Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

isn’t his style. Johnny’s possessive and insecure, but he wouldn’t kill anybody.”
    “Is that so, Ms. Winkler? Isn’t it true that John Merchant has quite a temper? In fact, hasn’t he hit you before? Isn’t it also true that Merchant is on probation with the Corrections Department for almost beating a guy to death here at the club because he thought the guy was flirting with you?”
    “Okay, so he’s got a temper. That doesn’t make him a killer. He never hit me. If Mommy Dearest told you that, she’s a liar. Johnny is fucked up in a lot of ways, but I’m telling you, he’s no killer. As to whether he knew about my relationship with Levi, how would I know? I sure didn’t tell him. But sometimes I got the feeling he was following me, almost like he was stalking me. A couple of times he’d just show up unannounced at my apartment, or be waiting in the club parking lot when I got off work. I told him to stay away, but he just ignored me.”
    “Ok, Ms. Winkler, just one more question. Is John Merchant a smoker?”
    “Yeah, probably a pack a day. Why?”
    “Which brand does he smoke?”
    “He’ll smoke any damn brand he can get his hands on—whatever he can find on the cheap or bum from somebody.”
    I gave Winkler a business card and encouraged her to call if she thought of anything else.
    ***
    We immediately headed back to meet Owens and Burnham, who were pulling surveillance duty at our suspect’s home. It was time to roust John Merchant and really lean on him. This was a guy with motive, opportunity, and means. We felt that Winkler had told us the truth about most things, but not about her relationship with John Merchant. On a ten-point defensiveness scale, Winkler scored an eleven the moment Kate brought John Merchant’s name into the discussion. She was still involved with him. We felt certain of that. As for us, we were about to find out just how bad Big Bad John really was.

Chapter Twelve
    The Satin & Lace Club was located about ten minutes from John Merchant’s home. I radioed Burnham and Owens to find out if anything was happening at the house. Burnham reported that everything appeared quiet with no sign of our suspect or his car.
    As McConnell and I got close to Merchant’s home, my radio cracked and Owens said, “The suspect has just arrived home and appears to be in a real hurry. He just jumped the curb and drove across the front lawn. What’s your ETA?”
    “We’re just a couple of minutes away,” I replied. “I’ll bet somebody tipped him, and I’ve got a pretty good idea who. Let’s get on him quickly. There’s probably something in that house that he doesn’t want us to see.”
    “Roger that,” replied Owens. “We’re gonna follow him right through the front door. There’s an alley running north and south behind the house. You guys come in that way and cover the back. That okay?”
    “Sounds good. We’re about there. Be careful with this guy.”
    We turned into the alley and spit loose gravel as we accelerated between homes. Before I could bring the car to a full stop, McConnell bailed out and broke into a full sprint crossing into Merchant’s back yard. I cursed, jumped out, and followed her. The only place of concealment was a large maple tree located about twenty-five yards from the back door. Doing what I thought was prudent, I sought cover behind the tree. I yelled at Kate to stop. She either didn’t hear or chose to ignore me. She never broke stride. When she was perhaps fifteen feet from the back door, it suddenly opened, and Merchant launched himself off the porch, gun in hand. Neither person had any time to react. Merchant hit McConnell head on, lifting her three feet off the ground, and dumping her unceremoniously on her backside. She managed to roll away, but lost her weapon in the process. He stopped suddenly and made a half turn back toward her. At that moment, I emerged from cover in a low, combat position yelling for him to drop the weapon. He turned in one motion and raised the handgun. I fired once, striking him in the upper right shoulder. He dropped like a stone.
    The next couple of hours were pandemonium. Salt Lake City P.D. responded with a shooting team, Internal Affairs officers, a crime scene unit, and a Department media spokesperson. The Department of Corrections sent the head of Field Operations and a deputy director. TV and print journalists descended on the place like locusts in a corn field. As for Kate, other than having the