Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2)

by Terry Keys

  I was happy to be getting this information, but I didn’t want to scare her off. I was willing to play her game, at least for the time being.

  “Did the girls discuss that? I don’t imagine they were there very long.”

  “Only a few minutes, and one girl did most of the talking.”

  “Lisa?”

  “No, never heard a peep from her or her sister Brittany. Nope, the ringleader was a girl named Marci Wingup. She did all the talkin’. Really smart girl, from what I gathered. She said, ‘I guess we taught those monsters a lesson.’ She also said they had to learn all they could ’bout killing, ’cuz they couldn’t be so careless the next time. About then, someone tugged on the door. Two of ’em hid in stalls, and one of them slowly opened the door and peeked out before disappearing.”

  “Miss Romero, this is fascinating information. I will work on helping your friend after I do some research on these Alabama murders.”

  So they had not only killed their uncle but two other rapists in Alabama a decade earlier. If the details matched up with Miss Romero’s story, I’d bend over backward to get her friend out of jail. I also started to wonder if they’d pulled off other murders across the country that had never been linked together or solved.

  “I’m going back to my room to work on this. Thanks for the info and the coffee. Looks like I’ll be around here a bit longer than I’d planned.”

  “Like I said, you aint botherin’ me. Fryin’ some gator here in a little while. Come up ’round noon and get you a plate.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  Nothing better than a home-cooked meal. Lord knows I could use it. And Cajun food just happened to be one of my favorites.

  Chapter 21

  I walked back to my room, punching in Captain Wilcrest’s number on my way.

  “David, glad you called. It’s been a few days. Things couldn’t be more unsettled here. I met your detective friend Lafitte earlier. I’m actually headed to the crime scene now. I thought you’d call me sooner. I’ve tried you a few times now.”

  “Yeah, I needed Lafitte and De Luca there to work the scene. We need to catch up with her before she kills again. And I got your calls. I’m knee-deep in the middle of this thing right now, and I got a lot at stake.”

  “Her? Her who? And I know what you got riding on this. Chief wants an update. We have a meeting here shortly to discuss it all. He’s nervous about having you on this case.”

  “Brittany Foy. That’s her name. Stacy’s little sister. I’ll fill you in on everything I know for your meeting with the chief. Wouldn’t want him mad at me.

  Right now I didn’t give two shits about who may be mad at me. The number one priority was getting Karen back.

  “How the hell do you know that she’s Stacy’s sister?”

  “The BF on the wall. I’m one hundred percent certain it’s Brittany Foy. What I don’t know is why they targeted the Blakes. They usually only go after guys who’ve committed some crime toward women. Neither of those guys have anything on record. Still doesn’t mean they were clean, though. But I’m working on it.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me about what’s going on here in Houston when you’re a couple hundred miles away?”

  “Hey, it’s what you pay me for, right? And I may be onto something big. I mean reallybig—bigger than I ever could’ve imagined. I have some research to do, but we may have a third murderer running with these two. The three of them may actually be linked to several other murders around the country. I’m starting to think they got some goddamn group of vigilante rape victims.”

  “I bet you know her name, too.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if it’s accurate. It’s all speculation right now. I have a pretty good hunch about where Stacy’s headed. I’m still working out the details on intercepting her or making an attempt to. My first priority is getting Karen back in my arms again.”

  “We’ll work the cases in Houston. We can talk later tonight or first thing in the morning and exchange info.”

  I tossed my phone aside, grabbed my laptop, and dug in. I started with a background check on Marci Wingup. Same high school as the sisters, same age. Then something jumped right out of the laptop at me: valedictorian. I also came across a file containing an image, a picture of Marci. Marci was smart—really smart—and beautiful. Kind of girl who could probably get whatever she wanted by batting her eyelashes. And she had a clean record. Not one single blemish. Not even a goddamn speeding ticket.

  I grabbed my cell phone and called Fingers.

  “Hey, it’s me. Porter.”

