Catch Your Death

by Kierney Scott

  She slid the memory stick into place then went to Finder and opened up the folder poetically called “Veritas.” Truth. That was exactly what she was looking for: the truth. A list of files appeared, each named after a Founding Fathers’ member. She glanced over her shoulder before she clicked on the first one. If it was indeed child pornography like she suspected, she didn’t want to subject anyone else to it. She wasn’t immune to ugliness and depravity but she was used to it in a way no one should be. She looked around. No one was remotely interested in what she was doing; they were all too busy dealing with their own shit.

  The first file looked like evidence of fraudulent tax records for a sitting senator. There were also pictures of him kissing a young woman who looked barely legal. She closed the file and kept looking. For every member, there was a file with incriminating information. All of it would be illuminating for a prosecutor but none of it explained why Levi and the other boys had been murdered.

  She kept scrolling, taking in every name, every man they had dirt on. Their network was vast. They had members from virtually every walk of life. No wonder they’d been able to organize something so complex.

  An electric current bolted up her spine. They had infiltrated the police and judiciary; there was even a name she recognized from the Department of Justice. That’s why she couldn’t get her warrants. “Shit,” she murmured. It would take some digging to figure out who was safe to choose to move this investigation forward.

  Later she would go through each with a fine-toothed comb, but right now she needed to find out what happened to Levi. She scrolled through file after file of evidence until she reached the bottom. The last file didn’t have a name, just a date: “August 27.”

  Her pulse picked up speed. This was what she was looking for. Her fingers trembled as she clicked on the icon. A grainy video loaded. She immediately recognized the dormitory-style room at Pine Ridge and watched as Ryan Hastings walked into shot. He was wearing loose-fitting basketball shorts with no shirt. His hair was wet like he had just been for a shower or gone swimming. Fresh bruises covered his back.

  She watched as the other boys came into the room. This was the last time all of the murdered boys had been together. She held her breath as she watched the scene unfold.

  She gasped. She could not even move to blink. She stood frozen; all the energy in her body was needed to try to make sense of what she’d just seen. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. Suddenly she didn’t know what to do, who to show. She needed to think. She swore again. She needed time she didn’t have. She opened Lindsay’s email account and uploaded everything to a draft. Her own email had been compromised but hopefully they wouldn’t think to check a dead woman’s.

  She needed to speak to Jamison about what they should do next, who they could trust to move this forward. Where in the hell was he?

  She reached into her pocket to pull out her phone, but before she had a chance, a hand clamped hard around her wrist.

  Thirty-Six

  Jess winced from the pressure on her stiches. Her head snapped up. Two uniformed officers stood behind her.

  “Jessica Bishop, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jim Iverson.”

  “No.” She shook her head. She tried to pull her hand away but the officer slapped handcuffs on her, pulling her arms behind her as he snapped them into place. This was damage control. They were trying to pin it all on her. But she wouldn’t let them, not without a fight.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  “No!” she screamed louder. “I’m not going to remain silent. This is about the Founding Fathers. I know what you did.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. Some had taken out their phones and pointed them at her to record her arrest. One of the officers yanked her back. She lost her footing and stumbled backward. The small of her back collided with the hard edge of the table before she crashed against the tiles. She winced at the impact. Because her hands were pinned behind her back, she couldn’t shield herself from the fall.

  “Don’t make a scene,” the officer whispered. The hiss of his voice was menacing, but not as much as the way he smiled when he said it. It was a silent challenge, telling her he would make things very difficult for her if she didn’t cooperate.

  “You have the right to an attorney present. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.” He continued as he yanked her up by her cuffed arms. Her shoulder screamed out at the jerking movements. He snatched off her wig and threw it to the ground so everyone could get a good view of her while she was being arrested. He wanted to humiliate her. Someone whispered her name and another one pointed as she whispered behind her hand.

  The familiar weight of shame pummeled her from every direction. There was nowhere to hide. All the ugliness of her life was laid bare for everyone to see. Her throat constricted, she couldn’t breathe. The corners of her vision went black. She thought she might pass out but she didn’t. She clung to enough consciousness to realize that her life would never be the same again. People would always know who she was. She wanted to run. She always wanted to run but she couldn’t. She realized that now. Suddenly the shame turned to anger.

  Her instinct was to lower her head to try to prevent people from seeing her, but it was too late now so she lifted her chin and forced herself to make eye contact with everyone she passed. Let them judge her. She was done running from her past. She wasn’t ashamed anymore, certainly not for things she hadn’t even done.

  She was the daughter of a serial killer but she was also the woman who was going to bring these killers down.

  The officer marched her to the front of the store. As they walked, he pressed his fingers into her stiches. He wanted her to scream out in pain but she didn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know she was hurt.

