by Coulton, JC
“It’s at the front of the queue now, Detective. Sit tight.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. The woman is notoriously stubborn, and incredibly fair. The last time someone tried to bribe her with a mocha latte and a muffin, she told them to go to hell.
“Thanks Walker.”
She nods and gets on with her business. It looks like the lab Gods are nodding in my favor, even if the rest of the universe is going to shit. Now I just need to come clean with Lieutenant Jacob about Carrie.
I get back downstairs, and Jacob isn’t in her office, so I head back to the cage and make notes on the new information. I’ve still got the tissue that Carrie scrawled the numbers down on. I search them out on the database. Both are unlisted, but when I authorize a department search I find that one is a Times Square location.
No surprise here—the first number is the office line at Caliber, and the second is from a company called Blue Star Office Supplies, located in Brooklyn. I suspect it was Jessup trying to get hold of April from two different places, but there’s hardly anything criminal about an uncle calling his niece—except that she was purposely ignoring his calls. It’s interesting, but it’s not the case breaker I was hoping for. Fuck. The anger rises up again, and I look down at my hands on the keyboard, trying to steady them.
I take some time is to look more closely into April’s background and personal history. I check her social media pages and her high school records. Articles about her parents’ car crash come up, and some pictures of April and her parents at her high school graduation. There’s a listing with a photo of April at the Veterinary clinic where she works. I examine the other staff members, wondering who she was close to. If she’s not telling Carrie everything, there may be someone else she’s confiding in. Probably one of the other nurses.
It doesn’t look like April has much to hide, but I can go deeper. There are records somewhere from her state-approved grief counseling sessions. Normally I’d need to get a warrant to access people’s information like this. This is clearly a situation where she’s in danger, so I bypass the permissions page with my password and click through to her session notes.
I’ve been to my fair share of counselors on account of this job, and I can tell from the first session that April didn’t want to be there. The therapist notes her as reluctant to participate and unwilling to explore deeper issues around her grief. April only went to two sessions before she stopped showing up all together.
She’s noted as having a classic case of repressed grief, presenting in general anxiety. There’s no documentation of the reasons. This information lines up with what Carrie mentioned about April being a worrier, and I’m surprised Carrie even managed to convince her to come to New York for a girl’s mini break.
Reading further, I see April has contributed several articles to a local blog on dog care and the importance of spaying and neutering. Her writing is passionate, even though it’s not a topic I’d read about. There are also pictures of her with a Golden Retriever, looking vibrant and happy.
This must have been before her parents died. In every photo since then, April looks pale and worried. She’s tagged in a few group photos on Facebook and there’s one guy who shows up more than once. I follow the tags to his page and see that he has a girlfriend already. If they were having an affair, it certainly wouldn’t be laid out on Facebook.
There’s still nothing solid to follow. April’s posts are few and far between, and most of them are animal-related. She doesn’t seem to have any other social media accounts. Her personal files will take a little more effort, but I decide now’s the time to face Jacob before her afternoon gets too busy.
I’m in luck when I wander past her office again. I see through the glass windows that she’s alone, typing. I knock on the door and wait. She doesn’t look up right away, so I get a moment to see how intent she is on whatever she’s working on. For some reason, I start to wonder if this woman is part of any scheme to put April in danger. I don’t know and I have nothing that points to her. What I do know is she’s my boss, I report directly to her as part of the anti-trafficking squad, and it’s time for me to let her in on the situation with April’s phone, and Carrie.
“Afternoon Lieutenant,” I say.
She looks at the clock and sees that it’s past noon. “Come in, Anderson. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter Three
Carrie
I slide back into the prone position I was in before. I must have gone to sleep, because when I open my eyes, the shadow through the skylight has moved over me. I’m cold. I get up to turn on the heater, and grab one of the blankets rolled up in the basket beside the sofa.
The bookshelf is full with tempting treats, and I wonder how long it’s been since I just shut my brain off with a good book.
I browse the shelves for a second but nothing seems appealing. I’m about to turn on the TV when I come across the bound spine of an old photo album.
Well this is officially rated as stalking, but I rationalize that if his mother hadn’t abandoned them, she would want me to see them. That’s supposed to be a rite of passage when a guy brings bring home a girl, or so I tell myself.
I make some herbal tea, and sit cross-legged to start perusing their special memories. The album is a combination baby book and photo album. There are pages showing both Brenda and Blake’s birth weights and early eating habits. They are signed by a midwife, so I assume his mother was still under care.
The pictures and staged that follow in the coming months are more sketchy. Sometimes the writing is neat and concise, while other times there are just scrawls and whole months missing from their early lives.
Who knows when Blake got his first tooth or when Brenda took her first step. Seeing this makes me sad for them both. Their parents were absent from the start. Clearly it was for different reasons, but it looks like his Mom may have had mental health issues, maybe even before she gave birth to them. There’s a brochure on post-natal depression tucked into the inside of the album, along with some coupons for baby milk that she’d obviously meant to save.
