Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Odors she associated with children lingered in the stale air: souring milk, urine, Johnson’s baby shampoo. She could almost hear their laughter and feel their youthful presence, as if it had imprinted itself into the walls. Would Veronica’s children ever live in this house again? Why did tragedy have to strike their young lives?

  Carolyn suddenly felt a chill. Was there a window open somewhere? The police wouldn’t have left without making certain the house was secure. Her pulse quickened. She thought of horror movies, where people felt a gust of cold air when a ghost walked past them. If there was anyone who had a reason to linger in a spirit form, it was Veronica.

  Not paying attention to where she was walking, Carolyn tripped over a large object. Getting up and dusting herself off, she decided to go to the car for her flashlight when her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she made out the shape of a body on the floor.

  She dropped to her knees, picking up a frigid hand. She felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. Certain the person was dead, she stood to run out of the house, terrified the killer was hiding in the darkness.

  She moved a few feet, then stopped, smelling something familiar. A second later, she realized it was the conditioner Rebecca used on her hair. It was only sold at beauty supply stores, and her daughter purchased it with her own money.

  Carolyn’s stomach’s came up in her throat. She spotted something else of Rebecca’s, her brown leather ankle boots trimmed in fur. “God in heaven, help me!”

  Her hands were shaking so bad, she had to dial 911 twice. As soon as the dispatcher answered, she screamed into the phone, “Send the police and an ambulance! My daughter…Hurry, she might still be alive.”

  Carolyn leaned down and opened Rebecca’s mouth, breathing into it. “Baby…oh God…it’s Mom.” She ran her fingers up to her sternum, finding the right place to begin the compressions. How long had she been here like this? Her skin was so cold.

  She continued ventilating and compressing even when she heard the sirens approaching. Thank God, she’d left the front door partially open. Even a few seconds could cost her daughter her life. She leaned down to check for a heartbeat when the paramedics came barreling through the door. She looked up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wild with fright. “I think I heard a heartbeat. It was so weak, I can’t be sure.”

  An overweight middle-aged paramedic pointed a flashlight on the girl’s face, while a younger blond man placed a stethoscope on her chest. “Is this your daughter, ma’am? Did she OD on pills?”

  Carolyn was so relieved, she couldn’t think. She made the sign of the cross. “Thank you, God,” she said, looking up at the ceiling.

  “We need to know what she took.”

  “I don’t know. I thought she was my daughter, but she’s not. Her name is Jude Campbell. Is she going to make it?”

  “The kid was mainlining,” the older paramedic said, finding a needle and a spoon a few inches away on the floor. “Looks like heroin.”

  Carolyn moved out of the men’s way. She tried the light switch in the hallway, and it worked. Jude had overdosed in the living room, so she must have wanted it dark. Carolyn went to the kitchen, turned on the light, then saw the back window was smashed out. Since Drew had taken her key away, Jude must have broken it to get into the house. Carolyn felt like an idiot. This was the first place she should have checked when Jude disappeared. She’d driven by on the way to the jail, but when she didn’t see Marcus’s Jeep or any lights on inside the house, she’d assumed Jude wasn’t there.

  Returning to the living room, she wrapped her arms around her chest, wincing when the older paramedic stabbed Jude in the chest with a huge needle filled with adrenaline.

  Jude shrieked and opened her eyes, her arms flopping at her side. “Where the fuck am I?”

  “Just lie still,” the paramedic said, gesturing for his partner to bring in the gurney. “You just about killed yourself, little lady. How long have you been shooting heroin?”

  Jude turned her head away. “I wanted to die. Why didn’t you let me die? I was sure I took enough to kill me.” While they started an IV, she saw Carolyn. “Bitch,” she snarled, saliva rolling down her chin. “Can’t you leave me alone? First, you lock me in your stupid mansion. What were you going to do, keep me as a pet for you and your rich boyfriend?”

  The older paramedic glanced up at Carolyn. “A real sweetheart, this one. I saw some evidence tape outside. Is this a crime scene? Where are the police?”

