A reduced rent was the only way Del could afford a home in what was one of Seattle’s more desired neighborhoods. Atop a steep hill just east of downtown, the home had sweeping western views across the I-5 freeway to Seattle’s skyscrapers, Elliott Bay, and across that body of water to Seattle’s islands and the distant Olympic Mountains.
Del parked the Impala on the dirt-and-gravel drive he’d made along the side of the house; he wasn’t about to park his baby in the street. As soon as Del reached the top step, his Shih Tzu, Santino, leapt onto the back of the couch, as he did each night when Del got home from work. “You’re nothing if not consistent,” Del said, looking through the window. “But you can’t tell time for shit.”
Santino’s body wagged furiously as he alternately bolted onto the top of the couch, standing on his hind legs to tap at the window, and ran to the front door. Del had bought Santino, or “Sonny,” for his wife, thinking a dog would keep her company during the nights Del was on call, but in the end, she liked the dog almost as much as she liked Del. Sonny knew it too, which was why he preferred Del. Shih Tzus were apparently an extremely smart breed.
“Okay, okay,” Del said, opening the door. Sonny jumped and spun on his hind legs like a top. Brown and white, his hair was short and curly, unless Del gave him a bath. Then he looked like an exploded cotton ball. Del had named him after the high-strung brother played by James Caan in the Godfather movies—the greatest movies ever made.
Del picked up Sonny from the ground, scratching him under the chin and letting him lick his face. “I’ve barely been gone an hour. I hope you didn’t drop any bombs in here.”
Santino didn’t always make it out the dog door Del had installed at the back of the house, especially on days like today, when it rained. Del did a quick survey of the kitchen linoleum and determined the coast was clear. “Good boy.” He grabbed a dog treat from a box on a shelf in the kitchen and put Sonny down. “You ready?” Del pointed his finger at Sonny, like a gun. “Bam!”
Sonny dropped onto his back, paws in the air as if he’d been shot. “Up,” Del said. Sonny sprang to his feet and took the dog treat from Del’s hand. “Good boy.”
As Sonny crunched on his treat, Del considered his phone. He’d called Celia McDaniel the night before but got her voice mail. She hadn’t called him back. “No sense sitting around like an eighteen-year-old virgin,” he said to Sonny.
He stepped into the den at the back of the house—his man cave. It had a television—an old-fashioned picture tube—but Del rarely turned it on. An assortment of fiction and nonfiction books filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, including Del’s not inconsequential collection of Civil War books. He’d read the biographies of the central players in the conflict, Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Ulysses S. Grant, and Joshua Chamberlain. He’d also collected a few artifacts and some tourist trinkets from Gettysburg and Antietam, as well as the other battlefields he’d visited. On the wall above the couch hung a framed map of the courthouse at the Battle of Appomattox, where Lee fought his last battle on April 9, 1865, before he surrendered, ending the war.
Del sat on the leather couch facing a bay window with a million-dollar view of the city, powered up his laptop, and inserted the USB drive Melton had provided. He clicked on the file for Allie’s e-mails and pulled them up. Seeing Allie’s name, however, pierced him like a sharp knife, and he had to remove his hands from the keyboard and sit back, fighting his emotions. He took several deep breaths, composed himself, and started through the e-mails. There weren’t many; kids today e-mailed about as often as people sent handwritten letters. They texted. They Snapchatted. They did something his nephews called “My Story.”
Most of Allie’s e-mails were school and work related. He skimmed them, paying more attention as he neared the date of her death. He paused on an e-mail dated two weeks before Allie died.
Hey, how come U didn’t text me back? I heard U were back from the prison. Did U escape? HaHa. How come U haven’t called? I’m using e-mail in case your mom took your phone.
Del looked at the message header. The e-mail was from someone called J-Man, e-mail address: [email protected].
The next day, after Allie had still not responded, J-Man sent a second e-mail.
U avoiding me? Been thinking about u non-stop since u left!!! U just disappeared. WTF? Really want to see u.
