by H K Christie
"No, she's not, and he knows it. We don't have much time. The new girl looks strong. She could help us fight him."
Over the next few hours, Raquel and I plotted and planned. We were now in an all-or-nothing situation. We were losing Willow. We couldn't let the new girl endure what we had. We had to fight for her, for ourselves, and for Willow. Time was running out.
The chains on the new girl's ankles rattled. I turned my attention over to her cot. She sat up and placed her hand on her forehead and studied the room. First, she stared at Raquel, and then at me, and then over at Willow lying in her bed. She drew her knees into her chest and hugged herself. She shook her head back and forth. And then looked up again. Her bright blue eyes wide and filled with...excitement? "Are you Willow, Layla, and Raquel?"
My gaze shot toward Raquel. And then back at the new girl. "How do you know our names? Did he tell you about us?"
She shook her head back and forth as teardrops ran down her face. "Oh, my gosh. You're alive."
Confused by the new girl's reaction, I stood up. "I'm Layla, that's Raquel, and that's Willow asleep on her bed. It's going to be okay. Look, I know this is hard, but we'll get you through it. I have to explain the rules first, but you should know we're working on getting us out of here. We have a plan."
She smiled through her tears. "We will. They're looking for you. For me, I'm sure."
"What do you mean?" My eyes darted to Raquel, who was standing at the foot of my cot.
"What are you talking about?" Raquel asked, with an almost accusatory tone.
"You're on the news. Your faces. The cases have been reopened. Martina and Detective Hirsch are looking for you."
I looked back at Raquel and then back over at the new girl. "Who is Martina and this detective?"
"She's a private investigator. She's working with the sheriff's department. She's awesome and cool and the best there is. She's my little sister's best friend's mom. She'll find us. I know it."
Trying to process all this new information, I realized the master could come back. She needed to know the rules. We were too close now to jeopardize everything now. "Look, that's really great and everything, but please, I have to tell you the rules and you have to follow them. I need you to follow them. What's your name?"
"My name is Heather."
"Look, Heather, we had a plan to escape, but then Willow got sick. We don't know what's wrong with her. We didn't want to leave her. Her only chance of surviving is if we stick together. First off, you have to follow the rules until then. Until you got here, he let us off the chains—we need to get him to take them off again. Look, its simple. No crying, screaming, fighting, and no talking when he's around unless he asks you a direct question. When he walks in the room, get on your cot, sit cross-legged, and smile. When he gives you food, you eat it. You do whatever he says. Look, it's not easy, we've been doing this for four years. Raquel even longer. I beg you, please follow the rules. If you don't, bad things happen."
Raquel interjected. "And when she says bad things… The last person who tried to fight him, he slit her throat in front of us and then made us clean up her blood. Not to mention the other bodies he made us bury. Trust me, follow the rules. The three of us survived this long because we followed the rules." Raquel was now pleading with Heather.
Maybe Raquel could feel it too. The tide was shifting. We were going to get out of there.
"Do you understand?" Raquel asked.
Heather nodded.
"Look, we'll get through this. Especially if what you say is true, and they really are looking for us."
"They are. It's going to be okay. Martina will find us," Heather said with determination in her voice.
The new girl had a much better attitude than I had on my first night. Maybe it was because she knew they'd find us. I hoped with everything in my being that it was true.
40
Detective Hirsch
I tapped my pen on the desk as I waited for Jordan's lawyer to email the finished sketch of Everett. At this point, the sketch would be our best lead to find the missing women; that is, if Jordan had been honest with us. If he was being truthful, Everett was the last person to have seen Daniela, Aria, Iris, Raquel, Willow, and Layla alive. It was possible Everett was just another link on the chain—an intermediary—to where they ended up.
It was unfathomable that Jordan Day handed over the women to Everett, knowing that they would go missing. Everett had told Jordan he was untouchable. Nobody was untouchable. Why had Jordan believed him so quickly? Why did he keep supplying young women to him? Maybe there was more to the story than Jordan had told us, considering he had almost lost his life to protect Everett's secrets.
For the sake of the investigation and those young women, I was glad Jordan had survived, but that didn't mean he wasn't a bottom feeder. What had Everett done with the women Jordan had turned his back on? Did he sell them into the sex trade? Did he use them for his own sick amusement? Jordan was a sick man, but Everett, or whatever his real name was, was a monster.
My excitement shot up when I spotted the email from Jordan's lawyer in my inbox. I clicked open the message and began to download the file. I glanced above my monitor and saw Vincent approaching. "Hey, Vincent, how's it going?"
"I'm all right. I'm sorry I had put a stop to the background check that you asked for, but don't tell Sarge." He stepped closer. "I pulled some records for Rhett Kinsey before I got the order."
"You're kidding?"
He lowered his voice. "Come with me in the war room and I'll show you what I have."
I nodded and lifted out of my seat when Vincent said, "Wait."
"What?"
"Did someone already send you the details on Rhett?"
"No, why?"
He pointed to the monitor. "Isn't that him right there?"
