by R. J. Noonan
“You can always count on us to cooperate,” Kent said. “How is that going, by the way? Have you found anything?”
“We have.” Omak put his teacup down. “There’ll be a media conference later today at the precinct, but because of your proximity, we wanted you to know first. The scanners revealed four bodies buried there.”
“No. Right up here in our park?” Kent looked at his wife. “And Lucy has been wandering around back there for years. I thought it was relatively safe.”
Right, I thought. Safe without perverts like you.
“How awful.” Martha lowered her teacup. “When we built up here, people left their doors open. There was no crime. But now, four bodies . . . The world is changing.”
“It gets worse. We believe that the bodies buried in the Stafford Woods will be identified as Lucy’s former friends. We’ll know more in the next few days, but you’ve met these girls: Maya Williams, Alice Weiler, Darcy Bernowski, and Katie Cohen. All of them runaways.”
Kent let out a sigh of pain, and Martha reached over and squeezed his hand. “We knew them,” she said.
“I wanted to talk to you about your practice of hosting runaway girls at various times over the past few years,” Omak said.
Martha and Kent exchanged a stern look.
“Lucy’s friends.” Kent gave a contrite sigh. “It’s true. Yes, it’s true, but—”
“Don’t you think your boss should be in on this discussion?” Martha interrupted the question aimed at Omak. “Buzz has been aware of the situation from day one, when we worried about Lucy’s attachment to Katie. Katie Cohen was the first. She was a sweet girl, but when we learned that she was only sixteen and a runaway, we were concerned.”
“I reached out to Chief Cribben, and he assured me that no one would fault us for feeding and housing a homeless teen.” Kent fluffed the hair over his eyes and shrugged. “We figured that was that. If the police didn’t find fault with what we were doing, we were happy to continue taking care of Lucy’s friends.”
“I see. It sounds like you had the best of intentions,” Omak said.
Reading between the lines, I saw the subtext: harboring teen runaways was still illegal, no matter what Buzz Cribben said. But Omak’s professionalism wouldn’t allow him to criticize the police chief behind his back. While I respected the lieutenant for his restraint, sometimes I longed to see him curse the big boss out.
Tears filled Kent’s eyes. “They were good kids. They didn’t deserve to die.”
Then why did you kill them? I wanted to ask him.
“Well, it’s good that we had this conversation,” Omak said. “The chief didn’t tell me you’d been in touch with concerns about the runaways, and we have no record of a police report.”
“I’m glad that part is cleared up,” Martha agreed, “but what about the real crime here? I know you think Lucy killed those girls, but you must know that she didn’t act alone. What are you doing to get the real killer, that Prince what’s-his-name?”
“Emory Vandenbos,” Kent said quietly.
“That manipulator. I saw the interview this evening. If a reporter can get to that deluded Emory Vandenbos, why can’t you cops get him? That young man has four bodies to account for! Five if you include Blossom. I think he forced Lucy to participate. I always knew he was no good, but I never dreamed he was a serial killer. Pure evil and manipulative. He has those girls under his spell, and Lucy is one of them. Whatever role she had in . . . in any of this, you can be sure it was a result of pressure from that punk Robin Hood.”
“Martha . . .” Kent patted the air with his hand, trying to shush her.
But she would not be dismissed. “What a fraud. A dropout from a wealthy Seattle family? And he acts like he lives a life of simple poverty. With a brood of young girls half his age? There’s the real crime. He’s the culprit. Our Lucy is just another victim here.”
An interesting change of pace from trying to get Lucy arrested for Blossom’s murder last night, I thought.
“We’re doing everything we can to find this killer,” Omak said patiently. “I wish I had access to Emory Vandenbos. I wish we could move faster, but sometimes investigations take time.”
They chatted for a little longer, and then Omak excused us, saying that we had to get back to work. As Martha was walking out the door, I thanked her for the tea and asked about Lucy. “How’s she doing?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Martha folded her arms. “You people scared the wits out of her. She took off when that heavy equipment started rolling in yesterday, and we haven’t seen her since.”
