by Angela Kay
“So was Ted Bundy,” Aidan pointed out.
Annie’s face paled and she turned to busy herself with pouring coffee into her mug.
“Sorry,” Aidan told her. “Jordan Blake and I have history. One I’d rather not relive. He gets underneath my skin easily.”
“Don’t let him,” Harrelson suggested. “He’s not worth it.”
“Yeah, I know,” Aidan said. “It’s always something, isn’t it? Annie, have you had any luck with finding Bryce Van Camp’s brothers?”
“No, it’s like they dropped off the face of the earth,” she replied, dumping a packet of Sweet ‘N Low in her coffee. There’s no death record, no credit card to trace. The last time there was a credit card used by one of them was two years ago was Max Van Camp at a movie theatre. Elijah doesn’t have credit.”
“Norma Van Camp mentioned her youngest son, Max got into trouble with the law. Nothing on his record of any interest?”
“He does have a record, mostly misdemeanors, but nothing in the last year.”
“All right, keep digging, and I’ll talk to you guys later.”
Aidan finished walking to his desk, where Shaun was filling Jordan in on their next steps.
“We currently have agents looking for Bryce’s brothers and Ryan James’ parents.”
“What’s the holdup?” Jordan asked. “Aren’t you FBI guys supposed to be in the know with people?”
“Not if they don’t have any trails to follow,” Aidan said. He explained what Annie had told him, then said a lot of people tend to live quiet lives. “It’s also possible for one or both to have changed their names.”
“When we visited Bryce’s mother, she was forward with her information,” Shaun told Jordan. “That was until we started more in-depth questioning about her still-living sons. We tailed her to her ex-husband’s house.”
“The same ex-husband Mrs. Van Camp claimed to not have kept in touch with,” Aidan added.
“Right,” Shaun said.
“So you guys think they’re hiding something? Maybe they know one of their sons is committing these murders?”
“It’s possible,” Shaun admitted.
“What did the ex-husband have to say?”
Aidan shook his head. “We have yet been able to question him. “There’s a sign on the gate of his house warning trespassers. Monroe told us to stand down until we get a warrant.”
“When’s that going to happen?” Jordan wondered.
“We haven’t enough evidence,” Shaun admitted. “No judge will sign a warrant unless there’s something there. Monroe wants us to be careful. If we’re not, we risk losing our edge.”
“Meanwhile, you run the risk of these guys killing someone else, or worse, getting away.”
“Well,” Aidan said as an idea began to swarm in his mind. He decided if he had to be forced to work with his nemesis, he may as well use him to get what they couldn’t. Aidan wondered if this was what Monroe had in mind from the start. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her.
“What?” Shaun pressed.
“We can’t get in,” Aidan reminded them, but a reporter can. They don’t have the same rules we do. Plus, some are too stubborn and cocky to back off when they should.”
Shaun’s eyes widened, then he looked over at Jordan. “I like that idea.”
Jordan looked from Aidan to Shaun, a glimmer of curiosity shining in his own eyes.
“You want me to go question Bryce Van Camp’s dad?”
“It’s the best option for now,” Aidan told him.
Jordan hesitated a beat before offering a single nod. “I can do that.”
“You’ll be wearing a wire,” Shaun said.
“What if he finds the wire?” Jordan protested. “Maybe we shouldn’t take that chance.”
“We’d rather take the chance on the wire than trusting you with no wire,” Aidan said. “Besides, he won’t think to search you for a listening device.”
“Fine. What do you want me to say to him?”
“Find out, if you can, where his other sons are,” Shaun said. “And if you’re able, look around to see if anything stands out. Whether he’s a killer, harboring a killer, or if you see anything that may appear out of the ordinary.”
“Basically, anything that has to do with Bryce Van Camp, we want the details.”
“And see if he’s had any contact at all with Jessie Barcliff or Ryan James,” Shaun continued.
“If something happens that may put you in danger, Jordan, then make an excuse and get out of there as quickly as you can,” Aidan warned. “Don’t try to be a hero this time.”
“But we’ll be close by, listening,” Shaun reminded him. “If something goes wrong, we’ll go in.”
“We’d just rather not have the need.”
“Okay,” Jordan said with a nod. “When do you want me to do this?”
50
Wired with a microphone tucked underneath his shirt, Jordan pulled up to the gate at Linus Van Camp’s house. There was a speaker with a button to announce his arrival. Jordan could see the rundown house up ahead.
The no trespassing sign glared at him, and he wondered how he would convince the man to allow him through.
Jordan didn’t believe Linus Van Camp would open his home to random strangers, otherwise what was the use of keeping the gate locked? And Jordan Blake wasn’t just a random stranger. He was a known reporter for WJFX. People weren’t always open to talking to reporters. In fact, it’s more common for people to close up when reporters come around. Especially if they were hiding something. And if the agents knew what they were talking about, like Jordan knew without a doubt they did, Linus Van Camp knew something about the current murders. He may or may not have committed the deeds, but regardless, Jordan had his work cut out for him.
