Killing Jane: An Erin Prince Thriller

by Stacy Green

  Erin filled Clark in on the phone call with Simon Archer. “So Sarah is safe. But if she knew about Bonnie’s sex videos, she may be in danger. And she’s our best link to Bonnie.”

  “And Ricky Stout, who may only be an acquaintance,” Beckett reminded her. “But his is the only name we’ve got. Any chance we can get a warrant for his contact information?”

  “Come on.” Clark rocked hard in his chair, the headrest smacking the back wall. “How many years you been a cop? Right now we have no probable cause. And in this environment, no judge is going to be eager to issue a warrant to put another black man in jail without something rock solid. Get a phone number, match it to Bonnie’s records. Then maybe.”

  “There’s nothing in the system for him,” Beckett said. “He hasn’t filed taxes. Every online search came back with the wrong Ricky Stout. He’s got class tomorrow night. We should pay the school another visit, hang around.”

  Erin winced. “You’ll have to go without me,” she said. “Abby’s got a school thing I can’t miss.” She’d promised her daughter she would attend her concert.

  “No problem,” Beckett said. “I’ll keep you updated.”

  “The drug clinic sent over the records,” Clark continued. “Bonnie was clean. Merritt came in for his DNA swab too.”

  Erin checked her watch. “He wasn’t supposed to come until six.”

  Clark shrugged. “He got off early today. Our computer guys checked the security footage from Baker-Allen. Merritt did exactly what he said he did, and there’s no evidence of tampering.”

  Erin hoped her sister hadn’t fired Will Merritt. The guilt would eat at Erin until she had to do something, which would be calling their father. Cue a fresh round of battle between her and Lisa.

  Clark’s chair creaked as he reached for a note on his desk. “What about the strip club owner?”

  “Sarah came into the club a few times to see Bonnie, and we have the list of employees. We’ll run them through the system, see whether they’ve got anything interesting in their backgrounds and who their known associates are.”

  Clark nodded. “Yari Malek’s number is listed in Bonnie’s cell contacts, but there’s only a couple of calls to him. And he’s her boss, so not unusual.”

  “What’s the status on her full phone records?” Beckett asked. “We need more than the call log on her phone.”

  “At least another day. They have the warrant, but the fucking companies are more concerned about a lawsuit over privacy violations than helping out a murder investigation.” Clark let the chair snap back straight. “Temple hasn’t released Bonnie Archer yet. She’s waiting on some additional tests, and she’s asked the forensic anthropologist to examine Bonnie as well. Apparently, some of the cuts nicked the bones. Which means her parents are stuck in limbo and frustrated. With some of the shock worn off, they may be able to tell us more. I’d like to know what caused the family divide, because it obviously affected Bonnie’s life.”

  “I’ll call Mrs. Archer,” Beckett said. “Hopefully, I can talk with her before we speak with Sarah. Do we have anything on the fingerprints from Bonnie’s apartment?”

  Clark nodded. “Merritt’s were found in the bedroom and living room, as we expected. Nowhere near the body. At least two other sets of prints don’t match anyone in the system. The lab is still working on the rest of the trace evidence Marie’s people collected. And I’m trying to get a rush on the fetal DNA.” He leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking far older than just a few days ago. “Any more weird calls?”

  “Not yet.” Erin hedged, not sure whether she wanted to know the answer to her next question. “Have you read the article on Channel 4’s website?”

  Clark curled his lips as though the air in the room had gone sour. “That reporter likes her tabloid shit,” Clark said. “Nothing she said matters. What matters is what’s going on right now. Make something happen.”

  * * *

  Beckett’s call to the Archers turned out to be a bust. They wanted answers the police couldn’t give, and their limited knowledge of their daughter was increasingly apparent.

  A chill raked up Erin’s spine. How many years did she have before Abby stopped sharing every minute detail of her day and became a sullen teenager who thought the world—including her mother—was against her? Could Erin navigate those teenage years well enough to keep Abby out of trouble? Would she become a bigger hypocrite and use her family connections if Abby got in trouble?

