Ryan put the police report down and picked up the medical reports. They indicated the victim was four years old, alert and active. A rape kit was performed, with no evidence of trauma or sexual abuse found. The hymen was still intact, and the victim indicated no sexual or physical abuse had occurred. A lab report in the file indicated no evidence of semen or any other unknown fluids was found.
Ryan remembered the rape kit well. She had thought she was being punished for playing the joke on her mother. Why else would they have done that to her? Even today, her gynecologist had to talk her through pap smears and pelvic exams so she didn’t panic.
Ryan looked at the back of the file, which contained notations made by the various prosecutors who handled the case. The tracking indicated Patti had received twenty years for second-degree kidnapping.
Well, at least some of Ryan’s questions were answered now. She had been missing for several hours, not abused or molested, and all so that her prostitute biological mother could score heroin. She refused to add Patti’s allegations to the equation. Nobody would have ever had to plant heroin on Patti. And clearly the woman was lying about why she had kidnapped Ryan. The neighbor who called the police had no reason to fabricate a story, and Ryan recalled the other men being present, although at the time she hadn’t been aware that they were bargaining for her.
She decided she would hold onto the file for a while, look through it more carefully and maybe listen to the taped statement when she felt better able to focus. She started to put the file away when she noticed a yellow sticky note stuck to the inside of the expandable. The note was in Shep’s handwriting, and said Patti Ryan, Upperline Convalescent Home, Rm. 111, South Hall. Interesting, since Patti was supposed to be dead.
Ryan reached for the phone and called Shep’s cell, which had somehow managed to find its way to number five on her speed dial. He answered on the first ring.
“Shep, Upperline Convalescent. What does that mean?”
“That’s where Patti lives. I’m sure you have questions that the file doesn’t answer.”
Ryan let his words sink in for a second. “Would you want to ask your mother questions if you had the chance?”
“Ryan, it doesn’t matter what I want or what I would do. This is a choice you should get to make.”
“Did you know that mama volunteers at Upperline Convalescent Home every Saturday? Do you think that’s some crazy coincidence?”
“I don’t know, Ry. That’s something you need to talk about with her.”
She started to hang up, and instead asked, “You can’t get in trouble for getting this stuff for me, can you?”
“Only if your dad finds out.”
“You definitely don’t need to worry about that. I’ll talk to you later.”
It was almost 5:00, no point in going back to the office. That was one nice thing about being a prosecutor. Nobody bothered keeping track of the assistants as long as they showed up in court when they were supposed to.
Ryan thought about going to the convalescent home to meet Patti. Shep was right. She did have questions for the woman, for instance, why Patti cared so little for the child she had given birth to that she was willing to trade her for heroin. The captain and her mother had led her to believe that Patti had died in prison, although they had never actually said anything definitive. Meeting Patti now would answer the last few questions Ryan had about her biological mother, and then she could close that book forever.
But then Ryan had a better idea. She would wait until Saturday to go the Upperline home, and show up when Angie would be there. That would teach her mother to keep secrets from her. She was too wired right now anyway to deal with meeting the woman who tried to sell her for drugs, and the tequila bottle was beckoning to her from the kitchen table.
Her mind was racing in too many different directions, full of thoughts she didn’t want to face. She wanted to confront her parents for making her believe Patti was dead, but couldn’t as long as her father was out of town. She was too afraid to think about Shep, not ready to believe the possibility that he might have feelings for her. Her interest in the Gendusa file had waned for the time being. She tried to contemplate who might be killing people for her, but didn’t like the possibility that kept suggesting itself.
Tequila was definitely not going to clear things up, but maybe it would help her forget long enough so she could get some much needed sleep. On her way to the kitchen, she noticed the light on her computer in the study blinking, letting her know she had an e-mail from Ty Crowley.
Ty Crowley was a reporter with the Times Picayune newspaper. Ryan had met him at a fund-raiser she had attended with her family, and was somewhat entertained by the fact that he had dated her mother in high school, making him an instant enemy of her father. But Ryan liked him, and every now and then would clue him into something happening at Criminal Court or the D.A.’s office that she wanted brought to the public’s attention. She had been quoted as “an inside source” or “an unnamed source” more than once by Ty. Of course, she couldn’t tell anyone she was the guilty party. A privacy clause was part of every prosecutor’s employment contract.
Ryan had a separate e-mail account exclusively for contact with Ty. She hurriedly got on-line and pulled up her e-mail, knowing Ty was the type of computer nerd who spent more time online than off. She saw the single-word, URGENT.
Before she could respond, she heard the bling of an instant message. She was right. Ty was on the net. The message appeared on her screen.
Where y’at? How’s your dad? No life-threatening illness, I suppose?
Not like Ty to get straight to the point. She typed back. Still happily married. What’s so urgent?
A minute later, her thumb went in her mouth when she read Ty’s response.
I got a call at the station from someone using one of those voice distortion devices. He said those project murders were presents for you, but the police are trying to cover it up. Is this some crack pot or what?
