Her Last Day (Jessie Cole Book 1)

by T. R. Ragan

  “Agreed. Nothing here has been disturbed. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings left behind.”

  “The question we need answered,” Colin said, “was someone following her, or was it happenstance?”

  For a moment the two men stood there quietly.

  Colin’s stomach turned at the thought of a young girl being out there somewhere needing their help.

  “I better get to the lab,” Levi said after a while.

  “I’m going to head over to Elk Grove to talk to the girl’s family,” Colin said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  First thing the next morning, Jessie headed for the offices of Roche and Koontz. It was easier for her to walk than drive. As she passed by the rose garden in Capitol Park, every muscle tensed. Feeling weirdly out of breath, she stopped and looked around. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her breath caught in her throat as she was brought back to the moment she’d shot Parker Koontz.

  What was wrong with her?

  It wasn’t just the Koontz incident that was bothering her. It was everything, and it all hit her at once. She walked to a nearby bench and took a seat.

  What was she doing with her life? Thirty-four years old, and yet she still didn’t have her shit together. After Mom left, she’d done everything she could to try to keep her family together. But Dad had been unable to bear living without the woman whose only excuse for leaving was that she couldn’t handle the pressure of raising two daughters. After Dad started drinking, Jessie found out her sixteen-year-old sister was pregnant. It had been up to Jessie to pull everyone together, but she’d failed at every turn. First her father. Then Sophie.

  Jessie used a sleeve to wipe her eyes. Olivia didn’t stand a chance.

  For most of her life, she’d felt as if she were riding a nonstop Ferris wheel that she couldn’t get off. A few years after her sister had disappeared, she’d decided to become a PI in hopes of helping other people find their loved ones as she continued her search for Sophie. But looking around now, at the city, the place she’d lived her entire life, she realized she couldn’t save the world.

  Hell, she might not even be able to save herself.

  Her foot bounced as she watched passersby and listened to the sound of birds between the honk of a horn and the roar of a car’s engine. She could sit there all day, she realized, doing nothing but simply being. But she didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Forcing herself to her feet, she drew in a breath and continued on down Twenty-First Street. If she could hold it together long enough, she might be able to keep her ass out of jail.

  By the time she walked through the front door of the office of Koontz and Roche, she was feeling better, stronger. The front lobby was made up of rich mahogany furniture and crystal wall sconces. The woman behind the desk looked up and asked if she had an appointment.

  Jessie knew that getting to talk to David Roche was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. “I don’t have an appointment, but my name is Jessie Cole. It’s important that I talk to David Roche.”

  The woman appeared to recognize the name. She reached for the phone, hit a button, and told the person on the end of the line that Jessie Cole was here. After she hung up, she stood and gestured toward the double doors directly behind her. “Mr. Roche has a full schedule, but he said he has a few minutes before his next meeting. Come this way.”

  Jessie followed her into a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows behind a massive desk covered with neatly stacked papers. The woman disappeared, and the man behind the desk came to his feet and walked around the desk to offer his hand.

  His handshake was firm.

  A tall man, his arrogance appeared to be woven into the fine fabric of his fitted suit. His dark hair was slicked back, his nails well manicured, and his smile phony.

  Before coming, Jessie had done enough research to know he was married with two children. A former prosecutor with more than twenty years of experience in criminal and business law, his website touted a “Superb 10/10 rating.” Andriana’s opinion of David Roche was less than stellar. She’d run into him in court more than a few times, and she’d told Jessie he was a snake in the grass who was more worried about his pocketbook than fighting for a client’s rights.

  Roche pulled out a chair and gestured for her to have a seat, which she did. While he made his way back to the chair behind his desk, she noticed all the awards and diplomas hanging on the wall.

  As soon as he was situated, he propped his elbows on the rich mahogany in front of him and made a steeple with his fingers. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here. You do realize the man you shot and put in the hospital is my partner?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, then, you should know you’ve made things difficult around here. My workload was already heavy, but without Parker here to evaluate cases, file motions, and help our clients with their legal needs, our law firm, thanks to you, is quite frankly fucked.”

  His crassness didn’t bother her. She thought it telling that he worried more about his workload than the fact that his partner was in a coma, struggling for his life. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry you’ve been put out, but I had no choice but to defend myself after your partner decided to pull out a gun and fire at me. For that reason alone, I think it was rash of you to press criminal charges.”

  “If you know anything about the law, you’d know it’s up to the prosecutor to press charges, not me.”

  “I believe it was your name on the document filed with the police department.”

  “True, but—”

  “And the prosecutor in charge, your good friend Nicholas Levine, attended law school with you, is that right?”

  The lines in his forehead deepened. “A mere coincidence, I can assure you.”

  The tone of his voice was heavy with annoyance as he continued on with a rambling lecture. “Individuals do not press charges, nor do police,” he told her. “Only a municipal, state, or federal attorney can decide to charge someone with a crime. Prosecutors are the ones who make the decisions based on evidence provided by people and police.”

