Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1)

by Victor Methos

  “You sure about that?”

  The boy turned to face him squarely. “I swear. I didn’t know she was dead until someone told me. They saw her mom on the news talkin’ about it. I thought she just took off. She was doing that all the time, just leavin’ for no reason. I thought that’s all it was.”

  “And when you learned it wasn’t, you didn’t call the cops, did you?”

  He looked back through the window. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Maybe you don’t get a lawyer.”

  Dixon said, “Ethan, can I talk to you outside?” He opened the door and stepped out of the car. Baudin followed.

  “He’s asked for a lawyer,” Dixon said, once Baudin shut the door. “Anything he says beyond now will be excluded from court.”

  “No, it won’t. We’ll just say it’s bullshit.”

  Dixon shook his head. “No, man. I will testify that he asked for a lawyer and you kept interrogating him. I told you to keep your damn mouth shut and let me handle this.”

  “You’d let this piece of shit walk because he said some magic words? You think that’s what this is about?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said sternly. “I believe in the fucking Constitution, Ethan. Now take him back to the station and get him a lawyer.”

  Baudin looked at him as if he were insane. He put up his hands as though in surrender and got back into the car. Dixon got into the Volvo, and they drove out of the parking lot.

  Once back at the station, the frat was called to tell them Dustin had been arrested. Someone there then called Dustin’s father, who sent a lawyer down within an hour. Baudin and Dixon stood in the observation room while the lawyer spoke to his client. Baudin was staring at him through the glass. The room was soundproofed but had a microphone that had been turned off.

  “This isn’t right,” Baudin said. “This kid’s gonna walk.”

  “Maybe.”

  Baudin began pacing like a caged animal. “All we had to do was work him in that parking lot and promise we’d let him go, man. We would’ve had him.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? That all you can say to me?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say you’re fucking sorry for torpedoing this case.”

  Dixon couldn’t help chuckling. He shook his head, watching the way the light played off the linoleum on the floor. “You are unique, Ethan, I’ll give you that. That kid may or may not get what’s comin’ to him, but I can sleep at night with a clear conscience.”

  “A clear conscience?”

  “Yeah, man, a clear conscience. Because I did my job and followed the law.”

  “There isn’t any law, man, I told you.”

  Dixon stepped away from the wall toward his partner. “That is bullshit. And if you really believe that, you need to find some other work.” Dixon left the room and headed for his desk. “Maybe some alien conspiracy theorists are hiring security guards,” he said, looking back.

  Within twenty minutes, the lawyer was out. He walked straight to the captain’s office and spoke to him briefly. Jessop came out and went to Dixon.

  “Cut him loose.”

  “You sure?” Dixon said. “This is the guy.”

  “Maybe, but you’re cutting him loose. All you got is some dipshit who told your partner this guy was dating her. That’s nothin’.”

  “It’s enough to make him a person of interest.”

  Jessop watched him. “Kyle, you don’t have anything.”

  Dixon sighed. “I know.”

  “Cut him loose,” he said, going back to his office.

  Dixon rose and walked back to Baudin, who was staring at the kid through the glass. “Let him go.”

  Baudin looked at him, was about to say something, then changed his mind. He opened the door to the interrogation room and said, “You’re free to go.”

  They both watched as Dustin Orridge smiled and left the precinct.

  38

  A day later, Dixon was at his desk. As far as he was concerned, Alli Tavor was a cold case. No forensic evidence existed, no witnesses, no real motive, and their only suspect had lawyered up. They could put a twenty-four hour tail on Orridge and see if he screwed up somewhere, but that was fantasy. Dixon had only seen the expense of a tail authorized once when they were following a biker gang selling meth in the high schools. With the lack of evidence in this case, there was no way Jessop would approve a tail.

  Baudin was sitting across from him, working on the computer. They hadn’t said a word to each other all day other than “Hey.”

  Dixon finished up a few calls and was about to head to lunch when the doors to the detective squad opened, and Dustin Orridge and his lawyer walked in. The two detectives looked on as the boy, his face down, trudged past everyone and directly into Jessop’s office. They shut the door, sat down, and the lawyer began talking.

  “What is this?” Dixon asked.

  “No idea.”

  After a few minutes, the door opened, and Jessop stuck his head out. “Detective Dixon, your suspect is ready to confess.”

  Dixon sat across from Orridge as Baudin stood behind him. The camera was on, and the lawyer was sitting next to Orridge, busy on his phone. Dixon had a yellow legal pad in front of him with a blue pen, and he wrote Dustin’s name across the top, more for something to do than for any functional purpose.

  “I was told you wanted to speak to us, Dustin.”

  The boy wouldn’t lift his gaze from the floor. His eyes were puffy and red as though he’d been crying.

  “I did it.”

  “Did what?” Dixon asked.

  “I killed Alli Tavor,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Dixon was silent a long time. “How?”

  “She said she didn’t want to fuck me no more. I got mad. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  Baudin asked, “You just happened to crucify her? Like by accident?”

