Never Girl

by Ana Valen

  “Tattoo,” Curry responded. “Most vets have these. Oh, wow. This guy was 101st Airborne. You see that? That’s a Tiger Force insignia. Tiger Force is a 101st recon unit.”

  “You were with the 101st?” Sergeant Sims asked, clearly taken aback.

  Curry smiled. “Yup. But as a medic. I was no super-soldier.” He looked to the victim. “This guy was. Tiger Force is no joke.”

  Sergeant Sims looked to her and Adams. “I’m telling you. Christmas came early.”

  She didn’t respond. She looked back towards the corpse and focused on his half-closed eyes.

  Was it true? Did this assassin kill Jessie like the evidence said he did? Probably. If only she could revive the assassin and ask him. That was impossible. But thanks to his tattoo, she could ask someone else. First, she needed a picture of the body.

  Chapter 35

  Claire pulled up to James’ house and parked along the street. She shut off the engine, grabbed her purse, and exited. While coming around the car, she glanced around. Nobody was present. Good. She continued up the driveway, stopped at the front door, and hit the chime. Seconds later, the door opened.

  “Hey,” James greeted with a smile. The gesture quickly faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “James,” she remorsefully responded, “can I speak with you inside?”

  “Of course. Come in.”

  She entered and he closed the door.

  “What happened?” he followed.

  “Maybe we should sit down.”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  They started for the living room.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  “I appreciate the offer. But I really need to tell you this.”

  “Okay.”

  They entered the living room and sat on the long couch.

  “What’s up?” he asked, reaching out and massaging her knee.

  She grabbed his hand and placed it back in his lap. His face sank.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. And after I tell you what, I’m sure you’ll be mad at me.”

  “I doubt that. Like I’ve said before, I have your back. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t change.”

  She weakly smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I guess we will.”

  “Okay,” she braced. “I killed Jessie.”

  Silence.

  “I killed Jessie,” she repeated. “It was me all along.”

  James opened his mouth but no words came out.

  “You don’t have a response?”

  “I,” he sputtered, “I…” He looked away and contorted his face clearly, while trying to make sense of this. He quickly looked back. “It was you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It was. I can even tell you how I did it.”

  “How?”

  She laid out everything—gun training, police investigation research, cellphone tracking research, every aspect of her three-month scheme. She also described the actual hit—how she swapped Susan’s phone, how she lured Jessie to the hiking trail, and how she unloaded her magazine into him.

  “No,” James repeated. “No, no, no. Someone else did this and you’re covering for them.”

  “James, it was me. I can even tell you which gun I used.”

  “Which one?”

  “The gun you gave Jessie. The Smith and Wesson M&P 40. I’m the one who stole it.”

  James ran his hands through his hair. “Goddammit.” He stood and started pacing. “God-fucking-dammit.”

  “I knew you would be mad at me. I knew you would hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. I just…” He stopped, shut his eyes, and cocked his head back. After a moment, he looked at her. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Claire, that was in the past.”

  “No,” she growled. “It wasn’t in the past. Not for me. For me it was my everyday reality. And that was going to be my reality for the rest of my life.”

  “You don’t know that. There might’ve been ways to fix you. Maybe there still are.”

  She likewise stood. “I already told you. I went to six doctors. Six. They all told me the same thing. My uterus is destroyed. I will never be able to bear children. That’s bad enough, but the baby I was pregnant with is fucking dead! Jessie murdered her, so I got him back!”

  “Claire, it was an accident! You make it seem like Jessie performed an unwanted abortion! He didn’t mean to hurt you! He didn’t mean to crash his car!”

  “Well, he did. And I suffered from his carelessness. I also saw my dead baby come out of me, and I heard the doctors say I would never have another one. At that point, my life ended.”

  “No, it didn’t. You were still alive. We were still alive. We could’ve survived this. We could’ve made a life together. It wouldn’t be the life we wanted, but it would’ve been something.”

  She looked at him for a long while. “It was your baby too.” She opened her hands. “Didn’t you feel anything? Didn’t it hurt to lose our child?”

  “Of course, it hurt. Don’t think for one second that it didn’t. And it still hurts. But I’m not ready to give up.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t get it, James. There’s no coming back from this. This is permanent. My baby is never coming back. And now, neither is Jessie.”

  James again closed his eyes.

  “James, I’m telling you this because you deserve to know the truth.”

  He opened his eyes. “I almost wish you hadn’t. I would’ve been better off thinking that gangsters killed him.”

  “No. You have to know this. You have to know the truth.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m leaving.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “You really think I’m sticking around? I’m getting out of here.”

  “You think the police will catch you?”

  “I doubt it. I’ve covered my tracks pretty well. But I’m not going to chance it.”

  “Fine. You have that luxury. You can pick up and go. I can’t.”

