Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Zan threw his hands in the air. “Fine, you win. I’ll call you next week. I’m not an alcoholic, though. I only drink on my days off.”

  “You’re still an alcoholic,” Hank stated, staring at his nameplate. “What kind of crazy name is Zan, by the way? Was your mother playing a computer game when you were born? Forget it. Get my man. I don’t have all night here.”

  Once he was buzzed through the security doors, the detective removed his gun and placed it in a locker. He’d been sober for almost ten years, but he still attended AA meetings on a regular basis. Weekend drinkers like Zan never thought they had a problem. Hank hated to see a guy flush his life down the toilet.

  The jail was actually a pretrial detention facility, and as a result of housing over a thousand inmates with a rated capacity of 412, the fairly new facility had the infrastructure of a thirty-year-old building. About twelve years ago, the county had erected another detention center, the Todd Road Jail, in the city of Santa Paula. Todd Road was designed to hold over 750 sentenced male inmates.

  Overcrowding was a major problem, both at the local and the state level. The city of Ventura had a population of just over a hundred thousand. The county, however, had close to eight hundred thousand. Although the PD only serviced the city, the probation, sheriff’s, and DA’s office had jurisdiction over the entire county.

  Drew Campbell wasn’t accustomed to luxury, but he was in for a rude awakening. A jail in a county like Ventura, though, couldn’t compare to the conditions inside one of the Los Angeles facilities, where riots were commonplace events. And prison was twice as bad. Even hardened cons refused to tolerate child abusers. Many of them left in body bags. Unless he was acquitted, Campbell had bought himself a one-way ticket to hell.

  Another officer escorted Hank through the quad on the second floor, stopping and unlocking the door to a small room. When he stepped inside, Drew Campbell peered up at him with desperate eyes. This was the part of the process the detective enjoyed the most, his first glimpse of a predator encased in the jaws of justice. He liked seeing them in their orange jumpsuits, amazed at how such a simple piece of clothing could humble the most confident of men.

  Technically, he should advise the jail to place Drew in protective custody. Discounting the nature of the charges, he was what Hank considered a pretty boy, with his shiny silver hair, pale blue eyes, clear, smooth skin, and refined features. Since the inmates didn’t have jobs like they did at a prison facility, their contact with men outside their quads was limited. This made the chances of a violent assault by a group of prisoners less likely. But there were always ways to get to someone. There were the men inside the quads, the tunnel where prisoners were transported to court, and the one with the least consequences, a guard willing to look the other way. Some guards did it for money, but the majority did it because they thought the inmate deserved whatever punishment his fellow prisoners wanted to administer. Hank had no intention of bringing up the issue of protective custody, not for a man who had repeatedly raped and beaten his daughter.

  “God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Drew said. “They took my children. This is a mistake, a horrible mistake. Veronica was murdered. I don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like the world is coming to an end. I tried to talk to the officers who came to arrest me, as well as that woman from Social Services. No one would tell me anything.”

  Hank pulled out a chair and took a seat, reading Drew his rights.

  “I don’t mind talking to you without an attorney,” he said. “I don’t have anything to hide. Just get me out of this place. I’m terrified. I’ve never been arrested in my life. I need to take care of my kids, figure out what to do about Veronica’s funeral.”

  “Jude told us what you’ve been doing to her,” Hank told him. “She says you’ve been forcing her to have sex with you since she was eleven, that you beat her whenever she resisted. Her injuries have been documented, Drew, so don’t waste my time denying it.”

  “I didn’t do anything to Jude,” Drew protested. “Don’t you understand? She must be getting back at me because I made her move out of the house. You have no idea what my daughter is like. Christ, check her arrest record. She’s been in and out of juvenile hall a dozen times. Shit, she was even caught dealing drugs at school. How could you possibly take her word over mine?”

  Hank pulled out a toothpick, sticking it between his front teeth, then moving it to the side of his mouth. “For starters, you don’t have any bruises on you.”

