by Kylie Brant
Chapter 11
Cady fed Hero the next morning, surreptitiously sliding the clown under the dog’s bed while he ate. His affection for it seemed as strong as ever. Maybe if it was out of sight, he’d forget about it.
She went back to the recliner where she’d left the computer she’d been engrossed in last night. Turned it on. She’d worked until well after midnight, the time interrupted only by a quick call to Ryder. Delaying sleep sometimes prevented the nightmares that visited too frequently, an unwelcome montage of events from her past. Total exhaustion had successfully warded them off.
She’d worked her way through the case summary Davis had given her and then started delving into the more complete digital file, making notes on avenues taken to track down Forrester. Friends, family, acquaintances. At the end of her research, one thing had been apparent: the search for Bruce Forrester had been depressingly thorough.
Hero went to the door and whined politely. Cady glanced up, her brows coming together. He was carrying the damn clown doll again. “I’m embarrassed for you. Really.” She let him out and fixed herself a couple of slices of toast and coffee before returning to the laptop.
It wasn’t long before she was engrossed in the digital file again. She found notations of other arrestees, contacts, visitor logs, and phone calls for his stays in the Hope Mills police station and Cumberland County jail. But there were no such records for his lockup in Madison County. She checked to see if the county provided online access to old arrest records and struck out. Some of the smaller ones didn’t provide that service. Which meant she’d have to drive over and go through the records herself.
Cady considered the task with a decided lack of enthusiasm. But Marshall, the county seat, was only an hour away. She called the office and waited to be connected with the detention lieutenant on duty, Ken Goldman.
“Oh yeah, we remember Forrester around here,” he said after Cady introduced herself and gave her reason for calling. “We still get the BOLOs for him but haven’t had a confirmed sighting since he moved out of the county.”
“I have the dates he was held in your jail. Is there an easy way to cross-check them to find who else might have been locked up with him at the time?”
“It’s possible. Takes a while, though.” Cady’s heart sank. “We’re set up to search by name, but you can’t check by dates per se. There might be a work-around, though. Give me a date range.” She waited several minutes, which were interrupted only by the man’s occasional soft curses. “Okay, here’s one,” he said finally. “What I have to do is scroll through the inmate list for the given year, which is in alphabetical order, until I find a date that at least partially corresponds. Evan Gosch. Big surprise, he happens to be a guest of the county again this weekend. Guy’s such a regular, we should put his name on one of the cells.”
“He’ll be there overnight?”
“Just picked him up Friday for using a stolen ATM card. I don’t see him going anywhere until after the court hearing Monday.”
“I can be there in an hour. I’d like to talk to him.”
A shrug sounded in Goldman’s voice. “You’re welcome to him. If I get any free time before my shift ends, I’ll take another look at the database.”
Knowing how full the deputy’s schedule probably was, Cady appreciated the offer, even while she didn’t pin her hopes on it. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
She got up and retrieved her weapon and credentials, then selected a jacket from the hall closet. She’d give her mom a call on the way to see how her day was going. Locking the door behind her, she jogged down the front steps and made a mental note to call Dr. Baker tomorrow.
Hero raced up to her, the toy in his jaws, and trotted along at her side until she reached the Jeep, when he loped back to the other side of the house. Temperatures had returned to a more normal midforties. The light snow on the ground had already disappeared. He’d enjoy the time outside and probably be a muddy mess when she got back. With any luck, he’d lose the damn clown in the muck before she returned.
Marshall was a historic town nestled between the Appalachians and the French Broad River. The sheriff’s office was a newish building and one she hadn’t had occasion to visit. She rang the buzzer at the door in the rear of the building and waited a couple of minutes for someone to answer it.
“Cady Maddix?”
She offered up her credentials, to which the deputy gave a cursory glance.
“The lieutenant is expecting you. Follow me.”
She trailed him silently through the building to the detention center, where he turned her over to the lieutenant. “Marshal.” Goldman got up from behind a desk to greet her. “I alerted the jailers. Your guest of honor should be ready. I’ll show you to the conference room.”
“Thank you.” As they walked, he continued. “Sorry I never got back to that database. They brought in two dozen extended family members from a reunion that turned violent. Over a college basketball game, no less.”
“That’s okay. I’ll take a look at it myself when I’m done with Gosch, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll keep the jailer posted outside until you’re done.” Goldman stopped at a door on his left. A female jailer in her midforties stood next to it. “Gosch shouldn’t give you any problems, but holler if you need help.” He opened the door to the room, and Cady saw the occupant sitting at a table inside wearing a bright-orange jumpsuit with shackles on his wrists and ankles.
“I appreciate it. Thanks.”
She entered the space and pulled out a chair opposite the inmate. The door closed behind her. “Evan Gosch?” She sat. “I’m Deputy US Marshal Cady Maddix.”
“Well, day-um.” Gosch flashed a smile, revealing a missing upper incisor. “No one said my visitor was a woman. Guess my luck is changing.”
“I have a few questions for you, Mr. Gosch.”
“Call me Evan, sweetheart.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You can call me Deputy Marshal. You’ve been an inmate of the county before, haven’t you?”
