by Stacy Green
“Please keep that information to yourself,” Erin said. “We have very little to go on, and if it gets out, people will panic.”
“I won’t,” Sarah said. “I wish I had something more for you.”
“Did you ever go to the professor’s house?” Beckett asked.
“Once,” Sarah said. “I was kind of a wreck about my thesis—I had to trash most of the first draft. She told me to stop by.”
“What’s your thesis on?” Erin asked.
Sarah withdrew back into the safety of her shirt collar. “Well, this is actually my second thesis. Professor Walton said the first one was too personal and not nearly analytical enough. It read like a memoir. So I had to start all over again.
“It’s a quantitative study and analysis on recovered memories of childhood sexual abuse and how victims individually react.”
“You’re a psychology major?” Erin remembered the ulcer-inducing months spent writing her own thesis.
“Yes. I’ve been working on it for so long, and I’m about ready to give Professor Walton the final draft.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “Of course, that doesn’t matter.”
Erin leaned back in the chair. “I’m sure the University will assign you a new advisor right away. Did Bonnie’s experiences give you the idea for the thesis?”
“In part,” Sarah said. “I’ve known other people who have been sexually abused. No two of them react the same way. That’s the heart of my research. Why do some victims live relatively normal lives and heal while others derail like Bonnie?” Sarah’s voice gained momentum as she spoke about a topic she clearly felt passionate about. She lowered the shirt yet again and leaned forward, hands on her slim thighs. “And why do some become perpetual victims? Do you know 17.7 million American women have been victims of rape or attempted sexual assault? And then there are the unreported rapes. The Justice Department says over eighty percent of rapes on college campuses aren’t reported. Women are too scared, and not coming forward allows another woman to be victimized. We have to do something as a society to stop this. Instead of getting better with my generation, it’s getting worse. The same with child sexual abuse.”
Erin’s head buzzed as though she’d been dropped into a pressurized chamber. Tension pounded against her skull. Her brain seemed stuffy. She wanted to run from the room and out into the fresh air, but she couldn’t look away from Sarah’s bright, contrasting eyes.
The girl stared back, face flushed. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
Erin’s lungs burned like she hadn’t taken a breath in several minutes. “You’re passionate about it. I’m sure your thesis is great.”
“It seems so trivial now.” She retreated back against the cushions, emotions depleted. “Who would do this to them?”
“What can you tell us about Professor Walton’s experience at the Adult Literacy Center?” Beckett asked. “Did she ever talk about anyone there? Maybe someone she had an issue with? One of her students?”
Sarah ran her fingers through her long ponytail, examining the strands she’d pulled out. “Well, she had an argument with one of the African American students at the Adult Learning Center. Professor Walton seemed upset by their altercation. She thought a lot of him. Anyway, he had an issue with a class. She tried to talk to him, and he got in her face. Called her a dyke and a bunch of other names.”
“What did they discuss?” Erin asked.
“She wouldn’t have betrayed student confidence.”
“Did she report him or tell any of the staff?”
“She didn’t want to get him in trouble. She thought her not reporting him might help his attitude.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Ricky,” Sarah said. “I don’t know the last name.”
Erin shot Beckett a look of satisfaction, but he remained focused on Sarah.
“Why did the professor tell you about this?” His normally gentle voice held the ghost of an edge.
“Because I just happened to talk to her shortly after,” Sarah said. “I called her with a question on my thesis, and I could tell she was upset.”
“So you and Professor Walton were close enough for her to confide in you?”
“I think it was more of a timing thing,” Sarah said. “She needed to talk to someone.”
Erin glanced at her partner. In the short time she’d known him, his face had never been so vibrant. Like a dog about to take back its favorite chew toy.
He didn’t take his eyes off Sarah and asked the next question. “Sarah, we’re certain Bonnie made amateur porn—likely rape scenarios—as a way to earn extra cash. You’re sure she didn’t tell you?”
Sarah set her jaw and crossed her arms, her defiance betraying her. “She wouldn’t have done that after what she went through.” Her ponytail bounced as she shook her head. “No way.”
“We have strong evidence she did,” Beckett said. “And she may have confided in Professor Walton.”
“It’s possible the videos led to her murder,” Erin said. “Virginia’s too. We’re still putting things together, but Bonnie may have involved the wrong person. I’m not sure how Virginia fits in yet, but you visited Bonnie at home plenty of times. Even if you didn’t know about the movies, it looks like you could have.”
Sarah’s mismatched eyes popped open, her pupils dilating. “You’re saying I might be in danger?”
“We have to consider it a possibility,” Erin said. “You need to be cautious the next several days. Keep staying here with your parents. Make sure your security system is on at all times. And if anything strange happens, call 9-1-1 immediately.”
Sarah covered her mouth with her slender fingers. “I can’t believe this is happening. You have to be wrong.”
“I hope we are, for your sake.” Erin stood to leave and asked the question she’d been dreading. “Sarah, we need to ask where you were last night.”
“You’re not serious.” Sarah’s hands slipped down to rest in her lap, her body slouching.