  Jessie enjoyed watching him lose his cool. “What can you tell me about your partner’s extracurricular activities?” she asked, figuring she had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he answered her questions and gave her some insight.

  He leaned back in his chair, his fingers entwined, his smile strained. “I am married with two small children. I don’t have time to keep track of what Parker does or does not do in his free time.”

  “So, you know nothing about the young woman he was allegedly stalking?”

  “That’s a serious accusation. I hope you have proof.”

  “Yes, thank you. I believe there is video footage.”

  His face paled.

  “I was wearing a video device while doing surveillance. It should come in handy when I see your prosecutor friend in court.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’ve already given you more time than you deserve, but I’ll tell you this, Ms. Cole. Parker Koontz is an outstanding citizen and has spent every year I’ve known him volunteering his time for numerous charities and events, including the Special Olympics. Parker started a program to befriend the elderly at local homes for people without relatives or friends. I could go on, but as I said earlier, I am busy. If you do your homework, Detective, you’ll discover that Parker Koontz is well respected in the community, and you’d be hard-pressed to find too many people who would have anything bad to say about him.”

  His gaze was piercing, but Jessie refused to look away. “I have done my homework,” she said, “and Parker Koontz may be an outstanding citizen, but he’s also a Peeping Tom and a stalker, and I aim to prove it.”

  He surprised her by asking, “Do you have any idea why Parker was carrying a weapon?”

  “I heard he thought he was being followed. But why carry a gun loaded with blanks if he truly felt he was in danger?”

  “Carrying a gun loaded with
blanks sounds like something Parker would do. You might not be aware that Parker had been attacked before.”

  “No. I didn’t know,” she said, wondering if Roche was now resorting to lies.

  “He was attacked in Capitol Park, I might add.”

  She tried not to show her surprise.

  The muscles in his face relaxed as he straightened. “I’m sure he carried a gun to scare off an attacker if he ever needed to, but he would never have carried a loaded gun because he would never want to harm anyone.”

  Not only was Roche full of himself; he seemed intent on trying to intimidate her while also making Parker Koontz into some pillar of perfection, which was one more reason why he’d probably agreed to speak to her. He wanted to take her down a notch.

  “I am curious,” he said. “Why exactly did you come to see me?”

  “I’m an investigator. I talk to people and ask them questions. It’s what I do. If I have to go against Nicholas Levine in court, I need to be prepared, which means I need to find out more about Parker Koontz. And who better to talk to than his good friend and business partner?”

  “Well, I’m afraid I won’t be any help to you, Ms. Cole. If anything, I’ll probably do you more harm than good since I will be making sure the judge is aware of your reputation for being trigger-happy. In my opinion, you’re a danger to society.” He stood, letting her know their talk was over.

  THIRTEEN

  The house he’d been watching for more than a year now belonged to Mike and Natalie Bailey. From his perch in the highest branches of an oak tree, he had a perfect view of the kitchen window. He saw Mike Bailey step up behind his wife, kiss her cheek, and then wrap his arms around her waist while she rinsed the dishes. Under the soft glow of the kitchen light, he could make out the slight curve of her lips when she smiled.

  He shifted his weight from his right hip to his left. He hadn’t planned on sitting in the tree for so long. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem since he’d been climbing trees for as long as he could remember. After mastering the art of climbing gangly-limbed oaks, he’d moved on to pines and redwoods. From there he’d conquered fences and walls. His ability to climb trees had often saved him from his father’s tortuous whims.

  Mike walked away, leaving Natalie alone.

  His chest tightened. Tonight was the night.

  He’d learned a lot about the couple just from picking through their garbage. Discovering where they hid the key to their house, though, had been a game changer.

  He’d read every love letter he’d found hidden away in their closet. They’d met when Mike was a senior and Natalie was a sophomore in high school. Two days after Natalie graduated, they were married at a local courthouse. Hardworking people, they had toiled at odd jobs during the day and attended higher-education courses at night. Mike became a lawyer, and Natalie worked as a psychotherapist, which was surprising considering all her talk in her journal about wanting to be a social worker like her mother, Sue Sterling.

  Which brought him to the reason he was here.

  Sue Sterling was the social worker sent to his house when he was a child. By the time she came for a visit, there had to have been enough complaints and concerns about abuse and child neglect to fill a binder. He couldn’t count the number of times teachers, neighbors, and doctors had commented on the cigarette burns and bite marks they’d seen on his bony arms and legs.

  Why else would she have been sent to his house?

  What nobody had witnessed were all the other unimaginable things he was forced to do on the farm. If he didn’t submit to his father’s demands, he was locked in the box for days.

  He didn’t question why his mother never left his father. The one time she’d tried, his father found her and dragged her home, shackled her wrists and ankles to the barn wall with metal cuffs, and made him, her only son, practice playing darts.

