by Bush, Nancy
“Yes, that’s right. He was my stepbrother before my father remarried.” September met the reporter’s gaze coolly. Bring it on, Pauline.
If Kirby was surprised by September’s quiet challenge, she took it in stride. “Is there any connection to your department?” Pauline asked. “Some kind of grievance against the police that may have instigated this attack?”
“The similarities between this case and the one last February would make that unlikely.”
“You’re talking about Christopher Ballonni, who was also stripped down and tied to a pole in front of his place of work, a local office of the US Postal Service. Are you saying the two crimes are definitely connected, Detective?”
“The MO would suggest that.”
“Not a copycat?”
“There are pieces of information we purposely withheld that we believe only the same person would know. Our working theory is it’s one killer.”
“And a woman.”
“Yes.”
“Who went to Mr. Harmak’s house and finished what she’d failed to accomplish at the school, namely his death?”
“The crime scene is still being evaluated.” September slid away from a true answer.
“It’s surprising that the killer is a woman,” Pauline said in a voice that implied September was giving her a load of bull. “How is she attacking these men, and why?”
“As soon as we have some answers, we’ll let the public know.”
“Do we have some deranged serial killer in our midst once again? Should we be locking our doors against this woman?”
She was digging away. Trying to worm any information from September that she could. But there wasn’t much more to say. The vigilante, whoever she was, seemed to be targeting suspected pedophiles; at least that was the prevailing theory. But unfortunately September was running more on feeling than fact, and how this woman targeted her victims was still a mystery. And she wasn’t planning to say anything about any of it to Pauline Kirby.
When Pauline shut down the interview, she had a look of disgust on her face. “If you’d told me about this ‘woman’ ahead of time, I could have fashioned a better set of questions.”
“Let’s call it a draw. You wanted to blindside me about my relationship to Stefan Harmak.”
Kirby’s brows lifted. “The young detective has teeth.”
“I’m going back to work.”
“Keeping us all safe, eh?”
September didn’t bother answering as she turned away from Pauline Kirby and her cameraman and climbed the front steps of the station. Guy Urlacher looked up as she entered and she lifted her index finger to stop him from speaking. “Not today.”
“I saw you with that reporter,” he said by way of explaining why he buzzed her in without demanding to see her ID.
Bully for you.
“How’d you do?” Wes asked when she entered. He was drinking tea and eating some saltine crackers. Lunch had been chicken soup that Kayleen had sent with him and September had wished she felt any appetite. Between her worry over Jake and her own uncertain stomach, she could scarcely look at food. However, when Wes held up a saltine, she decided she needed something so she accepted five or six of them and managed to munch them all down. A good sign.
“At least the interview’s over,” she told him. “It’ll be on the evening news.”
“I’ve got the Kraxbergers’ new address for you,” he told her. “The daughter’s at school and the husband’s at work at a car dealership, but the mom’s home.”
“Great. Let’s go talk to her,” September said, glad that Wes had waited for her.
Maharis looked up from notes he was writing on Gretchen’s desk. “Thought the lieutenant said you should go with me to interview the bartender.”
“What time does he start work?” September asked, checking the clock. It was nearly five.
“Six.”
It was after day-shift hours and Maharis’s face said as much, but that was just too damn bad in September’s opinion. “I’ll meet you at Gulliver’s later. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” he said glumly.
“If you’ve got something to do, I’ll go with Nine,” Wes said.
“Nope, nope. I’m ready.”
Wes grinned and as he and September headed for his Range Rover, he said, “Newbies. Always want it both ways.”
“Technically, I’m still a newbie.”
“Nah. You got stabbed and damn near ran the department the last few days. You’re one of us now.”
“Thanks.” As ever, September’s thoughts turned to Jake again. Wake up, she told him silently. Be all right.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the Kraxbergers’ home, a two-story split entry on a winding road at the edge of Portland in the West Hills. Wes had called Mrs. Kraxberger, who was clearly waiting for them as the front door opened before Wes had even set the brake.
September and Wes walked up to the front door together. Mrs. Kraxberger was a woman in her forties who wore her light brown hair in a short, stylish cut and had a sharp line between her brows. As soon as September drew near, the woman sized her up in that way some women did automatically, as if every other female was a potential rival. “Detectives,” she said flatly. Her gaze slid from September to Wes, taking in his lanky, slow-moving way.
“Hello, Mrs. Kraxberger,” Wes said. “I’m Detective Pelligree and this is my partner, Detective Rafferty.”
“Come inside,” she said. “You said this was concerning the postman who killed himself, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with us.”
Wes took the lead after she led them up a half flight of stairs to the living room, which was divided into two sitting areas. She invited them to sit down and perched on one of the ottomans. September sat on the edge of the couch and Wes took a chair.
“Before you moved, you lived on Christopher Ballonni’s mail route,” Wes began.
“I didn’t know him though,” she denied immediately. “Who knows their mailman?”
“One of your neighbors, Mrs. Bernstein, made a formal complaint against Mr. Ballonni. She claimed that Ballonni gave her daughter a stick of gum and was too familiar with her.”
