CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Although I didn’t expect to, I was able to sleep for short periods. The downside of falling asleep was waking in a sweat from nightmares of Rachel being tortured at the hands of Justin Fox. It would have been preferable to stay up all night. Every time I woke up screaming, the jumpy young deputy who’d been assigned to sit in my living room would burst into my bedroom, demanding to know if I was all right. Of course that would wake up my dog, and she would start barking. Between that and the news vans that had begun to line the street in front of my house around sunup, I decided not to come home again until I could bring Rachel and Nate with me. I made arrangements for my neighbor to take care of Trixie until this nightmare was over.
To my surprise, when I came out of my bedroom and headed to my living room to find my coat, Agent Manetti was there and the deputy was gone, as were the news vans. Manetti was petting Trixie’s head as she gazed up at him adoringly. Traitor.
I blurted, “Why are you here?”
“Good morning to you, too. I thought I’d come get you and bring you up to speed on our progress with the case on the way to the station.”
My heart clenched. “Any leads on finding Rachel?”
“Not anything solid.”
“Oh.” I had a headache, and being forced to have a conversation with Manetti first thing in the morning wasn’t helping. “You know, people usually don’t like it when a Fed shows up at their house unannounced.”
Manetti grinned at me. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’ll take the coffee and muffins I brought and leave.” He gestured to my coffee table, where sat two steaming cups and a bulging bakery sack.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
As we headed for the door, my eyes landed on my Christmas tree, which was standing again. It had still been in a mess on the floor when I’d gotten up to let Trixie out thirty minutes ago.
On our way to Manetti’s vehicle, he said quietly, “I had the deputy help me set your tree upright. Trust me, if I’d been in your shoes yesterday, I would have done far worse than that.”
I nodded and got into his car.
He put the coffee and muffins on the console between us. “Eat. I wasn’t joking about what I said last night.”
I took a muffin and broke off a piece. It was delicious, but I had to choke it down. All I could think about was how selfish I was being, sleeping in my own bed, taking a hot shower, and having a nice breakfast while Rachel had probably frozen to the core overnight in a drafty barn, sore and stiff from being tied up.
“Well, what are the developments?” I asked, ready to get to work.
“We managed to track down most of Leann Fox’s coworkers, some of Samuel Fox’s old coworkers, a few of the Foxes’ neighbors, and a couple of family members and friends. You should have an email with a detailed list including current addresses and contact information that you and Detective Baxter can work off today. Later this morning, Detective Sterling and I are meeting with Samuel Fox’s public defender and driving down to speak with the warden at his prison, because we figure they’ll be the least likely to have any ties to Justin Fox and won’t tip him off to our involvement.”
I took out my phone and pulled up my email, opening an attachment from Sterling. Scrolling through several pages of names and information, I was impressed by their work. Maybe it hadn’t slowed the overall investigation for me to take a few hours away from the station.
Manetti continued, “Now that we have a solid list to work from, I’m having Deputy Martinez and Chief Esparza run those names against county records of properties with barns. Justin Fox doesn’t own property in the county unless he has a damn good alias that can fool a bank, a title company, and the county assessor. Therefore, he’s not going to have access to a barn unless he’s either taking a big risk by squatting in an abandoned property or he knows someone who owns one. I’m thinking it’s more likely the latter. Once we have a few matches—which I’m confident we will— Deputy Martinez and Chief Esparza are going to make some house calls.”
I looked over at him. “Won’t that run the risk of tipping him off?”
“Not when the property owners are told that the reason for the visit is because we got an anonymous complaint about the smell of meth coming from the direction of their barn. When people aren’t cooking meth, they tend to be pretty forthcoming about proving it. We shouldn’t even need warrants for those.”
“Oh.” Not above board at all, but I liked it. “Are you normally this much of a rogue agent?”
He smiled. “I can be when it counts. If someone gets adamant about not showing us what’s going on in their barn, then we’ll know to dig deeper and let you and Detective Baxter take a crack at them. On the forensic side, the second examinations of the evidence from the Leann Fox case have been completed. No new findings there. Oh, and Frank Donovan is going to be fine. Like the Sheriff said, his fainting spell was brought on by his diabetes coupled with missing a few meals, and of course stress. He’s being released later today.”
“That’s at least some good news,” I murmured, watching as the sunrise started to light up the bleakness of the town, the remnants of yesterday’s snow reduced to ugly gray piles on the side of the road.
Manetti put his hand on my arm. “We’re going to find your sister.”
***
At the station, Manetti and I met a weary-looking Amanda in the hallway. But when she saw the two of us together, her eyes began sparkling. She waylaid me as he continued on down the hall.
“You doing okay this morning?” she asked, eyeing the coffee and half-eaten muffin in my hands.
I sighed. “You want the stock answer or the honest answer?”
“Actually, your face says it all,” she replied, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Great.”
“Since you said we shouldn’t coddle you, I’m going to bypass the pleasantries and get to what I really want to know.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“First there was the hate flirting between you and the G-man, and now you two are all buddy-buddy. What’s up with that?”
