If She Ran (Martina Monroe Book 2)

by H K Christie

  Had Everett been the "hiking buddy" seen with Jonathan that day?

  "So, you were friends with Everett?"

  "Yeah, I thought we were."

  "You were friends, but you didn't know where he lived?"

  "No, it never came up. He just said he lived out in the boonies—East Bay—never anything specific."

  Hirsch and I exchanged glances. The boonies. We'd heard that before.

  "Do you know what Everett was doing with the girls that disappeared?"

  "I don't know. He didn't tell me what he was doing with them. He told me to drop it or we would have problems."

  "So, you kept sending girls to him?"

  "Just the blond-haired, blue-eyed ones."

  Kelly gasped. From her expression, I don't think she knew about Jordan's past. I wondered how she felt being a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty herself. Did she wonder if her boyfriend would have sent her off to a monster?

  "Did he ever mention if he was selling them or if they were for his own recreation?" Hirsch asked.

  "He told me not to ask, and I didn't. Like I said, he threatened me."

  "How do you spell his last name?" Hirsch asked.

  "P-O-U-S-S-I-N."

  "Do you have his phone number?"

  "I did. I don't anymore. After I moved, I wanted nothing to do with him or whatever he was doing with those girls. I'm no saint, but I really didn't want anything bad to happen to them. But Everett, there is something dark about him. When he talked about his girls—the one's that disappeared—his eyes would go black and creep me out. We kept our communications strictly business after he threatened me."

  "And when you say strictly business, you mean providing him with victims?"

  Jordan looked over at his lawyer.

  Mr. Honey said, "Let's just say he provided talent."

  Jordan shrugged slightly and then winced in pain.

  "Is there anything else you can tell us?" I asked.

  He shut his eyes and then reopened them. A single tear escaped and rolled down the side of his face. "If you find them, tell them I'm sorry."

  29

  Detective Hirsch

  I settled behind my desk, glad to be back in the Bay Area. I thought we got about as much as we could out of Jordan Day - the clock was now ticking. We needed to find out what happened to those girls. We couldn't keep Jordan Day and his girlfriend, Kelly, in protective custody forever. Taxpayer dollars only went so far when we couldn't solve the case. I glanced up and my heart skipped a beat. Please. Please. Have something for me. "Hey, Vincent, I know you have something good for me."

  He approached and said, "Kind of. I have good news and bad news."

  "Come on. Didn't we agree to no more bad news? Help me out here."

  "Beyond my control, man. Bad news first. Everett Poussin doesn't exist."

  Dammit. I had a feeling that was what he'd tell me. "What good news do you have?"

  "Geez, don't shoot the messenger."

  "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days. What do you mean, Everett Poussin doesn't exist?"

  "I should rephrase. There is no record of an Everett Poussin in California or in the Bay Area matching the description that your pal Jordan Day gave you."

  "No phone records and no land records?"

  "My guess is that Everett Poussin is not his real name."

  Jordan had said that Everett and he had met at industry events, which means the other people at those events would've seen Everett too. We needed to send a sketch artist to Jordan Day. After I met up with Martina, I would make a call to LAPD. "What is the good news?"

  "I finished the background check on the subjects that you requested, along with addresses and current employment as requested by Sarge."

  Ah. The background on the previous sergeant and the original detectives working the missing girls' cases.

  "I was told to keep it pretty quiet, so this is for your eyes only, and Martina's, of course."

  "Thank you. What can you tell me about them?"

  "As you know, Sergeant Kinsey is retired. I have his details. His known family members, address, pension, financials, land records, you name it. As for the detectives, one is still on the job, one is retired, and the other is dead."

  "How did he die?"

  "Suicide."

  I don't like that. "All right. And where is the one working?"

  "Detective Smart. He's with the Alameda County Sheriff's Department."

  Local. Good.

  "I printed out the information. It's all here in this folder." Vincent handed me the folder.

  After thanking Vincent for the file, I headed back to the war room. Martina was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading through her notes. "Vincent just gave me the background reports on the detectives who worked all six original cases."

  "Good news?"

  "One who is still on the job working in Alameda County, one retired, and the other died by suicide."

  "Suicide?"

  "Here's the file. I haven't looked at it yet."

  She frowned. "What else?"

  I supposed the disappointment that Everett Poussin wasn't a real person showed on my face. "Everett Poussin doesn't exist."

  "I had a feeling that's how it would play out. There was no way it would be that easy. Do you think Jordan made up the whole thing?"

  "Maybe or Poussin was an alias. Why not? Jordan Starr had one."

  "True. Well, dang, this doesn't get us very far, does it?"

  "No, it doesn't."

  "Now what?" Martina asked.

  "I'll put in a call to LAPD to have a sketch artist sent to Jordan. It would be useful to have a physical description of the photographer. Next, interview Sergeant Kinsey and the remaining detectives. Maybe they remember something, or have some insight from back then."

  Martina nodded. "Strange that the detectives all scattered after the missing girls' cases, isn't it?"

  "It is," I said.

  "Who's up first?" Martina asked.

  "How do you kill a snake?"

  "Cut off the head," Martina answered.

