Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

  “Good.” Laurel nodded. “I’m glad Ionescu approved us on that.”

  Nate choked out a laugh. “Guys, isn’t five teams overkill for arresting nine dudes?”

  Duarte shook his head. “We’re arresting more than that though.”

  “Oh, yeah. Darby’s laptop showed more than nine Locus installations,” Laurel said.

  Nate and I exploded into a litany of not very creative expletives.

  “How many?” I finally asked.

  “Digital Forensics is still working to give us an exact number. They are sorting through DMs and pairing them up with the app installations. When I left the station, they had found fourteen cases,” Reyes said.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  He read from his notebook. “Six of the women who came forward are included. Presumably, the three other women will also show up in the search. There were also two victims who reported, but that we didn’t connect to this case. The remaining women didn’t report being assaulted.”

  “So what do we need to do?” Nate asked.

  “Vouch for us so we can get in the door. Acting as an extra set of eyes would be helpful, but you are not obligated to do so. You must not engage with the perps at all,” Laurel said.

  “That’s reasonable.”

  “Are we wearing wires again or anything?” I asked. Not that I wanted to repeat the last time Laurel had put a wire on me, but I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.

  “Nope. Those are more for information gathering operations. This is simple smash and grab,” she said.

  “Without the smash,” Reyes said.

  “Yeah, there will be absolutely no smashing.”

  “Duarte has the photos of the plainclothes officers you’ll be working with.” Reyes waved toward Duarte’s iPad.

  “Oh, right. Yeah.” He unlocked it and brought up photos of police officers in uniform. It was a pretty unfortunate reminder of who I was dealing with.

  “The operation begins at twenty-two hundred hours,” Reyes said.

  “You are such a douche. What the fuck is twenty-two hundred hours?” I said.

  “Ten o’clock,” Nate whispered.

  “I can do the math. I’m just saying it’s douchey to talk that way,” I whispered back.

  The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of our dinner. “Is that food?” Laurel asked.

  “Yep. Not fried or smothered in cheese.” I turned to Duarte. “Except for yours, of course. I understand that you are seventy percent cheese.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded seriously. “I appreciate that you know who I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Fraternity parties were the pinnacle of American douchbaggery. I couldn’t stand college parties as a general rule, but at least the hipster kids tried to provide craft beer. The frats just had kegs of domestic crap. And maybe it was the ketamine talking, but I didn’t feel very comfortable drinking from a Solo cup.

  Laurel leaned back against me and tilted her head so her lips were against my ear. “Hey, you think we might be in Pi Tau Gamma?”

  I chuckled. “Naw, why would you think that?”

  I’d wondered how all of the survivors had been so certain about which frats they had been to, but after two minutes inside Pi Tau Gamma, I no longer wondered. There was a massive tapestry that took up one wall in the central room with the Greek letters for the house. Eighty percent of the guys were wearing Pi Tau Gamma clothing. They definitely didn’t have a problem with branding.

  “You see our guy yet?” she asked.

  “I promise you’ll be the first to know when I see him.”

  I scanned the room again. Our perp was Drew Novak, six feet, two twenty, with a dark blond fade. He was a brother who lived in the house, which made it inconvenient for cops who wanted to arrest him on the night of a massive party. Laurel had a warrant, but if she used that in lieu of an invitation, Novak would be warned and gone by the time we got inside.

  “Has Lane texted you yet?” I asked.

  We had left a stack of photos of the nineteen perps for Lane to look through. Her phone wasn’t on the list of Locus installations and Brika and the Digital Forensics team assured us they had found all the victims.

  Laurel shook her head. “I know it’s a long shot.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “At least you know she’s not part of this case.”

  “Yeah.”

  She was dejected. I totally understood why. The chances were slim that the guy who had assaulted Lane was among our list of rapists, but it was entirely possible. Most rapists were repeat offenders. At least Laurel could feel like she was doing something.

