by Ken Casper
After showering and dressing, she nibbled on a bagel while she drank her coffee and paged through Radke’s telephone logs Derek had e-mailed her only minutes earlier. She didn’t know when the young man slept.
Her deputy chief had been calling Rialto or members of his staff several times a month for the past year. Most recently there had been a flurry of calls immediately after her announcement that she’d turned over evidence of twenty missing barrels of yellowcake to federal authorities. She wondered how deeply involved Radke was in Rialto’s organization. As a deputy chief and the head of IA, he had access to virtually everything going on in the department. Was this a new development? How had Rialto convinced the thirty-year veteran to betray his allegiance?
Derek answered the first question by producing logs that showed the captain had been in Rialto’s pocket several years.
Catherine shook her head sadly.
She arrived at police headquarters at seven. At eight Jeff played his informant role and Catherine set the wheels in motion to follow up on the fantastic story about transporting a hot shipment of unknown goods to a wharf on the Ship Channel. Her task force was made up of twenty experienced officers.
At nine Radke stalked into her office without knocking and slammed down a thick stack of papers in the middle of her desk.
She scowled. Did he think his belligerence would intimidate her into backing off? He ought to know better.
“Close the door,” she said.
He worked his jaw, spun around and came close to slamming it.
She didn’t invite him to sit while she flipped through the additional M.E. files he had brought. When she found Jordan’s name where it should be, she knew this time she had it all, though she would do a page-by-page comparison later just to be sure. What Radke had left out might be more significant than what had been put in.
She moved the stack aside, opened her middle drawer and withdrew the logs of his telephone calls. She passed the papers across the desk to him. “I’d like an explanation.”
“What’s this?” His defiance faltered when he saw the data she’d highlighted in green.
“You tell me,” she said.
“Where did you get this?”
“Why have you been calling Buster Rialto?”
Reverting to rebelliousness, he pointed out that he had a right to talk to anyone he damn well pleased. “This is an invasion of my privacy.”
Her hand sliced through the air. “Cut the attitude, Paul. It’s over. I want to know how involved you are with Rialto.”
He collapsed in the chair and raked a hand through his hair. “I . . . I pass on information . . . about things of interest to him. That’s all. Look, I’ve got three kids in college. My wife is suffering from chronic depression, and insurance doesn’t pay a quarter of the bills for her treatment. I need the money.”
“Do you get involved in planning any of his operations?”
“Absolutely not. I would never—”
She huffed out a breath. “I’ll make a deal with you. Give me a detailed, sworn statement about your role in feeding information to Rialto and tender your resignation. In exchange, I’ll talk with the D.A. about not prosecuting you on corruption charges, provided there’s no evidence to indicate you actively participated in any of Rialto’s illegal activities.”
He started to object.
“Or—” she held up her hand “—I will relieve you of duty right now and place you on indefinite suspension. I’m sure the FBI will want to delve more closely into your activities and those of the rest of your family. Either way, Paul, your career is at an end. Cooperate with me and you might be able to hold on to your pension. Don’t, and you’ll go to prison. I don’t think I have to remind you that cops don’t fare well in penitentiaries. Which will it be?”
He took a barrelful of air into his lungs and slumped deeper into his seat.
“Catherine, I never—”
“I need your answer now.”
He closed his eyes, wheezed out a breath, then studied her only a second before averting his gaze. “I’ll tell you what I know. But you’re going to be disappointed,” he added. “I’m a very minor element in his organization. When word gets out, I’m a dead man. You’d better cover your back, too, Catherine, because you’re not going to be safe. Neither will your daughter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
* * *
THE CONVENT of the School Sisters of Our Lady could have been mistaken for any other house on the east side of town, except it was bigger than most. The two-story, yellow-brick, fifty-year-old residence was unremarkable. The lawns that flanked the cracked concrete path leading to the front door were raggedly trimmed and not weed-free. The shrubbery under the windows could have used fertilizing and pruning.
Catherine pressed the doorbell. She jumped when the door opened.
“My name is Catherine Tanner,” she said to the thirtyish woman wearing a blue shirt dress and a wooden cross around her neck. “I’d like to see my daughter, Kelsey.”
“I’m Sister Karla,” the woman said. “Please come in.”
Catherine stepped inside. “I apologize for coming here unannounced, but it is important I see her.”
Sister Karla’s smile was kind and understanding. “You can wait in the parlor while I get her.”
“Thank you.”
The room was medium-sized, plainly furnished, and felt unlived in. Catherine was staring out the lace-draped window, watching a cardinal in its bright red plumage peck at something on the ground, when she heard footsteps behind her.
She had met Sister Cornelia last year when Kelsey had joined the order. In her late fifties or early sixties, the mother superior was polite but somewhat remote, a woman who projected competence and efficiency, rather than warmth.
“Mrs. Tanner, or should I say Chief Tanner—” she approached with outstretched hand “—good afternoon.”
“Catherine, please. I’ve come to see Kelsey.”
“Yes, I know.” Her gray eyes were piercing and unflinching. “She asked me to convey her apologies, but she doesn’t want to see you right now.”
