This time Maggie and Emma exchanged glances.
“Tina Davidson,” Sam said.
Brad choked on his beer.
“Don’t be sad, dear,” Maggie said. “She’s moved on. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Will you be okay? Do you need a minute? A tissue? A hug?”
Emma, Annie and Sam burst out laughing.
Brad’s head tilted back, staring at the sky. “Oh, Mags, you’re hilarious. I’d love to talk about this all day, but how about this—let’s not.”
“Two years ago, when Tina rescued Sissy and me from the bikers and Jeter Wolfe, I knew she had eyes for Brad,” Annie said. “She was nice to me, but she lit up when Brad arrived.” Annie looked at Maggie. “But you two belong together.”
“Jeez, I can’t take any more of this,” Sam said. “Someone promised me a steak.”
Lobo’s head popped up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tuesday Morning
Annie sat silently in the passenger seat. Brad looked over several times, but she didn’t acknowledge him. They drove in silence.
He made a left turn and parked in front of Gerry’s store. “Do you want coffee?”
Annie didn’t move. “No.”
He shrugged and walked into the store. This was the stuff he was bad at. First, trying to figure out what a woman was thinking was a non-starter. Second, from experience he knew that whatever he said would be wrong.
“Morning, Gerry.”
“Hey, Detective. Haven’t seen you for a few weeks.”
Brad poured a cup of coffee. “Lots of late nights. The last thing I needed as I stumbled home at 6 A.M. was a coffee.”
“I saw you on TV.”
“My five minutes of fame.”
“You and a dog were walking that asshole Wolfe to an ambulance. I’m sure glad you caught him.”
Brad poured a second coffee and added two cream and two sugar. “We’re all safe now with that prick back in jail.” He tossed change on the counter.
“Two cups? You expecting a rough morning?”
“Something like that. It’s for my passenger.”
Gerry looked out the window. “New partner? She looks young.”
Brad was about to explain, then changed his mind.
“They’re all looking young.”
Brad slid into the Firebird and pushed the coffee to Annie. Finally, she looked over, hesitated, then took the cup.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Double cream?”
“Yup.”
“Double sugar?”
“Yup. Just the way you like it. A double-double. Ha! That’s what they should call it.”
Annie frowned and turned away.
Brad pulled out into the early rush-hour traffic. He thought about turning on the radio just to have a little noise in the vehicle. Instead, he said, “I’m not good at this. I don’t know whether to leave you alone or ask questions. I can see you are worried. What can I do?”
Annie took a sip of coffee. “You’re doing it.”
“What?”
“You’re here with me. You’re staying with me. I am scared. I don’t want to do this. But I know I’m safe when I’m with you.”
Not the answer Brad expected. Again, he didn’t know what to say. “You’d be safer if Lobo was here, too.”
Annie smiled. “He likes me a lot.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Brad said. “He’d do anything for you and Maggie.”
“He loves you, too. He took Wolfe down when Wolfe tried to shoot you.”
“That he did. But, in his mind, his number one job is protecting you two. I guess he figures the two of you are more valuable.”
“Or, he knows you can take care of yourself.”
“Maggie might disagree. Still, it’s nice to know he has our backs.”
Annie turned back to the window and sipped coffee.
They took the elevator to the eleventh floor where the crown prosecutors had their offices. A dozen young lawyers were crammed into a space big enough for four. When Brad had worked here for Vaughn Matson, Brad had been relegated to the gopher farm. A prosecutor would come out of an office, shout a name and the young lawyer would pop their head up and get their orders.
As they passed Matson’s office, Brad looked in but the room was unoccupied. They continued down the hall to Jenni Blighe’s office. He knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Brad stepped aside and let Annie enter first.
Blighe stood and offered her hand. Annie shook Blighe’s hand then slumped into a chair.
“Counselor,” Brad said.
Blighe smiled. “Counselor. I’ll probably be about two hours with Annie, so talk to the kids in the gopher farm or go grab a coffee.”
“Actually, I’m staying.”
“I’d rather talk to Annie alone.”
“I know. But I’m here officially. I’m her lawyer.”
“What?” Blighe said. “I can think of a dozen reasons that’s unethical. Please let me—”
“If he doesn’t stay, then I don’t.” Annie folded her arms across her chest.
Blighe looked from Annie to Brad and back and realized she wouldn’t win the fight. She pointed to a chair. Brad sat, suppressing a grin.
“Annie, I’ll try to make this as informal and short as I can. I have some questions that will be tough on you. I apologize in advance. If at any time you need a break, let me know. Can I get you anything?”
“Nope. Let’s get this over with.”
Blighe nodded. “Please state your name.”
“Annie Hilliard.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Are you familiar with a man named Jeter Wolfe?”
Annie swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
“He held me captive in the Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse and raped me.”
“How many times did he rape you?”
“I don’t know—almost every night. Sometimes more than once a night. Sometimes he brought other bikers and they took turns.”
Annie’s knees were bouncing, and she clasped her hands so tight they turned white. Brad didn’t need to intervene yet, but it was getting close.
