Downfall

by J. A. Jance

  “It’s a hell of a mess,” Frank said. “Once the news gets out, all the affected parents should probably go shopping for good trial attorneys. Susan Nelson may have moved beyond the reach of the criminal justice system, but there should still be plenty of soft targets out there for tort proceedings to move forward.”

  “Starting with the school and its board of directors?” Joanna asked.

  “Indeed,” Frank agreed. Then after a pause he asked, “So where are you?”

  “Just now crossing the divide,” Joanna answered. “I should be in your office in about twenty.”

  “I’ll see to it that Detective Waters is here by then, too,” Frank assured her.

  “Thanks,” Joanna said. “I appreciate it.”

  Off the phone with Frank, she tried reaching Deb Howell. When that didn’t work again, her next call was to Larry Kendrick back at Dispatch. “Is Deputy Stock on duty today?”

  “Yes, ma’am, he is. He’s currently assisting a stranded motorist up by Kartchner Caverns.”

  “Let him know I’m on my way to Sierra Vista right now. As soon as he’s finished with the motorist, tell him that I’d like very much to meet with him and with Allison, preferably at their house. Allison is probably at work right now, too, but tell him that we’re meeting privately with parents of some of the SVSSE students. Let him know that it’s important that we speak to both him and his wife ASAP. And, Larry, get their home address from Admin and text it to me. I know they’ve lived in Sierra Vista for years, but I have no idea exactly where. Call coming in. Gotta go.”

  When she switched over to the other call, Jenny was on the line. “Hey, Mom,” she said. “How are things?”

  Things were a mess, with three homicides and an outbreak of sexual abuse on her plate, but Joanna didn’t want to go into any of that. After all, Jenny was only months out of high school. The idea of discussing a case that included a high school teacher having sex with some of her students wasn’t a topic she wished to discuss with her daughter. Not now and most likely not in the near future, either. Maybe never.

  “It sounds like you’re in a car,” Joanna said as a diversionary tactic. “Where are you?”

  “Almost to the 101,” Jenny answered.

  A glance at her watch told Joanna it was just past one. “Already? I thought you had classes until noon and wouldn’t be leaving Flagstaff until much later in the afternoon.”

  “I checked with my professor,” Jenny replied. “He said it was no problem for me to leave early, so I did. And the guy who’s watching Maggie knows to feed her tonight, too.”

  A welcome but fleeting moment of pride pulsed through Joanna’s system. Jenny was coming for her grandparents’ funeral because she wanted to, not because she had to. Not only that, before leaving for home, she had handled all her responsibilities regarding her classes and her horse as well. That was all to the good. Moreover, having Jenny at home meant that Joanna would have her daughter there to help ride herd on whatever guests turned up at the hastily scheduled barbecue.

  “Great,” Joanna said aloud. “I’m so glad you’re coming.”

  “Do you know what’s for dinner tonight?”

  Joanna laughed. “You’re asking me about dinner? I’m working, so I have no idea at all,” she said. “You’ll need to check with Butch. Why?”

  “When I come through Tucson, I thought I’d get off at Speedway and pick up some tortillas and tamales from the Anita Street Market.”

  Years earlier, during the investigation into a grisly car crash involving an SUV loaded with illegals, Joanna had met a woman named Gabriella who had turned out to be the cousin of one of the dead victims. At the time of the accident, Gabriella had been working at the Anita Street Market, a tortilla factory in Tucson’s Barrio Anita. In the years since, she had married. Now Gabriella Ortiz, she no longer worked in the back, making the tortillas. Instead, she was out front acting as the salesclerk. For Joanna and her family, no trip to Tucson was considered complete without stopping by the market to pick up a batch of freshly made tortillas and tamales and to say hello to Gabriella.

  “Whatever we’re having,” Joanna said, “I can’t imagine that tortillas and tamales wouldn’t be welcome additions to the menu, if not for tonight, then for tomorrow for sure. But do check with Butch first.”