For a moment, Catherine panicked. She wasn’t surprised that Kelsey was reluctant to talk to her, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that she would refuse, or that the mother superior might stand in the way of their meeting.
Catherine’s first impulse was to insist, to remind Sister Cornelia that Kelsey was her daughter and that . . . what? She had the right to make demands, to violate this house of refuge? Perhaps Kelsey had told her about walking in and finding her mother in bed with a man.
An aggressive approach would accomplish nothing with this woman except put her back up. Catherine was there on sufferance. While she hesitated to tell this stranger why she needed to see Kelsey, there seemed no alternative.
“May we sit down?” Catherine asked. “I owe you an explanation. Perhaps then you will understand why I’m here.”
Waving her to a stiff-backed armchair, Sister Cornelia took the one at ninety degrees to it and waited for her visitor to begin.
Catherine told her story concisely, that many years ago her brother-in-law molested her, and she now had reason to believe the same man, her late husband’s brother, may have raped Kelsey.
Cornelia didn’t recoil at the accusation.
“I know I can’t force Kelsey to talk about it,” Catherine concluded. “My hope is to convince her she’s not at fault and that the only way to get past this is to acknowledge it happened and to help me make sure it doesn’t happen again. Her uncle has a young daughter and other nieces. If he can force himself on his brother’s daughter, what’s to keep him from attacking other young girls?”
Cornelia remained silent. The woman would make a damn good interrogator, Catherine reflected. It took willpower not to squirm under her piercing gaze.
“I’d like to talk to Kelsey alone,” Catherine said, “but if the only way I can get to see her is with you present, I’m willing to accept that condi
tion. She needs help, Reverend Mother. I can’t do it all, but talking to me is a necessary first step.”
“I agree.” Cornelia rose to her feet. “I’ll get her. You may speak to her privately, but I’ll be right down the hall in case I’m needed.”
Catherine sighed. “Thank you.”
She didn’t know what to expect from her daughter.
More than a year had passed since that terrible weekend, enough time to recover from physical wounds, but the damage wrought by rape to a young woman’s pride, her confidence and self-esteem, her hopes and dreams, didn’t heal on a time schedule. Catherine had compounded the problem by her indiscretion with Jeff, especially in light of her grandmother’s vicious slander.
Minutes passed. Catherine was beginning to wonder if even the good offices of the older nun were inadequate to bring Kelsey to face her own mother.
Then the door opened.
Catherine was shocked at Kelsey’s appearance. Dark brown smudges hollowed her amber eyes. The corners of her mouth were drawn down, and the air of hopelessness in her stiff posture made Catherine’s heart ache. She ran up to her daughter and hugged her, but Kelsey was unresponsive.
What have I done? Catherine cried to herself. Dear God, what have I done?
“Sister Cornelia insisted I see you.”
“Oh. honey. Please sit down.” Catherine waved to the chair she had vacated and took the one the older nun had used. “I know you are very angry with me, and you have every right to be. But I’m not here to make excuses or to beg for your forgiveness. That’s something I’ll have to earn, and frankly, I’m not sure I ever will.”
“Why are you here?” Kelsey asked.
“To tell you something and to ask you something in return.”
Kelsey remained silent.
“My story starts before you were born,” she said. “Before your father and I were even engaged.”
She recounted the summer day when Jordan invited her to go boating for the first time. She told Kelsey about her initial encounter with Tyrone, about the disgust she felt for herself that day and the days that followed. About the terror that surged through her whenever she saw him. And above all about the unbearable fear that if she said anything she would lose Jordan.
“We weren’t engaged yet. We hadn’t had sex. But I knew I loved him, loved being with him, loved the feeling I got whenever I thought about him, which was all the time.” She smiled ruefully at the fond memories. “He was so handsome, so smart, so much fun to be with, and he made me feel special. I knew I was safe when I was with him, safe and treasured. And then Tyrone tried to rape me.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Kelsey asked.
“Because you need to know. Because I should have warned you about your uncle a long time ago.”
“Did you tell Dad?”
Catherine shook her head. “I should have, but I was afraid. Afraid he might not believe me, but most of all I was ashamed. I blamed myself, thought it was my fault, that I had somehow encouraged Tyrone, sent him the wrong signals. I thought I was responsible for what he had tried to do.
“I wasn’t, of course. But I was young and insecure. Suppose word got out? My parents hadn’t met Jordan yet, and I knew they wouldn’t approve of him. I was hoping to convince them he was a good man, but if his brother stood accused of attempting to rape me, what chance did I have of changing their minds, or anyone else’s?
“So I kept quiet. I thought I had made the right decision. Ty never bothered me again. Neither of us ever mentioned the incident, at least not to each other. I had no idea he’d poisoned his parents against me, and ultimately against you. All because I kept quiet, because I wanted to protect myself. In the end I sacrificed you.”
Kelsey had been listening with quiet respect. Now she became agitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Catherine wished she didn’t have to go on, but she’d come this far. She plunged ahead.
“Ever since you told me about Bill Summers and the yellowcake in the warehouse, I’ve been investigating your uncle because of his close ties to Buster Rialto. As a result, I know Tyrone was up at the family compound on the Saturday you were there studying for your finals.”