  “I swear, I’ve never touched that kid,” Drew said, his voice shaking. “Jude would have slugged me if I did. That black thug she’s been hanging out with must have beaten her up again. That’s one of the reasons I insisted she move out of the house. Both Veronica and I tried to keep her from seeing him. I have three young children, Hank. The guy’s a gangster. I was afraid people would start shooting out our windows and kill one of the kids. How would you like to have that kind of element around your family?”

  “Do you know this boy’s name?”

  “Reggie.” Drew rubbed his chin. “I think his last name is Stockton, but I’m not certain. He might be Jude’s pimp. She’s been prostituting herself for years. When she told you all these lies about me, did she tell you how many abortions she’s had?”

  “Yes, she did,” Hank said, watching the surprise register on his face. “Your daughter believes you murdered your wife, Drew. The district attorney’s office is considering filing homicide charges in addition to the sex crimes. You’re in deep trouble.”

  His panic intensified. “Now you think I killed Veronica! I loved my wife. I would never have done anything to hurt her. Talk to Carolyn. She’ll think you’re out of your mind. We had a beautiful family, a good marriage. Anyone who knows us will confirm what I’m telling you.”

  “We don’t give a shit what other people think,” the detective told him. “Any man who could hide the fact that he was having sex with his daughter for eight years could hide anything. You took a day off from work on a Tuesday, the same day Veronica was murdered. You can’t account for your time, outside of claiming you went shopping for shelving, which you didn’t buy.” He paused and leaned over the table. “Jude says you took her to the Motor Inn to have sex with her. That’s where we found your wife’s body. She also said she threatened to expose you, which gives you motive. So now you’ve got both motive and opportunity. Sounds like a pretty good case, doesn’t it?”

  The blood drained from Drew’s face. His hands locked on the arms of his chair.

  Hank stood, kicking the chair out of his way. “And that doesn’t take into account the million-dollar life insurance policy you carried on your wife. Since she didn’t die of natural causes, you get twice that amount. Do you know what constitutes first-degree murder, Drew?” He paced, then spun around. “Of course you do. Veronica was a probation officer. Let me tell you how this went down. You knew that one day Jude might tell her mother what you’d been doing to her, so you made provisions. You bought the life insurance last year.”

  “I took out the same amount of insurance on myself,” he argued. “I was trying to make sure my family would have money to live on if something happened to one of us. How can you fault me for that?”

  “It was my understanding that you were having financial problems,” Hank countered. “How could you afford the premiums?”

  “I worked overtime.”

  The detective brought his fist down on the table, causing Drew to jump. “I told you not to waste my time with lies. It wasn’t enough that you destroyed your daughter’s life, you were prepared to kill your wife to protect yourself. You’re such an evil man, you even wanted to profit from the woman you murdered.”

  “It’s not true,” Drew said, his face flushing. “I don’t have to listen to this. I—I want an attorney.”

  Hank ignored him, too fired up to stop. “You rented a room at the Motor Inn to have sex with your daughter a day or two before the murder. Whether you realize it or not, the poor gir
l was trying to starve herself to death. That’s how miserable you made her life. Then when she realized you were priming her sister, Stacy, to be your next victim, she threatened to expose you, believing you’d become enraged enough to kill her. Do you know what kind of courage it takes to incite someone to kill you? And she almost did it, didn’t she?” Hank reached over and grabbed Drew’s hands, flattening them out on the table so he could look at them. “Where did you get that cut on your knuckle?”

  “I—I’m a technician at Boeing,” Drew stammered. “I build things with my hands.”

  Hank shifted his jacket on his shoulders, trying to keep from beating him senseless. The more he talked, the more convinced he was that Drew Campbell was a murderer. “Something went wrong, didn’t it? Jude escaped when you fell asleep. When you weren’t able to track her down, you lured Veronica to the same motel on Tuesday. By now, someone else had rented the room. They left early that morning. But you’d kept the key so you had no trouble getting in. Besides, you didn’t rent the room the first time. You paid someone else to do it for you. You think that guy is going to take a murder rap for you? He’s a low-level criminal who deals in stolen credit cards. He’d roll over on his own mother.”

