Thomas immediately withdrew it and said, “Sorry.”
“You’ll do anything if I let this slide, huh? Well, I want some information, then.”
“About what?”
“I was investigating a case about a girl you knew. Alli Tavor.”
A light turned on in the man’s head. Baudin watched his demeanor go from passive fear to anger. “That’s why you’re here. Nobody called about pot.”
“Whether they called or not, that’s what I’m finding in that closet. So do you want to have an honest conversation with me, or should I go ahead and call this in?”
Thomas took a step backward, as though frightened. He leaned against the wall, staring at Baudin. “What do you want to know?”
“You were dating Alli Tavor.”
“No, I didn’t even—”
Baudin reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The two men stood staring at each other in silence. Finally Thomas said, “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I was dating her.”
“You know she’s dead?”
Thomas nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It was on the news.”
“How did you come to date a sixteen-year-old?”
“It just… happened. I didn’t know she was sixteen when we first met. She acted like she was thirty. I didn’t know. And by the time I found out, it didn’t really matter. I was too deep into it.”
“We found semen inside her,” Baudin lied. “Is it going to match your DNA?”
“No, no way. I hadn’t slept with her in months. She was dating some new guy and said she didn’t want to see me anymore. She… she came over once after that, and that was it.”
“She came over, and you guys had sex?”
He nodded. “She said she had blown some random guy in a bathroom and wanted to tell me about it. She went through everything in detail, and then… we did it. She left after that, and I never heard from her again.”
“You saw her on the news?”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t think to call the cops?”
“Are you kiddin’ me? She was sixteen. No way I was gonna call.”
Baudin closed the distance between them. At no time did he get the impression that this man was a killer. Going with his gut was the most dangerous type of tool but one that worked often enough that he had come to rely on it. He didn’t have a lot of choice. His gut told him Thomas Aaron wasn’t capable of killing anybody… but that he might know who was capable.
“Who did she dump you for?”
“I don’t know. Some frat guy.”
Baudin was silent for a second. “What frat guy?”
“I don’t know his name. I saw him only once, when he came by with her to pick up some stuff she’d left here. A toothbrush and clothes.”
“What’d he drive?”
“Red Volvo. An SUV.”
Baudin held the man’s gaze before taking a step back. He scanned the room. “If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll be back to hit you with that stat rape. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Baudin left the apartment. He shut the door behind him and stood there a second, picturing a red Volvo in his mind. When he had been at the frat house the other night, he’d seen one parked in front.
Baudin rushed to his car.
35
Dixon ate lunch by himself at a little dive sandwich place near the precinct. The restaurant, despite several closings the past year for health code violations, was always packed. The food was just too good. He got the Colossus: a cheeseburger packed with French fries, freshly made mac and cheese, and a fried egg. It was so gooey it dripped down his chin and spotted his tie.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, dabbing at it with a napkin.
His cell phone rang; it was Baudin.
“What do you want?” Dixon said.
“He’s a current member of the frat. Drives a red Volvo. I ran the plates, Dustin Orridge.”
Dixon exhaled loudly and pushed the mass of wet meat away from him. “Shit.”
“Hate me still?”
“Just not at the frat house, okay? They’re already on our ass. Let’s wait until he leaves and stop him.”
“Done. Where you want to meet?”
By the time Baudin picked him up, Dixon had eaten half the burger and felt ill. He was sucking on a Sprite when he climbed into the car and Baudin sped away.
“Do I even want to know how you found this out?” Dixon asked.
“Just good old detective work. Nothing fancy.” He pulled some sheets of paper off the dash and handed them to Dixon. “His rap and a psych profile.”
“What’d he have a psych profile done for?”
“Part of sentencing on a conviction for lewdness. He flashed some sixth-graders at a playground. Read the last paragraph.”
Dixon read.
It is this therapist’s opinion that Mr. Orridge, though early in his criminal career, has not shown any signs of remorse or correction of behavior. In fact, his statements on the entry-of-plea form to this court indicate that he blames the victims, has no sense of repercussions, and feels that women and young girls somehow “owe” him their sexual favors. I do not believe, based on my seventeen years’ experience as a child psychologist, that Mr. Orridge is a good candidate for probation. It would be our recommendation that some form of incarceration be imposed, with immediate and long-lasting treatment.
“Wow,” Dixon said.
“Orridge was fifteen when that was written. The therapist says earlier in that report that he comes from a wealthy family, and there’re allegations that he raped one of their maids and may have molested a sister, both things the family buried to save themselves embarrassment. This kid’s a predator, man.”
“One thing, you let me handle him. You don’t talk. You come with me, show your muscles and your tattoos, but no talking.”
“Sure, whatever you say, man.”
Baudin parked the car down the street from the Sigma Mu house, close enough that they could see everyone coming and going but not so close that anyone in the frat would notice two men in a car. The Volvo was parked right in front.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dixon asked.
“Tell you what?”
