Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

  “So are you grounded or not? Because I was really hoping we could get milkshakes later.”

  She smiled. “I’ll sneak out the window. Pick me up at the corner.”

  I leaned back against the table that had been shoved into the cramped room. “You’re a rebel, Detective.”

  “I know.”

  “I take it your mom doesn’t know Lane is at her therapist’s right now?”

  “Clearly not. I get why she’s upset, but this really isn’t about her feelings.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Hopefully, she’ll see that soon. In the meantime, maybe try to get her to meet with a counselor as well.”

  Laurel nodded, but it lacked conviction. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

  “So before I jumped you, I assume there was something you wanted to talk about?”

  “The jumping was far more enjoyable.” She grinned.

  “We should probably be wary of private meetings in the police department headquarters.”

  “Shit.” Laurel’s eyes darted around the room like she’d just remembered where we were. “Yeah. Umm, I pulled you in here to let you know Lane’s labs haven’t come back yet. The fifth victim was from yesterday.”

  “Why did her labs come back so fast when Lane’s didn’t?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m guessing Fenton didn’t ask them to rush labs on victims that matched the profile until after our conversation Sunday.”

  “What exactly is their plan here? Even if they identify one of the rapists, he’s not going to give up the dealer. And if he does, the dealer won’t give up the other potential rapists.”

  “Actually, they probably will. We’ll offer them a plea, which is no loss because the chances they will serve time are minimal anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Statistically, the chances that any rapist will serve jail time are negligible.”

  It was one of those facts I’d heard dozens of times and never entirely registered. “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Sorry. It just seems like the police should be doing more.”

  “We are doing our part. Catching the perpetrators won’t unrape anyone. At best, it makes it harder for the rapist to offend again. At worst, it slows him down for a couple of months. But that’s the part I play.”

  “Even if the perp is back on the street after only a few months?”

  “At least he’s off the street for those few months.”

  “How are you so cavalier about this?”

  She let out a choked laugh. “You think I’m being cavalier?”

  “Yes. You just said it’s pointless to catch rapists.” If that wasn’t cavalier, I truly didn’t know what was.

  “I didn’t say pointless. I just said it was cyclical. Inevitable.”

  “Your sister was just raped.”

  “And if we catch the guy, the uniforms will let me or Lance into the guy’s interrogation for ten minutes while the camera is off,” she said matter-of-factly.

  It took me a minute to figure out what she was saying. It took me a lot longer to comprehend it. “Seriously, Detective? You’re going to go vigilante and beat the shit out of some dude after he’s in police custody?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t even think about it.” I was amazed. “You just knew you would get a call from someone and they would arrange for you to have time to beat someone.”

  “It’s not something that requires thought. It was a decision made the moment someone decided to rape Lane.” She seemed frustrated at my lack of understanding.

  “But all the other rapists just won’t serve time? Because it isn’t worth it?”

  “No. They will also probably get roughed up. Because none of them will serve time. We all know it.”

  “This is why people don’t trust cops. You know that, right?” I didn’t know what was worse: beating a perpetrator who hadn’t been convicted or the easy acceptance that justice wouldn’t be served.

  “Please. It isn’t just the police. That’s why the WEAVE advocates emphasize the need for counseling. Justice doesn’t exist for the victims of violent crimes. All the police can do is try to prevent the next one. The counselors can try to keep the survivors from falling apart. Did you know that perpetrators get rape kits too? The victim has a choice. But if we catch the perp, he doesn’t get to consent to a kit. And the Sexual Assault nurse is not kind and gentle when she performs those exams. Society is fucked up. We are just holding cotton to the wound.”

  The door opened and Reyes stuck his head in. “There you are. Duarte just went to get Xiao. We are reconvening.”

  “We’ll be right out,” Laurel said.

  “No, we’re done here.” I marched past Laurel. “Thanks for the enlightening explanation, Detective.”

  She clenched her jaw but didn’t say anything. I followed Reyes back to the conference room. A second after I sat down, Laurel followed us into the room. Both of them took a seat. She folded her hands and stared at the wall. Her shoulders were so rigid she was practically at attention. Reyes looked back and forth between us but didn’t say anything. I wondered if she had told him about Lane. I wondered if he agreed with her.

  Within two minutes, everyone was back around the conference table. Even Nate.

  Fenton started us off. “We’d like to review the descriptions of the perps with you guys again. When we’re finished, we would like the names of any of your former customers who might fit the profile.”

  Nate and I exchanged a look. That was going to be a really long list.

  “Let me read the descriptions again. Listening to you read them isn’t giving me a strong picture,” I said.

  Blackford thumbed through his file and handed me photocopies of police reports. I spread them out on the table so Nate could see them as well. Part of me hoped that I’d been tuning out the detectives and reading would give me clarity, but I quickly realized the reports lacked just as much information as they had the first three times I listened to them. Nate and I read all of them again. The detectives watched us. It was unnerving.

  “They all sound like white guys.” Nate said it low, but it was impossible for the detectives to not hear him.

