Hidden Vices

by C. J. Carpenter

  “What is she saying?” Megan asked.

  Callie asked Vivian to slow down when Thompson interrupted, “Wait, let’s start from the beginning. I need to know everything.”

  Megan went to get Vivian a glass of water when she caught a glimpse of a photo on the refrigerator. Vivian and her mother were in a boat on Lake Hopatcong. They both had huge smiles. Her mother had her arms wrapped around Vivian. It was obvious Vivian gained all of her good looks from her mother. They shared the same smile, the same glow. She thought back to the photos of her and her own mother, Rose. There weren’t many, but the few Megan had meant the world to her, especially now with Rose gone. Photos were the only things remaining, some good memories too. As with the pictures, those were few and far between as well.

  Megan looked through the kitchen window at the judge’s house and the only thought she could come up with was how impossible it was to think that Vivian’s mother would kill herself and leave Vivian with such a monster.

  I’m only scratching the surface, Megan thought to herself.

  Megan returned to the living room with the water as Thompson began his questioning. He started with the last time Vivian saw the judge. She hesitated signing, and Callie prompted her to answer.

  “She’s holding back. Callie, tell her we have to know everything,” Megan urged.

  Callie spoke through each word he signed. He told her it was safe to tell everyone in the room everything, that they were all there to help her. She was still hesitant when Megan picked up one of the framed photos on the coffee table. Pointing at her mother’s photo, she mouthed, “Do it for her. Your mother.”

  “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Callie snapped at Megan.

  Thompson intervened. “No, it’s not. She’s holding back something. I can’t do my job unless we have all of her information, so, no, it’s not too harsh.”

  Vivian stared at her mother’s photo, then leaned forward and took it out of Megan’s hand. She held it in her lap as she began signing with Callie. She told them of the night she woke up and saw the judge in the great room having an argument with someone. How there was some kind of fight where the glasses were thrown against the window. Vivian abruptly stopped signing, clearly wrestling with the next part.

  “Callie, she’s hedging.” Megan looked at Vivian and mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  Vivian’s demeanor suddenly took on that of a wounded doe. She was truly scared, bordering on shamed. Vivian took a steadying breath and told them about entering the house and going into the great room, seeing her father dead on the floor with a knife sticking out of his chest. How he had wounds everywhere. His throat was slashed, his arms were cut, and the knife rested deep inside his loveless heart.

  Megan, Callie, and Thompson thought they’d heard everything until Vivian began signing again, explaining that she took the knife out of the judge and plunged it back in. Megan turned away, knowing exactly how bad this was. “Fuck.”

  Thompson rubbed his forehead and shook his head.

  “I don’t understand,” Callie shouted. “He was already dead! She did this out of anger. He was terrible to her. This should be good news. Vivian didn’t murder him.” Callie searched Megan’s and Thompson’s expressions for vindication only to find distressed reactions to Vivian’s admission.

  Megan spoke in an even tone to a situation that was less than tranquil. “Callie, her prints will most likely be found on the knife when Forensics comes back.”

  “But he was dead. She said he was already dead when she went into the room.” Callie signed to Vivian asking her for the second time if the judge was dead when she entered the great room, and for a second time she answered yes.

  “See?”

  “I’m sure he was dead, but there’s really no way for us to prove that in a situation like this,” Thompson said.

  Callie was starting to unravel. “Okay, then answer me this. How could Vivian move the body some six hundred yards to throw in the lake?” He shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment of Megan and Thompson’s lack of enthusiasm toward this obvious obstacle in the case against Vivian.

  Vivian was exceptional at reading lips, and even if she weren’t, the expressions before her pretty much read like instructions for Things Not To Do at a Crime Scene. She signed she was sorry.

  Callie asked Thompson, “So, what do we do now?”

  “I would suggest going back to the police and admitting she was in the house and did this. Ms. McGinn is correct. They will find her prints, and then it could get very bad. Was she able to see who was in the house with Campbell? Any description at all?”

  Vivian shook her head no.

  “Okay, then. We should go. You have somewhere else to go, I believe,” Callie said to Megan.

  “Wait, Mr. Thompson. There is something else you could use for leverage,” Megan suggested.

  “What would that be?” He started to pack up his briefcase.

  “Judge Campbell was, I believe, in charge of a sex ring. A pedophile sex ring.”

  “What?! How do you know this? Wait! Don’t answer that; otherwise I’m required to answer if I’m asked how I know.”

  “There were videos of the assaults in a secret room in the judge’s house. The police have them. They know,” Megan answered.

  He shook his head. “This is going to be a nightmare, but you are right. I can use this information to my advantage. Who else knows?”

  “I do,” Callie answered.

  “Does Vivian know about this secret room?”

  Callie asked, and she answered no and added that she was never allowed in that part of the house.

  Twenty-Five

  Megan pulled into the garage. Lynn had just finished filling a car when she got out.

  “Well, hello again,” Lynn said with a smile.

