He gripped her arms and urged her to her feet. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that.” She’d told him her story with a clinical detachment, but she was weeping now and while her rape filled him with helpless rage, her tears broke his heart. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “There are all kinds of courage, Kristen. You go into work every day and relive your own experience. You make it possible for these women to get justice. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.” He kissed the top of her head, rocking her gently, feeling her wave of emotion subside. “After Debra was shot, I lived a day at a time. I volunteered for all the most dangerous jobs because living didn’t matter anymore. I was afraid of the future, Kristen. I was afraid to think about being happy again.”
She’d gone very still in his arms. “Are you happy now, Abe?”
He tugged on her chin until she lifted her face. “Yes.” He lowered his head and brushed a kiss against her lips. “Are you?”
“Happier than ever in my life.” She said it so gravely, it squeezed his heart.
He needed to see her smile again. “I bet I could make you happier,” he teased lightly.
Her lips curved. “I bet you could.”
Thursday, February 26, 11:15 P.M.
He waited until they’d left the kitchen before making his way through her backyard to his van. At first he’d been shocked, shaken, and unsure, but now he was filled with cold rage and certainty. He’d hunted and bagged his quarry. Three men now lay moaning in his basement, waiting for him to mete out justice. He was ahead of schedule.
He had time to right one more wrong.
Friday, February 27, 8:45 A.M.
It was Friday, but nobody was thanking anybody, Abe thought. Spinnelli looked haggard after last night’s press conference, like he’d rather be anywhere but leading their morning meeting, but he was there, marker in hand. There truly were all kinds of courage.
“What do we know, people?”
“I checked with the men you assigned to tail the six defendants common to Judge Hillman and Simpson,” Abe said. “Four are accounted for, two can’t be found. The two we can’t find might be alive and kicking, but we don’t know, so they’ll keep looking.”
“They found Simpson’s car last night,” Jack said. “The driver’s window was smashed in from the outside, like maybe he locked himself in and our guy broke the glass to get him. Nine-one-one got a call from his cell phone about six yesterday morning, but the caller never said anything and ten seconds into the call they were disconnected. They tried to call back, but no luck. We found the phone smashed into pieces on the floorboard of Simpson’s car. Apparently our boy is wising up to the danger of GPS.”
“Where did you find the car, Jack?” Abe asked. “Parked outside his health club. One of those twenty-four-hour places.”
“His wife said he liked to work out before the morning rush,” Spinnelli said. “Did you find anything on the health club’s security tape?”
Jack’s eyes gleamed. “White van. Plates registered to an Oldsmobile owned by Paul Worth.”
A collective breath was drawn. “Finally,” Mia said. “Something we can use.”
“But we didn’t get him on film,” Jack said, disgusted. “The van blocked the camera.”
Spinnelli rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get a warrant for Paul Worth’s house. Kristen, do you have the name of the accountant who’s got his power of attorney?”
“No, I do,” Abe said. From his notebook he pulled the piece of paper she’d given him the day before. “I’ll call for a warrant.”
The door to the conference room opened and Murphy came in, bags under his eyes and Mia winced. “You don’t look so good, Todd.”
“Thank you for noticing,” Murphy returned dryly. “I found June Erickson, the girl who filed the attempted rape charge against Aaron Jenkins. She’s a college student in Colorado.”
Spinnelli stood a little straighter. “When did you find her?”
“This morning at about four A.M.”
Mia whistled. “You called people at four A.M.? I bet you made some lifelong friends.”
Murphy grimaced. “You could say that.”
“Thanks, Todd,” Spinnelli said. “I appreciate you sticking with it.”
“Couldn’t stomach being called incompetent,” Murphy frowned. “Anyway, June’s parents didn’t want to talk to us, but when they found out Jenkins was dead, and woke up a little more, they changed their minds. I’ve got numbers for June’s dorm and her parents’ house. They’re all expecting us to call at seven-thirty Mountain time so that June won’t miss her first class. I thought a three-way call would be most efficient. It’s almost time.”
Spinnelli placed the speakerphone in the middle of the table. “Let’s go.”
Kristen reached under the table for Abe’s hand and squeezed as Murphy dialed one number, then the other, then made the introductions.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us,” Abe said. “I’m Detective Reagan. Detective Mitchell and I have been working a serial homicide case for the last week.”
There was silence on the other end. Then, a bewildered, “What does that have to do with us?” from Mr. Erickson.
“Aaron Jenkins was killed as a consequence of the other murders. After his death, we were able to look in his old record and your name came up. We’re hoping you can give us some information that will let us figure out what connection Jenkins had to the killer.”
“Is this the vigilante case we saw on CNN?” Mrs. Erickson asked.
“Yes, ma’am, it is,” Abe said. “The record we opened showed your daughter filed a complaint against Jenkins for sexual misconduct.”
Again silence, then a younger voice. “He cornered me under the stairs when I was in middle school.” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry. I don’t like to remember it.”
Kristen leaned toward the speaker. “I understand, June,” she said. “I’m the prosecuting attorney working with the police. My name is Kristen. I meet lots of young women like you and it is hard to remember, but we really need your help. Can you tell us what happened?”