Again, Allie did not respond.
Del continued through her e-mails, finding several more from the same address. After J-Man’s fifth e-mail, Allie finally wrote back.
Sorry. Mom has my phone so didn’t see any texts. Crazy busy. Um . . . I don’t think we should see each other. It would be too hard. Not going to school this semester. Working. Ugh! Finishing up this summer at home and going to Gonzaga. U take care. Al
J-Man immediately responded, ignoring the statement that they not see each another. He clearly did not get the hint.
Glad U’re still alive! Bummer about U’re phone. Ran into TC. Said you were kickin it, working. No partying? Man, I couldn’t do it. Me? Just chillin and hangin with TC. So U saving up for college or a car? A car I hope! Lasts Longer! HaHa.
Allie responded.
No Car. . HaHa. Just keeping busy. Getting my mind right. Yeah, TC said she saw U. Said you were in a ’ship. TBH I’m happy for you.
J-Man again responded at 11:54 p.m.
No ’ship, man, except to my music. That’s B-S!
Del deduced “’ship” to be short for “relationship,” and TBH to mean “to be honest.” He was betting J-Man’s “’ship” with TC lasted as long as Allie’s stint in rehab.
J-Man continued, We were all just hanging. SRSLY!
Allie’s response was apologetic, and the tone made Del sick to his stomach. He suspected J-Man had an ulterior motive.
Sorry. Didn’t mean A/T. Didn’t expect U to wait around for me.
J-Man wrote: We should get together. When u around? U got your phone back?
Tomorrow?
Allie responded immediately. NAGI. Family keeping close watch on me. And my uncle is a cop with a gun. HaHa.
J-Man persisted. Del had a sense J-Man was an addict looking for a score more than a relationship. He fought to keep his anger in check, but a part of him wanted to find J-Man and remove his fingernails one by one.
No biggie. I’ve missed U. Nobody gets me like U, Al. Sad since U left. Lonely. (:
This time Allie did not respond and Del could almost hear the debate raging in her head.
J-Man e-mailed again to ask, WYCM?
Don’t do it, Del thought. Don’t you call him.
Again, it took some time before Allie replied. Her response broke Del’s heart.
Tomorrow. WCY.
CHAPTER 24
After several long minutes, the door to the left of the bench opened, and Tracy watched Cho, Clark, and Grassilli return. Unlike that morning, when Cho had looked relaxed and confident, he now looked concerned—more than concerned. He looked upset. Clark looked like a deer in headlights with her eyes fixed on an imagined oncoming car. Grassilli, the court reporter, also looked unsettled. Upon getting to his courtroom desk, Grassilli again searched it and the surrounding area. Cho went through the box of evidence and searched counsel’s table.
“Counselor, are you ready to move forward?” Rivas asked.
“Your Honor, we seem to have run into a bit of a snag. We’re having difficulty locating a piece of evidence.”
“What piece of evidence?” Rivas asked.
Cho said, “The video from the convenience store.”
“What do you mean? It’s missing?” Rivas asked. Her eyes shifted between Cho and Grassilli, who kept custody of all evidence to be presented at an Article 32 hearing.
Tracy looked to the gallery. Shaniqua Miller dropped her gaze, then her head. Her mother, seated beside her, closed her eyes, and looked to be breathing deliberately. This was their worst nightmare.
“I mean we had it, but . . .” Cho looked and sounded out of breath. “I
t appears to be missing.”
“When did you last see it?”
“We checked out the materials from NCIS lockup yesterday afternoon in preparation for this hearing.”
“And then what?”
“We checked everything back in.”
“And that was the last time you saw it?”
Cho seemed to give this a moment of thought. “No,” he said, as if remembering something. “It isn’t.” He turned and looked at Battles. “The last time I saw the tape was last night before going home. It was on defense counsel’s desk.”