  There was a short pause on the line. “Are you okay, Mom?” Jenny asked. “There’s a lot going on right now . . .”

  “And you’re wondering if I should be working.”

  “Well, yes,” Jenny admitted reluctantly. “I guess I was.”

  Since when did our situations reverse? Joanna thought. When did Jenny stop being the daughter and turn into the mother?

  “The original homicide case is a complicated one with two separate victims. And now there’s a new one up at Sun Sites,” Joanna answered. “Homicides are always important. Your grandmother wouldn’t want me to neglect them, and neither would Grandpa George.”

  “Okay, then,” Jenny said. “Be safe.”

  “Always,” Joanna replied lightly. “Didn’t you know? Safe is my middle name.”

  CHAPTER 26

  JEREMY AND ALLISON STOCK LIVED ON PETERSON STREET IN AN area of modest, cookie-cutter houses that were within easy walking distance of the SVSSE campus. Hoping to create less of a neighborhood stir, Joanna and Detective Waters arrived in only one vehicle rather than two—Joanna’s Yukon. When they pulled up out front, there were three cars in the carport and driveway—two sedans—a Honda and a Chevrolet Impala, as well as Deputy Stock’s departmental Tahoe.

  “Looks like everybody’s home,” Joanna said with a sigh. “Let’s do this.” She stopped at the back of the Yukon long enough to extract an evidence bag before leading the way toward the house.

  Jeremy opened the front door to the house when they were halfway up the walk.

  “Dispatch said this was urgent,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Is Allison here?” Joanna asked.

  “Yes, she took the afternoon off, but I don’t understand. You already spoke to Travis about the murders yesterday. What do we need to talk about today?”

  “Something else entirely,” Joanna answered quietly.

  Just then Allison appeared in the doorway behind him. She was an attractive woman, maybe a few years older than Joanna, and wearing a pantsuit with a long-sleeved blazer and a pair of high heels. Joanna remembered then that Allison Stock worked in a bank as a manager of some kind, and she dressed the part.

  “What’s going on?” Allison demanded, following her husband first out onto the porch and then down the concrete walkway. “From what Jeremy said, it sounded like an emergency of some kind. Is it? Has something happened to Travis? Is he hurt? Is he all right?”

  Well, yes, Joanna thought, something has happened to Travis. And it’s going to be years from now before anyone will be able to figure out if he’s all right.

  “This is Detective Ian Waters of the Sierra Vista Police Department,” Joanna said, riding roughshod over Allison’s questions. “Since we believe Susan Nelson was abducted from the campus of the SVSSE here in Sierra Vista, Chief Montoya and I have declared the homicide cases to be a joint investigation.”

  “I know all that,” Jeremy said impatiently. “What I don’t understand is why you have to meet with us again. Travis is at school. Should I go get him? Shouldn’t he be here, too?”

  “For now, I think it would be easier if Travis wasn’t a part of this conversation,” Joanna said. “I also believe we’d be better off doing this inside your home rather than out here in the yard.”

  Nodding, Allison Stock conducted them into the house and motioned Joanna and Ian Waters in the direction of a sofa. “Can I get you something?” she asked. “Iced tea, water?”

  “Nothing, thank you,” Joanna said. “This isn’t that kind of visit.”

  “What kind of visit is it, then?” Jeremy asked. “If it has to do with the murders, Travis already answered those questions. He went to Tucson with
some of his pals to watch a football game.”

  “That’s the thing,” Joanna said. “It turns out he didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Attend the football game in Tucson. We saw postings on social media that showed both of Travis’s friends—Nate Digby and Jack Stockman—at the game, but there was no sign of Travis in any of the posted photos. My investigators have since spoken to both Nate and Jack. According to Nate, Travis stopped by his house early Saturday afternoon and told him that he couldn’t go to the game after all.”

  “Wait,” Allison asked faintly. “Are you saying he didn’t go?”

  “That’s right,” Joanna replied. “Which means that what he told us about his whereabouts on Saturday afternoon and evening were all bold-faced lies.”

