by Libby Howard
The judge’s frown deepened. “He had got in some serious trouble as a kid. I’m surprised he’s not in jail, honestly.”
I looked up in surprise. “For a DWI and drugs? Was he that much of a user in high school?”
“No, actually, he was clean as far as drugs and alcohol back then. In high school, he wasn’t really a problem beyond a few pranks like turning the water in the City Hall fountain green, or putting tuna fish in mailboxes one summer until this serious thing happened. I wasn’t involved since the case was moved elsewhere, but I heard about it through the grapevine.”
What other trouble? And what trouble could be bad enough to send David Briscane to court, and have the case moved out of the county?
“He was a minor?” Nothing had come up on a case search. That plus the judge’s reticence in naming the “issue” meant that David Briscane must have been under eighteen when it happened.
Judge Beck nodded. “Yeah, just under eighteen.”
He wasn’t tried as an adult, so it couldn’t have been that bad. I ran through possible scenarios in my mind and came up with involuntary manslaughter. That’s the sort of thing that wouldn’t be pushed into an adult trial, and depending on the evidence, might even result in probation before judgment. And I could see Mayor Briscane, then Councilman Briscane, wanting to have the trial moved out of the county away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.
I looked back at the screen, at the minor charges listed over the last five years for David Briscane. “Well, whatever it was, he must have learned his lesson, because none of this looks any worse than half of the young men in town.”
Judge Beck stood, giving the computer screen one last glance. “I hope so, because I really don’t want to see that come up on the docket ever again.”
Chapter 21
“Hey Daisy, do you remember David Briscane, the mayor’s son?” We were relaxing in the backyard gazebo with our coffee and the freshly made muffins from last night. This morning’s temperature was close to sixty and I found myself looking around the yard, planning where some spring bulbs might look nice. It would be too late for them to bloom this year, but if I got some in now, next spring would be gorgeous.
She nodded. “Yeah. Is he back in town? His father basically forbade him to come within a hundred miles of Locust Point.”
No wonder if he’d been in as much trouble as Judge Beck had implied. “He was meeting with his Dad last weekend. I’m assuming he probably needs money.”
Daisy sniffed. “I doubt it. After what happened in high school, his parents gave him a huge sum in trust. I’m talking huge. Then they sent him away to college and set him up in business on the other side of the state. I’ve got no idea why Pete would even agree to see him.”
My curiosity was killing me. “What happened in high school? A manslaughter case? Reckless driving? A dare gone wrong?”
“Hardly. He strangled a girl.” Daisy’s voice was tight. “It was a teenage girl from Milford. Pete hushed it all up because he didn’t want a scandal. The girl was poor, and David had the best lawyers, so he got probation. It’s all sealed and off his record since he was a minor at the time.”
I was in so much shock that I could barely think. “Strangled? He strangled a girl to death and got probation? What on God’s green earth is going on with our judicial system?”
And the parallels to Caryn Swanson’s client weren’t escaping me. Could the killer possibly be the mayor’s son?
Daisy shot me a grim look. “He said it was some sex thing gone wrong, that it was consensual and they’d just taken it too far. Evidently, they’d done it before. Her friends testified that the girl liked that kind of thing. So it wound up being ruled an accident. A tragic, kinky accident.”
I just couldn’t imagine this. “Was it? I mean, how do you know this, when no one else in town does?”
“I knew the girl. We had an outreach thing going on and she was one of my kids. She wasn’t kinky. I don’t believe she liked that sort of thing. But she was poor, and desperate, and from what I could tell, he was giving her money to participate. I didn’t know who it was or what was happening, or I would have gone straight to Pete myself. I knew she was having sex with someone, knew she was getting paid. I saw some bruises on her neck, and thought maybe she was being beaten up either by this boyfriend or someone at home. I was trying to help her, but with abuse victims, it takes time. I didn’t have time. She didn’t, either. She was dead before I could get her to leave him.”
