Revenge of Innocents

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Carolyn started to see if Rebecca had any candy bars stashed in her room, then remembered buying some a few weeks back and hiding them somewhere in the kitchen. She rifled through all the drawers and came up empty-handed. She always got hungry at night, so she’d probably already eaten them. Marcus thought she didn’t eat enough. He had no idea how much she could shove into her mouth during the hours he was asleep.

  She stood there for a while just staring into space. Ah, she remembered, she wasn’t the only one in the house with a sweet tooth. Josephine was addicted to chocolate as well, and she’d once seen her put a sackful of Hershey’s bars in the pantry where Marcus’s floor safe was located.

  She went to the pantry and moved around the bottles and cans. When she touched something hard and cold, she knew instantly it was a gun. Next to it was a box of ammo.

  Carolyn examined her find. In her hands was a Smith & Wesson Model 64 38+P revolver. She preferred a 9mm with a magazine, but right now she was in a semidelusional state of euphoria. This was a sign, she told herself. How could it not be? Now she had to figure out if it was Marcus’s gun, or if it had been left there by one of his bodyguards. When everyone was at work, Josephine would invite the guards in and make them lunch. Placing the gun and the box of ammo in one of the kitchen drawers, she headed to Marcus’s study on the other side of the house.

  First, she remembered, she had to find the key to unlock the door. With Marcus, she sometimes felt she was living inside a vault. Creeping into the bedroom, she entered his closet and found his key ring in a silver bowl where he kept his change and wallet.

  Returning to the study, she inserted several keys into the cylinder before she found the right one. Now that she was in, she went to his desk and dropped down in his chair. He used an Apple computer, and had once palled around with Steve Jobs, the founder. His monitor was enormous and took up most of the surface of the desk.

  She paused, her eyes sweeping over the rich cherry paneling and the rows of books on the shelves, the majority related to computer programming or some type of technology. Even his brown leather chair gave off his distinctive scent. It wasn’t his cologne, hair products, or deodorant. It was just the odor of a healthy, masculine man. Whenever she smelled it, it never failed to remind her of their lovemaking. Carolyn had only been in this room on a couple of occasions. It was a shame, really, she thought wistfully.

  Marcus had a number of handguns and rifles that he kept in a cabinet in the den. He catalogued everything he owned. If the gun was his, he would have the documentation. What file folders there were seemed to hold only a few papers. She knew Marcus relied on a paperless system for his banking. She didn’t have the password to his computer, so she hoped she could find the records for his gun collection somewhere in his desk. She lucked out, seeing a tab marked GUNS in Marcus’s familiar, bold scrawl.

  She carried the file back to the kitchen, finding the serial number on the Smith & Wesson and checking it against the list. Her fingers trembled when she saw it wasn’t there. To make certain, she went through the list again, and even rechecked the serial number on the revolver.

  Everything up to that moment had seemed surreal. Now it was so real, it was terrifying. Maybe by morning, she would come to her senses, or the right opportunity wouldn’t present itself. Regardless, she had started something that could forever change her life.

  Carolyn had taken the first steps toward committing a murder.

  CHAPTER 31

  Thursday, October 20—5:00 A.M.

  Carolyn dosed off for a few hours, then awoke and managed to slip out of bed without waking Marcus. She carried her notebook upstairs to Rebecca’s room where she’d hidden the Smith & Wesson.

  Taking a seat at her daughter’s desk, she powered up the computer and clicked on the NCIC icon. The National Crime Information Center was an enormous database maintained by the FBI. After she typed in her password, she went to the firearms section and entered the serial number of the revolver. The gun wasn’t stolen, nor had it been used in the commission of a crime. That alone made it unusual. In most instances, unregistered guns could be traced back to an untold number of crimes. Criminals had rap sheets. Guns were like criminals with a longer life span.

  Next, she checked the California DOJ Firearms Division, and the Bureau of Forensic Science. Then she entered the serial numbers at Smith & Wesson to see where the gun had gone when it left the factory.

  What Carolyn had found in a kitchen cabinet was referred to as a ghost gun. Even Smith & Wesson didn’t know it existed, and they’d made it. Her chances of finding a gun like this were astronomical, particularly with today’s technology. Of course, people had private collections containing firearms that had been purchased before gun registration was required. The manufacturer still had a record, however. The gun she was holding in her hand was similar to a baby being born without fingerprints.

  The gun appeared new, but Carolyn knew it had been fired because a round was missing. Guns didn’t just magically appear, so it had to belong to someone. As long as no one could track it, she was prepared to use it.

  The police knew Jude had stolen things from Marcus’s house. Since the girl was in intensive care, hooked up to all kinds of monitors, there was no way she could be held responsible.

  Carolyn’s attention was caught by the white porcelain cross on the wall over Rebecca’s bed. She remembered giving it to her for her first communion. Dropping to her knees, she pleaded with God to forgive her if she managed to succeed in her plan. She’d already killed one murderer, so if she was going to hell, she might as well take Stockton with her.

