Blood Ties (John Jordan Mysteries Book 16)

by Michael Lister

  “I know that, Daddy.”

  “I mean it,” I say, and hug and kiss her head again.

  I’m overcome with anger when I think of the barrel of Chris’s gun anywhere near this precious little head.

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when he first came. I wish I had been. I’m so, so, so sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy.”

  “No it’s not, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”

  “It was my fault,” Anna says. “I let my guard down for a moment and—I should’ve been better prepared. It won’t happen again. I promise too.”

  “More I think about this,” Merrill says to Reggie, “the more I might need you to arrest me and throw me in a cell with ol’ Christopher.”

  Reggie looks at Johanna. “We’re all going to be looking out for you. Not gonna let anything like that ever happen again.”

  Johanna nods. “Thank you, Sheriff Reggie.”

  I’ve been worried about Reggie. The media coverage of this case has taken a toll—both on her and her relationship with Merrick. She’s joked a few times about their relationship possibly not surviving this case and I want to make sure they were only jokes. But so far I’ve not been able to. I make a mental note to do it the next time we’re alone.

  “It’s my fault in more ways than one,” Anna says. “I can’t believe I was ever married to him—and for as long as I was . . .”

  “It’s not your fault in any ways,” I say. “I mean it.”

  “It’s not your fault, Anna,” Johanna says.

  “Don’t blame yourself for bad men,” Reggie says. “Life’s too short. We’re not responsible for . . . the actions of the sick and twisted, controlling and demented . . . Don’t put that on yourself.”

  “She’s right,” I say. “Listen to her. Please. You are not to blame for anything that happened.”

  “Even if he does make bail,” Reggie says, “which sounds doubtful, we’ll be watching him like it’s the only thing we have to do. If he even thinks about looking in this direction, we’ll lock him up for violation of bail and he’ll stay inside until trial—and then a long, long time after he’s convicted.”

  “How about a change of subject?” Anna says.

  “Sounds good,” Reggie says. “Merrill, the hell you doin’ home?”

  “Ol’ Trace pink-slipped my ass. Said my services were no longer needed, but he’ll hit me up if he ever needs a body guard or PI in Florida again. Gig went longer than it was supposed to anyway. And I think he’s runnin’ out of money. He’s overextended like a mofo, losing income right and left, and from what I gather ol’ Irvin Hunter, who pulled a Houdini, has been skimming from him for years.”

  50

  The next morning, Sam and I interview Caden Stevens.

  I had to fight to use Sam, but I’m not involving her just because I think it will be good for her. I know she will be an asset. She’s a great investigator and she’s been studying the case, and I believe her current condition will put both Caden and his mom at ease.

  We are in the interview room of the investigative division of our department. I’ve removed all the normal furniture and replaced it with two small comfortable couches and some age-appropriate toys.

  Though Chris is still in jail, Merrill is at our house with Anna and the girls—the only way I can be here right now.

  Marybeth Stevens, Caden’s mom, is a small, pretty and perky young mother with shoulder length brown hair and big brown eyes. She’s wearing a brightly colored summer dress and has a ribbon in her hair that matches it.

  “Caden,” I say, “this is Sam. Sam is a detective like me and a good friend. She’s a very, very good person. She’s spent her life catching bad guys and while she was doing that a couple of years back, one of them shot her. That’s why she walks and talks the way she does.”

  He nods, darting his eyes over to glance at Sam.

  “It’s . . . nice . . . to meet . . . you . . . Caden,” she says.

  He gives her a little hesitant wave.

  “The only reason we’re here is because we’re trying to figure out what happened to Mariah and who did it. Sam is my good friend. Mariah was one of your good friends, wasn’t she?”

  He nods.

  “Are you sad that she’s gone?”

  He nods.

  “Poor thing hasn’t slept or eaten well since,” Marybeth says. “Have you, baby?”

  He shakes his head.

  “The only thing that will help us find out exactly what happened and why and who did it,” I say, “is the absolute truth. That’s what we’re asking you to tell us today. Just the truth. All the truth. Tell us everything you can and don’t hold anything back.”

  “Just liked we talked about,” Marybeth says to him. “We always tell the truth. Always. And when we can help a friend we do, right?”

  Caden nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Those . . . are . . . great . . . to live . . . by,” Sam says.

  “What kinds of things did you and Mariah do together?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Watched . . . movies. Played games. Hung out.”

  I nod. “That’s good. What kinds of things would you talk about when you were hanging out?”

  He shrugs again. “Just stuff. I don’t know. We watched her video. She sang for me.”

  “A private concert. That’s cool.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of stuff did you talk about?”

  He shrugs.

  “Tell him everything,” Marybeth says.

  “About music . . . and movies . . . and things we like to do.”

  “What kinds of things did Mariah like to do?”

  “Sing and listen to music and skate and dance and shop and hang out with friends.”

  “Did Mariah have a boyfriend?” I ask.

  He doesn’t respond at first. Eventually, he shakes his head. “No, sir. Not . . . until . . . me.”

