by Rob Thomas
What began as a solo cakewalk for Lamb now was one of the most heated local elections in years. “Citizens for Dan Lamb” had bought up significant airtime. The latest ad opened with an old Super 8 clip of Marcia Langdon as a young soldier on an off-duty motorcycle cruise with several other muscular, short-haired Army women—one of whom sat behind Langdon, arms around her waist. The ad then cut to a screen grab from the home movie in which a heavily tattooed Weevil Navarro was Photoshopped onto the back of Langdon’s bike in place of the mannish soldier. Dan Lamb himself supplied the closing line in voice-over: “My opponent likes to end her speeches by asking Neptune voters to ‘Roll With Me.’ Well, before we take her up on that, maybe we should ask ourselves: Are we really her type?”
Langdon had only her dignified bearing and speech to counter this slime barrage; her campaign war chest was half the size of Lamb’s. But she had been doing a steady stream of interviews, and she showed up at town hall meetings all over the city—including, Veronica had noticed, the poorer neighborhoods. Three trade unions had endorsed her, and hordes of young and idealistic-looking people wearing her campaign T-shirt stood outside the supermarket, handing out voter-registration applications, making sure everyone who would vote for her could.
On the right side of the stage, Langdon stood behind her own podium, listening to Lamb with ill-concealed contempt.
“Since I’ve taken office,” Lamb continued, “this department has successfully increased its arrest numbers by thirty percent. We’ve taken criminals off the streets and put them in jail where they belong. Street crime is lower than it’s been in a decade. My opponent wants you to believe that’s somehow a bad thing.”
“General?” The moderator turned back to Langdon.
Instead of the military dress used in her PR photos, Langdon wore a cobalt blue suit. Somehow she looked like even more of a hard-ass than she did in uniform. She leaned into the mic. “Sheriff Lamb was caught on tape claiming he’d arrest and prosecute Logan Echolls for murdering Bonnie DeVille whether he was guilty or not, stating that the public perception of Echolls’s guilt was enough for him. I’m afraid in his zeal to ‘get results,’ the incumbent has made a habit of taking shortcuts. Shortcuts that not only run the risk of putting innocent people in jail, but which severely compromise the public’s trust in our law enforcement. I can’t think of a more devastating way to undermine a department’s effectiveness.”
Veronica’s phone vibrated in her hand. She looked down to see a reply from Leo: Oh, snap. She hid a grin. Leo was watching the debate as it live streamed, and the two of them had been texting back and forth throughout.
Lamb scowled. “Those quotes were taken out of context, as I’ve already explained. Our department has done more to clean up this town—”
“Clean it up for whom, Sheriff?” Langdon interrupted. “For the nearly forty people who claim your officers have planted evidence on them in the past three years? For the countless citizens I’ve spoken with who claim that officer response times exceed an hour in neighborhoods without a certain zip code? For the fifteen percent of Neptune residents who live under the poverty line, and who make up nearly eighty-five percent of your arrests?”
Applause broke out around the auditorium. Veronica saw Brittany Gandin, the deputy from the front desk, joining in. A few rows away, Petra Landros watched coolly, her face impossible to read. Lamb’s eyes darted over the audience, his brow creased.
Her phone vibrated with another text message. I don’t know if you can see his face from where you’re standing, said Leo, but I’ve got a good close-up. I think we just witnessed the moment Lamb realized he might actually lose.
In addition to texting about the sheriff’s race, Veronica had been keeping Leo updated on the Manning case, not that there was much to tell. She still hadn’t heard back from any of the girls she’d e-mailed. She was starting to face the reality that the case might actually be over. That there might be no way to prove Bellamy had raped Grace Manning. The possibility kept her at the office till all hours of the night, most recently diving into the files “one last time” and combing through his credit card activity.