She quickly typed her response.
Or what. You’re not going to print it, are you?
A few seconds later she found out.
Of course. He’ll go somewhere else if I don’t.
She quickly typed back.
When?
She looked down at her thumb and noticed it was bleeding. Damn. Now she would have to get used to chewing another finger until her thumb healed.
Not sure. I have to run it by the editor first.
Ryan took that to mean it would be in tomorrow morning’s edition. She typed her response.
I’m going to call the Sgt. and let him know what you’ve told me. Maybe he can change your mind.
A few seconds later, she got Ty’s answer.
I know you law enforcement types consider the Constitution a hindrance, but I worship it like the Bible. And I’m not scared of the police department.
Ryan immediately replied.
I know one member of the police department who should scare the hell out of you. I’ll be sure to tell daddy you said hello.
She called the sergeant and told him about the killer’s contact with Ty Crowley.
“Why didn’t this psychopath just rent a goddamn billboard on Canal Street?” the sergeant muttered. “That’s just perfect. An asshole reporter with real news. You got his number?”
Ryan gave him Ty’s phone number, knowing he probably wouldn’t take the call.
“And incidentally,” the sergeant added, “we haven’t been able to get Lejeune or Espinito in yet. Espinito is supposedly working on something important and can’t be reached today, and Lejeune told us to kiss his ass. Anything you can give us to make either one of them a likelier suspect? Something that might equal probable cause for a search warrant?”
“Sorry, I really can’t think of anything. Too bad this isn’t televison. On Law and Order they would just drag them both to the station.”
The sergeant snorted. “On Law and Order I could get a warrant for Lejeune based upon that
rap commercial. Did you know he has a court date set tomorrow for hitting a girl?”
“No I didn’t.” The phone started beeping, letting Ryan know the battery was low.
“And Lejeune has had three other assault and battery complaints filed against him in municipal court in the last year. All of them were dismissed by the City Attorney.”
While the D.A.’s Office prosecuted misdemeanors and felonies, the City Attorney’s Office handled all traffic and municipal violations.
“Of course the charges were dismissed. One of the partners at his law firm is also an Assistant City Attorney,” Ryan answered. Unlike Assistant District Attorneys, Assistant City Attorneys were allowed to have private practices. “And maybe you should try bugging one of those girls. If they’re mad because Chad pulled a favor to get the cases booted, they’ll probably talk. Maybe one of them will know something.”
The sergeant didn’t respond.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Ryan, I didn’t mention that the victims on his municipals were female.”
“Well, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were. But I didn’t tell you that. Babe, are you sure there’s not something you want to tell me about Lejeune?”
“I’m positive.”
She hung up quickly, worn out.
She was so tired, in fact, she wouldn’t even need tequila to help her get to sleep. And if she showered and went to bed right now, she could get a full eleven hours, providing no homicide or rape calls came in.
She stood under the hot stream of water, and wondered if she should have set the alarm. The cop on duty outside, Dubuc, would catch anybody trying to break in, so she really didn’t have anything to worry about. She rushed through the shower anyway, still nervous, and was almost finished when the ringing of the phone made her jump. She stepped out of the shower, shaking her head at her jumpiness, and answered the call on the bedroom cordless.
“Yeah.”
“Did you like my gift?” The voice was distorted.
“Who is this?” Ryan asked, her heart speeding up.
“I saw you last night looking at my present. I knew you’d be happy.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, trying to get him talking, hoping he would say something to give her a clue to his identity.
“You’ll know soon enough.” He hung up.
Ryan ran back into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, trying to control her shaking. Before she could dress, the phone rang again.
It was Shep. “Busy?”
“Kind of. I was just talking to the killer. He said he saw me last night.”
“Shit. At least we might have finally gotten a break on this,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Sean told me not to mention anything, but Suzie pulled a print from Jeremiah’s wallet. The print belongs to a man named Travis Dalton. If we get Dalton, this thing is solved, even if we have to deal him to get whoever else is involved. I’m going to Magistrate to get warrants signed now.”
“Good. Will you let me know what happens?”
“I’ll stop by when I’m finished,” he answered. “If you want me to.”
So much for catching up on her sleep.
An hour later, tired of waiting to hear from Shep, Ryan finally caved in and answered the call of the tequila bottle. She was on the third shot when the phone rang again.
“Ryan, Chance Halley.”
“I can’t give you a statement when I’m off the clock, either, Mr. Halley. You’ll still have to speak to Ms. Vera.” The tequila was just beginning to warm her chest. “And how in the hell did you get my phone number?”
“I didn’t call for a statement,” he said, ignoring her question. “I have something to give you. Can we meet somewhere?”
“What’s in it for you?” She tried not to be too suspicious, but she couldn’t help but think he was pulling a reporter trick.
“Future information. When this story breaks.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’d still give you the tape. Because regardless of how you feel about the press, I really am a nice guy.”
