The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  A month later, he was riding his skateboard down the street—while wearing a mother-mandated helmet—and he passed Lora and her friend. Lora pointed a chubby finger at him and snickered. He flipped around, picked up his skateboard, and just stared at their backs. He waited to see if it would happen.

  Not a moment later, a four-legged creature darted out of the bushes. Running like its life was at stake, it crossed just in front of Lora and her friend. Lora called out, “Come here, Buttons.” The cat reached the street before it stopped and released a howl that was more coyote than feline, its tail as fat as a tree trunk. Lora leaned down as Buttons turned his head in her direction. Blood poured from the sockets that once held its eyes, and Lora screamed like she’d been stabbed in the heart.

  Junior’s family put their house on the market and moved out of the area in less than a month. It was their fifth move in the last seven years. And it wasn’t because his father was taking a different job. Junior was learning from his mistakes—like his mother told him he should.

  7

  I stared through a two-way mirror into the Somerville Police Department interview room. Vince Tripuka sat with his hands folded, his facial expression as calm as someone waiting to board the T train. Up close, he didn’t look anything like the mug shot Terri had shown me. His hair was parted on the side and had a natural wave to it. The neck tattoo? Not to be found—he’d probably had it removed. Good call. From the neck up, he could have been a high school teacher or a professional golfer.

  He was handcuffed to a steel railing built into the side of the metal table, which was bolted to the concrete floor. He wasn’t going anywhere, at least no place of his choosing. So far, we had him on a probation violation and attempted assault on a law enforcement officer, which meant no more than probably a year back in the state pen, maybe a little more if we could actually get the attempted assault charge to stick. But I knew if we could pin the murder on him, maybe even both murders, then he would instantly become a lifer.

  Terri stuck her head in the side room. “You ready?” she asked, a manila folder wedged between her fingers.

  “Chomping at the bit.”

  I followed her out the door and could see Nick sitting at a detective’s desk, his injured leg propped on top.

  “What are you still doing here? You need to get to the ER,” I said, a few feet behind Terri.

  He was on the phone. He shrugged, then held the phone against his chest. “Antonio is picking me up. Can I join you guys for the questioning?”

  He’d probably trip and fall on the suspect, who would then turn around and sue the city and the federal government for brutality. “Dude, you’re a mess, and I mean that in the most caring way possible.”

  He tilted his head and gave me one of those looks.

  “Get your ankle x-rayed, and while they’re at it, they can check your shoulder.” He happened to be shifting his arm at the same time I made the comment. I raised an eyebrow, and he went back to the phone.

  Terri and I entered the interview room and introduced ourselves. Tripuka didn’t appear intimidated. We were clerks in a candy store to him, it seemed. “Nice to meet you,” he said as if we’d just met for the first time.

  “I guess you don’t remember me at the warehouse. I was the person you tried to run over,” I said. Terri had taken a seat. I was more of walker-and-talker.

  He gave me an “aw-shucks” nod. “Sorry about that. Sometimes the human brain is so unpredictable in stressful situations.” He tried to raise his hands, but his cuffs rattled against the steel and restrained his movement. Still, his facial expression remained indifferent.

  Terri opened his file. “So why were you so stressed out, Mr. Tripuka?”

  “Oh, please call me Vince. I’m a casual kind of guy.”

  “Right. Vince.” Terri had a hand against her temple. When we had finally reconnected after apprehending the suspect, I wasn’t sure who had ticked her off more—Vince Tripuka or the detectives on her own team, Meyers and Longfellow.

  As I walked to the other side of the room, Terri interlaced her long fingers in front of her body as she leaned her chest against the desk. She may not have realized she had created an overflow of cleavage. I watched his eyes, and they never once looked down. Even though he was staring at a murder charge, Vince had self-control. Or at least he wanted us to think as much.

  “So, back to your stress. While I can set up a meeting with you and one of our psychiatrists to help you work through your…issues…” She dropped her sights to the folder in front of her, then lifted her eyes back in his direction, apparently wondering if he would respond in some manner. He just sat there, passively listening. “Can you—”

  “Look, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was scared, like any man would be if he heard detectives had shown up at his work looking for him. I knew I’d missed a couple of my meetings with my parole officer. I admit it. The reality is, I didn’t commit a crime, whatever you think you’re investigating.”

  Terri released an audible breath. “Do you know how tired I am of hearing people like you say that? It literally makes me want to vomit.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe me. It took me a while, but I’ve learned that life isn’t fair. I can’t undo—”

  “The violent assault on a teenage kid at a fast-food restaurant, Vince. That’s what you did, and you can’t slither or lie your way out of it. Eyewitnesses saw the whole thing go down,” Terri said, thumping her forefinger against the file. “Don’t start blowing smoke up our asses with your calm, cool, and collected act, as if you’re Mr. Mature.”

  Tripuka closed his eyes for a moment, appearing to gather himself. “Not to belabor the point, but if you do the research into the case and read the trial transcript, you’ll see the eyewitnesses showed up after the altercation began. They assumed it was me who had started it because I was bigger and older.”