  Her father had done as much with Lisa, and she turned out to be a cold, successful bitch living a shallow existence, feeding off the misery she inflicted on others. Lisa had never been held accountable for any of her behaviors.

  Thinking about her sister made Erin remember Lisa’s smug words from earlier. Maybe if she sucked it up and read the damned article, she could put it out of her mind.

  Bonnie’s murder remained on Channel 4’s home page. The “Princess” reference stood out in bold beneath the picture of herself, Beckett, and Clark talking on Bonnie’s porch. Titles identified the men, Sergeant and Investigator, respectively. Erin’s caption read: new homicide member Erin Prince—known as “the Princess” among the ranks—is the daughter of Washington power-elite Calvin Prince.

  Red danced in her vision. Forget about the Princess dig. How about the misogyny? What the hell century did they live in?

  “It’s bullshit.” Fowler leaned against her desk, offering her Hershey’s Miniatures this time.

  Erin took three and steamed. “Some asshole uniform who thinks he should be a homicide cop talked to that reporter who always wears a skirt barely covering her ass. It’s the closest he’ll get to the real investigation.”

  The fact Erin couldn’t defend herself or speak out against the reporter burned the hell out of her. Freedom of speech didn’t exist for everyone. “It’s not just the nickname. Did you read the caption? They might as well have said I was a secretary! I didn’t realize we’d jumped back in time.”

  Fowler shook out more chocolate into her outstretched hand. “They’re going with the angle that sells. It’s just a way to get Calvin Prince’s name in the article and get more hits. Don’t you know anything about metadata?”

  She sucked down the last chocolate. “This is why women still fight to be equal. Because of the ones like that reporter who rely on their assets more than brains.”

  “Fuck her. Focus on the victim. This job isn’t about accolades. It’s about bringing in scum-sucking criminals before someone else gets hurt. So do your job, Princess.” Fowler winked at her and sauntered off.

  Her phone vibrated, and a blocked number flashed on the screen. Erin’s insides twisted into a painful knot. “Erin Prince, Homicide.”

  Soft, rapid breathing filtered over the line. “Is this the Princess?”

  Erin snapped her fingers, signaling to Beckett. He wheeled his chair over, and she moved the phone from her ear so he could hear. She didn’t want the little girl to hear office sounds and hang up.

  “Hi, sweetheart. I’m glad you called again. Will you tell me your name?”

  A couple seconds of silence and then, “Mina.”

  “Mina. That’s so pretty. Do you need help, Mina?”

  “It’s going to happen again if you don’t stop it.” Mina’s voice trembled with tears.

  Erin’s stomach bottomed out. She struggled to keep her tone even and not barrage the girl. Mina couldn’t be more than five or six. She might clam up if Erin started badgering her. “What’s going to happen again?”

  Mina didn’t answer right away, and Erin worried she’d hung up.

  Then the child sniffled. “Me and Charlie are in trouble. That’s why I called again, even though he said not to.”

  “Who’s Charlie?”

  “He’s the boy who takes care of me. But that’s not what I’m tryin’ to tell you!” Childlike impatience mixed in with Mina’s fear.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Beckett slid a note across her desk. Give your desk number
. Can trace call.

  “Mina, can you do me a favor?” Erin asked. “This is my cell phone, and it’s about to die. I really want to hear what you have to say. Can you call this number?” She recited her direct line.

  Mina spoke as though she didn’t hear it. “We’re so scared,” the little girl whispered. “Poor Bonnie.”

  Erin’s heart stopped. “Who are you scared of?”

  “Bonnie was nice to us.” Mina’s words shook with the effort not to cry.

  Her desperate voice made Erin think of her own little girl sitting safely at home with Brad. The sudden urge to take her daughter into her arms nearly overwhelmed her. “Mina, is the person you’re afraid of named Jane?”

  “I can’t tell you. But it’s going to happen again.” Mina’s bell-like voice made the words sound more ominous. “Bye.”

  The call ended. Erin threw the phone across her desk and knocked a plastic holder full of pens onto the floor. “Beckett, we’ve got to find Mina.”

