Jack wanted to lie and say yes. He knew horrible crime scenes were part of the job of being a policeman. But when he looked up at the old detective, he didn’t say anything. He just cocked his head slightly to the left, his right shoulder rising with it.
“Appalling, isn’t it—death?”
“Yeah.”
“How about something from the soda machine?” Clark gestured for Jack to follow him. “Some sugar will help with the shock.”
They walked down a back hallway lined with small offices before reaching a brightly lit soda machine set back in an alcove.
“I remember my first DOA,” Clark said. “It was an elderly gentleman. He had died at a ripe old age of natural causes, but it still bothered me for weeks.” He pressed the only button on the vending machine that didn’t have a red light on it. He handed Jack a can. “Has this put you off a career in law enforcement?”
The cold liquid felt good on Jack’s dry throat. He stared into the can’s opening and thought about Clark’s question, then took another long sip. “If it wasn’t me who found her, it would have been someone else, right? So, no. I’m not rethinking it.”
A uniformed officer opened a door in the hallway. “Detective Clark, do you have a second?”
“I’ll be right back.” Detective Clark pointed at a door down the hallway. “If you need to use the men’s room, it’s right there.”
Detective Clark and the officer stepped away, leaving Jack alone in the alcove. The soda machine hummed, the air conditioning buzzed, and the overhead lights made a faint clicking to add to the electrical chorus. Jack knew he was in the middle of a police station surrounded by police officers and firepower, but the hallway seemed cavernous. He felt raw and exposed. He put his back tightly against the wall and closed his eyes.
Jack pictured the golden light on the pond and the horror beneath the water. He could see Stacy there, hovering just beneath the surface—floating like a ghost. Her beautiful blond hair drifted around her angelic face like tendrils.
But Jack hadn’t found her alive. He hadn’t rushed in and rescued her. Stacy Shaw was dead.
Jack closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He willed himself to change the picture in his mind, but somehow he could only see her face. He was used to nightmares—but he wasn’t used to not being able to escape the terror when he was awake.
Jack’s eyes flashed open. Hanging on the wall directly across from him was a missing person poster for Stacy Shaw. Her eyes were bright and so full of life.
He felt sick.
A door opened down the hallway, and a woman’s voice said, “Detective Vargas?”
“Superintendent Finney, come on in.”
They lowered their voices, but because of the echo in the narrow corridor, Jack could still clearly hear them.
“I have the M.E.’s report,” the superintendent said. “Manual strangulation. He couldn’t give us an exact time, but he puts preliminary time of death between seven and eleven Thursday night. He also confirmed she was pregnant, eleven weeks along.”
“Was there any evidence of sexual assault?” Vargas asked.
“Inconclusive.”
“Well, the time of death fits with what we know. She worked late that night. Her manager…” papers shuffled, “a Leland Chambers, said he last saw her a little after seven, and the custodian saw her about forty-five minutes after that. Another employee, Betty Robinson, spoke with Stacy when she left the building at quarter till eight. Her husband, Michael, called her from his hotel in Schenectady, New York, and spoke to her at seven fifty-two p.m. He called her again at nine, but got no answer. Her phone was on the same cell tower for both calls.” More papers shuffled. “Not a surprise. The Morse Hill cell tower covers both her work and Ford’s Crossing, where her car was found.”
“Her phone was found in the car?” the superintendent asked.
“On the front seat. Keys were still in the ignition.”
“When did the state trooper find the car?”
“Ten fifteen.”
“So she was killed sometime between eight and ten.”
“Yes. Small window.”
“If she was attacked and killed in the park,” the superintendent said, “why would her car be a mile away?”
Vargas coughed. “We don’t know. Maybe he took her car for a joy ride.”
“Have you pulled all the video surveillance cameras between the two locations?”