  “They are all described as Caucasian,” Blackford said. He clearly missed the point.

  “Yeah, but you know how all straight, cis, white dudes kind of look the same?” I asked.

  Nate nodded in solidarity. Reyes hesitated, then he nodded too. Laurel was still staring at the wall. Fenton and Blackford seemed confused.

  “Not really,” Fenton said. Just like a straight, cis, white dude would.

  “Well, these descriptions all sound like the same guy.”

  “That’s not true.” Blackford started reading from his notebook. “One is described as having blue eyes, another as green. One had darker slicked back hair. One had longer sandy brown hair. And another had dirty blond.” He was kind of proving my point.

  “So lighter eyes and different hair styles. That’s not exactly a variety of dudes. I’m just saying they all sound the same to me.” I knew I was being an ass, but I was tired of being there, tired of cops.

  “But a straight girl isn’t going to have the same issues differentiating between men as you do,” Laurel said.

  Nate shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”

  “Then maybe they are all the same guy and that’s why it sounds the same,” I said.

  They all stared at me. Blackford was the first to break. He started flipping through his files and making notations in his notebook. Fenton followed suit with his iPad. Reyes leaned across the table and collected the reports Nate and I had been reading. He started writing notes on them.

  “If you’re right, we are dealing with a serial rapist, not an increase in ketamine usage,” Fenton said.

  “It would account for the similarities in circumstances.” Blackford didn’t look up from his frantic note taking.

  “Shouldn�
��t you have already gotten that information from the rape kits?” I asked. If one guy was responsible, his DNA would match across victims. The detectives looked at me. Their expressions ranged from confusion to pity.

  Nate nodded. “Yeah. Unless he didn’t leave any DNA. But this guy doesn’t seem that sophisticated.”

  The detectives shifted their looks to Nate. Then they all looked at each other. They seemed confused by the statement.

  “The rape kits haven’t been processed,” Fenton said.

  “Oh. Well, how long until they finish processing?”

  “They haven’t been started. The lab doesn’t process the kit until we go to trial.”

  “What do you mean?” Nate asked.

  “Just what I said. The rape kit isn’t a tool to catch the perp. It’s a tool to convict the perp,” Fenton said.

  “But if you’ve already caught them, conviction shouldn’t be an issue. Wouldn’t it be more useful for catching the perp?” I flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Laurel twenty minutes before. She was still wrong, but she was right about how fucked up the system was. “Never mind. Just tell us what you need so we can go.”

  “We need a list from you so we can start working our way through possible perpetrators,” Blackford said.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “So what are we looking at?” Fenton asked. The question was directed at Blackford, but we were all present so I took it.

  “A white guy in his early twenties. Between five nine and five eleven, approximately two hundred pounds. Light brown or dark blond hair with lighter eyes. Poor hygiene,” I said.

  “Why poor hygiene?” Fenton asked.

  “All the victims mentioned a heavy, musky cologne. Like three of them mentioned bad acne.” I shrugged.

  Blackford looked up at that detail. “One of them said he had oily skin.”

  “That could all just be unkempt college boy,” Reyes said.

  “Okay. Fine. Unkempt college boy.”

  “So based on that description, can you generate a list of names for us?” Fenton asked.

  Nate looked at me and shook his head. “That’s like sixty percent of our customers. We couldn’t possibly name all of them,” he said.

  “This isn’t the time for you guys to play your uncooperative games,” Laurel said.

  “We’re not being uncooperative. That list would be hundreds of names long. It would be a waste of time for us to create it and a waste of time for you guys to run through it looking for leads.”

  “What if you include anyone who has asked for a drug that could be used to facilitate a sexual assault?” Reyes asked. He was trying to do us a solid, but it wasn’t working.

  “So any opioid?” I said.

  Reyes grimaced. “Oh. Never mind.”

  “We might be able to find a local source of ketamine.” At Nate’s words, I had to force myself not to look at him. Where had that offer come from? “But chances are decent that it was purchased online.”

  Blackford and Fenton looked at each other. Blackford shrugged. Fenton nodded. “That would be great. If we get any more information on the perp, can we pass it on to you?” Fenton asked.

  “That’s fine. Just tell Kallen or Reyes and they will contact us,” I said.

  “Perfect,” Blackford said. He and Fenton stood. Reyes and Laurel followed suit. And then Nate and I were free. For the day at least.

  Chapter Eight

  “You want to tell me what that offer was about?” I asked as soon as we reached the parking lot.

  Nate shrugged. “Maybe I’m feeling benevolent.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t like rapists.”

  “True. But you also think the police are incompetent assholes,” I said.

  He grinned. “Yeah, okay. I figure whoever is dealing ketamine is probably getting drugs online like we are. If we don’t keep an eye on supply lines, we won’t have anything unique. Or it’s Jerome. He would be the fuckwad dealing date rape drugs. Either way, it benefits us to find out, and it benefits us to have Sac PD shut them down.”

  “That’s nice and all, but how do you plan on finding the source?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  “Who are you going to ask?”

