Promised Lies (A Detective Blanchette Mystery)

by Ashton, Marguerite

  Hauser looked at Marty.

  “It won’t happen again,” Marty said, straightening his bow tie with aplomb and walking back inside.

  Evan came out and smiled. “You finally blew up at ole’ Marty.”

  “Screw Marty. He’s no more a grief counselor than I am captain.” Lily grabbed her cell and pushed redial. “Pick up, Landon.”

  “He’s not going to profile this case. Not after what happened with the Cambden girl.”

  “Oh, yes he will. Landon owes me one.”

  Chapter 29

  2:30 p.m.

  The bell above Landon’s side door dinged as Lily opened it, stepped inside, and took a seat in the chaise lounge chair. “You’ve been dodging my calls.”

  Landon scooped up several worn notebooks from his desk and placed them in his lap. “I’ve been busy with my other clients.”

  “I came here for a profile on the guy Sanchez is working with.”

  “Are you certain Sanchez isn’t the one?”

  “Positive. I’m kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. Something’s off with Sanchez. He’s too sloppy. I’ve started thinking of him as the servant or lackey. He fetches and disposes. Or maybe he just disposes.

  “I find it hard to believe that while Sanchez was in custody, some random person decided to pick up where he left off.

  “Sanchez isn’t CtryGeek23. CtryGeek23 gave himself that handle for a reason. He likes the women to think he’s something that he’s not, which is what a lot of people do online. He’s hiding behind a made up name, using a fake photo and sweet talking them. Then convincing these women to go meet him somewhere public where they feel comfortable. Making them think he’s trustworthy.

  “So do half the men and women in Wisconsin who use online dating.”

  “You’ve seen the information I’ve gathered, along with the crime scene photos. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Landon considered the consequences if he revealed what he knew. It was true when Lily accused him of avoiding her calls. For the last two days he had tried weighing his loyalty to the family versus doing the right thing. He should’ve never talked to Ibee. Breaking patient-confidentiality the first time was unethical and he couldn’t bring himself to do it again, not for anyone. Reaching out to Deena had made things worse. Then the fight with Collin. No matter what he decided, it all ended up in betrayal.

  After several rounds of arguments with himself, Landon had concluded that there was only one way to deal with the situation and still keep his reputation intact. “The person you’re dealing with is a white male in his late thirties or early forties,” he said. “He’s educated, organized, and blends in with society. There’s an arrogance about him and he prides himself on being able to control everything in his life.

  “His victims are all college females under the age of twenty-five. I have no doubt that he’s responsible for the death of all four women. His approach is cunning and manipulative. He finds his prey on social networks and uses their statuses to his advantage.

  “He’s aware of his decision to kill. Once he gains their trust, he subdues them by rendering them unconscious and studies them to see if they measure up to his ideal fantasy.

  “He might take mental or written notes of how they spoke, moved, and responded to a certain phrase, which will generate a response from him. If he was satisfied, then he would in turn, violate them, which doesn’t have to mean forcing himself on them.

  “It could be as simple as forcing his victim to wear things that mean something to him.”

  “Like the wedding ring.”

  “Yes. In his mind, he would be marking his territory. If they didn’t do what he wanted he’d turn on them, killing them.

  “Placing the ring on their finger might be considered a symbol to him. Maybe he’s asking them to marry him.” Landon retrieved one of the spiral notebooks sitting in his lap and opened it up to a marked page. He found the phrases he wanted circled with red ink. “Your case reminds me of a similar circumstance I handled a while back.

  “After stabbing them, he feels remorse. A stigma of sorts. To compensate for that shame, he covers their breasts and genitalia with cloths as a way of coping with that humiliation.”

  Landon closed the notebook. “The mutilation inflicted upon the bodies is an act of rage, probably stemming from his past. From what I can tell he doesn’t have an ethnic preference, but I’d be very careful; he’s searching for something. And he won’t stop until he finds whatever he’s looking for.”

