“Sounds like Drew is dumber than I thought he was,” Brad told her. “The least he could do is come up with a credible story. I don’t know, though. I’m having trouble getting my mind around this thing. Drew just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have sex with his daughter, let alone murder his wife.”
“They never do,” Carolyn reminded him.
“Try to show up over here after lunch. I know you’ve got a mess on your hands, but we’re getting more behind every day. None of the new transfers have experience in investigations. I’m personally handling a shooting, a robbery, and a homicide.”
Carolyn disconnected, turning down Dee Drive. She had to get in touch with Tyler Bell. If Veronica had tried to flush the truth out of him about the Abernathy and McAllen killings, Bell would have to be considered as a suspect, and Carolyn would be forced to bring this to the attention of the task force.
What they needed to determine was if Jude was telling the truth about her father taking her to the Motor Inn two days before the crime. Why would she lie at this juncture? Maybe she was merely confused about how things had gone down. The girl hadn’t been eating properly, and she’d been physically assaulted, both conditions that could impair memory.
Parking and collecting her computer from the backseat, Carolyn entered the police department and signed in with the desk officer. She assumed the task force was still working out of the conference room, so she headed that direction. The only one seated at the long table was Keith Edwards, the young officer they’d borrowed from patrol.
“Oh,” Edwards said, standing. “I guess you’re wondering where everyone went. The clerk from the motel came in on his way to work. Detectives Sawyer and Stevens are showing him a photo lineup with the black guy in it.”
“I would assume if they’re trying to determine if he can identify Reggie Stockton, everyone in the lineup would be black. You’re from Atlanta, right?”
“Yes,” he said, avoiding her eyes.
“You’re not in the South anymore, Keith,” Carolyn said. “It might be better if you used his name instead of referring to Stockton as the black guy.”
He sat back down. “I hear you loud and clear. It won’t happen again. They’re in Hank’s office. Detective Conrad is picking up Jude Campbell’s school records. I don’t have much to do right now. I guess no one trusts me. All they do is send me for coffee and food.”
She set her computer down on the table and pulled out a chair. “I’m sure they trust you, Keith. Give them time and you’ll have more than you can handle. Did you get word from the lab on the letter I received?”
He perked up. “They didn’t find any prints other than yours, but they found a hair. They want you to come by the lab so they can get a DNA sample from you. Maybe we’ll get lucky. The hair might belong to the perpetrator.”
Carolyn reached up and yanked several hairs from her head, placing them on a piece of paper, then folding it into a small square. “I don’t have time to go to the lab today. I’d appreciate it if you’d take this over there for me.”
“Right away,” Edwards said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. He picked up the envelope, then stopped. “You’re not my commanding officer. I’ll have to wait and run it by Detectives Sawyer and Stevens.”
“Just do it, Keith. I’ll tell them I sent you.” Carolyn looked at his face. He didn’t look much older than John. Once you turned forty, she’d discovered, everyone looked like a kid. The worst was the doctors. It took a long time to become a physician.
Turning on her computer, Carolyn accessed Veronica’s contacts, finding a telephone number for Tyler Bell. The situation was tragic. His eight-year-old son, Billy, had been kidnapped, sexually assaulted, then dismembered by Lester McAllen. The boy was an only child, and the wife had been so anguished she’d committed suicide. Bell had owned a successful painting company, and prior to their son’s death, the couple were living the American dream. Having lost both his son and his wife, Tyler Bell had fallen on hard times. His company had gone bankrupt, and his home went into foreclosure. At his lowest moment, Veronica had called and informed him that his son’s killer might go free because of Robert Abernathy. After Abernathy was murdered by an unknown assailant a few days later at his home in Oxnard, Veronica suspected Bell might be responsible. She had not, however, shared this information with the Oxnard PD.
