“You saw the word that was carved on her stomach, right?”
“Yes,” Zach said quietly.
“They’ll show those same pictures at the trial. Do you remember when you called Ms. Anders a whore?”
“No. I don’t remember much about that night.”
“Why?”
“Because I got hit in the head with a baseball bat and was in a coma. Isn’t that in your report, too? I lost a lot of memories.”
“And that was right after you’d broken another person’s nose, correct?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been told.”
“They have sworn statements from multiple people at that party who will testify to the fact that you called Ms. Anders a whore. Do you deny that?”
“No. I don’t deny it, I just don’t remember. Rakel told me about it when she came to see me in the hospital.”
“Why did she come to see you?”
“She was sorry about what happened. She blamed herself.”
“And you didn’t blame her for your injuries?”
“At first I did, but she wasn’t the same girl anymore. She told me so.”
“You and Ms. Anders had a short relationship, correct?”
“We dated, yes.” Zach remembered all the times he’d shared with Rakel, getting to know each other. Even his parents had grown to love her. How could it all be a lie?
“But she didn’t feel the same way you did, correct?”
“No, that’s not true. We loved each other.”
“Zach, could it be possible that she decided she didn’t want your friendship to go any further? Could it be possible that she only wanted to be your friend, but you wanted more?”
“No, that’s not how it was.”
“Could it be possible that you weren’t willing to let her go so easily? You grew angry, and snapped?”
“Not true.”
“That’s how the prosecution is going to present it, Zach. Based on what I’ve seen,” he said, patting his case folder, “that’s exactly how I would do it.”
“But it’s not true.”
Tellez sighed again, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Look, like I said, all the evidence is there. They have all they need to convict you.”
“Do you think I’m guilty?” Zach asked.
“It’s not my job to say whether or not you’re guilty. That’s a jury’s job.”
Zach repeated his question. “Do you think I’m guilty?”
“I think the evidence speaks for itself, Zach. You’re not providing anything that contradicts any of it, at least factually.”
“So you think I’m guilty. You think I killed her.”
“I think a jury will be convinced that you did, indeed, kill her. You need to understand that.”
“I do understand! But what I don’t understand is why everyone is lying about how Rakel felt about me. It’s just not true.” He remembered the day he’d come home from the hospital, and how Rakel had been there waiting to surprise him, already so much a part of his family. They’d all thought Rakel was wonderful.
“My parents, Mr. Tellez. Talk to my parents, my sisters. They’ll tell you the truth about Rakel.”
Tellez abruptly leaned closer. “We put your mother on the stand. She testifies her son couldn’t have done the things he’s accused of doing, because he’s a good boy. Sure, he’s had his problems in the past, but he’s a kind and gentle spirit who could never kill anyone. Please don’t give my son the needle, she’ll say. Please don’t send him to prison for the rest of his life.” He shook his head, and stressed his point. “Your mom, your dad, it doesn’t matter who we put on the stand. Their testimony may pluck at a few heartstrings, but in the end, a jury just won’t buy it. I’ve seen it before. They’ll make their decision based on the facts presented to them, and the picture in their minds that the prosecution is going to paint for them.” Tellez sighed, and then leaned back in his chair. “You have two choices, Zach. You can plead guilty and probably live, or you can go to trial and hope the jury will somehow ignore all the evidence against you. I can tell you right now they won’t. They’ll convict you, Zach. There’s a good chance you’ll get the death penalty.”
“I’m not going to plead guilty. I didn’t do it.”
Tellez shut the case folder, obviously frustrated. “Then we have one course of action. We’re going to plead not guilty by reason of insanity.”
Insanity.
It was a word Zach knew all too well. He didn’t respond.
“It’s our only choice, Zach, if you’re going to stick to your story. A not-guilty plea will probably get you executed, based on the violent nature of the crime. If we plead insanity, you’ll more than likely live. With your background—attempted suicide when you were twelve, borderline schizophrenic, if I recall correctly—it can work. It’s your choice.”
Zach looked his attorney straight in the eye. He was scared and confused, but also determined. He loved Rakel, and he wouldn’t have hurt her. “I’m not insane, Mr. Tellez. I’m not guilty. You can tell that to the prosecuting attorney.”
28
Ever since the nightmare, Peyton hadn’t been sleeping well.
She knew it’d been a dream, but it seemed so real and was so horrible. When she did sleep, after fatigue had taken its toll and she could no longer keep her eyes open, it was restless, fitful. She’d wake up exhausted.
And then there was the strange voice she’d heard, saying she was chosen, whatever that meant. It had only happened once, thankfully, and she’d decided maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all. It was the terrible dream that had really shaken her.
Justine sat across the kitchen table from her. They were both drinking their normal first-thing-in-the-morning-before-anything-else mugs of coffee.
“Is everything all right?” Justine asked. “You look awfully tired, honey. Are you sleeping okay?”
Peyton decided it was time to tell the truth. She’d kept another secret for too many years, and wasn’t willing to do it again. “No, I’m not.”
“What’s wrong?”