  “Why would you want to? You had nothing to do with this. That means you have nothing to worry about. In fact, if the police talk with you—and they probably will—tell them everything. Tell them what happened to me, and why I pulled this off. By then, I’ll be long gone.”

  “I’m not saying a damn thing. If I disclose what you just said, they’ll get me for something—aiding and abetting, obstruction, whatever. I’m keeping quiet.”

  “Keeping quiet will land you in hot water. Cooperation is your only path to safety.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not. To the police, cooperation is an admission of guilt. That’s not going to happen.”

  She took a remorseful breath. “If that’s how you feel about it, so be it.” She looked away. “Can I use your restroom?”

  “Of course.”

  With her purse still under her arm, she exited the living room and entered the hallway. After reaching the bathroom, she walked inside and closed the door.

  She placed her purse on the sink and lifted the toilet seat, but only for effect. Instead of using the toilet, she opened her purse and retrieved the Beretta she used on Harlan. She placed the weapon on the sink, went back into her purse, and pulled the canister of disinfectant wipes.

  She started cleaning the pistol, making sure to focus on the areas she had touched. With the gun clean, she held onto it through a wipe. She then knelt and opened the cabinet under the sink. She stashed the pistol inside, and made sure the weapon was hidden but not too hidden.

  She closed the cabinet door, stood, and placed the wipes inside her purse. She also flushed the toilet, again for effect. After washing her hands for real, she dried them off, grabbed her purse, and exited.

  Back in the living room, she found James reseated on the couch. He was
leaning back with his arms crossed.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  He nodded without looking over. She continued standing there, certain he would rise and walk her to the door. He didn’t. He remained seated. She turned and headed off.

  “Claire,” he called out.

  She stopped and looked back.

  “Did he suffer?” James asked, still facing forward.

  She turned towards him. “He didn’t die right away, if that’s what you mean. That was by design. I shot him repeatedly in the stomach. I’ll let you guess why.”

  James leaned forward and cupped his face. After a long while, he lowered his hands and looked to her. “I’m still on your side.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded, placed his hands on his knees, and stood. “I disagree with that you did, but I understand why you did it. And I still love you. That’s why I’m on your side.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  She smiled. “There’s nothing else I need. You’ve done everything I wanted. I can’t ask for anything more.”

  He smiled back.

  With that, she continued to the door.

  Chapter 36

  Raven and Adams walked into the station, both having returned from the Harlan Nichols crime scene. After reaching their desks, Adams removed his suit jacket. Raven kept hers on.

  “You good?” she asked him.

  “Yeah.” He slipped his jacket over his chair. “Why’s that?”

  “I need to check up on something.”

  “Are you kidding? We have tons of evidence to go through. What could be more important?”

  She considered making up an excuse. But lying was getting old. “I might know who Harlan Nichols is.”

  “For real? How?”

  “Because I’ve been doing some investigating on my own.”

  Adams mashed his teeth.

  “I know, I know. I need to be flogged. But I’m simply trying to find out the truth.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah. And there’s a reason for that.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this time, we’ve been struggling to find convincing evidence. Now we get more evidence than we can possibly dream of, all of it conveniently located in the same place. Does that strike you as suspicious?”

  “Yes. It does.”

  “Same here. So now I’m suspicious of everything we’ve come across. That in turn has made me reconsidering everything. And now, I don’t think Susan was the killer. I think the killer was trying to frame her. When that didn’t work, they decided to frame this guy.”

  She huffed a smile. “Goddamn. That makes me so happy to hear that. Maybe I’m not going insane.”

  “On the contrary. You were right all along. But I’m still pissed that you worked this behind my back.”

  “I apologize for that. And I’ll explain everything I’ve done. But later.”

  “Alright. Follow up on Harlan. I’ll start cataloguing the evidence. Planted or not, the evidence is still valuable, because the killer had to plant it in the first place.”

  “Okay. I’ll get on this.”

  “Good deal. And watch yourself.”

  “Will do.”

  She turned and exited homicide. After rounding into the patrol sergeant’s office, she found Patrol Sergeant Scott Mackenzie behind his desk. Before him was an array of rosters, while behind him was a massive deployment map.

  “Mack,” she called out.

  Mack looked up from his screen. “Detective Raven. What can I do for you?”

  “Is Ricky Martinez still out?”

  Mack looked at one of his rosters. “Yup. He’s still out. Should I raise him on the squawker?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you had his cellphone number.”

  “Sure do.” He looked at another roster. “You ready?”

  “Hang on.” She pulled her cellphone and brought up the call screen. “Alright. Go for it.”

  As Mack read the number, she punched in the digits.

  “Perfect,” she replied. “Thanks.”

  “You got it.”

  She stepped out of his office and hit the dial option.

  “Officer Martinez,” Martinez answered.