“I’m afraid so,” Erin said. “You’re the main connection between these two women. Eliminating you as a suspect is crucial.”
Sarah blew out a shaky breath. “I was here. I never go anywhere anymore.”
“And your mother can verify this?”
Sarah nodded.
“Any other staff?” Beckett asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Sarah said. “But I park in the driveway because my father’s cars take up all three stalls in the garage. So my car was here.”
Heels snapped across the tile floors, and Melinda Archer swept in, her arms going around her daughter’s shoulders. “I can confirm my daughter remained home all evening, Investigator Prince. Considering her a suspect is insulting. Sarah’s devastated, and she’s exhausted from all of this.”
Erin ignored the woman and gently touched Sarah’s knee. “Please call me anytime. Even if you just need to talk. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Beckett closed the front door behind them. “Why didn’t Virginia Walton call us after Bonnie’s murder? If Virginia’s the snitch, then it’s a safe bet Bonnie did talk to her. Or the killer thinks so anyway.”
“I’m more focused on Ricky Stout.” Erin felt energized as they walked down the stone path. “He knew them both. He’s got a juvenile record. It’s still not enough for a warrant, but maybe we can get the director at the ALC to talk.”
Beckett’s eyebrows raised. “Do you think that’s likely?”
“Director Key’s first priority is protecting her students and the program, which I get,” Erin said. “But it’s time for her to start talking.” She zipped up her coat against the wind. At this rate, she would never be truly warm again. “We need to swing by The Point. By the time we get there, it’ll be late enough for a full staff to be on hand. Hopefully, someone recognizes Virginia Walton.”
“Sarah’s hiding something,” Beckett said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how defensive she got about Bonnie’s amateur porn. She knew
about it and won’t admit it. What’s the point of lying about it?”
“I noticed,” Erin said. “But look, I come from this type of environment. To someone like Simon Archer, those videos are scandalous. Sarah’s got to protect his name, so the less she tells us, the better. She’s grieving, and she’s torn between helping her cousin and dealing with her parents. I get it.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Erin halted, craning her neck to look up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Her parents are judgmental, narcissistic jerks,” Beckett said. “She comes from the same type of background as you, right? You said you understood her mother’s kind.”
“My parents aren’t like hers,” Erin said. “My father is a good man, even if he’s got screwed up priorities. But he’s not cruel enough to say things like Melinda did about her own niece. Calling an eight-year-old a liar about being molested? How could a person do that to a child? Aren’t the adults supposed to protect them? And let’s not forget Sarah was likely molested too.”
Beckett jammed his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes people don’t want to face the hard stuff. Especially when they’re younger. We want to believe what’s easy and convenient.”
Erin stood her ground. “And a child becomes a victim over and over again.”
“I’m not saying it’s right,” he said. “And you’re missing the point.”
“Exactly what is the point?” Her nerves had worn down to a fragile thread.
“You aren’t looking at Sarah objectively. You automatically sided with her because her mother pissed you off, because you recognize her mother as the sort of person you’ve grown up loathing and rebelling against. You think the killer is a woman. Who’s the one woman in both Bonnie’s and Virginia’s lives?”
The pressure returned to Erin’s head. “We’ll double-check with the neighbors, but Sarah’s alibied for both. And she’s got zero on her record. We have no physical evidence to tie her to either murder at this point. Marie’s team is still looking for trace, and Sarah’s fingerprints and hair can probably be explained in both cases.”
Beckett held up his hands. “I’m not saying Sarah’s our killer. Her dishonesty is hurting the investigation. And if you really think the killer is a woman, Sarah needs to be on the suspect list.”
Nothing about Sarah Archer indicated she could be the killer other than her simple connection to both women. But Beckett had a point. Until they’d exhausted every possibility, she should suspect anyone and everyone at this point. “We’ll check with the cab companies and the private car services then. If one of them has a record of picking Sarah up here on the night of either murder, then I’d consider her a real suspect.”
“I’m not trying to insult you,” Beckett said. “I’ve been doing this job a long time, and the one thing I’ve taken away is to always ask myself why a person says and does the things they do. The answer I’ve come up with is that most people—myself included—see the world behind a veil of their own past experiences. The trick is learning to take off the veil. It’s taken me a long time and a lot of mistakes to figure out how to do it.”
“I see.” The air shuddered from her lungs. Erin hated the anger welling inside of her, hated the voice in her head shouting out all of her insecurities. “And I’m too inexperienced to possibly be able to figure this out. Right?”
Beckett either didn’t notice her anger or didn’t understand. Or didn’t care. “That’s not what I said. You need to try to be more objective. Some people are really good actors. Some people can hide things from the best detectives. Sarah isn’t telling us everything. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I promise you she’s keeping something from us.”
“Is that what you thought when Lucy almost died because you didn’t figure out the truth in time?” A low blow, childish and unnecessary.
Beckett sucked in a hard breath. “My previous work has got nothing to do with my perception of this case. And I’m not discussing it.”
“Of course not,” Erin said. “You wouldn’t want to appear infallible.”