Peyton hesitated, then plunged in. “I’m not sure. I had this awful nightmare a couple of nights ago, and it really upset me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Well, I dreamed about a guy. I don’t know who he is exactly, but I feel like I should. This is gonna sound crazy,” Peyton said, shaking her head.
“No, it won’t. You can tell me.” Justine reached across the table and held Peyton’s hand.
“Have you ever had déjà vu? Seen someplace you know you’ve been, or seen someone you know you’ve seen before?”
“It’s happened to me a few times,” Justine said. “It’s a weird feeling.”
“I dreamed about this same guy about six months ago, too. It was quick, just a glance of his face really, but I couldn’t get him out of my mind.”
“Was he cute?” Justin asked.
“Actually, yes!” Peyton said, her face brightening somewhat. “He’s very good looking.” A fleeting smile. “The funny thing is, I actually saw him once. For real. After that first dream.”
“Where?”
“At a party. The night my parents died.”
Justine couldn’t hide her skepticism. Peyton saw it on Justine’s face, and in her eyes. She didn’t believe her.
“I really saw him there,” Peyton insisted.
“Did you talk to him?”
“No, I didn’t get the chance. Right after I saw him, Dez—Desiree, my friend—got the call from her mom about what was on the news, and we left.”
“He was in your nightmare, too?”
Peyton shuddered as she thought about her bad dream, and found it hard to speak. “It was terrible, Aunt Justine. I saw him being torn apart by some kind of beast. It was the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen. It all seemed so real.”
“But it was just a dream, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Peyton leaned back in her chair, crossed her ar
ms in front of her chest, and dropped her eyes to the table. “But it didn’t feel like one.”
Justine paused before she spoke. “You’ve been through an awful lot in the last few months, and you’ve handled it better that anyone could possibly expect. You’re a strong person, Peyton. Rick and I are amazed at how quickly you’ve adjusted.”
“But . . .” Peyton said, adding the unspoken word.
Justine nodded her head. “But maybe you have pent-up emotions that are making their way to the surface. It’s completely natural, Peyton. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I don’t think that’s what this is all about. I honestly don’t.” Peyton wondered whether or not she should tell her aunt about the child she’d seen in the kitchen. She decided she would, since she’d already opened the door to her visions. She sighed, and squeezed Justine’s hands. “One morning, a few weeks ago, I came downstairs before you and Rick got up. The kitchen light was on, and I figured you’d gotten up early. When I walked into the kitchen, I saw a small boy.”
“A boy?” Justine asked.
“Yes,” Peyton answered. “Seven, maybe eight years old. He acted like I should know who he was.” She knew she wasn’t getting through. “You’ve got to believe me, Aunt Justine. I really did see him. Remember? It was the morning you came downstairs because you thought I was talking to someone?” Peyton saw a frightened realization cross her aunt’s face.
“Oh my God,” Justine said. “I did hear two voices.”
“He disappeared right before you came into the kitchen.”
Justine was silent for a moment, then visibly shivered.
“That’s exactly how I felt, too,” Peyton said.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it then?”
“I couldn’t. I—I’m still trying to figure this all out myself. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Justine said. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done either.” She rubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of the gooseflesh. “Gosh, I’ve got the willies. So what did the boy say?”
“He told me I needed to find his dad, that I knew who he was, that I’d seen him, and he needed me to find him. I think he was talking about the guy. Oh, I don’t know. This is so weird.”
“You said he thought you should know him?”
“I felt like I knew him, or at least part of me knew him.” Peyton sighed, and shook her head. “I feel the exact same way about the guy I dreamed about. I know this sounds like I’m going nuts, but it really happened. It’s all connected somehow, I just don’t know how.”
Justine squeezed Peyton’s hand. “Look, I believe you, okay? I didn’t see him, but I heard him, with my own two ears.”
Peyton smiled, and nodded. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“If you are, then I am too, and Rick’s going to get an earful the next time he calls. He picked a doozy of a time to go to Florida.”
Peyton looked down at the table. “I’m sorry this is happening, Aunt Justine. You guys don’t deserve to—”
“Stop it right there, kiddo. You’re part of this family now, and families work through things together. You and I are going to figure this out, okay?”
Peyton felt the tears coming, and suddenly found it hard to speak. She nodded at her aunt and managed a smile. Families work through things together.
29
Taggart looked up from his desk, startled by a knock. “In.”
Jack Mauger walked in and shut the door. “You’re not going to believe this one,” he said.
“What?” Taggart caught the strange look on his partner’s face. Never a good sign.
“The Anders case.”
Taggart wasn’t surprised. Everything he’d seen from the crime scene so far wasn’t adding up the way he expected it to. They’d processed Zach Regan’s clothes, his car, his house, even his locker at work, and had found nothing. No blood evidence whatsoever, especially where they’d expected to find it: on his clothes, on the hotel room door handle, and in his car. The Anders girl was already dead by the time Regan carved the word into her belly, so the bleeding would’ve been minimal, but there should have been some transfer. Even if Regan had washed his hands before he left, there would’ve been blood in the sink, but there wasn’t. Apart from the lack of blood evidence, they’d found no trace of the Rohypnol, either. There was a fifth of whisky on the bedside table, loaded with enough Rohypnol to fell a horse, but they’d been unable to find where Regan had procured it.
