blowgirl_jd: Like you can get through a “meeting” only doing one guy. Hah!
freakjob37: I think it’s time for little miss perfectass to start doing girls too.
perfectass: I’m working up to it. I made out with RG last time. The guys got really hard for that session.
Jackson pushed his chair back from the computer, needing distance from the words and images. He felt as if he’d just walked into a children’s orgy. Tremors shot up his legs and he felt as if he might throw up. These were eighth-grade girls! Girls his daughter used to hang out with.
At least, that’s what everything pointed to. Blowgirl_jd was clearly Jessie, and RG must be Rachel Greiner. So the other chatters could be Nicole and Angel. All these girls belonged to religious families. God-fearing people who would be shocked and devastated to learn about their children’s behavior.
A dozen questions competed for his attention. When and where had this group sex taken place? Where were the parents? How could they not know? Did they know? Were the parents involved too? The dark scenario, in which Nicole had been killed to keep a secret, took form and breathed on its own.
Jackson stood, legs trembling, and stepped out into the hall. “Katie!”
His daughter came quickly, her expression frightened. He had never yelled like that before: Anguish, fear, and anger all rolled into one roar.
“What is it?” Katie was wearing a Winnie the Pooh T-shirt, and her face was plump with baby fat.
“Tell me about the sex club.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve been to the website. I’ve read the chats about group sex.” Jackson heard the sounds coming out of his mouth but did not recognize the thinness of his own voice. “I know Jessie and Nicole and Angel were all involved. They used to be your friends. Were you in the club?”
They stood in the hallway, where all their confrontations seemed to take place, and a great silence engulfed them. It stretched out until Jackson thought his blood vessels would all burst in a simultaneous pop.
“I can’t talk about it. I promised I would never tell anyone.” Katie’s voice was high-pitched and ready to cry. “I took a blood oath.”
Jackson’s chest tightened in a painful squeeze. He vowed to see his doctor again soon. “Nicole may have been killed because she threatened to break that promise. You’re protecting the wrong people.”
“It’s not a serial killer?” Now she looked confused.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I’m trying to figure that out. Now tell me!”
“What do you want to know?” she said finally.
“Everything.” Jackson realized that wasn’t true. He didn’t want to know the details, especially if his daughter had participated. He didn’t want to know the name of the boy or boys who had penetrated her. If he didn’t know them, he couldn’t kill them. He couldn’t find them and beat them senseless with his bare hands.
Jackson shook his head. “No. Not everything. But I need to know some names. I need to know if any of the parents participated. And where it took place.”
“Ehww.” She made a horrified face. “No parents. Just kids. And it happened during Teen Talk, after school on Tuesdays at Angel’s house.” She hesitated again, then finally rattled off the names in one long breath. “It’s who you think it is: Angel, Jessie, Nicole, and Rachel. Plus Greg Miller, Tyler Jahn, and Adam Walsh.”
Jackson had heard all those names at the beginning of his investigation. He had just never connected the Bible study and the sexual activity.
His silence must have worried Katie, because she began to cry. “I quit the group, you know. After the first couple of times. I didn’t like it. And I lost all my friends. Don’t be mad at me.”
Jackson knew he should comfort her, that he should stay and talk. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He was glad he needed to leave. “I’m not angry.” That was bull. He started over. “Scratch that. I am angry. You lied to me. Again and again. There’s a lot more we need to talk about. But I have to go back to work right now. I need to find Nicole’s killer.”
Jackson moved toward his bedroom to get his jacket and weapon. At the door, he turned back to Katie, who was sitting in the hall crying. “I’d like to trust you to stay home by yourself while I’m working tonight, but I can’t. So pack a bag, you’re going to Aunt Jan’s. But this case will be over soon, and we will talk.”
Seven minutes later, they were headed out into the damp darkness.
Jackson knew he had to stop thinking about Katie and focus on this case. Rachel had called Nicole on the night of her death and then lied about it to him. Angel’s parents owned a vehicle that matched the description of the one that had been seen in Nicole’s driveway the night of her death. Had Rachel and Angel worked together? Jackson thought they must have had help from one of the boys in the club. He couldn’t imagine either Angel or Rachel putting a plastic bag over Nicole’s head and holding it until she died. Teenage girls didn’t commit murder.
Yes they did, he reminded himself. Last summer, two girls in Bend—one fourteen, one fifteen—had murdered the fourteen-year-old’s brother. Bludgeoned him over the head and took his iPod and the fifty dollars in his wallet. And a fifteen-year-old girl in Klamath Falls had killed her mother a few years ago, then took off in the family car. And that was just in Oregon. Adolescent girl violence had increased dramatically all across the country. Psychologists said it was because females’ roles were changing. Jackson thought it was because all kids in America grew up overexposed and desensitized to violence.
He started the Impala and looked over at his daughter, who was staring at her hands. She was a good kid. They would get through this.
Jackson decided to start at the Stricklands. But first he would call out the team. They would help him round up all the Teen Talk participants and bring them into the department. They would play one against the other until they had the story.
Wednesday, October 27, 6:30 p.m.
