“I’m looking into a cold case for the District Attorney’s Office. Do you remember Jason Ridge?”
A long pause. “Yes.”
“He died from steroid use. Had a heart attack on the football field. The District Attorney’s Office has been investigating the illegal use of steroids by minors and since you knew Jason, I wanted to talk to you about what you knew of his actions before he died.”
“Nothing. We didn’t talk anymore.”
“You were his ex-girlfriend, correct?”
“So?”
“He also dated a friend of yours. Shannon Chase.”
“What does that have to do with Jason taking steroids?”
“Shannon’s dead. I can’t ask her about what she knew. She committed suicide, right?”
“Why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to? Why are you bringing all this up?” There were either tears or anger in her voice-maybe a little of both.
“I’m sorry to upset you, Michelle. You were close to Shannon.”
“Whatever.”
“It must have been awful to have your best friend commit suicide. It must have hurt.”
“I never thought she’d do it.” Michelle’s voice was distant.
“Her parents divorced over it. When violence hits a family, it takes a toll on everyone.”
Julia pushed. “Have you been in contact with Shannon’s parents since they moved from San Diego?”
“No.” Michelle’s answer seemed to come too fast.
“Are you sure? Shannon’s father moved out of state, but her mother is still in town.”
Julia held her breath, hoping her fishing expedition caught something.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m in college at Stanford.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Someone told me you were in San Diego this weekend.”
“What? Who?”
“It must have been a misunderstanding. You’ve been in Palo Alto all weekend?”
“Yes. And you know, I don’t have to answer your questions. I’m not in trouble, am I? I didn’t sell Jason steroids. I didn’t even know he was taking them. I had nothing to do with all of that. In fact, I hate drugs, and if Jason was experimenting with them, good riddance.”
The phone clicked.
TWENTY-SIX
Julia still felt uncomfortable with the plan to use Emily, but she went along with it. Connor wouldn’t jeopardize her life. Will Hooper was escorting her to the airport along with a female police officer who would be on the plane with her.
But she only had five minutes alone with her niece as they waited outside the judge’s chambers.
“Are you okay?” Julia asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“I’m okay, Aunt Jules.”
“Carina is nice. She’s testified for me a couple times. You’ll like her.”
“Stop worrying about me.”
“I can’t help it. You’ve been through so much.”
“I screwed up.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. I didn’t tell you or anyone about what Victor did to me. If I had just said something, none of this would have happened. I hated him. I wanted him dead. But, you know what, I’m sorry he’s dead. If that makes any sense at all.”
“It makes a lot of sense to me.” She hugged her niece. “When you come home, when all this is over, do you want to come live with me?”
Emily looked surprised. “You want me to live with you? I thought you were too busy.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Mom said you gave up the custody battle because you were too busy to be bothered with a little kid.”
The pain in Emily’s eyes brought tears to Julia’s. “Damn her!” Julia swallowed. “No. After your dad died, I gave up the custody battle to protect your inheritance. That’s why Crystal and Victor were never able to get their hands on your money. But I realize that was a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Money doesn’t matter. It’s not worth the pain and betrayal that comes with it. But I thought you’d resent me if I fought for you and in the process lost everything your father wanted for your future. Matt wanted to protect you, to make sure you had everything you needed so you could create your own life.” She touched Emily’s cheek. She was struck by how much Emily looked like a Chandler. Emily was Matt’s daughter, through and through.
“I understand, Aunt Jules. Dad wanted me to have any future I wanted. Right now, I don’t know what I want. I mean, I’ll be seventeen next month, I should know. You did. Dad always told me you knew exactly who you were and where you were going.”
Julia’s heart swelled painfully. “Oh God, I miss your dad.”
“Me, too.”
Julia hugged her niece. She would never let her go again, even if it meant fighting Crystal in court.
The door opened and Connor walked in with Will Hooper, Dillon, and a female plainclothes cop Julia vaguely recognized. Will introduced her as Rachel Vasquez. She smiled at Emily, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks. “Ready to go hit on some cute pilots?”
Emily grinned. “Air force or marines?”
Rachel laughed. Connor squeezed Julia’s shoulder as Will said, “It’s a go. Chief Causey is giving his statement to the media. I’m taking Rachel and Emily to the airport.”
“Emily,” Julia said, “does the name Michelle O’Dell mean anything to you?”
Her niece shook her head.
“No. What about Jason Ridge or Shannon Chase?”
Emily thought, then shook her head again. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Jason was a football player who died from steroid use last year. He may have been on Wishlist.”
“Why do you say that?” Will asked.
“I spoke to his mother today. It didn’t go well, but she recognized the Wishlist name.”
Will’s phone rang. He excused himself and left the room.
Julia pulled Michelle’s photo out of her purse. “Emily, do you know this girl?”
She looked at the picture. “No.”
Connor grabbed it. “She was at Bowen’s party Saturday night. She came on to me.”
“She hit on you?” Julia asked, incredulous.
“Her name was, shit, let me think.” He closed his eyes. “Cami.”