Oh, poor Daisy. Poor…Milford girl. “What was her name?” She needed a name. She couldn’t be some nameless girl strangled ten years ago.
“Desiree Trottenhaus.”
Poor Desiree Trottenhaus.
Strangled. Just like Caryn Swanson had been strangled. Just like some john had paid a whole lot of money to have Caryn participate in this sort of thing. And David Briscane had been back in town that weekend. Had he killed Caryn to avoid having all that brought up again? Had he killed her, then gone to Pete for help, or had he asked Pete for help, then killed Caryn because he’d been turned down?
But I had no proof. There was nothing beyond some obscure code in a black book and the word of a woman who would refuse to testify that Caryn had a client who liked that sort of thing. Even so, there had to be more than one person in the state who had that kink. David Briscane could claim it had been a teenage thing and that he’d given that up after he’d accidently killed his partner. There was no proof. None at all.
Daisy headed home and I purposely stayed in the kitchen, waiting to ambush Judge Beck when he came down. As soon as he walked into the kitchen, I handed him a cup of coffee and went right for the jugular.
“I know David Briscane was tried for involuntary manslaughter for strangling that girl from Milford in some sex game gone wrong. What’s your thought on it? Is he the type who would do it again? Was it just teenage experimentation, or something he truly enjoys?”
Judge Beck sipped his coffee and slowly shook his head. “You’re like a terrier, Kay. You just dig and dig and dig. I’ve got no idea how you discovered that between last night and this morning, but I’m thinking Pierson isn’t paying you enough.”
True, but that didn’t answer my question. “I’ve got reason to believe one of Caryn Swanson’s clients, one she serviced personally, was into breath play. What are the odds that David Briscane might be that client?”
The judge frowned thoughtfully. “His father pretty much banned him from the town. I can’t imagine David would risk coming here just to pay someone for sex.”
“But sex that involved strangulation? I’m willing to bet most prostitutes wouldn’t touch that one no matter the money. Caryn Swanson was running a ring that catered to all sorts of kinks that people wouldn’t want publicly known. Guys drove hours to come here and get…stuff that they couldn’t get elsewhere.”
“I guess. But I’m not sure…” He took another drink of coffee. “David confessed. He knew things that only the one who killed that girl would know. Her friends said it had been consensual, that they had been together for quite a few months. But there’s been nothing since then. Either it was teen experimentation and he never did it again, or he perfected his technique and hasn’t pushed it too far.”
“David was paying that girl. And Caryn’s client didn’t kill her in a sex act. I think he killed her because he was worried she’d expose him to get a lesser sentence.”
The judge frowned. “Possibly. I don’t know. I think it’s someone else. I got a weird vibe during that whole thing with David. I wasn’t a judge then, and I didn’t have anything to do with the trial, but I knew people who did. He just didn’t seem like the killer type. He seemed like a scared kid who was willing to confess and take whatever the justice system dealt him. I think that’s one of the reasons he got a PBJ. He came across as horrified over the whole thing and completely accepting the fact that he might go to jail. He was penitent.”
Maybe I was going down the wrong road. I trusted Judge
Beck’s opinion, trusted that he had good intuition on these sorts of things. From what he’d said, David didn’t sound like the type who would be a repeat offender. He might have been a troublemaker, and continued to have some minor run-ins with the law, but nothing that would indicate he was continuing this sort of sexual activity, let alone capable to premeditated murder.
“There was that one witness,” he mused. “Someone who claimed she knew the victim from some community action program and said that David wasn’t the one who killed the girl. He confessed, and all the other evidence pointed to him, so the prosecution just assumed she was a nutcase or a druggie and didn’t pursue it. Sheila something. Not that it mattered.”
It probably didn’t matter. David Briscane killed that girl back in high school, and I felt that he was probably the top suspect in Caryn Swanson’s murder, too. “I know you don’t believe me, but he was in town during the window that Caryn Swanson was most likely killed, he had the same kink as one of her personal clients. And with a PBJ, he most definitely wouldn’t want to be exposed as continuing to strangle his sexual partners.”
