Dunn came up beside her. “The girls usually don’t—I mean didn’t—play together. Because of the age difference. But sometimes they would swing together out there. Now I look at those swings and I want to … I don’t know. Tear it all down.”
Graham gazed down at the swings and imagined the teenager and her little sister swinging side-by-side, laughing, talking. She felt a pang in her chest and knew it could only be the faintest echo of the pain the Dunns were experiencing.
“Do you mind?” She opened the desk drawers, one at a time, forcing herself to work slowly and meticulously. And sensitively, to the extent that was possible.
“Would it make a difference if I said I did?” Dunn said. On the other side of the room, Novak crouched and looked under the bed. “What are you looking for, anyway?”
“Even when people want to keep an affair secret, they often can’t resist keeping mementos. A ticket stub, a small gift, that sort of thing.”
Dunn made a sound of exasperation. “Look, even if it were true, even if Jordan was having some kind of affair with a teacher, what’s the point of proving it? Haven’t we been through enough? Jordan is dead, a victim of a random act of senseless violence. Why tarnish her memory by making her out to be some kind of….”
His voice trailed off, but the unspoken word hung in the air. Slut. Graham felt a spike of anger. “If she was involved with a teacher, it wasn’t her fault. It would mean she was taken advantage of. And it’s possible that this teacher orchestrated her death just to cover up his inappropriate behavior. If that’s what happened, don’t you want to bring it to light? Doesn’t Jordan deserve that?”
Dunn seemed to struggle with these questions. At last, he said, “I don’t know.”
Novak had moved on from the bed to the dresser. Graham finished searching the desk and opened the closet. Dunn hovered by her shoulder but did not interfere. Every so often, they heard the children laughing downstairs. That was the only sound.
After forty-five minutes, it became clear they weren’t going to find anything.
“Can I see her phone?” Graham said.
Dunn stared at her blankly. “We don’t have it. We assumed the police recovered it from the crime scene.”
Graham shook her head. They hadn’t found any phones at the crime scene, but then, they hadn’t really been looking for phones. The shooting had seemed so cut-and-dried at the time—senseless, random killing by a disturbed adolescent—Graham had not even thought to look for the victims’ phones.
“We’ll need to take the laptop with us,” Graham said.
“Go ahead. You won’t find anything. I told you. It’s not true. It’s a filthy lie.”
Given the total lack of evidence, Graham was beginning to doubt the story herself. After all, how likely was it that the young woman who’d lived in this room—mature beyond her years, intellectual, responsible—would be friends with a gossipy airhead like Arabella Minsky, much less confide secrets to her? The thought prompted Graham to ask the question aloud.
“Was Jordan friendly with a girl named Arabella Minsky?”
“Arabella? Of course. John Minksy is my business partner. The girls have been friends since they were toddlers. Why? What does Arabella have to do with this?” His face shifted as understanding dawned on him. “Arabella is your source?”
“I didn’t say that,” Graham said, silently cursing herself for asking the question in the first place.
But now that it was out in the open, the information had an unexpected effect. Knowing that the rumor had come from Arabella Minsky seemed to force Dunn to consider it more seriously. He sat down hard on the bed. “A teacher. Oh, Jordan.” Tears leaked from his eyes, and this time he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Oh, why didn’t you say something to us?”
Graham waited patiently for Dunn to regain his composure. Novak, meanwhile, collected the laptop.
25
Jessie met Graham and Novak at the Roundhouse. The detectives were returning from a visit to the house of Jordan Dunn’s family, but judging by what Graham had told her on the phone, they hadn’t found much. Their hope was that Kaelee Teal, their other new lead, would be more promising. They had asked her to come in for an interview.
Jessie arrived ahead of them and was waiting in the Homicide Division when Graham and Novak walked in. Graham had a frustrated frown on her face. Novak was holding a laptop under one arm. Jessie caught their attention and they headed toward her.
“Jordan Dunn’s computer?” Jessie said.
Graham nodded. “Maybe there’s something useful on it. If the girl was really sleeping with a teacher, there’s got to be some evidence somewhere. A photo, an email. Something.”
“What about her phone?” Jessie said.
She thought she saw a look of embarrassment flash across Graham’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “We don’t have it.”
“Are you looking for it?” In the modern world, phones had practically become extensions of people’s personalities, and the contact lists, notes, web browser history, GPS data, and other information stored on the small devices could be invaluable. Novak, who seemed excessively attached to his, should have known that better than anyone.
“How’s it going, Toby?” said a deep voice.
Jessie turned, then looked up. They had been joined by a giant—a man who had to be close to seven feet tall, and who sported a thick, black beard that would have fit in better at a lumberjack convention than a metropolitan police station. He had hands that were bigger than some people’s faces, and he used them to take Jordan Dunn’s laptop out of Novak’s grip.
“I’ve had better days,” Novak said to the man. “Emily Graham, Jessie Black, meet Eldon Greenfield, one of the department’s best computer geeks.”
Graham stared at him with an openly skeptical expression. “You don’t look like a computer geek.”
Jessie had to agree.