  “What are your thoughts about his time line for killing?” Lily asked. “It’s like he’s killing whenever he damn well pleases.”

  “This goes back to his ability to control. Predators like this will sit, wait and observe their victims. No matter how long it takes. He failed when Serena Fellows survived, that’s why he went after the latest victim.”

  Landon stood and laid the notebooks on the table. “There’s one more thing,” he said, watching a squirrel running circles down an old oak tree trunk.

  “What thing is that?” Lily asked, headed toward the side door.

  “Celine was killed by the same weapon and posed like the others, but I think the killer wanted her silenced.”

  Lily’s face paled. “Silenced?”

  “I need your help to fill in the details of Celine’s final hours. List her habits. Then I’ll try and create a timeline.”

  “I don’t need a timeline. I was there.”

  “Were you there the entire time? I’m afraid she might have known her attacker.”

  She paused for a few seconds. “Thanks for the profile.”

  “Come back and see me for a session. It’ll be off the record.”

  “The last time I trusted you, my mother had her nose in my business.” Lily opened the door.

  A gust of frigid air swept its way inside, lingering in Landon’s office. Don’t let her go. “When do I get to meet that husband of yours?”

  “Soon,” Lily said.

  As Landon watched her leave, he pushed out of the chair, went to his file cabinet and retrieved the package. I was right. He quickly addressed the package and placed a call to his messenger service. “I need to schedule a pickup to deliver a package to Detective Lily Blanchette at the Fort Atkinson Police Department.”

  *

  3:39 p.m.

  Lily slipped through the doors of the station. Soon she was in Sarge’s office, where she informed her boss and the others about Landon’s proposed profile of their suspect.

  “So you can all guess what this means,” Sarge said. “We need to strap ourselves down and solve this case before another body turns up.”

  “We’re going back over cases to see what we missed,” Lily said.

  Alec pointed at his notepad. “I’d like for us to still explore the copycat option.”

  “No way. It’s a waste of time,” Lily said.

  “How?”

  “It’s staring us in the face,” she said, pointing at her notes from Landon’s profile. “We made a mistake. Now we can fix it.”

  “You made a mistake,” Alec said, punching the air. “You never checked with either of us to see what we had in our notes. You took over as lead and did everything your way. Until—”

  Lily’s heart raced. It felt like at any moment it was going to burst through her chest. Don’t you dare say Morgan. “Until what, Alec?”

  “Morgan ended up paralyzed. It was the only thing that took you down a peg.”

  “Enough! In case anyone forgot, we’re still a team,” Sarge yelled. “I better not catch anyone pointing fingers. Real officers stick together through thick and thin. It’s like a marriage. You remain united until there’s nothing left.”

  Sarge took two steps toward Alec. “You’ve been up for almost thirty-four hours. Go home. And don’t come back until you’ve gotten some sleep.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Lily’s eyes rested on the empty swivel chair where Morgan used to sit. She could almost hear her par
tner’s voice: “Anytime there is a case of this magnitude, he goes into ‘marine mode.’ It’s like he’s having a flash from the war or something.”

  Out of the corner of Lily’s eye, she caught Evan watching her, but she pretended not to notice.

  “Are you still with us, Lily?” Sarge asked.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ve got parents burying their children right before the holidays. I think it’s pretty clear that I’ve got enough shite flying around my head to return the favor to the asshole creating it. Speaking of assholes, Sanchez’s down the hall waiting for his lawyer. Go see if he’ll talk before he clamps down.”

  They all nodded and rose.

  Alec whizzed by Lily and Evan, making his way out to the hallway.

  Evan patted Lily on the back. “Ignore Alec. He didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Right.”

  Sarge said, “I need you two to work this case together. Starting tomorrow, you both will officially be partners.”