He lifted his manacled hands to scratch his grizzled jaw. “Been here a few times, nothing serious.”
“In fact, you were here seven years ago.” She recited the date for him.
His mouth twisted. “I don’t keep a diary. I might’ve been.”
“Do you recall the names of any other inmates here then?”
“Swee—Marshal, seven years ago? My memory ain’t that good.”
“A man named Bruce Forrester was also locked up at that time.” Cady took a picture of Forrester from her pocket and slid it across the table to Gosch. “Do you remember him?”
He tapped the photo once. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Mostly ’cuz I heard ’bout what he done later. Killing that kid and all. Knew at the time there was something wrong with him. Did he molest the boy before he killed him?”
Cady blinked. “Why would you ask that?”
Gosch leaned forward, lowering his voice. “There was this other guy in here at the time. Byrd. He was kept isolated, in his own cell, as far away from us as possible. Sort of funny, he was a bird in a cage, get it?” Finding no answering amusement in Cady’s expression, he went on. “I figured he done something big, but then one of the guys said he was one of them pedos.”
“A pedophile?”
“Yeah. So some of the guys were yelling things, y’know. ’Bout what you’d ’spect. Jailer came in to quiet us down a time or two, but then it’d start up again. There were just a few of us in there until late the next night when a whole shit ton of people got hauled in. Jailers shifted people around some, but Forrester, he asks to cell with him.” Gosch sat back, gave her a knowing look. “Forrester is one of them guys you give a wide berth. What would he want with someone like Byrd? The rest of us, we just waited, expecting a bloodbath. Ain’t no one got time for a fucking pedo, and we figured Forrester would half kill him before the jailers could separate them again.”
That was the impression Cady had formed of the man as w
ell. “But he didn’t?”
Gosch shook his head slowly. “Nope. Byrd acted afraid of Forrester at first, but pretty soon, they had their heads together, whispering. And that’s how it was until I got released. They was always just talking real low, like the best of buds. Only thing I can figure, Forrester might have the same interest in little kids that Byrd did. Wouldn’t be surprised. Some guys act tough but they’re really just perverts in the end.”
The man’s impression of Forrester rocked her. Nothing she’d learned so far had indicated that particular paraphilia. She tucked it away and probed the prisoner for a few more minutes. Finally deciding he had nothing more of interest to share, she slipped the picture back in her pocket and rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gosch.”
He shrugged. “I got nothing but time in here.”
She left the room and found her way back to Goldman’s office. He jumped up when he saw her in his open doorway. “You still want to look at those old records?”
“I don’t think want is the operative word, but yeah.” He rounded his desk and showed her to an empty cubicle and turned on the computer there. While she waited for him to bring up the database, she asked, “So you were around when Forrester was arrested back then?”
“Sure was.”
“Gosch recalled there was someone in jail at the time by the name of Byrd. He claimed the man was a pedophile.”
The deputy straightened. “That I don’t remember, but you’ll be able to verify it in these old arrest records.”
Her gaze went beyond him to the screen he’d brought up. “He said something else. That Forrester requested to be placed in a cell with Byrd. He seemed to think that meant he might have similar interests.”
Goldman snorted. “Forrester? He’d be more likely to beat the hell out of the guy. We keep the sexual offenders by themselves if we can. No one has time for a kid molester. Even dirtbags have a pecking order. If Forrester was placed in a cell with Byrd, that would have been a violation of protocol. But it was before my time supervising the detention center.” He proceeded to explain how to find the call and visitor logs she was interested in and excused himself.
Cady sank into the seat in front of the computer and immersed herself in the task at hand. It was tedious, but after a couple of hours, she’d gotten the information she’d been looking for. Gosch had been correct in some of his recollections. The number of inmates did explode the second night Forrester was locked up. And Reginald Byrd was an inmate at the same time.
She made a depressingly long list of names of people who had been locked up during the duration Forrester was there before checking the logs. The only person who’d called or visited Forrester was his public defender.
She got up and stopped by the lieutenant’s office to thank him before making her way back to the parking lot. As she got into her Jeep, she noticed the jailer she’d seen earlier grinding something beneath the toe of her boot and heading back toward the building. Cady returned the woman’s wave before turning on the Jeep’s swivel-mounted laptop.
It took only a few minutes’ search to find a Reginald Byrd on the sexual offender registry, still living in town. She took another half hour to read about the man’s arrest, trial, and sentencing before setting out for his home. Cady found the address easily, a small, neat white home with green storms in grave need of paint. Spying a gentleman shuffling toward the house from the detached garage, she got out of the vehicle. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Reginald Byrd.”
His guarded look might have been from being accosted by a stranger. Or perhaps he’d acquired it in prison.
She drew closer and presented her credentials. His expression closed. “Don’t you people have better things to do than pester a dying man?”
Slipping the ID back into her coat pocket, she reassessed him. She knew he was in his midfifties but his face was haggard, the skin gray and sagging.
“I just want to ask you a few questions, and then I’ll be on my way,” she promised.