  Shaking her head, Terri said, “You never stop, do you…with your subtle innuendos. It’s amazing.” She shoved the chair back, got up, and walked to the far corner. Damn, she was wound tight. I walked back to the other side of the table, picked up the folder, and quickly scanned his background.

  “Where were you last night between ten p.m. and midnight?” I asked. That was the estimated time of death, according to the initial report by the Middlesex County medical examiner. I closed the folder, set it back on the table, and waited.

  He glanced over at Terri, then back at me, a slight twitch in his brow. “So that’s what this is about? You think I committed some godawful crime last night?”

  I didn’t respond. I wanted to see how he handled the question.

  “Well, I was doing what most Americans were doing. I was watching TV, lying in bed.”

  “What were you watching?”

  He tried again to hold up his hands, but his metal cuffs rattled against the restraint. “Jimmy Fallon, of course. Hands down, he’s the best late-night comedian. Last night he did that ‘thank you card’ bit. It’s true genius, I tell you. And I don’t throw that term around lightly,” he said with a slight chuckle. His answer was so casual, we could have been interacting at a cocktail party.

  “We’ll check that out,” I said, knowing he could have just repeated one of Fallon’s many often-played routines.

  “Feel free. I think his funniest ‘thank you card’ was the one he wrote to Tom Brady, you know, for having what every man could ever dream of.” He raised an eyebrow.

  This guy acting so debonair; it was difficult for my mind to balance that against his record.

  “To reiterate, you were at home last night, correct?”

  He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You live in Malden? Home, apartment, what?”

  “I’m sure you know this answer, but to pacify you, I live in a garage apartment on the property of a very sweet lady, Miss Lucille. She’s got plenty of spunk, just had some rough times lately.”

  He was trying to bait us into another tangent. I kn
ew we could talk to Miss Lucille to find out if she knew whether Tripuka was in his apartment that night.

  Terri walked back to the table, picked up the folder, and flipped a page. Showing me the page, she put a finger next to another offense from his past and gave me a knowing nod.

  “Mr. Tripuka—” she started.

  He laughed. “Please, call me Vince. The only person I knew as Mr. Tripuka passed away several years ago. He’s probably looking down on this, none too pleased that I’m in this pickle. That was the term he always used…‘in a pickle.’ Helluva guy, though. I miss that old coot.”

  His lips drew into a straight line.

  Terri took in a deep breath. “Vince, are you dating anyone at the time?”

  “Me? No. Not many women want to date a convicted felon. I don’t try to bullshit the women. No offense with my language.”

  “Did you try to bullshit your way with Susan Miller?”

  He didn’t snap back with a quick reply. He just sat there and studied his nails.

  “No response to your rape conviction, Vince?” Terri smacked the folder onto the table, her adrenaline back to an open spigot.

  “It was…” He paused, but she didn’t give him any wiggle room.

  “R-A-P-E. We spell that rape. That’s what it was, Vince. You can’t deny that one. They had real evidence on that one.”

  For the first time in our interview, he seemed stressed, dejected even. I could see a green vein protruding from his temple, and the bags under his eyes appeared more pronounced.

  “Vince, you hearing me on this one?” Terri snapped her fingers. “You fucking raped a sixteen-year-old girl and you’ve got nothing to say?”

  He finally lifted his sights, his eyes suddenly moist. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to admit that you enjoy the control you have over women. You enjoy that feeling of power when you have your way with them.”

  “I don’t know why you’re using such generalizations, but, honestly, the charge was statutory rape because she was a week before her seventeenth birthday.”

  Terri planted both hands at her hips. “You raped this girl. She just happened to be a week from being seventeen. She could have been nineteen or twenty, but maybe you found it too tempting to impose your will on a naïve, young girl.”

  He shook his head and scooted higher in his metal chair. “You’ve got it all wrong. Susan…” He paused, bringing a fist to his mouth. “We cared about each other.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Terri yelled, throwing her arms to the ceiling. “Now you’re saying you two were in love. Damn, Vince, you really know how to spin a story after the fact. What do you think, Alex? You think Vince is the biggest bullshitter in all of Boston?”

  I nodded, wondering if she were truly losing it or if she somehow thought this was going to get him to talk. I couldn’t see it working, so I took the opening and ran with it.

  “How long had you known Susan before you were arrested for…” I purposely redacted the term so he would think I was giving him a chance. And maybe I was, if nothing else but to learn more about his motivations and what made him tick.

  “We’d been seeing each other for about three months.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, Terri opened her mouth, but I beat her to the punch. “Where did you meet?” I asked, pulling my hands to my back and walking a few steps to my left.

  “We met at a Star Wars convention. We were both sci-fi nerds. She was dressed like Princess Leia and I was dressed like Han Solo.” He chuckled and momentarily glanced away. “We hit it off right away. I guess I was a little immature for my age, and she looked older.”

  “What was the age difference?” I glanced at the folder, but I didn’t immediately see the data.

