by J. J. Stone
“Sir, with all due respect, she’s not in any shape—”
“She’s fine,” James interrupted and pointed to the police barricade. “Ask the officers and they’ll direct you to the girl. She might have something on the killer.”
Brenda clenched her teeth together and Ada winced as her grip on her arm tightened. “Will do,” Brenda said and walked the two of them toward the barricade.
Ada pulled her hands from her pockets and stripped off the torn gloves. She placed a hand over Brenda’s and the agent let go of her shoulder. “Bastard,” Brenda spat. “He doesn’t have a shred of sensitivity in him.”
“I’m OK,” Ada said shakily as they neared the barricade. “I just needed to get away from ... that.”
“No, you’re not OK. You just had a panic attack. You shouldn’t be here,” Brenda grumbled. She took a deep breath and her expression went blank. “Excuse me,” she said to one of the officers. “Agent Deacon said you had a woman here who reported the deceased missing?”
The officer nodded and waved to someone in the crowd. “Her name is Bethany. That’s all we’ve been able to get out of her. She’s pretty torn up.”
“Understandably,” Brenda mumbled as a blonde woman in her late twenties shuffled up to the barricade. “Bethany? I’m Agent Stine. This is Miss Brandt. We’re with the FBI.”
Bethany looked like she’d been standing out in the rain for hours. All traces of makeup had washed down her face, and her hair was soaked and matted against her head. Her once flashy club getup was now ruined and sagging. She clutched her purse in her hands like it was her most prized possession on earth.
“I already spoke to the cops,” she said, her voice uneasy and cracking. “They know everything I know.”
Brenda motioned for the officer closest to her to allow the woman under the barricade. “We just have a couple of questions for you. It won’t take long. Why don’t we go someplace dry?”
Bethany crouched under the barricade and silently followed Ada and Brenda to the closest SUV. Brenda opened the door and ushered Ada and Bethany inside. Ada slipped into the third row seat and let Bethany and Brenda settle into the two middle bucket seats. Bethany sat silent, shivering uncontrollably, but still clutching the purse. Ada noted that the purse really didn’t match Bethany’s outfit.
Brenda unwrapped an emergency blanket and draped it around Bethany. “This should warm you up a little,” she said.
Bethany pulled the blanket tighter around her and gave Brenda a small smile. “Th-thank you,” she stuttered, her teeth chattering so hard they sounded like they might shatter.
“So, when did you realize Lana was missing?” Brenda asked.
“When she di-didn’t come back to the c-club,” Bethany said. “It wasn’t like her to j-just leave with someone like th-that.”
“Did you see who she left with?”
Bethany shook her head. “He had a hat on. His f-face was hidden.” Bethany’s face crumpled and she took in a heaving breath. “I t-told Lana to go talk to him!” she cried. “He had been wa-watching her the whole time we were there.”
Ada couldn’t help but feel sorry for Bethany. She had unknowingly led her friend to her death. That wasn’t something that would leave her any time soon.
Brenda found a pack of tissues in a seat pocket and passed them to Bethany. She waited for her to mop up her tears before continuing. “Did you see where Lana went with this man?”
Bethany sniffed a few times, rolling the tissue around between her fingers. “I realized Lana had left her purse, so I went outside to see if she was out there talking to that guy.” Bethany paused for a moment to blow her nose. “When I went out there, they were driving by, and Lana put down her window and told me she’d be back to get her stuff.”
“Did you get a good look at the car?” Brenda asked.
Bethany shook her head, her lip quivering again. “I just turned around and went back inside the club.”
Ada turned her attention to the purse and spoke for the first time. “So, this is Lana’s?”
Bethany whipped her head toward her and tightened her grip on the bag. “The police already looked through it. They said I could keep it.”
Ada softened her expression and reached a hand toward Bethany. “Can I just look through it one more time? You’ll get it right back, I promise.”