  Hank appeared in the doorway, opening his jacket so the paramedics could see his gold detective shield clipped on his belt. “Looks like you found our victim,” he told Carolyn. “What happened here?”

  “This girl isn’t a victim, Detective,” the blond paramedic said. “She didn’t have any visible tracks, but she admitted she shot herself up with heroin. I bagged the syringe and spoon.” He reached into his pocket and handed them to Hank. “We’ll be taking her to Community Memorial. Have your lab confirm there was nothing in there other than heroin and give them a call. They’ll probably keep her for a few hours for observation, then send her home. I checked her wallet and her driver’s license says she an adult.”

  “We’ll meet you at the ER,” Hank told him, a stern look on his face. “When she leaves the hospital, she’s going to jail.”

  “You’re going to officially charge her?” Carolyn asked, reminding herself of everything Jude had gone through. “If you do, Hank, she’ll have even less credibility as a witness than she already has. Most of her record is juvenile. We could have gotten around that. What are you going to charge her with? Possession of heroin? A junkie witness isn’t worth crap.”

  The detective pulled out a toothpick, twirling the small sliver of wood in his fingers. “You think I’m going to let her skip out on us again? We identified the victim we found in the orchard. Her name was Haley Snodgrass. According to her parents, she didn’t come home from school Tuesday. They thought she’d run off with Stocton, so they didn’t report her missing.”

  Jude struggled against the restraints on the gurney. “You sadistic bastards,” she shouted. “Why did you bring me back? Just so you could send me to jail? I hope you both rot in hell.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Saturday, October 16—5:15 A.M.

  Marcus had been asleep by the time Carolyn had crawled into bed at one o’clock the night before. Although it was Saturday, she knew Tyler Bell might have a painting contract. She needed to get to his place of business early if she wanted to catch him.

  She tried to slip out without him noticing, but they were tangled up together. “Come here,” Marcus said, pushing her down on her back and climbing on top of her. “I’m going to start having wet dreams if we don’t make love. Before I asked you to marry me, you were insatiable. Now you don’t have time for me. I hope this isn’t a preview of what our marriage is going to be like.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Carolyn kissed him. “I want you too, honey, but I have to take care of something important this morning. I’ve put it off far too long.”

  Marcus rolled off her, a frustrated look on his face. “Where could you possibly be going at this hour?”

  She stroked his arm. “Please understand. I found Jude last night at her house. She’d overdosed on heroin. She was wearing Rebecca’s boots. I thought it was Rebecca. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Hank insisted on booking Jude at the jail. Without her, we don’t have a case against Drew.”

  Marcus picked up a pillow and stuffed it under his neck. “The girl needs psychiatric care. The last thing you should do with a suicidal teenager is lock her up in a jail cell. I’ll pay for her damn treatment if that’s the problem.”

  “She’d escape,” Carolyn told him. “Don’t worry, she’s in protective custody. The jail deals with potential suicides all the time. A doctor will take a look at her, maybe prescribe some type of medication. The first thing we need to do is find out how serious a drug habit she’s got. We don’t want her diagnosed as mentally ill righ
t now.”

  “Her perverted father made her that way,” Marcus argued. “Are you going to tell me a mentally disturbed girl can’t be raped and beaten?”

  “It’s a difficult situation,” she explained, finding her robe at the foot of the bed and putting it on. “There aren’t any collaborating witnesses, and Jude’s credibility is seriously tainted. There’s documentation that she’s falsely accused other people. This type of sex crime isn’t as easy to prosecute as it was in the past. Look what happened in the Michael Jackson case. And the same thing applies to all these priests that are being prosecuted for something they allegedly did years ago. Who knows how many of them are actually guilty? Once the church started settling for large sums of money, everyone lined up for a piece of the action.”

  “You’re going to have a hard time getting anyone to stand behind you on that one,” he said. “The only reason you’re sympathetic is because your Catholic.”