  "Exactly. Or we can find out as much about the snake as we can before killing it?"

  "Yeah, I like that. Sergeant Kinsey had to know what was going on in his own department. Let's question his former detectives first."

  "Agree. Let's talk to our friend at the Alameda County Sheriff's Department first. Detective John Smart."

  We studied Detective John Smart's file and discussed how we would handle the interrogation, I mean, friendly conversation. Since he was our brother in blue, we'd have to tread lightly. "You ready to take a trip to Oakland?" I asked.

  "I was born ready, Detective," Martina said with a smirk.

  "All right, let's go."

  I made a quick call to LAPD and then Vincent and our new research team to let them know we'd be out for a while and asked them to investigate all the names provided by Jordan.

  I stood before Detective John Smart, who wore jeans and a light blue polo shirt with his badge on a chain around his neck. "Thank you so much for meeting with us."

  "No problem, I saw on the news you're reopening the case. I assumed you'd be showing up sooner or later."

  "Well, here we are now. Thanks again, and this is Martina Monroe. As you probably realize, the sheriff's department has contracted her to help us investigate these cold cases. She's got a pretty good track record."

  Smart said, "Ms. Monroe, great to meet you."

  "You too, Detective."

  "Want to head back to the conference room with me? We can discuss anything you would like to about the cases."

  I said, "Great," and followed Detective Smart down the hallway into the conference room. "How do you like the Alameda County Sheriff's Department?" I asked.

  "It's pretty good. We see a lot of action out here."

  "I bet. Oakland having the highest murder rate in the state of California, I would assume you get a lot of cases thrown your way," I commented.

  "Isn't th
at the truth? Some days I wish for an easier life back at the CoCo County Sheriff's Department. But it sounds like you have your hands full working active and cold cases. What are you doing—looking to be the next sheriff?" Detective Smart asked.

  I had never considered being an elected official or a politician. "Nope. Just trying to make a difference."

  "Good for you. Please have a seat. Can I get you guys anything? Coffee? Water?"

  "I'm fine, thanks," Martina answered.

  "So, what questions do you have for me?"

  "We have now connected six missing women. Daniela Todd, Aria Johnson, Iris Richmond, Raquel Woodson, Willow Stevens, and Layla Carmichael. The first three went missing five years ago and the second set four years ago. You were the lead investigator on the first woman, Daniela, and the last, Layla. Do you remember those two cases?"

  He nodded. "It was a while ago but I remember—vaguely."

  "Did you see any similarities between the two cases?"

  "I mean, other than they were both runaways. Not really. I mean, nothing really stood out about them. Teenagers are notorious for running off and not telling their parents."

  "What about Sergeant Kinsey? Was he involved in the cases?"

  "No more than any other sergeant. You know, with Daniela's case, if I remember correctly, we decided she was a runaway pretty shortly after she was reported missing. She had some boyfriend that was one of those on-again and off-again relationships. We assumed she ran off with him since we couldn't find him either."

  "What about Layla?"

  "That one. Even her mother thought she was a runaway. Honestly, I give you crap about CoCo County, but with all the drug busts and drug-related homicides, we had our hands full. We didn't have a lot of time to investigate runaways. I hate to say that—especially now that it appears that they weren't runaways. Makes me sad to think we could've done more for them. Maybe we could've brought them home."

  I wasn't convinced Detective Smart was sincere. "You can't remember if anyone connected the girls? I mean come on. The last three: Raquel, Willow, and Layla disappeared within three months of each other. Wasn't it discussed at department meetings?"

  "I don't think so. I mean, I guess we had higher priorities than a couple of runaways."

  What Detective Smart was saying didn't make sense to me. Cases were typically discussed at daily debriefs. I wasn't buying it. "Was it normal to have a different detective assigned to each new missing person's case?" I asked.

  "To be honest, man, nobody wanted a missing person’s case. They almost never get solved. Stats go down and it shows up in your review. We had bigger fish to fry than some teen who didn't want to listen to her parents."

  So, he was one of those detectives who only cared about stats. Was Sergeant Kinsey the same way?

  "Anything else you can tell me about the cases?"

  "No, honestly, nothing really stood out about them. The only one of the six you mentioned that we really looked at was Raquel's case. That one made national news because of her family."

  They only did their job if the media hounded them? That seemed in alignment with this guy's attitude. "Yeah, I saw that."

  "Her family had money and insisted their daughter hadn't run away. The other families didn't seem as concerned and certainly weren't holding press conferences."

  We had made the same conclusions. All the other women had come from middle-to-low-income families who thought their daughters were runaways, but not Raquel's family. It made me consider that maybe Raquel was different and maybe that's why they didn't make the connection before, but I doubted it.

  "Did you realize that all the missing girls were all patients at the same eating disorder clinic?"

  "I don't think it came up. It was a long time ago, and my memory isn't what it used to be."

  "All right, man, well if there's anything else you can help us with, please let us know." I didn't think he would reach out.

  "Will do."

  We said our goodbyes and stepped out of the conference room. As we headed back to lobby, something about Detective Smart irked me. He was obviously one of those cops who was just on the job for the paycheck. "Hey, Sergeant, what's up, man? What are you doing here?" Detective Smart asked.