I turn the pages and the photos begin. The first is little Blake sitting on his Dad’s knee. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, but Blake is staring at him with adulation. That’s what babies do. They love you and love you until finally they learn you don’t love them back. Humanity is so depressing. There’s one family shot with the four of them, and a few of Blake’s Mom holding unidentified little bundles of blanket and looking tired. Later on in the album, there are shots of Blake on his first day of school.
It almost jumps forward a decade, with no photos at all of their time in grade school. The siblings next appear at age fourteen or so in a group of kids the same age. I look closely, but don’t recognize the others. This must be from before they came to Iowa. There are pictures with Brenda looking shy, holding the hand of her first boyfriend, and then come the Blake photos.
Page after page of Blake holding up a bottle, a girl plastered against him, or he’s pumping his fist at some music or some victory etched in history. These have been clearly taken by some adoring girl, and I can’t help but laugh at the way she’s tried to capture him unaware. I bet these were from one of his first girlfriends, because he looks about fifteen years old. Several are taken during parties with people of all ages around him. Most of them are displaying the meaty, intoxicated grins of teenagers after midnight. I can almost imagine the conversations, and the sleazy dudes that were his weekend companions.
There are no shots of either of them taken in Cedar Rapids. From what Blake told me about his Dad’s drinking and his Mom leaving, I’m not surprised. It’s sad to look at the rest of the photos. By then, the family was almost entirely disintegrated with Blake and Brenda doing whatever they could to get by. Next, I see some photos of Blake dressed all in black, ready for work as a doorman. He looks handsome.
The next page has a set or pictures taken on the same night. He’s standing next to a gorgeous girl with j
et-black hair and sly-looking eyes. Her skin is beautiful and I can’t help feeling a spark of envy. This must be after he left Cedar Rapids, during the party days, sometime before he got sober. It’s the way the two of them are looking at each other that’s disturbing. I’m all for being friends with the ex, but there’s no way I’d want this woman in Blake’s life if I’m seeing him. They look like their connection is strong, and even stand in the same way. I can just tell this woman broke his heart.
Something in me softens toward him. He might still think I’m a liar, but I want to hear his voice. I stand at the counter and use the phone to key in the number on his card. It’s still pinned to the notice board where he left it, in case of emergencies. This isn’t an emergency, but I don’t care. There was something so sad seeing all of those photos, he looked so different. Like the Blake I used to know was trying to play grown up.
I know those party days must have been dark times. The New York City club scene can be flashy and appealing, but after some time, my guess is that it starts to feel grimy. I began to see it when April and I were out, and I read about it all the time. Everyone’s a victim of something. Money buys anything you like, and the highest bidder always wins.
Maybe I should have been a Detective. I couldn’t stop noticing the careless drug deals happening right in front our faces. Most people were out to have fun, but there was so much sketchy energy in the clubs—upscale or not. Maybe I’m just drawn to it. Who knows.
The number I call finally starts to ring. It must need to connect through the police operator because I hear several clicks. He doesn’t pick up though. I start to wonder, does he see it’s me and is purposely ignoring the call? I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. But then again, I’m not sure of anything anymore. I hang up and try the line again. Still no answer. Weird. I’m standing in the kitchen and my head gets lost in the past.
I’m drawn back to another time I tried to call Blake. I’m sixteen years old and I’m scared. I’ve been attacked and no one knows. My parents are out having dinner, and I’m slumped in the bathroom of my room crying and in pain. There’s blood in my panties, blood dripping out of me and it’s not because of my period. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared my heart is pounding. I can still feel his hands on me. I’m disgusted.
I try and vomit, but all I can do is wretch and heave. The resort we’re visiting with our church for the family vacation is supposed to be nice. But it’s not, and my broken body is the proof. I find a phone and call him. He’s the only person I can think of. But I hang up before it rings. How can I tell him this? How can I tell anyone?
I get in the shower. Blood is still trickling down my legs and I can feel that I’m ripped. My entrance is swollen and sore. I can’t bear to touch it so I just lean up against the wall and let the water wash me down. My head is foggy. I can hardly see through the tears and the water. I feel dizzy and this time, I do throw up. The vomit mixes with the blood, but it clogs the drain, and I can’t believe this nightmare is my life.
I turn the shower off. I still don’t feel clean, but I’m cold and the tub is disgusting. The towels are old but thick and still soft. I think this is the nicest resort our church congregation has ever visited, but I’m never coming back here. I’m still wearing my ankle bracelet, but he’s ripped away my other jewelry and the loss makes me cry again. I look pale and I’m shaking, but at least I’m safe here. He can’t ever get me again. We’re leaving in two days. I’ll just stay in my room and tell everyone I’m sick. There’s no way I’m going near him or that fucking room again. If this is what being a good Christian means, I’m over it.
I want to talk to Blake, I want him to tell me I’m going to be ok. So I call again. The phone rings, but no one answers. My head is going crazy wondering where he must be. It’s late, he should be home. I need to hear his voice to feel better. I start to guess he’s probably with one of the girls in our Chemistry class. I know who she is. She’s the one who gives me dirty looks every time we sit together.