“He pushed me under the stairwell,” June said and there was clear hesitation in her voice. “He tried to get… fresh.”
“I understand. What did you do then, June? How did you get away?”
This time the silence was prolonged. Kristen frowned at the speaker. “June, it’s Kristen. Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” She sighed. “There was another girl who came along just then. I was screaming, but everybody was afraid of Aaron. This other girl was the only one who tried to help. She first tried to pull him off me, but she was small and he was big.”
“They usually are, June,” Kristen said. Abe nearly winced when her grip on his hand tightened. But her voice was steady and he was proud as hell. “What happened then?”
“She ran to get a teacher. They were… just in time. Nothing happened.”
Abe knew from the report that something had indeed happened. Jenkins had ripped the girl’s clothes off and was about ten seconds from rape when help arrived. But he said nothing to dispute the girl’s words. Kristen was doing beautifully on her own.
“Well, I don’t really agree with that,” Kristen said pragmatically. “You were frightened and assaulted. That was something.”
“Yeah, well, the teacher reported it. She said she had to. There were cops everywhere. It was terrible. Aaron was so popular. Anyone that crossed him…well, let’s just say my life wasn’t the same after that.”
Mia passed her a note. Ask her the name of the girl and why she wasn’t in the report?
Kristen nodded. “Believe me, June, I understand. One of the detectives here has a question. Who was the other girl, and why wasn’t her name in the report?”
“Her name was Leah,” June answered and Kristen closed her eyes briefly, clearly recognizing the name. “After the teacher came and Aaron ran, she begged us not to tell she’d been involved. She
got made fun of so much anyway, she didn’t want to be singled out.”
“You never told us this, honey,” Mrs. Erickson said.
“She asked me not to, Mom. She begged me not to. It was the least I could do. She put herself at risk to help me.”
Kristen made a big circle on one of her lists and shoved the paper into the middle of the table. Leah Broderick. One of the victims. They looked at one another with excitement. Finally.
“I’ve met Leah,” Kristen said. “She grew up to be a remarkable young woman.”
“I figured she would.” June’s voice faltered. “If you see her, tell her I said thank you.”
A shadow passed over Kristen’s face. “I will. Tell me one more thing, June, and then we’ll let you go. What happened to you and to Leah after this incident?”
June sighed. “I never said a word to the police and neither did the teacher, but it didn’t matter. Aaron made Leah’s life a living hell. Her mother pulled her out of our school and put her somewhere else. My parents pulled me out and we came here.”
“That’s kind of what I thought. You’ve been an amazing help, June. Thank you.”
“That’s what you needed?” Mr. Erickson asked.
Abe looked around the table. There was an energy level higher than they’d had since this whole nightmare began. “Yes, it’s exactly what we needed. Thank you.”
“Kristen?” June’s voice quavered a little.
“Yes, June?”
“I was really scared to talk about this again. But you made it easier.”
Kristen bit her lips hard, but her eyes filled anyway. “I’m glad, June. Sometimes it helps to talk to somebody who’s been there, too. Take care of yourself.”
In stunned silence Murphy blindly disconnected the line. For several long beats, all eyes were on Kristen, then she stood up. “Excuse me. I need a few minutes.”
Shaken, Mia started to follow, but Abe gently stopped her. “Let her go. She’ll be all right.”
Friday, February 27, 8:55 A.M.
They were waiting quietly when she came back. There was nothing makeup could do to fix her puffy face and red eyes, but she tried anyway. Abe met her eyes, his filled with pride. She took the seat next to him and looked around the table. Mia’s face was quietly supportive, Jack’s and Murphy’s still shocked. Spinnelli looked torn between grief and rage. Miles Westphalen had joined them. She wasn’t sure if this was because of the new information about Leah or because they were worried she was going to crack. She didn’t plan to ask.
“I had Lois send over Leah’s case file by courier.” She placed the folder on the table and took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Leah Broderick was raped almost five years ago. She was one of my first sexual assault cases, but that’s not why I remember her so clearly. Leah was cognitively challenged. She functioned at the level of about a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. She knew she was slow and hated it. She was a very proud young woman.”
“You say ‘was,’ Kristen,” Miles observed.
Kristen placed her palms flat on the table to control their trembling. “You were the one who suspected a trauma triggered this whole thing, Miles. I tried to call Leah yesterday, but her phone was disconnected. I called the supermarket where she worked and they hadn’t seen her in over a year.” She glanced up at Abe. “I don’t like coincidences, either.”
“It doesn’t sound good,” he murmured.
“So, about Leah. She had a job, she took the bus. She was active in her church. She helped teach Sunday school. Everybody who knew her loved her. Anyway, she’d been walking home from the bus stop when she was accosted by Clarence Terrill.”
“One of the two men the plainclothes tails couldn’t find,” Abe said.
“Your package,” Miles said. “Judge, defense, and accused, just like you thought.”
