“I have some questions about Claire Toliver,” he says. “Can I stop by your office and speak to you today?”
“Sure. Do me a favor and flash your badge. It’s the only way they’ll let me out of the meeting early.”
He leaves the precinct without saying good-bye to Kim. But at the elevator, he takes one last look at the back of his partner’s head, blond hair pulled back neatly into her signature ponytail. She seems to feel his eyes on her and looks up. He avoids eye contact and steps into the elevator.
It’s over.
Thank fucking god.
11
Strathroy, Oakwood & Strauss looks like every other big law firm Kaiser’s ever been in, and at eight A.M., it’s already bustling. A giant engraved logo behind the reception desk greets him, where two young women, probably fresh out of college, are wearing headsets and answering the phones with bored efficiency. The badge gets their attention, and he’s assured that the person he’s asking for will be located as soon as possible. In the meantime, would he like a cup of coffee while he waits?
Yes. Yes, he would.
The coffee is hot and frothy and covered with cinnamon sprinkles. It’s also damned good, and he sips it slowly. Claire Toliver’s parents took the news of their daughter’s death terribly the night before, as there’s no other way to take it. Her father demanded questions Kaiser had no answers for. Her mother’s sobs could be heard from one end of the long morgue hallway to the other. And now here he is at the law firm, waiting to speak to Claire’s roommate in order to learn more about the young woman’s life.
He uses the downtime to investigate his dead victim’s social media accounts. There’s only one that he can find, a LinkedIn profile, and this surprises him, considering Claire came of age at the height of social media. She has no Facebook, no Instagram, no Twitter. Her LinkedIn profile tells him she graduated from Puget Sound State University with a bachelor’s degree in political science and a French minor. She was in her second year of law school at the same university and doing a three-month internship at Strathroy, Oakwood & Strauss, “because they have a special focus on women’s rights, which are human rights.” She was clearly a fan of Hillary Clinton.
The professional photo Claire uploaded to her LinkedIn account looks nothing like the corpse on the table at the morgue. And yet there’s no mistaking it’s her. Same long, dark hair, same face shape. The only detail the photo adds are her eyes. Blue. A beautiful young woman who had a bright future ahead of her.
“Detective?” a voice says, and Kaiser looks up to see an attractive woman in her early twenties standing there. “I’m Julia Chan. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in a meeting and my phone was on silent. Someone had to track me down.”
“Not a problem,” Kaiser says, shaking the outstretched hand. The hand is small but the grip is firm.
“We can talk in one of the conference rooms,” she says. “Interns are only assigned cubicles, and we wouldn’t get any privacy there.”
He follows her down the hall and around the corner. Despite the early hour, everyone is dressed in business attire and moving with an air of harried importance. They look at Kaiser curiously as they pass, but Julia Chan doesn’t break stride, her taupe-colored pumps tapping soundlessly on the carpet in machinelike precision. She’s dressed in a pleated, black knee-length skirt and crisp white blouse, her hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. They enter the first conference room, and she closes the door.
Only when they’re alone does he see the stress on her pretty face.
“I’ve been covering for her here since last Thursday,” Julia says, sitting down at the table and gesturing for him to do the same. “This isn’t the first time she’s done this. I swear to god, if she’s not dead, I’m going to kill her. I knew it was a bad idea for us to take the same internship.”
“Done what?” Kaiser asks.
“Disappeared. It happened once before. She met a guy, spent the entire weekend at his house, forgot to tell people. Smartest but flakiest girl you’ll ever meet. She came back three days later, but I was furious. Now her phone is going straight to voicemail. Which means the battery is dead, or she’s turned it off.”
Julia obviously hasn’t spoken to Claire’s parents yet. She puts her hand to her mouth and chews on a fingernail. Kaiser checks out her other hand, which rests on the table. The nails are ragged, worn down to little stumps. She notices him noticing and puts her hands in her lap.