It also kept her from pursuing the pawnshop-wars case. She’d procrastinated so long the client had fired Mars Investigations, meaning they’d forfeited a two-grand base fee. Keith, fed up with the shop owner’s incessant calls to the office, had kindly—and perhaps even sincerely—thanked Veronica. But she knew what she’d done: She’d let her obsession with her own pet case get in the way of supporting her partner.
Veronica knew as well that she ought to be spending more time at home before Logan deployed. But he’d been busy too, visiting doctors and dentists, lawyers and accountants. “It’s hard to do any financial planning when you’re in the middle of the ocean,” he’d said. “Plus, I need a filling, and Navy dentists operate from the Little Shop of Horrors school of patient care.” Now he was on some kind of bromantic surf vacation with Dick Casablancas, leaving her surrounded by his half-packed boxes, trying to comfort a confused and agitated Pony, who seemed to have picked up on the tension hanging over the apartment.
Her overstressed, wandering mind clicked back into the moment as the debate grew even more intense. At the podium, Lamb was trying desperately to reassert control of the crowd. “Look, I’ve been in Neptune most of my life. I know the people here, and I know what makes them tick.” He pounded a fist on the podium. “My brother died in service to this town.”
The room went quiet again. Regardless of how you felt about Lamb, nobody was about to disrespect a fallen officer. Veronica had heard that Dan Lamb had campaigned on his dead brother’s back four years earlier, invoking his name as if they were Kennedys.
“I ran for office in part to honor his memory. And if I didn’t think I’d succeeded, I wouldn’t be standing up here again asking for your vote. I’ve made this city a safer place to live. I’ve been in the trenches. And I’ve done it for Donny.”
The moderator turned to Langdon. “General, do you have a response?”
The slight twist in Langdon’s lips straightened out to a long, thin line. She looked down at her notes and then up into the crowd.
“Any loss to our law enforcement community is a great tragedy. I never knew Sheriff Don Lamb, but I have no doubt he was a capable, valiant officer.”
It seemed a bit too crass to text Leo an all-caps LOL in response to this. Don Lamb had been a malignant jackass, but he had died in the line of duty. Besides, Leo would be thinking the same thing she was. He’d actually worked for the guy.
“Yet it would be a discredit to the memory of all the men and women who have given their lives for this town if we allow this department to be seen as a mercenary and corrupt organization. If I am elected, I’ll make ethics and accountability my top priorities as we move forward. I’ll make sure that justice is available to everyone in Neptune, no matter what they’ve got in their bank account. Thank you very much.”
DROP THE MIC, Veronica typed into her phone. LANGDON OUT.
Twenty minutes later, as the auditorium cleared, Veronica met up with Keith and Cliff in the beige linoleum hallway outside. She grinned.
“You’d think I’d be tired of seeing that man publicly humiliated. But it just keeps getting sweeter and sweeter.”
Cliff didn’t smile. He rubbed his jaw, an uneasy look on his face. “Let’s not gloat too much.”
“Come on, Cliff, you know what they say—if you’re tired of schadenfreude, you’re tired of life.” Veronica punched him lightly on the shoulder.
Cliff shook his head. “He looked scared. And a scared Lamb is a dangerous Lamb.”
A door opened down the hallway. Marcia Langdon emerged, trailed by a small entourage, on her way to a meet-and-greet on the green outside the rec center.
She was shorter than Veronica had thought, maybe five-foot-seven or -eight, and her movements were brisk and economical.
“Keith! I’m glad you could make it.” It was the first time Veronica had seen
her smile. She shook Keith’s hand, then glanced at a young man taking notes in her entourage. Marcia turned to look at Veronica. Her eyes were piercing, measuring, and Veronica found herself straightening a bit under her gaze.
“And this must be the storied Veronica.” Her palm was cool and dry in Veronica’s. “I’ve been following your career with great interest.”
“Believe me. The feeling is mutual,” Veronica said.
“General?” One of her advisors glanced at his watch. She nodded.