  “Hey. It’s Stacey Raven.”

  “Raven? What’s up?”

  “I need to see you. Are you in the middle of anything?”

  “Nope. Wilkens and I are sitting in the sled, drinking coffee. It’s a slow one.”

  “Where you guys at?”

  “On Veteran, just north of Wilshire.”

  “By the cemetery?”

  “Yeah. You need us to come in?”

  “Don’t bother.” She started for the exit. “I’ll come meet you there.”

  “Sure thing. And what’s this about?”

  “I’ll tell you once I’m there.”

  She hung up, slipped her phone into her suit jacket, and quickened her pace.

  ***

  Raven drove northeast on Wilshire. She passed under the 405 freeway, made a left on Veteran, and eased along the VA cemetery. While driving, she scanned for Martinez’s black and white cruiser. She spotted the vehicle one-hundred feet down, parked along the cemetery side of the road. Martinez sat in the driver seat, while his partner Frank Wilkens rode shotgun. Both observed her as she neared.

  She drove past the cruiser, made a U-turn, and parked right behind. Unsurprisingly, no vehicles were parked nearby. Good. After turning off the engine, she disembarked and closed the door.

  She approached the cruiser on the passenger side. That kept her off the main street which was somewhat narrow. She stopped at the cruiser, leaned into the open window, and smiled while placing her elbow on the hood.

  “Good afternoon, gentleman,” she playfully greeted.

  “Afternoon, officer,” Martinez responded in kind. “What seems to be the problem?”

  She gestured at their coffee cups. “I see two open containers. That’s illegal in this town.”

  Wilkens smirked. “If you let us off with a warning, you can have what’s left.”

  “You trying to bribe me, son?”

  “Just trying to find a viable solution.”

  “Tell you what. If the driver can pass a sobriety test, you two can leave right now. How’s that sound?”

  Wilkens chewed this over. “Tough, but fair.”

  She looked at Martinez and pointed back towards her Crown Vic. “Let’s go, hotshot.”

  Martinez and Wilkens chuckled. Martinez then went for his door. As he exited, she walked behind the patrol car. Martinez joined her there.

  “What’s up?” he asked, no longer speaking playfully.

  “I need to ask you something,” she responded, also without playfulness. “And don’t bullshit me.”

  “Goddamn. Should I have my rep here?”

  “That depends. What’s your relationship with Harlan Nichols?”

  He stayed quiet, but recognition flashed in his eyes.

  “Martinez, I said don’t bullshit me. And no, you don’t need a rep. I’m not here to burn you. I just need to know about Harlan Nichols.”

  “What for?”

  “Answer the question.”

  He took a breath. “If you want, I’ll put you in touch with him. Will that work?”

  She waited a moment. “I guess you didn’t hear the news.”

  “What news?”

  She pulled her cellphone, brought up the image of Harlan’s body, and turned the phone. Martinez leaned in and widened his eyes.

  “So, yeah,” she continued, lowering the screen. “Putting me in touch with Harlan would be useless. That means you have to fill me in.”

  He looked away and covered his mouth.

  “Martinez.”

  He didn’t respond. He
stepped towards the cemetery, grasped the chain-link fence, and stared across the military resting ground.

  “Martinez.”

  “Fuck!” he grunted, slapping the fence.

  She wanted his attention, but she should give him a moment.

  “When did this happen?” he finally asked, still facing the cemetery.

  “A few hours ago. Dispatch got some calls about gunshots in an apartment. When units arrived, they called us in. That’s because the apartment was filled with evidence for our case.”

  He turned to her. “The Jessie Jacobson case?”

  “That’s right. Now what can you tell me about Harlan? Or more to the point, is he an assassin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She gave him a look.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. He never talked about his work.”

  “But you obviously knew him.”

  “Yeah. We were both in the Army.”

  “101st Airborne Division?”

  “Right. How did you guess that?”

  “Harlan had a 101st unit tattoo on his arm. I recalled that you were 101st.” She gave him another look. “I also found police reports inside his apartment.”

  Martinez bit his lip.

  “Again,” she went on, “I’m not here to burn you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “Like I said, Harlan kept quiet about his involvements. But he very well could’ve been an assassin.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He wasn’t right in the head. He became that way over multiple deployments.”

  “Were you with him during those deployments?”

  “Not all of them. When I was doing my second tour in Afghanistan, he was doing his fourth. He was a recon sniper, and he had over two-hundred kills.”

  “Jesus.”

  Martinez nodded. “And those are the ones we knew of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He started losing it. He started killing indiscriminately. When we asked him about this, he would say the people he engaged were threats.”

  “You think he made that up?”

  Martinez shrugged. “I don’t know. But it was obvious that he wasn’t all there. He had that distant stare, and he started talking less and less.”

  “The Army didn’t medically discharge him?”