skeptical tone.

Devine made a show of looking around the dingy apartment. “Well, it’s not like the guy’s business was all that lucrative, unless he’s got millions socked away in some offshore 401(k). So he might have been that desperate.”

“You don’t mess with a guy like Danny Glass without having some sort of Plan B.”

Devine nodded. “I think Rollins was at least smart enough to know that . So whatever info he had, he would have kept someplace safe, no matter what happened to him. As insurance, but it didn’t seem to protect him in this case.”

“So, if Glass figured that out, and let’s assume he did, he would want to find it before someone else does.”

“Right.” The next moment Devine froze. He pulled out his phone and emailed something.

He pointed at her pants pocket, where the outline of her phone was visible. Walker read the email he’d just sent her and glanced up at him, surprised.

Devine said, “Well, I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s too complicated for me. We’re not going to find anything out here. Let’s head on.”

They left the apartment.

“The email you sent? You think they had Rollins under surveillance somehow?”

“It would make sense,” said Devine.

Devine led her to the apartment that was on the other side of Rollins’s place and knocked on the door. Over the noise of a TV playing inside, they also heard a thumping sound coming toward them. When it opened, the elderly woman there was sitting on a rollator with a cane in one hand. The cane’s hitting the floor as she was moving along must have been the thumping sound they’d heard, Devine deduced.

“Yeah?” she said in an irritated tone. “Make it snappy. I’m binge-streaming.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He glanced up at the number 302 on her door. “We’re looking for Doug Simms. We have information that he lives in Apartment 306, but he’s not answering. Do you know Doug?”

“Who’s asking, fella?”

Walker held out her badge. “Seattle PD. And you are?”

Scowling, she said, “Lynn Martin.”

“So, 306?” asked Devine.

“This ‘Doug Simms,’ whoever the hell he is, doesn’t live there, because nobody lives there. Been empty for weeks.”

“How about Apartment 304?” asked Devine.

“You a cop, too?” asked Martin.

“He’s working with us,” explained Walker.

“Uh-huh. Seems fishy to me. Perry Rollins lived in 304. And he’s not home because he’s dead, or so says the TV news.”

“You knew Mr. Rollins?” asked Walker.

“As well as anybody. Sure, he was shady, but I liked him okay. Brought some, what you call, excitement to this place. Otherwise it’s just a humdrum mausoleum, so to speak, and I’m not dead, at least not yet. He helped out around my place. Repaired stuff. Leaky toilet, hole in the wall, and he repainted my kitchen. Very handy. And he didn’t charge much. I mostly paid him in food. And he was always nice to Miss Persimmon.”

“Who?” asked Devine.

“My cat.”

“Can we come in and talk for a few minutes?” said Devine.

“No!”

“Why not?”

“I’m not wasting what little time I have left on you. And I’m streaming!”

She shut the door in their faces.

“Wouldn’t want to get on her bad side,” noted Walker.

“I think we just did.”

They huddled in front of 306 and Devine took out his lockpick gun.

“I didn’t see that,” noted Walker, giving him a look.

“See what?” said Devine.

A moment later they were in the apartment. It didn’t take long. Attached to the wall that adjoined Rollins’s was a black device about three inches in length. Walker took a photo of it and then they left.

“Listening device,” he said as Walker nodded in agreement. “Surprised they didn’t come here and remove it. Any way to track where that signal is going without letting them know we found it?”

“I can try,” she said. “I’ll get an IT team here and see what they can do. I can stay here and meet them. They can try to capture the signal out here.” She eyed him appraisingly. “We didn’t have a warrant to go in there. You must do things differently at DHS.”

“Yeah, we must. Be sure to fill in Braddock on all this. I told him I’d keep him in the loop.”

He left her there and headed on to his next investigative stop: Betsy Odom.