A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6) Read online

  PRAISE FOR ROBERT DUGONI’S TRACY CROSSWHITE SERIES

  Praise for Close to Home

  “An immensely—almost compulsively—readable tale . . . A crackerjack mystery.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “In bestseller Dugoni’s nail-biting fifth Tracy Crosswhite mystery . . . [he] embellishes this clever procedural with well-developed characters and an interesting exploration of Navy criminal justice.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Close to Home [is] another thrilling addition to Dugoni’s Crosswhite series.”

  —Associated Press

  “Dugoni’s twisted tale is one of conspiracy and culpability . . . richly nuanced and entirely compelling.”

  —Criminal Element

  Praise for The Trapped Girl

  “In Dugoni’s outstanding fourth Tracy Crosswhite mystery, the Seattle homicide detective investigates the death of Andrea Strickland, a young woman whose body a fisherman finds in a crab pot raised from the sea . . . In less deft hands this tale wouldn’t hold water, but Dugoni presents his victim’s life in discrete pieces, each revealing a bit more about Andrea and her struggle to find happiness. Tracy’s quest to uncover the truth leads her into life-altering peril in this exceptional installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Dugoni drills so deep into the troubled relationships among his characters that each new revelation shows them in a disturbing new light . . . [A]n unholy tangle of crimes makes this his best book to date.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Dugoni has a gift for creating compelling characters and mysteries that seem straightforward, but his stories, like an onion, have many hidden layers. He also is able to capture the spirit and atmosphere of the Pacific Northwest, making the environment come alive . . . [A]nother winner from Dugoni.”

  —Associated Press

  “All of Robert Dugoni’s talents are once again firmly on display in The Trapped Girl, a blisteringly effective crime thriller . . . structured along classical lines drawn years ago by the likes of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett. A fiendishly clever tale that colors its pages with crisp shades of postmodern noir.”

  —Providence Journal

  “Robert Dugoni, yet again, delivers an excellent read . . . With many twists, turns, and jumps in the road traveled by the detective and her cohorts, this absolutely superb plot becomes more than just a little entertaining. The problem remains the same: Readers must now once again wait impatiently for the next book by Robert Dugoni to arrive.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  Praise for In the Clearing

  “Tracy displays ingenuity and bravery as she strives to figure out who killed Kimi.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Dugoni’s third ‘Tracy Crosswhite’ novel (after Her Final Breath) continues his series’ standard of excellence with superb plotting and skillful balancing of the two story lines.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Dugoni has become one of the best crime novelists in the business, and his latest featuring Seattle homicide detective Tracy Crosswhite will only draw more accolades.”

  —Romantic Times, Top Pick

  “Robert Dugoni tops himself in the darkly brilliant and mesmerizing In the Clearing, an ironically apt title for a tale in which nothing at all is clear.”

  —Providence Journal

  Praise for Her Final Breath

  “A stunningly suspenseful exercise in terror that hits every note at the perfect pitch.”

  —Providence Journal

  “Absorbing . . . Dugoni expertly ratchets up the suspense as Crosswhite becomes a target herself.”

  —Seattle Times

  “Dugoni does a masterful job with this entertaining novel, as he has done in all his prior works. If you are not already reading his books, you should be!”

  —Bookreporter

  “Takes the stock items and reinvents them with crafty plotting and high energy . . . The revelations come in a wild finale.”

  —Booklist

  “Another stellar story featuring homicide detective Tracy Crosswhite . . . Crosswhite is a sympathetic, well-drawn protagonist, and her next adventure can’t come fast enough.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  Praise for My Sister’s Grave

  “One of the best books I’ll read this year.”

  —Lisa Gardner, bestselling author of Touch & Go

  “Dugoni does a superior job of positioning [the plot elements] for maximum impact, especially in a climactic scene set in an abandoned mine during a blizzard.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Yes, a conspiracy is revealed, but it’s an unexpected one, as moving as it is startling . . . The ending is violent, suspenseful, even touching. A nice surprise for thriller fans.”

  —Booklist

  “Combines the best of a police procedural with a legal thriller, and the end result is outstanding . . . Dugoni continues to deliver emotional and gut-wrenching, character-driven suspense stories that will resonate with any fan of the thriller genre.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Well written, and its classic premise is sure to absorb legal-thriller fans . . . The characters are richly detailed and true to life, and the ending is sure to please fans.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “My Sister’s Grave is a chilling portrait shaded in neo-noir, as if someone had taken a knife to a Norman Rockwell painting by casting small-town America as the place where bad guys blend into the landscape, establishing Dugoni as a force to be reckoned with outside the courtroom as well as in.”