But then again, Jordan always prided himself in being a smooth talker. It was rare that he didn’t succeed in getting what he wanted the most. Even as a young boy, Jordan worked his charm, getting out of trouble with his teachers. He was the one, after all, who put the rubber bugs in the teacher’s desk, giving her the fright of her life. But he managed to shift the blame to the new kid in school.
Rolling the window down in his car, Jordan smiled to himself as the memory returned. He leaned out and pressed the button.
“Here goes,” he muttered into the microphone. “Wish me luck.”
Although he couldn’t hear Aidan and Shaun on the other end of the mic, he knew they could hear him. They had parked at the corner in Shaun’s car, assuring him they’d be ready to move in if needed. While Jordan brushed it off, claiming he’d be fine, he was unable to lie to himself and say his heart was not beating as fast as it was.
“Yes?” a voice on the other end said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Van Camp,” Jordan said as charming as he was able. “I’m Jordan Blake, a reporter for WJFX News.”
“I don’t talk to reporters. You’re trespassing.”
“Wait!” Jordan exclaimed. His mind raced as he reflected on what the two agents had been willing to share with him on their investigation. He decided a touch of truth mixed with a lie had always served him well. “I’m…writing a book, exposing the justice system and law enforcement. It’s about how they fail to protect the public, and even let the guilty ones go. I know all about your son, Bryce. The couple who killed him barely got into trouble.” He paused. “I believe they should have. Just give me the benefit of a doubt, Mr. Van Camp. I won’t let you down. I want to help you find justice for your son.”
Jordan waited.
It seemed as the clock changed, Mr. Baker had left until finally, the voice on the other end of the line spoke to him again.
“Give me a second to open the gate.”
“He got through,” Aidan said.
“You sound impressed,” Shaun told him with a smirk.
“Don’t make it any more than it already is, all right? I said when Monroe ordered joining forces with Jordan, that he’s good at what he did. He�
�s probably capable of getting what he wants even without bribing for intel.”
“Don’t worry,” Shaun chuckled. “I won’t tell him you admire him.”
Aidan looked sidelong at him. “I do not admire him. Jordan Blake is a creep, he’s a rat, he’s not to be trusted, and he’ll probably get himself killed one of these days.”
Shaun opened his mouth for a reply until Jordan’s voice floated through the speakers. Instead, he chuckled again and they listened in on the conversation.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Van Camp.”
Jordan followed Linus Van Camp inside the house, smelling a strong scent of booze. It seemed to emanate not only from the other man’s pores but also from the carpentry. He’d been told Van Camp had fallen into the world of alcohol after the death of his son but had managed to kick the habit. Either the rehabilitation was a lie, or they were fooled into not believing the elder Van Camp remained a drunk.
To begin, Jordan remained silent as he glanced around at his surroundings.
The first short hallway they went down led to a living room with two ratty recliners and a wooden coffee table, scratched from years of use. A flat-screen television, a few inches smaller than Jordan’s sat on the carpet against the wall. There were a few spots of torn carpet.
The most noticeable part about Van Camp’s living room was the gun cabinet with a vast collection of guns. He knew the killer didn’t conform to a single type. A small collection of knives was also in the cabinet.
He glanced down a dark hallway that seemed to lead to the bedrooms. Jordan wondered if he’d be able to come up with a viable excuse to check them out.
For the time being, he reverted his attention to Van Camp.
“Nice gun collection,” Jordan stated, mostly to keep the two agents informed of what he was seeing. While he wasn’t too pleased to be working with either of them—especially Aidan O’Reilly—Jordan knew he’d have to give a little if he were to stay in the loop…and stay out of jail. Aidan was probably waiting for a reason to lock him up.
“You like guns?” Mr. Van Camp asked.
Jordan shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not much of a hunter. My dad was the hunter. He and Duke—that was our dog—used to spend weekends in Aiken hunting deer. I’d go with him when I was a kid, but it never excited me. Not really. I liked it because we’d spend time together. He was my best friend.”
Van Camp nodded. “Bryce and I enjoyed our time hunting together. He liked going for the deer. I preferred ducks. More of a challenge.”
Jordan chuckled. “Dad tried duck hunting once. It didn’t take him too long to realize it wasn’t for him.”
“Your dad still hunt?”
Jordan shook his head. “He passed away a few years ago. Pancreatic cancer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Van Camp told him. “That’s a painful way to go.”
“Yes,” Jordan agreed.
“So, Mr. Blake, what, exactly, is the reason you’re writing a book about the justice system?”
Van Camp settled into one of his recliners.
Jordan smiled as he took the other, relieved that the memory of his dad’s death was now on pause. He didn’t like to talk about it, and he certainly didn’t relish the idea of talking about such a painful subject while Aidan and Shaun were listening in.
“Like I said, I wanted to bring out the issues with the system. Over the years reporting the news, I’d seen so many flaws in the system. I admit the Scavenger Hunter made me curious. After I found out about what happened to your son—Bryce—I decided I should do more than just report the story. I wanted to do more than just tell the public the people who caused the tragedy didn’t get punished.”
Van Camp frowned. “Yes, not only did they receive community service rather than jail time, that crooked judge tried to hide the driver’s involvement.”