  I nod. “So y’all were boyfriend and girlfriend, not just friends?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “That’s great. Y’all make a great couple. I’m so sorry for what happened to her.”

  He nods. “Me too.”

  “What kind of boyfriend and girlfriend stuff did you and Mariah do?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Hold hands. Talk. Text. Take pictures. Kiss. Just hang out.”

  I nod. “That’s really great,” I say.

  “It was so sweet,” Marybeth says. “Should’ve seen them. So cute. Just can’t . . . Still can’t believe what happened. It’s devastated us all.”

  “Caden, did Mariah ever tell you any secrets?” I ask.

  He sort of shrugs and nods at the same time.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Just stuff. She said Brett was mean to her and his mother always took up for him.”

  “Did Brett play with y’all?”

  “He tried a few times, but she made him leave.”

  “Did she say anything else about Brett or his mom, Ashley?”

  “He tried to do stuff to her and his mom wouldn’t stop him.”

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Boyfriend stuff.”

  “Do you know like what?”

  He shakes his head, but says, “Like kiss her and touch her and stuff. Make her sit there and watch him play his dumb video games. Stuff like that.”

  “Where would he touch her?”

  Again the shrug. “I don’t know. Private places.”

  “Did he hurt her?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think so. Think he just mainly annoyed her.”

  “Did you talk to him about it?”

  “Told him to leave her alone, that I was her boyfriend and he was her brother.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “That he wasn’t her brother. That he was her boyfriend first. And would be again when we all left vacation. Might as well play Minecraft with him instead
of hang out with her.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did she say anyone else touched her like a boyfriend?”

  He shrugs. “No, sir.”

  “Did you?”

  “Just a little. She wanted me to more. But Miss Nadine kept coming in.”

  “What did she want you to do?”

  He shrugs.

  Marybeth says, “I told him he didn’t do anything wrong. That it’s normal kid curiosity, playin’ doctor and stuff like we all did. Nothin’ to be ashamed of or embarrassed about.”

  “That’s . . . exactly . . . right,” Sam says.

  “What did she want you to do?” I ask.

  “Down there . . . stuff. Touch . . . rub.”

  “Had you ever done that before?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No, sir.”

  “Before this vacation all his friends have been boys,” Marybeth says.

  “Had she?”

  He nods. “That’s how she knew she liked it.”

  “Liked what?”

  “Bein’ touched. Having . . . something put inside her.”

  “What sorts of things?”

  He shrugs and glances at his mom.

  She nods to him.

  “A finger or a . . . something like that. Whatever was . . . around. Whatever we . . . could find.”

  “This is . . . difficult . . . to talk . . . about,” Sam says. “You’re . . . doin’ so . . . good, Caden.”

  “Mama’s proud of you, buddy,” Marybeth says. “You’re really helping the police with their investigation. Makes you a good citizen and a hero.”

  The fact that at her age Mariah was the sexually assertive one and had already had her sexuality awakened somehow makes me wonder if she was the victim of child molestation. And if so, by whom? I know it doesn’t necessarily mean that, but it could.

  “Did she say who else had done that to her before?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Is that why she was running away?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Think to get away from . . . Brett and his mom, maybe. She . . . she wanted me to go with her, but . . .” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t. Couldn’t leave . . . my family.”

  “Where was she running to?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know. Just away. Back home to get her things and then . . . I don’t know. She said we could stay with some of her friends or somebody. Maybe her grandparents—think she really wanted to meet them. Or Miss Nadine. She said she’d take us in. ”

  “We?”

  “Me and her.”

  “I thought you weren’t going?”

  “I wasn’t. I didn’t. She just wanted me to.”

  51

  “Well?” Reggie says.

  Sam and I are in her office.

  It’s just the three of us. Arnie and Keisha are in Atlanta working surveillance with GBI on Trace, Ashley, and Irvin. Jessica is going over the DNA results and will have a report for us soon.

  It’s later that afternoon. Sam is tired and I need to get her home soon, but she insisted we meet with Reggie first.

  Reggie watched the interview video while I took Sam to lunch.

  “He . . . seemed to be . . . tellin’ . . . the . . . truth,” Sam says.

  I nod. “I agree.”

  “Me too,” Reggie says.

  “I . . . found it a . . . little . . . odd,” Sam says, “how . . . cooperative his . . . mother . . . was.”

  “I did too,” I say. “We’re living in a post-forensics and investigative techniques world. She’d have to know Caden was a suspect. Is she that naive or is it something else?”

  “That’s . . . what . . . I won . . .der . . . ed,” Sam says.

  “Just seemed like a good citizen, eager to help to me,” Reggie says.

  “Maybe so,” I say. “But you’d at least think she’d have a lawyer.”

  Sam nods.

  “Before I forget,” Reggie says. “Got a call from GBI. Still haven’t gotten anywhere with the drive-by but they’re fairly certain Little Swag or operatives acting on his behalf are responsible.”

  I nod.

  “Means I’m tellin’ you there’s nothin’ to tell you, but . . . just thought I’d tell you.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Back to . . . So we thinkin’ maybe Mariah was a victim of molestation?”

