by Stacy Green
Sarah sat back against the chair. “Bonnie would have told me.”
“Why?” Beckett pressed. “Would you have tried to talk her out of it?”
“I ... I don’t know. But I can’t see Bonnie doing something like that. She didn’t like sex. She was still dealing with a lot of self-worth issues.”
“But you knew she worked as a stripper. The owner of Sid’s mentioned you came in with Bonnie a few times,” Beckett said.
Sarah twisted the tissue into a ropelike strand. “She liked working there. She said her boss treated her well. Better than the other girls. But Bonnie wasn’t like them.”
“How do you mean?” Erin asked.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Sarah said. “I’m not saying those women are bad for stripping and Bonnie was good. I’m saying Bonnie was special. She had this sort of contagious lightness about her. I think people wanted to be around her because of it. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” Beckett scratched his chin. “Did Bonnie have any issues with Sid’s clientele?”
“The cross-dresser,” Sarah said immediately. “I don’t remember his name.”
“Tori?” Erin supplied.
“Yes. He asked Bonnie to dance one night, and something happened. She wouldn’t say what, but she told me she got him kicked out.” Sarah’s disconcerting eyes narrowed. “She got so upset about him. She wouldn’t tell me what he said, just that he was a hypocrite.”
“Did she ever mention him again?”
Sarah shook her head. “She said she wanted to forget about him.”
“Did you know about Will Merritt?” Erin asked.
Fresh moisture built in Sarah’s eyes. “I think he’s in love with her. But she didn’t want to be tied down. And he accepted it. But I think he would have waited for her.”
At least Erin’s female instincts weren’t completely off. “I hate to ask this, but would you mind allowing us to fingerprint you? There are two sets of prints in Bonnie’s house we can’t identify. If one set is yours, ruling them out would be a huge help.”
“Of course,” Sarah said. “I’ve been at my parents’ since Wednesday, so I’m not sure whether that will help.”
“Fingerprints can stick around for a long time,” Erin said. “She offered a conspiratorial smile. “So you’ve been holed up at your parents’ in Chevy Chase? No trips into the city?”
Sarah shook her head. “I wish. My thesis is killing me.” She flinched. “Bad choice of words.”
“It’s all right,” Erin said. “Can you give us the names of any of Bonnie’s other friends or classmates?”
“She didn’t mention any of them. I got the impression she kept to herself.”
“What about Brian Reese, one of the school counselors?”
Sarah nodded. “She talked to him about their college program. She was excited about it.” Her voice caught as she realized the sad finality of her cousin’s dream.
“And nothing else about Brian, maybe about him being inappropriate?”
“No,” Sarah said. “Why?”
“We need to get a clear picture of her life. Think back over the last few months. Did Bonnie mention having issues with anyone?”
“No ... well, no not really.”
“What is it?” Erin prodded. “Even if it seems trivial, it’s important.”
“She talked about a boy at school who asked her out.” Sarah smiled. “She called him a boy because he was only twenty-one. She wasn’t interested. I think it took him a while to get the hint.”
Erin’s pulse kicked into her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beckett sit up a little straighter. “Did she tell you his name?”
“No. She said he was black, though. I remember because we talked about how my dad would be scandalized if I ever dated a black man. He still lives in the dark ages.” She banded her arms over her narrow chest.
Ricky Stout? A possibility, but dozens of black males attended the Adult Learning Center. Still, the age matched. “Anyone else? No other female friends?”
“She didn’t have many friends. Bonnie had trust issues. The only women she talked about were the ones she worked with at Sid’s.” Her face twisted into sorrow. “I wish I hadn’t waited so long to find her again. And now she’s gone.” Sarah ducked her head and cried.
Erin’s throat swelled, and she reached for the girl’s fragile hand while Beckett offered a tissue. But her mind galloped ahead. Jack might have disguised himself as a woman. Bonnie had a cross-dresser at the club.
