However much she disagreed with the decision, Kerri had to admit it was refreshing to have a woman—especially a minority woman—in the city’s most powerful office. With a law degree as well as one in psychology, Warren had spent her entire career working hard and supporting the community. Rarely a day passed without one effort or the other putting her face front and center in the news. Even at sixty, her sophisticated beauty had captured the media’s attention. Her rhythmic and appealing ability to articulate her message made any audience want to join her cause. The candidates who’d run against her hadn’t stood a chance.
Emma Warren was an inspiration to all women despite being on Kerri’s shit list at the moment.
Shifting her focus back to the matter at hand, Kerri considered that she had executed a thorough search of the desk drawers. No hidden alcohol or drug stash. No porn. Just the usual pencils, pens, notepads, erasers, paper clips. The guy was over-the-top well organized—almost as if he didn’t actually work at this desk. One drawer contained files. These, Allen had explained, were his current working files. Oddly, none were related to the Osorio cartel or any other for that matter. In fact, none were related to illegal drug activity at all.
This didn’t surprise Kerri any more than it suggested Cross had lied about Walsh’s interest in the Osorio cartel. Frankly, there was no readily identifiable, logical motive for Cross to try to mislead them. But what it did illustrate was that Walsh’s research into the cartel was off the record. Not exactly what Kerri would expect from someone with a burning desire to prove himself in a professional capacity. Why the secretiveness—even with his colleagues?
On the other hand, nothing they had discovered suggested the loss of a friend or loved one to drugs or human trafficking, which might imply a personal mission. And yet, based on what they knew so far, this—whatever it was he’d gotten himself into—was in all likelihood personal.
Maybe there was no particular event that had lit a fuse under his personal mission. But that wasn’t the norm. When someone went about an undertaking like this in such a secretive and aggressive manner, there was typically a very personal motive.
She and Falco had only to find it.
They hadn’t interviewed the DA yet. Lockett was in a meeting. Allen would see to it that they got a moment of his time as soon as he was available.
She scanned the notes written on Walsh’s blotting pad once more. The few scattered words didn’t provide anything useful. There was a phone number jotted in one corner, but it was his dry cleaner’s. The in- and out-boxes stationed at the front of his desk were empty. Allen said he stayed on top of the paperwork.
The one framed photo on the desk was of him and some of his law school buddies—this, too, was according to Allen. There was no photo of his parents. He had no siblings. Allen was developing a list of friends and colleagues with whom he associated frequently and any particularly troubling cases he had worked since his arrival in Birmingham. Kerri wasn’t expecting anything useful since the woman had already stated that she couldn’t think of any such cases off the top of her head.
The door swung open, and DA Luther Lockett entered. Kerri straightened and rose to her feet. Lockett was a large man, tall and broad shouldered. Back in the day, he had been a quarterback for the University of Auburn’s Tigers. In Alabama, besides politics the one thing folks got extra hot and bothered about was the rivalry between the Auburn Tigers and the University of Alabama’s Crimson Tide. Football was practically a religion around here.
Lockett swung the door shut and glanced at Falco before resting his full attention on Kerri. “Detectives.” He thrust his hand across the desk and gave hers a shake. Then he did the same with Falco. “I’d like an update on what you have so far.”
He settled into a seat in front of the desk and waited expectantly.
“At this time, sir, we don’t have much. We’ve asked Mrs. Allen to prepare a list of DDA Walsh’s cases as well as his friends and colleagues. We’ve also requested his phone records, and we’re currently looking for any notes he may have left related to anyone he intended or expected to see last night. There was nothing about the meeting with Mr. Kurtz on his calendar. No phone calls or texts between him and the other victim. Our first goal is to establish a connection between the two victims.”
Lockett gave her a nod as if he approved. “You may or may not be aware that Asher made his thoughts regarding gun control public in a recent interview. His feelings on the matter are not popular here in the South. You will certainly want to add that possibility to your list of potential motives.”
“In another recent interview,” Falco said as he approached the desk, a book in his hand, “Walsh mentioned that he wanted to do all in his power to stop the flow of drugs into the country. He seemed very determined on the subject.”
“And human trafficking,” Kerri added. “Putting an end to the sale of humans was another of his goals.”
They’d watched all five of the interviews Walsh had done with local news channels since settling into the DA’s office.
Lockett nodded. “We all come into this world of law enforcement and prosecution with big ideas about change. But we can’t always attain the first goal we set. Sometimes not even the second or the tenth. But we can do our very best. I had high hopes for Asher. He was a brilliant young man.” He seemed to reflect for a moment. “As you can imagine, when my DDAs are working on cases, I’m not always aware of blow-by-blow events. I trust my people to do their jobs and to keep me informed. I have no doubt you will discover whatever Asher was working on with Mr. Kurtz relates to his duties here. He was not the sort to go off half-cocked.”
“I’m certain you’re correct,” Kerri agreed.
When the silence grew awkward, she went on to assure him, “We’ll do everything we can to find the shooter as quickly as possible.”
“Well, then”—Lockett pushed to his feet—“I’ll leave you to it.” He hesitated at the door. “I’m confident you’re aware of Mayor Warren’s desire to take this investigation to the next level. Whatever comes of her suggestion, I want the two of you to push onward until you’re told differently. Do not allow what you hear in the news to slow you down. Every member of the media wants to be the first to find the answer. Ratings, you know.”
“Understood, sir,” Kerri said. If Walsh had been going after one or more drug cartels, the mayor would no doubt insist on being involved with the investigation. After all, one of her campaign platforms had been her determination to stamp out illegal drugs. Like Walsh, the mayor took a strong and very public stance on human trafficking. And why wouldn’t she? The number of female victims was nearly triple that of male vics.
When the door had closed behind Lockett, Falco opened the book in his hand, To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, and removed a photograph. “Take a look at this.”
Kerri stood as her partner moved closer and passed the photo to her. She studied the image, which showed Walsh with an older woman of sixty or so. The woman wore jeans and a sweater. Her long gray hair was a wild mane of loose curls, and the expression on her face warned she didn’t care. On the back, the photo was dated four years ago.
“There are some similarities between the woman and Walsh,” Kerri pointed out, “but this isn’t his mother.” She’d done some research on the vic’s parents. The mother was very attractive and dressed with expert style. Elegant would be the best way to describe her. The father, too, was very polished, sophisticated looking.