Judge Beck shook his head. “It doesn’t add up, Kay. His being here and the similarity in the kink is circumstantial. We’ve no idea if that client is the one that killed Swanson, and David would have no reason to kill her even if he were the client. Autoerotic asphyxiation between consensual partners isn’t a crime. It’s not like he’d suffer if his reputation was damaged. Anyone who did some digging could undercover the previous trial, which you just proved. He owns a BBQ joint on the other side of the state. He was a minor and it was involuntary manslaughter. Why kill a woman over being exposed as someone who paid for kinky sex?”
He was right, but outside of the motivation, there were too many coincidences for me to ignore. There had to be something down this road. Whether it led to David Briscane or not, I had to keep going down it.
Chapter 22
I had a stack of files awaiting me at work, which was surprising for a Friday. Four skip traces for a new client that we wanted to impress with a thorough investigation and a quick turn-around, two bail clients to research, and one boat repossession. How someone expected to hide a boat was beyond me. We wouldn’t be able to go into a garage to retrieve it, but it would be easy enough to get a court order while making sure the debtor didn’t hook it up to a truck and haul it away.
J.T. came in around ten, looking stressed. His formerly bald head was sporting some fuzz, and the grungy jeans-and-tank-top look was back, paired with a set of cowboy boots. I gave him the work I’d done yesterday and reviewed it with him, jotting down the priorities for today and telling him I’d take home anything I didn’t get done today. I was working as much in the evening as Judge Beck lately. I liked being busy and I loved my job, but the last few days had been too busy for me to immerse myself in a baking extravaganza or try to master the art of the knitted washcloth. Plus, I still had the rest of Eli’s stuff to go through, the herb garden to replant, and the hot tub to prep and fill for the kids. And Taco had been sadly neglected the last two days. The cat clearly needed more petting, and my evening hours at the computer weren’t allowing me to have much kitty-time. Maybe I should ask for a raise.
“Hey, what do you know about David Briscane’s legal troubles?” I asked him once we were done with the review of the day’s work.
His eyebrows shot up. “He did some vandalism of the City Hall fountain like ten years ago. Mostly just kids-gone-wild kind of stuff. I know Pete was really stressed about his shenanigans and was worried that David’s actions would reflect badly on him and ruin his political career. Then when that scandal happened David’s senior year, I thought Pete was going to wind up with a heart attack.”
“The manslaughter case,” I commented.
J. T. nodded, but shot me a surprised look. “Pete covered that up pretty well. It was in Milford. The two were minors. The trial got moved three counties away. Even as bad as gossip is in this town, I doubt more than a handful of people knew about it. And those who did felt sorry for Pete. No one wanted to see him ruined because his son screwed up and accidently killed some girl.”
That was a pretty big screw up. I couldn’t help but bristle at J.T.’s dismissal of the fact that a girl died. “Do you think it was just youthful sexual experimentation, or that David is really into that sort of thing, that he might still be into that sort of thing?”
“You don’t think…” His eyes widened. “Do you think David was one of Caryn Swanson’s clients? But why? Why would he drive hours to get sex? He’s a good-looking guy, and a charge as a minor wouldn’t keep him from getting any bootie.”
“She specialized in kink, and that was one of the kinks she provided.”
J.T.’s gaze slid over to my computer screen. “You found all that out online? Good grief, our detectives need to start doing this. They could solve cases without leaving the station.”
I figured I’d just let him believe that. No sense in going into a long explanation about Daisy’s volunteer work years ago and Sydney’s side job. “Caryn Swanson provided that kind of service. Many of their clients drove a considerable distance for this sort of thing. If David was into it, maybe he was one of her clients. Maybe he really didn’t want anyone, especially his father, to find out.”
It was a weak motive and I knew it, but J.T. nodded. “I should tell Pete. He’ll blow a gasket. David has been so much trouble. This time, he’ll probably just let him go to jail. A man can’t be held to blame for his son’s behavior, especially when he’s done so much to help him.”