I let out a snort of laughter in spite of myself. “First, there was never any—what did you call it? Hate flirting? And now, Agent Manetti is actually being nice. He’s bending over backward to help, especially with getting that DNA test done for me in record time. I’m sure that was a lot of strings for him to pull.”
“This morning I hear he picked you up at home and drove you to the station.”
“Yeah, so he could bring me up to speed on everything you guys worked on last night.”
“And he brought you breakfast. He likes you.”
“Amanda, he feels sorry for me. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t think so.” She gave me a wicked smile. “I’m only saying that when this is over and life goes back to normal for you, the handsome Special Agent wouldn’t be the worst person to curl up with in front of the fire.”
“Have you been sniffing chemicals in the lab? How did it go from me not completely despising the guy anymore to us dating?”
“A lot of times that’s how it happens.”
“Well, not this time.”
Baxter yelled from down the hall, “Hey, Ellie. You ready to head out?”
I gave him a thumbs-up and said to Amanda, “Anything to get out of this awkward conversation.”
As I turned to head Baxter’s way, she stopped me. “All joking aside, if you need me, I’m only a phone call away. I’m going home to rest, but if you need some new evidence processed or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to call.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
***
Our first meeting was with the social worker who’d overseen Justin Fox’s time in the foster system. In her late forties and the victim of a bad dye job, Desiree Gray had the look of a woman who’d witnessed too much pain. I couldn’t imagine working in social services and having to deal day in and day out with the atrocities unfit parents infl
icted upon their poor children. Deviant crime was something I could stomach for the most part, but ongoing abuse of kids was quite another.
Desiree ushered Baxter and me into her cramped office and had us take the two seats facing her desk. Her desk was littered with files and papers, but she managed to pluck Justin Fox’s file out of the mess.
She said, “I took a look at his file before you got here, and I’m sorry to say that Justin was one of those kids who slipped through the system.”
Baxter’s face fell. “What are you saying?”
Desiree replied, “Well, it seems that at age sixteen he ran away from his foster family. I’m embarrassed to admit that we lost him at such a critical age. He didn’t resurface again until after he was eighteen, when he got his driver’s license. Once he became an adult, he was no longer under our care, so no follow-up contact was made.”
“So you have no record of him since seven years ago?” Baxter said.
“I’m afraid that’s right.”
I grunted. When I was a teen, my social worker hadn’t been any more of a go-getter than this lady.
Baxter was clearly as impressed as I was. “What can you tell us?”
She pulled a single sheet of paper out of the file and handed it to him. “This is a list of names and the most up-to-date contact information we have on the foster families Justin Fox lived with during the six years he was in our care.”
Baxter held out the paper so I could read it. There were four households listed. While I couldn’t find it in me to feel sympathy for the sociopath holding my sister, my heart did ache for ten-year-old Justin Fox. After losing his mother and being taken from his father, he bounced around in the system way too much to have any kind of healthy family life. No wonder he ran away and went insane. His situation didn’t excuse his behavior, but it certainly helped explain it.
I asked, “Why four homes in six years? Was he a problem child?”
Desiree frowned and flipped through her file. “Yes and no. In the first home, the foster dad lost his job, and the new employment he got was in Colorado, so they had to give Justin up when they moved. In the second home, we suspected abuse, so we pulled the children living there. He and another boy seemed to have bonded in that household, so we managed to find a family who would take them both. By that point, the boys had just entered high school and were becoming quite a handful. One night, a fire occurred in the home, and the family barely got out in time.”
Baxter and I exchanged a glance.
“The fire started in the boys’ bedroom. Justin and the other boy blamed each other, so we never knew who was at fault. The foster parents had already given them several second chances, but when their house burned down, that was the last straw. We split the boys up after that. Justin was only with the last family a few months before he ran away.”
“Do you have contact information on the other boy?” Baxter asked.
“Yes, his name is Wyatt Churchill, and he’s currently a guest of the Hamilton County jail.”
“Of course he is,” I muttered under my breath.
Desiree focused her dead eyes on me. “What was that?”
I cleared my throat. “For how long?”
“The past seven months. Serving an eighteen-month sentence.”
Baxter said, “Anything else you can think of that might help us, Ms. Gray?”
She shrugged as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. “No, I don’t think so.”
***
Baxter grumbled all the way back to his vehicle.
“We got the names. It’s not like she was going to provide us with some magical clue that solved the whole thing,” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “I know, but it’s frustrating to deal with another typical government agency refusing to go the extra mile.”
Sure, Baxter worked for a government agency, but he was one of the ones who went above and beyond to make sure justice was served. He sure as hell would never have lost a kid, then thrown his hands up and said, “Oh, well.” If nothing else, he would have used his personal time to investigate, like he had with my mother’s case. We needed more Nick Baxters in the world.
“What’s next?” I asked as he started his SUV and let it warm up for a moment.
He took a photo of the list Desiree had given us. “Once I email this to Sterling and let the team get to tearing these people’s lives apart, we’re headed to Leann Fox’s work, PXT Corporation. Many of her former coworkers are still employed there.”