Kristen wiped her damp palms on her slacks. “Clarence Terrill was a two-time offender already. Just one of those guys who slipped through the system. He raped her. Leah was able to give a good description and there was a witness who saw him pull her into his car. He’d bragged to his friends about the ‘retard’ he’d done. We had a good case. We had DNA. Simpson’s strategy in rape cases was usually to have his client admit to the sex, but claim it was consensual. It clearly wasn’t. Despite her handicap, Leah made a very credible witness. Until Simpson began his cross. He was ruthless. He broke every rule in the book and Judge Hillman let him get away with it. I objected so much that Hillman called me into chambers and told me if I didn’t stop being so disruptive, he would hold me in contempt.” She narrowed her eyes balefully. “I was green then. I’d like to see him try that now.”
“If he’s still alive,” Abe said.
“One can only hope,” Mia muttered.
“Simpson brought in witnesses who said they knew Leah from high school and everybody there knew she was easy. That she’d probably come on to Clarence Terrill, strengthening his claim that the sex was consensual.” She opened the folder. “Tyrone Yates was one of the thirty names on his witness list. So was the last delivery boy, the one you have in protective custody.”
“I say let him loose,” Jack said, and didn’t look apologetic in the least.
“They weren’t in my database, because Simpson never called them to testify. I objected after three of the little bastards and it was only one of a handful of objections Hillman sustained. Then Simpson started in on Leah’s appearance. She wore revealing clothes, which she didn’t. Did she like boys? She was under oath, so she said yes. Did she want to get married some day, was she curious about sex? Had she had sex? Did she like sex? I objected and objected, and Hillman fined me. Anyway, the jury found Terrill guilty. Hillman thanked the jury, told them they could leave and when they were gone, he said Leah’s testimony clearly showed she consented and that he was setting aside the jury’s verdict.”
Mia’s jaw dropped. “Sonofabitch.”
Kristen paused, remembering the day. “I was stunned. I remember Terrill high-fiving Simpson and giving Leah a wink as he left the courtroom. He winked at her. I couldn’t believe it. Leah was devastated.” She sighed and leafed though the documents in the folder. “Leah’s only relative was her mother, but she had lots of friends. If one of them is our vigilante, we’re going to have a very difficult search.”
Friday, February 27, 11:30 A.M.
Drake closed the door to his office. “They’re getting closer.”
Jacob leaned back in his chair. “How do you know?
“Spinnelli left the mayor’s office without getting chewed out.”
“Ah, yes. Your niece in the mayor’s office. How is she?”
“As lovely and as loyal as ever.”
Jacob fidgeted with his cuff link. Elaine had roused herself enough to lay out his clothes for him this morning before she’d gone back to bed. His wife was in a constant drug-induced stupor these days. Sometimes he envied her. But someone had to run the household.
“The Medical Examiner released Angelo’s body this morning,” he said.
Drake’s shoulders sagged. “Jacob.”
Jacob looked away, unable to bear the pain on his friend’s face, knowing it was a reflection of his own. “There can be no viewing.” There wasn’t enough of Angelo’s face left. The thought of it made him nauseous all over again. My son. “We’ll have a closed casket ceremony tomorrow.” But on the heels of his sorrow came blessed rage, cold and exacting. “I want Angelo’s killer before then, Drake.”
Drake stood up. “I’ll call you when I know something.”
“How is Miss Mayhew?”
“Scared. She’s never without a bodyguard. Her circle’s closed ranks, too. We almost got the little girl from the school, but one of the Reagans got there before we did.”
“Disappointing.”
“There’s a family christening tomorrow.”
“Better. Keep up your watch of Mayhew and Reagan. I want you to get to this parasite before they do. I don’t want him to stand trial. Juries are
terribly unreliable. Oh, and Drake?”
Drake stopped at the door. “Yes, Jacob?”
“What have we done with the Richardson woman?”
A slight pause. “She’s no longer a problem.”
Jacob regarded the defensive set of his friend’s back, knew his… appetites. He’d always overlooked this side of Drake, because it was a man’s own business how he found gratification. But perhaps now it could be put to good use. “You have her, then?”
“I do.”
“Will she be missed?”
“She told her boss she needed time to let the Alden scandal die down because it was affecting her ability to get good interviews.”
“Was she convincing?”
Drake half turned, a wolfish gleam in his eye. “Very.”
“It’s a closed casket, Drake.” Jacob let the statement hover between them, then watched as Drake caught his meaning.
“She wanted an interview with a Conti,” Drake murmured. “I’ll see she gets one.”
Jacob watched the door close behind Drake, knowing his oldest friend would see that business was done, then turned his mind to the matter of the investigation at hand. As soon as they knew the identity of Angelo’s killer, Miss Mayhew would no longer be required. He hoped Drake’s appetites extended to redheads.
Friday, February 27, 4:30 P.M.
“Detective Reagan.”
On their way back into the station, Abe looked over his shoulder to see Richardson’s cameraman hurrying behind him. “Haven’t they done enough?” he gritted.
The cameraman jogged up to meet them, no camera in his hands. “I’m Scott Lowell.”
Abe narrowed his eyes. “I know who you are. What do you want?”
“I know you hate me and I don’t blame you. I just wanted you to know that Zoe’s gone.”
Abe and Mia exchanged a quick glance. “What do you mean, gone?” Mia asked.
“She went to request an interview with Jacob Conti yesterday.”