“I don’t know yet.”
The answer, while honest, was wholly unsatisfactory, and Seth knew he had to answer it soon. Time was ticking. And if this was a serial lunatic, it was only a matter of time before he grabbed another girl.
The phone beeped, and he saw a familiar number flash by.
“Thanks for your help, Rahul. I’ve got to grab the other line.” He jabbed a button on his phone. “Crawford.”
“Do you know Tess Turner?” Detective Linda Garcia asked.
Seth’s brow wrinkled. “Yeah. I’m investigating her roommate’s disappearance. Why?”
“I have her in custody. You need to come down here.”
“I’m on my way.”
#
Linda Garcia had the face of an angel and the voice of a hard-core smoker. A ten-year veteran of SPD, she had worked with Seth on a number of cases, and he knew she was sharp.
“Where’s Tess?” he asked.
“In there, cooling off.” Garcia hooked a thumb toward an interrogation room.
“What happened?”
“A couple of kids called it in. They were out on Military Road when they heard screaming. Ms. Turner was attacking some guy with a Taser. He’s in rough shape. Apparently she pepper-sprayed him before she tased him, poor bastard.”
“What were the kids doing out there?”
“Smoking dope. Not that we caught them with anything.” Garcia rolled her eyes.
“Who’s the guy?”
“Charles Sully.”
“Aw, shit.”
“You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“What do you want me to do with her?” Garcia asked.
Seth brushed a hand across his eyes and shook his head. Stupid girl. He had half a mind to let Garcia charge her with assault. Maybe then she’d learn her lesson.
“I’ll talk to her,” Seth said. “Where’s Sully?”
“In the room across the hall.”
Tess Turner slouched in a chair behind a long, bare table. He barely recognized her underneath the thick layer of makeup smudged across her face. She recognized him well enough. Her chin inched up at a defiant angle as their eyes locked. Seth closed the door behind him.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Well, someone had to keep an eye on that psycho.”
Sorely tempted to slap some sense into her, Seth planted his clenched fists on the table.
“Detective Garcia wants to charge you with assault.”
“Me? What about that freak? He’s the one you should be arresting.”
“What for?”
“What do you think? He’s got Brooke.”
“And you know that how?”
Seth stepped away from the table, his hands swinging wide. Tess scowled like a petulant teenager. She crossed her arms and stared down at the toes of her boots. Hooker boots, he thought. Goes with the hooker outfit.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? He was pissed at Brooke for rejecting him, so he went after her.”
“Do you have any evidence, Nancy Drew, or is your feminine intuition telling you this?”
Tess’s mouth dropped open. Anger flashed in her eyes. “You know I’m right.”
“Do I?” Seth raked a hand through his hair and reined in his own temper. “Okay, Ms. Turner, tell me about this brilliant plan of yours.”
“I thought if I could get him to pick me up, I might be able to get him to confess.”
“Confess? You think it’s that easy? Do you know the kind of danger you put yourself in? What if he has Brooke? What if he recognized you?”
“He recognized me, all right.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Tess’s skirt rode high up on her thighs, and she tugged it down an inch or two, still revealing more leg than was decent. Seth looked away, dropping his head into his hands.
“Maybe you should spend a night or two in jail. Maybe that would drill some sense into that thick head of yours.”
“You can’t be serious. I was protecting myself.”
“It didn’t look that way to the kids who called it in.”
“He was going to hurt me.”
“And what, exactly, were you expecting? You’re dressed up like a hooker. You got into his car with him willingly. He drove you to a remote location. What did you think he was going to do? Read you poetry? He’s a dangerous guy. Best-case scenario, you get raped and dumped off by the side of the road. Worst-case scenario, you disappear too. How does that help Brooke?”
“You could arrest him for solicitation.”
“And you for prostitution?”
Tess didn’t answer. She avoided his gaze, but Seth didn’t let up. He glared at her. A heavy silence stretched out between them, and his anger finally subsided.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the other guy at the bar?”
Tess stared at him with the wide, startled eyes of a doe. “Who?”
“Don’t play games,” Seth said. “I saw the surveillance video from the Chapel. Sully wasn’t the only guy you talked to that night.”
“Oh, him.”
“Yeah, him. Who is he?”
Tess shrugged her tiny shoulders. The torn collar of her flimsy black shirt slipped down, exposing the strap of a hot-pink camisole. Crawford looked away.
“Nobody. Sully was being an asshole and this guy pretended to be Brooke’s boyfriend to back Sully off.”
“And it worked?”
“Yeah, Sully left Brooke alone after that.”
“Did Brooke know the guy?”
Tess shook her head. “Neither of us did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think about it. He was a nice guy, not a creep like Sully.”
“Are there any other unimportant details you’d care to share?”
Tess rolled her eyes. “No.”
Seth blew out a long breath.
“I’m not going to warn you again, Tess. Stay away from Charles Sully. Now go wash that shit off your face. I’ll have an officer drive you back to campus.”
“I can find my own way home.”