  “Whatcha need, Davie? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

  “The middle of something legal or illegal? Listen, I need you to research something for me. Start from twenty years ago to now, looking for murders of rapists. They would have been nasty, violent crimes—cut up, dismembered. Nothing in connection with drug cases or gang related.”

  “You want rapists or sex offenders?”

  “All of the above. Pull some case info on each of the hits you get. I’ll do the rest; I know what I’m looking for. Email me the info when you get it.”

  I hung up and returned to my search for info on Miss Wingup. If I got lucky, I’d find a current address; that’s what I really wanted. But if she was as smart as I thought she was, she’d be using an alias. That would make her a hell of a lot harder to find.

  I did an image search. After scrolling through thirty-plus pages, I finally found an old picture. I recognized Stacy—Lisa at that point in time. The other two? Brittany Foy and Marci Wingup. I’d bet my life on it. Only God knew what either of them looked like now.

  My phone rang. It was Fingers.

  “Give it to me,” I said.

  “You aren’t going to believe this.”

  “Believe what? Tell me, goddamn it!” I said, raising my voice so high it cracked.

  “I said you won’t believe it, so I’ll just show you. Check your email.”

  The phone went silent. My laptop beeped—incoming mail. I opened the file and stared at the screen in amazement.

  It was starting to look like the old bat wasn’t crazy after all. Her lead had checked out, and what Fingers had just emailed me was a game changer.

  Chapter 22

  As usual, HPD headquarters was a madhouse. The hustle and bustle of the hundreds of officers on the force was ever present. The phones never stopped ringing; it sounded more like a call center than a police station.

  Captain Wilcrest strode down the hallway toward the elevators. He had a one thirty meeting with Chief Hill, and he knew promptness was of utmost concern to the chief. He’d sent guys home for being one minute late to a meeting.

  As Wilcrest reached the elevator, two other detectives piled in with him.

  “Heard you got a date with the chief,” one of the men said.

  “Yeah, just filling him in on Porter’s case is all,” Wilcrest said.

  The detectives’ faces told a different story.

  “What’s that look for?” Wilcrest said.

  “Well, I heard he wants to pull Porter off the case. You know he shouldn’t be on it. Hits too close to home,” the detective said.

  The elevator stopped, and Wilcrest held the door open as he stepped out. “Yeah, and you know there was no way in hell me, Chief, or anyone else was going to stop him. Badge or no badge, he would have gone after this girl.”

  He hurried down the hall, dodging one cop after another. He reached the chief’s office with two minutes to spare.

  “Come on in; it’s open.”

  Chief Hill was a tall, lean, clean-cut man who didn’t bullshit around. Ever. He’d been chief for ten years and on the force three times as long. He was fair but short on patience. He seemed to like Wilcrest, and the two had never had a falling out before.

  He moved from behind his desk and, with a vice-grip-like handshake, reached out to greet Wilcrest.

  “Shut the door and have a seat,” Chief Hill said
.

  Hill’s mood was cold and direct. Wilcrest sat down on the other side of the giant mahogany desk and waited for him to start the meeting.

  Hill got right to it. “Listen, Wilcrest. I know you have a special place in your heart for Porter, but what he’s doing right now doesn’t look good for HPD. It’s just flat-out wrong and against everything I stand for.”

  “Chief, hear me out on this one. What you say is right. Not arguing that. I know it’s not protocol, what Porter’s doing, but you and I both know the best chance he’s got of finding his daughter is by doing it himself.”

  “That may be so, but rules are rules. They aren’t up for debate or interpretation.”

  Wilcrest knew this was an uphill battle. It almost felt like the chief’s mind was already one hundred percent made up. Maybe he had someone else in his ear on it. Wilcrest couldn’t be sure.

  “I did talk to Porter this morning. He’s close. Swears he is. For everything he is or isn’t, he’s never lied to me, you, or any of us. He actually sent De Luca and a detective friend of his from New Orleans back here to solve this Widowmaker case.”