  “That was all done later. After. To cover everything up. I choked her until she wasn’t moving no more. She died.”

  “How else did you injure her?” Baudin asked.

  “I cut her up with a knife. I don’t remember the details of that—it was a blur, all real fast. But I killed her.”

  “When?”

  “Five weeks ago. In a field near where you found her. I told her we were going to have a picnic and hang out with my frat brothers. When we got out there, I started hitting her, and then I choked her.”

  Dixon didn’t know what to say. He looked back at Baudin, who, for the first time since Dixon had met him, didn’t know what to say either.

  “Um,” Dixon said, trying to keep a veneer of cool, “Dustin, I’d like you to write down everything you remember about it on this legal pad, please.”

  The boy wrote. He wrote for a good fifteen minutes, filling two pages. The entire time, Dixon stared at him and wondered if he really looked like a murderer.

  When Orridge was done, he slid the pad back to Dixon, who read it. It said the same things he’d just confessed to orally. Dixon showed it to Baudin.

  “I want some time with him,” Baudin whispered.

  “Why? He confessed. It’s done.”

  “I just want to make sure.”

  The lawyer finally put his phone away and said, “Gentlemen, this interview is over. Please book my client and let’s get on with it.”

  The two detectives looked at each other. Dixon took out his handcuffs and helped Orridge stand before saying, “You have the right to remain silent…”

  When they stepped back into the bullpen and Orridge was escorted down to booking, several of the detectives clapped for Baudin and Dixon. Jessop came out and shook their hands.

  “Don’t know what you said to that little prick, but it must’ve scared him. Lawyer said he was confessing against legal advice.”

  A few detectives slapped their backs and asked them about the case. Someone broke out a bottle of sparkling apple cider he’d had in his desk. Styrofoam cups
were passed around. Murders with almost no evidence weren’t something that were solved often.

  Dixon stood chatting with a few of the officers when he glanced at Baudin. He held up his cup as if in salute, and Baudin nodded.

  39

  A week went by, and Baudin had thought about little more than the murder of Alli Tavor. He’d never had a suspect come in and confess to unburden the soul. The human soul, in his experience, could take a hell of a lot of burden.

  He’d caught other cases since then: a missing person and a convenience-store robbery. He didn’t miss the compartmentalization in Los Angeles. The diversity of cases here refreshed him.

  But he couldn’t get the Tavor case out of his head. It was closed, and he was grateful for that. He’d been the one to tell her mother, and she’d seemed to accept it well, but something didn’t sit right. Orridge wasn’t the type of person to have a change of heart. Something happened to make him come in and confess.

  He was at his desk on a phone call when a woman came in. A detective named Hernandez was walking back to the interrogation rooms with her. The woman was young and attractive but crying profusely. Hernandez had her arm around the woman’s shoulders and sat her down before shutting the door.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes, Hernandez came out to the squad room.

  “Who’s that?” Baudin asked.

  “Oh, her name’s Kaitlin Harris. She says she was raped a couple of weeks ago by some guys at a club.”

  Baudin didn’t have to ask about the time lapse. He knew most victims were reluctant to come forward right away. They felt guilt and shame, as though they were somehow responsible for the assault. It usually took coaxing by family and friends to finally get them through the precinct door.

  “More than one?” Baudin asked.

  “Yeah, she says one guy took her back to his place, and then a bunch of guys came out and took turns.”

  Baudin was silent for a moment.

  “You okay?” Hernandez said.

  “Yeah, sorry, yeah. Just sad is all.”

  “Yeah, poor girl. Luckily they drugged her, and she only remembers bits and pieces. I was gonna head down and get a crisis counselor.”

  Baudin nodded and went back to his computer. He waited until Hernandez was out the door before he rose and hurried to the interrogation room where Kaitlin Harris was seated.

  She looked frail and weak. As though if he weren’t careful with her, she could crumble to dust right in front of him. He sat down across from her, rose and unplugged the camera, and then sat down again.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Baudin said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded, twirling the tissue in her fingers. “Are you a detective?”

  “Yes.”

  She sniffled. “I feel so stupid. I just feel like the stupidest person in the world.”

  He reached his hand across the table, letting it rest near her. “You’re not. This was not an act of God, like lightning striking. This was an act of evil perpetrated by men. It had nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault.”

  She seemed to slump in her chair, as though her muscles couldn’t hold her up any longer. The long strands of hair came down over her eyes, and she sobbed quietly. He moved his chair next to her, and the action, though he’d been as slow and quiet as possible, startled her.

  “Shh,” he said.

  He didn’t touch her until she was ready. And even then, it was only a couple of fingers gently placed on the back of her hand—just enough that she knew someone else was there, someone who cared and empathized.

  When she was through sobbing, he said, “I need your help.”

  “How?”

  He pulled out his phone and brought up a photo of the Sigma Mu frat house. “Do you recognize this house?” She shook her head. The symbol over the door was blurry. He flipped to a clear photo of the Sigma Mu symbol. “What about this?”