  She dialed Gary Conrad’s cell phone from Rebecca’s private line. She knew she was taking a chance by doing so, but there was no way to pull this off without a degree of risk. “I just thought I’d check and see what was going on with Stockton.”

  “Shit,” he said, yawning. “I’m sitting here watching the bastard sleep on the grass at Barranca Vista Park. Hank was supposed to send someone to relieve me, but everyone was tied up. The guys from narcotics we borrowed are handling the surveillance on Snodgrass.”

  “Did Stockton call or meet anyone?”

  “No,” Conrad said. “He may have come here thinking he could score drugs. No one showed up, so he just curled up on the ground and went to sleep. Patrol is so busy they can’t even relieve me long enough to go to the john and grab a cup of coffee. A girl was raped last night over by the marina. They also had a three-person fatal accident involving a semitruck, as well as an armed robbery at the Rite Aid on Main Street. All this and it’s not even the weekend yet. Must be a full moon or something.”

  “I’ll talk to Hank and make certain he sends someone to relieve you,” Carolyn said. “I’m gong to jump in the shower now, Gary, then make breakfast for my husband. I’ll see you later at the PD.”

  As soon as she hung up, Carolyn went to Rebecca’s closet and dug out a pair of black pants and a black sweatshirt from the pile of clothes on the floor. She stepped into a worn-out pair of tennis shoes that were two sizes too large. Fearing they might fall off, or she would trip like she’d done the night Stockton attacked her in the parking lot, she removed the shoes, put on two pairs of thick socks, and slipped them back on.

  She glanced in the mirror on her way out. Without makeup, she looked younger, at least from a distance. Finding a rubber band, she tied her hair back at the base of her neck, then pulled the hood on the sweatshirt over her head. The effect wasn’t what she wanted. Swaddled all in black, her fair skin made her face stand out. Pushing the hood back, she rushed downstairs.

  She scribbled a note to Marcus on the bulletin board they kept in the kitchen, telling him that she’d left early to get caught up on her work. He didn’t go to his office in Los Angeles until midmorning in order to avoid rush-hour traffic. Now that the kinks had been worked out on secure teleconferencing, he could almost run his company from the study she’d raided the night before.

  When Carolyn passed through the door
leading to the garage, she knew she would have to take one of Marcus’s cars. The red Infiniti attracted too much attention. She darted back inside the house, opened the door to the hall closet, and snatched the key for the Range Rover from the rack.

  Returning to the kitchen, she wrote at the bottom of the note that the Infiniti had failed to start, so she’d decided to take the Rover.

  A short time later, she was speeding toward Ventura, the Smith & Wesson tucked into the waistband of Rebecca’s jeans. Except for the one missing round, the gun had been loaded when she’d found it. She poured out a handful of bullets, steered the car with one hand as she spun the cylinder and inserted the missing round, then placed the rest of them in her pocket.

  If she took down Stockton and Gary or another officer came after her, she would surrender and suffer the consequences. It was shift change at the PD, so she probably had a window of time before Gary was relieved. She knew she could outrun the detective, as he was overweight and his lungs were shot from smoking. In addition to cigarettes, he’d admitted to regularly smoking marijuana, in his surfing days.

  Gary had been called on the carpet for fudging on his scores at the pistol range. Carolyn wasn’t a marksman, but she could hit a target, and Stockton was a large man. As long as he remained in a stationary position, she felt fairly confident she could take him.

  Gary wasn’t a bad cop, just lazy. She could tell by his voice that he’d been asleep when she’d called. She had to get to Barranca Vista before someone relieved him or Stockton woke up.

  The location was perfect. It was early enough that the park should be empty. The temperature had dropped to the mid-forties the night before, which was considered frigid for California. Barranca Vista wasn’t that large, and there were mature trees to keep her from being seen until she found the right moment to kill Reggie Stockton.

  Mary was swatting at flies over a maggot-infested body when she connected with something solid. “What the hell?” she said, turning around and seeing Keith Edwards standing behind her chair in the conference room. “Don’t ever, and I repeat ever, sneak up on me. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gun out or I might have shot you.”

  “I came straight here from the airport,” the young officer told her, draping his suit bag over a chair. “You looked like you were having a bad dream, so I thought I should wake you.”

  “Thanks,” Mary said, stiff and aching. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. Jesus, what time is it?” She looked up at the clock on the wall, and saw it was a few minutes past six. “I guess I fell asleep last night waiting for forensics to call me back. Only a small portion of the evidence collected from the various crime scenes has been processed. I’m hoping we’ll get lucky and find something to identify our killer. How was the funeral?”

  “Sad,” Keith said with a long face. “Mom had been sick for years. I feel bad that I wasn’t with her in the end. A least my two brothers were there. Has anything new happened?”

  “More than you can imagine,” Mary said, standing and stretching her back. “I’m going to the restroom to freshen up. Make us a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll bring you up to speed when I get back.”

  When she looked at herself in the mirror, Mary thought she was looking at a stranger. She knew things were bad when she didn’t recognize her own face. Mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her lips were dry and cracking. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d put on lipstick. The air had been damp the night before, and her hair had frizzed out into an enormous Afro. She didn’t wear hair extensions like many of her black friends did today. It was getting to the point where more white women had curly hair than black women. Like her mama had always told her, everyone wants what they can’t have.