  “Chief Hagan and Greg Sturgeon are behind the Last Supper suicide game. Levi Smith did not kill himself, he was murdered. I have proof,” Jess shouted. When this footage was picked up by news outlets, she wanted that to be the sound bite.

  They led her outside to a patrol car and one of them pushed her head down so she would not bang it on the car when he pushed her in. She landed face first on the vinyl seat and grimaced when her cheek rubbed against something sticky. She hoped it was food but she knew it was more likely to be a bodily fluid.

  They got in and slammed the doors.

  “Where are you taking me? Which precinct?”

  Neither of them answered.

  She was still lying face down on the backseat so there was no way to get her bearings. They had done that on purpose to discombobulate her. “I’m a federal agent. I demand you call Jeanie Gilbert or Director Taylor immediately to inform them of my arrest.”

  Still neither of them said anything.

  “Which judge signed off on my arrest?” She was making a mental list of people she was going to bring down when this was all over. She was not going down without a fight.

  Jess realized they were not going to speak. She flopped onto her side so she could try to see the street names as they passed. The car stopped and started in the rush-hour traffic. The sun had started to set and the streetlights had gone on. It looked like they were driving west out of DC.

  Anxiety scraped every nerve ending when the tall buildings became spaced farther and farther apart. They were definitely leaving the city. She pulled on her handcuffs to try to allow her the space to sit up, but she couldn’t. Her training had taught her that assailants only move victims to kill them. She tried to tell herself that this was an arrest not a murder attempt, but her body didn’t believe a word of it. This wasn’t a normal arrest. She would have been taken to a precinct in DC if it were.

  Finally, the car pulled over. One of the officers came around and opened the door. “Sit up.”

  Jess didn’t move because she couldn’t. If she had been able to sit up, she would have before then.
/>   “I said sit up.”

  “And I said call my boss. I get one phone call. I want it before I speak to you.”

  Instead of answering, he yanked her up by her arm. She bit hard into her lip to keep from screaming out.

  He pulled her to her feet.

  “Why didn’t the Metropolitan Police Department arrest me?” She already knew the answer. She knew they might not actually have the authority to arrest her but she wanted them to admit it. “I demand to see my arrest warrant.”

  “Lady, you don’t get to make demands.” He pushed her forward toward the entrance of the police station. She stumbled but she didn’t fall.

  She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She relaxed a little when she realized they were at a police station in Virginia. At least they hadn’t taken her someplace completely remote.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. “I want to be very specific with my complaint. I can’t very well call you the asshole who wears too much aftershave to cover up the stink of his body odor. If nothing else, that’s kind of wordy.”

  From the corner of her eye she saw the other officer smile. It was gone as quickly as it appeared but she’d seen it.

  They took her into the police station. There was no one at the front desk; in fact, there was no desk. It had been removed and the walls had been ripped to the studs. The entire building was a construction site. Wires dangled from the ceilings and plastic sheets covered the floor to protect it from dust… or to make it easier to clean up the blood when they killed her.

  They guided her through to an interview room. There was a small horizontal window at the top of one wall, just big enough to let in light but not enough for anyone to use to escape. On the opposite wall, there was a camera perched in the corner pointed down at her, but there was no light to indicate that it was on.

  A metal table was pushed against the wall, leaving only enough room for three chairs. She looked around for a two-way mirror but there wasn’t one.

  “I would like to call my lawyer.”

  Again, neither officer spoke.

  “I have asked to speak to my lawyer three times now. That is my right. I know you both know that because you read me my rights. Don’t be dumb enough to violate them now.”

  One of the officers glanced up at the clock. It was nearly eight.

  The other pointed to the metal chair. “Sit down.”

  “Are you going to take off my handcuffs? I just had surgery on my arm. This is not good for my circulation.”

  “Just sit down and stop whining.”

  Jess sat down. “Are you going to fingerprint me?”

  Again, there was no answer, just another glance at the clock. They weren’t even going to go through with the motions to pretend this was a real arrest. They were waiting for something or someone. Her unease blossomed into an anxious heat at the thought of the unknown. “Please turn on the camera. I want this documented.” She knew they wouldn’t but she had to try.

  Instead of saying anything, they left the room.

  Jess waited for a few minutes to see if they would return but they didn’t. She tried to move positions to get comfortable but nothing worked. Her arm and hand were in agony. Everything below the shoulder ached. Her only hope was that they would eventually go numb because the pain would drive her crazy. She could tolerate a lot of shit but that would push her over the edge.

  She laid her head down on the desk because the position took a bit of pressure off her arm. The minutes dragged on for hours without any sign of the officers coming back. She counted the ticks of the clock rather than turn around to check the time. With every passing second, the pain pounded harder. She hadn’t taken anything in hours and her body was rebelling against the withdrawal. She closed her eyes and breathed through it.