“Strathroy, Oakwood and Strauss has a one-hundred percent attendance policy here for interns,” Julia says. “You have to be gravely ill to call in sick, and you’d better have a doctor’s note to back it up. When she didn’t show up for work last Thursday, I told our boss that a member of her family died and that she asked me to relay the news. They weren’t happy about it, but I couldn’t let her get fired. I hope they don’t ask her for a death certificate when she gets back. So? Is she dead?”
The next word he says will change this young woman’s life forever, and as gently as possible, he says, “Yes.”
Julia blinks. She searches Kaiser’s face for any sign that he’s joking, and when none appears, she freezes. A full thirty seconds pass before she slumps into her chair. “Fuck.” Her eyes well up with tears, but she blinks them away. The fingers are back in her mouth. “Fuck,” she says again. “How?”
“She was killed. We’re still figuring the rest out.”
“She was murdered?” Her gaze flickers to his badge. “This is a homicide?”
“Yes.”
“How?” Julia asks again, more forcefully this time, and a tear slips down her cheek. She swipes at it, almost angrily, as if it’s a nuisance, as if there’s no place in this conversation for crying.
“It’s not important for you to know—”
“You can either tell me or I’ll be googling the shit out of it later.” Julia’s dark eyes are full of sorrow. But behind it, there’s determination. She’s a strong young woman, and she wants answers. “And I’m sure it will be less traumatic hearing about it from you. Please tell me. She’s my friend. I need to know.”
So Kaiser lays out what he knows. As gently as possible, he tells the young woman how her friend was strangled, dismembered, and then buried in the woods.
He doesn’t tell her about Henry. He doesn’t know if she’s aware that Claire gave up a baby for adoption, and it’s not his place to reveal it.
Julia Chan listens without interrupting. When he finishes, she stands up, smooths her skirt, and says, “Excuse me a moment,” and leaves him alone in the conference room.
He half expected it. Death notifications are always hard, and though he’s tried not to think about Kim this morning, he finds himself wishing she were here. She’s better at this kind of thing than he is. He uses the time to check his messages, and he’s just putting his phone back in his pocket when Julia comes back into the conference room. She was gone a full ten minutes.
She sits beside him once again, rolling her chair a bit farther away this time, but she’s composed, ready to talk. The shakiness is gone. The only noticeable difference is her eyes. They’re red and puffy from the tears she’s cried. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse and there’s a slight disconnect to it. Kaiser recognizes what she’s doing, because it’s something he does himself, every day. Julia Chan is compartmentalizing. She’ll make a hell of a lawyer someday.
“I hope the next thing you tell me is that you’re going to find the sonofabitch who did it,” she says. “And I hope you rip him to pieces the way he did her.”
“I’m going to find the sonofabitch who did it,” Kaiser says, and he means it. That much he feels comfortable promising. “Claire’s parents said you were her roommate.”
“Since freshman year of undergrad. We were more than roommates; we were really good friends. We’re both only children, so we were probably the closest thing to having a sister—” Julia’s face crumples, but she fights it.
“I’m trying to trace her whereabouts in
the days before she was killed,” Kaiser says. “Her parents hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks.”
“Well, she’s busy. Was busy,” Julia corrected, and then her face falls again. “She works—worked, shit—part-time at a coffee shop in the U-District. The Green Bean. Last I saw her, which I think was Wednesday of last week, that’s where she was. I’m taking a night course on top of this internship and usually pop in to study if she’s working because she gives me free lattes. Anyway, she didn’t come back to the apartment that night.”
“And that’s typical?”
“Yeah. Yes. But usually she’ll text and she didn’t, so I figured she was hooking up with the guy I saw her talking to.”
Kaiser straightens up. “Which guy?”
“Some guy. I didn’t get a good look. He was sitting in the corner.”
“Age? Height? Hair color?”