Defiance flashed in her green eyes. Seth’s jaw tensed.
“I’m not kidding. I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation if I have to. Do you understand me?”
He stared her down until she answered.
“Yes, sir,” she snapped.
“Get out of here.”
Tess rose from the chair. She swayed her hips in an exaggerated gait on her way out of the room, no doubt for his benefit.
Seth rose from the chair and strode across the hall.
Charles Sully looked fidgety. Cracking his knuckles, he ran his gaze along the perimeter of the room. Looking for cameras, Seth surmised as he studied Sully through the one-way mirror.
“You want some company?” Linda Garcia asked, peering through the glass at Sully.
“Sure. It might unnerve him to have a woman in the room.”
Seth opened the door. He slapped a thick file folder down on the desk, and Sully sneered. He rolled his red, swollen eyes skyward.
“Tell us what happened, Charles.”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what she says.”
“The bitch is lying.”
“Funny. She says the same thing about you.”
Garcia was right. Sully looked like shit. His eyes were red and swollen, no doubt still burning from the pepper spray. Sweat beaded on Sully’s forehead.
“You’re a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than she is, and you expect us to believe she attacked a big guy like you unprovoked?” Garcia said.
Sully turned his sharp gaze her way. “That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Why would she do that?” Seth asked.
Sully’s gaze turned back toward him. “I don’t know. I wasn’t doing anything.”
“What were you doing out in the woods?”
“We were just talking.�
��
“Talking?” Garcia emitted a short bark of laughter and exchanged a skeptical look with Seth.
Sully’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t lay a fucking hand on her.”
“Then how did her shirt get ripped?” Garcia asked.
Sully’s head tipped back. “I don’t know.”
“I’m sure.”
Sully lapsed into a sulky silence.
Seth picked up the file and thumbed through the contents. He pulled out a photograph of Brooke Parker and placed it on the table. “What do you know about her?”
Sully’s eyes flicked to the photo. This guy was no poker player. His cheeks flushed. A vein bulged at his temple.
“Nothing.”
“Is that right? You’ve never seen this girl?”
Sully dropped his gaze to the floor. “Not that I recall.”
“Were you at the Chapel last Saturday night?”
“I might have been.”
“You don’t recall?”
Sully shook his head.
“What would you say if I told you that we found Brooke Parker earlier this afternoon? She’s recovering now and soon she’ll be talking to our investigators about her ordeal. What’s she going to tell us about you, Charles?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”
Sully’s eyes blazed with hostility. Seth closed the file folder and pitched it back on the desk. He laced his fingers on the table, his lips stretched into a smug smile.
“Okay, Charles. You’re free to go. We’ll be in touch.”
Seth watched Charles Sully stride from the squad room. He would have preferred not to push Sully right now, but Tess had forced his hand.
Garcia closed the door. “What do you think?” she asked.
“He’s lying. I have video placing him at Parker’s last known location. I have his photo posted to her Facebook page. What I don’t have is any physical evidence linking him to the actual abduction.”
“He’s an angry son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, but is he a killer?”
Chapter 25
Charles Sully wanted to shred someone. Sprung from the police station, he beelined it to his favorite hangout, a dive bar not far from his house. The familiar smell of stale beer and cigarettes hit him as soon as he walked through the door. Management hadn’t seen fit to change the carpets in the past two decades of spilled beer, blood, and puke. Some customers complained about the stink, but Sully didn’t mind. To him the place smelled like home.
Some asshole stood blocking the path to the bar, and Sully shoved him out of the way. Guy was shooting pool with his buddies, too fucking stupid to pay attention to what was going on around him. The city was crawling with fucking clueless hipster douchebags. Why didn’t they stick to their overpriced clubs with their stuck-up twat girlfriends? Why did they have to come here? This place had been blue-collar long before the tech industry had overrun Seattle.
“What’s your problem?” the guy asked, trying to sound tough.
Sully didn’t stop to answer. He just pushed his way through the herd of sheep crowded around the pool tables and followed the glow of the neon beer signs. The cell phone in his pocket buzzed. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew it.
Lara was calling. Checking up on him. Fucking bitch.
All he wanted was to sit and drink in peace, but no. The bar was crammed with stupid fucks who didn’t have the common sense to get the hell out of the way. Then Lara, who couldn’t spend one fucking night home alone without calling. He could already hear her whiny voice in his head.
Where are you, Carlos? When will you be home, Carlos? Can you bring me some milk, Carlos?
On and on and fucking on until he was ready to explode.
Planting his meaty forearms on the sticky bar, Sully ordered a beer and a shot of tequila. The fat bartender, Terry, nodded. Sully downed the first shot. The bitter taste of tequila burned down his throat and settled in a satisfying glow deep in his belly.
The fucking police had hauled him in. That’s all he needed, the police poking around in his shit.
He wanted another drink, but Terry was gabbing with some fat fuck at the end of the bar. He eyed the slutty waitress buzzing around the bar in her miniskirt. She blew past him without sparing him a glance. Clenching his teeth, Sully pounded the shot glass against the smooth, lacquered wood hard enough to draw attention to the fact that he was sitting down here without a shot.