  “Hi, there.”

  “Need more gas for that tank of yours?”

  “Actually, no, not yet anyway. My engine light has been going on and off and I wondered if your son could take a look at it.”

  “Do you want to leave it?”

  “I’ll wait if that’s okay. It’s my only source of transportation, so … ”

  Lynn nodded. “Okay. Let me go get him. Could you pull up into the garage for me?”

  Megan pulled the Range Rover into the garage, nearly hitting a motorcycle.

  “This is my son, Duane. Duane this is—it’s Megan, right?”

  Now who’s the bull-shitter? Everyone in town knows my name.

  She nodded while Duane used a rag to clean off his hand before shaking hers. “Pleasure.”

  “Duane, Megan’s engine light is going on and off. Can you run it through the sensor codes on the computer?”

  He was tall, with dark hair that could use a haircut. Both arms were covered in tattoos. Each finger also inked. Megan knew it was code for a motorcycle gang. He was hardly the clean-cut type. He wore a white t-shirt under a black vest and a chain hung from one pocket. He stared at her with an intensity that would make most people feel uncomfortable, but not Megan. She returned it.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can you pop the hood for me?”

  Megan did so as he lit a cigarette. Same look as the butts she found on the dock.

  Interesting, but hardly proof. In the short time she’d been in Mount Arlington, it seemed everyone she met was a smoker.

  Megan pointed over to the motorcycle. “I guess that’s yours.”

  “Yep.”

  Big conversationalist. She looked around the garage. A huge ashtray filled with butts was on a desk, and dirty windows looked out onto Howard Boulevard.

  “I thought I was going to knock it over when I drove in.”

  He spoke over the cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Well, then I guess I’d have to kill you.”

  “Hasn’t there been enough of that g
oing around here lately?”

  “Yep.”

  “A neighbor friend said you just worked on her car recently, so that’s why I came here.”

  “Who?”

  “Vivian Campbell. She had to leave it overnight, I think?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  Megan’s next thought was that this guy has been interrogated more than once. He knew not to say much.

  Duane went to turn over the engine. “No light is on.”

  “Maybe you fixed it,” Megan answered.

  “I didn’t do anything. You might have an intermittent short in your sensor light.”

  The icy stare prompted Megan to try another route. “I bet you saw all the action the other day being as your garage is directly across from where Judge Campbell was pulled out.”

  “Didn’t much care. I try to stay away from cops. And detectives.”

  “Guess that’s why you’ve taken such a shine to me.”

  He closed the hood. “Guess so.”

  Dead end. “Well, then how much do I owe you?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “What about labor?”

  “Told ya, I didn’t do anything.”

  “Thank you anyway.”

  “If the light actually does come on, you can bring her back. Can’t figure out what’s wrong if the light’s not on.”

  She nodded and slowly backed out of the garage because she had a strong sense he wasn’t joking about killing her if she hit his motorcycle. Megan sent Callie a text: Nothing from the garage. Call when you get a chance.

  Megan went back home, played with Clyde in the snow, and then attempted to relax in front of the fire, only to find she was failing miserably. She wondered when the videos, the secret room, and the judge’s dirty little secrets would hit the news. She knew it would get leaked somehow, and if Phillip Thompson was as good as he thought he was, he’d use it as leverage during Vivian’s disclosure of stabbing a dead man.

  Her cell rang as she was pouring a drink.

  “Hey, it’s Callie.”

  “So, what happened? They had an interpreter there, right?”

  “Yeah, Thompson went through the whole story about Vivian being in the house. As slick as he is, he diverted them to the fact he knew about the tapes and the room. They knew they’d lost some of their footing. For now she’s not being arrested.”

  “What about the prints?”

  “Nothing has come back yet.”

  “It shouldn’t be taking this long. They’re either not finding anything or they’re building a case.”

  “How can they build a case after all the sick shit they found?”

  “You’d be amazed what cops can do.” Megan hated admitting it, but during her time before going on a leave of absence, she knew cops in her department who played that game—and not always with clean cards.

  “Trouble, the news is going to be interesting tonight. I watched the press interview Thompson outside the station.”

  “I’ll look for it.”

  “You won’t have any problem finding it.”

  Twenty-Six

  Megan moved into the television room to search for the latest news, and Callie was right. She had no problem finding the breaking news story about Judge Campbell. It was splashed on virtually every channel. Phillip Thompson stood outside of the police station with countless microphones shoved in his face and was as calm as if he were born to be there. He was bombarded with one question after another. He chose to make a statement that he was representing Vivian Campbell. Vivian had not been arrested and he was certain she would not be. Due to lewd materials found in Judge Campbell’s secret sex dungeon involving young boys, he felt confident the case had now gone in a different direction. He went on to disclose it was an anonymous tip that led to the videos to be found by the police and was certain they would make that their number-one priority rather than harass a young deaf woman for a crime she was obviously innocent of. Afterward he walked Vivian to his car and they drove off.