  —Providence Journal

  “What starts out as a sturdy police procedural morphs into a gripping legal thriller . . . Dugoni is a superb storyteller, and his courtroom drama shines . . . This ‘Grave’ is one to get lost in.”

  —Boston Globe

  ALSO BY ROBERT DUGONI

  The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell

  The 7th Canon

  Damage Control

  The Tracy Crosswhite Series

  My Sister’s Grave

  Her Final Breath

  In the Clearing

  The Trapped Girl

  Close to Home

  The Academy (a short story)

  Third Watch (a short story)

  The David Sloane Series

  The Jury Master

  Wrongful Death

  Bodily Harm

  Murder One

  The Conviction

  Nonfiction with Joseph Hilldorfer

  The Cyanide Canary

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by La Mesa Fiction, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503954182

  ISBN-10: 1503954188

  Cover design by David Drummond

  To all the women who have suffered from breast cancer and have fought the good fight. Hopefully, someday, research will break through and we fin
ally will have a cure.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuesday, July 10, 2018

  It had been more than a year since Seattle homicide detectives Del Castigliano and Vic Fazzio had worked a case in South Park, but the reason for their visits hadn’t changed. Someone had been murdered.

  On their last case, two attorneys trying to flip homes and spur redevelopment had been shot in one of their properties—a subtle message.

  South Park wasn’t interested in change.

  “A world unto itself,” Del said, repeating a Seattle Police Department mantra as he drove their pool car across the South Park Bridge over the green-gray waters of the Duwamish River. Just after 4:00 p.m., a July sun reflected diamonds of sparkling light across the river’s surface, and the temperature in Seattle had risen above eighty-five degrees, without a cloud in the sky.

  The bridge deposited them onto Cloverdale Street. “I thought South Park might get redeveloped when the bridge reopened,” Faz said.

  South Park had what those in real estate considered the most important criteria for redevelopment: location, location, location. Situated twenty minutes south of downtown Seattle, it was also a stone’s throw west of Boeing Field and close to the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. The South Park Bridge had been condemned in 2010 and did not reopen for more than four years; nobody seemed to be in a great rush. If South Park’s toxic topsoil and polluted waters did not dissuade redevelopment, crime usually did. South Park’s population included a large contingent of Sureño gang members out of Southern California—foot soldiers for the Mexican drug cartels.

  “I thought some developer would start buying up property and raise rents, especially with this housing market,” Faz continued. “Now I’m thinking that’s as likely as me losing weight.” At six foot four, Faz tipped the scale at 270 pounds. He glanced at Del. “You actually look like you put on a couple pounds.”

  Del, an inch taller, had lost fifty pounds since starting a relationship with Celia McDaniel, a King County prosecutor. “I’m eating some carbs again,” Del said. “Celia says she likes me better at this weight.”

  “I like you better at this weight. We were starting to look like Laurel and Hardy,” Faz said. “Did Billy call and get us some help?” Billy Williams was the A Team’s sergeant, and Del and Faz the homicide team on call for the week. Ordinarily, Tracy Crosswhite and Kinsington Rowe, the other two detectives on the four-person team, would provide support. Crosswhite, however, had been sitting in a homicide trial in King County Superior Court for more than a month.

  “He said he’d get somebody.” Del made a right turn and slowed as they approached a stream of parked police vehicles. A crowd stood on the south side of the street—men and women of all ages dressed in tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops. They fanned themselves and shielded their eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. “The circus has come to town,” Del said, continuing past the CSI van and a fire truck, while looking for a place to park.

  “Four o’clock on a weekday—this is better than a movie,” Faz agreed. “Park in front of the ambulance.”

  Del pulled into an angled spot in front of a two-story redbrick apartment building. Faz slid from the passenger seat of the air-conditioned car and slipped a lightweight blazer over his long-sleeve shirt and tie. “I can already feel myself starting to sweat.”

  “I’ve been sweating since the day I was born,” Del said. He, too, wore a suit, though he’d removed his tie as a concession to the heat.