  “It’s . . . possible,” Sam says. “Sometimes . . . kids . . . are more . . . sexual . . . earlier than . . . average and . . . it’s not . . . the result . . . of molestation.”

  “We need to talk to her pediatrician,” Reggie says, making herself a note on the pad on her desk. “If she had been molested and it’s related to her murder . . . it’d most likely be Trace or Irvin, right?”

  I nod.

  “Or Brett,” Sam says.

  Reggie shakes her head. “Crime’s too sophisticated for a ten-year-old boy.”

  “Hate . . . to . . . sound . . . like . . . certain members . . . of the . . . Boulder . . . po . . . lice . . . de . . . part . . . ment, but . . . Brett commits . . . the . . . crime . . . and Ash . . . ley covers . . it . . . up.”

  Reggie nods. “Now that’s possible. I can buy that. Still think it’s more likely Trace or Irvin, but . . . this scenario is at least possible.”

  A tap on Reggie’s open door and Jessica appears.

  “We’ve got him,” she says.

  “Who?” Reggie asks.

  Jessica comes the rest of the way into the office, standing near where Sam and I are sitting across from Reggie’s desk.

  “The DNA results,” she says, holding up a sheaf of papers. “There are only two findings that are really relevant. Everything else is just what you’d expect.”

  “Well, let’s hear it.”

  “The ropes used on Mariah,” she says. They only have Ashley’s and Trace’s DNA on them. No one else’s.”

  Reggie nods. “That’s—”

  “Mariah’s, of course, but I mean they were on her, so figured you knew that.”

  “They did it,” Reggie says. “We follow the evidence and that’s what the evidence says.”

  “Evidence says he did it,” Jessica says. “I mean, sure she could’ve been involved or helped him cover it up, but . . . he definitely did it.”

  “What makes you say that?” Reggie asks. “What else did they find?”

  “The stains that looked like dried semen on Mariah’s bedsheets, well it was. It was Trace’s semen. Trace left traces of himself in his own daughter’s bed.”

  “No wonder he quit cooperating,” Reggie says. “Fired Merrill and isn’t willing to come back for another interview. He did it. We have enough for a warrant now. We’re gonna actually be able to clear this thing. Maybe the surveillance will turn up additional evidence, but we have enough to make an arrest now.”

  We nod.

  “And . . . it fits . . . with the other . . . evidence . . . you . . . have,” Sam says.

  “Fuck yeah,” Reggie says. “We’re gonna get a child molester and murderer off the street. That feels good. Damn good.”

  Sam is about to say something else, but Reggie’s phone rings and she snatches it up.

  While she’s listening, she points at me, nods, though she has an alarmed expression on her face, and mouths Go home. Now.

  I jump up as she returns the receiver to its cradle.

  “Chris made bail,” she says. “I don’t know how, but . . . we’ll take care of things here and figure out what to do about him, but for now . . . go be with your family.”

  52

  I have an eventful drive home. At least mentally.

  The twenty miles or so between the sheriff’s department in Port St. Joe and our home in Wewa is, like most of the rural highways in North Florida, straight, flat, and largely empty, which gives me plenty of time to think.

  After telling Anna what’s going on and making sure she and Daniel are both armed, I turn my mind to the mo
st pressing questions of the moment, as Sam sleeps in the passenger seat beside me.

  Who would’ve posted bail for Chris and why? If he has not friends or family, no resources of his own, how would he get someone to do it for him? Was it someone who he knows too much about, someone concerned he’d use evidence on them to cut a deal? If not, what other motive could there be?

  And then it hits me.

  I know who it is and why—or think I do, and if I do, if I’m right, then it can be only one of two possible motives, and I don’t know which one is frightening.

  I call Merrill, tell him what’s going on, and ask him to go see if he can persuade the bail bondsman into revealing who posted Chris’s bail—something I’m reasonably confident not only because Merrill does skip traces for him but because of how persuasive Merrill can be.

  With that underway, I turn my attention to what Caden said during our interview with him, what it means, the fact that Trace’s DNA was found in Mariah’s bed, and I begin to see how the murder of Mariah might have taken place and what the various evidence we’ve uncovered could mean in terms of confirming and proving it.

  When I get home, I hug and hold my girls and then help them pack.

  “Who’s wants to go on a little vacation?” I say.

  “And stay in a hotel?” Johanna asks.

  “Yes.”

  “So we’ll still be in the same room with you and Anna?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we can jump on the bed?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “That’s what hotel beds are for.”

  “I do. I do.”

  “We’ll see if Papa Jack and Verna and Uncle Merrill can go too.”

  “Yay. And Za too?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about Sam and Daniel?”

  “I’ll ask them, but I think Sam may not quite be ready for this much fun and excitement yet.”

  After booking three random hotel rooms in Mexico Beach under Verna’s previous name and paying with her credit card that still has that name on it, and getting Anna and the girls settled into our room and Dad and Verna in their adjoining one, Merrill and I get back on Highway 98 and head west to put my theory to the test.