by Laura Snider
“Me?” Ashley said, her nostrils flaring. “I should have been prepared? You should have given me the recording. You obviously had it, yet you sat on it. So if you want me to ‘be prepared’”—she used air quotes—“then you’ll stop playing games with the evidence.”
“I’m not playing games,” Charles said, crossing his arms.
Katie’s eyes darted from the defense attorney to the prosecutor. Despite her anger with Ashley’s line of questioning, she couldn’t help rooting for her. Ashley could get under her skin, but to see that same intensity directed at Charles Hanson, Mr. Politics himself, was hilarious. Charles did not react well, and he looked very much like a petulant child.
“Then where is the medical examiner’s report?” Ashley rose and shoved her laptop into her bag.
“Apparently you have it,” Charles said.
“I never said I had it,” Ashley growled.
“Then why ask those questions?” His gaze shifted toward Katie.
“Don’t look at me,” she said, scowling. “I don’t have the report.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ashley said. “The point is that I’m still waiting on supplemental police reports. Where are those? We have sixty-nine days until trial. It’s go-time. You know it, I know it. You’re trying to force me to waive speedy trial. And I won’t. You can’t make me. Got that?”
“We’ll see about that,” Charles said, rising and storming out of the room.
Yup, Katie thought, a child.
All the bluster left Ashley the moment Charles was gone. She suddenly looked exhausted, pale, and a little sick. Something was wrong. Katie should have noticed earlier, but she had been too irritated with Ashley’s questioning. She wanted to ask Ashley if she was getting enough sleep, but she kept the thought to herself. She wouldn’t ask in front of Ashley’s client. That would cause problems for both Ashley and Katie. Her appearance probably had something to do with Tom. Katie hoped they weren’t still arguing. Ashley had enough on her plate without the added stress.
13
Katie
67 days before trial
The bureaucratic red tape surrounding the Waukee Police Department was exceptionally thick. Katie had been trying to get a copy of the calls to service at the Smithson residence since her deposition on Monday. It was now Wednesday afternoon and her patience was well past worn and approaching dangerously low.
She picked up her phone and dialed the now familiar number to the Waukee Police Department. It rang several times, like always, before a bored-sounding woman picked up.
“Waukee Police Department, criminal division.”
“Hi, yes. My name is Katie Mickey. I am a police officer in Brine, Iowa. I’ve called several times requesting some records.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said in a monotone. “You want to talk to Dan.”
“No,” Katie said quickly. “Do not transfer me to Dan. Dan will not call me back and this is important. Is there someone else I can talk to?”
Katie had already left countless voicemails for Captain Dan Marino to no avail. With a name like that, she was starting to wonder if he even existed. Maybe the Waukee PD set up a fake account for calls they didn’t want to deal with. She understood that they were busy, with better things to do—or so they thought—than dealing with a small-town officer.
“Dan’s your man,” the woman said. Katie could virtually hear her shrug through the phone.
“No,” Katie said through gritted teeth. “Dan is not the man. Not my man or anybody else’s man. Dan doesn’t pick up and he doesn’t return calls. Give me someone else. Anyone else.”
“Can’t.”
“Listen to me,” Katie growled. Her well of tolerance, which quite honestly was never all that full to begin with, had run dry. Bone dry. Old bones that had withered to dust kind of dry. “You will put someone on the line, anyone other than Dan, or I will drive down to your station and park my ass in your waiting room, harassing every police officer who comes within shouting distance until someone, I don’t care who, gets me the things I need. And until someone does help me, I’ll be sure to glare at you and make loud, annoying, throat-clearing noises during each of your phone calls. Got it?”
The woman was silent for a long moment, then finally said, “You can talk to Josh.”
“Yes. I would love to talk to Josh.”
There was a click and elevator music began playing. Katie sighed with relief. She was on hold. Hopefully in the midst of a transfer to Josh, who she hoped was a real person with half a brain.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello? Josh?”
“Umm, yeah?”
Katie ran a hand down her face. She wanted to scream. “Yeah? With a question mark? Do you not know who you are? Because I need to talk to Josh. Are you, in fact, Josh?”
“Yes. I’m Josh. No need to get snippy. Who are you?”
“Well, Josh, you’d be snippy, too, if you’d spent the past two days trying to get a simple list of calls to service to one address.”
“And you are…” His voice sounded almost playful now. Like he was flirting.
Katie was not in the mood. “Katie Mickey. Officer Mickey. I’m with the Brine Police Department.”
“Yeah, sure, Katie. I can get you whatever you need.”
He said the words in a low, husky tone. Was he trying to seduce her? If so, he was wasting his time. She didn’t fall for the frat boy type. Dating a heavy partier was more of a babysitting job than a relationship. Not that Katie had the time or desire for either.
“Great. I need a list of calls to service to the Smithson residence. Isaac and Lyndsay Smithson.”
He whistled a high-pitched note that dipped into something lower, like she was asking for something ridiculous. All he needed to do was run the report. A quick click of a few buttons on a computer, then send it to her. It wasn’t rocket science.
