A Grave Prediction

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “Emma? You’re so smart. Want to take a guess?”

  “Get. Out. Trace,” she said firmly, but there was a quaver in her voice.

  “The farmer wrings their neck,” he said, then made a sort of choking sound. “It’s easy ’cause their necks are so skinny. Kinda like yours, M&M.”

  Again, no one said a word, but there was the sound of first one chair, then a few more sliding back from the table. Without another word from anybody, there were only footsteps and a door opening, then slamming shut. After that, only the sound of Trace’s wicked laughter filled the room.

  Candice paused the tape and she and I simply stared at each other. “That’s why they looked so tight and efficient in their movements,” I said. “The tape of the robbery was like a cheerleading drill, but I couldn’t make that connection until just now.”

  “Yeah,” Candice said, nodding. “The shoulder pads threw me off. I never guessed they were girls.”

  “They must’ve practiced their movements quite a bit to look more like men,” I said. “And I have to say, they kind of nailed it.”

  “They did. They fooled all of us. Even you.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. Then I looked at Candice. “So what do we do with the tape?”

  “We can’t use any of the recording in court,” Candice said. “And no way am I going to admit to Kelsey that I planted a bug inside the Edwards house, so we’ll have to go with what you found out about Ivy working on the morning Phil’s tea got spiked.”

  I grimaced. “That’s a little flimsy, though, don’t you think? I mean, suspecting that Phil’s tea was tampered with isn’t enough to get us a warrant to go hunt for Ivy’s share of the money or the costume she wore to rob the banks, right?”

  “It’s not,” Candice said. “But it might be enough to bring Ivy and Emma in for questioning. Let’s loop Kelsey in on this and see what she wants to do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  • • •

  It took two hours to get ahold of Kelsey. She’d been locked into a long meeting with the federal prosecutor’s office, discussing the Grecco case, and as we were feeling pretty confident, when she invited us to her offices, we didn’t hesitate to say yes.

  Kelsey met us at the elevator and walked us up. “Rivera would like to be included in our discussion if it’s okay with you,” she said.

  “It’s not,” Candice said immediately.

  Kelsey looked taken aback. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Kelsey, we’ve obtained a recording that proves our suspicions about who robbed the banks, but we can’t play it for you, and we can’t tell you how we obtained it. Still, we need to tell you what’s on it.”

  Kelsey’s expression became cautious. “I’m assuming the recording you’re speaking of was obtained without anyone’s permission?”

  “You can assume anything you’d like,” Candice said easily. It was all the affirmation Kelsey needed.

  “I see,” she said. “Okay, then let’s start off in one of the smaller conference rooms. We can speak there in private.”

  Once off the elevator, she led us to a section of the office that was sparsely populated and into a room with a very small table and four chairs. We sat down and Candice and I took turns telling Kelsey what was on the tape.

  As I suspected, Kelsey was as shocked as we were by the revelation that Emma Edwards and her BFFs were the orchestrators of the robberies. But then Candice pulled up the video of the fifth robbery at the La Cañada Flintridge bank, and it became obvious to us in little ways that the thieves were girls in padded outfits. They moved with precision and grace, like acrobats used to doing drills over and over with one another.

  Once the tape ended, I said, “Emma had access to the computer her father used to rewrite the code. She could’ve easily used the software to spy on the various banks, casing them out remotely so that neither she nor any of her cohorts ever had to set foot inside the banks prior to the robberies, so there was no risk of ever being recognized by anyone inside the banks.”

  “She also would’ve had access to the virus,” Candice added. “It was right there in the e-mail her dad sent Mr. Scott.”

  “Yes, but what would Emma know about computer coding? Isn’t this girl only seventeen?”

  “She’s literally a genius,” I said, and motioned to Candice to affirm that.

  “She is. She’s a member of Mensa, and recently won an award for building a robot with a group of other teens. She was either the engineer or the computer coder, and I’m guessing she was the coder.”

  “Wow,” said Kelsey. “So how do we prove this if we can’t use any of the information on the tape you acquired? We’ve got to have probable cause to even search the girls’ residences. Give me something that I can use to obtain a warrant.”

  “There is one thing,” I said. “I discovered that Ivy worked at the Starbucks where Phil got his morning cup of tea. The girls probably saw on the footage of the La Cañada branch that the security guard always brought a cup of Starbucks tea with him to work every day. Ivy could’ve easily skipped school, gotten a job at the Starbucks for a day or two, and swapped out the tea bag.”

  Kelsey frowned. “That is some flimsy evidence, Abby. There’s no way I’m going to obtain a warrant on something as threadbare as that. I’m sure we don’t even have a tea bag to connect her to the crime, right?”

  “No,” I said. “We don’t.”

  “What about bank records for the girls?” Candice asked. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and see that at least one of them deposited some of the stolen money.”

  “You’d need a warrant,” Kelsey told her.

  “Okay, how about getting a subpoena for the girls’ online accounts? Maybe they texted or e-mailed something incriminating to each other,” I said.