Bethany froze for a few moments, contemplating. Slowly, she placed the purse straps in Ada’s hands and watched as she pulled it to her.
Brenda handed Ada another pair of gloves. Ada winced as she pulled the gloves on over her scraped up hands. She opened the purse and carefully pulled out its items. It contained the usual suspects: a wallet, cell phone, cosmetic case, a key ring with a few keys on it.
Someone knocked on Brenda’s window. She put the window down to reveal James standing beside the car. “Anything?” he asked.
Bethany ignored James and continued to watch Ada inventory the purse. Brenda shook her head. “Not really. She didn’t get a good look at the killer or his vehicle.”
James leaned in the window and frowned at Ada. “What’s she doing?” he asked Brenda.
Ada glanced up at him. “This is Lana’s purse. I’m just seeing if there’s anything in here.”
James nodded but didn’t say a word.
Ada pulled out a folded piece of construction paper and carefully opened it. It was a child’s drawing of a sunflower. It was signed, but all Ada could make out was an “O.” She held the paper up to show Bethany. “Did Lana have any children?”
Bethany gasped and buried her face in her hands. “I forgot about Olivia!” she sobbed.
Ada heard a sharp inhale and realized it had come from James. She glanced at him. His face had gone a few shades lighter and his hands clenched the door.
Brenda looked at him but didn’t say anything.
James’s eyes fixed on the drawing as Ada gently folded it up.
“Was Lana married? Is there someone we can call?” Ada asked as she placed the drawing, with the rest of the items, back into Lana’s purse.
Bethany shook her head and took the purse back from Ada. “Lana lived by herself. Olivia was staying at a friend’s house tonight while we went out.” Giant tears poured from Bethany’s eyes. “Lana was all Olivia had. No father, no grandparents, nothing. Just her.”
Ada’s heart ached. She couldn’t help but sympathize. “We’ll have someone go get Olivia. I’m sure you can go with them, if you’d like.”
Bethany nodded. “Lana would want me to,” she whispered.
James opened Brenda’s door, and Brenda stepped out so Bethany could exit the SUV. “I’ll take her to one of the officers,” James told Brenda as he led Bethany to a police car. “Take Miss Brandt home then go get some sleep. You look like hell.”
Brenda nodded and opened the driver door. She climbed in and started the car. “You don’t have to stay back there, you know,” she called back to Ada.
Ada climbed up into the front passenger seat and buckled up as Brenda drove to the barricade and waited for the police to clear a path. “Did you notice James’s face when Bethany mentioned Lana’s daughter?” Ada asked.
Brenda shrugged. “My back was to him,” she said.
Ada knew Brenda was lying, but she was too tired to dig.
“We’ll have you home soon.” Brenda drove forward and turned onto the street. She yawned and rubbed one of her eyes.
Ada sank back into her seat and watched Seattle whiz past her, trying to ignore the subtle hints of the nearing sunrise.
_____
“Dad!”
John forced a grin across his weary face as he entered the hotel room. He pulled off his ball cap and tossed it on the rickety table under the room’s window. He groaned as Jane grabbed him and tried as best she could to wrap her arms around his waist. He sm
oothed down the ratty red curls on top of Jane’s head.
“I thought I told you to go to sleep?” he said as he scooped the little girl into his arms and carried her to one of the room’s beds. He winced at how far Jane sank into the creaking mattress as he tucked her back under the covers.
“I can’t sleep by myself, Dad.” Jane pushed her lower lip out in a move that brought unpleasant memories of her mother to John’s mind.
He pulled the uncomfortably crisp sheets up close to Jane’s chin and tapped the tip of her nose. “Well, now you don’t have any excuses. Get to sleep.”
Jane grinned, her twin dimples appearing on either side of her rosy lips. She turned to face the wall and sighed happily.
John reached over and shut off the lamp, sending the room to black. He trudged to the room’s ancient bathroom and wedged the door shut. He whipped the shower on and stripped off his clothes. As steam began to fill the room, John retrieved a garbage bag from under the sink and tossed his outfit into it. He placed the bag in front of the door so that he wouldn’t forget to toss it after he had scrubbed his body clean.
