REVENGE OF INNOCENTS
REVENGE OF INNOCENTS
NANCY TAYLOR ROSENBERG
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To Michaela Hamilton, and in memory of Hyman Rosenberg.
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
Death showed up amidst the smoke and flying embers. She was sitting on the front steps of Ventura High when she saw his car. He would wait her on a side street. If she made him wait too long, he would beat her. Today, he would wait.
“They announced on TV that the schools were going to be closed,” Chloe said, a short girl with brown hair and freckled skin. “I can’t believe my stupid mother didn’t tell me. I could have slept late. Now that we’re here, want to do something?”
“I can’t,” she said, raising her eyes and then lowering them. “I have an appointment.” What would she look like in her coffin? Would they leave it open or closed? How many people would show up? The only thing that bothered her was not being able to control what they did to her after she died. It would be over, though, and over was enough.
“What kind of appointment?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean, you don’t remember?” Chloe said. “Is it a doctor, a shrink, a dentist? Do you at least know when you’re supposed to be there? If your appointment is this morning, we might still be able to do something this afternoon.”
“I have an essay I have to finish.”
“So what? Let’s have some fun today. You’re too uptight about everything.”
“I should have graduated last year, Chloe. I’m eighteen and I’m still in high school. How do you think that makes me feel?”
Chloe reached over and touched her arm. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been acting weird lately. Where were you last week? You and Reggie didn’t run away and get married, did you?”
“No,” she said. “I was sick.”
Chloe persisted. “Did you have the flu?”
“I have to go,” she told her, annoyed by the barrage of questions. She stood and made her way through a small throng of students.
“Maybe we’ll get another day off tomorrow,” Chloe yelled. “Who knows? We might get lucky and the school will burn down.”
Her plan to hold him off wasn’t working. She’d devised a new plan, but the timing had to be perfect. Weak and dizzy, she knew if she passed out in a public place, they would take her to the hospital and find out what was hidden underneath her clothes.
As she stared at the black clouds rising into the atmosphere, she noticed her sweatshirt was covered in ash. When she tried to brush some of it off, strands of hair became tangled in her fingers. She coughed from the smoke, causing her ribs to ache.
She entered the girls’ bathroom and locked herself inside a stall. Maybe he didn’t know school had been called off because of the fires. If she stayed in here long enough, he might leave. She wanted to put an end to it today, but she was afraid.
Facing death wasn’t easy.
Thirty minutes passed. She left the stall, walked to the door, and peered out. The school appeared deserted. Her throat was sore from breathing in the smoke-filled air, so she got a drink from the water fountain, then returned to the bathroom and squatted down in a corner.
The door burst open. “You saw me out there,” he shouted, his face flushed with rage. “You know how long I’ve been waiting?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to her feet. “I’m parked in the regular spot. To make certain no one sees you, wait five minutes before you come out.” He stared at her, then added, “You look like shit. Comb your hair. And why are you wearing those heavy sweats on such a hot day?”
Once he left, she splashed water in her face and smoothed down her hair. She didn’t have a brush with her. No wonder her hair kept falling out. It wasn’t strictly poor nutrition. He kept pulling it. He even did it when other people were around, but he always laughed, making it seem like a game.
She walked to the street behind the school. He called it their special meeting place. To her, it represented the gate to hell. When she saw his car, she looked straight ahead and continued walking. He slammed on the brakes and leapt out, rushing over and seizing her by the arm. Her books tumbled to the ground. “Don’t act like this,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said, glaring at him until her released her. “What kind of surprise?”
“Get in the car and you’ll find out.”
Fighting him was useless. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten. Was it last night or the night before? Every other day, she sliced an orange into three equal pieces and parceled them out over the course of the day. She was getting forgetful and suspected days passed when she didn’t eat anything at all. Since she cleared the plates every night, no one knew what went down the disposal. She glanced at her books on the sidewalk, but made no attempt to retrieve them. If everything went the way she’d planned, she would no longer need them. “I don’t care about your surprise.”
“Get in the damn car!” he said, the words roaring from his mouth.
His mouth formed a perfect circle when he yelled at her. It was as if his lips became a megaphone. In the past, she’d cowered in fear. What frightened her now wasn’t his voice or even the things he did to her.
He glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was around. “If you keep this up, you’ll ruin everything. Are you going to get inside the car, or do I have to make you?”
She climbed inside, not bothering to buckle her seat belt.
“Are you still pissed off because I said something about your weight?” he asked. “I didn’t mean anything, baby. Since you’ve slimmed down, you look great. Maybe you can be an actress.”
She closed her eyes, trying to forget where she was and what was about to happen to her. When she opened them and realized they had traveled a long way, she asked him, “Where are you taking me?”