  “Now that’s something, but it’ll take time, and if these girls are getting ready to hit another bank, then I’m not sure we have time to spare. Once they set the robbery in motion, the chances of things escalating climb exponentially. I need actual evidence that supports the claim that these girls did it. Or a whole lot of small stuff that adds up to something bigger than Ivy working at the Starbucks where Phil got his morning tea and the possible online purchase of a ninja outfit. I’ll need at least one more substantial thing.”

  We all thought about it for several moments, but there was nothing I could think of that might sway a judge that we were on to something. Candice finally said, “We could call the girls in for a chat and see if they crack,” she said. “Maybe we can get them to turn on each other?”

  “That’d be a stretch,” Kelsey said.

  “Yeah,” I replied, feeling tingly excitement for the idea. “But if they didn’t crack, the girls might panic, and attempt to ditch their costumes and maybe even hide their money. I bet we could spook them into making a move like that.”

  “How’re we going to bring the girls in without tipping our hand that it’s about the bank heists, though?” Candice asked. “Emma already has her ticket and passport ready to flee, I’ll bet. The second we tell her we’d like her to come down to the FBI offices, she and her girlfriends could hightail it out of town.”

  “Not if we tell her that the chat is about something else,” I said.

  “Won’t that sound like a trap?” Candice countered. “This girl is really smart, Abby. We can’t play her for a fool.”

  “No, but we can feed into her fears. We can tell her that we’d like her to come down to talk about the disappearance of Trevor Hodges. We think she might have some valuable information for us.”

  Candice pointed at me. “Ooo, I like that!” she said. “Emma’s terrified of her brother, right? That’s why she’s trying to run away. She might even know or suspect Trace had something to do with Trevor’s murder. She’d come down to talk to us about that, I’d bet.”

  “She would,”
I said.

  “How old is Emma again?” Kelsey asked.

  “Seventeen,” Candice said.

  “Well, she’s a minor. She can’t be questioned without her parents’ permission.”

  “Crap,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. No way will Edwards allow her to talk about Trace to us.”

  “How old is Ivy?” Candice asked.

  My eyebrows rose and another lightbulb went off inside my head. My mind went back to the prophetic dream I’d had about the bathtub and the vine, and I now understood why the dream had seemed to reference a symbol for Ivy’s mother. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, now knowing exactly how to play this. “Let’s start with her. Bring her in, with her mother. And, Kelsey, can I question Ivy with you?”

  Kelsey nodded. “I’d have to clear it with Rivera,” she said, “but I think it’ll be okay.”

  “Good, and make sure that Emma comes down with her dad. We can’t have him dispensing with any more evidence. And for that matter, maybe it’s smarter to have the entire family here,” Candice said, her eyes unfocused and staring at the far wall. “Let’s gather the Edwardses, and keep them in pairs of two. Mrs. Edwards with Trace, and Mr. Edwards with Emma.” There was something else in her statement that I found curious. A note, or a hidden message of some kind, but when I looked at her questioningly, she merely smiled sweetly.

  “Why?” Kelsey asked.

  “Just trust me,” Candice said, getting up from the table. “I swear it’ll pay off. In the meantime, there’s an errand I have to run.”

  I pulled my head back in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

  Candice squeezed my shoulder as she passed me on her way out the door. “I am. But I’ll be back. You guys carry on with the plan.”

  With that she left us, and Kelsey looked at me as if to say, “What was that about?”

  All I could do was shrug.

  * * *

  It was nearly seven o’clock when we had everyone in place. The entire Edwards family was there, separated as Candice had suggested, and as the final girl, Melanie Michaels, showed up with both her parents and was shown into a room with a camera feed back to Kelsey’s iPad, Kelsey and I headed toward the interview room with Ivy Clawson and her mother, Cindy.

  On our way to the room, we had to pass Perez and Robinson. Perez looked shocked, but Robinson looked pissed enough to spit nails. I made sure to smile extra sweetly at him.

  Rivera stopped us at the door and said, “You two got this?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kelsey said.

  I, however, merely looked at him like that was a stupid question. “Do you?” I asked him in reply. We’d told Rivera that it was very likely we’d need a warrant issued even before we were done with the conversation with Ivy and her mother. He swore that he and one of the assistant prosecutors would be listening in and ready to move the second we had something actionable.

  He sort of snickered at me, but stepped aside to allow us to enter the room. Kelsey went ahead of me and I glanced over my shoulder but couldn’t see Candice anywhere. Since leaving us earlier, she hadn’t come back, and I didn’t know where she’d gone off to, but I knew there was something up her sleeve and it worried me a bit.

  I didn’t really have time to focus on it, however. I had a confession to get.

  Ivy sat with her mother in a room with no table, but a couple of chairs. Both of them looked nervous, but Ivy especially so.

  Kelsey introduced herself as Special Agent Hart to both of them, extending her hand as she did so; then she motioned to me and introduced me as Ms. Cooper, without explanation about who I was or any assigned title.

  We took our seats and I noticed Mrs. Clawson’s brow was furrowed in my direction. “You look familiar,” she said.

  I nodded as if I should look familiar to her, but I didn’t explain. Instead I let Kelsey take the lead. “Mrs. Clawson, I know we spoke over the phone about a case we’ve been working where a young boy from your area went missing about a year and a half ago.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Clawson said. “Trevor Hodges. I know his parents personally. They’re devastated. But I understand you recently found his remains?”

