Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission

Sloan. I think I’ll call ’em and ask to have both of you continue working the case in coordination with my office.”
    I liked that idea and so did Kate. Whatever pressure he could apply wouldn’t hurt us and might help. Without question, our investigation had produced Vogue’s killer. The missing piece of the puzzle, however, was who killed Slick Watts? Only when we had the answer to that question would we fully understand the motive behind the murder of the Chairman of the Board of Pardons.
    “You or somebody from your department needs to contact the Vogue family and explain what’s going on before the press gets wind of it,” I said to Kate. “Once this goes public, the mayor, and your department brass, are going to have doo doo all over their faces. They better be prepared for the shit-storm of criticism the press is likely to dump on them.”
    “Serves ’em right,” snapped Kate. “We tried to get them to hold off on the press conference, but they wouldn’t listen. Now they’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”
    One troubling issue I hadn’t mentioned to Kate was that whoever hired Watts for what now appeared to be the contract murder of Levi Vogue had selected a career criminal with a perfect motive for wanting Vogue dead. Who would have that kind of inside information? Maybe it was a coincidence. On the other hand, prison gangs might be able to leverage that sort of information from their own sources. Or the information could have come from somebody employed inside the system, like say, someone working for the Department of Corrections.
    Our meeting was interrupted by a call on my cell. It was Patti calling to tell me that Burnham had located Watts’ prison caseworker. He’d also examined the caseworker’s file and discovered an ample supply of original handwriting samples we could use to compare to the writing on the alleged suicide note. Terry was on his way from the prison to deliver the samples.
    “A couple of things need to happen with the suicide note right away,” I said. “We should have a lab technician examine it for latent prints. If Watts really wrote it, his prints should be on it. Then, Kate, let’s have one of your document examiners compare the note with the original writing samples. That should give us some answers.”
    “I’m ahead of you on the first one. I asked the lab crew to examine the note for latent prints before we left Wendover. I’ll call them now and see if they’ve got the results. I can also get a priority response from our document examiners as soon as we provide them with the suicide note and the comparison writing samples.”
    “Can’t beat that for service,” said Corey.
    Kate called the crime lab, while Corey and I discussed what needed to happen relative to the investigation in Wendover. A crime lab team needed to return to Wendover. Corey agreed to have them process Watts’ car and hotel room. He called the hotel manager, who assured him that the room was still secure.
    “Well, surprise, surprise,” said Kate. “The latent print examiner just finished with the suicide note, and guess what? The note has been wiped clean. No prints at all. Zip! None!
    “For those of us who may have doubted the medical examiner’s conclusions, we all get to eat a little crow.”
    We spent the last few minutes with Corey reviewing what we knew. We laid out the entire case, carefully omitting the negative character information about Vogue. That would probably have to be divulged at some point, but not now. That information would be treated on a need-to-know basis. And for now, Chief Corey didn’t need that information.
    Our meeting broke up. My adrenaline was flowing. It was time to get back on the hunt.

Chapter Twenty-five
    Later that afternoon, I was ushered into the office of Salt Lake City Chief of Police Ron Hansen. It was a well-appointed office with a large, formal-looking cherry desk and a high-back, gray leather chair. A black leather couch sat directly in front of the desk. Hansen directed me toward a rectangular conference table from which he would conduct the meeting.
    The ego wall behind his desk was impressive. It was full, displaying framed copies of every degree and training certificate he’d amassed over a quarter century in police work. It included a picture of the chief shaking hands with a smiling President Bill Clinton.
    This was a somber-looking group. Besides Chief Hansen, Salt Lake P.D. representatives included Deputy