“You’ll have to excuse me, but I hope we meet again soon.”
“Can’t we just vote now?” Veronica said as the front door shut behind Langdon. “I mean, who says we have to keep Lamb around for the next two months?”
“The town charter, I think,” Keith said. “Something about ‘term lengths’ and ‘election laws.’ ”
“C’mon, I’m sure that was meant as a suggestion more than a hard-and-fast rule,” she persisted.
“Look at that law degree at work!” Cliff said. He opened his mouth to say more when the auditorium door swung open again. Dan Lamb pushed through, glowering heavily. Petra Landros was at his side.
An ugly flush crept across his face. “Mars. McCormack.” He gave them a humorless smile.
“Sheriff,” Cliff acknowledged.
Lamb’s smile broadened. It didn’t touch his eyes. “I hear I have you to thank for Navarro’s publicity stunt.”
“That’s probably your best bit of detective work all year. Score one for your results column.” Veronica made an exaggerated check motion in the air.
“Enjoy the moment,” Lamb advised, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “You’ll never win.”
“Oh, maybe not,” Keith said, a bit of lightness still in his voice. “But when we’re all in court next month, when you’re getting your butt pounded by the lawyers, when you’re sitting there in mute awe as you see all the evidence stacking up against you…” He paused, his eyes not moving from Lamb’s. When he spoke again, his voice was as cool and hard as Langdon’s. “Just remember: That’s all for Jerry Sacks.”
Lamb’s flush deepened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Petra steered him deftly through the door before he could.
Cliff and Keith were still looking at him when Veronica’s phone vibrated. Probably Leo, wanting to know if he missed anything good after the live feed ended. She glanced down at the screen.
It wasn’t a text message, though; it was an e-mail alert.
RE: FORMER CLIENT, POSSIBLY VIOLENT
It was a reply to the e-mail she’d sent to the escorts.
hi miss mars—I received your message a few weeks ago and have been going back and forth on whether or not I should reply. discretion and confidentiality are very important in my field as you must know and I have built a career on keeping my clients’ secrets. but I can’t in good conscience keep my silence when it seems like this behavior is escalating.
I do remember this client. I remember because I had to cancel all my clients for a week and a half after so the bruises would fade. no I don’t know his real name but he said his name was bobby, and he had a room at the san jose hilton. he told me on the phone he wanted me to act like a concubine, very submissive and demure. I arrived at the hotel and at first it was fine. we had sex once, which was what he’d paid for. because there were still a few minutes on the clock he asked if we could go again. I told him it would cost an extra $200. that was when he lost it. he grabbed me by the neck and pushed me against the wall. I struggled as hard as I could but he’s a big guy. at some point I lost consciousness. when I came to he was having sex with me. I didn’t fight back anymore as I was afraid for my life. when he was finished, he left me on the floor and went to take a shower. I got up and left.
I would prefer not to deal with cops if at all possible or to go public with this information, because my livelihood is at stake. but if there’s any other way I can help you, I will. good luck. sincerely, bethany rose
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Veronica went straight home from the rec center. She’d read the e-mail over again at every red light, filled with equal parts of revulsion and triumph. Not that I like having my direst preconceptions about humanity confirmed or anything. But I was right. Finally she had proof that Bellamy was, in fact, Mr. Kiss and Tell.
Once in her apartment, she pulled up his profile on The Erotic Critique, looking for Bethany Rose’s review.
1 star/5. It’s a real turn-off when I have to haggle over every nickel and dime. I guess that’s pretty close to the actual Girlfriend Experience, right? But seriously, an hour is an hour. If I’ve paid you for an hour, you owe me sixty minutes of your time.
Bellamy had gotten cocky. He’d gotten away with rape at least twice, and then he’d gone a step further and smeared his victims online. She could imagine that, in his mind, the fact that he hadn’t been caught or punished was like a mandate from heaven, a kind of tacit approval of his behavior. That was how psychopaths worked, how escalation happened.