  “Jerome.”

  “Nate, I’m beat. I just had a fight with Laurel. I’m pretty sure her sister moved in with me. I’m still not speaking with Clive. I’m broke. Can we not do this whole coy, Nate’s a genius thing?”

  He gaped at me. “I have questions.”

  “Answer mine first.”

  “We have Adderall. Jerome needs Adderall. I think we should offer him some in exchange for information about ketamine.”

  “I really fucking like that idea,” I said.

  “Okay, wow. I thought it was good, but not brilliant.”

  “Remember what I said earlier about undermining Jerome?” I asked. He nodded. “Well, what better way than letting him have our clients, but forcing him to use us as a supply line?”

  “Oh, man.”

  “Oh, man is right.” I unlocked the car and climbed in.

  “So what did you and Kallen have a fight about? You finally remember that she’s a cop?”

  “Could you not kick me while I’m down?”

  “Fine.”

  “You want to get some lunch?” I turned up Freeport toward downtown.

  “Yes. I want drunken noodles.”

  “That was really specific.”

  “Remember how I haven’t been outdoors in years?”

  “Years. Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ve been craving drunken noodles. But the only place that delivers Thai to my apartment has the worst drunken noodles. What’s the point of becoming fat and lazy while I sob into my dissertation if there aren’t any good drunken noodles?”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

  “Umm. I guess there’s no point?”

  “You bet your ass there’s no point.”

  I pulled up texting on the screen in my dash and found Lane’s name. “You want Thai question mark.” Siri sent the text.

  Nate turned and stared incredulously. “I’m sorry. Did you just include punctuation in your text?”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “I have a multitude of problems with it.”

  “Siri and I have a genuine connection. So many people misunderstand her, but I know how to speak to her,” I said.

  “I think I might hate you.”

  “No. You don’t.” A text from Lane popped up. I tapped it.

  “Yes, please. Vegetarian red curry. And spring rolls.”

  I nodded even though Lane definitely couldn’t see me. “Will you call it in?” I asked. Nate didn’t react. “Nate?”

  “What?”

  “Will you call in the order?”

  “Oh. Were you talking to me? I thought you were speaking to your special friend Siri.”

  “I didn’t say question mark so obviously not.”

  “Obviously,” he said in the most mocking tone he could muster. But then he called the Thai place.

  * * *

  “Lane, you here?”

  “Kitchen,” she called.

  While we were waiting for our food, I’d warned Lane via text that I was bringing a boy home. I didn’t know how the whole survivor thing worked, and I didn’t want to trigger her with a surprise boy.

  I led Nate to the kitchen. Lane was pulling plates out of the cabinet. She was wearing leggings and a baggy sweater. I didn’t know much about straight girls, but I was pretty sure that was an outfit.

  “Lane, this is my buddy Nate. Nate, Lane, Laurel’s younger sister.”

  Nate smiled and leaned forward to shake her hand. He hunched his shoulders to make himself slightly shorter. I wondered if that was conscious or not. It seemed like one of those details I’d never noticed, but in retrospect, he did it frequently with people who were noticeably younger or smaller than him. And most peopl
e were smaller than him.

  “So I’ve only been here like three days, but Andy officially has me hooked on La Croix. She says it’s gay water. Did you know water could be gay?” Lane asked.

  “Yes,” Nate and I both said.

  “Okay. I wasn’t expecting that answer.”

  “Everything can be gay. Like check this out.” I picked up a coffee mug from the counter. “Gay mug.”

  Lane pursed her lips and watched me. It was like she couldn’t decide if I was kidding or not.

  “That fridge is gay.” Nate tipped his chin toward the fridge. “And the table.”

  “The table is super gay,” I said.

  “There are levels of gay?” Lane asked.

  Nate set the bag of takeout on the gay table and started unpacking it. “There are always levels. Right now, we are in Cash’s house. She’s super queer, thus all the objects she owns are inherently queer.”

  “The La Croix is only gay because it’s in Cash’s fridge?” Lane sat at the kitchen table and propped her chin on her hand. She was legit ready to discuss this with him.

  “No. La Croix is just gay. Like statement tees. Or effective communication,” he said.

  “So like gay dudes communicate more effectively than you do?”

  “No.” Nate opened a container and set it aside. “In this case gay is specifically lesbian.” He opened the spring rolls and put them in the center of the gay table.

  “Why didn’t you say lesbian instead of gay or queer?” It didn’t seem like Lane was trying to trip him up. She was delving into queer research.

  “Because we were talking about La Croix. It was obviously gay as in lesbian.” Nate found the red curry and set it in front of Lane.

  “I don’t know. I think it might be gay as in not cis man gay. So queer and lesbian, but not gay,” I said.

  Nate pointed at me like I’d offered a really important distinction. “But we still call it gay colloquially.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Lane nodded slowly. “Right. Got it.”

  “So do you want a La Croix?” I opened the fridge. There was an excessive amount of La Croix.

  “Oh. Yes, please.” Lane started to get up, but I waved her back down.