  After she splashed water on her face, she pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of her purse, along with her makeup case. She carried a sling-type bag that was large enough to hold a change of clothing. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned on spending the night at the police station. She grabbed a handful of her hair and fashioned it into a knot at the base of her neck, then smoothed on some gel to keep the rest of it under control. Black hair could be a problem, particularly if you neglected it. She took her shirt off and put on deodorant, applied some face cream and lipstick, then went back to the conference room.

  When she walked in, Keith handed her a cup of coffee. She sucked some of it down, wondering what cops would do without caffeine. “Okay,” she said, after she’d brought him up to date. “This is what I want you to do today. Go to the evidence room and sign out Jude Campbell’s diary. We need to talk to some of her classmates to see if anyone can substantiate her story about Stockton. None of the entries in the diary are dated, and random pages appear to have been torn out. Don’t let anyone read any of the sensitive parts.”

  “I’m sorry,” Keith said. “What exactly do you mean?”

  So damn green, Mary thought, wondering what she’d been like as a rookie. It wasn’t a fair comparison, though, because her father had been a cop. “Like the sections were she refers to her father abusing her.” She counted to five to make certain he understood her correctly. “The diary is about to fall apart. I’d suggest you make photocopies of the pages, then block out the sections I just mentioned. If you get to the school early, you can catch the kids before they go to their first period classes.”

  “How will I know which ones are Jude’s friends?”

  Mary shook her head. This guy might not cut it, even in patrol. Two stupid questions in a row was one too many. “You might try asking, Keith.”

  “Can I tell them what happened to her? You know, about her arm and all?”

  “Most of them will know since it’s been on the news, but just tell them she was involved in an accident. Try to talk to as many students as you can. Ask them what they know about Reggie Stockton.”

  “Didn’t someone already do that?”

  “Good question,” Mary said, feeling like she was teaching elememtary school. “Gary canvassed the school after Veronica’s murder, but we didn’t have the diary then, and we weren’t aware Haley Snodgrass had been murdered. I want you to report back to me every thirty minutes. We’d like to get a warrant to arrest Stockton as soon as possible. We’re going to pull out all the stops today, so I don’t want you to so much as take a piss without asking me. If I can spring someone else to help you, I will. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

  Keith headed to the evidence room, and Mary had picked up her phone to call forensics when she noticed another call coming through. “Speak,” she said, thinking it was Hank.

  Gary Conrad was hopping mad. “What am I, the Invisible Man? I’ve been out here since yesterday watching this asshole. It’d be nice if I could take a crap and get something to eat. I don’t mind watering a few trees, but I’m not going to squat in the bushes.”

  Mary had intended to get someone to relieve him before she’d fallen asleep. “I’ll get Keith out there right away, Gary. He just went down to the evidence room. I was going to send him to Ventura High to see what else he could find out about Jude, Haley, and Stockton.”

  “Send him over here, for Christ’s sake. He can keep tabs on Stockton. I didn’t get much information when I canvassed the school, but I can give it another shot. You realize Stockton graduated last year. People forget you when you’re not around. As for Jude, I think she only had one friend, the girl we dug up, Haley Snodgrass.”

  “There was another girl,” Mary told him, shuffling through her notes and pulling out a list of names. “Her name is Chloe Williams. I talked to her on the phone, and then I never got back to her because everything was leaning in Drew’s direction. Yank her out of class and bring her to the station. Scratch that. She’s a minor. We can’t talk to her without her parents being present. Whatever you have to do, just get her down here. We’re desperate, Gary. We located the Taurus last night. The lab found Jude’s blood on it, as well as Stockton’s fingerprints.”

  “Why can’t I arrest the bastard? Then the jail can pla
y babysitter.”

  Not this again, Mary thought. “Because you can’t,” she snapped. “Please, Gary, I’m sorry we let you sit there that long without relief. Keith will be there in ten minutes.”

  Gary Conrad tossed his cell phone on the seat of his unmarked patrol car. Stockton hadn’t moved in hours. He couldn’t have scored drugs without him seeing him. The guy hadn’t even taken a leak since he’d gotten out of jail. Knowing Hank didn’t think that highly of him as a detective, one of the reasons he kept giving him such lousy assignments, he began to wonder if Stockton was all right. The guy could have croaked. Maybe he’d managed to get his hands on some bad drugs. Inside the jail, a junkie dying for a fix was open for just about anything, from a gang rape to rat poison.

  He played back everything that had happened since he’d started tailing the suspect. Instead of following him on foot, he’d used the car. He was certain Stockton didn’t make him because he’d never once turned around. He’d lost sight of him once when he’d got stuck in traffic, but only for a few minutes. Stockton had seemed to know where he was going. He hadn’t hung out on the corner waiting for a ride or tried to beg money.

  Stockton had been wearing a red and blue nylon parka. When he got to Barranca Vista Park, he’d lain down on the grass and covered his head with the parka, probably so the sun wouldn’t wake him the next morning.