  Carolyn no longer wore the silver cross with a flower in the middle that her mother had given her for her first communion. With a cross around her neck and an Irish name, everyone assumed she was Catholic. She’d been debating the sex scandals with people ever since they had surfaced. She wished the church had handled things properly. Along with the rest of the world, she’d been horrified at the information that had come to light. “I’m just trying to explain why Hank wanted Jude in a secure environment,” she said. “Kevin Thomas from the DA’s office is going to take Jude’s deposition this afternoon. I need to be there, Marcus. Now that this other girl has been murdered, we have no idea what we’re dealing with. The coroner doesn’t have an exact time of death yet, but he’s estimating around five days, which would put it around the time Veronica was murdered. The Snodgrass girl was severely beaten, then buried alive. We don’t know if the killer intentionally buried her alive, or mistakenly thought she was dead.”

  “Christ,” Marcus said, kicking the covers off. “Do they think Drew is responsible? This is sick stuff. How could Veronica live with this man so many years and not realize he was insane? I mean, the woman worked with criminals.”

  “Drew’s only been in jail a few days, and the injuries on Snodgrass are similar to the ones Jude said her father inflicted. When I spoke to Drew last night at the jail, he said Haley Snodgrass practically lived at their house. Maybe he molested or raped her, then killed her to keep her from going to the authorities. Either that, or Jude may have confided in Haley. It’s unrealistic that a girl her age wouldn’t tell someone, especially her best friend.” The wood floor was cold beneath her feet. She felt around under the bed until she found her slippers. “We’re almost certain the cases are connected. The Snodgrass girl was dating Reggie Stockton. This was the guy Jude was infatuated with. According to Drew, the two girls had a falling-out over him. Stockton, by the way, has been living under an assumed name since he left New Orleans. He was in jail pending trial on two felonies when Katrina hit. Stockton, along with most of the inmates in that particular facility, managed to escape. They had to unlock the cells or they would have all drowned.”

  “Sounds like Stockton is the one who should be in jail.”

  “He may turn out to be the killer,” Carolyn agreed. “But if that’s the case, how do Veronica and Jude fit into the picture?”

  Marcus became animated. Living with Carolyn had turned him into an amateur detective. “Jude was stuck on him, so maybe she went to the motel with him willingly. Then he did or said something that caused her to think he killed this Haley girl. So she calls her mother after he beats her and leaves, asking her to pick her up at the motel. Veronica shows up and Stockton is still around and jumps her. Jude is there when he shoots Veronica, so she’s terrified to go to the cops for fear they’ll think she participated in the killing. She lies low for a few days, then gets pissed when she comes home and her father boots her out of the house. That’s when she lies and says her father sexually abused her. Pretty good, huh? What do you think?”

  “I think you watch too much TV.” Carolyn gave him another kiss, then walked over to the dresser. “Jude’s school records support her story, as well as Drew hiring a nanny as an excuse to move Stacy into his bedroom. Stockton skipped town yesterday after Mary and I spoke to him. I’m sure the police consider him a suspect.”

  “I figured everything out for you and you didn’t even listen,” Marcus told her, rolling over on his side. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “Will you keep your eye on Rebecca today?” she asked. “None of the present suspects may be our killer. For all we know, he’s targeting teenage girls. Hank was right. The jail is probably the safest place for Jude right now.”

  Marcus got up, padding naked in the direction of the bathroom. “I promised to take Rebecca shopping. Jude didn’t happen to tell you where she left my Wrangler and the things she stole from the house, did she?”

  Carolyn had tossed on a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. She needed to shower and wash her hair, but she didn’t have time. “No,” she answered, spraying herself with cologne. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she gently placed the bottle back on her bureau. The fragrance smelled like honey. Veronica had given it to her when she’d started dating Marcus. “He’ll want to lick you all over when he gets a whiff of this,” her friend had told her. “One of us needs to get laid every now and then, and I doubt if it’s going to be me.”

