by Gregg Olsen
“Holy crap!” Colton’s eyes darted back to Hayley’s.
“No kidding,” she said.
Hayley remembered Starla once saying that Jake was a janitor before he became her mother’s personal handyman.
“What did Jake do with a student?” Colton asked.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Something disgusting, probably. Guy’s a total creep.”
“I’m going to find out what Jake did,” Hayley said. “Google the number for the Bellevue School District.”
Bellevue was a suburb east of Seattle that was known for its gargantuan mall and an endless stream of luxury cars. It was also Jake’s home before he slithered over to Port Gamble.
“Done,” Colton said, pulling it up on his phone. “But they can’t tell you anything about a fired employee.”
Hayley dialed the number and was quickly routed through to the human resources department. A woman with a chirpy voice who identified herself as Karen took the call.
“My name is Brenda Monson,” Hayley said, turning away from the din of the restaurant and facing the mill through the window. “I’m doing an employment backgrounder on a former district employee.”
“Name?”
“Jake Damon, D-A-M-O-N.”
“Hold on,” Karen said, typing his name into a computer. “Yes, he worked here.”
So far so good.
“Can you tell me the circumstances of his departure?”
“I’m sorry, we’re not able to do so. District policy. What company did you say you were with?”
“I didn’t,” she said, looking out over whitecapped Port Gamble Bay. “Wind over Water. We’re a small company providing educational services to disadvantaged kids in North Kitsap.”
Colton smiled. Disadvantaged kids was a nice touch.
“Pretty over there,” the HR representative said, her voice trailing off a little.
“Are you still there?” Hayley asked.
“I’m not supposed to say anything, but …”
“I won’t tell anyone, Karen. It must be important, because you’re hesitating.”
Karen let out a sigh. “I could lose my job, but I’m sick of how our policies protect the worst among us.” She paused before continuing. “His e-file says something about being let go for an inappropriate relationship.”
That was all Hayley needed to hear. She thanked her and ended the call.
“He was fixated on Katelyn,” Hayley said.
Colton had a worried look on his face. “Enough to kill her?” he asked.
Hayley wasn’t sure. “Let’s find out,” she said.
WHEN SHE GOT HOME LATER, Hayley made a beeline for her sister’s room with the information she and Colton had learned about Jake. Taylor was lying on her bed with a book.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Taylor said, pulling out her iPod’s earbuds with a single yank.
“I am definitely not kidding.”
“How could you?”
Hayley knew that her sister wasn’t referring to the fact that she’d uncovered vital info: that Jake had been run out of his last job. No, it was because she’d uncovered it with Colton.
Taylor didn’t hide her emotions well. She probably couldn’t even if she really tried. “Why are you doing this? Leaving me out?”
Hayley sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not leaving you out of anything. You’re being way too sensitive here.”
Taylor pushed her sister away. “Great. Now, you’re making me feel like a freak because I’m angry at you. No one can get mad at Hayley. Always so perfect.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Hayley said. “You’re being stupid.”
“Stupid? That’s great. Thanks for that, too.”
“You know what I mean.”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m just sick of Colton and you, that’s all. I’ll get over it. I guess.” She crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the feelings that were making her hurt, mad, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Tay.”
“Forget it,” she said. “Forget it for now. Let’s concentrate on Katelyn and who’s responsible for her death. I might be mad at you and Colton right now, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel about that jerk Jake Damon.”
HAYLEY AND TAYLOR KNEW THEY HAD TO DO something. They just weren’t sure what or how they should do it. They found their dad in his office in front of his computer. He took off his glasses and swiveled around in his chair to face them.
“I know that look. You two look like you’ve got something to say,” he said.
Of course he knew it. It was the look of any teenage girl (in this case, times two) with something BIG to tell. In that split second before either spoke, Kevin Ryan hoped whatever it was wasn’t that big.
With Hayley looking on, Taylor said, “Dad, we think that Jake was stalking Katelyn.”