As he started driving north out of town, I asked, “Are you thinking Wyatt Churchill could be of any help?”
Baxter shrugged. “Possibly. Depends on if they kept in touch over the years. Clearly he’s not an accomplice, but any connection is worth checking out.”
“If they’re still tight, what makes you think he’s going to rat out his friend?”
Grinning, he said, “Oh, I can be persuasive.”
***
PXT Corporation was an aging plastics manufacturing plant north of Noblesville. Manetti had called ahead and briefed the plant manager, which saved us a lot of time and allowed us to jump right into our interviews. I had to admit that Manetti was one Fed who seemed to be working to make things easier on us instead of the other way around.
We headed first to speak to Lamar Sanders, PXT’s plant manager, who met us in the receiving office and began taking us on a quick tour of the facility.
“Leann worked in quality control, which meant she split her time between her cubicle in the office wing and the floor down there,” Sanders explained as we walked past a picture window overlooking the manufacturing area. “She knew the whole staff by name, and despite her being one of the QC specialists, everyone liked her.”
Baxter nodded. “Mr. Sanders, you’re sure that everyone liked her? There was no animosity toward her of any kind by anyone? Surely working in QC she’d ruffle some feathers once in a while.”
Sanders shrugged. “Not that I knew of. If she saw a problem, she’d go to the line supervisor and help find a way to solve the issue before filing her reports. She was always fair and helpful, which not all the QC specialists were. I was one of the line supervisors at the time, so I worked with her quite a bit.”
I asked, “What about her fellow QC workers? If she was so well-liked, did that create jealousy within her own team?”
“There was one woman who was catty as hell, but she was that way with everyone, not just Leann.”
“What’s her name?” Baxter asked.
“Linda Beasley.”
“Does she still work here?”
Sanders shook his head. “No, I fired her a couple of years ago. I can give you the contact info I have for her, though.”
“Good. Now, about Mrs. Fox’s alleged stalker—”
Rolling his eyes, Sanders said, “Richard Kendrick? That was a bunch of horseshit. He never stalked Leann. They’d worked in the same department for years and were friends, and her husband didn’t like it. Some of us would go out as a group and grab a drink after work. Leann and Richard were always part of that group, but there was nothing more to it than that. I think he might have given her a ride home one time when her car wouldn’t start, and her husband hit the ceiling. She came to work the next Monday with a broken wrist.”
Baxter and I shared a glance. Now we knew what the catalyst for another of their fights had been.
Sanders continued, frowning. “Then one day Samuel Fox comes barging in here, screaming about how Richard was stalking his wife and trying to take advantage of her at work. Richard had just been promoted to QC supervisor, so he’d recently become her boss. About a month prior to that, PXT had gotten slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit, and the plant manager at the time was taking no chances on this one. He didn’t wait for a second lawsuit to be filed—he fired poor Richard on the spot. Leann was in his office all afternoon trying to talk him out of it and explaining that her husband was overreacting, but the firing stood.”
“
Thank you for the information,” Baxter said, making a few notes in a small notebook. “I guess now we should speak with any of your employees who worked closely with Mrs. Fox.”
Sanders nodded and motioned for us to follow him down the hall. “We’ve got you set up in an empty office. My secretary will see to it that you have a steady stream of people to interview.” He hesitated. “Just my two cents, but Samuel Fox was as guilty as sin, and he got what he deserved. I knew something was wrong at home—we all knew it—but what could anyone do when Leann wouldn’t admit there was a problem and accept our offers for help? We were all devastated when we heard she’d been killed. But not one of us was surprised.”
“Mr. Sanders, did Leann ever mention leaving her husband or wanting another child? Anything like that?” I asked.
“Not to me.”
“What was her demeanor like in the weeks leading up to her death?”
He showed us into an office containing a desk and several chairs. After thinking for a moment, he replied, “Happy, for the most part, as I recall. She’d have bad days every once in a while—which I assumed were the times her husband was abusing her. But right before she died, she had a spring in her step that hadn’t been there in a while. I hoped things were turning around for her…but I was wrong.” He gave us a sad smile. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it.”
Baxter said, “Thank you, Mr. Sanders.”
After Sanders left, I turned to Baxter. “Spring in her step and semen in her panties? Leann Fox was definitely having an affair. We need to figure out who this guy is. Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We interviewed seven of Leann Fox’s fellow coworkers, and they all said the same thing Lamar Sanders had said: Leann was great, everyone liked her, and her husband had no doubt killed her.
It wasn’t until the eighth and final coworker came through the door that we caught a break. Jessie Metz was a fellow quality control specialist and seemed to have been closer to Leann than anyone else we’d talked to.
“We hung out fairly often after work, but not as much the few months before she died. We’d have plans, but more times than not she’d send me a garbled text at the last minute and make up some lame excuse why she couldn’t go. She didn’t fool me. I knew it was because her jackass husband wouldn’t allow her to leave the house.”
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