Kera was just getting out of the shower after completing fifty minutes on her elliptical machine. The exercise had not only taken the edge off her tension, it had worn her out. She thought she might sleep well tonight. Or at least better than she had lately.
While she was getting dressed, her cell phone rang. She grabbed it from the bed where she’d left it. “Hello.”
“This is Margaret Blake. You left me a message asking if I knew Danette Blake. Can I ask what this is about?”
Kera assumed this had to be the young woman’s mother. “Danette sent a letter to my son.” She paused, wanting to glide over this part. “But he died, and so I opened the letter, in case it was important. I just wanted to let Danette know.”
“Give me your son’s name and I’ll tell her.”
“I’d rather tell her myself. If you don’t want to give me Danette’s contact information, I understand. But please pass my number along to her. I’d really like to speak with her. I have some information that she should have.”
Margaret was silent for a moment. “Okay. I’ll give her your number, but she may not call.”
Kera gave her the number and said, “Please tell her this is important.”
Kera thought about Margaret as she pulled on socks and padded into the den to boot up her computer. She understood the woman’s hesitation. A mother protecting her child. She wondered if Margaret knew about her daughter’s pregnancy. If she did, was she in support of the abortion? Would she be angry at Kera for butting in? Decisions about parenthood could be heartbreakers from the beginning.
As soon as she opened the Internet, her front doorbell rang. Kera jumped at the sound. Who was out there? She started toward the back bedroom, where she could see the front porch from the window, then stopped halfway down the hall. Rachel Greiner had called and said she wanted to come by this evening. Kera hurried back to the living room. She was curious about what Rachel had to say. She wondered if Rachel knew something about Jessie and Nicole’s
deaths, something she felt she couldn’t tell the police but maybe would tell her.
As a precaution, Kera peeked through the keyhole. Two young girls stood in front of her door, the taller one glancing about nervously.
Kera opened the door. “Rachel?”
Chapter 40
7:03 p.m.
“Hi Kera.” The girl smiled, but her pool-water blue eyes were solemn. She was five-three or so, slender and striking, but not necessarily pretty. Rachel gestured toward the girl standing slightly behind her. “This is my friend, Angel.”
“It’s nice to meet both of you. Come in.” Kera stepped back and let the girls pass. Angel glanced over at her shyly. Kera remembered from the files that Angel was fifteen. She was meatier and taller than Rachel, but her strawberry blond hair and freckled cheeks made her seem younger. They both wore pullover sweatshirts and factory-faded jeans and smelled like grape gum. Kera locked the door out of habit.
“Would you like something to drink?” Kera asked as she directed them into the living room. “I have Diet Dr Pepper and coffee. And I think I have pineapple juice in the freezer.”
“Dr. Pepper’s good,” Rachel said, and Angel nodded.
As the girls took a seat on the leather couch, Kera went to fetch the sodas. She stopped in the archway between the rooms, and turned back. Angel and Rachel had their heads together.
“Do you want it in a glass with ice? Or straight up in the can?
“The can is fine.” Again, Rachel answered for both of them. Clearly, she was in charge of their friendship. Kera wondered if Rachel was also the leader of the whole sex club group.
Kera pulled her last three cans of DP from the fridge and grabbed an unopened sleeve of low-fat Ritz crackers from the cupboard. She brought everything back to the living room and took a seat in the matching leather chair across from the couch.
There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of three pop cans opening. Angel giggled.
Kera decided to skip the small talk. “You said you wanted to speak with me about Jessie.”
Rachel nodded and said, “We’re upset about what happened to her. And we thought you might know something.”
“Why would you think that?”
Rachel leaned forward. “Because you know her screen name. And you used it to post on our website. How do you know Jessie’s screen name?”
The question took Kera by surprise. She had not expected the other club members to identify her as the author of the “safe sex” posting. And it never occurred to her that anyone would confront her directly about it. She was torn about how to respond. Jessie was dead and these girls had been her friends. Kera wanted to put them at ease if she could. But she still had to protect Jessie’s confidence. She took a drink of soda while she formed an answer.
“Jessie sent me an e-mail. And after she died, I used her hotmail name to access the websites she had frequented. My goal was to learn something about her. I hope I haven’t offended you. I meant well.”
“Did you read the message boards?” Rachel kept her hands in her lap, each a small closed fist.
“I glanced at them.”
“Why?”
So far, Angel hadn’t said a word.
“I was upset about Jessie’s death. I thought there might be information that could shed some light on it.”
“Did you learn anything useful? Were you surprised by the sex stuff?”
“Not really.” Kera struggled to get inside Rachel’s head and figure out what was driving this discussion. “As you probably know, I work for Planned Parenthood. I don’t make judgments about people’s sex lives.”
“I suppose you were able to figure out who everyone is.” Rachel’s diction was perfect, and deadpan.
Yet Kera sensed hostility from her, so she avoided a direct response. “Identities are not important. I just want the group to practice safe sex. To use birth control and to come in for STD screenings.”