  Her mouth nearly fell open. “I saw that in a painting. When he was taking me upstairs, I saw that painting hanging there.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the house?”

  “It was empty, like no one lived there. There was plastic over the furniture, dust everywhere.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I’m so stupid.”

  “Kaitlin, stay with me… stay with me… what else did you see?”

  “Nothing. We went upstairs to the bedroom, and all these guys came out. He’d given me something so I couldn’t move. I was just lying there like… I couldn’t move. And all these guys came out. And they started… they started.”

  “Who took you there?”

  “Some guy. He said his name was Casey.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  Kaitlin wiped her tears away again, taking a deep breath. “Good-looking. Blond, I guess. He said he was forty-three, but he looked a little older.”

  “Forty-three?”

  “Yeah, but he looked older.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. I saw him really close. When he was on top of me… when he was…”

  She began to sob again, more forcefully this time, as though losing control. Hernandez walked in, the counselor behind her.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Just making sure she’s okay,” Baudin said. He rose to leave, but before doing so, he bent down. Close to her ear so only Kaitlin could hear him. “I’m going to find them, Kaitlin. I’m going to find them, and I’m going to kill them.”

  She looked up. The sobbing ceased. Their eyes held each other a moment, and then he turned and rushed out of the room.

  40

  When Baudin found Dixon, he was sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot, eating a bagel and drinking coffee. He sat next to him, and they didn’t speak right away. He let Dixon eat for a bit, getting comfortable with his presence before springing it on him.

  “I think Dustin Orridge didn’t do it. Or at least didn’t do it alone.”

  Dixon chewed and just said, “Why?”

  “There’s a woman in there right now talking about a sexual assault. She saw the Sigma Mu symbol in the house she was gang raped in. The guy who took her there was in his forties, maybe even older.”

  “So?”

  “So how many fifty-year-olds you see in those Sigma Mu photos? He’s alum.”

  Dixon looked at him. “You think the alum raped her?”

  “Why not, man? They get into these rape parties, but they gotta leave the frat sometime. Doesn’t mean they can break the habit. They got a taste for it… but you already thought of that.”

  Dixon took a sip of his coffee. “I did.”

  “Then why haven’t you said anything?”

  “Because the case is over. It’s closed. And if you think Jessop is ever gonna let us reopen it and start interviewing alums from that frat, you can forget it. The mayor and DA are both alums.” He went to take another sip of coffee and stopped. The two of them stared at each other.

  “Shit,” Dixon said.

  Baudin’s house was empty as Heather was in school. Dixon entered and followed Baudin down to the basement where the photos of the Sigma Mu brothers were set up. Baudin took down the photos of the past fifteen years, and they had five photos left. They spread them on a table and leaned over them like generals looking at a map.

  Baudin got out some reading glasses and went over the faces of each one. In one particular year, 1995, he stopped. In the center of the pack, smiling widely with a bad haircut, was a face he recognized.

  “I know that face.”

  Dixon bent closer. He took the glasses and raised them above the photo, making the face as large as possible. He dropped the glasses and turned away, taking a few steps back, his hands coming up over his head before his fingers interlaced and rested on the back of his neck.

  “Fuck,” Dixon shouted, grabbing the first thing that came to hand—a plastic bottle from a shelf—and throwing it. The bottle bounced off the wall and hit the floor, rolling to the center of the basement
until it lost momentum.

  “Who is he?” Baudin asked.

  41

  Dixon paced the hallway. The secretary was staring at him as though she’d never seen him before. Baudin seemed calm. He was standing against the wall with his eyes closed, as if he were meditating or something. Dixon, on the other hand, felt as though he were about to hurl.

  “The chief will see you now, Detective.”

  “Thanks,” Dixon said meekly.

  They walked into Chief Robert Crest’s office and sat down across from him. The chief was on the phone and held up one finger, indicating he needed a minute. Dixon swallowed and looked around the office.

  When the chief was done, he smiled widely, pulled a cigar out of a drawer, and said, “Great job on that crucifixion case, boys. I don’t think I’ve gotten to congratulate you yet. Sorry about that, mayor’s got me running ragged on this new drug initiative he’s got going.” He lit his cigar and took a puff.

  “No problem, sir,” Dixon said. “We’re just happy you could fit us in.”

  The chief leaned back in his chair, the smile never leaving his face. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Baudin said dryly, “You never told us you were a member of Sigma Mu.”

  The smile instantly disappeared. Dixon’s guts tightened. He’d been hoping he could avoid the confrontation and just talk like gentlemen who had found an intellectual curiosity, but Baudin had his own plans.

  “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Chief Crest said, his face contorting with rage.

  “Seems like an interesting little fact you’d want to tell the investigating detectives on a case involving that frat.”

  “That isn’t relevant to anything. I think your partner here worked at U of W. Maybe you should be interviewing him, too.”

  “If he belonged to a frat that systematically raped women, I would be.”

  Baudin and the chief stared at each other. The chief’s face was flushed red with so much anger that he seemed unable to contain it.