We were almost to the elevators when a familiar figure floated out of one, her face indicating countless nights of lost sleep.
“Ms. Marks,” I greeted, stifling my surprise. “I didn’t fail to mark an appointment we’d planned, did I?”
Beside me, Connor was already scrolling through the calendar for today.
“No.” She drew her jacket around her, fingers flexing open then closed. “I can see you’re in a hurry. This will only take a minute.”
“How can I be of assistance?” I asked her.
Connor shifted beside me when she remained quiet, knowing as I did how tight we were on time to make it to the courthouse, but I couldn’t rush her or put her off for another time. Dealing with victims of sexual assault required patience.
“My sister and I have been talking a lot with the trial coming up,” Mary said, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Maggie and I have decided we don’t want to go through the stress and pain of a trial. We’d much rather try to settle outside of court.”
Connor’s head turned toward me, speaking nothing yet saying everything. He knew the case nearly as well as I did. He realized settling outside of court would mean a drastically reduced jail sentence compared to what the defendant would likely receive in a trial. It meant we were essentially handing the upper hand over to the defense. It meant the assailant won. Again.
“Do you and Maggie realize what will happen if we plead this out instead of going to trial?” I asked, lowering my head to align with hers. “Instead of years in prison, he’ll spend mere months.”
Mary didn’t blink as she nodded. “We do.” She swallowed. “But neither of us want to relive the abuse in a courtroom full of strangers, with him a stone’s throw away.”
Connor pulled a tissue from the pocket-sized stash he always kept on him. Mary took it but didn’t dab away the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.
“We just want to move on with our lives and be done with this. Be done with him,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “I know how much work you both have put into this case and I’m so very sorry. I also know this isn’t up to us—that it’s your and your office’s decision—but I thought . . . hoped that maybe if I explained how we felt about things, you might understand.”
I took her hand. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault. Or Maggie’s.” My throat tightened when a silent sob rocked Mary’s small body. “I’ll begin drawing up a plea bargain right away.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, a tremor pulsing her hand.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said, smiling at her when I wanted to cry.
I smiled when I wanted to scream. I smiled when I wanted to rip apart the seemingly insurmountable wall of injustice boxing the innocent and victims within.
Her hand slipped from mine as she stumbled back to the elevators, one final apology slipping from her lips before she disappeared.
“It’s so goddamned unfair.”
Connor’s attention drifted my way after he finished the note he was making in his phone, setting a reminder for me to allow a father to get away with years of raping and abusing his two daughters with a joke for a punishment.
A wave of nausea flushed over me.
“It isn’t fair. A guy like Richard Marks deserves to spend the rest of his life rotting in a hellhole.” Connor slipped his phone back into his pocket, the reminder he’d sent pinging my phone.
None of it made sense anymore. Reminders, case files, sentences, courtrooms, juries, plea deals . . . while the rest of us played by the rules, evil spread its thick roots beneath us, unchallenged.
“It isn’t fair to the victims most of all,” I replied, numbness and hypersensitivity spreading through my body at the same time. “The victim comes up on the losing end both times. The abuse first, and then what follows which usually results in the legal system suggesting a three-year sentence is a fair exchange for the suffering they’ve been put through. Which will likely be reduced for some bullshit reason.”
Connor stepped in front of me, concern drawing his expression together. He put up with a lot working with me, but sudden-onset existential crises weren’t a frequent flier. “Grace, what’s the matter?”
“Everything,” I replied. “The whole damn system is what’s the matter.”
Twenty-Two
“What does Andee want to do?” Noah asked in our few moments alone before stepping into the next meeting of the day.
“She doesn’t know yet. She’s still deciding.” I stalled outside the elevator doors when we made it to the floor where the task force office was located. It had been an inconceivably long day in court with hardly a spare minute for a bathroom break, and task force meetings ran two hours minimum.
“The school has been blaming her for all of these confrontations?” He pulled at his tie, knuckles popping through his skin as he did. “These boys have been harassing her for close to a year with no repercussions for their actions?”
“That seems to be the theme.”
Noah took my arm, bringing me to a stop in the hall. “I want the names of the kids who’ve been harassing her.”
“You’ll have to ask her, but they’re your customary entitled jocks with names like Ty, Zach, and Chad probably.” I took a sip of my fourth coffee in a to-go cup of the day, feeling delirious from lack of sleep and excess of grind. “However, it’s safe to say your daughter got her art of war skills from you. You should have seen the two boys outside Principal Severson’s office that day I went in to discuss Andee’s ‘violent’ outbursts. Looked like they’d picked a fight with an injured wolverine instead of our hundred-and-ten-pound daughter whose favorite color was pink up until two years ago.”
Noah was glaring at the floor, his posture rigid. “Why wouldn’t she tell us this had been going on for so long?”
“Maybe she tried. Maybe we weren’t listening.” I shifted my weight. “Maybe we were too busy to read between the lines the way parents of teenagers need to.”