Eldon sighed. “Sorry, I left my pocket protector at home today. So, what’s the story? Perp delete the hard drive? Use some kind of fancy encryption?”
“It’s not the perp’s computer,” Novak said. “It belonged to one of the victims. And I don’t know if it’s encrypted. We never turned it on.”
Eldon stared at him. “And you called me because.…”
“You’re a computer guy. We’re hoping, I don’t know, that you could run some kind of search for us. We’re looking for information about a boyfriend, or a teacher.”
Eldon scratched his beard. “You don’t need ‘one of the department’s best computer geeks’ to run a search like that, Toby. This is beneath me.”
“Did I mention she may have been having sex with the teacher?” Novak said.
Eldon perked up, apparently developing a sudden interest in his assignment. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Fifteen minutes after Eldon Greenfield left with Jordan Dunn’s laptop, Kaelee Teal arrived. Once again, Jessie retreated to the observation room to watch through one-way glass. Graham and Novak escorted the former cheerleader into the same interview room they’d used for Arabella Minsky. But the teenager that entered the room was nothing like Arabella.
Kaelee walked with the confidence of a runway model—all hips and long legs—and had an outfit to match. She slid out of her jacket, flashing the tell-tale plaid lining of Burberry, and handed it to Graham as if the detective were a coat check attendant. Jessie wasn’t exactly a fashionista, but she knew enough about designer labels to surmise that Kaelee’s blouse, pencil skirt, and heels probably cost more than Jessie’s, Graham’s, and Novak’s wardrobes combined. Not to mention the Fendi bag she placed on the battered metal table, or the meticulous makeup, salon-perfect blonde hair, or professionally pristine maroon fingernails. Not bad for a teenager.
The question was, why dress up for a meeting with the police? Was this a case of a wealthy but oblivious teenager not knowing any better, or was there intent behind her choices? A message sent to her interrogators that she was n
ot intimidated by them, that she was above the law? Watching her, Jessie wondered.
Kaelee took a seat in one of the metal chairs. She leaned back and draped one long, bare leg over the other, appearing totally at ease in the grim police interview room. Graham sat down across from her. Novak remained on his feet, leaning against a wall and trying to be unobtrusive in a corner. Jessie smirked. Apparently, the plan was for Graham to try to make a connection with Kaelee and initiate some “girl talk.” That strategy had worked with Arabella Minsky, but Jessie had her doubts it would be effective here.
“Thanks for coming, Kaelee.”
“Did I have a choice?” There was no anger or even irritation in the girl’s calm voice, just a simple question. But the girl’s blue eyes seemed to watch Graham with the sharp attentiveness of an opponent.
Graham put on a surprised expression. “Of course. We asked you to stop by as a favor, not an order.”
“I didn’t realize that. You should be more careful not to give the wrong impression.” Again, no overtly adversarial tone, but the girl’s eyes seemed to glint with subdued anger.
I don’t like her.
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression,” Graham said. Of course this was a bald-faced lie—half of the police department playbook involved giving people the wrong impression, whether to get them to waive their right to counsel, consent to a warrantless search, or voluntarily come to the Roundhouse to be interrogated—but Graham managed to sound sincere.
“No worries,” Kaelee said. She glanced at her watch. Diamonds reflected the overhead fluorescent lights as she turned her wrist. She said, “I have lunch plans in an hour. Do you think this will take a long time?”
“It shouldn’t take long at all. We’re just wrapping up our investigation of the shooting, and we’re hoping you can help us fill in some of the blanks in our investigation.”
“Wrapping up?” Kaelee said. “What about that warrant that was on the news? It didn’t lead anywhere?”
Jessie leaned forward and tried to read the girl’s face. Was that a hint of a smirk? A mischievous twinkle in her eyes? Jessie couldn’t be sure. Kaelee was frustratingly calm, her features as smooth as polished stone.
“I can’t discuss that part of the investigation at this time,” Graham said.
“I see.” Kaelee shrugged. “So what do you want to know?”
“You used to be on the Stevens Academy cheerleading squad, right?”
“I was the best one on it. The only one with a private coach outside of school. Not that anyone cared, obviously.”
“You were pretty angry when they cut you from the squad because of your grades?” Graham said. Her voice was all sympathy, as if she were describing an outrageous injustice.
“I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘angry.’ Say I was disappointed. I thought the school’s administrators had better judgment.” She shrugged. “Life goes on.”
For you, it does, Jessie thought.
“Just disappointed?” Graham said. “Are you sure? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being angry when something like this happens. It’s an appropriate reaction.”
Kaelee shrugged again. Her poise didn’t slip even a notch. “I wasn’t angry. This is only high school. It’s nothing, in the scheme of things. I was disappointed. But I moved on.”
“Okay,” Graham said. Then she paused, as if thinking. “I only ask because we heard that you told some people you were going to do something to get back at the squad.”
Kaelee’s lips turned down in a frown of distaste. “You talked to Arabella. I thought I smelled that idiot’s prescription dandruff shampoo.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you believe anything that girl says, you must really be grasping for straws.”