Kevin looked confused. “Jake? Mindee’s Jake?”
“Yeah,” Hayley chimed in. “That’s the one.”
The girls sat next to each other on the window seat.
“Stalking? What do you mean by stalking?” he asked.
Hayley, again, took the lead. “He was e-mailing her.”
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked again, pausing for a moment while he processed what was said. “And just how do you know any of this?”
Neither wanted to tell their father just how they were sure of it. The idea that they were able to draw information from people or even inanimate objects was too much for their dad, a man who saw things as either black or white, true or false, real or not.
“Mrs. Berkley asked us to get into Katelyn’s laptop,” Taylor said. “She was worried that something was up. She didn’t know what. She just had a feeling, Dad, you know … the kind of feeling parents sometimes have when they think their children are in trouble?”
Kevin knew that feeling too. One time when the Ryans had been vacationing in London, the twins were separated from their parents at the King’s Cross station. In that moment, he and Valerie both had the agonizing fear that they’d never see their girls again. Of course, the family was eventually reunited, though it was some agonizing eight hours later. Nevertheless, there was no doubt among any of the Ryans that emotions were often more powerful than reason.
Bad things happening are the exception, Kevin always insisted, not the rule.
The girls were relieved. Their dad wasn’t asking too many questions. It seemed like a good time to drop the other bomb.
“Dad, did you know that Jake was a janitor for Bellevue schools?”
“Custodian, I think,” he said. “They like to be called custodians, and yes, I think I’d heard that.”
“Did you know he got fired?” Hayley asked.
Kevin clearly didn’t. “For what?”
“He was fired for having an inappropriate relationship. My guess is with a student.”
“That’s pretty sick, if it’s true.”
“It’s true, all right.”
“How do you know?”
“I called the district and they told me …”
“Wait a second. Even if he had been let go for something like that, why would they tell you?”
“She lied and said she was his new employer,” Taylor said. “But she had no choice. Who knows what Jake might do next?”
Kevin didn’t like the fact that Hayley had lied. He didn’t like that Taylor was acting all worried about Jake attacking other girls. What he did like, and what he could respect a little, was the fact that Hayley had kind of gone undercover with that little ruse. He’d have hugged her right then, but he knew that that was the wrong message.
“We’ll deal with your tricking the school district out of confidential information later,” he said. “Right now, we have to let Chief Garnett know what we know.”
Taylor produced a stack of documents that until that moment Kevin hadn’t even noticed she was carrying.
“Here are some of the e-mails, dad,” she said.
H
e took the papers, his eyes taking in each disgusting word.
“We’ve also got some chats that she saved,” Hayley said.
“I see that,” he said, still immersed in the pages. “How do we know it came from Jake?”
“Colton tracked the IP. All e-mails came from the Larsens’ place,” Hayley said.
“The guy’s a pig,” Taylor said. “Dad, he pushed her into killing herself. Told her how great she was, beautiful, smart … then dropped her like a hot rock. He told her she was stupid and should do the world a favor and kill herself. Isn’t he guilty of something?”
“He’s guilty of incredibly bad judgment and of being a scumbag, but Internet bullying, harassment, all of that is a new area. There are laws on the books in some states, but not all. And most haven’t been tested.”
“What are you going to do?” Taylor asked.
“Only one thing we can do,” Kevin said. “We’ve got to get this to Annie.”
chapter 42
BETH LEE TEXTED HAYLEY AND TAYLOR at the same time with the news that Jake Damon had been picked up by the Port Gamble Police. The twins were watching TV downstairs, not talking to each other. Taylor resented Hayley and Colton for going off on a Jake dirt-finding mission without her. Not cool. And there was no saying when they would forgive each other. One time, they didn’t talk for five days—and that was over a sweater that Hayley had stained with cranberry juice.
Accidentally. Honest. Really!
BETH: MOM’S DORKY FRIEND NINA WORKS THERE. SAYS JAKE WZ WANTED ON AN OUTSTNDNG WARRANT 4 DUI.
