“I don’t think your testimony was the problem. Ariel’s is. After Joy Anne did her little spiel, some of the women want to recant. Some say they can’t remember, and that it’s possible they were coached by the police. I’ve had one hell of a morning, only to find out that you want to play parent to that girl of all people? Do you really hate me that much?”
“Whoa, slow down, first of all, I don’t hate you. Play parent? That’s low. We talked this through at the safe house, and we believe it’s the best solution.”
Valerie scoffed. “For whom? If Phelps makes that jury think you influenced her, and some of the women, like Joy Anne said, our case starts falling apart. Daniel and Joseph, sure, they won’t get away, not even Joy Anne denied that. The others…”
“No. No, that can’t be happening. Not just because of my testimony.”
“Our office will do its best to keep it from happening. Stay away from the Deane girl for a bit. It’s admirable that you want to make sure she’s okay, but we can’t have anyone think you or any cop in this building coached her, just because you don’t like the traditional way of life.”
Jordan sat on the bench, silent for a moment. Valerie apparently didn’t know the whole story. The papers they’d file would be a matter of public record. Phelps could get that information too.
“Oh no. I sense that there is more. Spill it so I can mentally prepare for kissing those convictions goodbye.”
“We want to adopt Ariel,” Jordan said. “We spoke to Ms. Sherman who runs the group home today…and we were going to get the paperwork rolling as soon as possible. That has nothing to do with the case or what was going on in Deane’s house…”
“Stop,” Valerie said. “Just stop.”
“No, you listen to me. Is this all inconvenient, maybe, but we’re talking about a child. If someone else had butted out when things might have gotten difficult, I wouldn’t be here.”
“But this is not about you. You better not screw this up,” Valerie warned.
“I don’t plan to.”
Chapter Thirteen
The trial and the events surrounding it had held up a mirror to all of them, Ellie thought when some days later, they picked up Ariel to show her the house, the new home for all of them. The pieces were falling into place—she’d keep looking for an opening as a detective, and meanwhile she would have to live with the fact that her parents weren’t here anymore to see her successes, no matter how proud they’d be of her.
Jordan had hinted at some tense conversations with A.D.A. Esposito, and she would have to testify once more, but all things considered, life was on track for all of them.
She could put her own grief behind her, now that Ariel needed her, the girl’s grief so much more raw than Ellie’s.
After visiting their future home, they would have dinner at Jack and Pauline’s and drive Ariel back to the group home after. Once they were in touch with a social worker and had a visit, they might be able to have her over for a weekend soon.
“There’s a high school just a few blocks away,” Jordan said as they exited the car. “You could probably go there.”
“Yeah. I guess they’re going to look at my test scores. Mom always made sure they were okay.” Ariel had been home-schooled as all the children on the compound. Deborah had obviously worked hard to build a future for her daughter away from the Prophets.
High school would be a drastically different context.
“I know there are a lot of changes coming for you, but we’ll take it step by step, okay?”
Ariel nodded. “I’m not scared,” she said matter-of-factly. Ellie acknowledged that is was probably true, at least for the moment. After what she’d been through, what was left to be scared of?
“That’s okay. Let’s go take a look now. We’ll have some painting to do, and we wanted to re-do the kitchen as well, but that’s pretty much it.”
Ellie unlocked the door and walked inside after Jordan and Ariel, all of a sudden emotional with this situation laden with meaning. After the death of her parents, she’d moved into a tiny apartment, not making much of an attempt at turning it into a home. Things changed somewhat after she’d entered the academy, making new friends, eventually meeting Rhonda. The years they’d lived together had come with some good, and not so good moments—it had always been a transitory place. Then Jordan came into the picture. Ellie had lived with her for a short while after her abduction, then moved in with Kate, waiting once more.
The waiting was over. This was where they’d build their life together, with an unexpected yet welcome addition.
“We thought this could be your room,” Jordan said as she opened the door and let Ariel in. It was one of three bedrooms upstairs, including the master. Between their bedroom and what was supposed to be Ariel’s, there was an office.
Ariel stepped inside, her expression hard to read.
“It’s…big,” she said. “Are you sure?”
The windows on this side of the house were large, letting in lots of light. Initially, they had imagined this to be a guest room, but the office could always double as such. Ariel’s question, however, seemed to signify a lot more than the size of the room.
“Yes, we are,” Ellie said, laying an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “About everything. It might not go as fast as we hope it could, but eventually, we’ll all be in this house, and of course, there will be furniture. I know it’s hard to imagine right now.”
“It’s great.” Ariel gave her a brief smile before she stepped to the window. “Mom wished so hard for us to have a place of our own. I hate that she’ll never have that.”
“She would want you to have it. I’m sure.”
“Please don’t think I’m ungrateful. I’m so glad I won’t have to live with Dad, ever.”
Ellie caught Jordan’s troubled gaze at the admission. “We understand.”
Much more than Ariel was aware at this moment.