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Thompson. There is still something nagging at me with this. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Megan witnessed countless miscarriages of justice on the job, so it made her uneasy. That troubling feeling just wouldn’t go away. She turned the television off when her cell phone rang. Leigh from down the street was calling.

  “Hi Leigh, what’s up?”

  “I just thought you’d want to know. There’s an ambulance at Billie’s house. Something has happened. She’s being taken over to the hospital Jo works at. It looks bad. Her mother and boyfriend are with the police as we speak. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I bet I do.” Another drunk boyfriend and too much booze. “Tell me the name of the hospital again?”

  Leigh told her the name and Megan answered, “I’ll go over now. Is Jo working emergency tonight?”

  “No, she has back to back surgeries. I would go with you but—”

  “No, no. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  The last time Megan had rushed to a hospital, it was for her mother. The feeling didn’t seem much different. The adrenaline rush, the hope that things aren’t as bad as every terrible thought running through your mind. The nurse directed her to where Billie was in the emergency room. When she pulled back the curtain, her fears were confirmed. Billie had bruises on her eye and lip, and a cut on her forehead. They were stitching up one arm. A soft cast was on one leg.

  The busy doctor asked who she was.

  “I’m her neighbor. Her mother had to speak with the police and asked me to come.”

  “We’re prepping her for tests to make sure there wasn’t any internal damage. I’ll be back to get her soon. We just gave her morphine for the pain, so she’ll become groggy in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Megan closed the curtain. “So, kiddo, how does the other guy look?”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Leigh called me.”

  “And you came down here just for me?”

  Megan moved Billie’s hair away from her forehead. “Of course. You’re my favorite bratty teenage neighbor. Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  “They were drunk again. Fighting. He slapped her. I got in between them and he pushed me down the stairs.” Billie welled up with emotion. “I should have come down to your house. I could feel this time was going to be bad.”

  “He did this to you before pushing you?” Megan moved her chin slightly. “Those didn’t all come from a fall.”

  “Mom tried to stop him, she did … try. Where is she?”

  “She’s at home speaking to the police. Do you want me to call your aunt? She’d want to know.”

  Billie nodded yes and put her hand over Megan’s. “Thank you, Det-Megan.”

  Megan smiled remembering that when she first met Billie, she’d come close to calling herself Detective Megan McGinn, and Billie had joked with her about it. “You’re welcome, IRS.”

  Billie slowly fell off to sleep before the doctor returned. “She’ll be asleep for some time, probably until tomorrow.”

  “Is there a social worker available? I need to give them information to call next of kin.” Megan was certainly not making that phone call herself. She’d delivered enough bad news for one lifetime and wasn’t keen to do so regarding Billie. She couldn’t help it. She knew Billie was a good kid, even with the wiseass attitude, and she didn’t deserve this horrible treatment.

  Megan sat in her truck for a few minutes, staring out at the hospital parking lot and thinking too many thoughts about Billie, about her recent past. Her own mistakes, her regrets. “Someday, things will go right again. I hope.”

  She surprised herself by using the word hope. She’d lost so much of it within the last year—perhaps there was still some left, somewhere. If
there was, it was buried deep, deep down inside.

  Callie had sent a text asking her to dinner. She declined. Megan wanted the evening to herself, under a warm blanket with Clyde asleep at her side.

  Twenty-Seven

  Not surprisingly Megan fell asleep on the couch in front of the fire. What was shocking was that she didn’t have any nightmares, and actually was able to get restful, quality sleep, which hadn’t happened in a long time. Her morning coffee was brewing when she went to check for the paper, but there wasn’t one. She checked the local paper online and it was covered with information on Judge Campbell’s atrocities.

  “The tide has turned for you, asshole.” She lifted her mug to the screen in a cheers. “So much for a positive legacy now.”

  She turned on her cell. While waiting for a signal, she put the morning news on and was shocked to see a different headline. Mount Arlington’s mayor had shot himself in the head in the middle of the night. Megan knew it wasn’t a coincidence. “Looks like someone was afraid of what was actually on those tapes.” She threw some clothes on and did a search for the mayor’s home address. “C’mon Clyde, we’re going for a quick drive.”

  When they arrived at the address Megan had found online, a mere three minutes from her current residence, there were plenty of news vans parked outside the home. But what was also outside above the front door was the symbol from the robes in Campbell’s basement, the same one on the sign of the museum.

  “I knew it. I wonder if that gunshot was really self-inflicted.”

  Callie called her as she sat there watching the melee. “Hey, your phone was off all night. Is everything okay?”

  Megan placed her Bluetooth earpiece on before driving away from the mob scene. “Crazy news this morning. Did you see it?”

  “Yeah, I saw it. What do you think?” Callie asked.

  “Well, I’m thinking two things. One, he was obviously connected to the men on the tape. What, the guy was late fifties or sixties? He wasn’t a victim, he was an abuser.”

  “And the second?” Callie asked.