  “Do we not have capable officers on it already?” the chief grumbled.

  “We’ve got great guys on it, but none of them are Porter. He told me more about the case here during our five-minute call than these guys know times one hundred. And get this: the BF painted on the walls? Brittany Foy? She’s Stacy’s sister. Yes, that Stacy. How he figured that out I don’t know, but we sure as hell hadn’t.”

  The chief sat there and stared, peering through Wilcrest and into his soul, or so it seemed. He remained silent for a few minutes before starting again.

  “That’s good intel,” Hill said.

  “I know. I’m not asking for a super-long leash for Porter, but he’s good; you know that. Hell, he might solve this Houston case from flippin’ Louisiana.”

  “Can you control him? Keep up with him? Keep me briefed? I don’t want any surprises here, and I sure as hell don’t want to see HPD Detective Fill-in-the-blank in the papers. Word gets out we got guys working cases that intimately involve them, and I got questions that I don’t want to answer.”

  “I believe so. Kinda putting my neck on the line here, but I always have and always will for him. We’ve all seen him grow into a fine detective—one of the best.”

  “God forbid anything like this happened to one of our loved ones, but would you let another detective work a case so close to home?” Hill asked.

  “Honestly, sir, I probably wouldn’t. I also don’t have another David Porter that I could put on his own case. If I did, I’d consider it.”

  “What I’m hearing is Porter’s got some special privileges.”

  “I don’t see it that way. But with that said, Porter’s earned some special privileges that other’s haven’t.”

  “I’ll allow this to continue for now, but you better keep me up to speed every step of the way. We clear, Wilcrest?”

  “Crystal,” Wilcrest added.

  “For what it’s worth, I truly hope Porter finds his little girl. Not trying to be a hard-ass here.”

  As Wilcrest reached the door, he stopped and turned back to Chief Hill.

  “I’ll leave you with this to chew on, sir: if your daughter had been kidnapped, who would you put on the case, Porter or one of the other guys? We should afford him no less.”

  Hill stared at the captain but didn’t say another word. Wilcrest left feeling relieved. He’d managed to buy Porter more time to solve the case, at least for the time being. He knew it probably wouldn’t be the last time Hill chastised him about Porter, but his parting words to the chief still rang true. No matter how much of a conflict of interest it might be, every cop in this department would want David Porter on the case if their kid’s life was at stake.

  Wilcrest pulled out his phone to text David.

  Chapter 23

  Pasadena, California. Jacksonville, Florida. Brooklyn, New York. Denver, Colorado. All across the United States. Every murder had the same MO: rapists brutally dismembered. There was no way Stacy, Brittany, and Marci could have committed every murder. They were too many miles apart and too close in time. I couldn’t believe what I was piecing together. They had formed a secret society—a society of scorned, hurt women out for justice. No . . . out for blood. My God! What a mess I had uncovered. How many women? How far back did the murders go? I had so many questions but not near as many answers.

  The murders had been spread out over twenty years so as not to raise suspicion, I presumed. It had worked. I would probably be able to rule out one or two, but there were over ninety murders here. And now that I had turned up on their hit list, I had to believe someone would come to finish the job. I knew if I wanted to live without having to look over my shoulder every ten seconds, I’d have to catch every one of these women. One by one. I also knew it would be impossible to do alone.

  Even more questions popped into my head. My mind was racing one hundred miles an hour. Were they recruiting? How did they recruit? Where did they meet? How often?

  The chirping of the desk phone startled me.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Theresa Romero from the front desk.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “The food is ready. You comin’ to eat?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. Be right there.”

  When I walked into the motel lobby, the smell of Cajun paradise welcomed me. The spread laid out on the counter looked incredible.

  There was a bar stooI at the front counter. I sat down and Miss Romero slapped a heavily loaded plate down in front of me.

  She put her hands on her hips. “You know, when I open my restaurant I’ll be chargin’ fourteen bucks for a plate like dis.”