  “We did,” Kelsey said. “And we believe we know who committed the crime. But we can’t, at this time, support our theory with any proof. And the proof is key, because without it, Trevor’s killer will remain free, and we think he’ll likely kill again.”

  Mrs. Clawson subconsciously put an arm around her daughter. It was easy to see what a loving mother she was. I planned to use that to my advantage. “How can we help?” she asked.

  “Well,” said Kelsey. “We’ve drawn up a profile of who we think the killer is. We believe he’s young, maybe no older than fifteen or sixteen. We believe he’s a bit of recluse, has very few, if any, real friends, and is unable to form close bonds or relationships. We believe he still lives at home, and could be a threat—a serious threat—to any siblings he might have, especially if he has sisters. He could also be a serious and dangerous threat to his sister’s friends. And this is the part of the profile I believe that’s the most troubling, because psychopaths like him plot their murders with precision. Their victims never know it’s coming. It could be an innocent walk home from school, exactly like what we suspect happened to Trevor.”

  Mrs. Clawson had gone pale. I thought that she might be wondering about our description of the young killer. Ivy had probably mentioned on more than one occasion how creepy Emma’s brother was. “And you say this young man is still in the area?” she said.

  “Most definitely,” I said, because it was now my turn to speak. “We think he’s very close by.”

  “There must be something you can do,” Mrs. Clawson said.

  “I’m afraid the only thing we can do at this moment is take away the temptation.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked me.

  “Well, Trevor’s murder isn’t something we can solve at this moment. But there is a series of other crimes that we’re very close to solving. And that’s really where you can help, Mrs. Clawson.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I took from my back pocket a set of blue latex gloves, and reached for a large manila envelope, the contents of which we’d purchased and put together just a half hour before. Reaching into the envelope, I pulled out a shiny sateen shirt, which bulged at the shoulders.

  As I held it up, I thought Ivy was going to fall out of her chair. “Do you recognize this, Mrs. Clawson?”

  She stared at the shirt, the shoulder pads sticking out of it, and said, “It . . . isn’t that . . .” Turning to Ivy, she said. “Isn’t that your shirt for Spirit Week, honey?”

  Ivy’s breath caught and her eyes watered. “Oh, Mom!” she said.

  I set the shirt back into the envelope. “No, Mrs. Clawson. It’s not Ivy’s shirt. It came from Melanie. See, you can tell, because the left shoulder pad is a little crooked. We conducted a search warrant on Melanie’s house, and found this hidden away along with about seventy thousand dollars, the serial numbers of which all match those stolen from the very bank you told me was recently robbed.”

  Mrs. Clawson stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language she could almost understand, but not quite. I’d told her a complete fabrication. We hadn’t issued any warrant, but we weren’t obligated to tell her the truth about anything.

  Pulling her eyes away from me, she turned to her daughter, as if seeing her for the first time. And I knew then that she’d put two and two together and understood that her own daughter could be involved. “Ivy?” she said, her voice shaking. “What have you done?”

  Tears streamed down Ivy’s cheeks. “We had to!” she told her mother. “Mom! We had to!”

  Mrs. Clawson shook her head. “Why?” she said. “Oh, my God, child! Why?”

  Ivy cried harder. “It’s Trace!” she said. “Trace killed th
at boy! And he wants to kill Emma! But her parents won’t believe her, so we figured out a way to get her some money to go to Thailand and be free!”

  “How do you know that Trace killed Trevor?” Kelsey asked very softly.

  Ivy wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “He drew Emma a picture. It was this stick figure lying on the ground with blood coming out of his head. Next to it he wrote Trevor’s name and he stuck the sketch under her pillow while she was asleep. She woke up to find it on the morning when her parents were away visiting her aunt. It was the same weekend that Trevor went missing.

  “Emma was going to take the sketch to the police, but Trace got it back and destroyed it. She told her parents about it, but they brushed it off like Trace was only kidding with her. But he makes comments, you know? Like all the time about how to murder someone. He only says it to Emma and to us sometimes. He sneaks into her room and leaves disgusting things on her bed. One time he left a dead rat under the covers with her. She’s tried locking her door, but he still gets in.”

  “Why didn’t Emma go to the police?” Kelsey asked next.

  Ivy rolled her eyes as if Kelsey had just asked the dumbest question. “Like they’d believe her,” she said. “Her own freaking parents don’t even believe her!”

  “Did Trace ever confess to the crime?” I pressed. I knew it was hearsay, but maybe we could build on it.

  But Ivy shook her head. “Emma tried to record him confessing on her phone once. He never said it out loud. He just kept laughing and talking around it, but we all know he did it.”

  “Do you know where he might’ve killed Trevor? Or hidden his body?”

  Ivy shook her head again. “No. He sneaks out of his room in the middle of the night all the time, and where he goes, none of us know.”

  “So, if Emma couldn’t get her brother sent away,” I said, “then you, her best friends, had to help her get enough money to hide from him forever, right?”

  Ivy nodded. “It was for her safety,” she said on choked tears. “I swear.”