The Anders girl hadn’t been sexually assaulted, either, which bothered Taggart. If Regan had only strangled her, then it wouldn’t seem so strange, but the violent nature of carving a word into her body added a whole other dimension to the crime. Regan should’ve assaulted her—that’s the way the vast majority of crimes like this unfolded—but the ME said the Anders girl hadn’t been raped. Not impossible, but definitely out of character for the crime.
What was really odd, though, was the box knife itself. Regan’s prints were on it—which was to be expected, since it was his knife—but there were no bloody prints on it from him. There were bloody prints from the Anders girl, which made absolutely no sense.
“What now?” Taggart asked.
“The time of death doesn’t match up with our hotel clerk’s statement.”
“What does that mean?”
“The ME says the Anders girl died somewhere between 11 to 11:30 p.m., which would be right before our desk clerk buddy decided to check the room. Regan checked in at 8:32 p.m. The desk clerk stated he saw Regan leave the room—in one hell of a hurry, if you remember—at exactly 9:30 p.m.”
Taggart already knew the hotel’s surveillance camera covering the parking lot was broken, so there wasn’t any visual evidence of Zach leaving the scene. “And he’s standing by that time?”
“He’s sure of it.”
“Any reason for him to be making shit up?”
“Even if he did, it doesn’t matter. An ATM camera from across the street caught Regan’s car leaving at 9:30.”
So much for no visual evidence. “So Regan wasn’t there.”
Mauger nodded. “It gets better. Every print in the hotel room is identified and accounted for, including those from the cleaning staff and prior occupants. None of them were anywhere near the hotel when the murder happened. Every single one of them has a solid alibi. Rock solid.” Mauger paused. “Except for one. They found another set of prints on the inside door handle, and an entire handprint on the wall.”
Someone else killed her. “Have they IDed it yet?”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“It’s a dead guy.”
“A what?”
“That’s right, a corpse. Deceased. Cold as a cucumber.”
Taggart didn’t say a thing for a second or two. “Does this dead guy have a name?”
“CBI ran the prints through AFIS and came up empty. Nothing in any of the FBI’s databases. A CIA check came up with the same results. They ran them through the Department of Defense database, and came up with a match. U.S. Army veteran, Special Forces, dead for twenty years. The prints are a perfect match. Guy’s name was Mitchell Bannock.”
“This has got to be some kind of mistake. They’re sure?”
“Perfect match.”
“And only on the inside of the room? Nothing on the window, or outer door handle?”
“Nada. And before you ask, we went back through the ATM footage. There was no one in that room from the time the cleaning crew finished earlier that day until the time Regan and Anders checked in.”
“So this Bannock—who’s supposed to be dead—just appeared in the room, is that what you’re telling me?”
“No, because that’s impossible, and yes, because that’s what it looks like.”
“Nice answer.”
“It’s all I got, boss.”
Taggart huffed, and rubbed his chin. “Okay, so officially, Bannock is deceased. You were in the service, Jack. Is there a chance Bannock wa
s involved in something so secret that they had to fake his death?”
Jack shook his head and grinned. “Now you’re going all Robert Ludlum on me, Jim.”
“Who?”
“You know, Jason Bourne?”
“I thought that was Matt Damon.”
“You need to read more, Jim. Ludlum wrote the books.”
“Whatever. Is it possible?”
“I guess anything’s possible, but if I were going to make someone disappear, on purpose, there sure would be easier ways to do it. Car accident, something like that. Not a mass shooting.”
“A what?”
“Do you remember that mess north of here about twenty years ago? Bank robbery that turned into a shooting gallery? One of the perps was killed, and the other one disappeared into thin air. The Davol brothers, I think.”
Taggart remembered. A cop had died there, too. “Twin Creek, right?” The name of the town started ringing a bell, but Taggart wasn’t sure why.
“Exactly. Mitchell Bannock was one of the victims. His pregnant wife and young son, too. They’re all buried right next to the local church.”
“Exhume him,” Taggart said.
“I knew you’d say that,” Jack said. “I’ve already contacted the local authorities to get the ball rolling. I’ll schedule a meeting with the judge here as soon as we’re done.”
“Thanks for the wrench, Jack,” Taggart said, feeling much more tired than he had just a few minutes before.
“I know.” Mauger paused a moment, thinking, staring down at his shoes. When he looked up, he fixed his gray, sniper’s eyes on his partner, and spoke. “The kid said he didn’t do it. Looks like he didn’t.”
Taggart closed his eyes and shook his head. “He had something to do with it, Jack.”
“The ME’s report on the time of death, and a witness who claims Regan left almost two hours before Anders died—corroborated by ATM footage—clears our suspect, Jim.”
“Does Regan’s attorney know yet?”
“Nope, but he will soon enough.”
The case had taken a sudden 90-degree turn. It was obvious this Mitch Bannock guy was still alive, but what did he have to do with Rakel Anders’ murder? How were he and Zach Regan connected? What had seemed like a cut-and-dried case earlier in the day had just become much more complicated.
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