“Those discussions were private,” Rachel said. “You had no business reading them.” She had the uncanny ability to sit perfectly still and focus on the person she was talking to. Kera found it discomforting. Angel, on the other hand, squirmed incessantly. They were an odd pair.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Kera decided it was time for them to go. Rachel was clearly not concerned about Jessie. And for some reason, she had not even mentioned Nicole’s murder. She was mostly angry that Kera had accessed the club’s website. Kera stood. “I’m not sure we’re accomplishing anything here. But feel free to come see me at the clinic any time.”
7:16 p.m.
The bitch. She was trying to make them leave. Right after lying about not knowing the names of the kids in the sex club. Rachel decided Kera Kollmorgan could not be trusted.
“Can we stay a while longer?” Rachel smiled. “We have important questions. And we can’t ask our parents.”
“I don’t think your parents would want you to be here,” Kollmorgan said. “And I’m not comfortable giving you advice outside the clinic.” She brushed her long hair back and glanced at the door.
The nurse not only knew who the sex club members were, she also knew their parents. This was bad news. “Will you get me a glass of water please?” Rachel asked in her polite church voice. “My throat hurts and this soda is making it worse.”
Kollmorgan stood for a moment, staring at her. Rachel tried to look sad. Then Kollmorgan said “Sure” and headed for the kitchen.
As soon she was out of the room, Rachel lunged across the small space between the furniture grouping and snatched up Kollmorgan’s Dr. Pepper can. She quickly dropped in all five Ativan tablets, which had been pressed in the pocket of her hand. She had only given Nicole three, but Kollmorgan was a big woman. Rachel covered the hole in the top of the can with her thumb and gave it a quick shake. The tablets, she had learned, dissolved almost instantly when they came into contact with liquid. Rachel wiped the can with her sleeve to smear her prints, set it down on the end table, and bolted back to the couch.
“What are you doing?” Angel whispered.
“The same routine we did with Nicole,” Rachel whispered back. She heard the water shut off in the kitchen.
“You said we wouldn’t have to do this.” Angel sounded distressed. But she’d been that way for days, and Rachel ignored her.
“She knows too much, and I don’t trust her. Now be quiet, she’s coming.”
As Kollmorgan came back into the room with a glass of ice water, Rachel looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”
7:17 p.m.
Jackson was grateful for speed dial. It allowed him to call Schak, Evans, and McCray while racing up Willamette Street in the dark with only one hand on the wheel. Sometimes cops were the most dangerous drivers on the road. His first call had been to the dispatch center to retrieve an address for John Strickland: 3260 Donald. It was a beautiful upscale neighborhood with a wide street, mature oak and cherry trees, and large homes with perfectly manicured front yards. Jackson did not see or appreciate any of this in his present frame of mind, but he had noticed it two days earlier when he’d driven up to Edgewood Park, where Nicole’s body waited.
The Stricklands’ two-story home was near the top and set back from the road a little farther than others. Lights were on, but there were no vehicles in the driveway. Still, they could have been tucked into the oversized two-car garage. As he trotted up to the front door, Jackson sensed no movement or sound from inside the house. He had the sinking feeling that no one was home.
Repeated ringing of the doorbell and loud knocking confirmed that. Under the porch light, he opened his notebook and searched for the Stricklands’ phone number. He didn’t find it.
Jackson ran to his Impala and backed out into the street, squealing his tires. Dispatch would probably get a complaint from one of the neighbors about the disturbance. He called Evans and she picked up immediately.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“No one is home at the Stricklands’. Any lu
ck at the Greiners’?”
“I’m not there yet. I’m coming in from Barger Drive. Where are you headed now?”
“I think I’ll swing by the church. If you find Rachel at home, call me. I want to be there when you question her.”
“Will do.”
Jackson resisted the urge to call Schak and McCray; they were probably also still en route to their assigned Teen Talk homes. Schak lived in Springfield and McCray lived in the River Road area, so they had even farther to drive than Evans. Jackson eased up on the gas and forced himself to breathe deeply. This was just another step in the investigation. If his theory was sound, it seemed unlikely that anyone else was in danger. Once they picked up the kids, it was simply a matter of pressing until one of them cracked. He veered left at Willamette and headed for 18th Street and the First Bible Baptist Church.
Chapter 41
7:23 p.m.
Kera decided to let them stay for a while. Rachel’s anger seemed to have dissipated, and Angel’s green eyes flickered with stress. The older girl still hadn’t spoken, but now she kept glancing at Kera and looking away. While Rachel talked about the frustrations of having religious parents, Angel helped herself to a handful of crackers and munched them down as though it were a task she had to complete quickly. Kera wondered if she might be high on something.
“My parents are obsessed,” Rachel said, her voice showing emotion for the first time. “Teen sex, gay sex, unmarried sex. They want to stop everybody. It’s because they believe the Bible says sex is for procreation only. And my younger brother is eleven, so apparently they haven’t done it in a long time. I guess they figure nobody else should have any fun either.”
Kera was amused by her perception and thought Rachel might be right, but she wouldn’t criticize the girl’s parents.
“My parents have sex,” Angel said suddenly. “I can hear them sometimes. And my dad has a bunch of porno tapes, so he must like to watch people fornicate.”
Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 01 - The Sex Club Page 29