“As far as I can see,” she told him. “I’ve been doing drop-ins on him almost every week.”
“Sounds like you’re looking for something,” Jeffrey commented. For Diane to be making a special effort to do surprise visits on Ethan said a lot. She was trying to catch him at something.
“I’m just making sure he stays clean,” she said ruefully.
Frank asked, “He into drugs?”
“I make him pee in a cup every week, but those guys never touch drugs. They don’t drink, they don’t smoke.” She paused. “Everything’s either a weakness or a strength with them. Power, control, intimidation—the adrenaline from that gives them their high.”
Jeffrey took back his coffee and handed Frank the file, thinking that Diane could easily have been talking about Lena instead of Ethan White. He had been worried about Lena before, but now Jeffrey was scared she had gotten herself involved in something she would never be able to get out of.
Diane said, “He’s doing everything he’s supposed to. Completed anger-management classes—”
“At the college?”
“No,” she told him. “County health services. I don’t think they have much of a need for that at Grant Tech.”
Jeffrey sighed. It had been worth a shot.
“Who’ve you got in there?” Diane asked, glancing through the window. Jeffrey knew she could only see Lena’s back.
“Thanks for the file,” he said.
She got the hint and looked away from the window. “No problem. Let me know if you catch him on anything. He says he’s reformed, but those guys never are.”
Jeffrey asked, “What kind of threat do you think he is?”
“To society?” She shrugged. “To women?” Her mouth set in a straight line. She told him, “Read the file. It’s the tip of the iceberg, but I don’t have to tell you that.” She indicated the door. “If that’s his girlfriend in there, then she needs to get away from him.”
Jeffrey could only nod, and Frank, who was reading the file, mumbled a curse.
Diane looked at her watch. “I’ve got a hearing I need to go to.”
Jeffrey shook her hand, saying, “Thanks for bringing this by.”
“Let me know if you run him in. That’s one less perp to keep me up at night.” She turned to go but then stopped, telling Jeffrey, “You’d better have your ducks in a row if you try to jam him up. He’s sued two police chiefs before.”
“Did he win?”
“They settled,” she said. “And then they resigned.” She gave him a meaningful look. “You make my job a hell of a lot easier, Chief. I’d hate to lose you.”
“All right,” Jeffrey said, taking both the compliment and the warning in stride.
She left, calling over her shoulder, “Let me know.”
Jeffrey watched Frank’s lips move as he read the file.
“This is bad,” Frank said. “You want me to round him up?”
“For what?” Jeffrey asked, taking the file. He opened it, again skimming the pages. If Diane was right, they would have only one chance to bring in Ethan White. When they did—and Jeffrey had no doubt they eventually would—he would have to have something solid to take White apart with.
Frank said, “See if Lena will flip on him.”
“You really think that’s going to happen?” Jeffrey asked, feeling revulsion as he read through Ethan White’s criminal history. Diane Sanders was right about another thing: The kid was good at beating a charge. He had been arrested at least ten times in as many years, but only one charge had stuck.
Frank asked, “You want me to go in with you?”
“No,” Jeffrey said, checking the clock on the wall. “Call Brian Keller. I was supposed to be at his house ten minutes ago. Tell him I’ll check in with him later.”
“You still want me to ask around about him?”
“Yeah,” Jeffrey said, though this morning he’d been planning on asking Lena to do that. Despite what had happened since, he still wanted to follow up on Brian Keller. Something was not sitting right about the man. He told Frank, “Let me know if you find out anything.”
“Will do.” Frank saluted.
Jeffrey put his hand on the doorknob but did not turn it. He took a breath, trying to get his thoughts together, then walked into the room.
Lena stared straight ahead at the wall as he closed the door. She was sitting in the suspect’s chair, the one that was bolted to the floor and had a round eye hook in the back to attach cuffs. The metal seat was straight and uncomfortable. Lena was probably more pissed about the idea of the chair than the actual chair itself, which was exactly why he had put her there.
Jeffrey walked around the table and sat across from her, putting Ethan White’s file on the table. In the bright light of the interrogation room, her injuries were on display like a shiny new car on the showroom floor. She had a bruise working its way around her eye, dried blood caked around the corner. Her hand was pulled back into her sleeve, but she held it stiffly on the table, like it was giving her pain. Jeffrey wondered how Lena could let someone hurt her after what had happened to her. She was a strong woman, and good with her fists. The thought of her not protecting herself was almost laughable.
There was something else that was getting to him, and it was not until he sat down across from her that Jeffrey realized what it was. Lena was hungover, her body radiating the smell of alcohol and vomit. She had always been self-destructive to a certain degree, but Jeffrey would have never guessed that Lena would cross the line this way. It was like she didn’t care about herself anymore.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“You want me to call Chuck?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What the fuck do you think?”
