Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

kill all of the parole board members? The lives of the other board members could be in imminent danger. An unlikely scenario? Yes. Something I could afford to ignore? Definitely not.
    I reached for my cell phone and dialed Salt Lake P.D. dispatch. I was connected to the dispatch duty sergeant.
    “Sergeant Malone; how can I help you?”
    “Sergeant Malone, this is Sam Kincaid from the Special Investigations Branch of the Utah Department of Corrections. I’m on my way to assist your homicide unit at the home of Levi Vogue and I need your help with something.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “We’ve got two parole board members who live in the city and two who reside in Salt Lake county. If I get you their names and addresses, could you have patrol officers contact them and make sure that everybody is okay?”
    “Not a problem—be glad to do it. We’ll contact the ones in our jurisdiction and I’ll have the sheriff’s office send deputies to the homes of the two who reside in the county. Anything else?”
    “Yeah, there is one more thing. Do you think you could arrange special patrol coverage of their homes for the remainder of the night?”
    “Not a problem.”

Chapter Two
    Death investigations were nothing new for me. My 17 years working inside the prison system for the Special Investigations Branch brought me into close contact with death and serious bodily injury all too frequently. Prisons were like that, and the Utah State Prison was no exception.
    I was not surprised by the pandemonium when I arrived at Vogue’s home. The red and blue emergency lights from police and fire units were visible from two blocks away. Neighbors and curious onlookers had gathered behind police barricades across the street from the victim’s home. The area had been cordoned off with yellow tape reading “Crime Scene—Do Not Enter.” Members of the press scurried about everywhere attempting to gather whatever information became available. A helicopter from one of the local news stations hovered overhead.
    As I approached the crime scene, Fred Saunders, an experienced investigative reporter with the Salt Lake Tribune , spotted me. “Kincaid, is your presence here an indication that Mr. Vogue’s murder was likely committed by a former inmate at the prison?”
    “Hello, Fred. No, it isn’t. It’s much too early to speculate on anything like that. I’m here as a liaison from Corrections to assist Salt Lake P.D. in any way we can.”
    “Who asked you to assist Salt Lake P.D. in the investigation?”
    “No comment,” I replied as I pushed past him toward the entrance to the crime scene.
    I showed my ID to a young patrol officer whose primary responsibility was to control access by logging people in and out. I was immediately escorted to Salt Lake P.D. Homicide Detective Lieutenant Kathryn McConnell. I’d known her casually for several years. Our paths had crossed on numerous occasions at meetings and professional training conferences.
    Attractive in an athletic sort of way, McConnell was tall and slender with a body that was muscular and well defined. She had chestnut colored hair with large hazel eyes, a small nose, full lips, and the kind of fair complexion that probably couldn’t tolerate much sun.
    She was the kind of woman any healthy, red-blooded male would want to take a tumble with, yet she always seemed to display an aura that suggested you wouldn’t make it to first base, much less hit a home run.
    My cursory look around the crime scene told me that things were well under way. One lab technician was measuring, diagraming, and photographing the scene. Another was busy videotaping the entire area. A third, assisted by two uniforms, was conducting a grid search of the property.
    As I approached, McConnell broke away from a conversation with a well-dressed young detective, probably her partner. She extended a long, slender hand and said, “Hi, Sam. Sorry about the circumstances, but it’s nice to see you again.”
    “Thanks, Kate. Nice to see you, too. What have you got so far?”
    “Not much. Two neighbors called it in almost simultaneously. The shots apparently rocked the whole neighborhood. The perp also burglarized the residence. We don’t know if it was a planned, professional hit, or whether Vogue got home at the wrong time and blundered into an in-progress burglary.
    “Two uniforms arrived at about the same time, took one look at the victim, and knew there was nothing they could do for him.