Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  Sean was beginning to like how Alex said that word, and he watched with interest as she clicked into another screen.

  “I found this interesting message in johnjohn’s junk folder. Looks like it got caught in the spam filter, so johnjohn might never have seen it.”

  Sean leaned forward as he read the message:

  Clock’s ticking. You know what you have to do. We have the proof so don’t make us go public.

  “Now that definitely sounds like extortion,” Ric said.

  Sean read the sender name, JMJFlowergirl. “Those are Jasmine’s initials. Jasmine Michelle Jones.”

  “And her name is a type of flower.” Callie looked at Sean. “The second victim sent this. And it’s almost identical to a message in the first victim’s drafts folder.”

  “And look at the timing, November second,” Sean said. “That’s right after the draft message. Samantha and Jasmine were working together to extort this guy. Wonder what this ‘proof’ is they’re threatening to make public. Maybe pictures or video or something?”

  “But where’s the money demand?” Callie asked.

  “Maybe a separate email that got deleted. If this message ended up in the Junk folder, maybe they emailed him again sometime later.” Sean looked at Alex. “Is that possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, but who are they trying to shake down?” Ric asked. “We have no link to our prime suspect, Eric Mahoney. Or am I missing something?”

  All eyes turned to Alex, and Sean liked the satisfied look on her face.

  “I traced the IP to find out where these johnjohn emails are being pulled. Only two locations came up. One is a location in Marshall County, about a hundred miles south of here. The second location is in Burrville. The specific network is maintained by the county justice complex.”

  “That’s the courthouse,” Sean said. “That’s our warrant right there.”

  “Hell yeah, it’s our warrant.” Ric pushed back his chair. “I’m going to go call Rachel, give her the update, see how fast she can move on this. Alex, will you talk through all this with the DA?”

  “Of course. But are you sure you’re ready to bring her in? I mean, yes, the courthouse is on this network, and that would include Eric Mahoney’s office. But I can’t trace this to him specifically. At least not yet. I know you guys are in a hurry, but I’ve got some more work to do here.”

  “Keep working.” Ric got to his feet. “But in the meantime I’m going to see what we can do with what we have.”

  He left the room, and Alex watched him go with a look of concern.

  “Don’t worry,” Sean told her. “Rachel makes a habit of dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s.” He turned to Callie, who was staring at the screen on the wall. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m still not convinced.”

  “How can you not be convinced? Alex just linked both victims to our prime suspect with an extortion scheme.”

  “Walk me through it,” Callie said. “I want to play devil’s advocate.”

  Sean summoned all his patience, when what he wanted to do was race over to the courthouse and drag the judge off in handcuffs. “Okay, so we know these victims knew Judge Mahoney when they were teenagers. And Mahoney associates with crooked cops who have been known to hook up with underage prostitutes.”

  Alex looked startled. “He does?”

  “Allegedly,” Callie said. “But fine, keep going.”

  “So, say he somehow manipulated these girls while he had control over their cases. It’s a classic abuse of power. These girls are isolated and vulnerable, they’re in trouble with the law and have zero credibility. So he demands sex from them.”

  “Where?”

  “Could have been a lot of places. I’ve seen some sick stuff over the years when it comes to abuse. The point is, these were troubled teens, and that’s why he picked them. A lot of kids like that end up on the streets or on drugs, in jail, you name it. They slip through the cracks, which is why they appeal to predators like Mahoney.”

  Callie shuddered. “That’s twisted.”

  “I see it all the time with internet predators,” Alex said. “They have a knack for finding victims who are trapped in bad circumstances, and they manipulate them into keeping quiet. You wouldn’t believe how often it happens.”

  “But then these two girls crossed paths at some point,” Sean said. “Maybe they compared notes along the way, maybe through AA, and realized they’d been abused by the same man, who’s still sitting in his position of power, probably still doing it. So, they decided to confront him and shake him down for money. We know Jasmine was nearly broke. Maybe she convinced Samantha to help her, and together they confronted Mahoney. When threatened with exposure, the man snapped and killed them. First Samantha. And then Jasmine.”

  “What about the drugs in Samantha’s car?”

  “Like we said at the beginning, that could be a plant to throw off investigators.”

  “I think you have a long way to go to prove all that,” Alex said.

  “We’ll get there,” Sean said. “Wait until we get a warrant for the judge’s phone and computer, and we can start connecting all these dots. I’ll bet he has a pair of shoes with a herringbone tread pattern and an empty sheath from that hunting knife we recovered. We need to search his home, his car, his office.”

  Alex didn’t look convinced as she packed up her laptop. “I’ve got to get back to Delphi. I’ll let you know when I dig up more, but I figured you guys would want to know about this.”

  Sean got to his feet. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” She walked out.

  Sean turned to Callie. “I knew this was going to happen today. I fucking knew it when I got up this morning.”

  “Sean.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing’s happened yet. And this isn’t enough for a warrant.”

  “Are you kidding? I bet we have something by lunchtime.”

