We don’t need help from a dirty ex-cop, they’d said. A decade after his conviction, only one person in Los Angeles saw Mike as anything other than a criminal, and she waited by the phone in Indiana. Pissed off, he’d started the drive home. Michelson’s call came seconds after.
Now, less than a mile from the feds, Mike continued to play dumb. “Something you want to tell me, Kieran?”
Michelson dug through his bag, came back with a wad of cash. “I’ll pay you five grand.”
Mike pointed to the glove box. “In there.”
“Sure, can we get going?”
“Yeah, one more thing.” Mike popped the trunk. “You’re going in the back.”
“The trunk?”
“You called for my expertise, K. You’ve gotta leave town and don’t want to be seen. It’s a world of cameras, understand?”
Kieran got out, followed the doctor’s orders. Wedged in the trunk, the tall twenty-four-year-old looked like a kid in a couch fort. “Any chance we can stop for tacos, maybe hand them to me through the back seat?”
“Sure,” Mike said. “I know a place downtown.”
He shut Kieran in, took side streets south and west. Thirty minutes later, he came to a complete stop in Westwood.
“K, I’m getting out for a bit. I’ll be back with food. Don’t go anywhere.”
“See if they have carnitas, bro.”
Mike got out and walked toward the man waiting beyond the concrete barriers that protected the tall gray and black Wilshire Federal Building from vehicular attack. “What is that, seventeen stories?”
The well-built man in a tailored charcoal suit looked up, the same direction.
“That’s a state secret,” he said, offering his hand. “Special Agent Jim Martinez. Caitlin said you had something for me?”
Mike shook the agent’s hand. “In the trunk.”
“Out of curiosity, why didn’t you drive him back to the agents on the scene?”
“Caitlin says you’re one of the good guys.”
Martinez smiled. “And she knows?”
Mike shrugged, walked him to the car. “She knew about me.”
CHAPTER
50
TRUE TO THEIR word, the BPD kept the Bro-duce bust under wraps. Their press release announced a conference at ten AM the next day, no details. Under Mary’s supervision, Lakshmi worked all night, writing and rewriting the piece. Caitlin refused to read the drafts, opted instead for eight gorgeous hours of sleep back at the guesthouse.
She woke early, showered, checked her email. Lakshmi’s draft read better than pieces written by twenty-year veterans. Caitlin’s favorite part—she’d left Angela Chapman out entirely. According to Mary, they’d wait until the press conference to loose that arrow.
Caitlin sent a text to Scott Canton. Want to go fishing?
A reply came quickly. At Denny’s. Come now.
* * *
“The young lady can write.” Scott’s glasses reflected the bright phone screen. “So why are you here instead of at the press conference?”
Caitlin munched her last piece of celebratory bacon. “My ladies know what to ask.”
“You must be very proud.”
“Lakshmi’s come a long way in sixteen days.”
“Have you ever done that before, been a mentor?”
Caitlin didn’t have to sift through her twenty years of experience. “I usually work alone.”
“Why does Lakshmi get your attention?”
“Because she brought me wine and told me I’m amazing?”
“I gave you weed and told you you’re amazing. You didn’t invite me on any stakeouts.”
“Well, I want to find Angela Chapman.”
“Why? Three weeks ago, you didn’t know she was missing.”
“Damn, Scott. What’d I do to you?”
The curvaceous waitress in her fifties returned, coffee pot in hand. “How you doin’, Professor?”
Caitlin grabbed a cardboard table tent covered with glossy pictures of desserts and gave the pair their privacy.
Age didn’t weaken Scott’s charms. “Kind of in the middle of something, Charlese. You know I’ll reach out when I have needs.”
Charlese winked. “Thought I took care of your needs last night.” She smiled at Caitlin. “You want something else, hon?”
Caitlin let go of the treat tent. “Still debating.”
The woman’s perfume trail overpowered the kitchen’s cloud of fried eggs, even when she walked away.
“So you didn’t sleep at home last night, Scott?”