* * * *
Jordan began the day with a headache following vague nightmares, the last of what she needed before testifying once more. On the bright side, Ariel had seemed to enjoy dinner with Jack and Pauline, and Ms. Sherman informed them that she did better with the routines at the house. Ellie was already gone when she drove to the courthouse, hoping that both the testimony and the persisting headache would be a thing of the past soon.
Jordan had a fleeting thought wondering about Darby’s condition, then decided she had too much on her plate already. The content of the letter was nothing but his usual bluster—he had to try.
Fortunately, she was called less than half an hour after she arrived. Valerie looked serious. Jordan hoped to convey the confidence that nothing would change. The main objective was to keep the women and children from being exposed to further abuse, and the jury would agree.
Phelps greeted her with the familiar smug smile. She had options, a real life. In order to help these women and children have the same, she could bear with him a little while longer. It wasn’t like anyone tied her down to be here. Jordan reached for the glass of water in front of her, wishing Ellie was here. Maybe she was coming down with something. A half day would be nice, but they were planning to save up vacation days so they would be able to make the move and Ariel’s transition as easy as possible.
“Detective Carpenter, thank you so much for making time.”
It’s not like I had a choice. Jordan didn’t say it out loud, just gave him a nod in acknowledgement.
“We have heard your testimony, of course, and we have heard Mrs. Joy Anne Deane testify how she felt pushed into a certain direction by the detectives conducting the interviews at the time.”
“I’m sure you don’t want me to say anything that could be interpreted as hearsay, though I can’t imagine anyone I work with jeopardizing such an important investigation.”
“You’re right, I’m not asking for your interpretation. I’m only interested in the work you did in the course of this investigation. You met the main witness, Ariel Deane
, early on.”
“I told you, we interviewed her right before she was placed in the group home—temporarily.”
“You felt for her, I assume.”
Jordan had an idea where he was going with this, and she was determined not to let him get to her. “I feel for all of them. We have heard what was going on in those houses.”
“Yeah…We have mostly heard from Ariel. According to Mrs. Joy Anne Deane, much of what we heard was a mix of exaggeration and fantasy, and some of the other women have expressed doubts about her story—”
“Objection!” Valerie snapped. “There is no reason for calling the witness’s trustworthiness into question. It makes a lot more sense for your witness, Mrs. Joy Anne Deane, to show loyalty to the members of the sect. Ariel has many more options open to her now.”
“Overruled, but please, get to an actual question, Counselor.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. Here’s my question, Detective. Did you, at any time, feel you had to make sure Ariel would say the right words so all these families that you suspected to be abusive, would be broken up? That fathers and husbands would go to prison?”
“I didn’t have to put words in her mouth. Besides, the bodies buried in the backyard, and the pretend marriages with minors pretty much spoke for themselves.”
“Yes, but we’re not talking about those bodies right now. There were many men, women and children who didn’t know about them. Does the idea of a traditional lifestyle with clearly defined roles, make you uncomfortable?”
Jordan felt the heat rising up her back. If the jury came to doubt the guilt of the men who had committed years of domestic abuse, but didn’t know about the murders, Ariel’s father might go free. He might change his mind. That couldn’t happen. She cast a look past Phelps at the family members, journalists and otherwise interested, flinching at the sight of the young man, third row, who was looking straight at her, smiling.
Marcus Holmes.
How was that possible? He had confessed the murder of Colin Buck. He made a “thumbs up” gesture, leaving no doubt that he had sought her out. Or had he?
“Detective Carpenter?”
“It’s my job to investigate allegations of abuse and arrest criminals, regardless of whose lifestyle I’m more or less comfortable with. Please, Mr. Phelps, don’t put words in my mouth.”
She caught another glance at Holmes.
“You and your partner are trying to adopt Ariel Deane, regardless of the fact that she does have a living biological parent?”
“I believe that’s not the subject of this trial, but I’m sure you’re aware that biological parent, Nathan Deane, has no interest in his daughter.”
“Please, yes or no, will you try to gain custody of Ariel Deane?”
“This has nothing to do with—”
“Detective, please answer the question,” the judge intervened.
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Phelps said triumphantly. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
Valerie was already standing, and Jordan resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to leave the stand anytime soon.
Marcus Holmes was gone.
* * * *
Fortunately, she found a bottle of Advil in one of her desk drawers.
“Bad day?” Derek asked sympathetically, as he stopped by her desk. He had also brought coffee and donuts. For a moment, Jordan forgot about all pains, physical and otherwise, of the day.
“Thank you so much. I could kiss you.” She took the two pills with coffee and leaned back in her chair, inhaling the scent of the beverage.
“Don’t make this awkward, please.”
“Sorry about that. To be honest, I had more than my dose of awkward already. Valerie is not happy with me, the brothers’ sleazy lawyer enjoyed the show, and what the hell is Holmes doing out of prison?”
“Whoa.” Derek sat in his chair. “I didn’t know about Holmes. I heard some other things though…You and Ellie are really going to adopt the girl?”