He stepped into the shower and dumped the remainder of the miniscule hotel shampoo into his hand. Lathering it up in his hands, he vigorously scrubbed his scalp and thick brown locks. As he rinsed, he wondered if this bone-deep weariness his body perpetually warred against was similar to what soldiers fresh from battle felt like. He was not unlike them, he mused. Both were attempting to rid the world of evil before it could sink its fangs into society any further. Both were driven by a desire to defend that most precious to them. Both were generally unsung heroes.
John winced as his hand throbbed. He held it up and was shocked to see a bruise spanning the entire side of his hand. It had either been the side of his hand or his forehead when the woman from the club had reared back to head butt him, so he had gone with the body part that would be less noticeable. A strange grin sprouted as he thought back on how feisty this one had been. He had yet to meet one so hell-bent on maintaining an air of innocence. Still, in the end, she was no better than those before her.
The steam had filled the small bathroom completely. Every inhale of it tickled the back of John’s throat. He tilted his head back and let the water wash away the remainder of the night. Tomorrow was a new day, a new mission. He shivered as a spike of anticipation raced up his spine.
_____
James slammed the door behind him, rushed into his hotel room, and yanked curtains shut. He wanted the room as dark as possible. He’d told the team to get at least three hours of down time before they regrouped, and he had urged them to use that time to sleep.
He stripped off his drenched clothes and tossed them into at the closet. He grabbed a casual outfit and quickly showered to warm up his chilled body. Once his skin was nice and scalding, he went back to his room and pulled on a sweatshirt and pair of shorts then sank down on the edge of his bed.
He stared down at his hands for a moment, rubbing them together absentmindedly. He still felt numb, but no longer from the cold. He sat staring into nothing for twenty minutes before he came to. He stood and crossed the room in three strides. He bent down and opened the mini fridge, pulled out a miniature bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and stared at it in his hand. He finally straightened and kicked the fridge door shut before throwing himself into the desk chair.
Slumping down into the stiff office chair, James twisted the bottle open and tossed the cap onto the desk. He paused for a moment, waiting for his mind to scream at him to stop. When no such outcry came, he brought the bottle to his lips and began tipping the soothing amber liquid toward his mouth.
A car drove by and its headlights shined briefly through a small slit between the curtains. The light illuminated the desk and James’s gaze was drawn to the wallet he’d tossed haphazardly onto the desk when he’d entered the room. A small piece of yellow paper poked out from the folded, cracked leather, and James could not ignore it.
He put the bottle down and reluctantly pulled the wallet to him. With one hand, he flicked it open and slowly pulled the yellow paper out. Careful not to tear its well-worn creases, he unfolded the paper and stared at it.
It was a child’s drawing of a house with a giant smiling sun in one corner and a stick figure family of three standing in front of the house. In the bottom right corner of the paper was a scribbled name that most would not be able to make out. But James could. He had stared at those scribbles countless times over the past three years. He could draw them out from memory. “Luv, Olivia,” scribbled in light blue crayon. The two words featured a variety of upper and lowercase letters typical of a 5-year-old’s spelling and handwriting.
James felt his throat begin to tighten. Shock washed over him as he folded the paper up quickly and slid it back into his wallet. Every time he thought he’d gotten past the raw heartache and infuriating helplessness, everything resurfaced. He felt his breathing begin to grow shallow and rapid and knew the fury would soon surface.
His hand reached for the Jack Daniel’s again, but now he paused. He shut his eyes and counted to five. The stress of this case made him want to throw the months without a drop of alcohol away for a few hours of peace. The reminder of Olivia on top of everything else was almost too much to bear. The sweet relief beckoning to him from that minuscule bottle was almost audible.