“We started pulling them when she went missing. So far there’s nothing.” Vargas let out a long breath. “But we did get a hit on Jay Martin’s sneakers. The blood on the edge of the sole—it’s Stacy’s. The blood samples found on the rocks at the top of the hill are Stacy’s as well. He must have dragged her across the rocks. She had a deep laceration on her heel.”
“Well, that puts a bow on it. Nice work.” A chair slid back.
“Thanks. I just wish it had ended differently,” Vargas said. Another chair scraped against the floor. “Well, I’ve got to go interview these two guys who found the body.”
“Keep me posted.”
A door clicked closed, and Jack heard the superintendent’s heels move down the hallway in the opposite direction.
He stared at Stacy’s picture on the wall. They think it’s Jay. They’re pretty certain of it. But it wasn’t. Someone killed you, but not him.
Stacy’s eyes seemed to meet his, and more than anything, he wished he could ask her one question. “Do you know who killed you?”
The stoic police officer standing at the interrogation room door moved to the side when Jack entered, and Detective Vargas smiled. Vargas may have been wearing a neatly pressed business suit with highly polished shoes, but he still had the bearing of a soldier. He strode over to the other side of the table, across from Jack, and pulled a chair back, but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he placed the evidence bag with Stacy’s tan and gold handbag onto the table.
“So you’re Jack Stratton?” His hard, dark-brown eyes studied Jack’s face.
Jack nodded.
“Well, Jack, I need to ask you a few questions.” His tone was much harsher than it had been with the superintendent.
Jack nodded again.
“Let’s start with this handbag.” Vargas held it up.
The plastic of the evidence bag reflected the overhead light, and the handbag’s gold swirls sparkled. The image of Stacy’s golden hair glittering under the water flashed into Jack’s mind. It made him sick to his stomach.
“Do you recognize this?”
Jack felt numb. He nodded but looked away.
“I need your verbal confirmation. Look at it again, please.” Vargas gave the bag a little shake.
Jack forced his eyes up. “That’s the bag I found.”
“Can you please tell me how you came about finding it?”
Jack explained how he saw Robyn with the bag, recognized it from the description in the flyers, and then how he got it from her.
“Wait a minute. You paid this homeless woman for evidence?”
“No… She had the bag and I didn’t think that she’d just give it to me, so I traded her for it.”
Vargas frowned. “Why didn’t you contact the police when you saw her with the bag?”
“I…” Jack sat back. Chandler had wanted to go to the police, but Jack didn’t listen to him. “I guess because I didn’t know for certain that it was Stacy’s.”
“But you recognized it because of the flyer? Where did you get this flyer?”
“Detective Clark. He was handing them out at the basketball court in Hamilton Park.”
Vargas sat down and folded his hands on the table. “I heard you know Detective Clark.”
“He’s a friend of my dad’s.”
“So Clark gave you one of these flyers a couple of days ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you remembered that handbag until today. That’s some seriously good police work.”
Jack wanted to accept the comment as a compli
ment, but there was something about the detective’s undertone that made Jack question whether he was sincere.
“I heard you want to be a cop,” Vargas continued.
“I do. I’m going into the Army first.”
“I did that too. I liked the Army. It was good to me. I did six years, then I moved right into law enforcement. San Antonio.”
“I’m doing two years then college.”
“Why not go right to college?”
“Money.”
“That’s why I didn’t go.” Vargas leaned back in his chair. “Your parents aren’t helping you out?”
The question bothered Jack. “My dad has to retire early. Health issues. This is his last year teaching. I don’t want him to worry about my school.”
“That’s nice of you.” Vargas’s kind words didn’t match the look in his dark eyes. “You told the responding officer that you didn’t touch any of the items in the handbag, is that correct?”
“Yeah. I just looked inside.”
“Why?”
“To see if it was Stacy’s. I saw the medic alert tag. That’s when I figured it was hers.”
Vargas crossed his arms. “And you didn’t call the police then?”
“I planned to, but Robyn told me where she found it and I wanted to check that out.”