  Faz looked up when he heard the thrum of a hovering news helicopter. First thing they’d need to do, if Billy hadn’t done it already, was to get the helicopter the hell out of the area. They badged the officer holding the police log, scribbled their names, badge numbers, and time of their arrival in the log, and ducked beneath yellow-and-black crime scene tape. Most of the officers had congregated around a small playground in the center courtyard of the U-shaped apartment building. The body lay beneath a blue sheet near a green jungle gym. Billy stood talking to one of several uniformed officers but he broke off the conversation when he saw Faz and Del.

  “You call in about the helicopter?” Faz asked.

  “Yeah,” Billy said, not sounding optimistic his call would do any good. News helicopters could only be fined for being in a police no-fly zone. If the story were big enough, the station would stay and pay the fine.

  “Any chance we can argue the apartment is in King County?” Del said.

  “I wish,” Billy said.

  Some of the streets in South Park were within the King County Sheriff’s jurisdiction, and the running joke between the two agencies was that officers rolled bodies across streets to put them in the other’s jurisdiction. Though he meant it as a joke, Del refrained from smiling. With the union trying out body cameras on their uniformed officers, humor no longer had any place at a crime scene. They’d all be on Zoloft by the end of the year.

  Billy adjusted his driving cap, which shielded his shaved head from the sun. “This one could get ugly, fast. The decedent is Monique Rodgers.” He paused, as if the name should mean something to them. “You might have read about her or seen her on the news, advocating against gangs and drugs in South Park.”

  “The activist?” Faz said. He recalled something on the news about an African American woman speaking to the city council about drugs and gangs in the South Park community.

  “Would-be activist,” Billy said. “She didn’t get all that far.”

  “Could be the reason she was shot in broad daylight,” Faz said. “Someone sending a message.”

  “Likely,” Billy said.

  “I’m assuming someone saw it?” Del asked.

  “One would think, wouldn’t he?” Billy said. “I’m told there were half a dozen moms out here with their kids, but so far everyone is doing the ‘see no, hear no, speak no English’ act.”

  “They’re scared,” Faz said.

  “Anyone else hurt?” Del asked.

  Billy shook his head. “Nothing reported.”

  “So then we’re assuming she was the intended victim?” Faz asked the question as he considered two brick pony walls along the sidewalk, which would have made for good cover if two rival gangs had started shooting at one another—South Park was also home to the Crips and to a couple Asian gangs, though in far fewer numbers than the Sureños. If
two gangs had opened fire, Rodgers could have been an innocent victim caught in the cross fire.

  “We are,” Billy said, “given that no one else was shot, and witnesses said they only heard the one shooter.” He glanced up at the news helicopter, still hovering. “TV is going to play up big the fact that it was broad daylight with kids around.”

  “Where’s her family now?” Faz asked.

  “Grandmother got the kids out of here and took them into the apartment.” He pointed to a corner of the U-shaped building. “Husband has apparently come home from work and is also with them.”

  “Is anyone saying anything?” Faz asked.

  Billy shook his head. “We can’t even get confirmation on the number of shots or from what direction they were fired. One woman told the responding officer she thought she heard three shots coming from over there.” Williams pointed to a corner of the building.

  “They find shell casings?” Del asked.

  “None,” Billy said.

  “So the witness either got it wrong,” Faz said, “or the shooter used a revolver.”

  “I got patrol searching for casings,” Billy said. He pointed again to the apartments. “And Anderson-Cooper is going door-to-door.”

  Desmond Anderson and Lee Cooper worked out of the B Team. Since the Anderson Cooper had become CNN’s regular nightly news anchor, the detectives in Violent Crimes referred to the two-man detective team in the singular.

  “We’re going to need the video unit,” Faz said. “One of the businesses around here might have picked up the shooter fleeing or getting into a car.” The street was mixed-use, with apartment buildings, small homes, and corner stores.

  “Already on their way,” Billy said.

  “How much did the kids see?” Faz asked.

  “All of it,” Billy said.

  Faz turned to the sound of trumpets and guitars—Mexican music—coming from the street. A cherry-red, two-door Chevelle with black stripes and gold hubcaps bounced up and down as it drove past the apartment complex.

  “Send in the clowns,” Del said.

  The man in the passenger seat had a shaved head and a thin mustache that extended to a goatee. Dark sunglasses hugged his face, giving him fly’s eyes. His right arm, heavily tattooed, hung out the window. The car slowed and the man removed his sunglasses, staring at Faz.

  “Little Jimmy,” Faz said. “All grown-up.”