“When did you last see Bonnie?” Beckett asked.
“A week ago,” Sarah said. “We’d planned to get together a few days ago, but I cancelled because of my stupid paper.” Her head dropped against her thin knees. “Maybe I could have helped her.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Erin said gently. “How did Bonnie seem the last time you spoke?”
“Fine,” Sarah said. “She understood why I couldn’t make it because she was busy with school too. Everything was going so well in her life. I just can’t believe this happened.” She drew in a long, shuddering breath, her striking eyes unsettling. “The news said she was cut up.”
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed so flat, so worthless. As if they could somehow soften the girl’s grief. If Bonnie had told anyone about the pregnancy, it would have been Sarah. But the parents hadn’t been informed. Then again, Bonnie was a legal adult, and Sarah had been hard to track down. They might not have a chance to talk to her again. “Did you know Bonnie was pregnant?”
Beckett’s head jerked toward Erin.
Sarah’s hands went to her mouth. “Oh my God, no.” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and she rocked again.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.” Erin felt like a broken record. “I thought maybe she confided in you.”
More teary-eyed headshaking. “She still had a hard time trusting people after what happened when she was a kid.”
“I hate to ask this,” Beckett said, giving Erin a dark look, “but her parents don’t know. The medical examiner will inform them tomorrow.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise.”
“Thank you.” He looked at Erin once more, like a father silently chastising a kid.
“By chance, did you ever go into Bonnie’s attic?” Beckett asked abruptly.
“The attic?” Sarah’s creamy skin turned ashen. “The news said that’s where it happened.”
Erin shot him a look, wishing he had been more subtle with Sarah. The girl twitched like a cracked piece of glass ready to shatter.
“I’m just asking because we’ll need to eliminate fingerprints up there as well.”
“I helped her put the air conditioner away a few weeks ago,” Sarah said.
“Did you see anything strange up there?” He asked.
Her eyebrows came together, mouth bowed. “Like what? Junk?”
“Anything you thought looked odd?”
Another shake of the head. Exhaustion crept onto Sarah’s face, her skin decidedly more pale than when she first sat down.
“We just have a couple more questions,” Erin said. “Have you heard of a little girl named Mina or a boy named Charlie?”
Sarah’s feet came down off the chair, her boots clacking onto the floor. She cocked her head. “Mina? Charlie? I don’t know any kids.”
“What about Bonnie? Did she ever mention either one of them or mention a friend having a little girl?”
“Maybe one of the other dancers at the club? But Bonnie didn’t socialize with those girls.”
“What about Jane?” Erin asked. “Did Bonnie ever mention anyone by that name?”
Sarah rubbed her temples hard enough her fingers left white marks on her fair skin. “No, I don’t think so.”
“And Bonnie never mentioned this possible cross-dresser again?” Beckett asked, his eyes bright.
“No, that I would remember. Bonnie felt bad, but we joked about the poor thing. Bonnie wanted to give him some
style tips. I don’t know whether she ever did.”
“What about Jack the Ripper?” Beckett’s blunt question surprised Erin. “Did Bonnie have any interest in him, maybe as a research topic for school?”
“Jack the Ripper?” Sarah repeated the words slowly as though she didn’t understand. “I have no idea. She never mentioned anything like that, but I’m starting to think she didn’t tell me a lot of things.”
Beckett nodded, his gaze never leaving Sarah’s face. “Can you tell us where you were yesterday afternoon and evening?”
“My parents’,” Sarah said. “I told you—working on my thesis.”
“Right,” he said. “Were you there by yourself?”
Creases lined Sarah’s brow. “My mother stayed in all day, and the cleaning lady came some time during the evening. You’d have to ask Mother when. I was locked away in my room.”
“We’ll be sure to ask her.” The undercurrent in Beckett’s tone bordered on condescension.
Sarah’s eyes grew large and her mouth slack. “Surely, you’re not trying to ask me for an alibi?”
