Zee’s eyes narrowed. “Whose byline goes on the story?”
“I’ll push for a double byline, but it will probably be yours. Because I’ll likely get fired for insubordination.”
“Shouldn’t you just cover the beat you’ve been assigned and keep your job?”
“After we’ve broken open this story and you see what it’s like to really investigate, you’ll understand why I can’t just write about shopping malls in Springfield.”
“Thanks for working with me. I want to be good at this.”
Sophie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Are you willing to take risks?”
The intern blinked a few times. “Like what?”
“I’d like to do a sting.” She got a rush of adrenaline just thinking about it. “We find the perp’s pattern and watch for the next party. Then one of us pretends to be the most intoxicated girl at the party, hoping to lure the perp. The other one keeps watch, takes photos, and calls the police at the right moment.”
Zee’s mouth fell open. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s real journalism.”
“Shouldn’t the police be doing this instead?”
“They don’t have anyone who can pass for seventeen.” Sophie grinned. “Except for your height, you look twelve.”
Zee gave her a shitty smile.
Sophie continued. “Plus, the police department is busy keeping officers at the free speech plaza, where the homeless are still protesting.”
“If the predator is targeting girls with wealthy parents, he’s not going to pick me.”
Well, hell. “Good point.” Sophie could still attend the party, keep an eye on the young drunks, and watch for the predator.
“By the way, that protest story was a great piece of writing. I hope Hoogstad submits it for next year’s Northwest Journalism awards.”
“Thanks.” Sophie hoped so too. “I still plan to dig through all the social media connections between the victims and see if I can find the next party.”
Zee looked at her with admiration and a little fear. “I can’t believe the newspaper is pushing you out of the crime beat. You’re the best.”
Sophie jumped up, deciding to mentor Zee after all. “Let’s get to it. Bring your laptop to my cube and we’ll work together.”
Fifteen minutes into the project, they had a list of twenty names that were all connected to Ashley Devonshire. But the teenagers didn’t discuss the parties on Facebook. Probably because some of their parents and teachers had profiles. Sophie switched over to Twitter and searched for the names. She finally found a series of tweets about a party the previous Wednesday. That had to be the one Ashley had attended the night she was assaulted. Sophie turned to Zee. “We need to interview some of these kids. Someone might have suspicions about who the predator is.”
Heavy footsteps made her glance out the opening of her cube. Hoogstad.
He stopped in the doorway, sounding a little breathless. “There’s been a school shooting in Corvallis. Zee, I want you to go with the photographer and cover the story. He’s leaving now.”
Zee slammed her laptop closed and bolted out.
Jealousy was her first reaction, but Sophie shrugged it off. School shootings were hardly news anymore and not much of a challenge to write about. But depressing as hell. She would keep working the homicide and the assaults and dare the paper not to run her breaking stories. Even if they didn’t, she’d still have them for her portfolio, and she could always publish them on her blog.
CHAPTER 27
Monday, November 24, 3:55 p.m.
Schak drove to the Marston home, pushing the speed limit, his mind racing. Danny had taken a report about a sexual assault two days before he was killed. It had to be coincidence. But why wasn’t the report in his log? Had the parents tried to keep the incident to themselves like in the other cases? Tension pulsed in his temples. A breakthrough was playing around the edge of his thoughts, teasing him to find it. Maybe Sophie would come through and track down the next party in the perp’s trolling field.
At the house, Jackson’s sedan was parked on the street, but no vehicle was in the driveway. Jackson said he’d spoken with Sadie Marston at her employer’s, then arranged to meet her at home so they could both talk to her daughter. But it didn’t look like they’d showed up yet. He hoped the family didn’t blow them off. People did that sometimes, rather than talk to the police. Especially teenagers who’d been drinking or smoking pot and didn’t want to admit to it.
Schak climbed out of his car and into Jackson’s, which smelled like wet boots. “What do you think? Are these cases connected?”
“I don’t know how they could be.” Jackson shifted to face him. “I don’t even know if this incident is connected to the other assaults.”
“I just met with a college girl who was sexually assaulted near campus. No blackmail in that case. They were pulled over by an officer, then met up with a group of athletes and partied some more.”
Jackson scowled. “If not for the mention of the police officer, I’d say your college victim isn’t connected. It sounds more like a case of date rape.”
“When I said that, Sophie bit my head off.” Schak was still mulling it over. “She says rape is rape. But the last girl I talked to didn’t know if she had given consent or not.”
“But if she was unconscious . . .”
“She may have just been really drunk. What if she said yes, then later couldn’t remember?” Schak recalled the last time he’d been blackout drunk and how fuzzy his memory had been the next morning. “But that’s part of why she didn’t report it.”
“One thing is clear,” Jackson said. “There’s a lot more sexual assault going on than we ever realized.”
A car pulled into the driveway, so they both climbed out and stood on the sidewalk. A cold wind made Schak wish he’d put on his overcoat, but he wasn’t going back to his car for it. They’d be in the house in a moment. “It’s supposed to drop down to twenty-five tonight,” he said, remembering what little he’d seen of the morning’s paper.