  At least Veronica hadn’t lived to find out who her husband’s sex partner had been, Carolyn thought, picking up her handbag and briefcase. She paused at the door, waiting for Marcus to come out of the bathroom. “Don’t give up on me,” she said. “I love you.”

  He walked over and kissed her. “I’m not going to give up on you, baby. I just love you so much, it’s tough when you don’t have time for me. If you can break free, maybe you can meet Rebecca and me for a quick lunch.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Carolyn walked down the long hallway, her tennis shoes whisper quiet on the parquet flooring. The house was so big, she felt as if she lived in a hotel with only three occupants. She thought of all the homeless people, wondering how many bodies they could shelter if the house was outfitted correctly. What would Marcus think if he knew some of strange thoughts that passed through her mind?

  Her dream had finally come true. A handsome, intelligent man adored her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  As she backed the Infiniti out of the garage, her eyes swept over the exquisite landscaping, the avocado orchard, and the reassuring black car parked at the end of the cobblestone driveway. Joel, the weekend guard, waved to her as she drove past him. She waved back and turned right to make her way to the freeway.

  Fate had struck a cruel blow, Carolyn thought, and not just in the death of Veronica or the despicable crimes committed by Drew. A man like Marcus wouldn’t wait forever. If she wasn’t careful, she could end up in the same position as Veronica had been in, wondering who was having sex with her husband. Unlike Veronica, however, she and Marcus weren’t married yet. All he had to do was ask her to move out and the fairy tale would be over.

  The morning was overcast and cold. The weather report had predicted rain, and the scent of it was already in the air. Carolyn turned onto a residential street behind Telegraph Road, searching the numbers for the address listed for Tyler Bell’s painting company at 853 Pearl Street. Seeing what appeared to be a duplex, she pulled over and parked at the curb. A white truck with BELL INDUSTRIAL AND RESIDENTIAL PAINTING on side was parked in the driveway. Her guess had been accurate. Tyler conducted business out of his home.

  Before she got out of the car, Carolyn reached into the backseat for her shoulder holster and strapped it on. Removing her 9mm from her purse, she inserted it in the pocket, then closed the front of her black nylon parka. She’d made a vow that she wouldn’t take another life, but the death of Veronica and Haley Snodgrass had changed her position. People who worked in law enforcement had to acknowledge the risks they were taking, that t
hey might someday have to make the ultimate sacrifice. All Carolyn had ever hoped for was that her death would be fast and as painless as possible.

  Being buried alive didn’t fall into that category.

  The block was quiet. Tyler’s neighbors were probably taking advantage of the weekend to catch up on their sleep. An elderly man stepped outside to pick up his newspaper, but otherwise, no one was around.

  Carolyn walked to the door and knocked. When no one answered, she knocked harder. Finally, she heard noises inside. “It’s Carolyn Sullivan with the probation department,” she shouted. “I need to speak to you.”

  The door opened. Tyler Bell stood in front of her, dressed only in a pair of baggy gray sweatpants. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he appeared several inches taller than Marcus, which would put him around six-three. A handsome man, his chest, arms, and abdomen were ridged with muscles, and his dark coppery skin looked healthy and smooth. Could he pass for a man in his twenties? Yes, she decided, as long the person didn’t look in his eyes. She introduced herself, telling him she was with the probation department.

  “I just got out of bed,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “May I come in?” Carolyn asked, drops of rain striking her face. “Looks like the weatherman was right this time.” She glanced at her lightweight jacket, then rubbed her hands together to warm them. “It’s cold.”

  “Give me a minute,” Bell told her, leaving the door open and talking as he headed toward the back section of the duplex. “Just flop wherever you want. I don’t usually have company, so excuse the mess. I’ll throw on a shirt, then put us up a pot of coffee. I’m working on a job, but I can’t paint an exterior when it’s raining.”

  Carolyn closed the door, taking a seat at a small round table off the kitchen. The living room was cluttered with stuff he must use in his business. When Bell returned, he was wearing a green flannel shirt.