“Cami?” Julia asked, frowning. “Was she wearing a red dress?”
“Yes.”
Julia tapped the picture. “This person you call Cami is Michelle O’Dell. I spoke to her not an hour ago and she said she was at Stanford all weekend.”
Will walked in and looked at Emily. “Do you know Dennis Richardson? Nickname Skip? He’s a senior at your school.”
Emily nodded. Julia took her hand. “Why?”
“He was stabbed to death in his bedroom sometime last night,” Will said. “Gage is already on-site.”
“It’s all unraveling and it’s your fault.”
The bitch paced. He wanted to kill her.
His voice was calm. “It’s under control.”
“Where’s that psychotic kid? What’s her name, Faye?”
“I don’t know,” he lied. “I haven’t seen her.”
Damn if he was going to sic this bitch on Faye. Not when she was so weak. If Faye was at full strength, there’d be no contest. Faye would win. It’s why he loved her. No matter what life threw at her, she survived. Damaged, maybe, but she’d go on. He’d kill himself before he’d let the bitch see Faye in her current weakened state, and there was no way in hell he’d kill himself.
“She butchered Skip. Butchered him. She’s not right in the head. You’d better not be protecting her. She’s our trump card. She’ll do anything to protect you, even confess to everything. And with Robbie and Skip gone, it’s all we need.”
She stared at him. “Tell her that. To save you, she needs to confess.”
“I told you, I haven’t seen her.”
She stepped toward him. “And I told you, I don’t believe you.”
Faye hadn’t s
tayed put like he commanded. She was listening from the upstairs hallway. He loves me. He was protecting her, even jeopardizing his own life, his own freedom, just for her.
He truly loves me.
She knew what to do.
Creeping down the upstairs hall, she took two more of the pills he’d been feeding her throughout the day. Though she didn’t know what they were, they made her feel better. She wished she had clothes. He’d burned the bloodied stuff she’d worn when she killed Skip. Now she searched his drawers and closet until she found an old faded T-shirt shrunk enough to fit her, and some running shorts where she could tie the drawstring tight around her waist. It would be enough to get her home. There, Faye could change before finishing the plan.
She went back downstairs and slipped out the back door.
But the bitch was right: Faye knew she had to confess. And she would, to protect him.
She only regretted that she wouldn’t be able to say good-bye.
Two hours later, Faye Kessler walked into the police station and said, “I killed Victor Montgomery.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dillon Kincaid stared at the girl who had announced an hour before that she had killed Victor Montgomery and four others.
They were in an interrogation room. Faye Kessler was seventeen, and in a capital offense they didn’t need parental permission to talk with her. They had, though, attempted to contact her father. Will had read Faye her rights and she clearly understood them.
“I’m not stupid,” she said.
Not stupid, Dillon thought, but her eyes were dead. Staring into those dark orbs Dillon had no doubt that Faye Kessler was capable of murder.
Not only had Faye told them she’d killed five people, she had the evidence to prove it. In front of him, Will tapped the Polaroid photograph of Garrett Bowen hanging from his chandelier.
Dillon couldn’t get over how pale and slender Faye was, perhaps in the beginning stages of anorexia. She wore a long, thin sweater, its sleeves covering her hands. She played with the frayed yarn ends constantly. Her mousy brown hair was shoulder length, clean but limp. She wasn’t an attractive girl, her face too long, nose too large, and forehead too high. But her eyes drew Dillon in, so deep and empty Dillon might have been afraid of this girl if they’d met under different circumstances. He wondered if she was on drugs. He’d get her a medical exam as soon as they were done, but for now a confession came first, especially since she appeared lucid and relatively healthy.
“Why did you come in today?” Will asked, their conversation being recorded.
“I told the cop behind the desk. I killed some people.”
“Who did you kill?”
“Do you want to hear about the first one or the last one? Or the others maybe?”
“Why don’t you start with this picture?” Dillon picked up the Polaroid in front of Will and showed it to her.
She stared at the picture, her face expressionless. “That’s Dr. Bowen.”
“Yes. Did you take this photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Is this the only picture you took that night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted it to remember him by.”
“And did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Dillon asked.
“Because.”
“Just because? You just felt like it?”
“We hated him.”
“Faye, who else hated him besides you?”
“Skip and Robbie.”
“Do you have full names for them?” Will asked.
“Skip’s real name is Dennis Richardson Jr. No one calls him Dennis, though, not even his parents. Robbie is Robert Haxton.”
“Where are they now?”
“Dead.”
Dillon hadn’t been out to the latest crime scene, but Will had described a violent and bloody murder. Skip Richardson had been butchered.
Faye showed no remorse, didn’t even raise her voice. There was not a quiver of emotion in the timbre. She looked from Dillon to Will with no apparent concern about her fate.
“What happened to Skip and Robbie?” Will asked.