You’re no help to her a drunken failure, that faint voice in the back of his head whispered. He looked at the bottle his fingers had coiled around. He’d almost lost his career, his life, to what he clutched in his hand. Sheer luck had gotten him sober. Yet, here he was, ready to lose it all again.
“Not today,” he growled and recapped the bottle. He tossed it into the trash can and breathed deeply when he heard it shatter at the bottom. He made his way to bed and collapsed on top of the cold sheets. Seconds later he fell into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 9
Ada pulled up to the red light and took the opportunity to down a few swigs of coffee. She had ten minutes to get to campus, set up for class, and begin the midterm exam. And she was still five minutes away. It was going to be one of those days thanks to James Deacon and the FBI. The light turned green, and Ada lunged forward from the light, putting her coupe’s sport heritage to the test. She’d rather face a speeding ticket than the wrath of Dean Bridges.
She flew onto campus and into her parking spot exactly four minutes later. She jumped out of her car and raced into the building, flew up the stairs, and half-jogged, half-ran into her classroom seconds before crowds filled the hallway. As students trickled into the classroom, Ada quickly arranged her desk. She stacked the exams in one corner and piled her laptop and notes on the other side. While the students took their exams, she would use the downtime to prepare for the next series of lectures.
A student on her way to her seat detoured to Ada’s desk. “Professor Greene?” she asked timidly.
Ada settled into her seat and gave the student a quick smile. “Yes?” She desperately tried to remember the girl’s name.
Thankfully, the student helped her out. “I’m Anna.” She smiled bashfully. “You don’t know me. I kind of keep to myself.”
“You sit right over there, right?” Ada pointed to a seat in a corner of the upper row of seats.
Anna smiled and nodded. Then the smile left her face and she leaned toward Ada, clutching her textbooks tight against her. “Is it true that you’re helping the FBI?” she whispered.
Ada found herself speechless. Tiffany was going to die for her inability to keep her mouth shut. Her mind raced for a reply. “I’m looking over a few files, but nothing major.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Who told you?”
“I was headed to your office the other day to hand in my extra credit assignment, and I saw that agent leaving your office. I saw her badge on her belt when she walked by.”
Time for damage control. “Well, a friend
of the family asked if I would help out by taking a look at some files. It’s just for a couple of days.” She forced a smile. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Anna cracked a grin and blushed a little. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking you were leaving or anything,” she said. “I just thought it was cool. You know, because of Tina.” Anna’s voice caught a little, and she cleared her throat quickly.
“The FBI is going to find whoever killed Tina. And whatever I can do to help them, I will,” Ada assured her as she stood and picked up the stack of exams. Anna gave her a quick smile then quickly retreated to her seat.
“I hope everyone had a chance to really study for this,” Ada said as she passed out exams to a weary-looking classroom. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s been on the syllabus since August.”
While students hunched over their exams, Ada returned to her desk and lowered down into her chair, savoring the plush cushion. The chair was suddenly the most comfortable thing in the world. Her eyelids gained ten pounds. She soon realized she had been staring at her unopened laptop for a good minute.
Ada brought her coffee mug to her lips and downed the last few drops. That would have to hold her over for the next forty minutes. She opened her computer and waited for it to wake up. Pulling out her notebook of class schedules, she glanced over what she’d be teaching for the next week.
Her mind wandered as she browsed through her lecture on accurate criminology terms for fiction. She rolled her eyes inwardly when she saw that she had included a snippet from The River on a lecture slide. She must have been drunk when she came up with the presentation.
She forced herself to read through the excerpt. It wasn’t as bad as she had envisioned. The scene involved the main character interviewing a group of prostitutes for a description of the killer. Ada remembered being particularly impressed with how she had woven terminology so fluidly into the dialogue.
Her mind transitioned to the case. If this killer was truly a copycat of the Green River Killer, why wasn’t he targeting prostitutes? None of the victims were hookers or had a history of promiscuous activity. This nagging inconsistency was the one thing holding Ada back from fully committing to the copycat theory.