  Thirty minutes in, Laurel texted Reyes back at the station for a status update. He responded that Duarte and Nate had already arrested their guy at Delta Delta Theta. I mentally crossed him off the list of nineteen names and faces Laurel had made me memorize.

  “Dammit.”

  “You realize it’s a good thing that they made an arrest, right?” I said.

  “Yes, but we need to round these guys up quickly. As soon as one of them texts another or posts something on social media, we’re fucked.”

  “Okay, we can split up to look or I can ask one of the frat boys where Novak is and tell him I have a delivery.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  I considered her point briefly before deciding she was incorrect. “It’s not. I’m a drug dealer. I’ll flash a bag of pills and introduce myself. They will tell me where he is. Simple.”

  “Yeah, but the more you do shit like that, the more likely someone will realize you’re helping the cops.”

  “Oh, no.” I used the most sarcastic tone possible. “But then my cover will be blown and I won’t be a useful CI anymore.”

  Laurel chuckled. “Fine. Go see if you can find him.”

  “Thank you.” I slid out from between her and the wall I’d been leaning against.

  I snagged a Pi Tau Gamma in the kitchen. He looked younger than the others and a bit unsure of himself. I hoped he was a pledge. Or whatever. One of the fresh members. I didn’t know how frats worked. I probably should have asked Lane for a lecture on structure and terminology.

  “Hey, man, I’m looking for Drew. You know where he is?”

  “Drew? Which one?”

  “Novak. Tall dude, blond.”

  “Right. Yeah. Yeah. He’s still upstairs, I think. Should I tell him you’re looking for him?”

  “Actually, if he’s in his room, that’s better anyway.” I pulled a bag of Adderall out of my pocket and turned my cupped palm so the kid could see it. “I have a delivery for him.”

  His eyes got big briefly, then he became cool. Overcompensating levels of cool. “Totally. I got you, bro. Come with me.”

  He led me back out of the kitchen and through the central room of the house. Laurel made eye contact with me. I tipped my chin toward the stairs and she started walking in that direction.

  The stairs were as unimpressive as the house. I’d expected the inside of a frat to look like they did in movies, but it was just an old tract home, built up to create more rooms. The stairs were carpeted in low pile beige, which probably allowed for easier vomit cleaning. It was also a great metaphor for frat houses.

  We turned at the landing to go up the second half of the stairs and I glanced back. Laurel was only a couple of steps behind us. I followed junior to a door where he knocked before opening.

  “Hey, Drew. I brought up your delivery.”

  Once the door was fully open, I could see Novak and two other guys sprawled in beanbags playing Xbox. I was obviously shocked to find that beanbag chairs were still in use, which was why it took me a second to realize that one of the other guys was Gabe Sumner. He wasn’t one of the guys Laurel was responsible for, but he was on the list of arrests that needed to be made that evening.

  “What kind of delivery?” Novak asked.

  I pulled out my phone and feigned a call. “Sorry. Give me a minute.” I stepped away from
the doorway.

  “He in there?” Laurel asked quietly as she came even with me.

  “Yep. With Gabe Sumner.”

  “Oh, shit. That’s great.”

  “I think we need some Scotch,” I said in the most casual, not a code for backup sort of way.

  “Agreed,” Laurel said in an actually casual way. She pulled out her phone and texted Reyes.

  Junior came out of the room. “Hey, I thought you had a delivery for Drew?” the kid said. I turned so he could see the phone I was holding to my ear. “Oh, sorry.” He backed away. “Well, he’s in there.”

  I nodded and the kid went back to the party. I wondered how long I could keep my fake phone call up. I also wondered what the chances were that Novak and Sumner would stay in that room playing Xbox. It would take two to five minutes for the plainclothes cops parked outside to get upstairs. There were a handful of people in the wide hallway, but not enough to draw attention away from me and Laurel.

  There were shouts downstairs. I took another step away from the open door and leaned against the wall. Laurel shrugged and went into the room.