The members of the gallery, initially stunned or uncertain, began to understand the ramifications of what was transpiring, and to verbally protest. For a group predisposed to believe the Navy would protect one of its own, the lost tape was no accident; it was a deliberate attempt to subvert justice, and Cho had placed Battles at the center of their ire. Several stood, shouting and pointing at her. The MAs stepped between the spectators and the railing. Two brig chasers quickly moved to remove Trejo from the courtroom.
“I’ll speak to counsel in back,” Rivas said over the growing discontent.
Del looked through the remainder of Allie’s e-mails, but found little of interest. He knew that once Allie got her phone back, like most teenagers, the majority of her communication would be either text messages or through her Instagram account. Sonny trotted into the room, jumped onto the couch, and looked up at Del as if to ask, “What are you doing?”
Del moved the newspaper and Sonny dropped into a ball at Del’s side, his usual resting place. “Eating and sleeping,” Del said. “Not a bad life.”
He pulled up Allie’s Instagram account. As he proceeded through it, he felt like he was trying to decipher a foreign language laced with photographs, mostly selfies of Allie, and symbols like smiley faces. He could see her transformation from the sweet girl he’d known to the junkie. In some of the pictures she was so thin she was almost unrecognizable, her nose and chin pointed and pronounced, sunken cheeks, and hooded eyes. Some messages were nonsensical, or simply acronyms that Del could not decipher. GLHF. IANAL. FWB.
He scrolled quickly through them, looking for the date after Allie’s e-mail conversation with J-Man. He found one dated the following morning. J-Man had immediately contacted her. “Relentless little prick,” Del said.
J-Man: KKUT.
Del had no idea what that meant, but it was accompanied by a selfie of J-Man. He had shoulder-length, greasy brown hair, blue eyes, and a wispy goatee. He wasn’t what Del had expected. He’d expected a slimy punk, someone at whom he could direct his anger. J-Man looked like a kid. Del remembered Allie’s counselor’s comment that so many addicted were “good kids, from good homes.”
Allie: I’m here
Allie included a picture of herself. She smiled, though it looked tentative, even a bit scared.
J-Man: There U R. Wow. Too Long!
Allie: IKR?
J-Man: So we getting together 2day?
Allie: Have 2 work
J-Man: Where? I’ll stop by
Allie: Can’t. No friends allowed. Boss is a Nazi.
J-Man: What time u get off?
Allie: 7
J-Man: Drive u home?
“This guy don’t freaking quit,” Del said, causing Sonny to look up at him from the couch.
Allie: Fam home
This time J-Man sent a picture of himself with his eyebrows raised, some silent communication—maybe looking to get high, or to have sex. Forget the fingernails. Del wanted to snap every one of this guy’s fingers.
Allie: NAGI
When J-Man didn’t respond, Allie asked: RUOK?
J-Man: Hard. I really loved U . . . Still do.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Del said. Based on the content of the subsequent text messages, some time passed with no response from Allie. Del silently prayed she hadn’t, that somehow this had all been a big mistake. He looked up at the far wall, at the crucifix that had once adorned the bedroom wall in his mother’s house in Wisconsin, and he made the sign of the cross, not for him but for his niece.
J-Man: U Still there?
Allie: Got to go
Later that night, after Allie got off work, the messages from J-Man started again. Del could feel his anger starting to boil. Several times he had to stop reading and set the computer aside. He went to the windows, watching the cars on the freeway. He knew where J-Man’s conversation was headed and he wondered if the outcome could have been different—if J-Man had stopped texting Allie, if Allie had not responded, if Del had smashed her phone or if he’d found J-Man and smashed him.
He went back to the computer.
J-Man: U home?
Allie: Yes. WRU doing?
J-Man: Kickin it. WTPA?
Del deciphered this to mean, Where’s the party at? J-Man sent a picture. He was clearly high.
Allie: R U hi?
J-Man: SMH Maybe. LOL
Allie: Thought u quit?