  Lily looked at her ex-boyfriend. Evan’s confession about wanting Lily back had stirred up old feelings and she knew that best thing to do was to keep her distance. Yes, she loved him, but she was married to Julius. And for now, that was what mattered. “I’m not ready to be assigned another partner.”

  “You two work well together. Don’t let your past ruin the best damn alliance I’ve seen since your dad and I were a team.”

  Lily stormed out and hurried toward the interrogation room. Julius will not be happy. About halfway down the hall, Evan caught up with Lily.

  “It can’t be that bad,” he said, trying to keep up with her.

  “Not only is it a bad idea, but once Julius finds out, I’m predicting a range of arguments between him and me that could compete with the number of domestic calls reported in a week.”

  Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait! Has that bastard hit you?”

  “Godsakes, no! What I meant is that he can be very jealous when it comes to you.”

  As the two detectives approached the interview room, Evan said, “Interviewing this guy isn’t worth it. He’s not going to tell us anything.”

  “For once, I agree with you,” Lily said, unlocking the door.

  *

  4:00 p.m.

  When Lily and Evan entered the room, Thomas Sanchez leaned back in his chair, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  Lily studied Sanchez’ body language, wishing for a sign that he would display a fraction of remorse. Despite the charges pending against him, he seemed relatively calm. How can he be so calm, knowing what we’ve found?

  Disgusted, she took a seat across from Sanchez while Evan prepped to take notes. “It’s real simple. At the moment, everything is pointing to you. If there’s something you want to tell us, now is the time.”

  “The phone you found isn’t mine.”

  “Does it belong to CtryGeek23?”

  A look of shock flashed across Sanchez’s face. “I don’t know any CtryGeek23.”

  A loud buzzing from the lights above interrupted the silence as Lily considered using the old trick her dad used when interviewing suspects: the 80/20 rule. Taking in all the things she knew about Sanchez, she wasn’t going to get her eighty percent where he’d fold like a house of cards. No, she’d have to settle for the twenty, when you have to play on the suspect using their emotions.

  Since Sanchez had displayed little emotion it was best to come in the back door and play on his “intelligence.” It was a long shot, but Lily needed to get confirmation that they we’re still on the right track. “We’ve found the missing SIM card.”

  “That’s imposs—” He pushed back in his seat, glaring at Lily.

  “Were you with a Tanya O’Neal or Samantha Bernard before or on the day of October twenty-first?”

  “No.”

  “I have a witness who says otherwise.”

  “The little old lady and boy are liars.”

  “If you’re so innocent, then stop protecting CtryGeek23. Tell me who he is.”

  “Can you loosen the cuffs?”

  If Sanchez could remain calm under such pressure, that meant he had owed CtryGeek23 a favor and was prepared to go to jail for him. Appealing to Sanchez wouldn’t do any good, but Lily believed it was all she had left. “CtryGeek23 has a hold on you. Is that why you won’t give him up?”

  “No. And I can promise that your other questions won’t get the same response.”

  “So you’re not going to cooperate?” Lily asked.

  “Cooperate? You’re not going to railroad me. Whatever happened to those girls was not my doing.”

  “Helping dispose of the bodies is a crime. Were you instructed on how to pose the bodies?”

  “You don’t know shit lady.”

  “I know that you killed Penny Wenword. But your brother took care of Victor to protect you. No witness. No case. And it’s not the first time he’s cleaned up your messes when you screwed things up. Is it?”

  “I think I’m done talking.”

  “It’s in your best interest that you keep talking. As we speak, I have proof that Martinez set up appointments with your niece through her escort ads,” Lily said, scrolling to a screen shot of the post and holding up her phone for Sanchez to see. “I don’t know what type of twisted fantasies circle around in that head of yours, but I can bet that when the results come back, I’ll be able to prove it was your DNA inside of your own niece. I guess you were right when you mentioned your brother’s loyalty.