A month or so later, Lester McAllen’s conviction was overturned. He was shot and killed in Camarillo, a town not far from Ventura. Oxnard had been unable to match prints found on the fence leading to Abernathy’s home as the killer had an oily substance on his hands. Veronica finally confided in Carolyn, telling her that Tyler Bell had mentioned an identical substance he used to remove paint at the end of the day. Veronica had noticed it when she’d shaken hands with him during the original investigation, and Bell had apologized, telling her he had sensitive skin.
Since McAllen and Abernathy had scores of enemies, even within the criminal justice system, and Veronica had nothing more than speculation that Bell had killed them, Carolyn had advised her to wait and see if anything else developed. McAllen had been a monster who deserved to die. Abernathy, though, had turned out to be somewhat pathetic, regardless of the havoc he’d wreaked on individuals like Tyler Bell. When the autopsy was performed, they discovered the forensic scientist had been suffering from retinitis pigmentosa, and had almost completely lost his eyesight.
Instead of resigning his position as any responsible person would have done, Abernathy had covered his disability by falsifying evidence and perjuring his testimony in the courtroom. In the cases involving DNA, Abernathy would have an assistant test the sample drawn from the defendant and then pass it off as the DNA collected from the crime scene.
The morning Veronica was murdered, she’d made a veiled reference to Tyler Bell by stating that she’d developed more sympathy for people who made mistakes. Had she been on her way to meet Bell that day? Race was now significant as Bell was black.
Carolyn pulled her cell phone out to dial his number when Hank and Mary walked into the room. “What happened?”
Mary headed toward the section of the table she’d turned into her temporary office. Papers and files were strewn everywhere. “The clerk, Benny Gonzales, is an idiot,” she blurted out, furious. “Not only that, he’s a habitual marijuana user, a fact he failed to mention until today. He was probably stoned the day of the murder.”
“So, he didn’t recognize Stockton?”
“I guess you could say that,” the detective answered. “The first person he identified was Eddie Shaker from patrol. We showed him another photo lineup with Stockton in it, and he identified a guy who’s serving nine years for armed robbery at Chino. Against my better judgment, I try again. This time, he fingers Stockton. Think that’s gonna fly in a courtroom?”
“Drew Campbell is our killer,” Hank said, taking a seat beside Carolyn. “We got Benny to bring in the records from the motel. The place itself is part of our problem. With a guy running it whose brains are fried, you can imagine what a sorry state their records are in. The credit card receipts aren’t linked to specific rooms, just the names of the guests and the dates of their stay. The owner died, so the motel has been in probate for three years. The attorney I spoke to says the new owners are going to tear it down and build a strip mall.”
“Did you show the clerk Drew’s picture?”
“That’s the good news I was about to tell you,” Mary said, twisting her shoulder-length hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “Benny says Drew looks familiar. He has no idea if he rented him a room, or if he ran into him in the grocery store. This guy is such a piss-poor witness, I doubt if Kevin Thomas will put him on the stand. The defense would destroy him, and we’d end up worse off than if we didn’t use him.” She doodled on her notepad, then looked up. “We could rehab Benny before Kevin talks to him. You know, sober him up, get him some decent clothes, throw some cash at him. If we coach him, he might remember renting Dre
w a room the day of the murder.”
Carolyn turned ashen. “You didn’t say that, did you?”
“No,” Mary said, dead serious. “And you didn’t hear it.”
Hank shot her a stern look. “I want this asshole as much as you do, Mary, but we’ve got to play by the rules.”
Mary exploded, standing and hurling a file across the room. “Drew didn’t play by the rules when he shot his wife in the head. Was he playing by the rules when he raped and beat his daughter? I’m not going to stand by and let this guy walk just because he can afford to hire a top-flight attorney. I’ll take him out myself if we can’t make a case against him.”
Gary Conrad had come in without anyone noticing. He ducked, ending up in a paper blizzard. “Hey,” he said, “are we having fun, Mary, or are you trying to tell me something? PMS, right? Are you women all on the same schedule? Jeez, my wife was on a rampage this morning, too.”