Scott winked. “Back to business. Now I’m on my third cup, so the caffeine might be confusing my tongue. I think I know why you’re helping this girl.”
“Fine. Why am I helping this girl?”
“She’s an intelligent, hard-working young woman with no mother.”
“I see what you’re getting at.”
“What am I getting at?”
Caitlin sighed. “I didn’t have anyone in my corner. I mean, it’s totally different with Lakshmi. She didn’t get attacked—her friend did. She’s got Doris Chapman and her Chapter friends. Plus, she didn’t run away. And I could have had someone in my corner. My dad, Mary, other friends—”
“But you didn’t.”
Caitlin pushed her greasy plate to the side. “It’s not just for Lakshmi.”
“For who then?”
“For Angela Chapman. For Paige Lauffer. For the seventeen percent, or however many girls there are who have to deal with shit like this and are too scared to ask for help.”
“That’s a lot of weight to carry.”
“You asked. Is that what you thought I’d say?”
“Yep, those exact words. Every one of them. I’m kind of a genius.”
“Oh, I knew that the second you told me.” Caitlin waved at Charlese, got a smile and a right-with-you finger.
Scott followed her action. “Please tell me you’re ordering more bacon.”
“Better.” She pulled the cardboard tent over, awaited the woman’s return.
He tried once more. “It’d be okay if you were helping Lakshmi for yourself.”
“For me?”
“Helping Lakshmi find Angela Chapman might be a tangible way to deal with what happened to you twenty years ago. That’s not evading, Caitlin. That’s empowering.”
“You’re damned right it’s empowering,” she said, pointing to the mint Oreo milkshake in advance of Charlese’s return. “This one, please. I’m celebrating.”
Charlese got the point without closing the distance.
“Excellent choice,” Scott said. “What about the rest of the weekend? Going to the Little Five Hundred?”
“They ride bikes in the rain?”
He nodded. “I believe so. Should cut down on the drunks in the stands. Could be fun.”
“No way,” Caitlin said. “I lived that one too. I’ll start with a run, see where that takes me.”
An hour later, her feet took her through the rain-soaked campus, her mind free, clear, and content, until in her third mile she passed a kiosk topped with a blue light. She stopped and stretched, examining the slender gray tower stenciled with the word “EMERGENCY” and its call box below. Not only could a student report an injury or crime, but the built-in camera would record the whole thing.
She shook her head and exhaled. Too bad Chapman hadn’t been on campus when she disappeared.
Another exhale brought another thought.
Too bad you weren’t either.
She wiped a mix of sweat and rain from her brow, and the brief flashes of regret from her mind, and ran back to Mary’s cottage.
Rather than track mud in, she peeled off her shoes and wet running gear and piled them near her bag, noticing the protruding corner of her assault report that she still hadn’t faced.
Empowering, Scott had said. Did she feel empowered enough to try again?
Her naked skin rippled with gooseflesh. Maybe shower first.
Robed and warm post-shower, she set her bag on the kitchen table and reached for her report, but the buzz of her phone and Lakshmi’s subsequent invitation to happy hour led Caitlin back to celebration mode and clothing. They met five staff members from the Daily Student at Bear’s Place and fought the tiny pitchers of liquor destruction until everyone lost.
* * *
She woke the next morning on Lakshmi’s couch, saw the young woman working at her desk. “Anything new?”
“I want to die,” Lakshmi said, “but the AP picked up the post-conference piece under the headline ‘Drug Bust May Solve Mystery of Missing Student.’ ”
Caitlin found her phone, skimmed the article.
Detectives refused to comment on possible ties to the disappearance of Angela Chapman, despite the involvement of former schoolmates David Amireau and Kieran Michelson, both persons of interest in the unsolved disappearance.
“Well done, Lakshmi.” She found her rental car’s key fob under an open Pizza Monster box. “Did we order again last night?”
Lakshmi laughed. “That was your idea. You kept saying, ‘Let’s kill the—’ ”
“Right.” Caitlin remembered chanting the words Let’s kill the monster.