Kelsey shot out of her seat. “No,” she snapped, her voice raised in panic.
For a moment Catherine feared Sister Cornelia would storm in and end the visit, but the door remained closed.
“I have a credit card receipt showing he gassed up in Conroe that day. A witness talked to him at the convenience store there after he left you. Tyrone claimed you’d called him after you fell while hiking. On your way home on Sunday, you bought Tylenol at that same store because you were still in pain.”
Catherine regarded her daughter with concern and love. “He was there, honey. There’s no point in denying it. Don’t try to shield him.”
Kelsey started breathing through her mouth, the first stage of hyperventilating. Then she collapsed into her chair, buried her face in her hands and began weeping.
Feeling utterly helpless, Catherine knelt in front of her daughter. She clasped Kelsey by the shoulders and drew her forward into her arms. Together they rocked to and fro. Catherine didn’t try to still her, didn’t urge her to stop crying, or tell her everything was going to be all right. Only time would bring a kind of peace.
Gradually Kelsey’s sobs receded.
“Can you tell me what happened?” her mother asked.
More pain. I’m bringing my little girl more pain.
But it was necessary if Kelsey was to come to terms with what had happened—and for Catherine to get the information she needed to hang the son of a bitch who had done this. Tyrone would pay, she vowed. She would make him pay.
“It was my fault, Mom. I shouldn’t have provoked him.”
Catherine bracketed her daughter’s face and raised her head. “Listen to me, Kelsey. You are not responsible for what he did to you. He is. He alone. No one else. You are not to blame for what he did. Do you understand?”
As tears continued to stream down her face, Kelsey nodded, but Catherine knew the wounded young woman didn’t believe her, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Now, tell me what happened.”
Kelsey closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “I was studying.” She opened her eyes, though they were focused on another time and place. “It was close to one o’clock. I was thinking about fixing myself a sandwich when Uncle Ty showed up. I was surprised to see him and a little annoyed. I didn’t want any interruptions. That was why I’d gone there in the first place.”
She sank back in the chair. Catherine sat in the other one, reached out and held Kelsey’s hand to let her know she wasn’t alone.
“He asked if I’d been out on the lake. I told him no, that I was busy studying. He said you used to like to go sailing, which surprised me, because I’d always had the impression you didn’t care for boats.”
“Now you know why.”
“He said you used to go out on the family cruiser off Galveston with him. Just the two of you, and that you liked . . . to have sex with him there. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It didn’t make sense, but he insisted it was true. I called him a liar, then . . . ” She stopped and hung her head.
“What happened then?” Catherine prompted.
“I did something I shouldn’t have, Mom. I reached up and slapped him. I knew I shouldn’t, but he made me so mad. I slapped him, and he laughed. He said he was glad to see I liked it rough, too, because that was his favorite.”
Catherine clamped her jaw, as rage burned through her.
“He grabbed me and put his arms around me. I struggled to get away, but the more I did, the more he seemed to enjoy it. I didn’t know what to do. Fighting him made him more aggressive, but I couldn’t not fight. I was scared. I could feel him getting—” she blew out a breath “—aroused. I’d never—” She broke off and started crying again.
Catherine swept her into her arms. “I know, honey
,” she murmured. “I know.”
“I was saving myself, Mom. For Derek. Now—”
“Shh. We’ll talk about that later. Tell me what happened next.”
“I tried to kick him, but he was holding me from behind. I managed to get him once in the shin, but it didn’t make any difference. He dragged me into the small bedroom, to the closet and got out some leather belts I didn’t even know were there. I tried to fight him, Mom. I really did, but he’s so big. He bound my arms to the brass headboard. I bucked and cried. He laughed at me. Then he pulled off my pants and tied my legs . . . apart.”
Tears spilled down her face from bloodshot eyes. “I screamed when he did it, Mom,” she said, almost as if she were in a trance. “It hurt so much. I screamed as loud as I could. But there was nobody around. No one heard me. I screamed and I cried and all the time he kept laughing, said I was even better than you were.”
Catherine’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Everything went white as pain racked her. Hot tears burned her eyes, congested her nose, clogged her throat. In spite of her determination to be strong for her daughter, she was crying now, too. The rage inside her was so fierce, that if Tyrone had materialized at that moment, she could have killed him with her bare hands. She had listened to rape victims tell their stories before and couldn’t help being moved by them, but those women had been strangers and so had the rapists. She wasn’t listening to a stranger this time, but to her own flesh and blood, the child she had borne, the best part of the love she had shared with Jordan. As terrible as it sounded, she was glad he was no longer here. This would have destroyed him.
“It’s over now,” she assured Kelsey. “He’ll never hurt you again, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t hurt anybody else.”
In the course of the next hour Catherine had to walk the fine line between being a sympathetic mother trying to console an injured child, and a police investigator collecting evidence of a heinous crime. Since Tyrone went to the cabin with a different woman almost every week for rough sex, it seemed reasonable to assume that not all his partners were pleased with the way he treated them. Of thirty or forty women there had to be a few who were willing to talk. Catherine was determined to find them.