Mary glared at him and stormed out. Carolyn followed her, finding her in the ladies’ room, holding on to the sink and sobbing.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”
Carolyn had never seen her that upset. “It happened to you, didn’t it?”
Mary linked eyes with her, wiping the tears away with her fingers. “Is it that obvious?”
“Not really. I’ve talked to a lot of rape victims. How old were you?”
“Ten,” the detective said, sucking in a deep breath. “My older brother…we shared the same room. At first, I didn’t know it was wrong. No one talked about those kinds of things in our house. My dad was a cop and my mom taught Sunday school. When I was thirteen, Jordan was killed when his school bus crashed into a brick wall during a rainstorm. I thought it was my fault because I’d prayed so hard for him to stop hurting me.” She reached over and clasped Carolyn’s hand. “Promise me you won’t tell Hank and the others. If the men sense even an iota of weakness…”
“I understand,” Carolyn told her. “Take your time. I’ll see you back in the conference room.” She walked toward the door, then turned back around. “Can I ask you just one question? If you don’t want to answer it, tell me.”
Mary reached in her purse and pulled out her lipstick. “Go ahead.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The detective smiled. “That’s two questions.” She finished applying her lipstick, slipping it back into her purse. “I didn’t tell because I was afraid. I was certain my parents would hate me. Jordan told me it was my fault. I was scared of the dark, so I used to climb into bed with him. After he died, of course, there was no reason to tell anyone.”
“Thanks,” Carolyn said. “Just so you’ll know, I feel the same way you do. I couldn’t live with myself if I let the person who killed Veronica get away with it. She was my best friend, although I wasn’t always hers. That’s the cross I have to carry. There’s one more thing.”
Mary undid her hair, fluffing it out with her fingers. Her beautiful face was surrounded by ebony curls. She checked her appearance in the mirror, then gave Carolyn her full attention.
“Before we both go out gunning for Drew,” Carolyn told her, “let’s make certain he’s guilty.”
“When do you have to leave today?”
“I promised Brad I’d be back by noon.”
“It’s almost ten,” Mary told her. “Stockton should be at the Circuit City in the Esplanade Shopping Center. Want to come with me?”
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 13
Friday, October 15—10:30 A.M.
Mary Stevens was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting black pants and an orange knit blouse, which showed off her shapely figure. She was the kind of woman whose looks and presence instantly captured people’s attention, and she didn’t mind using them to her advantage. Several people turned and stared as the detective whisked past them, Carolyn trailing behind unnoticed.
“Stockton sells car stereos,” Mary whispered in her throaty voice. “Let’s play him before we pull out our badges.”
She headed toward a well-built young male. “Hi,” she said, her eyes drifting to his name tag to confirm it was Stockton. “My friend and I are looking to upgrade our system. Got any recommendations?”
Jude had good taste, Carolyn thought, sizing up her boyfriend. She estimated Stockton’s height as slightly over six feet. He must be an athlete, as his muscles strained inside the fabric of his white shirt. His hair was neatly trimmed, and his facial features were nicely proportioned. His dark eyes were large and fringed with thick lashes.
“What kind of system do you have now?”
“I think it’s a Pioneer,” Mary answered. “Our car’s ten years old, so all we’ve got is a tape deck.”
Stockton became animated. “You should get a system that’s Sirius-ready, with a built-in amplifier and MP3/WMA playback capabilities. If it was me, I’d buy an Alpine. It’s an excellent product, and it’s reasonably priced.” He went over to one of the displays, pushing the PLAY button. When nothing happened, his body tensed. “How the hell do they expect us to sell this shit if the demos don’t work?”
Mary exchanged glances with Carolyn before she turned back to Stockton. “You’re something of a hothead, aren’t you? I doubt if your manager would approve of you talking like that in front of a customer.”