“What? Is that going to be a problem?” Katie said.
“Like how long are we talking?”
“What do you mean how long?”
“How long back?”
Katie frowned. He’d only be asking that question if there were years of disturbances at the Smithson residence. “I don’t know. As far back as you can go.”
“I can take you back ten years. We don’t save records past that.” She could hear the clack of his keyboard. “How do you want me to send it to you?”
“What do you mean? Just mail it.”
“It’s not going to fit in a manila envelope, and we don’t ship boxes without prepayment. Not even for other law enforcement agencies. You know, because of the cost.”
A box? That meant a lot of records. Which would be heavy. And expensive. Chief Carmichael wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—approve an expense like that. Not with Forest Parker throwing his weight around City Hall. But that wasn’t the only problem. Mailing would also take several days, which Katie didn’t have. Something was going on at the Smithson residence, and it wasn’t good. She’d have to find a way to get the records some other way.
“Can you email them to me? As a PDF?”
“Sure,” Josh said, a smile returning to his voice. “Give me your email address and I’ll send them your way.”
Katie recited her email address. As she listened to him clicking buttons on his computer, she began regretting her initial assessment of him. He’d done far more for her over the span of a few minutes than Captain Dan Marino had in two days.
“Can you tell me why there are so many calls out to that residence?”
Josh clicked a few more buttons. “I just sent the email. Let me know if you don’t get it. As for the Smithsons, they’re a strange bunch. You’re probably working on that child killer’s case out there in the boonies, aren’t you?”
Boonies? Katie tried not to roll her eyes. She’d lived in Des Moines in the past, and she remembered how she thought of some of the smaller towns in Iowa. She understood where he was coming from, but it was still irritating. Not all small towns were the sa
me. They each had their own unique character.
“Yeah. I’m working on Rachel Smithson’s case.”
Josh whistled again.
“What?” Katie said through gritted teeth, unable to keep her irritation at bay. None of this sounded good for her case.
“I wouldn’t want to touch that case to save my life.”
“Well, I don’t have a choice.”
“Too bad for you.”
“Why?” Katie said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Why is it ‘too bad’ for me? I don’t understand.”
“Like I said, the Smithsons are a weird bunch.”
Katie sighed. “You’re going to have to give me more detail than that.”
“Isaac. People say he’s the father.”
“Whose father?” Katie sat up straighter in her chair. “Rachel’s?”
“This is all rumor and speculation, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. Like I said, Isaac is a strange man.”
“You wouldn’t be surprised if what was true?” He’d intentionally skirted around answering her question.
“I probably shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”
“You can’t say something cryptic like that without elaborating.”
“I said it was rumor.”
“Listen, Josh,” Katie said, using her most I’m completely reasonable and compassionate voice. “You are a law enforcement officer, right?”
“Yes.”
“You know that rumors often have at least a grain of truth in them.”
“Sometimes.”
“So, spill what you know.”
A radio crackled to life in the background. Katie recognized it as a service call.
“I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t have time to get into it right now.”
“Come on. Just five minutes.” But then she heard the codes as they came through Josh’s radio. It was an emergency call. “Never mind,” she said. She couldn’t justify holding him on the line while someone in Waukee needed his help.
“Did you get my email with the attachment?”
Katie shook her mouse, and her computer sprang to life. The top email was from [email protected]. “Yes. I’ve got it.”
“I gave you my cell. Meet me for dinner and I’ll tell you more.”
Ugh, Katie thought. “Why do you want to meet me for dinner? You don’t know what I look like. I could be hideous. Or gay. Or I could be married.”
“Jesus, Katie,” Josh said, chuckling. “So forward. I wasn’t asking you out. I just wanted to talk shop.”
Blood rushed to Katie’s face, flushing it a deep crimson. She was in her cubicle, but she still ducked her head in case George happened to walk by.
“Just kidding. You sound hot. Let’s make it a date.”
“Meeting,” Katie said through clenched teeth.
“Date.” Josh paused for a moment to say something into his radio. “But really, I need to go. Email me a day and time. I’ll make it work.”
“Fine,” Katie said.
Frat boy was right. Her initial assessment had been accurate all along. She knew better than to second-guess her gut. And with all the calls to service, she wondered if he was the police officer Isaac had referred to. The one who had been “hanging around,” watching for Rachel. Either way, Katie was not impressed with this Josh, but he had information she needed. She would meet him, and it would not be a date. It would be an interview.
“See you soon,” Josh said.
Katie hung up without responding.
She sighed and turned back to the email, clicking on the attachment. A PDF document populated her screen. Katie’s eyes traveled to the top of the document where the pages were enumerated. She was on page 1 of 152. One hundred and fifty-two calls to service, Katie thought. That meant police officers—and maybe one officer in particular—had responded to the Smithson residence more than once per month for ten years.