Rubbing his forehead, he let out an uneven breath. “Do we have any idea what brought this on? Why this group of kids decided to target her?”
I sought distraction in my coffee. After taking a heavy drink, my shoulders lifted. “Humans are brutal,” I said, echoing Andee’s sentiments.
“These ‘humans’ are going to pay for their actions,” he replied, turning to continue down the hall with me.
We traveled in silence, moving toward the lit office at the end of the hall. Guilt nudged at me for keeping the naked pictures of Andee from Noah, but I’d promised her I wouldn’t mention them to him. She was mortified, and despite evidence suggesting otherwise, she desperately sought her father’s approval. Even though I’d assured her he wouldn’t think less of her for the photos, I swore I wouldn’t bring them up, allowing her to tell him one day if she so chose.
It was the first secret in a long time Andee had entrusted me with, and it felt like the proverbial turning point in our volatile relationship.
“I want those boys’ names, Grace.”
“Why? So you can attempt to make them see the error of their ways during a few counseling sessions with you?” My eyebrow lifted at him. “These types of kids don’t change. They just become bigger dickheads with age.”
“People change when exposed to the right degree of motivation,” he said, pulling open the door for me.
“Want me to put them in a sleeper hold since I’m an expert now?” I whispered to him with a half smile.
“How about a permanent one?” he quipped, following me into the conference room where everyone was already assembled.
“Noah, thank you again for taking the time to meet with us tonight,” my dad greeted from his spot at the head of the table, coming around to shake his son-in-law’s hand. There was a slight, possibly nonexistent, acknowledgement of my presence. “I know how busy work keeps you.”
“Happy to help however I can.”
“Everyone, this is Dr. Noah Wolff, my son-in-law.
” The room quieted when my father spoke. “I invited him here tonight to provide some distinctive insight into our investigation.”
Noah raised his hand, making eye contact with the others seated around the table as we moved behind a couple of empty chairs.
“As you might be aware, Noah is a psychiatrist who specializes in pedophilic therapy. He works in both a court-appointed capacity as well as a private practice, in addition to moderating several support groups around the city.” My dad clapped his hand over Noah’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “There are few people on the planet who know more about the depraved inner workings of a child abuser than him, so let’s make use of his knowledge to fill in whatever gaps in the investigation could use padding.”
Amelia rushed around the table, distributing bottles of water and taking additional drink orders, while an array of nonverbal reactions followed Noah’s introduction to the group. Will led the repulsion front while Don mastered the unfazed veneer, Titus and Teddy falling somewhere in between. Samantha, as per usual, projected ennui.
“The public prosecutor who puts kiddy rapists behind bars is married to a shrink who sympathizes with them?” Will pointed his ballpoint pen between us, clicking it dramatically.
“My job isn’t to sympathize with them. My job is to help rehabilitate them.”
“And how’s that working out for you, chief?” Will continued, pushing back into his chair. “Last I checked, you’re in something of a growth industry.”
“What, the mental health industry? I’d consider it a good thing that more people are taking all facets of their health seriously.” Noah didn’t give away any signs of bristling as he slid into his chair, switching his phone to silent.
“I was referring to the crime industry. Specifically, the pedophilia sector of crime,” Will said, almost smirking at Noah.
Noah reached for his water, snuffing a yawn. “We’re both interested in the same thing—protecting the innocent.”
“We are nothing alike.” Will’s pen stabbed the air to the beat of his words.
“You’ll hear no argument from me,” Noah replied, twisting the cap from his water.
“Dr. Wolff is here at my request. Let’s treat him as a guest instead of an adversary.” Dad directed his stare at Will, daring him to continue.
Will shoved out of his chair, heading straight for the drink table set up at the end of the room.
After a brief round of introductions, Dad turned to Noah. “What are your patients’ insights on this Huntsman targeting their kind?”
“I can only give you general, overarching answers due to doctor-patient confidentiality—”
“You’re a court-appointed shrink,” Will chided, pouring himself a quadruple vodka from the looks of it.
“Which means I can share specific details with the court, not some privately funded task force.” Noah didn’t glance Will’s way while giving his response. “My patients are frightened,” he continued, addressing the table. “My colleagues from around the country express the same views. With there being no geographic region this killer is keeping to, everyone is a potential target.”
“Everyone who’s a convicted pedophile,” Titus interjected across the table.
Noah tipped his head in acknowledgment. “They’re scared to go out at night. They’re afraid of their own homes. Every stranger who makes eye contact is a potential murderer. These people’s lives have been irrevocably reduced by fear.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t shed a tear, Doc.” Teddy rocked in his chair, tan Stetson low on his forehead. “I used mine all up on the victims a long time ago.”
“I’m not relaying this information to invoke sympathy, but as an exchange of information. Cry. Don’t cry. Your emotions are yours to do with as you please.”
“Classic shrink response.”
Everyone ignored Will from his post at the end of the room.
“What are you hearing in terms of potential suspects from your patients? Anything credible?” Dad asked, double-checking to make sure Amelia was posed to take notes.