He placed his hand on her thigh. She was wearing two pairs of sweatpants, so all she felt was a small amount of pressure. Even that repulsed her. She scooted closer to the door.
“The least you could do is smile,” he said, placing his hand back on the steering wheel. “You look so pretty when you smile.”
He turned into a parking lot and parked the car.
“Is this your surprise?” she asked, looking up and seeing a motel sign.
He pulled out a key and jangled it. “When we get to the room, I’m going to make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”
She’d already accomplished that without him, although she knew he was referring to sex. Starvation was interesting. Something new happened every day. That is, as long as you didn’t cheat. But she was long past cheating. She was tired of waiti
ng, though, and fearful someone would find out and stop her. It wasn’t herself she was concerned about. The previous week, she had seen him with her younger sister.
She followed him up the stairway to the second floor, holding on to the railing for support until they reached the room.
“We don’t have to hurry,” he said, once they were inside. “That’s why I got the room. Take your clothes off. No one’s going to bother us here.” He turned on the air conditioner, an old floor unit. “Man, this thing really blasts, doesn’t it? While everyone’s sweltering out there, we can cuddle under the covers.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, placing her hand inside her sweatshirt and clasping her cell phone. She closed the door behind her and flushed the toilet so he couldn’t hear.
When she came back, he shoved her sweatshirts up to her armpits.
“Jesus, you’re skin and bones. Are you sick?”
“You told me to lose weight,” she said, fixing him with a look of defiance. “Isn’t this what you wanted? My breasts are gone. I look like a little girl again. That’s what turns you on, isn’t it?”
“I—I didn’t mean you should…” He walked around in a circle, coming to terms with what he had seen. “It’s okay. You just went overboard. Start eating again. You’ll gain the weight back in no time.” He came up behind her, and pulled her to his body. “I want you so bad,” he said, moaning. “It’s been too long.”
“I’m going to tell the police.”
“Don’t talk, baby,” he panted. “We’ve got all day.”
“Didn’t you hear me, asshole?” she shouted, twisting away from him. “I’m going to tell the police what you’ve been doing to me. They’ll send you to prison.”
His face became distorted with rage. He pulled back his arm and punched her hard in the abdomen. She doubled over in pain. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, massaging his knuckles. “You know you can’t threaten me like that.”
“I can do anything I want,” she snarled. “The only way you can stop me is to kill me.”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bathroom. After he kicked her several times, he fell on top of her and began pummeling her with his fists. The lower half of her body was sandwiched between the toilet and the bathtub. The sweat dripped down from his face and stung her eyes. She felt a blow to her chest, then her ribs, and another to her groin area. When she saw the next blow coming, she intentionally turned her face into his fist.
The beating stopped. His fury turned to fear. When he beat her, he never struck her in the face. He made certain all the blows landed on her torso, so she could cover them with her clothes. He moved her jaw from side to side. The pain was excruciating, but she forced herself not to cry out. She didn’t want someone in the motel to hear and call the police. It wasn’t time yet.
“Jesus, your jaw may be broken.” He walked out of the bathroom, and then returned, standing in profile in the doorway. “We’ll think of something. You could say you tripped and fell on the sidewalk. I’ll go and get some ice to put on your jaw.”
“If you leave,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows, “I’ll call the police and tell them you raped me.”
“Why are you doing this?” he said, placing his hand on his head. “If you wanted to hurt me, you have. You’ve lost too much weight. You don’t know what you’re saying. I didn’t mean to hit you. You provoked me. Everything’s fine now. I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“How can you make it up to me?” she yelled, her pent-up emotions spewing out. “You’re a filthy, disgusting pig. I hate you. I’m going to tell everyone. They’ll put your name in the newspapers. They’ll—”
“You ungrateful little bitch,” he said, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is all because of that guy.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What did you do with him? I warned you not to get involved with gutter scum like that.”
“You’re a wimp,” she yelled, her face twisted in contempt. “A third grader could hit harder than you. You don’t scare me. I want a real man, not some stupid prick like you.”
“Shut up,” he said, his chest heaving.
“You can’t get it up with a real woman,” she pressed on. “Pretty soon, you won’t even be able to get it up with a kid. Who do you think your fooling? You’re a perverted freak.”
He hoisted her up in his arms and then dropped her into the bathtub.
Her back felt like it was broken. Blinding pain rushed through her body. She wasn’t sure if he was going to wash the blood off or drown her. It had to end now. She’d rather die than have the same thing happen to her sister. And dying was the only way. Murderers went away forever. Everyone else got out.
His thumbs dug into her throat, his eyes bulging.
