Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Was she dieting?”

  “All the girls diet. Look at the way they’re dressing today. You have to be a rail to show your belly and wear skirts up to your ass. I personally think it’s disgusting. What can I tell you? Once a kid turns eighteen, you don’t have any control over her. All you can do is tell her to shape up or get out. Jude refused to shape up, so I kicked her out. We should have tried tough love on her years ago.”

  “Don’t you think you picked the wrong time to take such a stance?”

  “No,” Drew said. “My wife was murdered. I’m stuck with three kids and no mother. I have to work to feed them and put clothes on their back. Crystal isn’t that bright, but she knows how to take care of children. I can’t rely on Jude. She’d take off and leave the kids alone.”

  “But why did you move Crystal into the house?” Carolyn asked. Didn’t you realize it didn’t look right to move a young woman in only days after your wife was killed?”

  “I don’t care how it looked,” he tossed back. He reflected a few moments, then added, “I guess I made a mistake there. Is that what got everyone up in arms?”

  “It may have played a part,” Carolyn told him, twisting sideways to stretch her back. She studied his body language. He right arm was resting on the table. His face appeared relaxed. She’d hit all the hot spots, and Drew hadn’t so much as flinched. He was either a pathological liar, or a wrongly accused man whose faith in the system made him believe he would eventually prevail. When she worked in such close proximity to criminals, particularly those prone to violent offenses, a kinetic form of energy seemed to fill the air. When he spoke about his wife and daughter, Drew didn’t blink, tap his feet, or fidget. His father had been born in England. He’d inherited not only his father’s fair skin and refined features, but his detached demeanor. She decided to shake the tree harder. “Veronica thought you were having an affair. Are you involved with another woman, Drew?”

  “Of course not,” he said, taken aback. “When would I have the time for such nonsense? I have to get up at four every morning. I work in LA, for Christ’s sake. Half my life is spent stuck in traffic.”

  “Did you ever have sex with Veronica in the backseat of her Ford Explorer in the parking lot at the government center?”

  “Shit, Carolyn,” Drew said, grimacing. “Are you on acid or something? These are the most ridiculous questions anyone has ever asked me. Veronica have sex in a public place? You’ve got to be kidding me. Since Michael was born, she wouldn’t even let me see her with her clothes off. She never lost the extra weight. I mean, it wasn’t as if I didn’t know.”

  “Are you attracted to children, Drew? Do you fantasize about having sex with them?”

  Drew stood and threw his hands in the air. “Get the hell out of here,” he shouted. “I thought you were my friend. Did that mealy-mouthed DA send you in here to trick me into saying something he could use against me? I should have known better than to trust you.”

  “Calm down, Drew,” Carolyn said. “I promise no one sent me to extract information from you. I’m only trying to prepare you. These are the kinds of inflammatory questions you can expect during the trial.”

  “Farrow doesn’t want me to testify. I can see why now.”

  Carolyn waited until he collected himself, then said softly, “How are you handling Veronica’s death?”

  “I’m not, actually. I guess all this”—he gestured with his hand—“is serving some useful purpose. I’m so terrified they’re going to send me to prison, I don’t have time to think about anything else. My biggest regret is that Veronica and I didn’t spend more time together. I loved her, you know.”

  “I’m sure you did,” she said, reaching over and touching his arm. “Can you give me those names and addresses now? It’s getting late, and if I’m going to make a stab at finding Jude, I need to get going.”

  By the time Carolyn reached the locker area, she was a hundred degrees past exhaustion. She took a seat on the bench as she sorted through her thoughts. She possessed a seemingly endless capacity for work. Her father had been a brilliant, but mentally tortured, mathematician, who used to go days at a time without sleep. She recalled running into him in the middle of the night in the kitchen.

  “Why are you worried about sleeping?” he’d asked. “Are you tired the next day? Are you unable to focus on your schoolwork?”