He thrust his chest forward, his face shifting into hard lines. “Go buy your fucking stereo somewhere else. I’m trying to earn money to go to college. What are you two, anyway? Lesbians?”
“No, Reggie,” Mary said, opening her jacket where her badge was clipped on her belt. “We’re cops. How does that grab you?” So he wouldn’t cause a scene in the store, she grabbed his hand and pressed it downward until he winced. “Let’s go outside where we can talk.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet,” she said, releasing him. “Cooperate and you might not have to spend the night in the county jail. It won’t look good on your college application, know what I mean?”
After they placed Stockton in the back of the unmarked police unit, Carolyn slid into the passenger seat and turned sideways so she could see his face. Mary connected with the young man’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Stockton tried one of the doors and found it locked. When he realized he couldn’t roll down the window, either, he slapped back in the seat.
This must be his first time in a police car, Carolyn decided. “When did you start dating Jude Campbell?”
“Shit,” he said, his voice a high-pitched whine, “is that what this is about? I was never with Jude. She’s psycho, man. She went around school telling everyone we were together. My girlfriend and I got into a big fight because of her. She broke up with me and skipped town. She said Jude was stalking her. Jude even passed her a note at school the other day saying she was going to kill her.”
“What was your girlfriend’s name?” Mary asked, craning her neck around.
“Haley Snodgrass.”
“Do you know where can we contact her?”
“No,” Stockton said, his face glistening with perspiration. “Haley must have really freaked out. She took off a few days ago. She didn’t tell anyone where she was going. Talk to her parents.”
Mary said, “Tell me more about Jude. Was she into drugs?”
“What wasn’t she into?” he said. “She had sex with almost every guy at Ventura High. There were rumors that she’d had three abortions, and that she let the guys from the navy base in Port Heuneme do her for money.”
Carolyn inserted herself into the conversation. “Are you aware that Jude’s mother was murdered?”
“Yeah,” Stockton said. “Are you the same cops who called my mom? She’s scared to death of the police. I was a good student. You can check my records. I even got a partial scholarship to UC Irvine. It isn’t enough, though.” He kicked the back of the seat. “That’s why I had to take a year off and work at this lousy job. We lost everything in the
hurricane. I refuse to take my mom’s money. My dad would have taken care of us, but the cops shot him.”
“The New Orleans PD?” Carolyn asked.
“Who do you think? The rotten bastards were shooting people, robbing people, raping women. It was a madhouse down there. I mean, if you ever wonder what hell is like, just look at the pictures. All my dad was doing was rummaging around on the street, trying to find us some food and water. Four cops drove by and popped him for absolutely no reason.”
“Are you certain it was the police?”
Stockton brushed his finger under his nose, a muscle in his eyelid twitching. “I was standing just a few feet away, along with five other people. After everything was over, two of the cops were busted, but only for looting. We never found out where the other witnesses went. For all I know, they died. There were dead bodies all over the place.”
“Look,” Mary said. “I’m going to let you go back to work so you don’t lose your job. We may want to ask you some more questions, so don’t leave town. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, give us a call.” She removed a second card and a pen, then handed them to Stockton. “I’m sure you have a cell. Write down your number. That way, we won’t have to disturb your mother if we need to get in touch with you again.”
Stockton hesitated, then scribbled something on the back of Mary’s card. He started to hand it back to her, but she told him to leave it on the seat. Once he did, she got out and opened the back door for him, placing her hand on his head to keep him from bumping it on the top of the police car.
Waiting until he was inside the store, she told Carolyn to get her an evidence bag from the glove box. With the tips of her fingers, she picked up the card and deposited it inside the plastic. “Well, we got his fingerprints,” Mary said once she’d climbed back in the driver’s seat. “What do you think?”
“The poor kid has been through hell.”
“I’m not talking about Katrina,” the detective said. “Do you think he’s telling the truth about Jude?”
Revenge of Innocents Page 14