Byrd moved slowly past her, his gait torturously slow. “We can talk inside. I need to sit down.”
Minutes later, Cady was seated in a darkened room in the house. It smelled musty, an odor derived not from uncleanliness but age. It reminded her, oddly, of her grandfather’s home. The place had seemed to absorb the man’s bitterness, exuding a stale scent of recrimination and disappointment. The recollection swiped across her nape like an icy finger.
“How long have you been out of prison?” she asked bluntly.
With sluggish movements, he shed his coat and took off the stocking hat, revealing a bald head. In the photo she’d seen on the database, he’d had thick gray hair and a mustache. He looked as though he’d aged twenty years since it was taken.
“Three months.” He eased himself into a chair. “Got released just in time to go home and die. Stage-four liver cancer. Already spread to my lungs. Maybe if my treatment had been more aggressive in prison, it wouldn’t have gotten this far.” The acrimony in his tone would be difficult to miss. “And you don’t give a shit about that. What do you want? I’ve been harassed by about every law enforcement agency there is.”
She supposed she should have more compassion for a dying man. But after reading a bit about his conviction for possession and receipt of child pornography, she was hard-pressed to find any. Cady made sure her voice was impassive when she said, “When you were first arrested, you were taken to the county detention center in Marshall.”
“You asking or telling?” Byrd said with the first hint of spirit he’d shown.
She went on. “There was a man by the name of Bruce Forrester locked up at the same time.” Recognition flickered across his expression. “You two ended up in the same cell. I’m told you grew friendly.”
The man snorted. “Nothing friendly about a guy like Forrester. He was a brute. A thug.”
“Which makes me wonder what the two of you talked about while you shared that cell.”
Byrd’s gaze slid away.
“Did he share your interest in child pornography?”
He was silent a long time. “Maybe. I thought so. He kept asking questions about where I’d found it. How the deep web worked. How to get on the Tor network. How the forums were set up on the websites I visited. How I stayed anonymous.”
That last was ironic, given that Byrd had been swept up in an FBI cyber investigation and his real identity discovered. “Why do you think Forrester was interested in those topics?”
Byrd shrugged. “I was less concerned about that than staying alive. People like me don’t do well in jail, Marshal. If answering his questions meant he wasn’t going to pound on me, I was relieved enough to tell him whatever he wanted to know.”
“Have you seen or heard from him since then?”
“No. Why would I?”
After a couple more minutes of questioning, the man’s fatigue was easy to read. She handed Byrd one of her cards and rose. “If you should see or hear from Bruce Forrester, give me a call.”
She got as far as the door before he spoke again. “I never laid a finger on a child that way, you know. Not my nieces or nephews. Not a neighborhood child. All I did was . . . look.”
Revulsion snaked down her spine. Cady turned. “And how many kids were exploited so people like you could pay to ‘look’? Seek absolution from your pastor. You won’t get it from me.”
Chapter 12
It was just after six that evening when Cady’s phone buzzed. Ryder’s voice sounded in her ear. “Pizza.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes.”
“I’ll be there. Do I need to bring pain relief ointment for the aftermath of nephew-uncle warfare?”
“Only if that’s a euphemism for an intimate massage.”
“Not sure I’m the right person for that.” A bit of the day’s tension seeped from her shoulders at their banter. “I have a tendency to rub people the wrong way.” His laugh had her lips curving. “See you soon.” She disconnected and rose to s
et her laptop on the couch. She’d been poring over the digital case file long enough to have her eyes burning. A break sounded perfect.
“C’mon, Hero.” The dog lazily got up from beside her chair and stretched. “We’ve got a dinner invite, and it’d be rude to show up empty-handed.”
Thirty-five minutes later, she and the dog arrived in Ryder’s drive as the pizza delivery man was pulling away from the curb. Ryder waited for them to enter the house before shoving the door closed with his foot.
“Beer.” She held up the six-pack she carried.
“A perfect companion to any meal.”
She followed him to the kitchen as Hero loped over to Sadie’s side. “Your house doesn’t show the devastation one would expect from two small boys.”
“I’ve had time to shovel through the mess.” Ryder served up two slices apiece on each of their plates and pulled out stools from the counter.
Cady twisted off the tops to a couple of bottles and handed him one, carrying the other to her seat. Sitting, she reached for a slice. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. You’ve been warned. When did the troops leave?”
“About four. I have new sympathy for my mom, who usually hosts them. Must take her a week to pick up afterwards.”
“Maybe she just pretended to be painting the interior of her house.”
“Wouldn’t blame her.” He took a bite of pizza. Chewed. A moment later, he said, “She sort of dropped a bomb on my sister and me. Told us she’s in the process of becoming a foster parent.”
Cady’s gaze flew to his. “Really? And you didn’t know anything about it before?”
He shook his head. “She’s a softy. I guess I can see why foster parenting would appeal. But there’s a lot of heartache in the job too.”
“And you’d like to protect her from that.” Cady could understand the sentiment. She spent a lot of time doing the same for her own mother.
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong—any kid would be lucky to land with her. But how is she going to handle it when they go back to their homes? Or when they’re adopted?”