“Yeah, I don’t think there’s a person in town who doesn’t know it yet. Before you start, yes, I have looked at all my issues, and I still want to do it. She deserves a chance.”
“I’m not arguing,” he said, holding up his hands. “I think it’s great that you’re doing it. If anyone can relate to what she’s going through, it’s you.”
“Except that my parents are very much alive.” Jordan sighed. “I want to do what’s best for her. We might have been quick to decide, but Ellie and I have talked about it. We do have the means. We care about her.” Finally, the headache was starting to recede. “I’m not sure what to make of Holmes coming to the trial though. Why would he even be interested in that, other than sending me some sort of message?”
“We can find out with a call,” Derek said, already picking up his phone. It rang before he could make the call.
“This is Detective Henderson.”
Jordan went back to the report she’d opened, still infinitely grateful for the supply of sugar and caffeine. She’d work some overtime to catch up, but hopefully Ellie was free later for a real dinner. When she glanced at Derek again, she knew instantly that something was wrong, the certainty turning her stomach even before he ended the conversation. She and Ellie had done well for some time, leaving the more traumatic events further in the past, but the damn letter had stirred up something. Or the bodies buried on the Prophets’ compound had.
“We’ll be right there,” Derek said and hung up. “There was a 911 call at Lori Gleason’s house.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Jordan was on her feet and in her coat a moment later.
“There are unis on the scene,” he explained as they hurried to his car. “Apparently, there’s an intruder. She locked herself in her bedroom.”
“The member of a serial killer fan club gets a murder charge dropped, and there’s an intruder at Gleason’s house? That’s no coincidence. Darby can’t die soon enough.”
“I can understand why you feel that way, but this might be a coincidence,” he reminded her.
“That’s a nice way of saying he’s been trying to manipulate me the whole time, and I’m falling for it? I don’t care. I’d rather be wrong in the end than miss something here.”
Lori Gleason was the first of Darby’s victims who had been found alive. She and Judy Lawrence had later founded an advocacy group. Each of them had gone on with their lives best they could—the last time Jordan had seen them she had given each of them her personal number, but warned them to always call 911 first.
When Jordan had first met Lori, she’d been separated from her husband. She still lived in the same house. There were two squad cars parked in front, and the front door stood open. Officer Libby Marshall greeted them.
“What’s the situation?” she asked.
“The intruder is gone. Ellie and Casey are with Ms. Gleason now, see if he took anything.”
“He. Did she get a glimpse of him?”
“Briefly, from upstairs. Black clothes, mask. Nothing special. She locked herself in the bedroom and hid under her bed with the cell phone.”
The image sent a shiver down her spine. If he’d had enough time, the bedroom would have probably been the first place he looked. But perhaps he didn’t mean to take her.
Jordan was certain that whoever had broken into Gleason’s home knew exactly who he was targeting—but Colin Buck was dead, and Marcus Holmes wouldn’t be stupid enough to take the risk after he’d just avoided prison?
When they entered the house, Lori Gleason was standing in the foyer with Ellie and Officer Casey Lyons, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were freezing. When she saw Jordan, she left the other two women standing and came to her, for a moment seeming unsure what to do. Then she wrapped Jordan into an unexpected, tight embrace.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said.
“No problem.”
“It’s never over, is it?”
Jordan didn’t want to answer this ques
tion at the moment.
“You’ll be fine. I promise. Did he take anything?”
Lori stepped back, shaking her head. “No. I have no idea what he wanted from me, but I’m glad the police came before I could find out. I was glad to hear Darby is dying. I never thought I’d say that about a human being.”
To call him a human being was probably generous, but Jordan didn’t want to get into specifics with the woman. “I need you to think. Have you noticed anyone around lately that stood out, or has someone been following you?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine.” Jordan walked around the room, into the kitchen/living area. Something was missing, even if it wasn’t any physical object. The place looked clean, no clutter. What did the intruder want? Was he aware of Gleason’s connection to Darby?
Harm her? Or send a message? She opened cabinets and closed them again.
“Did he come up the stairs?” she asked Lori.
“I don’t know…I don’t think so.”
He stayed downstairs…did what he wanted to do and then left. Maybe it was done long before the police arrived.
“You’re looking for something?” Ellie asked behind her.
Jordan stopped in front of the huge fridge. A number of photographs, menus and flyers were stuck to it with magnets, souvenirs from various states. One picture, an old-fashioned photograph taken with an instant camera, was partially hidden underneath a Thai food takeout menu. Jordan reached out with a gloved hand and drew the menu aside. She recoiled at the sight, and she could hear Ellie gasp.
The photograph showed a woman, tied to a chair, in the exact same position they had found Lori Gleason.
Chapter Fourteen
Ellie felt sick to her stomach at the sight of the photo, and she could only imagine what was going on in Jordan’s mind. Of course, when the 911 call came in, everyone remembered Lori Gleason’s name. Up until now, a coincidence could have been possible—not any longer.
Intentions (Carpenter/Harding Book 6) Page 11