She excused her hungover self, left for the guest cottage. By two PM she felt hungry; by four, the rain had stopped; by five she felt human.
Greenwood texted at six forty-two PM. Amireau wants to talk deal.
CHAPTER
51
JANE MAVERICK OFFERED Caitlin the same observation room chair from two nights before. This time the monitor showed two men at the table—David Amireau in a Monroe County jumpsuit and his fifty-year-old rent-a-friend lawyer.
“Okay, everyone.” Renton addressed the full room. “For those who don’t know, Caitlin Bergman is here, with my department’s approval, acting as a consultant.”
She pointed out the two FBI agents next to Greenwood. “Caitlin, these are—”
“Christiansen and Foreman, I believe.”
Renton nodded. “There’s a copy of the Chapman file on Greenwood’s desk if you still want it.”
Caitlin nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Here’s the situation. We have Amireau on schedule-one felony narcotics distribution and production, with racketeering options if Justice chooses to prosecute at the federal level. We also have an unsubstantiated assertion by Nathan Fodor that he buried several bags on the property the day after Chapman’s disappearance.”
Caitlin interrupted. “Unsubstantiated, Chief? As in, there’s nothing there?”
Greenwood took the question. “We haven’t arranged a deal with Frodo’s attorney to let him point out the spot.”
Chief Renton rapped the tabletop. “No deals. These boys are going away. All of them. I’ll take down their damned fraternity if I can.”
“Right,” Greenwood continued. “If Chapman’s buried on that property, we’ll find her with or without Frodo. Forecast says the rain’s done for now, so we’ll be digging by tomorrow.”
Maverick jumped in. “Not Channel Two. They think we’ll get another thunderstorm tonight.”
“Either way,” the chief said, “we don’t need these boys to dig.”
Caitlin pointed everyone back to the monitor, where David Amireau whispered with his lawyer. “So what’s the dog and pony show all about?”
Greenwood smiled. “Panic.”
* * *
The scene on the monitor felt straight out of a one-hour cop show. Caitlin didn’t mind this episode. The lead detective looked good in bed.
Greenwood stood, addressed the attorney. “Call us when your client wants to tell us something we don’t know, Richard.”
Amireau’s handcuffs rattled against the tabletop. “I didn’t kill Angela Chapman.”
Maverick hovered by the door. “Anyone say you did?”
The young man looked sick under the fluorescent light. “I know Frodo told you something.”
“He told us everything. We don’t need you.” Maverick walked out.
Richard, the lawyer, whispered to Amireau, who started talking. “She was high when we picked her up.”
Greenwood sat back down at the table. “Who was?”
“Chapman. Who else?”
“Not Paige Lauffer?”
If Amireau recognized the name, he didn’t give anything away.
“Angela. And not coke high. Like Molly or a roofie or something. She kept saying it wasn’t her idea.”
“So? You said she left your apartment on her own accord.”
“I was passed out, man. Blackout drunk. I wake up, Kieran’s got three trash bags full of shit. He says, ‘Help me clean up.’ I cleaned up.”
“Are you saying Kieran Michelson killed Angela Chapman?”
“All I ever wanted was to sell a little weed. Kieran wanted to be Scarface. Angela knew we were making coke. She knew about the growhouse. If anyone killed her, it had to be Kieran.”
“Bullshit,” Greenwood said. “You know exactly what Frodo buried, which makes you an accessory, unless you can prove something.”
“I’ve got the phones.”
Greenwood adjusted his tie. “What phones?”
“The burners we were using back then. K texted Frodo. I’ve still got that shit. I’ll give it to you.”
The lawyer tapped him. “You’ve got his attention, David. Stop now.”
Amireau didn’t. “I didn’t kill Angela, and I wouldn’t have helped anyone bury her. She was my friend.”
Greenwood let the moment hang for almost twenty seconds, then leaned in. “What do you want?”