“You’re doing great,” Blighe said. “I have some specific questions. Are you okay to continue?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Besides the rapes, it’s my understanding that Wolfe did other specific things. Can you tell me what they were?”
“You mean the cigarette burns and bites?”
“Yes.”
Annie slumped and looked at her hands. “When he was really drunk or high, he’d bite me—my breasts, the inside of my thighs, and my … my ass.”
“And the cigarettes?”
“When he was done, he always had a smoke. Sometimes he’d sit on the edge of the bed and didn’t say or do anything. After he finished the cigarette, he’d leave. But if he was furious, he raped me hard and then burned me with the cigarette. He’d light a second one, usually from the first. He’d pin me onto the bed. He’d get the tip red hot and then burn me. He got off on my screaming. Sometimes, he used several cigarettes —” Annie started crying.
Blighe handed her a tissue and said, “Are you okay? Do you want a break?”
Annie shook her head. “I want this done. He did other things.”
“What was that?” Blighe asked.
“At the start, I fought him, but that got him more excited. So, I stopped fighting but that made him furious. He wanted me to fight. If I didn’t, he’d beat me.” Tears flowed in a steady stream.
“Thank you, Annie, now—”
Annie stood. “I need a bathroom.”
“Sure,” Blighe said. “Straight down the hall.”
Annie left the office.
Brad and Blighe sat in silence. Blighe looking at her notes, Brad fuming.
“You’ve got what you need,” Br
ad said. “Let her go.”
Blighe shook her head. “Not yet. I need to know if there was anything else. We don’t have the forensics results from either the murder or rape. We won’t get much from the rape of Billy-Lou. Any evidence there might have been was washed away in the river. If Billy-Lou doesn’t regain consciousness, then Annie is the only link to Wolfe. I need to know everything if I’m going to push for similar circumstances.”
“You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“That’s all you get. It took almost two years for Annie to move past what Wolfe did. She still has nightmares. Now you’ve opened closed wounds. I know you need to do this interview, but I think you’ve already got what you need. To prove similar circumstances.”
“Based on what? Your vast experience as a trial lawyer?”
“Nice shot.” Brad glared at Blighe. “It’s based on me being with her on her darkest days. I don’t want to see her go back there. I want Wolfe in jail until he dies. But today the cost is too high. You can use fifteen minutes or not. Up to you. But I’ll shut this down and we’ll leave the second I think you’ve pushed her too hard.”
Annie walked in and took her seat.
“Ms. Blighe has decided she’s almost done,” Brad said. “Fifteen minutes or less.”
Blighe scowled at Brad. He ignored her.
“Okay,” Annie said. “I can do fifteen minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wednesday
Wolfe sat across the desk from the psychiatrist. They’re all the same, Wolfe thought. Low, methodical speech, gray beard, and a stupid-looking tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Wolfe looked around for a pipe. Paintings covered the walls. Just paint splattered on canvas. No doubt each represented some inner turmoil or repressed memory. He was learning the lingo. To him, they looked like the work of five-year-olds.
Wolfe was dressed in a white hospital shirt, pants and slippers. His hands and legs were shackled, with a chain connecting the two. At the door, two burly hospital orderlies stood guard.
This guy was the third psychiatrist to interview in the last three weeks. Was three some magical number? He’d practiced on the first two. He was ready for this one.
“Mr. Wolfe. Let’s talk about your childhood,” Professor Van Dyke said. “Would you say it was happy?”
Wolfe glared. “Fuck you.”
“It is important that I understand your upbringing. Then we can work on the reasons you are here. Please bear with me. Tell me about your family.”
Wolfe stared. Maybe this was the time to give him a little. Not a lot. But enough to explain how disturbed he was. “My father was a drunk and my mother was a slut.”
“Please expand.”
Wolfe thought carefully about his next words. “He was around when I was young. Maybe eight. He was a big guy. I guess I get the size from him. He’d come home drunk and stagger around the house. If I was awake, he’d be nice then hit me. When I cried, he told me to toughen up. Then he’d laugh and go to his bedroom. We’d hear Mom screaming from the other room and Dad laughing. I’d hide under the covers in the room I shared with my older sister. Later, he came out and was in a better mood.”
“Your mother?”
“She never came out after Dad went in. The next day she had bruises or cuts.”
“Did she ever talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“How long did this go on for?”
“I don’t know. When I was nine or ten, he left for a couple of years. I didn’t get beaten, but Mom had other men over. Same thing. She’d be screaming and crying.”
“What happened when he came back?”
“Same stuff with Mom. Except he started coming to our room.”
“The room you shared with your sister.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened then?”
“He’d tell me to get out of the room. At first, I did, and I sat in the dark in the living room, listening. Then I got curious. So, I’d leave the bedroom, but leave the door ajar. Then I’d sneak back and watch from the door.”
“What did you see?”
“He was on top of my sister. She tried to stop him. He liked that and laughed louder.”
“How did you feel about your father hurting your sister?”