“Tape?” Her right eye twitched and her thumb found its way into her mouth. She winced as she tasted blood.
“Videotape. And I promise, I only watched as much as necessary. The second I saw you —”
“What exactly is on this tape?” she interrupted.
Chance hesitated. “It’s you and some guy.”
It was enough to convince Ryan. “Can you bring it here? I don’t have my car.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Ryan paced in her living room, Chance’s words playing over in her head. You and some guy. What guy would she be on a videotape with, and doing what? It had just dawned her that Chance hadn’t asked for her address when she heard his car pull up.
She opened the front door and waved at Dubuc as Chance looked around nervously and slowly approached the porch. She couldn’t tell whether his hesitation was due to Dubuc’s glare in his direction or facing Ryan with the tape.
Chance grabbed her hand at the front door. “You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”
Ryan glanced down dubiously at her ripped boxer shorts and stained tank top before grabbing the tape from his hand. She didn’t know who had taped her doing what, but she was damn sure going to find out. Chance put his hand on her arm before she could get the door shut.
“I don’t know exactly what to say in a situation like this, but if you want to talk later or anything, here.” He handed her his business card.
She noticed he had written his home number on it.
“How exactly did you get this tape?” she asked, not bothering to hide her mistrust.
“It was mailed to me at the TV station, no return address. Not that I could divulge a source.”
“It’s only a source if you use the information. Should I expect to see myself on the ten o’clock news?”
He shook his head. “Not with FCC regulations. The station would lose its license for sure for showing what’s on that tape.”
She prodded him for more information. She didn’t believe Chance was the killer, but he might know more than he was letting on. “How did you get the information that I was linked to the first two victims?”
“Anonymous call,” he admitted reluctantly. “Some guy with a voice disguiser called me right before the press conference. He told me to ask the question. But honestly, Ryan, I didn’t really think there was anything to it.”
“Not to cut this conversation short, but I’m sure you’ll understand if I want to watch this right now.”
Ryan closed the door before Chance had an opportunity to argue, and put the tape in the VCR. When the picture began playing on the television, she gasped, and then stood spellbound, watching until it ended in a screen of fuzzy static and white noise. She turned the tape off and reached for the tequila bottle, tears streaming down her face.
JJJ
At 11:00 p.m., Ryan woke up on the sofa to the sound of the phone ringing, a burned out cigarette hanging from her fingers.
The cigarette slipped to the floor as she reached for the phone. “Yeah.” Her head was throbbing, and for a second, she couldn’t remember what had happened, or how she had come to be sleeping in the living room.
“Ryan, it’s Bo Lambert. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No,” she lied, not sure why she didn’t want to admit to Bo that she was asleep. “I’m reading a file.”
“Sorry to interrupt. I just thought you would want to know that Durrell Wilson was released from OPP.”
“What?” She sat up too quickly, and tried to ignore the stabbing pain that shot outward from the center of her head. “How did he get out of jail?” She rubbed her temples with one hand.
“They’re still trying to figure that out. It looks like some kind of paperwork screw up.”
“Does your victim know?”
“Yes. They’re putting a patrol car at her house
for now. After the scene in court, I figured I should let you know.”
“Thanks,” she said, and hung up. She noticed the pile of ashes on the floor, and thought it was a miracle that she hadn’t set the house on fire.
Her eyes went back to the television, and then to the tequila bottle, which was now empty. No wonder her head was about to explode. Only one cure for that. She went back into the kitchen to look for another bottle of tequila.
Unable to find any more tequila, she started on a bottle of wine. The numbness might take a while to get back, but she would do the best she could. She turned the tape back on again, torturing herself by watching the full twenty minutes. She was in the process of rewinding to watch it again when she heard a car door slam, and a few seconds later, a knock on the door. She turned off the VCR and TV and let Shep in.
Shep was not expecting to find the mess that greeted him at the door. Ryan held a wine bottle in her hand, and had obviously been drinking for quite a while. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks mottled and tear stained.
“What happened?” he asked, starting to panic. “Dubuc said Halley stopped by. Did he do something to you? I will kill that little prick.”
Ryan surprised him by laughing a crazy, mirthless laugh. She shook her head at him and opened her mouth to speak, but instead started crying.
Shep put his arms around her just as he had the last time she had broken down in front of him, and led her to the same spot on the sofa.
“Chance Halley didn’t do anything,” Ryan said, and took a long swallow from the wine bottle.
Shep took the bottle from her hand, noticing the burned out cigarette and ashes on the floor, as well as the empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table. “Would you please tell me what happened?”
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly, and stumbled down the hall.
Five minutes later, she was out, her face washed and her hair brushed. When she sat next to him, he detected the scent of Crest.
“Did you know Durrell Wilson was released from OPP?” she asked him.
“No, I didn’t,” he answered, frowning. “Is that why you’re so upset?”
She shook her head.
Gumbo Justice Page 14