“Kill me!” she choked out. “Do it, bastard! Do it now or I’ll tell.”
CHAPTER 2
Tuesday, October 12—9:55 A.M.
Carolyn Sullivan’s eyes rested on a framed print to the right of her desk, a winding path through a lush, green forest. Only a year ago, the walls were covered with pictures of Brad Preston standing in front of high-powered race cars. When the director of the Ventura County Probation Department had retired, Preston had been promoted to chief deputy over probation services. Carolyn had been appointed to his position as division manager over the investigative unit.
She was finally earning a decent income. The only problem was it came with a heavy price. Her wedding was only two weeks away, and all she could think about were the horrible crimes human beings committed against each other. There was no way to stop them. The only thing she could do was punish them.
Carolyn spun her chair around to face Veronica Campbell. At forty, Veronica was an outspoken woman. She had a daughter almost the same age as Carolyn’s son, John, as well as three other young children. She wore her curly blond hair short, and had a round, friendly face. She’d never lost the weight from her last pregnancy, and the extra twenty pounds had settled in her midsection and thighs. The two women had known each other since grade school. They didn’t always agree on everything, but they were best friends. “Brent Dover should spend the rest of his life in prison,” Carolyn told her. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that as an option. How could you not recommend a prison sentence? Dover sodomized Patricia Baxter. She has permanent brain damage. As far as I’m concerned, he killed her.”
“For one thing,” Veronica countered, “Patricia Baxter is a guy, not a girl. His real name is Patrick, but he went to court and changed it to Patricia. Cute, huh? Only a few letters difference, so he wouldn’t forget it. Secondly, Brett Dover wasn’t convicted of sodomy or attempted murder. This is a 245 violation, Carolyn. He didn’t use a gun, a knife, or a baseball bat. I’m not sure how we even got him for assault with a deadly weapon.”
“This whole thing is the DA’s fault,” Carolyn answered, shoving a thick mass of wavy brown hair behind her ear. The year before, she’d chopped her hair off during a midlife crises. It now brushed the top of her shoulders, and was far more flattering to her heart-shaped face. Like Veronica, she’d also turned forty the previous year. Now that she’d gotten over the hump, she realized that forty was young. People today were living longer. Since she’d never smoked, drunk heavily, or gorged herself on fatty foods, she might have another fifty years ahead of her. If she died prematurely, it would be from stress. “Dover would have been convicted of attempted murder if they hadn’t tacked on the assault charge.”
Prosecutors frequently filed a number of counts, all representative of the same crime, just with varying degrees of punishment. The reasoning was if the jury didn’t find sufficient evidence to convict on one count, they might convict on the other. Anything was better than an acquittal. “Dover is a linebacker at Ventura High,” Carolyn continued. “His body is a deadly weapon. He beat Baxter to a pulp. He bit off her nipples, for Christ’s sake. He demolished her face. To look even halfway normal, she’ll have to go throu
gh years of plastic surgery. The jury should have convicted on the GBI charge.” GBI was great bodily injury, and served as an enhancement to extend the term of imprisonment.
“Don’t you believe the victim carries some of the responsibility?” Veronica said, swinging her leg. “Maybe none of this would have happened if he hadn’t tricked the defendant into believing he was a girl. I mean, it’s not like I think Baxter deserved to get the shit kicked out of him. I just don’t see how sending Dover to prison will accomplish anything. His grades are excellent. He goes to church every Sunday, even sings in the choir. You should read the stack of glowing letters people sent me about him. A year in custody at the local level and a ten-thousand-dollar fine isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Carolyn. He’s already lost his football scholarship. Send him to prison and he’ll come out a hardened criminal. How’s that going to benefit society?”
“It’s called justice,” Carolyn said. “Maybe in prison Mr. Dover will find out how it feels to be violently sodomized.”
“Yeah, sure,” Veronica said. “What was Baxter doing in an alley behind a bar in a ten-inch skirt? He was a prostitute, Carolyn. Isn’t it obvious? It was to the jury.”
Carolyn was inundated with the details of every crime that passed through the system. She had to know as much about the case as the investigating officer. That meant reviewing police reports, trial transcripts, evidence. After the probation officers conducted their investigations and made their recommendations as to an appropriate sentence, they then had to conference the case with Carolyn to get her approval. She felt like a computer about to run out of memory. She had to shove things to the back of her mind just so she could answer a question.
This particular case was controversial in a variety of ways. Brett Dover was white; the victim was black. Ten members of the jury had been not only men, but Caucasian. They probably perceived Baxter to be a twisted pervert who’d enticed a clean-cut young white boy into engaging in sex. The facts clearly refuted such an assumption. The case made Carolyn’s blood boil.
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