  The armpits of Drew’s jumpsuit were soaked in perspiration. “I want an attorney. I refuse to answer any more questions without an attorney present.”

  “You’ll get your damn attorney,” Hank barked, whipping a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his face. “You don’t have to answer any questions, Drew. We don’t need you to answer any questions. You know why? Because we have all the answers. Your wife had no reason to fear you. That made it easy for you to get your hands on the gun you knew she carried in her purse. You called and asked Veronica to pick Jude up at the motel. We know the girl wasn’t allowed to drive her car, that she sometimes disappeared for days and then called her mother to come and get her. You told Carolyn that yourself. And we know why Jude had to stay away during those times. You didn’t want her mother to see the bruises from where you’d beaten her. You’re one of the most sadistic son of a bitches I’ve ever seen. You ordered your wife to get in the bathtub before you shot her. You thought you could contain things that way. Then you looked the mother of your children in the eye and blew her brains out.”

  Drew’s eyes flooded with tears. “Stop, please. You can’t…”

  The detective ignored him. “The next thing you did was soak the body in a tubful of water, thinking you could get rid of any evidence that would link back to you. But you didn’t get rid of all the evidence, and you weren’t able to kill the person whose testimony will convict you, the daughter you tortured.” He leveled a finger at him. “You’re going to get the death penalty, fucker, and I’m going to be there to watch you die. Think about that because I’m going to be looking forward to it.”

  Drew sat in shocked silence as Hank walked over and depressed the buzzer for the jailer. When the same officer appeared, he said, “Get this asshole a phone so he can call his attorney.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Friday, October 15—7:30 A.M.

  Marcus left for work early, leaving Carolyn in the house with Jude. Since it was Josephine’s day off, she woke Jude and cooked her a cheese omelet.

  “Your father’s in jail,” Carolyn told her, pouring herself a cup of coffee and carrying it to the kitchen table. “I can drive you to school if you feel up to it. There’s no reason you can’t get your diploma. You may have to miss a few days for the court proceedings, but I’m sure I can make arrangements with your teachers so you can keep up with your work.”

  Jude picked at her food, then set her fork down, staring out over the room. “I was doing it for my mother. She’s dead. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She seemed so lost, Carolyn thought. How could she not be? Her family was destroyed. Peter, Michael, and Stacy were in San Francisco with an aunt who had never shown any interest in them. They must also be suffering. At a time like this, Jude and her siblings should be in familiar surroundings with people who loved them. Being the older sister herself, she knew Jude was probably worrying about the kids along with everything else. Tonight, she would make certain to call Emily so Jude could speak to them. “Getting your diploma matters even more now, honey,” she told her. “If you quit, your father will have stolen that from you, along with everything else. Your mother would have wanted you to succeed. Like I told you, if your father is convicted, the life insurance money will be divided among the children. You could go to college. Even if you don’t get the insurance money, Marcus and I could help with your tuition. He’s a generous man, Jude, and he’s deeply concerned about you. He told me you could stay here as long as you want.”

  “Everyone at school will know Mom was murdered,” Jude said, finishing her omelet and shoving her plate aside. “Detective Stevens said people may find out what my father was doing to me. The kids look down on me already because I didn’t graduate with my class. How do you think they’ll treat me when they find out I’ve been giving blow jobs to my father?”

  “You can’t stay in the house all day, Jude. I have to work. Going back to school will keep your mind occupied. You’re a strong girl. I think you can handle it. No one’s going to ridicule you about your mother’s death, and if anything comes out about the situation with your father, it’ll be a long time from now. Why don’t you give it a try? If you don’t feel comfortable, I’ll come and get you.”