“It’s procedure.” Beckett tucked his notebook into the pocket of his slacks. “We need to cross you off the list.”
“Thank you for coming in,” Erin said. “If you remember anything else, call me.” She handed Sarah a card. “And we may need to talk again. I don’t want to come in between you and your parents, so will it be possible to arrange a meeting if we need to?”
“I think so,” Sarah said. “As long as I have a little notice.”
Erin and Beckett walked her to the main entrance and watched as the officer buzzed her out.
“You shouldn’t have mentioned the pregnancy.” Beckett didn’t waste any time.
“Why not? Sarah’s the one Bonnie would have told.” A weariness unlike anything Erin had ever experienced settled into her bones.
“Because Bonnie’s parents haven’t been told. And how do we know she’s not going to run back and tell?”
“She said she wouldn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean she won’t.”
Too tired to argue and afraid she would pass out if she kept standing, Erin started for the squad room. “So how does Sarah not see the bed and video equipment in the attic?”
“Bonnie probably piled junk on it. Or maybe she hadn’t gotten into the porn yet. Sarah did say that was a few weeks ago. But my guess is she knew about the amateur porn. She tried too hard to act like she didn’t when you asked.”
“We had a cool September,” Erin said. “Brad opened our windows the second week.” She didn’t say anything more, her thoughts cluttered.
“But,” Beckett prompted, “you don’t think Sarah’s being entirely truthful either, do you?”
Erin’s body suddenly ached as though she’d just finished a marathon. She’d never participated in one, but she imagined the level of fatigue surging through her had to be similar. “I think the chances of Sarah being sexually abused by the same man who hurt Bonnie are high, even if the parents put a stop to it once Bonnie came forward. Her body language is indicative of an abuse victim. She’s extremely protective of herself. Not defensive, but ... guarded.”
“Why didn’t you push her on the issue?”
“Because you can’t go at a sex victim like a bulldog,” Erin said. “And her being abused may not be pertinent to the case, especially since the guy’s long gone. It’s part of what shaped her life and personality—including her general distrust.” She unlocked her bottom drawer and retrieved her purse. “If our juvie Charlies turn out to be a bust, then what?”
“We talk to every one of the dancers at Sid’s about Mina and Charlie,” Beckett said. “And we keep looking for Tori. Maybe one of them can tell us his real name. Then we go back to the school. Keep hammering. Those are the places Bonnie spent her life. We also check into Sarah’s background. See if she’s been in trouble or in treatment for anything. Simon Archer might have handled his daughter’s abuse differently.”
Erin sagged against the wall. “I need to sleep. Start over fresh in the morning. If I can sleep. Between bad dreams and waiting for the next phone call, I doubt I will.”
Beckett walked to his desk and retrieved his coat. “We should warn the other dancers at Sid’s. If the killer targeted Bonnie because she danced and then rejected him, one of them could be the next target.”
The unspoken possibility hung between them. Erin crossed her arms over her waist against the sudden rush of chills. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going home to my daughter.”
* * *
Sarah Archer sat in her red convertible watching the rain trickle down the window. Her heart hurt for Bonnie. Why hadn’t her cousin told her about the pregnancy? She thought they knew everything about each other.
But maybe you never really knew anyone. You only knew what the person wanted you to see. Bonnie’s secrets hurt Sarah almost as much as her death.
She turned the ignition and let the engine idle. She didn’t want to go back to her parents’ house and listen to them insult Bonnie anymore. They had no right. Her father never answered for his silence, just like his friend never answered for his despicable acts.
And yet Bonnie apparently answered for hers.
Sarah wiped her face and put the car in gear. She’d done everything she could to help her cousin. It hadn’t been good enough.