J-Man: New stuff SRS shit
Del’s interest was piqued. J-Man included another photo. He looked like a clown, goofy smile, eyes half closed. A young girl, Allie’s age, also high, leaned into the picture beside him.
Allie: U’re with TC?
J-Man: U Should come
Allie: Did U 2 hook up?
J-Man: HaHa
Allie: Thought you said you didn’t?
J-Man: It’s all good. We just hanging. Come by.
Again, minutes passed before Allie answered.
Allie: Can’t
J-Man: IU2U
Del felt sick to his stomach. He deciphered the code to be It’s up to you. He had to force himself to sift through the continuing dialogue, which seemed nearly nonstop over the next three days and nights. J-Man had been relentless, telling Allie he loved her and touting the quality of the heroin, wearing her down. Allie had continued to resist, but maybe only because she didn’t have access to a car. Eventually, she broke, and J-Man’s motives became clear.
Del read the conversation he’d dreaded the most, the night before Maggie found Allie.
J-Man: Pic U up from work?
Allie: K
J-Man: Lookin’ 4-word to seeing U!!!
Allie: We can go 2 my house.
J-Man: What about Fam?
Allie: Out late
J-Man: Sweet. Maybe we can put all that money you’re making to good use
And there it was.
It wasn’t love. And it wasn’t friendship. It was what the counselor had told Del and Maggie. J-Man was no different from all the other junkie losers out there. It was money. It was about buying the next hit, and he didn’t care where the money came from, or how he got it, so long as he got it.
Allie’s final text was like a knife to the heart. Between her addiction, the draw of the heroin, and J-Man’s relentless badgering, she’d never stood a chance.
Allie: Maybe
Del shut his eyes, tears wetting his cheeks. He let out a held breath and it shuddered in his chest. His cell phone rang. Initially he couldn’t find it. He reached below Sonny to retrieve it.
“Yeah,” he said, thinking it was Faz.
“Yeah? Is that how you answer your phone?” The voice was light.
Del pulled back his phone to check caller ID, which said “Unknown.” He cleared his throat. “Celia?”
“Obviously not who you were expecting?”
“I thought it was my partner.” Del checked his watch. He had a couple hours before he needed to get back to the office. “We got the e-mail and text messages off Allie’s phone and computer, and I decided to look at them here at home.”
Celia was momentarily quiet. Then she said, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m all right.”
“I’m just returning your call from last night,” she said. “Why don’t I call back later?”
“No, it’s fine,” Del said. “I was just wondering if . . . maybe you’d like to get a bite to eat again.”
Del noted what she hadn’t said. She hadn’t said she wanted to go to dinner. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah. I guess that would make it tough.”
“I give my closing argument tomorrow morning,” she said.
“Good luck,” he said. “You’ll do great. The jurors love you.”
“You sure you’re okay, Del?”
Del wasn’t sure. “Yeah. Yeah, no problem. I’ll give you a call, maybe when both our schedules calm down.”
As Battles followed Cho and Clark out of the courtroom, she heard the crowd behind her continuing to protest. At the end of the hall they entered a cramped office Rivas had commandeered for the hearing. It contained an austere metal desk and metal shelving with just a few books. Rivas moved behind the desk. Battles stood on the far left next to the shelving. Clark and Cho stood to her right. The court reporter, Bob Grassilli, stood closest to the door.
“Let’s go through this again,” Rivas said to Cho, trying to bring calm to a tense situation. “You checked out the videotape from lockup when?”
“Yesterday afternoon.” Still seething, Cho looked as though ants were crawling over his skin. “We were preparing for this hearing.”
“And you’re sure you signed it back in?”
“Yes. We signed in the evidence box, not just the videotape. The sign-in log will confirm it.”
Cho looked to Grassilli for confirmation. He had a copy of the sheet and reviewed it. “That’s correct, Your Honor. They signed the box back in at five thirty-two p.m.”
“Was the tape in the box at that time?”
Close to Home (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 5) Page 16