“Rough weather for people on the streets,” Jackson commented. “Thompson’s murder has got me thinking about the homeless.”
Schak didn’t let himself think about them. The issue was too complicated and distracting. “We need to meet with the team.”
“I’ll set it up for the morning. It’s late and we all need a break.”
The woman and her daughter hurried into the house without looking back at them. What the hell?
Jackson started up the walkway and Schak followed. Sadie Marston opened the door as they stepped onto the patio, waved them in, then slammed it closed.
“Christ, it’s cold,” she said. “I just turned up the heat, but it will take a minute. Coffee?”
Jackson declined, much to Schak’s disappointment, so he said no thanks as well. “Where’s your daughter?”
“She’ll be right back. Let’s sit at the dining room table.”
Sadie Marston generated a nervous energy that made Schak eager to get it done and get out. Maybe it was best she didn’t make coffee. They all sat down, and he and Jackson both took out notepads. A moment later, a teenage girl stomped into the room, glared at her mother, and didn’t look at them. Oh joy. This would be a pain.
“This is Grace.” Mrs. Marston gestured as the girl sat down, then introduced the two detectives. Grace nodded but didn’t speak.
Long brown hair, dark eyes, slender, and an eyebrow piercing. She seemed familiar. Had he met her recently? Then it clicked. Grace looked a lot like Mara, the first victim, the one who’d gotten pregnant. He tried to visualize Ashley, the dead girl, wishing he’d focused more on her face. She also had long brown hair. The perp had a type. Schak scribbled it down, then asked, “What day did the assault happen?”
“Friday, November seventh.” The girl’s voice was p
leasant, despite the look on her face, which indicated she would rather be having a root canal.
“Tell us what happened.”
“Mom went to the Hult Center, so I invited a few friends over. Janelle brought some vodka, which we drank, but it wasn’t much. We smoked some pot too. Mom has a prescription.”
Mrs. Marston’s mouth tightened. “It helps my fibromyalgia, so I can sleep. I thought I had it hidden. So I didn’t know Grace had been stealing small amounts.”
Teenagers taking their parents’ pills and drinking their booze now had a new twist. “We’re not going to report it,” Schak said. He stared at Grace until she met his eyes. “What happened next?”
“My friends went home, then I got a message from an online friend who said she wanted to join the party. So I headed out to meet her at Joe’s Pizza.”
Jackson cut in before Schak could. “How did she know you were partying?”
Grace rolled her eyes. “We’d been posting updates on Twitter.”
“What’s the friend’s name?” Schak asked.
“Kelsey.”
“Last name?”
“I can’t remember. I hadn’t met her in person yet.”
A bad feeling landed in Schak’s chest. “Did you meet her?”
“No. I was pretty wasted by then. Some guy stopped by and offered me a ride. That’s all I clearly remember. After that, I have a couple of flashes, one of a small room and the other of me coming in the front door, but they both seem more like a dream than something real.”
Schak hated to ask, but he had to. “What makes you think you were sexually assaulted?”
Grace glared. “My vagina hurt, and I felt violated.”
Schak shifted his gaze to Mrs. Marston. “But you didn’t call the police?”
Mrs. Marston bit her lip. “I wanted to, but the asshole sent a text saying he had a video of Grace smoking my pot and would send it to my boss if I didn’t pay him fifteen thousand.”
“What did you do?”
“I demanded to see the video, but he wouldn’t send it. He said he had a file of her naked too, but when he couldn’t produce any proof, I told him to fuck off.”
The perp had somehow failed to record the assault and consequently failed to collect a payment. That must have infuriated him. “I’d like to see his texts.”
“Grace took my phone and deleted them all.”
This girl was a pain. “Where was your husband during all this?”
“Traveling for his job. When he came home, I told him about it and he freaked out. That’s when Officer Thompson came to the house.”
“But you didn’t report the assault at that time?” Schak tried to sound factual, rather than disbelieving, but he failed.
“No.” Mrs. Marston struggled to control her emotions. “I was afraid I’d lose my job if the blackmailer followed through on his threat. Maybe even be arrested.”
“It’s not Mom’s fault,” Grace blurted out, showing her first sign of distress. “I didn’t want to report it. I can’t even tell you what the guy looked like, so what’s the point of going through all this?”
Should he ask about a police officer? Schak didn’t want to put ideas into her head. “Can you tell me anything about the guy who gave you a ride? His age? Size? Voice?”
“He seemed kind of in the middle, like not forty yet. Even though I can’t picture him, I remember thinking he was cute. For an older guy.”
“Did he offer you a drug? Or something to drink?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
“No. Just that he seemed safe. Which is why I wasn’t scared to ride with him.” The girl made a strange choking sound. “I was so wrong. You can’t trust anybody.”
A cop? Jackson glanced at him, and Schak gave a small nod. “The friend who contacted you and invited you out, Kelsey. Tell me everything you know about her.” Schak stood. “Or better yet, show me her profile online.”