  Frantic calls were placed to child services. No Mina in the system. To NCMEC—no Mina listed as missing. No Mina associated with any active cases or known criminals. A search for Charlie came up with three kids in the system but only one older than ten. His foster parents’ address was listed in Rock Creek Park, and they denied knowing anyone named Mina or Bonnie Archer. Juvenile arrest records pulled up half a dozen Charlies. Tomorrow, Erin and Beckett would start tracking them down.

  She took two aspirin and turned to Beckett, who tossed back his umpteenth cup of coffee. “You get anything from Bonnie’s parents?”

  “They don’t know anyone named Mina or Charlie. Nor Jane for that matter.”

  After talking to the Archers yet again, Beckett looked as sick as she felt. Bags bloomed beneath his eyes. His narrow face seemed longer, his cheeks hollowed out. His five o-clock shadow only made him look haggard.

  “Bonnie never mentioned any children to them.”

  Erin watched the digital clock switch to 9:00 p.m. She didn’t want to add up the hours she’d worked today. “Did you tell them about the pregnancy?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll leave that to the M.E. Coward’s way out, but I didn’t want to tell them over the phone.”

  “Can’t blame you.” The Archers’ pain was about to multiply astronomically. Erin selfishly thanked God she didn’t have to witness it, but she considered that a small respite compared to the heavy load on her conscience. Mina had called Erin for help twice. If she was the next victim, Erin was to blame.

  Erin closed her eyes, replaying the words over. What had she missed?

  Her desk phone rang.

  She dived for it. “Erin Prince, Homicide.”

  Instead of Mina’s little voice, the officer manning the front entrance coughed like he was trying to hack up a load of phlegm and then said, “Sarah Archer is here.”

  * * *

  Sarah Archer waited in the same interview room Will Merritt sat in last night, in the chair closet to the window. Her knees stayed drawn tightly into her chest, her strawberry blonde hair spanning across her reed-thin legs. Her small feet rested in front of her on the chair, her lithe body somehow drawn into an impossibly tight position. Erin hadn’t been flexible before she had a child, let alone after. Sarah’s thin arms kept her legs at her chest. She’d chewed her fingernails to the quick. Her pale, youthful skin radiated even with minimal makeup.

  A small surge of jealousy nagged Erin. As a child, she was the chubby kid in the corner with the wavy brown hair who didn’t quite fit in. Her last name was the only reason many kids socialized with her. Eventually, she’d grown out of her chubby duckling phase, but she’d never quite shed the mental state, especially when she perpetually carried an extra ten pounds no matter how much effort she put into losing them.

  “Hi Sarah,” Erin said. “I’m Investigator Erin Prince, and this is my partner, Investigator Beckett.”

  “Hi.” Sarah’s soft voice shook as she somehow drew herself into a tighter ball. Rocking back and forth, she could have been a small child afraid of her mother’s scolding.

  “I’m very sorry about your cousin,” Erin said. “Thank you so much for coming in to talk with us.”

  Tears welled from Sarah’s closed eyes and seeped onto her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. Poor Bonnie.”

  Sarah’s teary eyes focused on Erin. They were two different colors: one brown and one startlingly blue. Not exactly a rare phenomenon, but still unsettling.

  Erin turned one of the free chairs around so she faced Sarah. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “I’ve been at my parents’.” Sarah played with the gold watch on her left hand, turning it in fast circles. “Working on my thesis. I shut off my phone. I heard about Bonnie this morning. The horrible things they said about her ...”

  “Because of Bonnie’s drug history?” Beckett asked.

  “Apparently, she must have been asking for it.” She made a disgusted noise. “My parents are judgmental, and they don’t forget.” She wiped her eyes. “When I tracked her down a few months ago, I was amazed at how hard she worked to stay sober and get on her feet. Anyway, I couldn’t listen to them, so I left for the day. When I got home, my father told me you’d called him.”

  “Your parents aren’t aware the two of you reconciled?”