“Loose lips sink ships, Mr. Kiss and Tell,” she murmured. “Who else have you been talking about?”
She started to comb through the other single-stars, jotting their names on a whiteboard she’d pulled out of the broom closet, along with their home city and the date of the review. Aside from Grace, there were four other one-star reviews. Nikki Valentine, the girl whose grooming he’d criticized, had been reviewed in March 2012. In April 2013 he’d reviewed Bethany Rose, and then in December he’d posted two at once: a “Tonya Vahn” in L.A. who “acted like a stuck-up bitch and looked nothing like her picture” and a “Madelyn Chase” in Vegas who “didn’t follow directions at all.”
The last two girls seemed to be either out of the business—or perhaps had changed their working names—as their websites had been taken down. Veronica noted that on the whiteboard as well.
No one but Bethany Rose had responded to her e-mail, and it seemed reasonable to assume no one else would.
Veronica held her phone for a moment. Then she dialed the number listed on The Erotic Critique for Tonya Vahn. The number had been disconnected.
She tried Madelyn’s next. A robotic voice mail recording answered: “Leave a message after the beep.”
“Madelyn, hi.” She gave a nervous giggle into the phone. “My name’s Angie. Oh my gosh, this is so awkward, I’ve never done this before but, um, my boyfriend’s thirtieth birthday is coming up, and I was looking to celebrate in a, uh, special way. I was calling to find out if you ever work with couples. Call me back at this number. Thanks!”
She rerecorded her own voice mail message in “Angie’s” chirpy falsetto. Alter egos all around. Then she glanced at the clock; it was just after nine.
“What time do you think escorts man the phones, Pony?”
The dog cocked her head to the side and wagged at the sound of her voice. Veronica scratched behind her ears, then dialed the number listed on Nikki Valentine’s profile, ready to record another message. She was startled when it was picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
Veronica’s fingers twitched slightly around the phone. “Nikki, please listen. A friend of mine, a working girl, was recently raped, and I think the same guy may have assaulted you sometime in the winter of 2011 or spring of 2012. Please, I’m not a cop. I’m not interested in getting you in trouble. I just want to try to get some answers and I need your help.”
The line went silent. Veronica held her breath, listening. For a moment she thought Nikki had hung up on her. Then she heard a tiny, soft snick. The sound of a cigarette lighter, followed by a swift exhale.
“No one’s ever raped me on the job.”
Veronica cradled the phone against her ear like it was something delicate, like if she clutched it too hard she’d lose this one slender thread.
“If I sent you a picture, could you tell me if you recognize this guy?”
“I don’t dish about my clients.”
“This guy’s a psyc
ho, Nikki.”
There was another pause.
“Send me the picture.”
Quickly, Veronica paused the call and texted her the headshot of Bellamy from PSU’s basketball website. When Nikki came back to the phone, Veronica was surprised to hear her laughing, a low, humorless chuckle.
“This piece of shit. Yeah, I remember him. He thought he was going to get rough with me. He pushed me against the wall, got one punch in, chipped my tooth. Then I called for my boyfriend.” There was the little kiss noise of her taking another drag on her cigarette. “He could barely walk when Marty was done with him. I’m kind of shocked he tried it again with someone else.”
Veronica sat up straight. The basketball trip to Tucson, when the players had seen Bellamy’s injuries. “Wait—was this the night of February third?”
“I don’t know. It was about two years ago.”
“Did you ever report it to anyone? The cops, or—”
“Riiight.” Nikki interrupted, drawing out the word. “You think I’d still be working if I talked to cops? No, after Marty beat the shit out of him I figured it was over and done with.”
“Can I ask you a logistical question?”
“Shoot.”
Veronica put her forearms on her desk. “How did your boyfriend get there so quick? Was he somewhere listening?”
“Yeah. When I do outcall, he hangs out in the hallway in case I scream for him.”