The lawyer laid out the deal. Amireau would plead guilty to distribution and production, but any conspiracy charges would fall on Kieran’s shoulders, and if they found Chapman’s body, that was between Frodo and Kieran.
The detectives rejoined the team in the observation room, all smiles.
Chief Renton ended that. “No deals. Get Frodo to give up where they got the burners. We can get the text exchanges from the telecom companies.”
Greenwood started. “But Chief—”
“These frat boys made this department look like small-town hicks. If we can’t make the case without them, I’ll consider a deal, but for now, we work the farm. Anyone have a problem with that?”
Agent Foreman stepped forward. “Let us know what you need, Chief.”
Renton looked at Maverick and Greenwood. Jerry looked like he might say something, but she didn’t give him the time. “And put that piece of garbage back in his cell.”
The crisp chime of a mobile device interrupted. Greenwood reached for his phone.
Renton continued, “I want crews out on the site twenty-four-seven until we find—”
Another phone chimed. Maverick’s this time, followed by Foreman’s, followed by Christiansen’s.
Renton threw her hands up. “I left mine on my desk. What’s happening?”
Greenwood showed the chief his screen.
Renton drew a sharp breath, then snapped into action. “Jerry, put Amireau back in the tank, then catch up. Everyone else, let’s go.”
Caitlin followed the flow of law enforcement into the hall, overheard whispered words.
Where?
Who found her?
At Greenwood’s cubicle, she found a large white document box. Fully loaded, the Chapman case materials weighed more than she’d expected from a problem without a solution.
She hefted the mass toward the door and nearly ran into Greenwood, who moved like he was on the hunt. From what she knew of the BPD’s caseload, there could be only two hers that made the entire department shift into high gear. Since the box in Caitlin’s hands meant she was privy to all aspects of the Chapman investigation, this rollout had to be about the other missing student.
“You found Paige Lauffer, right?”
He hesitated. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have to. Call me later.”
CHAPTER
52
&n
bsp; CAITLIN, MARY, AND Lakshmi weren’t the first press on the scene. Two broadcast trucks from Indianapolis marked the perimeter. A sheriff’s cruiser blocked the entrance to the soccer fields where they’d parked days before, and a law enforcement swarm moved under work lights revealing the nearest goal box. Flashlights danced in the darkness beyond.
Mary sent Lakshmi to spy on the other journalists, then rejoined Caitlin. “Looks like BPD, the sheriff, and those SUVs, is that—”
“The FBI? Definitely.”
They turned at the sound of a passing truck, saw the emblem of the Monroe County Coroner.
Lakshmi rejoined them. “That means Paige Lauffer’s dead, right?”
“Gotta be,” Caitlin said. “What’d you learn?”
Lakshmi quoted one of the broadcasters. “ ‘Officers on the scene refuse to speculate about the identity, though eyewitness reports claim the naked female body found resembles missing student Paige Lauffer.’ ”
Mary snapped a photo of the workers under the lights with her phone. “Lakshmi, start writing.”
The girl reached for her bag. “Okay, what do we know?”
Mary reviewed her photo on the camera’s screen. “Same as the competition’s report, enough for a good tease.”
“We know more than that,” Caitlin said. “You ready?”
Lakshmi had her laptop out. “Shoot.”
“Though awaiting official confirmation by the Monroe County Coroner, an unnamed source working with the Bloomington Police Department said a body found in a soccer field is believed to be that of missing student Paige Lauffer—”
Mary interrupted. “Who’s the source, Greenwood?”
She didn’t let Lubbers stop her flow. “Authorities believe the woman was killed elsewhere before being dumped sometime between Friday and Sunday night.”
“Caitie—”
“When asked if the suspects arrested in the Friday raid of the nearby Bro-duce Organic Farm had anything to do with the girl’s death, officials from the FBI refused to comment.”
“Caitie, we haven’t even spoken to anyone yet.”
“I know, Mary. Lakshmi, email that to the Indianapolis FBI tip line.”
Come and Get Me Page 20