For some weird reason, I didn’t want Pete to know. Was it that I didn’t want him thinking I was a snoop? That I was afraid that I was wrong as Judge Beck said, and I’d be causing an innocent man grief? Or because I was afraid that I was right and I’d wind up with a target on my head?
“It’s a theory,” I hastily explained. “Probably a bit of a stretch. I mean, I’m not a detective, and I’m not privy to the details of the case.”
“Still, I should let Pete know. I mean, if this woman provided that kind of sex, it’s a possibility that David is in that black book we gave to the police.”
“Do you think he still does that sort of thing?” I asked, returning to my original question. “Maybe it’s a coincidence and what he did was just a one-time thing that went wrong.”
J.T. thought for a moment. “He’s weird. I hate to say that about Pete’s son, but he’s weird. Nervous and jumpy, kind of sullen. I think if he did that once, he was most likely into that sort of thing. Kids experiment, but not with that. It takes a sick mind to do that sort of thing.”
It still didn’t explain the lack of concrete motive. David might be weird and he still might enjoy strangling women as a part of sex, but he didn’t have anything to lose in having that kink exposed.
J.T. left for the day and I worked on the stack of files beside my computer. Around lunch time, I called Daisy and asked her if she’d ever known a Sheila, who was Desiree Trottenhaus’s friend.
“She wasn’t really a friend; she was someone who was in the program with Desiree. Why?”
“I heard that she didn’t think David Briscane killed Desiree, that the boyfriend who was paying her to have sex was someone else.”
Daisy sucked in a breath. “Then why would David take the fall for it? He confessed.”
“Sometimes innocent people confess and plead guilty when they feel the evidence is so overwhelming that they’ll never appear innocent to a jury.” I thought again about what Judge Beck had said. If David had been covering for someone, he had to have known the details that only the killer knew. Was it a friend? Was it a lover? Maybe David was gay and his bisexual lover killed the girl by accident, and David took the fall, knowing his Dad would get him the best lawyers and help him with the trial.
Maybe I was really, really stretching. David knew the details. He’d confessed and thrown himself on the mercy of the court. This Sheila must have been confused. Maybe Desiree was getting pai
d for sex by multiple men. Maybe David had nothing at all to do with Caryn Swanson or her death.
“Sheila Pitt. I can look her up and see what happened to her. She used to live in Bradley Heights, just outside of Milford.”
I thanked Daisy and asked her to text me if she found anything. Then I hung up and got to work. By quitting time, I still had a stack of folders I’d need to take home with me, but I had Sheila Pitt’s phone number. I left a message for her, explaining the reason for my call, then packed up and headed for home.
A small white envelope fluttered out from the crack in the door to the ground as I walked out. I picked it up and carefully opened it. Sometimes clients dropped by checks for payment of various services, and left them in the door. I was pretty sure I would have heard someone knock, but maybe I’d been too engrossed in my research to notice.
I know who killed Caryn Swanson. I’m afraid to go to the police. Meet me back behind the truck stop where the semis park at ten tonight.
The same spot where I’d found Caryn’s car. I might be a terrier, as Judge Beck called me, but I wasn’t stupid. There was no way I was going to go traipsing around a dimly-lit section of the truck stop parking area with heavily sleeping truckers. Still, I was very curious as to who this was. It could be legitimate, or it could be a trap. Well, I intended to set a trap of my own. If this was one of Caryn’s girls who wanted to come forward, I’d follow up. If it was the killer, then the police would follow up.
Chapter 23
I was home finishing up the case files from today with Taco snoozing on my lap and the remains of my chicken dinner perched precariously at the edge of my desk. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, moonlight peeking through the window. Judge Beck still wasn’t home. I doubted he was out with friends or on a date with the divorce in process.
My phone rang. And I recognized the number. Sheila. I answered and waited for her to respond.