He allowed some time to pass, letting her know she should check her tone. Jeffrey knew he should go at her hard, but every time he looked at Lena, his mind flashed onto a picture of her a year ago, when he had found her nailed to the floor, her body ravaged, her spirit broken. Pulling out those nails had been the hardest thing Jeffrey had ever done in his life. Even now the memory brought out a cold sweat, but underneath that, Jeffrey was feeling something else. He was angry—not just angry, but pissed as hell. After all she had been through, after all she had survived, why was Lena mixing herself up with trash like Ethan White?
She said, “I don’t have all day.”
“Then I suggest you don’t waste my time.” When she did not respond, he said, “Guess you had a late night last night.”
“So?”
“You look like shit, Lena. Are you drinking now? Is that what’s going on?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be stupid. You smell like a bum. You’ve got puke on your shirt.”
She had the grace to look ashamed before she caught herself and screwed her face back into an angry fist.
He told her, “I saw your stock in the kitchen.” On one of the cabinet shelves, Jeffrey had found two bottles of Jim Beam lined up like soldiers, waiting for Lena to imbibe. The trash can held an empty bottle of Maker’s Mark. There was an empty glass in the bathroom that smelled of alcohol and one by the bed that had been knocked over on its side. Jeffrey had lived with a drunk growing up. He knew their rituals, and he knew the signs.
He said, “That’s how you’re dealing with it, huh? Hiding behind a bottle?”
“Dealing with what?” she challenged.
“What happened to you,” Jeffrey said, but he backed off, unable to push her in that direction. Instead he went for her ego. “You never struck me as that kind of coward, Lena, but this isn’t the first time you’ve surprised me.”
“I’m handling it.”
“Yeah you are,” he said, his anger sparking at the turn of phrase. His father had said the same thing when Jeffrey was growing up, and Jeffrey knew that the excuse was bullshit then, just as he did now. “How’s it feel puking your guts out before you go to wor
k every morning?”
“I don’t do that.”
“No? Not yet anyway.” Jeffrey could still remember Jimmy Tolliver heaving into the bowl as soon as he woke up, then falling into the kitchen, where he searched for his first drink of the day.
“My life is none of your business.”
“I guess the headache goes away when you spike your coffee in the morning,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists, aware that he needed to get hold of his anger before he lost control of the interview. He took out the bottle of pills he had found in her medicine cabinet and tossed it onto the table. “Or does this help get you through?”
Lena stared at the bottle, and he could see her mind working. “That’s for pain.”
“Pretty strong prescription for a headache,” he said. “Vicodin’s a controlled substance. Maybe I should talk to the doctor who’s giving you these.”
“It’s not for that pain, you prick.” She held up her hands, showing him the scars. “You think this just went away when I got out of the hospital? You think everything just magically healed back to how it was before?”
Jeffrey stared at the scars, one of which had a trickle of fresh blood sliding down her palm. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he took out his handkerchief.
“Here,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”
Lena looked at her hand, then balled it into a fist.
Jeffrey left the handkerchief on the table between them, unnerved that she did not care that she was bleeding. “What does Chuck think about you showing up drunk for work?”
“I don’t drink on the job,” she told him, and he saw a flash of regret in her eyes even before she finished speaking. He had caught her.
To his horror, Lena started picking at the scar again, drawing fresh blood.
“Stop,” he said, putting his hand over hers. He pressed the handkerchief into her palm, trying to stanch the bleeding.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed, and he thought for a minute that she might start crying.
He let her hear the concern in his voice. “Lena,” he said, “why are you hurting yourself like this?”
She waited a moment before slipping her hands out from under his, tucking them beneath the table and out of sight. She stared at the file, asking, “What do you have?”
“Lena.”
She shook her head, and he could tell from the way her shoulders moved that she was picking at her hand under the table. She said, “Let’s get this over with.”
Jeffrey left the file closed, instead taking a folded sheet of paper out of his coat pocket. He saw recognition flash in Lena’s eyes as he opened the page. She had seen enough lab reports over the years to know what he had in his hand. He slid the page across the table so that it was right in front of her.
He said, “This is a comparison of a pubic hair we found on the underwear in Andy Rosen’s room and a sample from you.”
She shook her head, not looking at the document. “You don’t have a sample from me.”
“I got it from your bathroom.”
“Not today,” she said. “You didn’t have time.”
“No,” Jeffrey agreed, watching realization dawn on her face. Frank had jimmied the lock to Lena’s apartment while she was still at the coffee shop with Ethan. Jeffrey had been ashamed enough about their methods to keep this information from Sara last night, but he had assumed that no one would ever have to know what they had done. He had assumed they were just helping Lena when she would not help herself.
Lena’s voice was small in her throat, and he could taste her sense of betrayal like a piece of sour candy. “That’s illegally obtained evidence.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me,” he said, knowing how wrong it was to turn this back around like it was her fault. He tried to explain. “I thought it would clear you, Lena. I was trying to clear you.”
She slid the lab report toward her so she could read it. He saw her start to pick at the scar on her hand again. Guilt twinged in his chest as a drop of blood pooled on the white page.
She glanced at the mirror on the side of the room, probably wondering who was behind it. Jeffrey had told Frank not to let anyone in there, including Frank.
He asked, “Well?”