  “Seven years. As you know, she was sixteen; I was twenty-three. How many sixteen-year-old girls show up at a convention all alone? I figured she was at least nineteen or twenty. She certainly didn’t look like any sixteen-year-old I’d seen.”

  Terri placed two hands on the back of the chair, her face pinched as much as she could make it. She was ready to pounce.

  “Was she mesmerized by the fact you were older, maybe wiser?” I asked.

  “Eh, I don’t like to brag.” A smile escaped his lips. “She did seem a bit impressed with a few things I had learned over the years. I read a lot from many different sources. Everything from white papers on the economic impact of the perpetual civil wars that have plagued Africa, to science books, paleontology, astronomy, history, and even some poetry.”

  I hesitated for a second. If this guy wasn’t completely lying, I was again seeing a side of him that didn’t match his rap sheet.

  “What poem did you read to her the night you stole her virginity?” Terri shot lasers with her eyes.

  “I didn’t steal anything. She actually wasn’t a virgin. That folder doesn’t tell you everything, does it?”

  Terri looked down and ran a finger across the page.

  “She’d dated an older guy before me. He was actually twenty-seven. So, I was considered young by her standards.”

  “But the fact of the matter, Vince, is that you had sex with a minor. And she went on record that it was against her consent. That’s rape in anybody’s definition.”

  He laid his palms flat on the table and huffed out a breath. “That wasn’t easy for me. Honestly, it broke my heart.”

  “You’re fucking sick!” Terri barked, then she flipped around and faced the wall, arms crossed in front of her.

  She was becoming unhinged, and I worried that she would completely lose it and blow our chance at cornering this Casanova. But I also wondered what had her so wound up, even beyond the normal shit we had to deal with each and every day. This seemed personal on some level for her.

  “Vince, your caring nature is bit too much for us to believe…honestly.” My arms were now crossed as well.

  “Fine. What can I do about it now? It’s history. I have to live with it.”

  He paused and glanced over at Terri, who still had her back to us. She was pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m really trying to understand what kind of girls you like. Only young, naïve girls who think you’re the smartest guy in the room? Or perhaps you now like them a little older?” I was subtly referencing the victim from the night before, who was thirty-two.

  “No idea what you’re trying to rope me into, but Susan and I genuinely cared for each other.”

  Terri flipped around and stabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re full of shit!”

  “Doubt me all you want. You’ll have to stand in line though.”

  Now this guy was throwing a pity party. It seemed out of nature, given his overconfident demeanor earlier.

  “According to your file, Vince, they took a rape kit on Susan. Doesn’t sound like true love to me,” I said.

  “Her father made her. She told me that she loved me and that it tore her apart to accuse me of the crime. But her father told her if she didn’t say it was rape—not just sex with a minor, but actual forced rape—then she would be cut off from the family, and from any inheritance.”

  It sounded plausible, and provable. I glanced at Terri, wondering if this information was learned after the trial or before. If it was before and his defense attorney knew about it…

  “We’ve rehashed your record, Vince. You can twist the facts, but the record speaks for itself. Two felonies, two times in prison, and a number of misdemeanors,” I said. “We can and will check out your alibi from last night, but I want to know one more thing before we walk out of here.”

  “Anything, I’m an open book. If you haven’t noticed, I haven’t even lawyered up. I realize I haven’t been the perfect citizen. I’ve tried to do everything in my power to improve my reputation.”

  I paused at that comment. Reputation. Reputation? That was far different than actual behavior.

  “If you’re so worried about your reputation, then why did you skip your meeting with y
our parole officer, not just once but twice?”

  “On the first time, I had to work late. My employer, Three Craft Beers, has been extra cool, and I was in the middle of my route. I couldn’t just ditch the truck to go to my parole-officer meeting.”

  “And you never thought about calling and trying to reschedule?”

  “I did, but it rolled straight to voicemail.”

  “You would think he’d have noted that in your record.”

  “Yeah, you would. But he’s got a job just like everyone else. And he had to put the blame on someone other than himself. It’s how the system works. It’s one of the many challenges of being a convicted felon. The odds are stacked against us.”

  I expected Terri to chop him off at the knees, but when I glanced at her, she once again had her hands on the back of the chair, her knuckles white, her face even paler. She looked spent.

  “On the second time, I overslept. Lame excuse, I know. But I owned up to it.”

  I nodded, while pressing the loose edges of my bandage back onto my hand, then got to my real question. “You seem to be a pretty smart guy, Vince. You know how the world works, how people are perceived. If we were to look at some generic guy who was obsessed with girls in a really sick way—like, where he would want to murder them, even rape them—would you say it would be in his best interest to show that he was actually a very thoughtful, compassionate person who seemed to be transparent about his faults and eager to prove he was a good man?”

  He licked his lips, as if he were suddenly parched, and then he swallowed once.

  “No need to answer just yet. Think about that a bit. We’ll be back to talk to you after we’ve had a chance to verify your answers.”

  Terri didn’t say a word. She pushed off the back of the chair and led us into the hallway.

  “What do you think?” she said, kneading her temple.