  “He let you use his email account to set up services with Tanya. I can’t imagine what she thought when she realized it was you. Again, your brother did what he could to protect his brother.”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “If I find out you’re withholding information, I’ll add obstruction of justice to your charges,” Lily said, standing up. “And I’ll make sure you’re held responsible. No matter what it takes.”

  Thomas stirred in his seat.

  The door to the interrogation room swung open. “That’s enough,” Owen said. “His lawyer is on the way up. Sanchez made bail.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Sanchez said. “I’ll be sure to tell my lawyer that your detective likes to threaten to get a confession.”

  Nick came in, adjusted the cuffs on Sanchez and placed his hands behind his back.

  After Sanchez was led out of the room, Owen looked at Lily. “What the hell was that?”

  “I didn’t threaten Sanchez.”

  “It could be implied. And Wells won’t care.”

  “Dotson Wells is his attorney?”

  Owen nodded.

  “Fuck!”

  “Getting a conviction in this case just got complicated.”

  Chapter 30

  November 26, 8:24 a.m.

  Ibee Walters slammed the book of statutes closed and chugged the remainder of the thick stale coffee from the vending machine.

  “You’re so predictable,” Dotson Wells said, walking into the break room. “I knew I’d find you here.”

  Ibee tossed the coffee cup into the trash. “Where else would I be?”

  “And you’re still sassy as ever.”

  “You’ve never complained before.”

  “A man has to have some pride left after being dumped by the woman he loved.”

  “What do you want, Wells?”

  Wells yawned and took a seat at the table. “I’ve decided to represent Thomas Sanchez. And I want you to go easy on what you present to the judge during the preliminary hearing.”

  “You are aware of the incriminating evidence found in Mr. Sanchez’s home? And the probability that his DNA is going to match what we found on the victims.”

  “Sweetie Pie, that doesn’t mean he did it, and I plan on proving reasonable doubt. As we know, I’m an ace at doing that, making your job a lot harder. The DNA, my client was in the war and suffers from PTSD. I’ll be sure to get some sympathetic jurors who care about our vets. You’ll get a hung jury.”

  “You bastard.�
��

  “C’mon. I’ve actually found something that Ibee Walters would be appalled at. Or is it the fact you didn’t think of it yourself? It’s like the pillow talk we used to share: We’d do anything to get what we want.”

  Ibee’s stomach wrenched. “But it’s the judge’s decision.”

  “But if you don’t fight it—it makes the court process smoother. You can make it happen.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Try real hard. Or else the press might get wind of how you had drinks with your ex Landon Montejack the night before the city’s favorite cop was murdered. That’d be a helluva of a story. D.A. sleeps with doctor rumored to be having an affair with slain cop’s wife. It’d ruin your precious reputation as the “honest,” D.A. Do me this one favor and I’ll keep your secret.”

  Chapter 31

  November 28, 4:10 p.m.

  Thomas Sanchez followed his attorney, the high-priced-but-definitely-worth-it Dotson Wells, from the Jefferson County courtroom. Wells pushed through the crowd’s citizens and reporters with Sanchez trailing in his wake.

  A male in his sixties and an ex-cop himself, Wells’ knowledge of police techniques provided him with an inexhaustible toolbox for defending his clients.

  Once through the doors, journalists flocked over.

  “Mr. Sanchez, were you shocked by Judge Lee’s decision to grant you bail?” one reporter asked.

  “Hell, no, ‘cause I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Did you have anything to do with the killing of the two women on County Road K?” another reporter fired.

  “That question will be answered in court,” Wells answered for his client.

  “What about the one who escaped?” a third one wondered.

  “No more questions,” Wells snapped.

  Sanchez opened the passenger door to Wells’ ’76 Chevy Nova, got in and closed the door. “Stupid reporters. They don’t have a fucking clue.”

  Wells started the engine. “From now on, you stay clean and mind the rules of that monitor.”

  Sanchez looked down at the ankle bracelet.

  “Because you’re going to need those stupid reporters to help clear your name. I’ll do the rest.”