“That you were gonna break into the frat?”
Baudin rubbed his lower lip with his index finger as he watched the house. “I thought you’d say no.”
“I would’ve said no, but you still tell your partner. This shit we got goin’ isn’t gonna work. It’s either all trust or no trust. No gray.”
Baudin looked at him. “All right, brother. From now on, no secrets. I run everything by you.”
Dixon nodded, unsure if he really believed him. But he had to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Baudin’s cell phone rang.
“Hello? … Baby? What’s wrong? No… it’s okay… okay… no, but I promise… I’ll be home soon… Heather, we already talked about this, several times… I know… I know… I’ll see you soon.”
Dixon didn’t say anything as he hung up the phone. But he’d heard the girl crying on the other end.
Baudin took a deep breath. “She wants to move back to LA. Says she doesn’t fit in here and misses her friends. Somebody was mean to her at school.”
“That age, friends are all you got. You can’t relate to your parents. Shit, you know that.”
“No, I never had parents. Foster parents, at least in the area I was in, weren’t no parents. They saw me as a paycheck. There was one family who took me in. They really loved me, I think. Talked about adopting me.”
“Why didn’t they?”
“Didn’t give ’em a chance. I ran off.”
Dixon shifted in his seat to have a better look at him. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I got close and… I don’t know. Maybe I thought it was only a matter of time before these good people turned to bad people. I needed to believe there were good people in the world and didn’t
want them to ruin that.”
Dixon was silent a moment. “Ethan, you are by far the most fucked-up person I have ever known.”
He chuckled. “Shit, man. You’re not a paradigm of normality yourself.”
Before Dixon could respond, someone popped out of the frat.
“That’s him,” Baudin said.
Coming down the steps with a backpack slung over his arm was Orridge, and two other boys. They spoke at the base of the steps a long while before they split up, and Orridge went to his own car. He threw the backpack into the passenger seat and started the engine. Baudin did the same and waited until the red Volvo pulled away before he merged into traffic and then flipped a U-turn.
The Volvo turned left and headed deeper into the campus.
“What time is it?” Baudin said, not moving his eyes from the car.
“Four. They got classes that start in half an hour up here, the evening ones. Mostly social science, so he’s headed to the north side of campus.”
Baudin hung back. He let several cars cut in between him and Orridge. The Volvo followed all the traffic laws perfectly.
“This guy’s not breaking any traffic rules,” Baudin said.
“So?”
“So how many people you know can do that? He’s studied up. Even changing lanes, he knows you have to signal three seconds ahead of time.”
“That don’t mean he kills girls, man.”
“Doesn’t help his case.”
Dixon glanced at him. “Just remember that I’m doin’ all the talkin’. I’m serious about that.”
“My lips are sealed.”
The Volvo made a turn up ahead, and Baudin followed. It went down a long street and then turned again, this time south.
“Shit,” Baudin said.
“What?”
“I think he’s made us.”
“There’s no way he—”
The Volvo gunned it up a street, and its tires screeched as it took a turn too fast. Baudin hit the gas, and the car lurched forward. He didn’t stop at a red light, and the car was almost clipped by an F-150 truck. Dixon swore at the top of his lungs as Baudin took the same turn Orridge had but at twice the speed.
“Slow down!”
“He’s not getting away.”
The Volvo was on a narrow road in a residential area. It was passing cars, swerving into oncoming traffic, and then swerving back. Baudin did the same. Horns blared and car tires squealed as people scrambled to get out of the way.
Instead of fighting it, which he knew he wasn’t going to win anyway, Dixon strapped on his seat belt and held on to the grip above the door.
The Volvo slammed on its brakes and flipped a U-turn so fast it looked as though it might tip over. Baudin did the same but pulled the emergency brake, flipping the car around at a speed that pushed Dixon into the door. Smoke billowed out from the tires. Baudin hit the gas and peeled out on the pavement.
“Slow down, man.”
“We’ll never get this chance again.”
Dixon took out his phone.
“No,” Baudin said. “Don’t call it in.”
“You shittin’ me? We can cut him off with patrols in a New York minute.”
Baudin shook his head. “He’s ours, Kyle. This is between us and him. No one else.”
Dixon lowered the phone and then put it back in his pocket.
36
Hillary Dixon lay in bed and wept softly. The tears flowed down her cheeks and left spots on her pillow. She was nude except for the sheet that covered her lower body. Chris lay next to her, asleep. His arm was thrown over her, and the touch of it was at the same time pleasurable and revolting. She lusted after him. She had no doubt of that. He had thrown her on the bed—her marital bed—ripped off his pants, and forcefully shoved himself into her mouth, nearly gagging her. He then pulled out and thrust inside her so powerfully she screamed.
When they were done, she went to the bathroom and vomited.
On the nightstand was a photo of Kyle. She reached over and turned it face down. She remembered that photo. They’d been hiking at Dinosaur National Monument in Colorado. Her husband had a juvenile fascination with dinosaurs, and whenever they went on vacation anywhere he insisted they see all the dinosaur sites they could.