“Nothing at first. I figured she was old enough now, that it was time for her.”
“How old was she when your father starting attacking her?”
“Twelve.”
“How old were you?”
“About ten.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. But I felt strange. There was excitement throughout my body.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I loved it. I watched whenever I could.”
“Why did you like it?”
“Because I was learning how to handle women. I saw the power he had over them. I saw his excitement. I wanted that.”
“Why did you want power?”
“Because it was a gift from Satan. Men are meant to rule. Especially over women. That’s true power. Satan provided women for men to use.”
“Why does … Satan want you to have power?”
“Because I am his son!”
“You’re the son of Satan?”
“Yes. I’m the heir. I will rule this world. The women will be mine and the men shall die. It is decreed.” Wolfe struggled out of his chair. “Now it’s your time.” Wolfe dove across the desk. The guards dragged him onto the floor. The doctor shouted for a sedative.
Wolfe smiled. Soon the play would enter the final act. God, manipulating these clowns is too easy.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thursday
Brad, Tina, and Devlin sat behind Jenni Blighe. Judge Gray was seated and court was in session for Jeter Wolfe’s second appearance.
“Before we begin, Mr. Bridge, you wish to address the court?” Judge Gray asked.
Bridge stood and buttoned his coat. “Yes, Your Honor. I have tried to interview and counsel my client over the past two weeks. At no time was I able to have a coherent conversation with him. I don’t know if he understands the charges. I don’t know if understands he needs to enter a plea. I have seen his psychiatric assessment, as has my learned colleague, and the three psychiatrists have consensus that Mr. Wolfe is having some sort of mental health breakdown. He believes he is the son of Satan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bridge. Ms. Blighe?”
Jenni stood. “Your Honor. I have read the reports from the psychiatrists and I have witnessed Mr. Wolfe’s nonsensical outbursts. Frankly, I do not believe he is having a breakdown or that he thinks he’s the son of Satan. I believe that faking a mental breakdown is part of his plan. This is theater to him. He does not want to go back to jail and has contrived this theater to remain in psychiatric care. It is obvious that he has been able to sway three professionals with his act. We should not, no, cannot get caught in this farce perpetrated by Wolfe.”
Brad felt like clapping.
Bridge was on his feet. “Your Honor, does my colleague mean to say that she is better qualified than three experienced professionals with doctorates in psychiatry?”
“Ms. Blighe?” Gray asked.
“No, Your Honor, I am not better qualified in psychiatry. However, I am familiar with the criminal mind and the lengths they will go to ensure they are not incarcerated. If I may, the mistake the psychiatrists and my colleague are making is thinking that Wolfe lacks intelligence, that he is simple and slow. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is clever, deceitful, devious and manipulative. He knows exactly what he is doing.”
“Thank you, Ms. Blighe.” Judge Gray rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you both for your comments. I would find it difficult to overrule the psychiatrists. Let’s bring in Mr. Wolfe and see if he wants to enter a plea today.” He nodded to the bailiff.
Brad turned to Tina. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” she replied.
A couple of minutes later four guards escorted Wolfe into the courtroom. Brad was relieved to see that the shackles were in place on his hands and feet. Wolfe stared straight ahead.
“Mr. Bridge, do you wish to talk to your client?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Bridge walked over to Wolfe and whispered. Wolfe continued staring ahead, a blank expression on his face. He showed no reaction to Bridge. Shortly after, Bridge returned to his table. “Mr. Wolfe does not respond to my questions.”
“Very well.” Judge Gray turned in his seat toward Wolfe. “Jeter Wolfe, the court clerk will read the charges.”
“Jeter Wolfe, you are charged with escaping lawful custody, then auto theft times three, first-degree murder, attempted murder, two counts of rape, criminal negligence while operating a vehicle, and assault with a deadly weapon. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”
Wolfe’s head slowly turned to the judge. “You ask me if I’m guilty? You’re guilty!”
Wolfe’s sudden outburst caught everyone by surprise. His guards took an involuntary step backward.
“Did I kill anyone? Did anyone see me do it? Did I assault anyone? Do you have proof?” Wolfe pointed to Blighe, and when he spoke his voice thundered in the courtroom. “You’re mine! I’ve got it all worked out. For two years I woke up every day in jail planning our time together. The fantasies will be reality. I’ll come for you, you bitch.”
Wide-eyed, he scanned the courtroom then back to Blighe.
“I don’t hate you, I could never do that. You misunderstand me. But I say this, we will be together. They can’t keep us apart. They will go crazy trying to stop me. I see the future. You are mine and cops will die!”
“Mr. Bridge, control your client.”
Bridge jumped to his feet and raced over to Wolfe, who lunged at him. Bridge backpedaled. The guards reached for Wolfe but he stepped aside. “The demons in my head tell me what to do. They whisper: revenge, revenge, revenge! Pain’s not bad, it’s good. If you’re going to do something, do it well, enjoy it and leave others terrified! Do you think I should be remorseful? For what? You persecute me—want to crucify me! Doesn’t that give me equal right to crucify you?”
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