  “No,” Carolyn had told him, pouring herself a glass of milk and taking a seat at the table.

  “There you go,” her father had said. “Stop trying to make yourself into a lesser mortal. Instead, use your energy for what it is, a gift.”

  Sleep must have been more important than her father realized as he had killed himself. As she removed her gun and purse from the locker, she realized what was wrong with her. She wasn’t physically depleted. She was conflicted. Was it because she had the ability to see things from the perspective of the person she was with? This was her secret, the underlying reason she’d established a reputation as an outstanding interrogator. When the offenders she questioned looked in her eyes, they saw a reflection of themselves staring back. But once the contact was severed, she reverted to herself. This hadn’t happened with Drew. Was Veronica’s husband truly innocent? If so, the killer was at large, and that was something to fear. Not only had she distracted the police with her belief that Jude’s story was true, but she’d defied the killer’s order that she not get involved.

  One of her weaknesses was a tendency to unnecessarily complicate things. Maybe Jude was a first-class liar, Drew was a decent husband and father, Tyler Bell hadn’t been involved in either Abernathy’s or McAllen’s death, and whoever killed Veronica had simply decided to make it open season on probation officers.

  “That works,” Carolyn said aloud.

  Bobby Kirsh was manning the counter while he chatted with another bailiff. He used a muscular arm to move the officer aside. “Everything go okay? Your inmate didn’t get out of hand, did he? I didn’t get a chance to work out today. I’d be happy to straighten out his attitude for you.”

  “I’m sure you would, Bobby,” Carolyn said, glancing up at the security camera. “I just realized my fiancé was right.”

  “You did, huh? In what way?”

  “It’s time I get out of this business.”

  “Only if you take me with you,” the sergeant said, buzzing her through the security doors.

  CHAPTER 18

  Friday, October 15—8:30 P.M.

  Hank and Mary were strangely silent as they sped over the dark residential streets. She had pulled out her red murder shirt, then tossed it back in her duffel bag. Veronica Campbell had been a member of the law enforcement family. Now it appeared the killer had moved down a generation. Having lost her father in the line of duty, Mary was trying to assimilate the horror of a young girl’s death, as well as compute all the possibilities. Seeing the lights and police cars up ahead, she said, “I’m not feeling very good about this thing right now. How about you?”

  Hank didn’t answer, braking hard and steering the car toward the dirt road adjoining the orchard. Most of this section of Ventura had been parceled out to developers. The land was considered prime real estate since it was high enough to provide views of the ocean. Only a few remaining residents had maintained the original orchards. This grove was planted in orange trees. Mary could smell them as soon as they parked and stepped out of the car. They didn’t need to display their badges, one of the benefits of working for a fairly small department like Ventura.

  “Olsen,” Hank barked to a uniformed officer. “Who do those cars over there belong to? If they’re media, get rid of them. They can’t park this close to the scene. If they refuse to move, tow them.”

  Mary had long legs, and had learned to keep up with Hank’s quick stride. The officers stepped out of their way. She spotted Gary Conrad in a circle of light approximately twenty feet away. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. As hard as they tried to preserve evidence, they ha
d to get to the grave. She imagined vital evidence crunching underneath their feet.

  Gary was forty-five, had shaggy brown hair, a physique gone to pot, and a round face that was prematurely wrinkled from his years as a surfer. “The path you came down is where the old man walks every night,” he told them. “He’s the caretaker. The owners have a second home in the Virgin Islands, and won’t be back for three months. I’ve tried to keep everyone confined to this one area. Follow me. I’ll take you to the body. I asked for Charley Young. I figured that’s who you’d want on this one. Am I right?” Young was the county’s chief forensic pathologist.

  Hank walked with his head down, his flashlight pointed at the ground. “Was Charley available?”