Abby slept like a log, completely oblivious when Erin squeezed in next to her. Her butt hung off the side of the twin bed, but she didn’t care. She buried her face into Abby’s tangled hair and wrapped her arm around her daughter’s slim waist. She sensed Erin’s presence, snuggling into her with a satisfied sigh that brought tears to Erin’s eyes. How had Abby gotten this big so quickly? It seemed like just yesterday she brought her tiny baby girl home from the hospital to the first apartment she and Brad shared. He’d been Abby’s father figure from the start. Her worthless sperm donor had disappeared soon after Erin told him about her pregnancy.
Erin didn’t care as long as she had her daughter. She pulled Abby closer and tried not to think about the fear in Mina’s voice or the agony in Carmen Archer’s.
Brad peeked around the open door. “I thought I heard you come in.”
She could have stayed with Abby all night, but she also needed to sleep. The bed wasn’t big enough for both of them. She kissed her daughter’s soft cheek and carefully peeled herself away.
She met Brad in the hallway. “This has been a day from hell. The little girl called again. Her name is Mina, and so far, we can’t find her anywhere.”
Brad dragged his hands through his already messy blond hair. “Maybe it’s a crank. Someone who saw the article and is putting their kid up to it.”
Erin couldn’t remember all the uniforms on scene last night. “Maybe. Could be the asshole unnamed source who told the reporter my nickname was Princess. Just trying to mess with me. But why? I don’t have a beef with any of them.”
“They might have one with you though,” Brad said. “People are assholes in general. Speaking of, Dad called.”
She rolled her eyes and shuffled toward her room. A hot shower sounded like heaven but so did passing out in her clothes. “Stop. He’s not an asshole to you.”
“He’s not exactly a loving guy.”
“He could be worse. What did he want?”
“You,” he said. “He said Lisa and you had a spat at the office.”
“That bitch.” She shoved open the door to her room and flopped onto the bed. Decision made. “The guy who found Bonnie is a lobbyist for Baker-Allen. We needed his DNA and had follow-up questions. Lisa showed up and did her thing.”
“Then she told Dad a different story,” Brad finished. “Boy, there’s a shock.”
Erin set the alarm on her phone and plugged it in. “Did he sound pissed?”
“No, actually. He heard about the case and said if you need anything more, come straight to him. He’ll get anything on Merritt you need.”
“In othe
r words,” Erin spoke into the pillow, her eyelids already sagging, “don’t make a scene. Keep things behind closed doors.”
“Exactly.” Brad didn’t quite manage to hide his bitterness. “That’s the same thing he said to me when I came out to him.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But he’s better. You guys are better now.”
“Thanks to you.” Brad dragged the quilt out from underneath her and threw it on her hips. “Get some sleep.”
“These next few days are going to be busy,” she said. “You’re able to help with Abby? Or do I need to ask Mrs. Bakas?”
Ellen Bakas, their next door neighbor, was a widow whose grandchildren lived three hours away. She doted on Abby, and Abby adored her—along with the rich Greek desserts she kept in stock. Erin usually didn’t mind leaving her at Mrs. Bakas’s house, but she didn’t want to leave Abby with anyone else, not with the phone calls.
“I’ve got it. Just solve your case.”
She slurred something about how badly life would suck without him, but exhaustion prevented her from making any sense. Her last thought was she’d have to do something special for him as soon as she solved this case.
I no longer have control over my own mind. The demon has insinuated himself in every crevice, using the skill taught to me by my father for his dark deeds. He laughs with glee at the letters in the newspaper, for we did not send them. Unless I have forgotten doing so, which may be the truth. Voices war inside my head, and I know I’m going mad. My memories fade in and out. The demon enjoys the blood. My only solace is ridding our city of another dirty slag.
—JTR
30 September, 1888
I like their pain—an unexpected part of this little adventure. At first, killing them was a means to a necessary end. But every time I jam my knife into their flesh, through tissue and muscle and into precious organs and arteries, I feel a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Better than any anti-anxiety drug, recreational or off the street. Gloriously fucking addictive. I might keep doing this after I’ve taken care of the second traitorous bitch.
She let me in, of course. How could she refuse?