  “They are now.” Her soft voice took on a hardened edge. “I’m not concerned about their feelings anymore. I only kept it from them for Bonnie’s sake. Her parents would have been upset.”

  “Can you tell us about the family falling out?”

  Sarah focused on her slender hands, obviously debating on whether or not to betray her family’s trust. When she looked up again, those strange eyes gleamed with determination.

  “The summer she was eight and I was six, Bonnie was sexually abused by a family friend of my parents. They didn’t want to believe the truth, but Bonnie’s parents did. They took her away and got her counseling, but I guess it didn’t work. By the time she turned fourteen, she was having sex and doing drugs. She hated herself.” Sarah wiped away new tears. “And then she got raped. It took her a long time to get straightened out, but she did. This is so unfair!”

  Erin handed the girl a tissue and gave her a moment. No wonder Bonnie’s parents remained bitter. If Brad allowed something like that to happen and then didn’t believe her daughter, she’d never forgive him.

  Sarah’s slender body curled tighter, her hands locked around her knees and her bleary eyes focused somewhere to the right of Erin. She loosened her grip to chew on a fingernail, still not making eye contact.

  Erin’s grip tightened on the box of tissues. “Sarah, were you abused by your parents’ friend, too?”

  Sarah’s contrasting eyes locked with Erin’s, her posture rigid. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

  Because I know how to spot a victim of sexual abuse.

  Sarah perched on the chair with all her muscles tensed, ready to bolt.

  “It’s a logical question. Your father’s friend abused Bonnie, and the two of you spent a lot of time together. It makes sense he would move on to you once Bonnie was removed from the picture.”

  Sarah’s hair whipped back and forth. “My parents didn’t allow that to happen. I was never alone with him after that.” A muscle in her cheek twitched. “Which tells me deep down they knew Bonnie was telling the truth. My father’s reputation was just more important.”

  “And your parents are still friends with Bonnie’s abuser?” Beckett flipped through his notes and jotted something down.

  “He moved away a long time ago, but it didn’t matter, because they never believed her. I think it made them look bad, so they couldn’t accept it. You know?”

  Yes. Erin witnessed it more times than she wanted to think about during her brief tenure as a sex crimes investigator. Many women didn’t want to believe a husband or boyfriend could be capable of hurting their child. Some flat out refused. Add that to the high-profile life Simon Archer led, and every
thing made twisted sense. “You have a name?”

  She shook her head. “They never told me. Bonnie didn’t like to talk about it.”

  “But you were six when all of this happened?” Erin asked, watching the girl’s strange eyes. The different colors reflected light in subtly different ways, and the effect was fascinating. “So I assume you grew up hearing your parents’ version?”

  “Yes, when they would talk about it, which wasn’t often. Aunt Carmen told me the truth a long time ago.”

  “So you had some contact with your aunt and uncle?” Erin asked.

  “Just with Carmen, back in high school. I knew I wasn’t getting the whole story, and I wanted to know why Bonnie disappeared out of my life. Carmen told me, and she told me about all of Bonnie’s problems. I felt so terrible.” She snatched another tissue out of the box on the table. “My parents and I had it out. I got grounded for speaking with her. I finally realized what sort of person my father is.” Her delicate face took on the sharp expression of an eagle hunting for prey. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. And his reputation.”

  Erin said the same thing to her own father years ago. Their fight had been something of a wake-up call to him. “I’m sorry. I know this is tough for you. Did you ever notice Bonnie being bruised or injured?”

  “A couple of times.” Sarah touched her bicep. “Around here. She said she took self-defense classes. I thought that was a good thing. A way for her to feel like she had control over her life and safety.” Her voice hitched.

  Erin studied the girl.

  Sarah fidgeted with Erin’s silence. “Did she lie? Do you think someone else gave her those bruises?”

  She seemed so fragile, so desperate to believe she hadn’t missed some crucial sign of her cousin’s impending danger. But if they were so close, did she really not know about the sex videos? “We have reason to believe Bonnie sold amateur porn videos online, and her bruising came from those sessions.”