The trip had lasted four days, and it had gone by so fast she could scarcely believe it. It was four days of pure fun and laughter. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so happy in her life.
And now she lay in their bed with another man on Kyle’s side of the bed, the man’s child in the other room, being raised as Kyle’s own. She rose again and ran to the bathroom. Bending down over the toilet, she retched, but nothing came. Everything in her stomach had already been expelled.
She sat on the bathroom floor and quietly cried. This was too big. A secret this big felt like a noose around her neck, and every time Chris touched her that noose grew tighter. It would suffocate her soon, and nothing would be left.
No matter the consequences, she would have to tell him. She had to.
“Hey, Hillary? You okay in there?”
“Fine,” she said, flushing the toilet. She stood up and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her body was perfect, honed with hours of yoga, biking, running, and weight-lifting every day. But her mind, her soul, felt diseased, as if it were poisoning the world around her. She washed her face and hands and took a wet towel and wiped between her legs, breasts, and neck. She threw the towel in the wicker basket they used for their dirty laundry, and she saw one of Kyle’s shirts: a blue one with a stain where Randy had spit up on his shoulder. She’d wanted to throw it out, but he said he liked that it was stained, that it provided proof he was a real father and had earned his stripes.
Before she could leave the bathroom, her stomach churned again, and she returned to the toilet.
When she was done, she went to the closet and got dressed. Nothing fancy, jeans and a black shirt with two buttons at the top.
Chris was sitting up in bed smiling, one arm behind his head. “Come back to bed.”
“I want to tell him,” she said, slipping on her shoes.
“Tell him what?”
“I want to tell him, Chris.”
Chris jumped out of bed and approached her. He stood behind her without touching her. “You can’t tell him. Not yet. You need to leave him first. Then I’ll serve him with the paternity suit.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving him. He might leave me, but I’m not leaving him.”
“You have a child with another man and lied to him about it. He won’t stay.”
“Maybe not, but I need to give him that chance. I want you to leave.”
“Hillary—”
“Leave. Now.”
He stood a moment longer, and then anger flashed through him. He swung, and his fist hit the wall behind her. She flinched but didn’t move. They stood staring at each other, and then he gathered his clothes and left.
Hillary stood in front of the mirror, trying to look at herself and not being able to lift her eyes to do it.
37
Dixon yelped as the car nearly careened off the road into a building. Baudin yanked the steering wheel into the turn, and the car spun fully around before settling.
The Volvo had made a mistake. It went right when it should have gone left and was now stuck in a cul-de-sac. Baudin spun the car so that it was lengthwise, taking up as much space as possible. He got out and drew his weapon, as did Dixon.
The kid in the driver’s seat looked frightened. Not at all the calm psychopath Dixon was expecting. Then again, what was a psychopath if not a good liar? Dixon decided he wouldn’t believe anything this boy said or did.
“Turn the car off and come out with your hands up,” Baudin shouted.
A long pause followed where the boy simply stared at the two men without moving. Finally, Dixon said, “Kid, I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to. Get your ass out of that car.”
T
he door opened, and Orridge stepped out. He was short, maybe five six, and had his hands up. Baudin approached him and told him to lie on the ground. He got to his knees, and Baudin shoved him into the pavement and slapped cuffs on him.
He lifted him by his arms and brought him over to their car.
“Yo,” Orridge pleaded, “what about my car?”
“Kyle, drive the car and follow us,” he said, tossing him the keys that were in Orridge’s hand.
A tow would’ve been proper, but Dixon had driven suspects’ cars before when a tow wasn’t available. On weekends, Cheyenne had one of the highest per capita DUI arrest rates in the nation, and it only had a handful of tow trucks to service all of them. Once, Dixon had driven back to the precinct a Ferrari that might have been used to transport drugs.
He got into the Volvo and followed Baudin, who’d put the kid in the passenger seat. They left the cul-de-sac, went down University Avenue, and parked in a Walmart parking lot. Dixon wasn’t sure what was happening until he saw Baudin turn and begin asking questions right there.
“Shit,” Dixon said as he stepped out. He hurried to Baudin’s car and got into the back, staring incredulously at Baudin.
“Dustin and I were just talking about a girl we both know. Isn’t that right, Dustin?” The boy looked out the window. “See, Dustin is claiming he didn’t know this girl, but I think he did.”
The boy was fidgeting and biting his lip.
Baudin leaned in close to his ear. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you go. Right now. We’ll pretend this never happened. That’s why you’re not in a station right now, Dustin. I just need the information. I don’t need you.”
The boy swallowed. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about Alli.”
“She was cool, I guess.”
“She was cool,” Baudin said, nodding. “You are a poet.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me about her.”
The two of them stared at each other. The boy looked so terrified that Dixon almost felt bad for him.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) Page 16