  “You’re saying he doesn’t have an alibi?” Jeremy Stock asked. “So what? As far as Travis was concerned, he thought Susan Nelson walked on water. Of all the teachers at school, she was Travis’s hands-down favorite. He’d have absolutely no reason to harm her.”

  “That’s just the thing,” Joanna countered. “He does have a reason.”

  “That can’t be,” Allison began, but Jeremy held up a hand, effectively stifling whatever she was about to say.

  “What reason?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here, to accuse our son of murder?”

  “We’re not here to accuse Travis of murder,” Joanna said. “But it’s safe to say that he is now considered a person of interest along with several other SVSSE students. I hope you’re right and he has some perfectly reasonable explanation for where he went on Saturday and why he lied about it yesterday morning when Agent Watkins interviewed him. But that’s not the real reason we’re here. There’s something else.”

  Allison leaned back in her chair, holding one hand across her heart as if to ward off a physical attack. “What is it?” she whispered. “What haven’t you told us?”

  Joanna had to gather herself before launching into it. “It turns out that Susan Nelson, your son’s teacher, was a sexual predator who was targeting young men and having multiple affairs with boys who were her students.”

  Allison’s face paled. “You can’t possibly mean that Travis was one of them!”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Joanna said.

  She glanced in Jeremy’s direction. His mouth was set in a thin, grim line. “No,” he declared. “That’s impossible. It simply did not happen!”

  “But it did happen,” Joanna insisted. “We found a note—one written in what appears to be Travis’s own handwriting—in which he admits as much. In addition, you need to know something else. It turns out Mrs. Nelson was pregnant at the time of her death.”

  “She was pregnant?” Allison gasped, her voice barely audible. “Are you saying that woman was carrying my son’s baby?”

  “We believe that to be the case,” Joanna said. “We’ll need a DNA sample from Travis to ascertain that. From reading what he wrote, however, it’s clear that Travis was under the impression that the baby was his. He begged Susan to divorce her husband and marry him. He didn’t care how many jobs he had to work to support her and the child. He said he was the baby’s father, and he wanted to act like it.

  “The problem is,” she continued, “Susan Nelson threw Travis over. She told him she had zero intention of getting a divorce. She said that if she claimed the baby was her husband’s, no one ever would dare believe otherwise.”

  At that, Allison Stock simply doubled over where she sat, covering her face and weeping into her lap. Jeremy walked over to her chair. Perching on the arm, he leaned down and patted his wife’s heaving shoulder. There may have been kindness in the touch, but his face was set in granite.

  “How did this happen?” he demanded. “How could she get away with such a thing? And Travis wasn’t the only one?”

  “We have no idea how widespread the problem was,” Joanna told him. “We have evidence that suggests there were a number of boys involved, including some who may have already graduated.”

  “Does that mean they’re all persons of interest in the two homicides?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes,” Joanna answered, “right along with Travis. Our first task will be identifying as many of them as possible. Once we know who they are, we’ll start eliminating them one by one. So this is a courtesy call to give you a heads-up about the situation. It’s also why we didn’t want Travis present when we delivered this difficult news.”

  “To spare him from being embarrassed?” Jeremy demanded. “He damned well ought to be embarrassed!”

  Joanna was startled by the obvious anger in Jeremy’s voice—anger toward his son rather than his son’s abuser.

  “Please, Jeremy,” she pleaded. “You have to remember that as far as the sexual assault is concerned, Travis is the victim. He was and still is under the age of consent. What Susan Nelson did to him constitutes statutory rape. But Detective Waters and I are here to suggest that the next time we speak to him, you may want to have an attorney present. In fact, there’s a good chance an attorney will advise Travis to refuse to speak to us altogether.”

  “Is that because I’m a cop?” Jeremy asked. “Is that why you came here to tell us?”