“Robbie was a hothead. His father beat him, you know. All the time. I didn’t understand why he took it since now he’s bigger than George.” She shrugged, as if telling an unimportant story. “Robbie tried to kill Emily’s aunt. It was a stupid idea, but he did it all on his own. Just because he saw her at Dr. Bowen’s party Saturday night. Skip and I decided he was being stupid, so I brought him out to that huge quarry near San Marcos. We put him in some part they don’t really use anymore, so I didn’t think they’d find him for a while. We told him he had to leave the country. Gave him some money. Skip rigged the quarry to dump some big rocks on him when he got in his truck. It took half the day to set it up, but Skip is really good with mechanical things and made it work.”
“You and Skip killed Robbie. He was your friend?”
She nodded. Again, emotionless.
“So what happened to Skip?”
“I killed him.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to.”
Dillon had to work to refrain from showing emotion. Will was unsuccessful in hiding his anger and contempt.
“Because you wanted to?” Will asked, the words punching the air.
She nodded, waiting for the next question, casually rolling the edges of the sleeves between her fingers.
“Did Skip do something that upset you?”
“Not really. He was mad that Robbie tried to kill Emily’s aunt. Really angry. I didn’t like that.”
“How did you kill Dr. Bowen?”
“Robbie, Skip, and I came into the house during his big party and we hid upstairs until everyone had gone. It’s a big house, lots of places to hide and no one knew we were there.” She smiled at the memory. “When Dr. Bowen came upstairs, Skip hit him with the Taser gun we stole from Judge Montgomery’s house. Then we got the noose over his head and threw him off the balcony.”
“Why did you hang him?”
“I’m not sure. It was Skip’s idea. Or maybe Robbie’s. Well, we were just talking about it and thought it would be fun to try.”
Dillon had met hundreds of killers during his nearly eleven years as a psychiatrist. Never had he met someone as even-tempered and matter-of-fact as youthful Faye Kessler. Many killers had no remorse for the actual murder, but most didn’t want to go to prison. They would lie, manipulate, yell, plead, cry, promise the moon, do anything to get a lighter sentence or convince anyone that the killing was justified.
Faye Kessler was either a brilliant actress or one of the few true psychopaths Dillon had met.
“How did you get the noose up the chandelier?” Will asked.
“There’s a button by the front door. Skip knew about it because he has one in his house. It lowers the chandelier, for cleaning I guess.”
She had definitely been at the crime scene.
“Why did you set up Dr. Bowen’s death to look like a suicide, but then wipe down the banisters?”
“Robbie forgot to bring gloves.” She sighed and shook her head, as if Robbie were simply a forgetful child.
“Why? Why did you kill Dr. Bowen?”
“We didn’t like him. He was so snooty, always wanting us to talk about our feelings, why we did this or that, or whatever. He tried to have so much control over us.”
“Control?”
“Yeah. If he didn’t like something we said or did, he was going to file a report with the court and have us institutionalized. He did it before, you know.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know, we just knew.”
“Did you kill Judge Montgomery?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He hurt one of our friends.”
“Who?”
“Emily. She goes to my school. She was on Wishlist with us.”
“How did you know it was Emily?”
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“Wishlist is supposed to be all secret and stuff, but Skip was a brainiac when it came to computers and stuff. Anytime someone new posted, he’d hack around and discover who it was.”
“Do you have a list of everyone on Wishlist?”
Faye frowned. It was obvious she wasn’t expecting the question.
“I don’t.”
“Did Skip have the list?”
“He might have.”
“And you and Emily went to the same school?”
Faye nodded, more comfortable with this line of questioning.
“We had Western Civ together last year. She was nice to me. Not everyone is nice to me because I’m ugly.”
“But you’re not ugly, Faye,” Dillon said.
Faye looked down at her hands, still worrying the fabric at the end of the sweater. “It’s okay. I know I am. Emily was beautiful but she was so sad, too. We talked some. Found out we both saw Dr. Bowen. She told me about the vandalism, though I already knew about that. It’d be on the news and, well, everyone at school knew. So when she started posting on Wishlist, I was pretty sure it was her and Skip confirmed it. So then we just listened to what she had to say.” Faye looked up. For the first time, Dillon saw complete clarity in her eyes. “No one listens to kids. Parents and teachers are too busy to be bothered. And Dr. Bowen didn’t really care what we said, just cared if he could fix us for some magazine article or something. Some of us aren’t even broken.”
She looked back down. “But some of us are. And sometimes you can’t fix what’s broken, and you can break things that are just fine the way they are.”
Dillon asked in a low, compassionate voice, “Why were you seeing Dr. Bowen?”
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” She stared at Dillon, eyes narrowing. “You’re a shrink, too, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a psychiatrist.”
Anger flashed across her face, the first real emotion aside from compassion for Emily. “You’re all control freaks. Everyone has to fit in some compartment or category. Circles in fucking circles and squares in fucking squares. Why can’t you just leave us alone? Why can’t you just shut up?” Faye was working herself up, had risen from her chair during her tirade. The switch from complete calm to anger had been startling.
See No Evil e-2 Page 26