They learned little about Kelsey Walker from her profile. She listed her age as eighteen and her school as Riverside. Schak left the small bedroom to call the school. As he identified himself and talked to the receptionist, he smelled coffee and walked to the kitchen. “I need to know if Kelsey Walker is a student.”
“I don’t recognize the name, but I’ll check.”
After a long wait with annoyingly upbeat music, the receptionist came back on. “I checked last year too, but we don’t have anyone by that name.”
“Thanks.”
Schak hung up and took the coffee Mrs. Marston handed him.
“Where does Grace go to school?”
“Sheldon.”
Now he had a victim that wasn’t from Riverside. They would have to widen the perp search. “Your daughter was lured out of the house by someone posing as a student. But we’ll catch him.”
“But if Grace can’t identify him . . .”
“There are other victims. He’s left a cyber trail somewhere.”
A tear rolled down Mrs. Marston’s face. “I warned Grace about online predators. I warned her about underage drinking. Is this my fault? Because of the medical marijuana?”
He didn’t think so. “A lot of teenagers experiment with drugs and alcohol, no matter what their parents say or do.” His own mother had let him drink at home, so he didn’t go out “and get himself killed,” as she always said.
Jackson joined them in the kitchen. “I have a meeting with my custody lawyer soon, so I’m going to take off.”
Schak handed Mrs. Marston a card. “Please call me if your daughter remembers anything else.”
Outside, Jackson strode toward his car, a man in a hurry.
“Wait,” Schak called. His partner turned, and Schak said, “There’s something we have to talk about.”
“What’s that?” A snowflake drifted down between them.
He didn’t know how to say it diplomatically. “The descriptions of the police officer match Quince.”
Jackson stared, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it. There has to be someone else in the department who fits.”
“I’ve looked. There’s Officer Barton, but he doesn’t work patrol.”
“Quince doesn’t work patrol either.”
More snow fell, and Schak thought about his coat in the car. “The perp could be a poser. In fact, I’m betting that he is.” Stress constricted his chest, and he had to pull in a deep breath. “But what if it’s Quince? We’ve had other sexual predators in the department, so we can’t be blind to this. Quince is on our team. If we plan a sting or a raid, he’ll know.”
“Oh crap.” Jackson, who rarely swore, added, “We’ll hold back until we can rule him out.” His expression grew even more distressed.
“What is it?”
“Quince mentioned having money problems, and he worked sex crimes.”
“I know.”
The snow fell harder, and Jackson bounced on his feet. “One of the twins said he saw someone in the truck with Thompson.”
Who would Danny let into his vehicle? “You think it was Quince?”
“I don’t want to believe it.” But Jackson looked like he might.
“If he’s posing as Kelsey, we have to find out. I’ll go write some subpoenas.” They headed for their cars, and Schak worried that he didn’t have enough suspicious activity to convince a judge or the social media site to reveal the user’s information. Even more challenging, how could they effectively investigate if they couldn’t trust a member of their own team?
CHAPTER 28
Tuesday, November 25, 7:45 a.m.
Katie’s cramps had subsided the evening before, and her obstetrician had diagnosed a UTI and recommended cranberry juice and rest. Feeling guilty, Jackson dropped off Benjie at Kera’s, vowing to find the boy a regular day care soon. Before
he’d left the house, he’d told Katie to call him if she needed medical attention again, but they both knew she’d contact Kera instead—so he could work. They had to go car shopping this weekend. His daughter would need her own transportation, especially once the baby was born. On the way to the department, he picked up doughnuts for their meeting. Schak loved them, and after what his partner had been through in the last couple of days, he needed a little comfort food. As cold as it was, they all did.
At his desk, he updated his Word file and added a question in bold: Is Thompson’s murder connected to the sexual assaults / blackmail? Investigative instinct told him there were no coincidences. Yet, Thompson had been killed near a homeless camp with a broken bottle that had a homeless man’s fingerprints. Another homeless man had been found with Thompson’s gun and cell phone. So his death seemed more obviously connected to street people. But both suspects were dead, and that was suspicious too. An odd thought hit him. Was Officer Bremmer involved? Had he killed Henry Walsh and Pete Scully to cover other crimes?
Jackson printed copies of the case file, then glanced at the time. The meeting was starting soon. He sent Kera a quick text: I’ll make it up to you, and take both boys for a whole day. He’d done it before. The first half was great fun, but by mid-afternoon, he’d have them in front of the TV.
Jackson headed for the conference room, hoping that brainstorming with the team could help break through the logjam of contradictions in these cases. He hadn’t told Quince about the meeting so they could talk freely and be selective about what information they gave him. Evans was in the room, typing on her tablet. She took her case notes electronically, and as much as he wished he could be that efficient, he just couldn’t make it work for him.
“Hey, Jackson.” She looked up and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here early. I wanted to tell you something.”
He stepped toward her, sensing it was personal and that she’d keep it soft. “What is it?” Apprehension strummed his spine.
“I’m trying to transfer into Special Investigations. It might take a while, but I wanted you to know.”
Wrongful Death (A Detective Jackson Mystery) Page 18