I studied the screen displaying the sketch of Everett and thought back to my visit to the Kinsey farm the day before. My mouth dropped open. The drawing was rough, but it could easily be a match for Rhett Kinsey. I read the attributes listed on the sketch. Six feet, early thirties, brown hair, and blue eyes. "Wow."
"What?"
"This is a sketch from one of our witnesses from the missing girls' case. This guy is the person who pretended to be a photographer to get close to the women and then they disappeared."
"So, he's your perp?"
"I think so." My mind was racing. Had Rhett Kinsey taken the women? A sergeant's son? Had Sergeant Kinsey covered up his son's crimes and had his detectives do the same? There was no way I could go to Sarge with this without more evidence. "What else do you have?"
"Do you mind if we go in the war room—I'm feeling a little too exposed."
"Sure, of course."
I pulled my laptop off the dock and headed toward the war room. Once the door shut behind me, Vincent flipped open the lid to his laptop and pointed at the screen. "You know I could lose my job for this, so I hope you're right. I couldn't get phone or financial records before they shut me down, but I downloaded a few reports on Rhett Kinsey. I have his public records, employment records, and where he lives. According to this, he's been living at the Kinsey farm since his early twenties, around the time of his divorce."
"Do you have the ex-wife's name?"
"Yes, but if you question her, you can't tell her or anybody else that you got the information from me."
"Don't worry. I have your back." I contemplated how to use this information to build my case, at least for a search warrant. If Rhett Kinsey was the type of person to abduct women, chances were he had exhibited some red flags beforehand. The ex-wife should have some insight into his character and maybe what he was capable of. "Do you have a current address of the ex-wife?"
"Of course."
"Do you have DMV photos of Kinsey and son?"
"Do I? Of course. Look here."
On Vincent's laptop screen, I studied the DMV photos of Kinsey and son. There was a strong resemblance between the two, enough to assume they were fat
her and son. I scribbled down the license plate number for both of their vehicles. "Are you able to send me the photos?"
Vincent gritted his teeth. "Can you take a picture of my monitor with your phone instead?"
Emailing the photos would be an electronic trail of Vincent disobeying his orders. "That'll work. Can you blow up Rhett's photo?"
Vincent nodded and Rhett Kinsey's face took over the screen. There was no doubt in my mind the sketch of Everett was Rhett Kinsey.
I snapped the photo. "Vincent, you're my hero."
"Anything else you need before I wipe it from my computer?"
"Give me a second." I dialed Jordan's lawyer. "Hey, it's Detective Hirsch. Is Jordan still awake?"
"No, why?" The lawyer asked.
"I'm going to send over a photo. I need to see if he can identify the person in the picture."
"Send it on over. I'll have him take a look as soon as he's awake."
"Great, thanks." I hung up.
Nodding at Vincent, I said, "He's our guy. I can feel it in my bones."
At that moment, all the pieces of the puzzle came together to form one awful picture. It explained why Sergeant Kinsey was covering up the missing girls’ cases and the obvious links between them. And why Rhett wouldn't let me see the grounds without a warrant. This wasn't enough. Not only did I need a witness statement from Jordan, but I needed to prove Rhett was capable of the terrible crime. I needed to talk to his ex-wife.
"I'm glad I could help. Do you want to snap the ex's info and his employer records, too, before I wipe it?"
"Yes, I do." I took out my phone and snapped each screen full of details. This was great information, but I needed a legit source too. "Thanks, man. I owe you—big time."
"All in a day's work."
As Vincent wiped his information, I called Martina and explained to her everything we'd learned from Vincent's background information and the sketch. "So, what you're saying is that Rhett is Everett?"
I heard it then. "Looks like it. Now, I need you to have your connect get all the information so that we don't have to bring Vincent into this. He put his butt on the line for us. I don't want it blowing back on him."
"I'm on it."
"Thanks. Any news on Heather?"
"Not yet."
"Okay, I'll call you after I talk to the ex-wife. I'm heading out now."
"Good luck, Hirsch."
Luck was something we needed right then, and I had a feeling we were about to get it. After thanking Vincent again, I grabbed my laptop and rushed out of the station.
41
Detective Hirsch
Standing on the front porch of the last known address for Rhett Kinsey's ex-wife, Roxanne Lifton, I begged the universe for her to be home. The door opened slowly, and a man stood before me. He was at least six foot four and built like a tank. "Can I help you?"
I showed him my badge. "Hi, my name is Detective Hirsch, and I'm with the CoCo County Sheriff's department. I'm wondering if a Roxanne Lifton lives here and if so, is she home?"
"Yes, she's home." He turned around and yelled out Roxanne's name. He turned back. "What is this about?"
"I have some questions about a case I'm working. I think she might have some insight into the case." I spotted a gold band on the large man's ring finger. "Are you Roxanne's husband?"
"Yes. The name's Mike Lifton."
"Nice to meet you, Mike."
A woman in her late twenties to early thirties with long blond hair and bright-blue eyes approached the door. "Roxanne?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"My name is Detective Hirsch, and I'm with the CoCo County Sheriff's Department. I'd like to speak to you about your ex-husband, Rhett Kinsey?"