  “Yeah, we got lucky,” Gary said, turning up the collar on his jacket. Now that the sun was down, it was damp and chilly. “He’s not here yet, neither is CSI. All I’ve got right now are six guys from patrol, along with a couple of narcs who were in the area. Since it’s Friday night, most of the people who live around here must be out on the town. The media’s already snooping around, though.” He stopped walking several feet before the grave. Portable spotlights had been set up. “She could be the Campbell girl, Lieutenant, but I’m not certain. The features on the body are distorted.”

  Mary dropped down on her knees, brushing off more dirt and leaves from the corpse’s face. She’d been involved in the exhumation of numerous bodies. Seeing a face staring up at you from the ground never lost its shock value, and this was obviously a young person, which made it even more tragic. The mouth was open wide, the eyes clenched shut, her face frozen in a death mask of horror. “It’s not Jude Campbell,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “This girl’s been in the ground for longer than a few hours.”

  To her left, Mary noticed a steep embankment. “The killer probably parked on the service road like we did, then rolled her down that embankment. I doubt if he used a shovel. The grave is shallow and the ground is soft enough that he could have scooped it out with his hands.”

  The detective carefully removed more soil from the torso. She saw what looked like a breast implant, then realized it was a rotting orange. Something was protruding from the ground on the right side of the body. At first, she thought it was a plant of some kind, but then she realized it was a hand. The fingernails were painted pink and the fingers shaped into a claw. She scooted over to the left side and uncovered the other hand, finding it in the same position. “Christ, he buried her alive! She was trying to claw her way out.”

  “Let’s hope the bastard didn’t wear gloves,” Hank said. “He may have cut himself on a rock.”

  Something blue flickered on the victim’s right ring finger. “Put the spot on this, Gary,” Mary said, trying to get a better look at it. She reached into her jacket pocket and removed a small brush she carried, taking it from the plastic case and using it to dust the dirt off. “My God, Hank, it’s a Ventura High graduation ring from last year. That means she was a classmate of Jude’s.”

  “I’ll wait here for Charley and crime scene,” he told her. “Go back to the station and check missing persons. And call Carolyn, see if she’s heard anything regarding Jude yet. These cases have to be connected.”

  “You don’t believe Drew Campbell did this, do you? Its so brutal.”

  “And what he did to his daughter wasn’t brutal?” Hank responded, his shoulder twitching with nervous energy. “We may have been coming at this from the wrong direction. The incest threw us off. Drew could be a sadist who decided to start acting out his fantasies by killing young girls. He enjoyed beating and degrading his daughter, but he might not have had the balls to actually kill her. So he went shopping for victims among her friends. That nanny he hired…what was her name?”

  “Crystal Truesdale.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the younger daughter he was setting up for his next victim. Get her down to the station and see what she can tell you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Friday, October 15—9:15 P.M.

  “Can I legally enter the house?” Carolyn asked after Mary told her about the new homicide. She’d just pulled out of the government center parking lot after leaving the jail, and was stopped at the light on Victoria. “What were the terms of the original search warrant?”

  “We didn’t have a warrant,” the detective said. “We submitted a request for one today, but the judge hasn’t signed it yet. In any case of suspected child abuse, Protective Services has the right to remove the children from the home without the benefit of a court order. We arrested Drew on probable cause. This gave them another reason to take the kids, since they couldn’t very well leave them to fend for themselves. You still have a key, right? Didn’t you tell me that you and Veronica always kept keys to each other’s homes in case of an emergency?”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.” Carolyn made a left turn on Victoria, then pulled off on the shoulder so she could concentrate on their conversation. She’d planned on driving by Tyler Bell’s painting company on the chance that the address she’d come up with was his residence. A lot of independent contractors worked out of their home. “What if I do find some kind of incriminating evidence against Drew? Won’t it be inadmissible without a warrant?”

  “Only if you go in there specifically to look for evidence. You’re going to box up the kids’ clothes and toys to send to Emily. Isn’t that right, Carolyn?”

  “I think you should run it by Kevin Thomas first, Mary. Too many cases have fallen apart because of illegal searches. The courts can see through these types of things.”