* * *
“How did the meeting go?” Z asked when I met him at the grave site.
I shook my head. “I’ll be glad when they’re both locked up and unable to do further harm. They don’t seem to care that Lucy’s been gone since last night.”
“Here’s the bright side of that situation. We know Lucy’s a survivor, so she’s probably better off miles away from those two nut balls.”
It was a good point, but it didn’t alleviate my concern.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about Lucy for long. As Z and I met with Rex Burns at the grave site, I got a text from her.
Panic attack. Don’t know who else to talk to. Meet me at the clubhouse? Please?
Relief washed over me as I texted her back. This time, I would try to talk her into some sort of safe house for her own protection. For once, my experience with panic attacks might come in handy. I told Z that Lucy was back, and I was running down to the house to talk with her. He would catch a ride back to the precinct with Omak.
The clubhouse looked as deserted as usual with chairs stacked on top of tables, though today the tracks of a vacuum cleaner curved around and under the furniture. The door was unlocked, and the bells and clicks of a pinball game alerted me when I crossed the threshold.
“Lucy?”
She didn’t answer, presumably lost in her game.
I moved around the mirrored bar setup to the games in the back. “I’m glad that your panic attack has eased enough to—”
The sight of Kent Jameson standing at the Elvira and the Party Monsters pinball machine made me freeze in midstep.
“Where’s Lucy?”
“In the restroom.” He turned to me and smiled, the sorrow of last night gone from his eyes. He cut a lean figure in a black T-shirt, denim shirt, and faded jeans. His hair was sculpted to a refined wildness, and the scent of lavender filled the space near him.
He was an attractive man. I suspected he’d had no problem charming girls into his trap. After that it would have been easy to slip them the drug so that they didn’t have the power or strength to stop him.
The pinball machine clicked away as the ball dropped and it calculated his score. “I don’t know how many times I play these things and still never quite master them,” he said. “We were just shooting some billiards.” He nodded toward the pool table in the alcove where a game seemed to be in progress, balls spread on the green felt and two sticks propped against the wall. “Do you want to take her turn?”
“No, thanks. I’ll just wait.” I folded my arms and leaned against the paneled wall.
“We were hoping you could join us for a ride.” He leaned over the table with a pool stick, practicing a shot. “Did you know I got a new car? A Shelby Mustang. It’s a beauty. Do you know how to drive a car with a manual transmission?”
“I do.” I glanced toward the hallway. Was Lucy okay in there? Maybe she was freaking out. “My boyfriend Randy taught me.” A harmless half lie in the presence of a pedophile who was almost certainly also a serial killer. Randy really had taught me during spring break of sophomore year when I’d missed out on a Hawaii trip with Becca’s family because my parents made me take a special session at Japanese school. I’d been so angry at them. Now, in retrospect, I realized they were my champions. A little strict, but good and kind people. “But I can’t go for a ride right now. Do you think I should check on Lucy?”
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“She’s fine. Sometimes people need a little space.”
That was rich, coming from the man who invaded the personal space of young girls.
“I’m glad you came.” He took a shot, sinking a striped ball. “The last few times we met, I could tell there was something going on here.”
“Excuse me?”
“You and I, we’re so much alike.” He rubbed a cube of chalk over the tip of the pool cue. “Strong minded. Secretly passionate. Goddamned sexy. And we share a love for little Lucy.” He pulled the tip of the stick within an inch of his lips and blew on it gently. “We would be dynamite together.”
This was ludicrous. “You’re creeping me out. I’m done here.” I headed down the hall and flung open the door to the women’s restroom. The lights were off, the two stalls empty.
I checked the men’s room for good measure, then stomped back to the billiards area. “You fucking bastard. Where is she? What did you do to her?”
“You know Lucy well enough to know that she can hold her own, and I would never hurt the only person on this planet who really and truly needs me.” He leaned over the table and took another shot. “Lucy is fine.”