“But you said earlier that you didn’t call the police when you first saw the bag because you weren’t sure it was Stacy’s. You looked inside. Now you’re sure. I think you would have called them at that point.” Vargas planted his feet on the floor and rocked back in the chair. “You knew it was hers then, right? You said so. Tan with gold swirls like the flyer and a diabetic medic alert tag inside.” Vargas looked at the cop at the door, and they both nodded as if they had come to a mutual understanding. “So after you… traded for this handbag, you went to…” Vargas flipped open a notebook and scanned the page. “You went thirteen benches down from the fountain. Thirteen benches? That’s pretty specific directions this homeless woman gave you.”
“Robyn’s superstitious. She doesn’t sit on the thirteenth bench.”
“And then what? You went straight to Stacy’s body?” Vargas’s tone had changed. There was an edge to it.
“No. I got to the bench—”
“Just you?”
“No. Chandler was with me, but he just came because I asked.”
“So, you’re at the bench, what then? Did Robyn tell you that she found it on the east side?”
“No, but she did say that she found it when she was going to the bathroom in the woods. The east side, if that’s the side toward the pond, has trees. The other side is open grass.”
“What made you go to the pond?”
“Well, we saw some branches were snapped and we followed them.”
“That led you to the body?”
“No, we turned around to leave and then we saw.” Jack swallowed. “We saw some blond hair on this holly bush.”
“How far away were you from the hair when you saw it?”
“Chandler saw it first. He was close. A few feet maybe. It stood out. It’s blond and the holly leaves are dark green.”
“That’s still pretty far away from the pond.”
“The reeds were broken—the path was obvious.”
Vargas steepled his fingers. “The reeds were broken? Reeds?” He exchanged a quizzical look with the policeman near the door. “I thought reeds bend. But either way, are you a hunter?”
“A hunter?” Jack asked, confused. “No. Why?”
“I’m trying to figure out how you became a tracker.”
“You don’t have to be a tracker to see that path. It was clear that someone went that way. Perhaps dragged a body. They were those dry reeds that break when you touch them. Chandler thought a fisherman made the path but—”
“But you didn’t call the police?”
“To tell them that I found a path?”
“To alert us that you found the handbag and all that you suspected. You want to be a cop, right? What would a uniformed officer be required to do?”
“Call it in,” Jack conceded. “But—”
“So you trampled down the path and contaminated a crime scene?” Vargas grumbled.
Jack held up both hands palms out. “I didn’t know it was a crime scene. I still hoped she was alive. I was just trying to help.”
“Help?” Vargas stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Oh, that’s right, you want to be a cop. But I’m trying to figure out who you’re really helping. You see, we have a suspect in Stacy Shaw’s disappearance. His name’s Jay Martin. We put him in the Bay until he decides that he wants to cooperate. Make him sweat and tell us what happened to Stacy. That, and I wanted to see who he’d talk to.”
Jack straightened up.
“And someone did come to speak to Jay.” Vargas dragged his finger across his notebook page. “I see that Jack Stratton is listed on the visitor log of Long Bay Prison. And you visited Jay Martin.”
“Yeah, but,” Jack stammered, “I drove his mother there.”
“So you’re a friend of Jay Martin’s?”
Jack tried to hold his tongue, but restraint lost out to youthful indignation. “Friend? No. Actually, I can’t stand the guy.”
“You want me to believe that? Sure. You’re just a Good Samaritan. Is that why you were in the park?”
“I was cutting through. I saw the handbag—”
“And then you just happened to go straight to where the body was. Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me that Jay isn’t the real killer.”
“He’s not. Jay’s telling the truth.”
Vargas let his head roll to the side. He looked at the uniformed officer and laughed. “Didn’t I just tell him he’d say that?”
The cop nodded.
Jack’s stomach churned. “No. It’s not like that. Jay’s brother borrowed his jacket and shoes. For a date. I can prove it. I have pictures.” Jack patted himself down, trying to remember where he’d put them.