“Exactly,” Jordan said, snapping his fingers. “That should not have happened. My book about the Carnations Killer was a bestseller. It brought to light to who he was and all the terrible things he’d done. In the book, I gave my firsthand account of how I caught him, how I found out who he was, and other info law enforcement would have kept from the media. Thanks to me, people know the truth.”
So…Jordan fibbed on the last part a little bit. He would deal with O’Reilly’s wrath when the time came.
“My hope,” Jordan continued, “is to tell the world that what happened to your son just wasn’t right.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Van Camp agreed, shaking his head. He paused. “I still don’t see why Jordan Blake of all reporters has an interest in me and my family. Unless, of course, there’s something in it for you.”
Jordan chuckled. “I admit you’re not too far off track, sir. People watch me because I tell the truth. Of course, my methods may not exactly be conventional, but I don’t hold back. And I always get what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
Jordan hesitated, considering what he wanted to say. There was a swarm of lies he could tell the other man, lies to make him sit on a pedestal. However, too many lies, Jordan knew, would risk getting him found out on his true motive. Telling nothing but lies would result in no one believing him when the time came. But throwing in mostly truths, Jordan knew he’d have the whole world’s attention.
So, the cold, hard truth it was, Jordan decided.
“I want their respect.” Jordan paused for effect. “My whole life, my dad was the only one who respected me. As a news reporter, I’ve only found respect through the public because I don’t hold back. And even now…I still want my uncle, who is also my boss, to respect me.”
Van Camp nodded. “I see. Well, what exactly do you want to know about Bryce?”
Jordan took a notepad and pen out of the shoulder bag he always carried for interviews.
“I should warn you that this interview may be difficult for you. I’ll understand if you need a break.”
Van Camp didn’t respond to the statement, but said, “Would you like a drink? Water? Beer?”
“Water would be great, actually,” Jordan said. “I tend to get nervous during interviews and need to wet my throat.”
Van Camp rose. “I’ll get it, then we can start.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jordan replied, watching as he walked away. Keeping his voice low, he said into the microphone, “How am I doing? What am I saying? I know I can’t hear you.”
Instead, Jordan sat in silence, listening to the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
Van Camp returned with a bottled water and a beer. He passed the water to Jordan before returning to his seat.
“I suppose we’ll start now,” Jordan said. “I want to know what you remember from Bryce’s death.”
“A young girl got drunk at a party, got behind the wheel and ran him down, eventually killing him.”
“Eventually?” Jordan narrowed his eyes with curiosity. “You mean to say he didn’t die on impact?”
Van Camp shook his head. “He went by ambulance to the emergency room. The surgeon operated on him until he gave up.”
As Van Camp spoke, Jordan scribbled in his pad, but at the last statement, Jordan paused to look up.
Until he gave up.
Linus Van Camp’s ex-wife wasn’t the only one to consider their son’s death a murder.
Interesting.
“That’s quite an unusual way of saying that,” Jordan said. “Do you believe if the surgeon continued working on your son, he would have been able to save him?”
On a sigh, Van Camp rubbed his eyelids. “I don’t know. My wife—ex-wife—believed it. Isn’t that what a surgeon supposed to do, anyway? Save a life?”
“People die every day on the operating table, Mr. Van Camp.”
“So they do, Mr. Blake,” Van Camp said, “So they do.”
“What happened in the moments after your son died?”
“It’s all a blur,” Van Camp said. “I remember feeling angry at the world. I took up drinking. Before Bry
ce’s death, I wasn’t much of a drinker. I’d have a beer every now and then, but not often. They say alcohol is a depressant. I just wanted to stop…feeling. Everything…it was all too much.”
“You and Bryce were close,” Jordan stated.
“Yes. We were. Granted, he had made terrible mistakes in the past, did stupid things, and he faced the consequences. Before he died, we had a long talk. There were some things that he wanted to get off his chest. He wanted to clear the air. But he never had that chance.”
“I understand,” Jordan said softly. “Losing someone you cared so much about, it’s difficult. It wasn’t easy for me to get past my dad’s death. Everyone around me wanted to move on. There were so many things we’d left unsaid.”
“I don’t think any of us was able to move on after my son’s death.”
“So…uh,” Jordan continued, “The trial. How long did it last?”
“Oh, a couple of months,” Mr. Van Camp said. “It would have lasted a few weeks, but the judge who presided stalled it. He’d tried to cover for the girl who had hit Bryce. The one who…killed him.”
Jordan flipped through his pad, making like he was searching through notes.
“The girl’s name was Jessie…Barcliff?” He glanced up at Van Camp.
“That’s right.”
“Have you seen or spoken to her since the trial?”
Jordan watched as Van Camp considered the question.
“I happened to run into her several months ago,” he admitted.
“Did you speak to her? Did she notice you?”
“It was at a restaurant. I was with Max and Elijah—they’re my other boys. I noticed her right away, but she didn’t see us. Max, he started to get angry. Elijah managed to get him calm, but Max didn’t stay. He took off in anger. Bryce’s death and the injustice of it all…it really destroyed us.”
“Do they still live in Augusta? It’d be great if I could set up an interview with them as well.”
Van Camp shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