“Where is she?”
“Hell if I know. She ran off again in one of her usual mad furies. But this time, she left her phone behind. I took the liberty of texting you.” He winked, his eyes sparkling. “And you came running.”
“I came for Lucy.”
A low murmur of contentment trilled in his throat. “And someday soon, you’ll come for me.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Am I pushing too hard? I’m sorry. I forget that the dance is sometimes the best part.” He cradled the pool cue in his arms. “Those first experiences together. You know that I taught them to drive? The Karmann Ghia was a good car because, really, if you are going to operate a vehicle, you need to know how to drive a stick. To feel the momentum and shift gears at the right moment. It’s a fine dance, easing off the clutch and easing into gear, the power and impetus of motion. Moving forward. Speed!”
He smiled down at the pool stick. “I love it! The poetry of motion.”
I turned and checked the distance to the front door. Of course, I had a gun and I knew self-defense. I had tools. But flight was my best choice.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, driving lessons, an intimate instruction, physical, intellectual, and spiritual, if you do it correctly. I taught the girls how to make the engine purr. When to give it the gas and when to ease off. How to grip the gear shift, firm and steady. Nothing to be afraid of.”
The sexual innuendo was disgustingly obvious, and if I had any doubts, watching him caress the pool stick negated them. “That’s it, Mr. Jameson. I’ve heard enough.”
“Call me A. That’s what the girls always call me.”
Of course. The very sexual older man seducing his daughter’s friends. Awesome A. And poor Kyra had actually believed he was going to throw Martha over and hook up with her for good.
“Kent is such a pompous name,” he was saying, “and Mr. Jameson is my father. One of the girls started calling me A because I’m a big-shot author with a capital A. The name sort of stuck.”
Awesome A. I wanted to smack him, but not yet. Not until he admitted everything.
“Tell me about your relationships with Lucy’s friends.”
“I loved them all. Spiritual love, of course. I would never lay a finger on an underage girl. That, my dear Officer Mori, is a crime against the law and our society’s moral code. Sordid and illegal.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’ve made a living out of creative lies.” He smiled. “But you’re of age, Laura. You’re old enough to consent, although you look like a teenage girl on the brink of womanhood. And from what I can tell, you’ve got a stunning figure.” His gaze combed my body like a tiger on the attack. Could he smell my fear? “You want to show me? I can make it worth your while.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Oh, I think you’ll reconsider when you think about what I can do for you. A promotion in the department and more money than you’ll ever see from your career in law enforcement. What do you like, Laura? Clothes? Cars? Jewelry?” He put the stick aside and opened his arms to me. “Little girl, you’ve just won the lottery.”
“Did you kill them, too?” I felt my way to the wall behind me. “Or would you like to call that spiritual murder?”
“I didn’t kill them. No one, not even my own family, believes me, but I didn’t kill anyone. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
His breath was raspy as he looked me up and down, making my skin crawl. “Did you say you had a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” I lied again. “A great guy. We’re really into each other.”
“I’ll bet he’s young and inexperienced,” he breathed. “He doesn’t know how to manipulate a woman’s body in the throes of passion. He doesn’t understand the way pain and pleasure are interwoven. I can show you.” He moved around the table, closing the distance between us. “Let me show you.”
“No! Stay away.” I reached for my gun as I backed away, breaking the holster lock.
“Ah, you’ve got a gun.” He paused beside the table. “You can have your way with me. Have you ever used a gun in your love play?”
I stepped back, maintaining distance between us as a pulse thudded in my throat. “Stay back. I’m not messing around, you bastard!”
“A feisty one. You know, Maya was a fighter, too. She was a tall girl, very athletic and into sports. But that’s okay. I can handle you, little girl. It makes it that much more satisfying when you come around.”
I’d heard enough. “I’m not one of your victims.” I lifted the gun and aimed at him, centering my body mass as I backed toward the door.