  “Drew Novak?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re under arrest. Please put your hands on your head and face the wall,” Laurel said.

  “What the fuck? For what?”

  “Sexual assault. Hands on your head, please.”

  “Be quiet, bro,” a different masculine voice said. “Just don’t say anything.”

  “Call my dad, okay?” Novak asked. He sounded scared.

  Laurel started giving Novak instructions. Her voice layered over the guy who had told Novak to keep quiet. It sounded like he was calling Novak’s father.

  Chen and Hawkins, the two plainclothes cops I’d been introduced to earlier, sprinted up the stairs. They were six feet tall, well muscled, and conventionally handsome. The only noticeable difference between them was their race. They were being followed by a group of four or five frat boys who were red-faced, either from anger or beer or both. I tipped my chin at the open doorway. Chen and Hawkins went inside.

  “Hawkins, take Mr. Novak downstairs please.”

  “You got it.” A moment later, Hawkins led Novak out of the room.

  The frat boys jumped forward and surrounded them

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “You okay, my dude?”

  “Hey, man, what are you arresting him for?”

  “Gabe told me not to talk. He’s calling my dad.” Novak was trying to sound confident, but it was undercut by the low volume of his voice.

  That was the moment Laurel said, “Gabe Sumner, you’re also under arrest. Please turn around and put your hands on your head.”

  That led to a lot of shouting inside and outside the room. The frat guys tried to go in, but Chen stepped into the doorway.

  “Step back, guys. You need to let the detective do her job.”

  “What the fuck am I being arrested for?” Sumner asked.

  “Sexual assault,” Laurel said.

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Yeah, this is bullshit,” one of the frat guys in the hallway shouted.

  “Maybe don’t rape people and you won’t get arrested,” Laurel said.

  “I didn’t rape anyone,” Sumner said.

  Chen cleared the frat boys out of the doorway so Laurel could lead Sumner out. I glanced in the room. The remaining guy was standing against the wall, trying to look invisible. It wasn’t working.

  “You can’t just accuse people of sexual assault.” One of the frat boys stood at the top of the stairs so Laurel couldn’t get down them.

  “Move.”

  “Why the fuck should I?”

  “Because I’ll arrest you too if you don’t move.” Laurel’s restraint was admirable. Her tone was measured. Her stance, relaxed.

  The frat boy moved. Laurel and Chen led Sumner downstairs. The frat boys followed. I trailed after them, doing my best to look disinterested and removed from the situation. Outside, Hawkins already had Novak in the back of a police car. Chen and Laurel loaded Sumner in as well. Laurel called Reyes to give him an update. He told us to continue to our next location.

  Laurel and I climbed in her truck. Chen idled behind us in his Crown Vic. Hawkins took Novak and Sumner to be booked. It was a Saturday. Even if their drunk brothers remembered to call their parents, those guys wouldn’t get bail until Monday.

  “How is everyone else doing?” I asked Laurel.

  “Six arrests so far. Two of the teams didn’t find their perp yet.”

  “Six is damn good.”

  She nodded. “And it’s not even midnight yet. So we got time.”

  “And it doesn’t hurt that you got lucky and arrested an extra dude.”

  “I don’t hate that.” She grinned.

  She parked down the street from the Sigma Epsilon house. Chen parked half a block away. The house was bigger than Pi Tau Gamma and had more of a fraternity aesthetic. Five-foot tall Greek letters were painted on the brick facade, just in case we weren’t sure which house this was.

  “Okay, you know who we are going in for?” Laurel asked.

  “Jonathan Ferguson. Caucasian male, five nine, one hundred and eighty pounds. Brown hair. Has a full sleeve tattooed on his left arm.”

  “Nailed it.”

  “Fuck yeah, I did.” I followed Laurel up the walkway, ready to charm my way in with drugs if necessary.

  We didn’t have any issues getting in the house or finding Ferguson because he was the guy who opened the door. I felt Laurel stiffen beside me.