  Martina and I stopped in our tracks. I turned to look at who Detective Smart was speaking to. "Detective Hirsch, Martina. This here's Sergeant Kinsey. What are the odds?"

  I still didn't believe in coincidences. Had Detective Smart called Sergeant Kinsey to let him know we were coming? Why would he do that?

  30

  Layla

  We heard footsteps approaching, and we scrambled back to our cots. Sitting cross-legged with smiles on our faces, we waited, but he never came. The sound of more footsteps and another voice grew closer. Another man. The three of us exchanged glances. We remained dead silent as we tried to listen to the conversation. It sounded like the new man said, "You have to get rid of them. Get rid of them or you could be facing a death sentence. It's not worth it," he explained.

  Was he referring to us? I looked over at Willow and Raquel. They appeared as worried as I was. Who was this man giving the master orders? Had he not been acting alone? I had never seen or heard anybody but the master.

  The master responded. "It'll be fine. Nobody knows anything about this place."

  "I'm telling you, you have to get rid of the bodies. It's one thing to have live victims, but dead ones are a different story. Get rid of them." Footsteps pounded away from the barn.

  My heart raced as I wondered whom they were getting rid of and how they would do it. Did he mean the dead girls in the bad place? Nobody said a word as we waited in silence for what was to come next.

  In some ways, the last few years had become routine. We all had our jobs. He lived in the main house but would allow us to come in to clean and cook. He usually had a gun or a knife to keep us in line. He had yet to ditch the weapon, which meant he didn't fully trust us yet. Although, he did give us more freedom. When he wasn't there, we were allowed to watch DVDs, sit on the sofa, and play cards. He locked up the barn, but we were free to roam around inside. It was like his sick fantasy had come true, and we'd all been complicit. We were his three wives, and he was our master. But we were close to being able to escape. We had to be.

  I heard a car drive away, and then the locks to the barn turned. The master entered, wearing work boots. He glanced at the three of us. "All right, I have work for you to do. Come on."

  None of us hesitated. We were going somewhere, and we weren't shackled together. I could feel it. It was almost time.

  With his eyes on us, we exited the barn. I spotted his gun in the back of his jeans as he handed me a shovel. He then gave one to Willow and Raquel before marching us toward the back of the property. He clearly had gotten comfortable with us, considering all three of us held heavy shovels and there was only one of him.

  I eyed Raquel. Raquel shook her head back and forth as if to say it wasn't the right time. I wasn't sure if I agreed with that assessment. One whack to the back of the head and he'd go down. Or at the very least, be too weak to grab his gun before all three of us laid into him with our shovels.

  I looked at Raquel, pleading with my eyes as if asking, Are you sure? We could take him.

  We stopped walking, and I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind. He was staring right at me. I chose to stand down. If I was wrong about being able to defeat him, I wouldn't be able to live with myself for getting them killed. He pointed at the ground in front of me. "I need three holes. Layla, you dig here." He pointed to Raquel. "You dig here." He went over to Willow. "You dig here. Dig about six feet deep and six feet wide. Can you ladies do that?"

  We all nodded in agreement. Frustrated, I dug into the earth, imagining I was bashing his brains in with the shovel. I needed to push down the rage.

  After what seemed like an eternity of digging holes, we finished and the master stood with a smile on his face. "Well done, ladies. The three of you are quite a team. N
ow one last task, which I'm afraid isn't as fun. I need to get the other ladies in these holes. According to dear old Dad, it's too much evidence."

  It was his dad. Why would his dad tell him to get rid of the bodies and not tell him to let us go and turn himself in? Was his dad a total creep too? He had to be.

  "That's right, my dad was here. What a piece of work. A hypocrite of the worst kind." He smirked. "Luckily, the four of us have an open, honest relationship. No hypocrites here."

  "So, what do you need our help with?" Raquel asked.

  "There's three bodies, so we need two of you to carry the bodies and one to clean up the yellow house. You guys can choose between the three of you who wants to do what." He collected our shovels as we looked at each other. Cleaning would be the prize job compared to carrying decomposing bodies. "What if we put them in bags to make it easier and we could all carry them?"

  Master cocked his head as if thinking about the proposition. "Great idea. It will get done faster. I like that. What teamwork."

  Well, that was one way of putting it.

  After our day of grueling work, we returned to the barn, disgusted and disheartened, but in some ways, glad that the bodies were gone. Going to the bad place would still be bad, but at least the bodies wouldn't be there to smell or instill the fear that we would become one of them.

  He trusted us to dig holes with heavy shovels. He trusted us to carry dead bodies and to clean the bad place. We had to be close.

  Once the master was back in the main house, I turned to Willow and Raquel. "We have to be close, right?"

  "I think so."

  "I think we should start planning. Let's think through all the steps and maybe in the next week or two, we can make a break for it."

  I turned to Willow, who was looking pale. She covered her mouth and hurried over to a bucket near her bed and vomited. "Are you okay, Willow?"

  It had been a rough day. Maybe it was too much for Willow.

  "I'm exhausted. I'm going to lie down. Can we talk about the plan tomorrow?"

  "Of course."