Was it too much to ask for Terry to get his fat ass down here with a refill instead of shooting the shit with some other douche at the end of the bar? It wasn’t social hour. He had a job to do.
Terry turned, his beady eyes fixed on Sully. He held up the empty shot glass. Red-faced and annoyed, Terry nodded, getting the point.
About goddamned time.
Sully gripped the frosty pint glass in his fist.
Why couldn’t they just leave him the fuck alone? Lara, the police, that fucking dyke that had set him up.
Stupid fucking cunt.
She had no idea of the hornet’s nest she’d stirred up.
Sully guzzled down the pint. The chilled, frothy beer slid down his throat but did nothing to quench the burning anger bubbling up inside his gut.
The bitch should have minded her own business. She should have kept her mouth shut. She should have just left him alone. But no. She was too stupid for that.
Someone should teach her a lesson. Someone should shut the dumb bitch up.
Fists clenched, knuckles turning white, Sully downed the second shot.
Chapter 26
Thursday morning and Marissa felt on the verge of collapse. The emotional toll of baring her soul to the press yesterday, along with the constant panic of not knowing where her daughter was, had sapped what strength remained. And it was only eleven o’clock. There was still a hell of a lot of day to get through.
Henry Cahill had called them all into the conference room to discuss his latest findings. Detective Crawford sat beside her, a skeptical look on his face.
“So, Brooke turned off the location preferences on her social media account,” Crawford said, repeating Cahill’s words.
“Right. For this photo. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“Not really.”
“Why for this photo? Presumably the picture of a guy who wigged her out?” Cahill asked. Crawford flipped his hand palm-up, his patience wearing thin. Cahill’s brows arched. “So what if I told you the picture of Charles Sully replaced a different picture?”
Crawford leaned forward in his chair, fully engaged now. “What do you mean?”
“The database record has been modified.”
“Hold it. You hacked into their database?”
“Well, hypothetically speaking, if one were to do that sort of thing, one might uncover an anomaly with the database record.”
“Hypothetically?”
“Hacking into their database might be considered illegal, so let’s say if someone were to do just that, they may be able to find out where the person was when they edited the posting, uploading the picture of Charles Sully.”
Cahill’s lips broke into a sly smile.
“Okay,” said Crawford, “so say Brooke uploads a photo to her Facebook site, then Brooke . . .”
“Or someone else . . .”
“Right, or someone else changes the post, replacing the original picture with Sully’s.”
“Exactly. And let’s say the new picture was uploaded in a coffee shop in Belltown on Sunday morning, a little after ten a.m.”
“Hold it. I thought the location services were turned off.”
“Well, what do you think is easier? Stripping the GPS data before the picture is uploaded, or not showing the GPS data in the user interface?”
“So all that info is still stored in the database? The preference controls whether the data is shown or not?”
“Gold star, Detective Crawford,” Cahill said.
“Any chance of recovering the original photo—the one replace
d by Sully’s?”
“Unfortunately not. But if the coffee shop has a surveillance camera . . .”
“Right.”
Marissa got lost in all the technical jargon, but looking pleased with himself, Cahill handed Crawford a piece of paper with the name of the coffee shop and the time of the transaction. The group stood and filed out of the conference room ahead of Marissa.
Just outside the conference room door, her cell phone rang. Marissa’s heart jumped. Brooke? Please let it be Brooke. She opened her purse and started digging.
Ring.
Why couldn’t she find anything in this damned purse? A hairbrush and wadded receipts spilled onto the floor as she frantically searched for the phone. Marissa ducked into the conference room and frisked the pockets.
Ring.
Desperate, she yanked the purse open wide and upended it onto the table. Coins whirred along the smooth surface. Keys clanged. She scattered the contents with trembling hands, fingers finally latching on to the phone.
She pressed the answer button and clamped the phone against her ear.
“Hello,” she said, sounding like she’d just sprinted a mile.
“Ms. Rooney, this is Clarissa Erwin from Renton High.”
Kelly?
“What’s wrong? Is Kelly all right?”
“Well, that’s what I’m calling about. There’s been a fight on school property.”
“A fight? Is Kelly hurt?”
“Not seriously, but . . .” The woman’s voice trailed off.
Not seriously? What the hell does that mean?
“But what?” she demanded. “Where is Kelly?”
“She’s been taken to the Renton police station along with the other students involved in the altercation.”
“She’s at the police station? What for?”
“Like I said, there was a fight on school property.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Maybe it’s best if you just went down there.”
It was the first thing the woman had said that made any sense.
Marissa hung up and yanked the purse open. She grabbed fistfuls of her belongings off the table and stuffed them back in.
“Ms. Rooney, is everything okay?”
Marissa whirled around. Detective Crawford stood in the doorway. He set a handful of her belongings on the table beside the purse.
In the Dark Page 15
