“Hence the reason she was smiling the rest of the day afterward.”
Vincent nodded, his brain absorbing the info. “That explains Ethan Travis’ behavior,” Vincent said. “We can’t prove it, but it sure as heck explains it. The only way we can corroborate it is to talk with the other members of the A-Listers.”
“That’s only three more names, then: Kenneth and Shawn Bateman, and Alyssa Moore.”
“Ronny said the Bateman brothers were a year apart in school, right?”
“Correct.”
“Okay,” Vincent said. “We question all three of them. See what lines up.”
“What about working the angle on your fingerprints?”
“Yes,” Vincent said, recalling Miranda’s request. “How possible is it for you to float all the stuff you have on the prints to me?”
“Easy,” Brandt said. “Almost too easy.”
“Good. I’ll need them right away. I have a friend of mine who’s going to see if she can prove they were planted at the scene.”
“What friend?”
“An FBI friend.”
Brandt raised her eyebrows. “Say no more.”
“So,” Vincent said, “does Chief Riley still have you running point on the investigation?”
Brandt waved her hand in a “fifty-fifty” style. “For the most part. He’s mostly letting the state’s attorney’s office take over. They’re using a few of our officers as a result. They haven’t done much yet. They’ve actually partaken in more meetings than they have any kind of real investigation time.”
“Think we’d have time to talk to Alyssa Moore and the Bateman brothers before they do?”
“They don’t know about the A-Lister angle yet. I think we’re safe.”
They wasted no time hopping in their cars and using the address Ronny had given them for Alyssa Moore.
21
Alyssa Moore was irritated at her mother when she announced that the police wanted to speak with her.
That fact alone spoke volumes to Vincent. She’s going to be a handful, he thought.
Alyssa’s mother led Brandt and Vincent into the living room, offered them some tea, and then waited for Alyssa to enter before leaving the three of them alone.
Alyssa came out in shorts, an oversized sweater, and a swagger that only a beautiful young lady with a chip on her shoulder could have. “Can I help you?” she asked them like a bored convenience store clerk. As if she was doing them a favor just by speaking.
“I’m Detective Brandt with the Hollow Green PD,” Brandt said.
Alyssa rolled her eyes, plopped down on the couch, and ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s great,” she said. “I didn’t do anything.”
Vincent flashed a smile. “You’re not in trouble. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“Your friends in the A-Listers.”
Alyssa frowned. She took her time, shifted her weight, and crossed her arms. “What about them?”
“That’s your club, right?” Brandt said. “Your little…band of athletes.”
“What do you mean?”
“We talked to Ronny Elder. He told us all about the A-Listers.”
Alyssa shrugged. “So?”
“So,” Vincent said, “we’re curious to know more about it, since two of the six members of your little group of friends have been killed in the past few days. That raises some concerns for us. We find it rather ominous that more than just one person in a tight-knit group of friends is killed within such a short period of time.”
“I didn’t do it,” Alyssa said.
“Why is that your response?”
Alyssa was fidgeting, on edge, nearly falling off the couch. “Because you guys are accusing me of something!”
“No one is accusing you of anything,” Brandt said, her hands held up. “We’re just asking questions. That’s all.”
Alyssa huffed, her eyes darting around as she tried to find a comfortable position to sit in. “I don’t…” she began. “I don’t know what you want me to say. My friends have been dying. My parents are forcing me to stay cooped up here while all this is going on.”
“There are legitimate concerns for your safety,” Vincent said. “It’s possible that someone might be targeting you and the other A-Listers for some specific reason. We’re hoping that maybe you can shed light on that reason, and maybe, just maybe, we can find out who’s responsible for all this as a result.”
A long pause from Alyssa, as she gazed at the floor while tears welled up in her eyes.
“Alyssa,” Brandt said, leaning forward, “let’s keep this simple. I’ll ask a question, and you tell me if it’s true or not. Okay? We need your help. If we don’t have it, it’s just going to cause more problems for everyone, including you and your family.”
Well done, Vincent thought. Brandt is an ace detective.
“Can you do that for me?” Brandt asked.
Alyssa took some time before she nodded.
“Okay,” Brandt said. “Now, when we talked to Ronny Elder, he said that Desiree and Ethan had a relationship. Is this true?
Alyssa nodded again.
“Ronny also said that the A-Listers had a tendency to be a little…mean to some of the other students, a little elitist, perhaps. Is this also true?”
Another nod from Alyssa.
“Alyssa,” Vincent said, “would I be accurate in stating that the A-Listers are, for lack of a better way of putting it, bullies?”
This time, Alyssa didn’t move, just stared.
“Would I also be accurate,” Vincent continued, “in stating that maybe the A-Listers made some enemies as a result of all of this?”
Alyssa looked up. “Absolutely,” she said with an intense gaze.