  “Fine,” Mary said, perturbed. “Just remember that if Jude doesn’t turn up by Monday, Thomas will have no choice but to withdraw the charges. Stressful situations cause killers to act. Killing is their release. You don’t think Drew has been under extraordinary pressure since his arrest? Once he’s back on the street, there’s no telling what he’ll do.” Her voice elevated. “Jesus Christ, woman, this girl was buried alive! Can you imagine what a terrible way that is to die?”

  Carolyn felt the hairs prick on the back of her neck. “Are you certain she was buried alive?”

  “Cause of death isn’t official yet, of course, but that’s what it looked like to me. I didn’t see any gunshot wounds or ligature marks around her neck. I think he beat her to the brink of death, then buried her. The lazy bastard didn’t even dig that deep of a hole. She almost clawed her way out, poor thing.”

  “Okay, I’ll go to Veronica’s house,” Carolyn said, taking the car out of park and making a U-turn. “What should I look for?”

  “Phone numbers, pictures, weapons, souvenirs like hair or jewelry, anything that doesn’t look right. Concentrate on the garage. If he has anything, that’s where he probably stashed it. Just take some paper with you and write down what you find. Try not to touch it, but don’t panic if you do. You’ve been in the house on numerous occasions, so we’d expect to find a shitload of your prints. What I don’t want is for you to contaminate any evidence that might belong to one of the victims.”

  “My God,” Carolyn exclaimed. “You’re making it sound like Drew’s a serial killer.”

  “He could be a serial killer in his infancy.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m not convinced he’s guilty of anything, let alone this girl you think was buried alive. I spoke to him tonight at the jail.”

  “So you went on a fishing expedition?”

  Mary knew her well, Carolyn decided. “Drew thinks I’m in his corner now, so make sure no one says or does anything to the contrary. We can use this to our advantage, depending on how things play out.” She paused to collect her thoughts, then continued, “He was remarkably relaxed and confident for someone in his position. You know, no hesitations, no searching around for the right words, no awkward pauses. Everything just flowed out of him.”

  “Would you classify him as cocky?”

  “Not necessarily,” Carolyn answered. “Why?”

  “Because you migh
t exude confidence, too, if you thought you were going to get away with multiple murders. Drew knows his daughter’s accusations may not hold up in court. And you, of all people, should know that violent predators seldom look the part. Ted Bundy was sophisticated, intelligent, and charming.”

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  Carolyn parked the Infiniti across the street, not wanting to stir up the neighbors’ curiosity. Even if Drew was innocent, his reputation was forever tarnished. When people were accused of crimes of this nature, the taint of scandal stuck with them for life. All the people on this block, where Drew and Veronica had lived for almost twenty years, would only remember the night he was led away in handcuffs.

  The small stucco house looked so dark and forlorn, Carolyn had to force herself to go inside. The grass was already too high. She’d have to get someone to come over and mow it, or people would realize the house was vacant and vandalize it.

  When she reached the porch, she fumbled for the key in her purse, then inserted it into the lock. When she stepped inside, she flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. Why would the electricity be turned off? Surely, Veronica had paid the bill. Drew had never been good with money matters. It just dawned on her why the motel room where Veronica’s body had been found might have been rented with a stolen credit card. Drew couldn’t very well have something like that turn up on their MasterCard. Veronica would have spotted it immediately. She’d suspected Drew of seeing other women for years.

  Carolyn went over to the lamp on the end table beside the sofa, thinking the overhead light fixture must have burned out. It didn’t work, either. She’d seen this phenomena before, where numerous lightbulbs in a house went out at the same time. It was more common in newer homes, but it could occur anywhere. In a new home, the bulbs were generally inserted at the same time, creating a cycle of burnouts and replacements. She felt inside the lamp and couldn’t find the bulb. Strange, she thought, continuing toward the hall.