  He was twelve by the time Natalie Bailey’s mom arrived. Somehow his father had been warned that someone from Child Services would be paying them a visit, so he made him and his mother scrub floors, wash clothes, and makes themselves presentable.

  Sue Sterling seemed impressed. Not only by his father’s good looks but also by the cleanliness of their house. The second his father walked into the other room to stir the pot of stew on the stove, he’d lifted his shirt high enough so that Sue Sterling could see his chest was covered with infected crisscrosses made with a pair of rusty scissors.

  Her breathing had hitched before she’d quickly looked away.

  Ultimately he figured she must not have cared because she talked to his father one more time, shook his hand, and then left the premises, never to be heard from again.

  He’d never forgotten her face or her name.

  Many times after that day, he’d thought about running away, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Mom. But she was determined that he save himself. She knew he was smart. Dad had pulled him out of school after the Sue Sterling visit, so Mom tutored him every day. When he was old enough, she’d helped him apply to colleges. He’d gotten a full scholarship to UCI, and since he was growing big enough to fight back, Dad let him go. He majored in psychology and social work. And when he wasn’t studying, he fought the demons within and did everything he could to keep the voices at bay. Two weeks before graduation, after discovering his mother had passed on, something had snapped.

  He’d killed a cow and a dog, hoping the act of killing a living creature would help him release his never-ending frustration and hatred for life and people. Unfortunately the urge to harm others only grew from there, especially when he’d realized a lot of his hostility stemmed from Sue Sterling’s visit.

  It hadn’t been too late. She could have saved him.

  She’d seen.

  She’d known.

  And yet she’d done nothing.

  The first human he’d killed was a homeless man. It had all happened in a blur. He’d snuck up behind the old man, leaned over his shoulder, and stabbed him in the chest. It was over in the blink of an eye. So he’d ripped out his heart in hopes that he would feel something more.

  But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop.

  His next victim had been a hooker. She’d told him to call her Sugar. And that was what he’d done.

  Without any prompting, she’d stripped off her clothes. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t jump her bones—then she’d seen the knife in his hand. That was when she’d panicked. Sugar had started talking real fast, every word tumbling over the next. Her eyes had become overly bright, and she began to shake, even peed right where she stood. Peed like a horse. He should know, since he’d grown up on a farm.

  Sugar didn’t run. Instead she froze in terror.

  And he was fascinated.

  For the first time in his life, he understood what fear did to people, and what his father must have felt every time he tortured him or his mother. Being in control of another human being gave him a high he’d never experienced before.

  He was the Wizard of Oz, a force to be reckoned with.

  He was all-powerful.

  He had told her not to worry, calling her Sugar as he tied her to a tree. And he’d listened to her ramble on about all the reasons he should let her go as he used his knife to sharpen a couple of sticks that would be used to poke and prod.

  Every time he’d given her hope by telling her he’d let her go when he was finished with her, she would relax. He’d told her to do all sorts of things, like dance and sing, and poke herself in the eye. She had done anything and everything he asked her to do, and his pulse quickened every time she obeyed.

  But not in a sexual way. He didn’t feel those kinds of things. Never had. He had no desire to touch a woman, let alone another human being. What he’d always wanted was to feel something other than anger. And for the first time in his life, he did.

  Sugar had grown tired of his games, so he’d untied her. He knew she’d run, but he’d never expected her to be so fast after everything she�
��d been through. It hadn’t been easy catching up to her. When he’d had her on the ground again, she’d kicked and clawed, bit down hard on his wrist. He still had the scar. She was a fighter, but she was no match for him. He’d easily taken control again, tied her to the tree, and began to remove her heart, slowly and methodically, while she screamed and spit fire. That time he’d been able to watch the pulsing, pounding organ as he felt his own heart beat within. It was magical.

  Sugar was special. The one who made him recognize that control was power, and power was everything.

  He’d found his passion.

  So he’d moved back home and showed his father who was boss. Then he’d forced him to sell most of the farmland so that they would own the house, the barn, and ten acres of land, free and clear, allowing him to work from home and do what he loved best.

  Natalie reached up and removed two cups and saucers from the cupboard, pulling him out of his reverie. A few minutes later, the lights went out, and he could no longer see Natalie through the kitchen window.

  They would drink their tea while they read in bed.

  He’d hidden in their house before. Spent more than one night huddled inside the attic, listening to them through the vents. He’d been watching Mike and Natalie for so long, he felt as if he knew them.

  He shimmied down the trunk and jumped to the ground, then stood still, overcome with excitement. In a few hours, it would be time to introduce himself to Natalie Bailey.

  FOURTEEN

  Jessie awoke to the sound of a barking dog.

  Even then it took her a moment to remember Higgins.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Olivia’s cat, Cecil, sitting on the dresser straight ahead, staring at her with his one gold-speckled eye. “How did you get in here?”

  Cecil meowed.

  She threw off the covers, climbed out of bed, and walked into the main room, where she could see Olivia in the kitchen making a bag lunch for school.