TAYLOR: DID THEY ARREST HIM FOR KILLING K?
BETH: NO. NOT YET. NINA SAYS THAT HE’S BEEN ?ED BOUD STLKNG HER, BUT HE DENIED IT.
HAYLEY: HE’S SUCH A LIAR!
BETH: YEAH, BUT KIND OF QT.
TAYLOR: OMG, U THINK A SLEZ GUY LYK THAT IS QT?
BETH: DON’T BLAME ME. I ♥ ME A BAD BOY.
Hayley turned to her sister and they burst out laughing.
“Can you believe her?” Hayley asked.
“No,” Taylor said, her smile fading. “And I’m still kind of mad at you.”
SAVANNAH OSTEEN CRAWLED ONTO HER COUCH knowing she had made a very big mistake. She pulled an old poly-filled comforter up to her neck and allowed her tears to tumble.
Whenever she told anyone about her sister’s death, it was like the creation of a fresh wound—a rusty knife into her stomach. Hurt poured out of her. Regret, shame, and guilt too.
Savannah could never let go of her sister and how she’d loved her more than anyone—more than her mother, father, older brothers. When Serena came home from the hospital, it was like getting a real-life baby doll. She was pink. Straight-haired. Perfect. Their mother let Savannah bottle-feed her and bathe her. She was, Savannah believed, her baby too.
Because of her, her baby was gone forever.
To lose Serena as Savannah had and to have missed the opportunity to save her was a tragic event that shaped the rest of her life. She quit the university, got involved in drugs, and went from boyfriend to boyfriend. She’d only come out of the darkness the year before she posted the response on the Kitsap Kalamities website.
Curled up with the comforter, Savannah knew she had made a grave error sharing that videotape with the reporter, but she couldn’t help herself. She had wanted to tell somebody for the longest time. Someone who didn’t know her and wouldn’t judge her.
In doing so, she had unleashed something that she hadn’t meant to.
Just then she made a decision. Her pity party was over. Savannah threw off the comforter, dried her tears, went to her computer, and found Kevin Ryan’s website. She hit the CONTACT button. An e-mail window opened and she started typing a message.
She hoped that it wasn’t too late.
A MESSAGE FROM THE WASHINGTON STATE CRIME LAB was waiting for Dr. Waterman when she returned to her desk from her autopsy suite. The note made absolutely no sense. She dialed the lab and got a tech on the phone.
“The pregnancy test kit you sent in with Ramstad came back negative, no presence of hCG. Picked up a trace of blood, though. We typed it though, AB. Nada else,” said the lab tech, a cheerful woman named Paris who always made sure that everyone knew she was named for the French capital, not the plaster.
Dr. Waterman slid her glasses down her nose as she searched for the Ramstad folder.
“There must be an error,” she said.
“Nope. Pretty clear. That gunshot victim, Robin, wasn’t pregnant.”
“I should hope not,” Birdy said.
“What’s with that?” the tech said.
“She’d be the first man to have a baby.”
Paris wasn’t so sure. “What about that guy in Oregon? The one I saw on Good Morning America?”
Birdy knew what she was referring to but ignored the impulse to say another word. Instead, she thanked Paris and hung up, a flash of recognition coming to her. She moved her hands over her desk, feeling the covering of file folders for the pregnancy kit that Mrs. Berkley had waved at her when she came to the morgue.
It was nowhere to be found.
Terry! He must have sent it into the lab by mistake.
She didn’t know whether to fire him or hug him right then. His error was an answer to a tormented mother’s prayers.
Katelyn wasn’t AB. She was type O. The test kit didn’t belong to her.
Dr. Waterman felt so relieved. In a job that seemed only to relay the worst possible news to a loved one (“ten broken ribs” or “sixtyone stab wounds to the chest” or “strangled with a bungee cord”), she had something that would bring comfort, not additional pain. Sandra Berkley would be comforted to know that Katelyn hadn’t cut her out of every important thing in her life. Dr. Waterman immediately phoned her and explained how her assistant’s mistake had inadvertently brought information that she thought would console her.