I bet she’s taken the chance to track him down on a Thursday night. It’s summer break, and she’s hot, so of course he’d say yes. She’ll be wearing next to nothing and probably ready to suck his cock or something foul. Men can’t be trusted. I start to second guess why I even bothered trying to ring him. Instead, I fall asleep on the bathroom floor. My head on the tiles, my hair is still dripping wet and my virginity has been taken by force.
Chapter Four
Blake
I close the door behind me and take a seat in front of Jacob’s desk. The chair is low, and her intended power play doesn’t have much effect on me, given my height. Even sitting down, we’re almost eye to eye. She looks me up and down like she’s trying to read me, like she knows I’ve been through something serious. I shake myself out of my own paranoia and keep her eye contact. If she can read minds, let her tell me what the fuck just happened to me.
“Something wrong, Anderson?”
“No, Lieutenant.”
“Then stop eyeing me and tell me what you’ve got.”
I shift in my chair. I must be giving off some obvious vibes so I gather my composure. I start to run through the information I’ve tracked down on April and Carrie. I go over everything I’ve written in the notes I’ve made on Carrie’s statement. I tell her what I do and don’t know so far. She asks a few questions that I answer without hesitation. As expected, she picks up on the undeniable fact that Carrie concealed evidence.
“Detective what I’d like to know is how you managed to get her through two interviews, a medical, and then set her up in your spare room without noticing that she was carrying the victim’s handbag?”
She reads the resigned look on my face.
“Does Carrie James have something to hide?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, and neglect to mention that I do.
As I’m looking down at my notes, I realize that I don’t want Carrie to be labeled as a suspect.
I look Jacob in the eye and tell her what I’ve come up with.
“Her story checks out. She was in shock. The purse is a small flat one you wear under your clothes. She told the female officer there was no sexual abuse, so she wasn’t asked to disrobe. There are a bunch of good reasons why her story about forgetting it checks out. But…”
“What?” she asks, probably seeing the look on my face as I hesitate about my suspicions.
“I caught her phoning back some of the recent numbers that called into April Lee’s phone. And at first, she lied about it. Now, I’m not suggesting she’s up to no good or anything like that. But I think we need to keep in mind, she’s a news researcher just as much as she’s a lead witness.”
Jacob says nothing for a while. She then asks about the call log.
“I’ve got the phone in tech now. I already checked two of the missed call phone numbers. Both were unlisted, but they belong to Jessup Lee. One is for the office at Caliber and the other is his stationery warehouse in Brooklyn. It’s not that unusual for Jessup to be checking up on his niece. The thing I am interested to know is who sent photographs of April and Carrie dancing at Caliber. I’ve asked the labs to track down the owner of the email address it came from, and the GPS records of April’s last few days in New York. Carrie shared that there were also some emails from realtors offering to show April apartments in the city.”
Jacob sits up when she hears that. “So hold on. Is it possible the woman just ran off and is not actually missing?”
“To be honest, I have no evidence of the abduction. Video surveillance of the area came up blank. But I do believe Carrie’s story about the attack. And her injuries support her account of what happened.”
“Did Carrie know about these plans April had to look at places to live out here?”
I shake my head. “More cracks in the friendship appear as we go. April is pretty tight-lipped, it seems. She’s withheld things from both her grief counselor and from Carrie, who’s supposed to be her best friend. Since her parents’ d
eath, it looks like she’s become intensely private. I’ve also had a look at her social media accounts and her support network. She’s not regularly in contact with anyone, except the other nurses she works with and Carrie. She says April’s changed so much over the last few months, she hardly knows her. I’ll look into April’s colleagues too, but I don’t expect to find much. There has to be a reason April wanted to come to New York—and why she kept it secret. So when we get the GPS and email, I’m going to focus there.
“Let’s go back to Carrie James,” says Jacob, and I feel the weight of her gaze. “What’s really going on there, Anderson?”
I decide it’s the perfect time to share that I know her from the past. I talk about our time in high school without including the details of the crush I’ve had for so long.
“In that case, I think you’re perfectly positioned to gain her trust,” the look on Jacob’s face is stern now. “Watch her, Blake. You need to keep an eye on everything she says and does. All reporters have a story brewing inside of them and that’d be a disaster for the Lee case if it happened.”
I want to ask her which case, April or Jessup’s, but I hold my tongue for now. I need to find out more before I start making remarks that could get me kicked off this investigation. If Jacob really does know who’s holding April as bait, then she’s not going to give it up that easily.
“Now Anderson, on another matter…”
My stomach tightens and I know what she’s going to bring up.
“You have a history with this woman, she’s staying at your house and she’s managed to conceal evidence—intentionally or unintentionally—I don’t care which it is right now. What I care about is that you missed it. I have to ask, is there anything I need to know about you and her?”
She’s flat out asking me if I’m sleeping with Carrie. There is no way I’m going down that barrel ride.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing more, Lieutenant.”