Her eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. "What about him?"
"I'm hoping to get an insight into what kind of person he was and what kind of husband he was."
"What did he do?" She asked.
That was a fast transition. "Do you mind if I come in?"
She nodded and her husband, Mike, said, "Sure, come on in."
They led me into the dining room and we sat down. "I hate to be so forward, but he is a person of interest in a string of disappearances of young women. Things are a little sensitive with him being a retired police officer's son, so none of this is public knowledge."
Mike placed his arm around Roxanne's shoulders in a gentle, loving manner. "It's okay, honey, you can tell the detective everything. Rhett can't do anything to you now."
"Where should I start?" Roxanne asked.
"How about where you met and how long you dated before you were married," I said in a calm voice. Though, from the look in her eyes, I knew we had our guy.
"We met our second year of college. I was so young and so stupid. I thought he was the one. He showered me with gifts and called me every day. He always wanted to be with me—like every moment. I thought it was so romantic, at first. He proposed after a year of dating. I said, yes, but my parents were against it. They thought we were too young, but I had insisted that we were soul mates, and I think I even believed it. After we got married, we moved into an apartment off campus. From there, it was like a switch had gone off. Suddenly, he was controlling. He never wanted me to go out anymore. He didn't even want me to see my friends or my family. He tried to get me to quit school because he said he wanted to start a family right away, insisting that he would take care of us, therefore there was no need for me to get my degree." She paused as her lower lip quivered.
Rhett had been on the path to becoming an abusive husband. Whether she had physical scars, I wasn't sure, but she definitely had psychological ones; that much I could tell. "And then what?" I asked.
"The first time he hit me, I was so in shock I didn't know what to do. He cried, and he apologized. He said that he loved me so much and promised it would never happen again." She took a breath and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. "But it happened again. And again. Finally, I told him if he didn't stop, I would press charges, and he'd go to jail. I was so naïve. The next day, one of his dad's buddies showed up outside my class and threatened me. He said if I ever pressed charges, I would regret it."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
Rhett Kinsey wouldn't be the first perpetrator of domestic violence who graduated to kidnapping or murdering a stranger. What a lot of people didn't realize was that domestic violence was one of the early signs of a violent criminal who preyed on people both inside and outside of their home.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Mike squeezed her tighter. "Take your time, honey."
She nodded. "Well, after that, things only got worse. He threatened to kill me if I tried to leave. I wasn't sure what to do because I knew the police wouldn't help because of his father's connections."
"How did you get away from him?"
"One day, when he was at school, I ran out of the apartment with only the clothes on my back. I went to a nearby grocery store and used their phone to call my parents. My parents picked me up, and we got a restraining order right away. And then I filed for divorce. I left the state, staying with a cousin, for a while just so he wouldn't come after me. He'd call my parents and beg for forgiveness and asked where I was. Of course, they never told him. After a few years, he finally left me alone."
My guess was that was because he'd moved on to abducting young women who looked just like her. I wasn't a profiler, but I'd bet each one of the missing women represented Roxanne. "Did Rhett have a job when you were together?"
"No, he was a student when we were together, but he was studying to become an engineer."
"Do you know if he works as an engineer?" I asked.
"The last I heard he was working, but to be honest, I try not to think about him."
Vincent had his employment records confirming he worked for a Bay Area tech firm as an engineer. "Have you heard from him over the last five years?"
"No. Last I heard, he moved out to his family farm in Byron an
d worked from home, writing computer code."
"Who told you that?" I asked.
"A friend of mine we went to college with. She used to work with him."
"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. It looks like you're doing well now."
"I am," she said, "Do you really think he's been abducting women?"
"I'm not sure yet. We still need to follow a few other leads. You've been very helpful."
"I hope he's not been hurting other people, but he's certainly capable," she said.
I didn't have any words for that. After I handed her my business card, I told her to call me anytime she needed anything and explained I'd be in touch. We would need a formal statement later to prove the pattern of violence that Rhett Kinsey was capable of.
While walking toward my car, my cell phone buzzed. "This is Detective Hirsch."
"It's Honey, Jordan's lawyer. Jordan says that picture is of Everett Poussin."
"Is he sure?"
"He says he is a hundred percent sure that it's Everett. That he's the person who took the girls."
"I'm going to need you to send me an email with that statement. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"I need it to get a warrant, so if you can get it over A-S-A-P, I'd appreciate it."
"You got it."
"Thanks." I hung up the phone and dialed Martina. "Jordan Day just identified Rhett Kinsey as Everett Poussin, the photographer who took the women."
"Did you get a warrant yet?"
"I need to get back to the station and tell Sarge everything I have, and then I'll get the warrant. I want to get back to the farm as soon as I have it in my hands. I have a feeling the farm is where we'll find the answers to what happened to the missing women."
"How long do you think it'll take to get the warrant?"
"I'm heading back to the station now. I'm about fifteen minutes away. Maybe an hour or two? I'll call you as soon as I have it. How long will it take you to get out to the farm?"
"About an hour."