No wonder Ashley brought it up during Katie’s deposition. Finding this file was like striking gold for a defense attorney. Katie wondered if Ashley already had a copy or if she was going off a hunch. Regardless, it didn’t bode well for the prosecution. Ashley was going to get a copy of these calls either from the Waukee PD or from Charles Hanson. Information like this could be used as a weapon in court. A weapon that Ashley knew how to wield quite deftly.
It added more to Katie’s growing list of follow-ups for Rachel’s case. She needed to go through the calls to service with a fine-tooth comb, then interview Josh and find out if there was any connection between him and Rachel. And she still had to get a hold of Rachel’s birth certificate to find out if Isaac was listed as Rachel’s father.
But the case grew murkier the more Katie dug into Rachel’s life, into her background. It was probably why George had stopped investigating. Katie felt like she had jumped through a rabbit hole that never seemed to end. Yet she couldn’t stop looking. She didn’t even know if any of it would tie back to Rachel’s case, but she had a gut sense that each missing element meant something. And her gut was rarely wrong.
14
Ashley
66 days before trial
It was Thursday and Ashley still hadn’t heard anything from Tom. Almost a full week had passed since their argument. They had never gone so long without talking, even before they started dating. Ashley couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her mind kept rewinding and replaying the fight. Yes, she had overreacted. She shouldn’t have told him not to come to Brine last weekend. She might have deserved him ignoring her over the weekend, but he had kept it up throughout the week. It was overkill. Especially for Tom.
Earlier that week, Ashley had been concerned about his safety. Worried he’d been hit by a bus or the victim of a late-night mugging. But Tom wasn’t the typical college student. He never missed a class and often stayed late to speak with his professors. Someone would have noticed his absence and reported it. If not a professor, then Harper. He seemed to spend plenty of time with her. So he wasn’t dead or seriously injured. Which were perhaps the only two excuses Ashley would accept for his current behavior.
Her emotions were so twisted. She was equal parts furious and devastated. She wanted to wring his neck while hugging him tightly and telling him never to leave again. She wondered if this was what love was always like. The push and pull of a power struggle. If it was, she didn’t have the energy for it. Maybe that was why she’d never fallen in love before. It was too much work.
But mostly, what she wanted more than anything in the world was to talk to her friend Tom. The person she knew before their relationship turned romantic. She needed to understand why he was ignoring her. It wasn’t like him. Tom wasn’t vindictive. Or at least he hadn’t been in the past. If she knew where he was coming from, then perhaps they could get past this. Maybe not as lovers, but possibly as friends.
I’ll go see him, she thought.
The idea just popped into her head and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. It was so obvious, so simple. She had hearings throughout the day Thursday and Friday, but she could make a trip to Des Moines on Saturday. She had to go to the Waukee Police Department anyway to pick up the calls to service at the Smithsons’ Waukee address.
Requesting the calls had been a hunch based on Rachel’s odd behavior, but Ashley suspected that it would pay off. The Waukee Police Department was requiring her to appear in person. They claimed it was for identification purposes—they couldn’t release sensitive documents to just anyone—but Ashley suspected it was a stalling technique. Which meant there was likely good information hidden in those calls.
So that’s what she would do. She’d see Tom on Saturday, then they’d hash it all out. Between now and then, she was going to have to keep her mind busy. It would not be difficult, despite her anxiety about the future. Since taking on Rachel’s case, she was busier than ever. She’d always had more to do than there was time to do it in, but Rachel’s case had taken over her life.
Thoughts of Rachel reminded her
of the video of Rachel’s interview. The disk had been sitting in her office since Katie’s deposition, gathering dust. Ashley had been so eager to get her hands on it, but once she did, she hadn’t made time to watch it. Every day that week, she’d told herself she’d review it. Then the end of the day would sneak up on her and she hadn’t touched it. But what was she doing now? Nothing but stewing over boyfriend troubles. She might as well do something useful.
It was only six in the morning, but Ashley had already been at her office for close to thirty minutes. She liked coming in early when the halls were dark and everything was silent. No phones ringing or emails pinging. It was the ideal work environment to catch up. Besides, sleep didn’t come easily for her these days.
She grabbed the disk and inserted it into her computer. When the file folder popped up, she double-clicked on the video.
The screen populated with the back of George Thomanson’s head. It was a handheld camera. The Brine Police Department didn’t have the cash to buy body cameras for every officer, so they made do with older technology. The recording jostled and bobbed as Katie made her way down the hallway. George paused outside the interview room, his fingers lingering on the doorknob. He took several breaths, then turned to address Katie.
“I’ll take the lead,” George said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to? I mean, she’s more likely to talk to a woman.”
Katie had a point, but Ashley quietly rooted for George to shut her down.
“I’m the detective,” George said in a gruff tone.
Ashley’s brows rose in surprise. She’d known George and Katie for several years and never heard him talk to her like that. Apparently, his promotion was going to his head. Which was ridiculous, because it was a promotion only in name. He hadn’t received much of a pay raise. Ashley knew because all public employee salaries were printed in the paper, and George’s had not risen all that far past a cost-of-living bump. Although, she supposed, that was more than any of the other officers had received.