  I shoveled a forkful into my mouth. “I believe you could easily get that and more, Miss Romero.” I dug into a steaming bowl of gumbo, cornbread, jambalaya, and crispy fried shrimp.

  She leaned up against the counter. “So, you gettin' my friend out or what?”

  “You were right,” I said, staring into her worn eyes.

  “I know that. So you goin’ to hold up your end of the deal?”

  “I always keep my word. No promises on how long it will take. I’m a long way from home where things make sense.”

  “Texas? How many horses you got down there?”

  “I don’t own a horse,” I said with a chuckle.

  “C’mon! All Texas boys got a horse.”

  “That’s the common misconception. Listen, the information you gave me led to something big – huge, actually. A vast network of bad, bad news. It’d be enough to get four or five of your friends out if they needed it.”

  “Now that you mention it . . .”

  We shared a laugh. I devoured the food and washed it down with some sweet tea. At least they got that much right. I still couldn’t get over being able to buy hard liquor at the convenience store or carrying your drink with you from bar to bar, but who was I to judge?

  I exchanged information with Theresa, told her I’d be in touch, and headed back to my room. I spent the next hour digging up everything I could, some of which I still needed to validate.

  I took out my phone and dialed Wilcrest.

  “David, didn’t expect to hear from again you so soon.”

  I rubbed my head. “We have a huge problem.”

  “Who is we? We cops? We Houstonians? We Texans?”

  “We the United States of America. Go find the chief, Lafitte, and De Luca. Sit them down in a conference room with a projector and call me back.”

  “You want me to bring anyone else in on this? Maybe the president?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “The chief is a busy man. You sure you want to bring him in on whatever this is right now?”

  “I’ve stumbled onto what might be the biggest case in my entire career. Get the chief, Cap.”

  Chapter 24

  “David, this better be good,” the chief said wh
en the group was assembled and they had me back on the line.

  “It’s more than you can imagine,” I said.

  I made sure my laptop was positioned so the four of them could see me and began.

  “Thank you all for joining me here on such short notice. I apologize, but this couldn’t wait. My investigation into Stacy and her sister Brittany has morphed into much, much, more. We are no longer searching for just those two. I believe there is an entire network or team of women just like them who are killing rapists all over the United States. I believe they’re working together.”

  The chief spoke up. “That’s quite a claim, detective. Do you have any evidence to support this theory of yours?”

  “I have uncovered at least ninety cases that all share the exact same characteristics as Stacy’s recent murders and the murders of the Blakes there in Houston. I even have a witness who might have accidentally overheard the genesis of their group. A local woman here in Louisiana described that conversation to me in startling detail.”

  “My God!” Wilcrest said.

  “I don’t even know if God can help us now,” I said.

  “What else do you know, Porter?” De Luca said.

  “It gets worse. The mastermind behind all of this is a woman named Marci Wingup. Well, that was her name. God only knows what it is now. She’s not some regular girl, from the looks of it; she’s a goddamn genius. Graduated valedictorian and a member of every nerd and geek squad you can imagine. President of most. So all in all, their leader is brilliant, which will make tracking her down all the more difficult.”

  “This sounds like some shit right out of a movie,” Lafitte said.

  “It’s no movie, my friend. They’ve become emboldened. And I believe taking me on was a challenge for them, a test. I dug deeper into a few of the cases. One vic was Lonnie Jordan: white male; age twenty-nine at the time of his murder; two rape charges to his name; married and a seemingly upstanding member of his community. He was a successful businessman involved in local politics. Seems he had a knack for young interns during his campaigns. They found him cut to pieces in a hotel room off a main highway. Oh, and this was in Pasadena, California, eight years ago. Then there’s Dr. Mark Wilson: Las Vegas, Nevada; age thirty-three; found murdered in his home five years ago. Three rape cases on his resume which had, for all intents and purposes, been buried. His wife was out of town on vacation, just like Carl Blake’s. He too had a reputation for being a ladies’ man.”