“White guy for sure, baseball cap pulled low. Jeans and a T-shirt. Not overly built, but not skinny. Clean shaven, I think. He had long legs, and so my impression is that he was tall.” Her head snaps up. “Oh shit. Is he … you think he killed her?”
“I don’t know,” Kaiser says, and it’s the most honest answer he can give. “I’m looking at everything. What else can you tell me?”
“That’s all,” Julia says, and her face crumples all the way this time, a lone tear seeping out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know for a fact that she got together with him. But it’s something she’s done. She’s a beautiful girl; guys are constantly hitting on her. She has no interest in a relationship, so she, you know, keeps it casual.” She stops, closes her eyes, takes a breath. “Was,” she says, when she opens them again. “She was a beautiful girl.”
“I’ve seen her picture on LinkedIn.”
Julia manages a snort. “That’s her professional pic. She’s not buttoned up like that when she’s not in the office.” She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out her phone. Scrolls through it, then hands it to him.
The picture on it was of the two of them, dressed up for a night out at the club. Julia Chan was a pretty young woman, but Claire Toliver was, to put it mildly, stunning. Dressed in a low-cut, slinky black minidress and high heels, she could have passed for a model or an actress, easily. Long, almost-black hair, small waist, generous breasts and hips, legs for days. The word that came to mind as Kaiser examined the photo was lush.
“That was in Vegas last spring, after we graduated.” A small smile crossed Julia’s face. “That was a fun weekend. We’re doing a trip to Miami this May once we—shit…”
Kaiser allows her to cry, sitting patiently until she’s able to get herself under control once again. The conference room door opens and a middle-aged woman looks in, concern etched all over her face at the sight of the younger woman in tears. “Everything okay here? Julia? You all right?”
“I’m fine, Heather, thank you.” Julia wipes her face quickly with her hands. “We’re finishing up. I’ll be right out.”
The woman closes the door, but not before giving Kaiser a dirty look, as if to say, Damn you for making her cry.
“Have you told her parents?” Julia asks.
“Spoke to them yesterday,” Kaiser says, fumbling in his pocket for a tissue. He finds one, wrinkled but clean, and offers it to her. “That’s how I found you.”
“I’ll have to call them.” She blows her nose. “And the Bowens, too. Oh god. How do I tell them…” Her voice trails off.
Kaiser is surprised. “The Bowens? You know about Henry?”
She gives him a look like he’s said the stupidest thing ever. “That she had a son she gave up for adoption? Of course, yeah. Yes. We were living together, Detective. I sat with her watching all those adoption videos when she was trying to pick a family. Kinda hard to hide your pregnancy from your roommate.”
“I didn’t want to assume it was common knowledge.…”
“Well, it wasn’t, but it wasn’t really a secret, either.” Julia rubs her eyes. “She got pregnant midway through her senior year at PSSU. It wasn’t like she announced she was knocked up on Facebook or anything. She carried small, wore baggy clothes, and was off for the summer, so nobody really knew what was going on. Not that she would have denied it if anyone asked. It’s just, people tend to get excited over pregnant women, and it was weird for her to tell people that she was giving the baby up.”
“Understandable.”
“How did you know about the Bowens?” Julia is staring at him. “Her parents never talk about Henry—it’s a sore subject—so it’s hard to imagine them bringing it up.”
Kaiser is silent for a moment. If Claire and Julia were so close, then the young woman might remember additional information that could be helpful, and he needs her to stay focused and talking. Her anxiety is already so high, though, that the news of Henry’s death might send her over the edge. He’s not sure he wants to tell her this part.
“They didn’t,” he finally says. “We know about the Bowens because we found Henry when we found Claire.”
“I don’t understand,” she says, and it’s clear she doesn’t. “She never saw Henry. It was an open adoption, but she only kept up with him via emails the Bowens sent. They didn’t have a relationship. They agreed to let him decide on that when he got older. Is he okay?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He allows this information to sink in. Julia stares at him, as if waiting for the punch line. When it doesn’t come, she sits back in her chair, her fingers at her mouth again. She chews furiously. There isn’t much fingernail there; she’ll hit skin if she doesn’t stop.