  * * *

  Eventually the sun rose and light streamed through the small window. Jess strained to turn around and look at the clock. She’d been sitting in the same position for nearly twelve hours. Neither officer had made any attempt to question her. They were killing time. Whatever their plan was, it didn’t involve charging her. They couldn’t because then she would get her day in court and all their secrets would be exposed.

  They wanted her out of the way. Something bigger than her was at play. She pushed back from the table to try to stand up but both of her legs had fallen asleep. She quietly cursed her body for allowing her lower extremities to go numb but still allowing for every acute sensation in her other limbs.

  She wiggled her toes in her boots to get the blood flowing. As the circulation returned, it felt like electric needles being jabbed into her feet. She stood up and walked to the door.

  “Hello!” she shouted.

  No one responded. She waited for thirty seconds and then shouted again. “Hello! I need the bathroom. I’m going to pee on myself.”

  Still no response.

  “Let me use the toilet or get a mop because I haven’t had a piss in fifteen hours.”

  One of the officers came in.

  “I need to pee. You are violating my rights by denying me access to a toilet. I’m going to pee on myself and then you will either have to leave me in my own filth or strip me naked. Neither of those things are going to look good for you,” she warned.

  His eye twitched. He looked around the room. The cockiness from before was gone; he seemed nervous, like he was in over his head.

  “Where’s your partner?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “He’s left you, hasn’t he? You’re the only one here. He realized that holding me in a derelict building without an arrest warrant is kidnapping and false imprisonment, so he left and you’re stuck cleaning up the mess. If anything goes wrong, it’s all on you.”

  The muscle in his jaw bulged as he ground his teeth together. “Stop talking.”

  “Why? That’s what happened, isn’t it? We both know it. This is illegal. The longer you keep me here, the worse it gets. He knows that too. If he’s smart, he’s already called his union rep to help him out. He’ll cut a deal. He’ll turn on you. He already has.”

  “I said shut up.” His voice was frantic now, high-pitched and clipped. The color in his cheeks darkened.

  He had already thought about all of this. She was just rubbing salt into the wound.

  He opened the door for her. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

  She stood up and walked to the bathroom door. She waited for him to open it and then turned around to face him. “I need you to unbutton my pants.”

  His face contorted in a surprised expression. He came a bit closer and extended his arms as far as he could to reach her. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable, as he unfastened the button. “There,” he said.

  “I need you to pull down my underwear too.”

  His eyes widened. He gave a small shake of his head, dubious like it was a trick.

  “I can’t pee unless you take off my underwear.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m also going to need help with the toilet paper. I can’t wipe with my hands behind my back. A female officer should be here to help me with this.” She didn’t spell out that by being alone with her in this position, he had left himself open to a world of allegations. It was better for him to come to that realization on his own.

  “Turn around.”

  Jess complied. Her hands dropped to her sides like dead weight when he freed them. Immediately, the pain increased with the blood flow. She’d thought they hurt before but she’d had no idea.

  “Just go do your business. You have two minutes. Leave the door open and don’t try anything stupid.”

  Jess pulled down her underwear and sat down. She hadn’t been lying when she said she was going to wet herself. She let out a deep breath. The relief was almost euphoric.

  A minute later she got up and washed her hands. Fresh blood trickled down her arm as she pulled back part of her bandage to check her wound.
The gauze stuck to the stiches, pulling up the skin as she peeled the fabric back. The skin around the wound was red and puckered but it didn’t look infected. At least she had that going for her right now.

  The officer was standing around the corner waiting for her when she got out.

  “Can you please handcuff my hands in front of me this time? My arm is still healing. It’s really sore.”

  “Um… yeah. I guess.” He kept his eyes down. He did not make a move forward to cuff her again, he just continued staring nervously at the floor. He was nothing like the cocky officer who had arrested her yesterday. The bravado was gone. He obviously knew that the situation had gotten out of hand and he had no idea how to rein it back in.

  “Thank you.”

  He looked again at the clock. He was obsessed with the time. He was waiting for something.

  He had made no attempt to interrogate her. He didn’t care at all about the information she had. This was about containing her for a certain length of time. But why?

  The Founding Fathers had shown their hand when they had cut her arm. They wanted people to think she was suicidal. They were trying to paint her as insane. That was how they were going to deal with her. They had publically disgraced her. She had no credibility left. They thought that would be enough to silence her. They didn’t see her as a threat anymore. They just wanted her out of the way long enough to contain the situation, which meant neutralizing the players.

  She needed to make sure her team was safe.

  She glanced around the room, looking for a way out, desperately trying to formulate a plan.