“Well, like I said, we heard that you said you were going to do something to the squad.”
“That’s called hearsay, right? When someone tells you what another person told them?”
Jessie stiffened at the girl’s use of the legal term. She was right. And presumably she raised the issue because she knew that, generally, hearsay wasn’t permitted as evidence in court because it wasn’t a witness’s first-hand knowledge, and denied a defendant the right to question his or her accuser.
The girl’s done some legal research. Why?
Was Kaelee Teal actually True_Man? It didn’t seem out of the question. Even from this brief interview, she came across as smooth, calculating, a game-player. All traits of a sociopath. With her long legs and cold blue eyes, she might make a hell of a femme fatale one day—assuming she didn’t spend the rest of her life in prison.
“It won’t be hearsay if you tell me yourself,” Graham said.
“I don’t remember ever saying I was going to get anyone back.”
Not quite a denial, Jessie noted.
“Did you refer to the other girls on the squad as ‘stupid whores’?”
“I don’t remember saying that either.”
“But you were disappointed,” Graham said, her tone rich with sarcasm. “Were you disappointed in yourself for not studying harder, or did you just blame everyone else?”
“Studying harder? Please. Do you think the troglodytes on the football team study hard? Some of them can barely tie their shoes.”
“A double standard,” Graham said. “But what about the other cheerleaders? Could they tie their shoes, and keep their grades up, too?”
“Grades aren’t always about studying.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I should have spread my legs for a few of my teachers,” she said with a sarcastic grin. “That seemed to work for at least one of my squad mates. Maybe that’s the only way for a woman to succeed, right? The lessons we learn at the august Stevens Academy school for gender equality.”
As she spoke the last two words, she seemed to challenge Graham with her gaze. That’s right, her eyes seemed to say, I know all about Manpower.
Graham didn’t take the bait. “Are you talking about Jordan Dunn?”
“I’m just repeating some vague gossip I might have heard.”
“Do you know the name of the teacher?”
“Like I said, vague gossip. Unlike some girls, I don’t really take an active interest in that kind of drama. I’m too busy living my own life. What business is it of mine if a girl wants to whore herself out to turn a C into a B?”
“For someone who’s only disappointed, and not angry, you sure sound angry.”
Jessie agreed. And she had to wonder, how could someone so young and so obviously privileged be so bitter? At her age, Jessie would have given anything for what Kaelee had—flawless beauty, fancy clothes, two parents.
When Kaelee didn’t respond, Graham said, “Okay. So you’re cut from the squad, while other girls less deserving than you—girls without private coaches, girls who trade sex for grades—get to stay on the squad. And you’re disappointed. What did you do about it? Did you complain to the administration? Or did you decide to handle things in your own way?”
Kaelee was silent for a stretch of seconds as she studied the detective. “Am I some sort of a suspect?”
“We’re just gathering information,” Graham said.
“Because I don’t recall you reading me my rights. Or asking my parents’ permission to question me without them being present.”
“You’re not under arrest.” Graham did an admirable job of sounding confident, but Jessie suspected she knew she was on shaky ground. Very shaky ground. This teen was too well-informed.
“So I’m free to leave?”
Graham hesitated. “I’d prefer if you stayed. You’ve been incredibly helpful, and we have a lot of other questions about the cheerleading squad.”
Kaelee rose from her chair. “I’m done with your questions. May I have my jacket, please?”
Graham rose from her chair as well, but she didn’t reach for the jacket. “Can you spare another ten minutes? We can move on to another subject.”
“I’ll t
ell you what, Detective Graham,” she said. She reached past Graham and grabbed the jacket herself, then swung it over her shoulders and thrust her arms through the sleeves. “If you have other questions, you can ask my lawyer.”
Enough was enough. They’d pushed the boundaries of the Miranda law as far as they could go. Jessie leaned forward, found the right button on the console in front of her, and spoke into a microphone linked to a receiver in Graham’s ear.
“Let her go.”
26
That night, Graham and Novak sat in a parked car. Across the street, the Teal house stood on a spacious suburban plot. Graham had ended the Kaelee Teal interview earlier than she’d wanted, rather than risk a Miranda violation. She’d had to let the girl go just when she’d begun to disturb her icy veneer. Graham hoped Kaelee might still be rattled enough to do something rash. Something stupid. Hence, this good old fashioned stakeout.
Sitting in a car for hours with Novak was no picnic, though.
She’d forgotten how irritating her partner could be. She tried not to glare at him as he noisily sucked a Frappacino from a Starbucks cup and thumbed through the latest Facebook updates on his phone. Her fingers tightened painfully around the steering wheel.
“Would you put that thing away?” Her voice came out harsher than she’d intended. “The screen’s glow is going to give us away. You may as well bust out a spotlight and shine it on our car.”
Novak gazed doubtfully at the Teals’ house across the street. Several of the rooms in the mini-mansion were lit up. Graham knew what he was thinking. The family was awake and busy, probably not paying much attention to the quiet residential street beyond their windows. But he stuffed his phone in his pocket anyway.
Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1 Page 67