She sat back in her chair, her hands beside her, gripping the seat. Jeffrey was glad to see her angry, because it made her seem more like Lena. She said, “I don’t know what you think you have in there”—she indicated the file—“but there’s no way anything from me matched anything in that kid’s room.” She sat up straighter. “And besides, hair isn’t admissible. All you can say is that it’s microscopically similar, and you know what? Big fucking deal. Probably half the girls on campus test out similar. You don’t have dick on me.”
“What about your fingerprint?”
“Where did you find it?”
“Where do you think?”
“Fuck this.” Lena stood but did not leave, probably because she knew that Jeffrey would stop her.
He let her stand there feeling foolish for a while before he said, “You want to talk about your boyfriend?”
She cut her eyes at him. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“I didn’t think you were into racists.”
Her lips parted, but he could not tell if she was surprised or just trying to think of a way to answer him without giving Ethan away. “Yeah, well, you don’t know much about me, do you?”
“Is he the one who’s been spray-painting shit all over campus?”
She snorted a laugh. “Why don’t you talk to Chuck about that?”
“I talked to him this morning. He said he asked you to track down who’s been doing it, but you seem to be dragging your ass.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said, and Jeffrey did not know whether to believe Lena or Chuck. Two days ago the choice would have been easy. Now he did not know.
“Sit down, Lena.” He waited as she took her time sitting back down. “You know Ethan’s on parole?”
She crossed her arms. “So?”
Jeffrey could only stare at her, hoping that his silence might will her into being sensible.
Lena asked, “Is that all?”
“Your boyfriend nearly beat a girl to death in Connecticut,” Jeffrey said. “How’s the shiner, by the way?”
She touched her finger to her bruised eye.
“Lena?”
If she’d been startled by his information, she recovered quickly. “I won’t be pressing charges against the department, if that’s what you mean. Accidents happen.”
“Maybe Tessa’s stabbing was an accident,” Jeffrey suggested.
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe somebody didn’t like the fact that a white girl was carrying a black man’s child.” She did not react. “Maybe somebody didn’t like two Jewish kids on campus.”
“Two?”
“Don’t lie to me, Lena. I know you know about Ellen Schaffer.” He tapped the file with his finger. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”
Lena sat up. “Ethan wasn’t involved in this, and you know it.”
“I do?” he asked. “Let me tell you what I know, Lena.” He counted the points off on his fingers. “I know that you were in Andy Rosen’s room at one time or another, and I know you lied about it. I know that Andy Rosen and Ellen Schaffer are dead, and I know that both of those deaths were staged to look like suicides.”
Jeffrey paused, hoping she would say something. When she did not, he continued, “I know that Tessa Linton was stabbed by a man with a lean build, close-cropped hair, and no alibi on Sunday afternoon—”
“I saw the attacker,” she interrupted. “It wasn’t Ethan. This guy was taller and had a thicker build.”
“Yeah? Matt’s description’s a little different from yours, funny enough.”
“This is bullshit. Ethan wasn’t involved.”
“Put it together, Lena.”
She found the same hole in the scenario Sara had kept coming back to last ni
ght. “You think somebody staged Rosen’s suicide and then just hung around, hoping Tessa Linton would come along to pee so he could stab her? That’s fucking stupid.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “And who the fuck knows who Tessa Linton is, let alone that she’s banging a black guy? I sure as hell didn’t know. You think people on campus give a flying fuck what some plumber is up to?” She scowled at him. “This is a waste of time. You don’t have anything.”
“I know you’re drinking too much.” He watched her body tense. “Are you having blackouts now? Maybe there’s something you don’t remember.”
“I told you I didn’t know Andy Rosen,” she insisted.
“Why did you sound surprised on the hill when I said his name?”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do,” he said, tucking the lab report into his pocket.
“What about Chuck?” she tossed out.
Jeffrey sat back, staring at her openly, wondering if she was drinking so much that her brain was going soft. “Chuck was with you the morning we found Andy Rosen, right?”
She gave a tight nod, her face tilted down so he could not read her expression.
He walked her through it like he was talking to a third-grader. “And then he was with Andy when Tessa was stabbed.” Jeffrey paused. “Unless you think he sprouted wings and took off after her and then flew right back when it was all over?”
Lena shot him a look, and Jeffrey thought she must be pretty desperate to be grasping at straws. Of course, desperation came from fear. She was hiding something, and Jeffrey had a pretty good idea what that was.
He turned the file around and opened it on the table in front of her, asking, “Ethan tell you about this?”
Lena hesitated, but curiosity eventually got the better of her. Jeffrey watched her read through Ethan’s arrest jacket. She seemed to be skimming, quickly turning the pages over as she read about Ethan’s sordid past.
He waited until she got to the last page before saying, “His father’s some kind of white supremacist.”
She nodded toward the pages. “It says here he’s a preacher.”
“So was Charles Manson,” Jeffrey pointed out. “So was David Koresh. So was Jim Jones.”
“I don’t know—”
A Faint Cold Fear Page 23