  Callie stood and put her hands on her hips. “Sean, think. We still don’t have conclusive evidence that Eric Mahoney is our guy.”

  “Did you listen to a word Alex said?”

  “Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. She said those emails were pulled from two locations, and one of them happens to be the courthouse.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yeah, and who else has a reason to be in and out of the courthouse? Bradley Mahoney. The lawyer. Who practices law in Burr County, among other places, and also happens to be the judge’s nephew. Who’s to say that guy didn’t sit down at some clerk’s computer to check his email? Or duck into his uncle’s office to use his computer? Or, for that matter, it could be anybody. Right now we have no way of knowing exactly who was actually sitting at that computer terminal logging on to the Gmail account that’s receiving extortion messages from JMJFlowergirl.”

  “I can’t believe you’re dragging your feet on this. Don’t you want to arrest this scumbag? He’s probably still operating this whole scheme.”

  “Yes, but I want to do it by the book.”

  “We are.”

  Callie crossed her arms. “Is it or is it not possible that some other person besides the judge could have logged on to an email account from a computer at the courthouse?”

  “Sure, it’s possible.”

  “So, until we know for sure that Eric Mahoney is our killer, I don’t think this is enough. And I think we need to tell that to Rachel. She’s not even aware that one of the suspects we’ve looked at is an attorney who is in and out of that same courthouse.”

  Sean stared at Callie. He couldn’t believe she was putting up this much resistance.

  “At the very least,” she said, “we need to get corroboration from another source, such as the DNA on that drinking glass that Brooke is testing.”

  “Brooke is not testing anything. Her lab is. And I don’t want her involved in this.”

  “She’s already involved. And we’d be a lot better off if we have tho
se results back so we know for certain we’re right before we rush out and execute a warrant in the office of a sitting judge. This is a sensitive case, Sean. It could be a career wrecker if we botch this up. Why do you think Brooke went to all that trouble to get us that drinking glass?”

  Sean ran his hand through his hair. “God damn it.”

  “I don’t care if you think I’m being a pain in the ass. You’re going to thank me if it turns out that DNA doesn’t match and we’re targeting the wrong guy.”

  Ric poked his head into the conference room. “Rachel’s all over it. She said she’ll have something for use within two hours.”

  He left, and Sean looked at Callie and said, “Go to Delphi and track down those DNA results.”

  “And where are you going?”

  “To the courthouse to sit on this judge.”

  Sean swung by his desk to grab his jacket and was rushing out the door when Marjorie flagged him down.

  “Sean, don’t go anywhere.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “There’s someone here to see you,” the receptionist said. “Farrah Saunders? She says it’s urgent.”

  Sean switched directions and headed for the lobby. “Where is she?”

  “I put them in conference room A.”

  “Them?”

  “She’s got someone with her.”

  Sean crossed the bull pen to the conference room, where Farrah stood outside the door. She wore a black pantsuit and had her hair in a messy bun, and Sean could tell by the look on her face that she was in crisis.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have a question for you.” She gazed at him and swallowed nervously. “Is Eric Mahoney the target of your investigation?”

  Sean glanced at the closed door. “I can’t discuss an ongoing—”

  “Sean, please. I need you to be straight with me here. Is the judge a suspect?”

  Sean paused for a moment. “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Farrah, whatever you’ve got for me, I need it now. I’m on my way to execute a search warrant.”

  She nodded. “I’ve got someone you need to talk to.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Let me introduce you, and you can hear what she has to say.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Sean could tell at a glance that Hannah Lipsky didn’t want to be here. The nineteen-year-old wore ripped jeans and a black hoodie, and her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing an intricate vine tattoo on her skinny arms.

  Sean introduced himself, and she watched with a sullen look as he took a seat.

  “Thanks for coming in.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Farrah said.

  Hannah looked panicked. “Wait, you’re not staying?”

  “Would you be more comfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  Farrah glanced at Sean before pulling over a chair from the corner of the room. She positioned it so that she was between Sean and the witness, as though she were a mediator or maybe a court-appointed attorney.

  Hannah had brown hair dyed black at the ends, and hostile blue eyes, which she settled on Sean. “So . . . what do you want to know?”

  “Why don’t I start with some background.” Farrah looked from Hannah to Sean. “Four years ago, Hannah was arrested as part of a drug raid over in Burr County.”

  “You were fifteen?” Sean looked at her. She could have passed for fifteen now with those bony arms, and Sean noticed the parallel scars inside her wrists.

  “Almost sixteen. I was at my boyfriend’s place, and these cops kicked in the door and cuffed everyone up.” She shrugged.

  “Hannah appeared in Judge Mahoney’s courtroom following her arrest. She had no prior record at that time—”

  “Shoplifting,” Hannah cut in.

  “Oh. Excuse me. Shoplifting.” Farrah nodded. “Anyway, the judge gave her probation with thirty hours of community service.” Farrah paused and looked at Hannah. “Why don’t you tell Detective Byrne what happened after that?”

  Hannah shifted in her chair and refolded her arms. Sean watched her, hoping he was wrong about what she planned to say.