At least a little bit.
“Are you sure about this?” Sandra asked, clearly overjoyed that her daughter had not hidden a pregnancy.
The forensic pathologist said she was positive.
“I only have one question …”
“I know the question, but I don’t have the answer. Whoever thought she was pregnant was AB. That’s about all I can say.”
IT WAS EARLY EVENING. The Ryans’ dinner table had been cleared and the girls were upstairs doing their schoolwork, though Hayley said she really didn’t have any.
“I’ll just do some sympathy homework for you, Tay,” she said, trying to worm her way back into her sister’s good graces.
Taylor begrudgingly thanked her. She had to write a paper for art class.
“Can’t you just do a drawing or something?” Hayley asked.
“I wish. I thought art would be easy. This teacher is actually making us write papers on technique. I’m doing mine on chiaroscuro.”
“Yum … I love churros,” Hayley teased.
Downstairs, things were quiet. Valerie had gone out to gas up her car so she wouldn’t have to do it in the morning, and Kevin went into his office to catch up on e-mail.
He was pleased to see two fan letters in his in-box. The first was from a woman in Alabama who said she’d never written to a “real life” author in her entire life, but after reading Kevin’s Handsome as the Devil, about Dylan Walker, a charismatic serial killer who stalked women and girls in the Northwest, she felt compelled to do so.
The next one was from S. Osteen. Her tone was too familiar for a mere fan letter, which he instantly knew it was not.
From: S. Osteen
To: Kevin Ryan
RE: WARNING!
Mr. Ryan, hopefully you remember me. I observed your girls for the linguistics project from the U. I’m Savannah Osteen. I have done something terrible, and I wanted to warn you. I apologize for it, and I truly hope no harm comes to you or your family. I showed a reporter named Moira Windsor a tape I made when I was there filming your girls. Maybe you know what was on that tape. Maybe you don’t. I know Mrs.
Ryan does. Please forgive me.
Kevin could feel his heart sinking. He hit the PRINT button on his computer and fumbled for an aspirin in case he had a heart attack. Sweat collected above his brows and wicked in his shirt under his armpits.
Val, hurry home. You’ve got to see this.
UPSTAIRS, TAYLOR REREAD HER PAPER for art class. There had been a two-page requirement, and she’d managed to meet that by using a fourteen-point font. She was sure the teacher would call her on that, but she’d done her best. She knew other kids would basically wiki their whole paper, but she’d tried to do them all one better by using web sources from other sites, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The New York City museum was hosting a traveling exhibit from Italy called “Chiaroscuro: Our World in Light and Dark.”
The wiki kids were so lazy. It really didn’t take any more time or effort to actually use a search engine to find something beyond the very obvious.
Taylor popped her head into her sister’s room and told her that her “sympathy” homework could end.
“Good,” Hayley said, “because I’ve been Facebooking for the last hour anyway.”
“Thanks for the support,” Taylor said as she made her way down the hall and downstairs to their dad’s office, where the networked printer commanded a little table next to the door. She noticed the bathroom door was shut and wondered if the dinner she’d made—a kind of beef stroganoff without beef—had made him sick.
Taylor picked up her report and returned to her bedroom to proofread. On her computer screen, she could never find the mistakes that spell-checkers missed. Somehow they just leaped off the page when it was actually a page.
She pulled out a yellow highlighter and positioned it to mark whatever she needed to fix.
First page, perfection. Not a single mistake, grammatically, thematically, or otherwise. The second page, not so much. She’d switched the first name and the surname of the Italian artist. She wasn’t too hard on herself. It could happen to anyone.
Underneath was a third, and ultimately devastating, sheet of paper.
It was an e-mail to her father and she almost didn’t bother reading it. But the subject line caught her attention: Warning!
Before she even finished reading she had it in her sister’s face.