“Can I show you a picture?” Kaiser asks. He pulls out his phone.
“Of Claire?” Julia stops chewing, her face a mask of horror.
“No, of the guy she might have been talking to at The Green Bean the last time you saw her.”
She relaxes a little, nods, and he taps on his phone, bringing up a picture of Calvin James. It’s the most recent one he can find, from five years ago, and it’s Calvin’s mug shot from the day Kaiser arrested him. The name board is cropped out. He hands her the phone, wondering if she pays attention to the news, wondering if she’ll recognize him as the Sweetbay Strangler.
Julia’s brow furrows as she zooms in on the picture. She stares at it, then looks up at Kaiser, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s not the man from the coffee shop?”
“Of course he isn’t,” Julia says. She’s still looking at him funny. “That’s Calvin.”
So she does recognize him. But her use of only his first name strikes Kaiser as odd. “So you know who he is, then?” he says.
“Of course I do,” the young woman says, and the line between her eyebrows deepens. “But he’s not the guy Claire was with the other night. That would be ridiculous, I wouldn’t have let her hook up with him again.”
“Again?”
“Remember I told you she disappeared for a few days once before? He was the guy she was with. They had a hot and heavy fling, pretty much all sex, no talking, she never even got his last name. But I guess he must have rocked her world because when she finally came home, she was like the human equivalent of that heart-eyed emoji face in your iPhone.” Julia shakes her head. “She really liked him. He was older, nothing like the guys she usually hooks up with, and she thought maybe it would turn into something real. But when she texted him the next day, he never responded. Douchebag. And when she found out she was pregnant six weeks later, she tried calling him, figured he deserved to know. But by then his number was disconnected.”
“Wait,” Kaiser says, holding up a hand, not sure if he heard her correctly. “What?”
“Are we not on the same page here?” Julia is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “Detective, the picture you just showed me is of Henry’s biological father.”
Kaiser opens his mouth to speak, but he’s so caught off guard, no words come out.
“That asshole is long gone,” Julia says flatly, making
a face. “And good riddance. Hey, was he arrested? Was that a mug shot you showed me?”
Still processing it all, Kaiser says, his voice faint, “Yes, it was. I guess you don’t watch the news. That’s okay, I don’t either. It’s all terrible, anyway.”
“So? What was he arrested for?”
He looks at her; she wants to know. He might as well tell her. Like she said earlier, she’ll just google the shit out of it, anyway.
“Murder. Calvin James is the Sweetbay Strangler.”
“Wait.… what?”
“Exactly,” Kaiser says, watching as Julia’s fingers fly back into her mouth. A spot of blood appears on one of them as she gnaws. “Exactly.”
PART THREE
BARGAINING
“You save yourself or you remain unsaved.”
~ Alice Sebold, Lucky
12
Five years is a long time to wear uncomfortable panties.
Prison underwear is scratchy. So are prison bedsheets. So are prison clothes. Prison isn’t designed for comfort. It’s designed to keep the criminal away from the outside world, or the outside world away from the criminal. Which aren’t the same thing, and the distinction is important.
Geo, flat on her back inside the prison library, spreads her legs a little wider. Her panties are in a puddle beside her head, and the cheap industrial carpet feels like sandpaper against her bare ass. She can’t remember the last time she had sex on an actual bed. The carpet smells vaguely of mildew, and maybe it’s the fibers or maybe it’s the mold, but ever since she started having sex here, she’s had a chronic rash on the back of her shoulder that won’t go away.
She thinks about this rash now while absently staring at the mop of dark hair bobbing between her legs. Her shoulder is so itchy, and her tube of hydrocortisone ointment is in her pants pocket. Her pants are somewhere behind her head. Can she reach it?
Corrections officer Chris Bukowski looks up and licks his lips. “What’s the matter? Not into it?”