  “So, then”—she cleared her throat—“about three weeks later, or maybe it was a month—I don’t know—but I was still on probation, and I snuck out of my house to go to the park with some friends and this cop rolls up, and he’s, like, ‘Hey, who’s got the weed?’ ”

  “Which park?” Sean asked.

  “Mayfield. Over by the train tracks.”

  “It’s in Burrville,” Farrah said.

  Sean nodded.

  “So . . . he starts patting us down, you know. I had a bag on me. He told my friends they could go, and then it’s just me and him, and he asks me my name and I tell him, and he runs me and finds out I’m on probation, and then he’s, like, ‘What are we gonna do about this, Hannah?’ ”

  Sean gritted his teeth as she shifted in her chair again.

  “And then he’s, like, ‘Think we need to take you to see the judge.’ ”

  Sean looked at Farrah, and she was watching Hannah intently.

  “And where did he take you?” Sean asked.

  “It was late. Maybe eleven or something, so I thought maybe he was taking me to the police station, but he took me to the courthouse. He parked around back and said the judge was in his office.” She looked down at her arms. “We went up, and there he was sitting behind this desk with a green lamp on it. And he”—she hesitated a beat—“he waved me over and he wanted me to blow him, so I did.”

  “He asked you for oral sex?”

  “He didn’t ask. But it was obvious, all right? He had his pants unzipped and he was just hanging out there, like, waiting for me to do it.”

  “Where was the officer at this point?”

  “In the hallway. On the other side of the door.” She looked away.

  “Hannah.”

  She met his gaze.

  “Did the officer ever identify himself to you?”

  She shook her head. “He was big. I remember that. He looked like a skinhead. I don’t know his name, but he had a gun and a badge and his car smelled like vomit.”

  Farrah cleared her throat, and Sean looked at her. “We walked through the incident this morning, in great detail. Hannah let me record our session on my phone.”

  Sean nodded. “What happened after that, Hannah?”

  She shrugged and looked away. “That was it. He zipped up. And he said, ‘You’re free to go.’ And I walked out, and the cop was waiting for me.”

  “Where did he take you?”

  “Back to the park. He dropped me there and told me to stay out of trouble or I’d have to go before the judge again. I remember that, ‘go before the judge,’ like it was a trial or something.”

  Sean clenched his teeth as he watched her. His gaze went to the scars on her wrists. He thought of Jasmine’s file that he’d spent half the night reading in front of Mahoney’s house. Jasmine had been admitted to the ER for a drug overdose when she was fifteen, the same summer she first appeared in Mahoney’s courtroom.

  Sean took a deep breath. “So, he dropped you off in the park . . . and then what did you do?”

  “You’re asking if I went to the police?” She sneered. “Who would believe me?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. But where did you go?”

  She brushed a tear from her cheek and looked down. “I wanted to go to my boyfriend’s but . . . I couldn’t. I didn’t want to tell him, so I went home. My mom was passed out. She never even knew I was gone.”

  • • •

  Brooke knelt beside the ditch and collected a shard of glass with a pair of tweezers. At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see Roland standing behind her finishing off a sandwich.

  “Hey, thanks for joining us.”

  “I was at lunch.” He dusted off his hands and crouched beside her. “What’s the scoop?”

&nbs
p; “SUV versus pedestrian. Hit and run.”

  Roland grimaced. “Damn.”

  “The paramedics just left with the victim. She was in bad shape.” Brooke nodded at the pool of blood on the asphalt a few feet from where Maddie was setting up her tripod. A uniform had put down cones to reroute traffic.

  “This the headlamp?” Roland asked.

  “That’s right. I’ve got this area covered, but you could go help Maddie. We haven’t had time to measure the tire marks yet.”

  Roland stood and walked off as Brooke’s phone chimed in her pocket. She sealed her evidence envelope and dropped it into her kit, then pulled out her phone.

  “Porter.”

  “Brooke, it’s Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn Spence.”

  The distress in her voice made Brooke stand up. “What’s wrong, Kaitlyn?”

  “Has Cameron called you? Have you seen him?”

  “No, why?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Isn’t he in school?”

  “No. I just came from there. I was supposed to pick him up after lunch for his interview with the police artist and I went by to get him and he wasn’t in the office and his science teacher says he never showed up for fourth period—”

  “Kaitlyn, where are you right now? Have you called the police?”

  “I’m almost there. Maybe he went over there without me. But why would he do that? The police station is, like, two miles from the middle school!”

  Brooke’s heart was racing now. “Yes, but . . . maybe he’s there. Cameron walks everywhere, right? Two miles isn’t a long distance for him.”

  “But he’s not answering his phone.”

  Brooke looked at the congested road where a uniformed officer directed traffic around the accident scene. “Kaitlyn, listen to me. When you get to the police station, if Cameron’s not there, ask for Sean Byrne or Ric Santos right away. Tell them what happened.”

  “I don’t know what happened! He’s just gone! Why isn’t he at school? Are you sure you haven’t missed a call from him?”

  “I’m sure, but why would he call me?”