  “Jonathan Ferguson?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re under arrest.”

  Ferguson’s face fell, then he started laughing. “Oh, fuck me up, my man.” He turned back to shout, “Shit, Thornton. Fuck me right up.”

  I wondered if frat boys ever listened to themselves speak. Apparently not, because then they would know how dumb they sounded.

  “What?” someone inside shouted back. “What is it?” A moment later, the dude shouting ran into Ferguson, stopped himself from falling by throwing an arm around his shoulders, and stared at me and Laurel. “Who are they?”

  “Detective Kallen.” She flashed her badge, tucked it in her pocket, and exchanged it for her cuffs. She snapped one bracelet on Ferguson and spun him out from under Thornton’s arm and against the doorjamb before he could respond.

  “What?” Thornton said.

  “Uh, are you not fucking with me?” Ferguson asked.

  “I am not fucking with you, I assure you.” Laurel maneuvered Ferguson’s other arm down and snapped the second cuff on him. “This way, please.” She led him back down to the street.

  Thornton started laughing. “Okay, okay, I get it. Good one.”

  “Bro, I think it’s real. It’s not a prank,” Ferguson shouted.

  “What?”

  Ferguson tried to stop walking and look back at his buddy, but Laurel kept him moving. “Call my lawyer.”

  “I don’t know your lawyer.” Thornton started following us down to the street.

  “It’s my mom, dude. My mom’s a lawyer.”

  Chen pulled up in front of us and opened the back door to his car. Laurel handed Ferguson off to Chen. He started patting him down.

  “Hey, wait, Officer.” Thornton grabbed Laurel’s arm.

  “Do not touch me,” she said in a voice that was deadly.

  “I’m sorry,” Thornton stammered. He took a careful, respectful step back. “Can you give me any information?”

  Laurel softened. “He’s going to be booked into County. If his mother is a lawyer, she’ll be able to take it from there.”

  “Okay, thank you, ma’am.”

  Laurel and I waited until Thornton went back inside and Chen drove off with Ferguson. We walked back to Laurel’s truck.

  “It’s good you brought me along, huh? I’m super helpful.”

  “Oh, yeah. I particularly like how you stood there
.”

  “Thanks, I’ve been working on using both feet.”

  “Then great work.”

  “Our next is Garrett Benson?” I asked.

  “Yep. I should check with Reyes to confirm.” We climbed into her truck. “Give me a sec.” She pulled out her phone.

  “Nice tag.” Reyes answered the phone.

  “Thanks.” Laurel started the truck, effectively drowning out anything else Reyes said. “Garrett Benson?” She waited for his instructions. “Cool. Just have Hawkins meet us there.” They hung up.

  “What’s the count?” I asked.

  “Ferguson put us at eight.” She checked her maps app to look up the destination of the next guy.

  “Cool. That’s like halfway.”

  She put down her phone and stared at me. “How is eight half of nineteen?”

  “Well, eight is almost nine and if you double nine, it’s eighteen, which is almost nineteen.”

  “What kind of jacked up arithmetic is that? I thought you were good at math.”

  “I am good at math.”

  “Right.” There was a distinct lack of confidence in her tone.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  We drove to the next house. This one wasn’t a fraternity, but judging by the number of cars outside, they were having a party. As we got out of the truck, Laurel checked her phone again. She stopped in the middle of the street to read a message.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Hmm? Yeah. Fine.” She pocketed her phone and hustled the rest of the way across the street.

  “Should we wait out here for Hawkins?”

  “No.” She waved a hand. “He’ll be here soon.”

  We went up to the walkway. Music poured out the open door. It was mellow, but bass heavy. This was the type of party I normally attended. Inside, the lights were low, but there were multicolored Christmas lights on all the walls. I couldn’t tell if they were going for a Stranger Things theme or a Christmas vibe or if this was just the cheapest rave I’d ever been to.

  We posted up in the living room. After about five minutes it became clear that Benson wasn’t present.