“I don’t know this Mrs. Bernstein,” Mrs. Kraxberger said stiffly, her hands clasped together tightly.
Wes paused, sizing her up. She clearly didn’t want to talk, so September tried with, “Do you know Mr. Ballonni’s son, Christopher Jr.?”
“No.”
“He was a classmate of your daughter, Shannon,” September pressed.
At the mention of her daughter’s name, it was like Mrs. Kraxberger had been jabbed with a pin. “I don’t think that’s right.”
“Would it be all right if we spoke to Shannon?” Wes asked.
“No.” She was firm.
“Christopher Jr. suggested I speak to her,” September said.
Her head swiveled around and she stared at September as if she’d started speaking in tongues. “That can’t be true. You’re making that up!”
“I wouldn’t make it up,” September assured her as color washed up Mrs. Kraxberger’s face, then leached right out again.
“What are you trying to say? That the mailman was too personal with my daughter, too? Well, he was. Always giving out sticks of gum. Trying too hard to be friendly. Do I think he had a problem? Yes. Am I sorry he’s dead? No. But it has nothing to do with Shannon and I don’t want you saying anything ugly to my daughter to give her any ideas that it does.” She jumped to her feet and stalked to the top of the stairs, waiting for them.
Wes and September rose to their feet. “We’re investigating another homicide that may be connected to Mr. Ballonni’s,” September said in an effort to bring down the tension.
“I don’t care what you do, as long as it doesn’t concern my daughter.”
Wes pressed a card into her hand on the way out and said, “If you think of anything.”
“I won’t. Thank you.” She practicall
y slammed the door on them on the way out and when they were back in Wes’s Range Rover they looked at each other and Wes said, “Well.”
September nodded. “There’s something there, but she can’t face it. I mean, I get it. We’re talking about her daughter and she’s only twelve or thirteen now, so how old was she when Ballonni got too friendly?”
“The guy was a pedophile,” Wes said, his expression grim. “That I believe.”
“And that’s why he was killed. I’m with you. But how do we prove that? How do we find the woman who’s doing this?”
He reached for the file that he’d stuffed between the front seats. “Who else lives on that route?”
“I’ve got the names of the two women Rhoda Bernstein said defended Ballonni. Maybe we should talk to them.”
“Which ones are they?” he asked, looking at the list, and September pointed them out. “I wish I could talk to Shannon herself, or even Chris Jr. again. I want to know what that generation thinks about Ballonni.”
“We could drop in on the Ballonnis after school,” Wes suggested.
“I need to stop by Laurelton General and see Jake.”
“You want me to do it?”
September pictured Wes Pelligree walking up to Janet Ballonni’s door and changed her mind. “She doesn’t like me, but it would still be better if I interviewed her.”
“She’s gonna object to a black dude showing up.”
“She’s gonna object to the law showing up again. Especially since we want to talk to Chris. I’ll go see Jake later.”
When they arrived at the Ballonni house a boy and a girl in their early teens were standing at the end of the driveway. Chris Jr. and maybe his girlfriend, September thought, wondering if she could really get that lucky.
As she and Wes stepped out of the Range Rover, she called, “Chris. Hi. I’m Detective Rafferty and this is Detective Pelligree.”
The boy stepped away from the girl as if she’d burned him and September saw a section of blinds, which had been opened for a peek, snap back into place.
“Janet’s seen us,” she warned Wes.
The words were barely out of her mouth when Janet Ballonni came flying out the door and swooped in on her son like a bird of prey. Chris’s eyes cast a silent good-bye to the girl, who turned a shoulder to them and began walking away.
“Haven’t you hurt us enough?” Janet challenged them as she grabbed Chris’s arm. Her gaze raked over Wes as if he were the devil incarnate.
“Mrs. Ballonni, Chris, we just want to talk to you about Shannon Kraxberger,” September said.
Chris threw September a wild, accusatory look, but let his mother drag him inside. Janet slammed the door with a bang.
September’s gaze then swiveled to the back of the girl who was quickly walking away from the scene at the Ballonnis.
“Jamie?” September called.
The girl hesitated, then looked over her shoulder at them.
“Chris mentioned you to me,” September said.
She stopped and turned fully around. She was pretty enough with straight dark brown hair and wide blue eyes, but she had that sullen look so often adopted by tweens. “He did?”
“He told me you were his girlfriend when I talked to him on the phone the other day.” September was moving toward the girl but Wes hung back, letting her talk to the girl without overwhelming her.
“He said he talked to the police. Janet doesn’t know.”
“I figured.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You’re kinda pretty for a cop.”
“Thanks.”
“I can’t believe Chris told you about Shannon. I mean, he knows what a sick psycho his dad was, but he won’t ever talk about it. Like never.”
“Chris knew his father was a sexual predator?” September asked.