  The area around the girl’s mouth turned white. She placed her hand over her mouth, rushing over and vomiting in the sink. Carolyn ran cold water on a dishrag and pressed it against her forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Since you haven’t been eating, I should have given you something bland until your system gets back to normal. You didn’t vomit intentionally, I hope.”

  “Did you see me with my fingers down my throat?”

  “I have some soda water,” Carolyn told her. “Let me get you some to rinse your mouth out.” She removed the bottle from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass, then handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” Jude said, taking a swallow, then spitting it out. When she looked over at Carolyn, her eyes were damp with tears. “I miss my mother. And I miss Stacy, Peter, and Michael. They might have pestered me to death, but I loved them. Now I don’t have anyone.”

  Carolyn embraced her. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll forget about school for today. Just stay home and rest. I’ll call Josephine and see if she can come in. That way, you won’t be here by yourself.”

  “No, please, I’ll be fine,” Jude insisted. “With all the coffee, I didn’t get much sleep yesterday. Will those men still be watching the house?”

  “Not today, Jude. They work for Marcus’s company. They’re only here when Marcus is here. That is, unless there’s a reason.” Carolyn remembered the threatening letter. She wasn’t really concerned now. She felt fairly certain Drew had written it, hoping to either throw the police off track or to intimidate her from investigating Veronica’s murder. He should know her well enough to know that wouldn’t happen. “I might be wrong about the security. I’ll call and check. You go back to bed. Before I leave, I’ll bring you the bottle of soda water and some saltine crackers. Then if your stomach settles down later, you can try to eat some chicken soup. Josephine made some yesterday. It’s in the refrigerator. All you have to do is heat it up in the microwave.”

  After Jude left, Carolyn pushed a speed-dial button, hearing the husky voice of Francis Menlo, the man they called Bear. “Are you at the house, or in LA with Marcus?”

  “Mr. Wright instructed me to watch the house today.”

  “Good,” she said. “Our houseguest, Jude, is going to be here by herself. If anything comes up, get in touch with me right away.”

  She disconnected and went to the bedroom to get dressed. Standing inside the enormous closet, she felt as lost as Veronica’s daughter. The room resembled a finely appointed library. The walls and shelves were covered in cherry wood, then finished with lacqu
er. There were slots for shoes, special brass fixtures for ties, and a large cabinet with drawers. Her modest wardrobe looked out of place next to the rows of Marcus’s suits and the stacks of perfectly folded shirts with the cardboard from the cleaner’s still inside.

  Carolyn selected a pair of black slacks and a pink turtleneck, and was reaching for the matching jacket when she changed her mind. She wasn’t in the mood to wear her professional clothing. Returning to the bedroom, she put on a pair of jeans, a white shirt, and a burgundy vest.

  Before she left the house, she took the soda and crackers to the guest room, then remembered that Jude had spent the night upstairs. She’d have to let Rebecca know before she came home today. The room had only one bed, so they’d have to sort out the sleeping arrangements later. There was another bedroom directly across from Rebecca’s. Hopefully, she could talk Jude into moving in there. It wasn’t right to take her daughter’s room away from her, particularly since she’d just gotten settled. But then again, under the circumstances, it wouldn’t hurt Rebecca to sleep in the other room for a few days.

  Seeing Jude under the covers with her eyes closed, Carolyn left the soda and crackers on the end table and crept out of the room.

  Carolyn called Brad Preston from the car, updating him on the events of the night before. “If you think you can get by without me until this afternoon,” she said, “I’d like to go straight to the police station. Mary’s going to try to track down Jude’s boyfriend, a guy named Reggie Stockton. I just got off the phone with Hank. He talked to Drew last night at the jail. He claims Jude is lying, and that Stockton is a gangbanger who beat her. He also said Stockton might be her pimp. Working at Circuit City doesn’t sound like a job for a pimp. What do you think?”