He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “You just proved my point. You can’t look past your perceptions.” In two long strides he reached his little Prius. “I’ll meet you at the Adult Learning Center. Don’t worry about leading me there. This car has a guidance system.”
* * *
Sarah rested her head against the closed door. Erin Prince seemed nice. Caring. Easy to talk to. Beckett acted like he expected something horrible to happen at any moment. But she liked them.
“Did you tell them everything?”
Sarah turned to stare at her mother standing in the hallway like a well-dressed eel. Always slithering around, listening. “I told them what I know.”
“Did you tell them about what happened when you were little? With,” her lips twisted as though she’d tasted something awful, “your cousin?”
Sarah’s nerves thinned and stretched, a rope ready to snap. “They know enough.”
“I would hope you thought about your father. We took care of the situation a long time ago. Her parents obviously didn’t.”
There it was. Melinda’s haughty, holier-than-thou attitude. Her mother truly believed she could fix something as horrible as what had happened to them. Just sweep it all away with some threats and cash.
Sarah desperately wished Bonnie were here. The past few months had gone by too quickly. The cousin she’d looked up to as a little girl experienced so much pain, and yet her positive outlook on life inspired Sarah to be better. But Bonnie was dead, and Sarah had only her parents again.
Her palm stung where her fingernails dug into it. “I have to get back to my paper.”
Erin hadn’t gone two miles when Clark called for them both to get back to the CID. Virginia Walton’s daughter had apparently jumped in the car at the crack of dawn this morning and would be at the station shortly. Erin told him what Sarah said about Ricky Stout. “You think it’s enough for the judge to issue a warrant for his personal information?”
“We can sure as hell try. Two vicious murders in three days. All depends on the judge. I’ll do everything I can.”
As she threaded through traffic, Erin worked to calm down. She and Beckett were both tired and stressed. They hadn’t worked together long enough, and their contrasting backgrounds meant they saw the world differently. She owed Beckett an apology for the jab about Lucy’s life. He’d done nothing but his job since he arrived. He certainly hadn’t been unfair or belittled her.
“Damn.” His little wind-up car wasn’t in the CID’s lot. She wanted to get the apology over with and move forward. Hopefully, he wasn’t lost. GPS had its merits, but in an old city like DC, it tended to muck people up, especially with the construction.
“Princess!” Fowler called out as soon as she entered the squad room. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
She growled a response.
Fowler grunted in return. “Yeah, well, I don’t have much to give you. Professor Walton’s colleagues at American University had little to offer other than the professor kept to herself and she certainly wasn’t discriminated against for her sexuality.” Fowler made a face resembling a shrew. “The dean wanted to be very clear his former employee’s civil rights weren’t violated. As a fairly new hire and an adjunct professor, Walton wasn’t around enough to form any bonds with any of her AU peers.”
“Great. Yet another victim no one really knew. Today keeps getting better.”
“It’s about to get worse,” Fowler said. “The victim’s daughter is waiting for you in Interview Room A.”
* * *
“My mom was a good lady.” Rylan Walton clutched a nearly empty packet of tissues. Her caramel-colored skin was sallow and raw beneath her eyes, probably from rubbing at the tears. A lock of her thick, curly brown hair escaped the messy knot on the top of her head. She tucked it behind her ear and breathed in fast, asthmatic beats. “She didn’t deserve this.”
“Of course s
he didn’t.” Selfish relief flowed through Erin when she found out Sergeant Clark had already told Rylan the necessary details of her mother’s murder. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe a family member shouldn’t hear the gruesome details if she truly wanted to hear them, as long as the information didn’t jeopardize the investigation. But many of the bereaved only thought they wanted to know exactly how their loved one died. Getting what they asked for often broke them, and sometimes a cop needed to omit things. Erin didn’t trust herself to make the right decision. “Thank you for coming in so quickly.”
Erin checked her watch and then her phone. Beckett still hadn’t arrived.
Rylan wadded up several tissues in a white-knuckle grip. She stared across the table at Erin, the pain in her lovely eyes searing. “What are we waiting for?”
“My partner.”
Rylan rubbed one of the tissues across her eyes, further irritating her already raw-looking eyelids. “I Googled you.”
“Excuse me?”
“When Sergeant Clark called and told me what happened, he said to ask for you if he wasn’t here when I arrived. I wanted to know who I would be talking to. Your dad is a big-time defense contractor, right? He contributes to a lot of conservative causes. Another article mentioned you being a cop.”
“Oh, I see.” Erin struggled for a better response. Sometimes she hated the Internet.
“So you grew up rich, white, and conservative.” Rylan’s tone wasn’t accusatory but matter-of-fact.
“I suppose that’s a good way to summarize it,” Erin said. Where the hell was Beckett?
“Normally, I’d try not to judge, because I know what it’s like when people have pre-conceived notions about you,” Rylan said. “But I grew up half black in the South, and my momma is gay. So I’ve spent plenty of my life dealing with prejudice from people with your kind of background.”
“I’m sorry.” Erin sounded like a broken record, but what else could she say?
“Don’t be. And don’t let it affect how you help my mother.”