“Well, I don’t know about that. But yeah, he knew about Shannon. And you know why? Because I’m the one who told him about her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jamie tossed back her hair and warmed to her subject. “Chris’s dad was always trying to get too close. I stayed out of his way whenever I was at their house. Mostly, Chris comes over to my house. His dad just would look at me weird, y’know, and I knew what he was thinking, especially because of what Shannon told me.” She stuck her tongue out and made a gagging sound. “Shannon told me about him ’cause she knew Chris and I were friends. This was a few years ago, before we were going together. She’d gotten kinda weird and we didn’t know why. Then she told me. She was like having a real hard time because she’d always thought Chris’s dad was cool ’cause he shared his gum with her, but then once he got out of his truck and pretended to hug her but then he felt her up, and she didn’t even have anything up there. She tried to get away, but he stuck his hand down her pants before she could run into the house.” She made a face and shuddered. “She was really, really scared to tell her mom and dad, so she never said anything, until she finally told me. I told Chris his dad was like a sex maniac. We had this really big fight. But then Shannon’s parents were leaving and she was glad and she told me not to tell anyone else. She was kinda upset that I told Chris. After she left, Chris and I didn’t really talk about it anymore, especially after his dad died, but I always kinda thought it happened because he was a sexual predator, like you see on TV.”
September had suspected as much but hearing Jamie baldly call Ballonni a sexual predator made it very real. “Do you know of anyone else, besides Shannon, who might have had contact with Chris’s dad in that way?”
“Maybe you should ask the day-care lady,” Jamie said.
“Day-care lady?”
“The one who had the day care on the end of Shannon’s street.”
September turned to Wes, who was within earshot, and they stared at each other in mute horror. A day care?
“Ask Shannon about her. She’ll remember.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
“You won’t tell Chris that I told you all that, will you?” She darted a fearful look back at the Ballonni house. “That would really be bad.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be talking to Chris again,” September said.
They left Jamie and the Ballonnis and climbed into Wes’s SUV again. “Back to the Kraxbergers?” he asked.
“We need to talk to Shannon.”
“How are you gonna get past the mom?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something on the way.”
He turned the Range Rover around as September consulted the names on the map of the mail route again. The street the Kraxbergers lived on ended in a cul-de-sac. There were two houses at the final curve. The one facing toward the north was owned by a family named Maroney; the one toward the south was owned by the Francos. She dialed the Maroneys’ number first and got voice mail. She left her name and number, then she called the second number and the Francos’ voice mail answered as well.
“Damn,” September said after she’d clicked off, not liking any of it.
“Yeah.”
When they arrived at the Kraxbergers’ again, it looked as if Mrs. Kraxberger had just picked up Shannon from a dance class as the girl was just getting out of a car, dressed in a leotard and tights with a big jacket thrown over the outfit.
Shannon glanced over at them as September and Wes got out of their vehicle. She still didn’t have much in the way of breasts and there was something very childlike about her body.
“What are you doing here again?” Mrs. Kraxberger practically screeched, grabbing hold of Shannon’s arm.
“Who are they?” Shannon asked her mother.
“We’re detectives with the Laurelton Police Department,” September said loudly as Shannon’s mother was hustling her up the front steps to the door. “We wanted to talk to you and your mother about Mr. Ballonni.” September knew she was stepping over the line a bit, engaging the minor without her parent’s permission, but she honestly didn’t much care.
“Get out o
f here!” Mrs. Kraxberger yelled at them.
Wes said in a calm voice, “We’re trying to solve a homicide and could use some help.”
“Don’t talk to them,” she told her daughter.
Shannon glanced over at September, who said, “We just talked to Jamie.”
Shannon’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
“Who?” her mother demanded. “Leave her alone!”
“She said there was a day care at the end of your street,” September pressed, as Wes said for her ears only, “Careful with mother bear.”
“I’m calling your superiors!” Mrs. Kraxberger opened the door and tried to pull Shannon into the house, but the girl shook herself free.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she called down to September. “Mr. Ballonni?”
“Yes,” September said.
“Do you know what he did to me?”
“Yes,” September said again.
“Shannon!” her mother cried, appalled.
“The day-care lady was Mrs. Vasquez,” Shannon said. “I think she moved because of him, too. You should talk to her.”
“Shannon,” her mother said again.
“Thank you, Shannon,” September told her.
The girl nodded gravely. “He was a sick man. That’s why he killed himself.”
Mrs. Kraxberger had had enough. This time she managed to yank her daughter inside and slam the door.
“Or, that’s why somebody killed him,” Wes said, speaking September’s thoughts.
“Who do you think this Mrs. Vasquez is?” she asked. “It’s not a name on either of the houses at the end of Fir Court, the Kraxbergers’ street.”
“Maybe it’s a different house?”
“Or, one of them’s a rental?”
She was silent as they drove toward the Kraxbergers’ old neighborhood.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked her.
“My brother, March, has a ten-year-old daughter, Evie. A lot of times March works at my father’s house and he often brings Evie. Stefan lived there for years.”
“Oh.”
September exhaled heavily. “Maybe I’m borrowing trouble.”
More silence as they drove away, then Wes said, “Maybe you should talk to your niece.”