Brandt and Vincent grilled Alyssa for another hour before hitting up the Bateman twins and discovering a similar narrative with them—both of them were cocky jocks with a flagrant disregard for people they felt were beneath them. It was four solid hours of interrogation, Brandt having checked in with Riley and stating that she alone was the one conducting the interviews.
“So,” Brandt said, her and Vincent sitting in a parked car a ways from the station, “the A-Listers are a group of bullies. That much we know. They act like a bunch of jerks, they piss off some kids at the school, and now one or more of those kids might be killing off all the A-Listers as a form of retaliation.”
“It makes sense,” Vincent said. “I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around certain parts of the narrative.”
“Such as?”
He took a breath. “What do troubled students have a penchant for in America? Kids that feel like they’ve been shortchanged or disregarded. What do kids tend to do when they’ve been bullied?”
Brandt sighed. “School shootings, as of late.”
“Right,” Vincent said. “They make a display of their anger for all the world to see.”
“If our theory of a bullied kid or kids is what we’re going with, then they are damn sure making a display of it with what they’ve done to the bodies.”
“I agree. And the way they were displayed required effort, coordination. More than one person.”
“Okay, so we agree that our suspects are most likely tortured students who felt the need to retaliate.”
Vincent soaked in the info. “We need to find out more. I think we need to talk to all the A-Listers again.”
“It’ll be tough talking to Ronny Elder,” Brandt said. “He said his folks are taking him to Florida for a couple weeks to get away from all of this.”
“That’s fine. We’ll figure it out. We just need to get a list going of all the kids they wronged. We also need to see if the school has any kind of reports on file that mention any of the A-Listers and possible altercations they had with other students.”
“Got it. I’ll handle it.”
“Also,” Vincent said, “if someone is knocking off all the A-Listers, it might be a smar
t play to set up patrol outside their homes to see if anyone attempts to make a move on them.”
“Smart play. We’ll need to coordinate. When do you want to do it?”
Vincent looked at his watch. “Nighttime is the best time to strike. Sun sets in two hours. You and I and one other officer will scope out Alyssa’s house and the Bateman twins. We’ve already told their parents to keep them home. Hopefully they’ll listen.”
“I need to grab some food first,” Brandt said. “I’m starving”
“Same,” Vincent said. “And I know just the person to break bread with.”
22
Claire had dinner prepared by the time her father walked through the door. Vincent’s eyes went wide with delight at the spread of meatloaf and potatoes and vegetables steaming on a plate.
“My goodness,” he said, happy to be home. “You went all out.”
“Well,” Claire said, bringing her plate to the dinner table, “one thing Mom did teach me was how to cook, and I’ve come to really enjoy it. I wasn’t actually sure if you’d be back in time. I know you work late. I was planning on eating it all if you didn’t show.”
“I think your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” Vincent said as he sat down and grabbed a fork.
Claire waved him off. “Please. I’m sixteen. I could eat this and the pint of ice cream I just bought from the store for dessert and not gain a pound or an inch.”
Vincent looked at his daughter. “You’ve been around town?”
“Yeah. Should I not have?”
“No. I’m sorry. I’m just a little worked up over this case.”
Claire arched a brow. “Can you tell me anything about it?”
“It’s best if you don’t know. It’ll just depress you. You’re young. Enjoy your life. You don’t need to let the dark parts of it get to you until much later down the line.”
“Why are old people so negative?”
“Okay,” Vincent said, pointing at her with his fork, “first off, I’m not old. Second, when you get a few years of real-life experience under your belt, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
“I think I have a good idea. I’ve got two parents that aren’t together, a boyfriend that just dumped me, and a mom who’s not around that much because of her stupid new boy toy.” Claire sighed and looked at her plate. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just let that all out.”
Vincent took his daughter’s hand in his. “Don’t apologize. I knew something was wrong when you showed up here unannounced.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’m your father. I need to be here…and we have a lot of missed time to make up for.”
Claire smiled. “It’s just been hard,” she said. “Mom isn’t around all that much. She spends all her time with…him.”
Vincent was still slightly disconcerted at the thought of his wife’s new beau. “Do you not like him?”
Claire shrugged. “He’s okay, I guess. He’s nice and all. He’s just kind of, I don’t know, boring.”
Vincent smirked. “Your mother always said she wanted a chance to start over with someone who’s life wasn’t as high-octane as mine.”
“Well, she got that. Believe me. This new guy is duller than a nail with no point.”
Vincent raised his eyebrows. “Nice one.”
Silence fell over them as they ate, their plates clearing and their stomachs filling, and Vincent now dreading that he would soon have to leave to chase down a madman—most likely a child—as he dwelled in the comfort that was Claire. It had been so long since he’d tasted the normalcy of family life. He had lived alone for so long, nothing but his job keeping him company with frozen dinners and the hum of a television set. It was a thrill for him to have the company of his daughter.
And he knew that he would soon have to leave.
“What happened with your boyfriend?” he asked, trying to fill the time however he could. “You said you broke up?”