“There’s your usual conspiracy theories whenever something of this scale comes into the public eye,” Noah answered. “Some even believe that there is no killer and the deaths were all suicides as originally classified.”
“Delusional bunch of kiddie molesters. Great source of information.”
I fired a bored look in Will’s direction, to which he responded with a wide, toothy grin.
Noah said, “Denial is a typical reaction when an individual or group of individuals feel targeted. It’s easier to deny a threat than acknowledge it.”
An overdone yawn echoed from the area around the drink table.
Titus rolled his neck, his default when Will ground at him.
“A more realistic and nearly as popular opinion is that someone in law enforcement is the killer.” Noah let that puncture the air for a moment before continuing, “Several of my patients are convinced the killings are the result of some disgruntled cop or cops.”
“Multiple killers?” Teddy grunted. “We’ve been down that road to nowhere already.”
“It’s not outlandish to think, given the span of the kills, that you could be looking for a team instead of an individual,” Noah added.
Dad took a seat in his chair, his forehead wrinkling. “Do you feel like that theory is credible?”
“The law enforcement one or the team theory?” Noah asked.
“Either.”
Everyone looked at Noah, save for Will, who only had eyes for his drink.
“I think both are plausible.” Noah’s chair creaked as he shifted. “The fact that so many kills have racked up undetected suggests a deep knowledge of police procedure, and the geographic spread gives credence to the possibility of multiple killers.”
The only sound that filled the silence was the tapping of Amelia’s fingers as she typed.
“It’s only a theory,” Noah said, noting the discouraged faces around the table. “And I’m sure you’ve already considered the law enforcement angle.”
“We have.” Teddy cleared his throat. “Along with just about every other angle a person could consider.”
“This is bullshit.” Titus laughed a hard note. “The more time we spend digging into this damn case, the more we wind up scratching our heads.” He rose out of his seat, striding toward the white board we’d assembled all of the victim’s mug shots on, along with dates of their deaths and cities in which they’d died. “We’ve got close to three dozen rotting corpses, a roomful of supposed brilliant minds in their given fields”—his meaty hook of an arm jutted out at us as he thundered to the next white board—“and we’ve got nothing. Nothing.” His fist slammed the suspect board that was about as varied and colorful as a patchwork quilt. “We haven’t narrowed our suspect list. We haven’t zeroed in on a motive. We don’t even know how many fucking killers we’re looking for. We’re chasing our tails, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it. You brought me onto this team because I have a skill for finding people who don’t want to be found, but I can’t find someone until I know who I’m searching for.”
Will raised his glass at Titus, giving a mini bow.
“Do you want out?” Dad asked Titus, emotionless both in tone and demeanor.
“I want to find this son of a bitch,” Titus seethed, his face three shades of red deeper than normal.
“We all want that, son.” Don twisted in his chair to face Titus. “As for me, until the Huntsman is caught and the checks keep cashing when I deposit them, I’m staying on.”
“And what’s going to happen if we do catch this guy?” Titus threw his arms up at his sides. “The media has spun the Huntsman as some real-life caped crusader and the public is about to erect shrines worshipping him. There’s no glory waiting for us at the end of this.”
“Is that your goal?” Dad’s ever-calm voice filled the air. “Glory? Adulation? Confirmation?”
“No.” A tremble ran down Titus’s back. “But I
don’t want to wind up with a target on my or my family’s back for being the cause of ending this Huntsman’s mission of pulling numbers on the bottom feeders.” His jaw clenched as though he were biting through a steel plate. “These fucking Disciples. They’re popping up all over the place. It’s spreading like a damn epidemic.”
When I glanced at Noah, he kept his focus forward.
“Some guy I went to law school with who was a public defender for one of the dead pedo’s told me he’s getting death threats. Has had his house egged. Gotten spit on walking into the building he works at.” Will tipped his glass as though he’d made a toast, then took a drink. “Lucky for me, my condo’s on the twenty-second floor. Try to launch eggs two hundred feet up, suckers.”
“You’re not a public defender. You’re a defense attorney for those with deep pockets and shallow ethics,” Teddy said to Will.
“And what do you think will happen if the media catches wind about this surreptitious task force and our end goal of handing over the Huntsman to the authorities?” Will’s muddied eyes circled the table. “You think we’re going to be showered with thank you notes and handshakes?”
“That might be true, but we can’t allow popular opinion to eclipse what’s right,” Don said.
“What’s right? How do we know we’re on the good side of that theme? One person is responsible for taking nearly three dozen child molesters permanently out of commission. Consider the far-reaching repercussions of something like that—countless children who don’t become victims, families who don’t have to deal with a poison that spreads from one generation to the next. This killer we’re searching for is literally saving hundreds of innocent lives by taking a handful of the guilty’s.”
It was only when Noah turned toward me that I realized I was the one speaking. Words escaped from me without consent in increasing flow lately, thoughts I’d never confronted before unfolding one layer at a time.
These Violent Roots Page 20