“I have pictures too.” Vargas flipped open a folder. In the folder was a picture of a black male at the ATM. It only caught a sliver of the man’s face, but Jay’s distinct jacket was clearly visible.
Vargas’s finger bent when he jammed it down on the picture. “There’s an old saying, Jack. Who am I gonna believe, you or my own lying eyes?”
“That’s Two Point,” Jack stammered. “Tommy Martin. Jay’s brother.”
“Ha!” The word popped from Vargas’s lips. “You want to know what I think?” He put his elbows on the table and his brown eyes bored holes in Jack. “I think you’re screwing with my investigation so you can help out your friend, Jay Martin.”
“No…”
“Clark thinks that you’re just some wide-eyed kid who wants to be a detective someday, but I’m not buying it.” Vargas crossed his arms. “I think you’re some punk who’s helping out someone in his crew. You went to the prison and met with Jay. Jay Martin told you where he dumped Stacy Shaw’s body. That’s how you went right to it. You didn’t ‘find’ it. You knew exactly where it was.”
Jack rubbed his temples. He felt as though his head was about to explode. “I was trying to help and—”
“Why should I believe you?”
Jack’s mind raced as he struggled to figure out a way to prove his innocence. “How could I have known in advance the homeless lady had the handbag? And if I did, why wouldn’t I just leave an anonymous tip? That would lead you to the handbag and then to the body. If I was trying to help Jay Martin, then why say it was his brother and not ‘someone framed him’ or something? There’s a million different scenarios. If—”
Vargas held up a hand. “Well, the facts say otherwise, but out of respect for Detective Clark, let’s just say I give you the benefit of the doubt and say you really were just trying to help out.”
“I was.”
“Then make no mistake about it, Nancy Drew: from here on out, stay the hell away from my investigation.” Vargas took his gold
badge off his belt and held it in Jack’s face. “Do you see this? It’s a detective badge. See what it says? Detective Vargas.” He put the badge on the table and tapped it. “Do you have one? No. Because you’re not a detective. You’re not even an officer. You’re nobody. Get that through your head. If I catch you within ten yards of that park or anyone with anything to do with my investigation, I’ll charge you with obstruction so fast your head will spin.” He looked at the cop and gestured to Jack. “Get him the hell out of my sight.”
The policeman motioned to Jack. Jack stood and looked down at Vargas. He didn’t glare. He didn’t smirk. He just stared.
“You want to say something?” Vargas picked his badge up and buffed it on his sleeve. “Don’t dig your hole any deeper.”
Jack clamped his mouth shut and walked out of the room.
15
Unlovable
Jack and Chandler sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Aunt Haddie. It was after eleven when she walked in the back door. She looked exhausted. Normally, Jack only noticed her big smile or her bright eyes. Tonight, however, he saw the deep lines of concern on her face, the gray in her hair, and the slump in her shoulders. For the first time in his life, he realized that she was getting old.
Jack decided it was best not to tell her what Vargas had said to him at the police station. He stood and got her a ginger ale.
“How’s Mrs. Martin?” Chandler asked.
Aunt Haddie rubbed her eyes and smiled thinly at Jack as he handed her the glass. “Not good. They’re going to charge Jay with murder.”
Jack leaned against the table. He had known it was coming, but it still rocked him. Vargas’s words haunted him now. Who are you gonna believe…
“Is there anything we can do?” Chandler asked.
Aunt Haddie sighed. “Pray. That’s a start.” She patted Jack’s shoulder. “It’s late. Why don’t you stay over, Jackie? Your old bedroom’s open.”
Jack nodded.
Aunt Haddie kissed Chandler’s cheek and the top of Jack’s head. “Thank you both for trying.” She shuffled down the hallway.
“Do you think Two Point did it?” Chandler asked Jack, once she was gone.
And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end Page 13