Claire wiped her mouth with a napkin, keeping her eyes on her empty plate. “Yeah. I told Mom it was me who broke it off. But it wasn’t. It was Chris.”
Vincent frowned. “I’m sorry, hon.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time coming.”
“How come? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“No. It’ll probably help. That’s actually kind of the reason why I came to visit you.”
“What do you mean?”
Claire took her time. “Chris said I’m too intense, that I get far too focused on even the littlest things, that I don’t take the time to see and appreciate the bigger picture. In other words, I don’t appreciate him, or pay enough attention. Something like that.”
Vincent felt a small quiver of nerves—his ex-wife had given the same sentiments to him on more than one occasion. Genetics. They could be a help and a hinder. “That’s an awfully big accusation for someone to make about a sixteen-year-old girl.”
Claire looked at her father, clearly unappreciative of the comment.
“You know what I mean, sweetie,” he said. “We all know how smart you are for your age. He’s just talking to you like you’re, I don’t know, a grown woman, maybe.”
“He’s not wrong,” Claire said. “He was staying stuff about me that Mom says about you.”
With that, Vincent’s stomach began twisting in a knot. “Yeah,” he said, finally admitting to himself that more of his personality had rubbed off on his daughter than he would have preferred. “I understand. I think… I think maybe some of that is definitely my fault.”
“I don’t think so,” Claire said, her hand resting on top of her father’s. “It’s just my personality.”
“That you apparently inherited from me.”
“Maybe. But Mom is like that, too.”
Vincent shook his head, disappointed in himself. “Your mother is wholly pragmatic. I taught you to be too observant. You learned from me how to obsess about the minutiae, and now it’s starting to affect your personal life the way it did mine.”
Claire squeezed her father’s hand. “You taught me to be brave, Daddy. You taught me how to use my brain. I may be a little awkward at parties and ask too many questions on a first date, but I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. So—to hell with Chris if he doesn’t like that.”
Vincent smiled, hearing the conviction behind every word. “Thanks, Claire bear,” he said before planting a kiss on her cheek.
His phone began to ring in his pocket. He looked at it—Brandt’s name on the caller ID. “Talk to me.”
“Bad news,” Brandt said.
Vincent got up and moved away from the table. “What do you mean?”
“It’s the guys from the state’s attorney’s office.”
“Hoyt and Messer.”
“Yeah. They, uh…they’re pressing charges against you, Vincent. It’s official.”
Vincent closed his eyes with his back turned to his daughter. “Of course, they have.”
With Vincent, happiness was fleeting.
Vincent wasn’t prepared for how quickly the assistant state’s attorneys had leveled the charges against him. “Fast turnaround time,” he said to Brandt as he moved away from his daughter and began collecting his coat. “How’d they manage to pull that off?”
“I just got wind of it about ten minutes ago,” Brandt said.
“From who?”
“Brackett. He said he overheard Riley talking to Messer and Hoyt on the phone. He said they just need to look over a few more pieces of evidence that we collected from the crime scene, and then they’re going to press formal charges.”
“Wait one second.” Vincent pressed the phone to his chest and turned to face his daughter. “I gotta go, sweetie. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Claire shrugged, saluted her father, and set about doing the dishes.
“Save some dessert for me,” Vincent said. He then grabbed the key to his car and moved out of the house, phone again pressed to his ear. “Do
n’t suppose you have a timeline as to when they’re going to move in on me?”
“Two days,” Brandt said.
“Okay. We’ll need to move quickly. Did you manage to pull the records for my prints?”
“I got everything, yeah.”
“Good. Meet me at the diner. We’ll rendezvous for a tick, and then we’ll scope out the Bateman and Moore households.”
“Copy that. See you in ten.”
Minutes later, Vincent and Brandt were at the diner sitting across from each other.
“How sure are you about the charges?” Vincent asked Brandt the second she slipped into the booth.
“It sounds pretty certain,” she said. “Riley said they were going to move on you in two days.”
Vincent was stressed, but he tried not to show it. “We just need to concentrate on the task at hand,” he said.
“Agreed,” Brandt said. “Are we still on track to scope out the houses?”
“We are. I took the liberty of going ahead and claiming the Bateman twins’ place. Their house is about two miles from Alyssa Moore’s. We’ll post up, keep a close eye out, stay in contact over the phone, and see if anyone tries to make a move on either of them.”
“Copy that.”
Vincent took a breath. “I’m sure Chief Riley is going to get wise to you helping me on this. It’s only a matter of time.”
“He seems to be suspicious already,” Brandt said. “He’s been asking me about your whereabouts.”
“What have you told him?”
“That I haven’t been in contact with you. But I only think there’s so long before he starts to get wise to our little…side investigation.”
“Okay,” Vincent said. “We told the Bateman family and the Moore family to stay put. Hopefully they abide by that.”
As Vincent spoke, Brandt reached into her brown canvas satchel and produced a thick pile of folders. She held it up to Vincent. “This is everything related to your prints. All the photos we took. Everything.”
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