  “No,” Joanna said. “I’m not playing favorites, and that’s the reason Detective Waters is here—to make sure I don’t give you some kind advantage that I withhold from the other individuals involved. Everyone will be given an opportunity to have both parents in attendance as well as to consult with an attorney before we conduct any additional interviews.”

  By then Allison had recovered enough that she was once again capable of speech. “When this all comes out, those poor boys’ lives—and Travis’s life, too—will be ruined forever,” she declared. “I’m glad that awful woman is dead. That horrible bitch got what she deserved.”

  “The problem is, she didn’t,” Joanna replied. “Statutory rape is a crime, but it isn’t a capital offense. In addition, Susan Nelson isn’t the only homicide victim. A second woman died at the same time and place as she did. Her name is Desirée Wilburton, and she’s from Tucson.”

  “Was she in on it, too?” Allison asked.

  “Not that we know of,” Joanna said. “So far we’ve not found any connections between the two women—not on social media, anyway. But then we’ve not found any electronic communications between Mrs. Nelson and any of the targeted boys, either.”

  Allison Stock remained unconvinced. “I’ll bet she was doing the same thing Susan Nelson was—both of them together.”

  Somewhere in the back of the house, a door slammed shut. “Oh God,” Allison uttered despairingly. “It’s Trav. What’s he doing here? They must have let school out early.”

  A moment later Travis appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the combination dining room/living room. He stopped short when he saw the four people gathered there. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “How about you tell us?” his father demanded grimly. “How long have you been screwing around with one of your teachers? What the hell were you thinking? You don’t have the sense God gave little green apples!”

  Travis’s face turned ashen. He leaned against the doorframe for support. “You know about that?” he croaked.

  “Yes, we do,” Allison said, echoing both her husband’s tone and sentiments. “How could you do such a thing? How could you?”

  Their mirror-image reactions reminded Joanna of what Frank had said earlier—that when it came to juvenile sexual assaults, boys didn’t qualify as victims so much as perpetrators, even as far as family members were concerned.

  Without glancing at either of his parents, Travis stumbled into the room, sank into the only remaining chair, and then sat with his head bowed, staring at the floor.

  “Where were you on Saturday?” Joanna asked. “Yesterday you told Agent Watkins that you had gone to a football game in Tucson, but you didn’t, did you.”

  Travis shook his head.

  “You lied about th
at, too?” Jeremy demanded in barely suppressed fury. “Where were you, then?”

  “I went for a walk out by the San Pedro.”

  “Alone or with someone?” Joanna asked.

  “Alone,” Travis answered bleakly. “I needed to think. I knew what Susan and I were doing was wrong, but as soon as she told me about the baby, I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to marry her. I begged her to get a divorce and marry me. Instead, she dumped me. Laughed at me to my face.”

  Had Joanna been a therapist, she might have asked, “How did that make you feel?” There was no need. Travis Stock was clearly devastated. The question she asked was a cop’s question rather than a counselor’s.

  “Did anyone see you out by the river?”

  “No, I came back by the school later—about the usual time I saw her for my regular tutoring sessions. I thought I’d try talking to her one more time and maybe convince her to change her mind, but her car wasn’t in the parking lot. She was already gone.”

  “Tutoring sessions, my ass!” Jeremy muttered in the background.

  “Did you go onto the school grounds?” Joanna asked, ignoring Jeremy and directing her question at his son. “If so, one of the security cameras might have picked you up.”

  Travis shook his head. “I only went as far as the edge of the parking lot. As soon as I saw that her car was already gone, I left.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I walked some more. For hours.”

  “Where?”

  “Mostly right here in the neighborhood. I couldn’t show up at home too early because I was supposed to be in Tucson at the game. I finally came home around midnight. Nobody saw me then, either. Mom was already in bed and Dad was at work.” Travis paused long enough to look around the room, studying each face in turn. Finally, he settled on Joanna’s. “You think I killed her, don’t you?”

  “Did you know there were others?”

  “Other what?”

  “Other boys—boys just like you—who were also involved with Susan Nelson.”