He put his hands up. “Honey, I have no victims. Only lovers.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’ll be back. You little girls always come back.”
“Not this time.”
“I never hurt anyone,” he called as I unlatched the door behind me. “My girls always came to me. You’ll be back. You’ll always come back.”
29
As I bolted from the clubhouse, I started crying, sobbing like a baby. Yes, yes, I had a gun and I knew self-defense. I could have stopped Kent Jameson before he went too far. But I had to let him go long enough to know his game. As Omak had said, I had to give him enough rope to hang himself. In the process, I had glimpsed the belly of the beast, the ugly manipulations he had used on Maya, Kyra, Alice, Darcy, and Katie before he had tired of them and killed them.
The horseshoe-shaped path was empty as I ran along the paving stones and headed straight for authority, straight for the one person who could reel Kent Jameson in tighter than anyone. His wife, Martha.
She needed to know. She needed to protect herself and Lucy. Ah, Lucy! Where was she? I hoped she was all right.
Martha seemed to sense the urgency the minute she opened the door. “Oh, my goodness. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Kent. He tried to . . .” I stammered in a ragged voice. “He’s a sexual predator and a killer. You have to get out of here. You and Lucy have to get out. Is Lucy here now?”
“No, but . . . Oh, dear Lord! You poor thing.” Martha threw her arms around me. “Come inside, please.”
Juana stopped dusting the huge mantel to stare as I followed Martha into the living room and let out a sob.
“I’m sorry, I’m such a mess.” My entire body was trembling.
“It’s understandable. Juana, start some tea for Officer Mori.” Martha placed a hand on my shoulder, and the gentle touch made me want to cry even more. “Poor girl. You look like you could use a moment alone. The powder room is right down the hall there. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
I nodded, longing for one safe moment alone to pull myself together. I slipped inside the cheerful room with frosted glass-cube windows and bright-turquoise walls. Locking the door be
hind me, I doubled over and let out another sob.
I told myself I wasn’t crying for myself but for the other girls, but that wasn’t entirely true. Seeing the balance of power shift in Kent’s favor, even for a minute, had rattled me. But I couldn’t give in to fear. Where was my mettle, my backbone, my strength?
Deep breaths, deep breaths. I had looked him in the eye. I had survived. And dammit, I was going to take him down. He would spend the rest of his life in jail.
But first, I had to make sure the people closest to him were safe.
I fumbled with my cell phone, trying to text Omak. The shaking in my hands made it difficult, but I managed to get a message out.
Kent J is sex predator/killer. Warning Martha now.
I splashed cold water on my eyes and buried my face in a fluffy towel. It took a few minutes to compose myself, breathing slowly and washing him from my mind. When I emerged from the powder room, there was silence. Juana must have gone upstairs, but Martha was waiting for me in the kitchen.
“I made you tea. A spicy chocolate chai that I mix with steamed milk. It’s divine.” She brought the small cast-iron teapot to the dining room table, and we each took a seat.
“Feeling better?” She poured tea into a delicate china cup with green ivy climbing the side.
“Much better. Thank you.” I lifted the cup and took a small sip. The tea was sweet and chocolatey and comforting. I took another sip, trying to get my bearings. “Do you know where Lucy is? I’m concerned. Kent has her cell phone.”
“Oh, she left that here when she took off yesterday. I wouldn’t worry. She always lands on her feet.”
“I am worried for her—and for you. Your husband is a killer. So far he’s killed and sexually abused four young women, and there are no guarantees he won’t go off the deep end.”
“Did he confess to you?” she asked, her eyes shadowed with concern.
The room seemed suddenly warm, and I swiped away beads of sweat on my upper lip. “Not . . . not exactly. But he joked about his abuse of those girls. He made it clear that . . .” I took another sip of tea to gather my thoughts. “He’s a dangerous man. I didn’t get a full confession, and we may not have enough to arrest him today, but no one is safe around him. You can’t stay here, Martha. You and Lucy need to go to a safe place until we can get him locked up.”
