I'm Still Here: A Novel

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I'm Still Here: A Novel Page 16

by Jon Mills


  Right then just as she was about to head off to bed — glass shattered. It was so loud and startling she instinctively dropped to a crouch. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Dad?” she called out, fearing for his safety.

  She hurried down the hallway and entered the living room at the front of the house and then heard a car pull away. Her service weapon was upstairs in her suitcase. The squeal of tires cut into the silence. By the time she reached the window they were gone.

  On the ground a few feet from the shattered window was a brick, a scrap of paper was wrapped around it, held together by a piece of twine. She picked it up and read the note.

  “GET THE FUCK OUT OF BLACKMORE!”

  She peered out but besides a couple of neighbors looking out their windows, the street was once again quiet. She looked at the mess and sighed. Over the next five minutes she used a brush and pan to clear up the shards of glass and then sealed the window with black trash bags and tape.

  After the police arrived and grilled her with umpteen questions, it had just turned eleven when she climbed into a recliner chair across from her father. After what had just happened she wasn’t going to let him sleep downstairs alone. She placed her service weapon on the table beside her and shut her eyes hoping to get some rest, even if it was just a few hours.

  Chapter 19

  Friday morning began with an argument. Kara’s father wanted to blame her for the window for no other reason than to avoid the conversation about driving home drunk.

  “You need to return to New York. It’s not safe here,” he said, tipping coffee from a French press into a mug.

  “You could have killed someone, Dad.”

  He waved her off like an annoying fly. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

  “Oh no? Then do you want to tell me how you ended up on the couch?” He cast a glance at her but before he could reply she continued. “I carried you in. You were sprawled out in the front yard like a frat boy.”

  “Arrest me or put a pin in it. I’m tired of listening to this.”

  He grabbed his coffee and headed out into his garage. That had always been his way even when her mother was alive. Confrontations weren’t their strong point. Then again, they weren’t hers either. The phone beside her rattled on the table and she glanced at it. The caller ID showed it was Michael. She knew he’d make the call eventually and if it weren’t for her son she wouldn’t have answered.

  Kara took a deep breath then answered. “Michael. I was meaning to phone you.”

  “Of course you were. Now you told me you would be back by now. Ethan is still here. What’s going on?”

  “Right, about that.”

  “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

  “I just need a few more days.”

  “You said you were there for the funeral and that was it, but that’s not it, is it?”

  She breathed in deeply. “There’s been an attempted abduction.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a possibility that I might be able to help.”

  She heard him groan. “I knew it. I knew it. I’m telling you, Kara. You need to get back now. I have a life.”

  “Yes, you do. Ethan is a part of that.”

  “Oh don’t you try spinning this around. This year I’ve had him at my place more times than you have.”

  “And most fathers would be happy about that.”

  He sighed. “I am except I need my space.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  “I meant we need our space.”

  “And by we, you mean, you and Laura.”

  “I’m not doing this. You are not dragging me into an argument and spinning this around to make yourself look like the victim. I have bent over backwards to help you over the past year and a half while you were working the Swanson investigation but there is a limit. You either come home now or I’ll be speaking with the lawyers.”

  “Huh. Really? We already share joint custody.”

  “We do. Joint means we share the load.”

  Kara scoffed. “Oh, so Ethan is a load. A real heavy burden, is he?”

  “He must be if you keep pawning him off on me.”

  “You know I can’t be there to watch over him every second of the day.”

  “You’re his mother, for God’s sake! Act like one.”

  She exhaled.

  “Tuesday. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

  “In five more days? Are you kidding me? Laura and I were planning on going away.”

  “Oh really? Where?” she asked.

  “None of your damn business.”

  “Then take Ethan. I’m sure he’ll stay out of your hair.”

  “You know what, Kara. This is why our marriage fell apart. It was nothing to do with your work. It was to do with you. The choices you make. I tried my hardest. Did everything I could to please you but it was never enough. So if you want to hold a grudge against me actually getting on with my life, I don’t want to hear about it. We are done. And if you’re not back here by Sunday, I’ll be in contact with the lawyers on Monday.”

  “And what do you hope to gain from that? Sole custody?” She laughed.

  “Screw you.”

  He hung up. She sat there for a second and squeezed the bridge of her nose, then counted to ten under her breath with her eyes closed. She snapped at the elastic around her wrist and headed over to the sink to take her pills. She tossed them back with water and gripped the sides of the sink. Everything inside her wanted to scream but she needed to keep it together. Focus. Put that energy into today.

  A list of seven level 3 sex offenders that lived within a seven-mile radius of where the attempted abduction had taken place was on Noah’s desk. There was also one message from a family. They wanted to know when victim services was going to contact them because their son was having a hard time sleeping after a home invasion.

  He’d arrived at the office at eight that morning. There was no magic involved in catching someone who did this, just a lot of banging on doors, and hopefully tips from the community. After returning the call, reassuring them he was going to do everything he could to catch those that broke in, Noah gave them a name and the number for victim services. It wasn’t much of a gesture but even the smallest offer could give a family a sense that they hadn’t been forgotten.

  Once he got off the phone, he made a few more calls related to the triple homicide he’d been working on, before scooping up the list of sex offenders and going to speak with the chief about Kara. He was almost sure he would shoot it down because having anyone from State hanging around the department only attracted the media, and that meant answering questions and being held responsible for solving what might end up being a closed investigation. The thought of banging on doors with Kara beside him put his nerves on edge. He was used to working alone or with those he knew. She was a bit of a wild card. Her experience working on high-profile cases was the only thing she had going for her, that and whatever arrangements she’d made with Washington State Patrol’s investigative division.

  He gave a knock on the door. Sheriff Vernon Armstrong was tapping away on his computer. He dipped his head and peered over his thick rimmed glasses.

  “Come in.”

  He took a seat. “Chief, it’s regarding the attempted abduction. I want to bring someone in from Washington State Bureau to assist.”

  “But we don’t have a missing person.”

  “No, we don’t, however, I strongly believe whoever attempted this will try again and with the recent triple homicide, that auto theft last month and the domestic, I’m juggling a number of cases. I think having the expertise of the bureau would greatly speed things up, and it would be good to have someone with a fresh set of eyes look over what we have so far.”

  “Which is?”

  He held up a list of names. “Sex offenders. Level 3. Within 7 miles of Highland Hills. I was going to bang on a few doors today and see what we can dig up.”

  “And you need State in
volved?”

  “They offered,” Noah said.

  “So you’ve already been in contact?”

  “Well I think there is a possibility this could be connected to the four missing boys.”

  Armstrong leaned back in his seat and removed his glasses and tapped the earpiece against his teeth. “Those are cold cases.”

  “Cold but active.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah ‘active,’” he said, making quote signs with his fingers. It was a running joke that cases that had never been solved were left open but classed active. It gave the families, the media and the higher-ups a sense that something was being done even if it wasn’t. “Who’s working it?”

  “Tim Greer,” Noah said.

  “Not according to my last conversation with him.”

  “Well we’ve had the attempted abduction, that always sparks leads.”

  “And what did State suggest?”

  He bit his lower lip knowing that eventually it would get back to him who State had sent. “State hasn’t suggested anything. The offer is there to get help. I think it’s worth taking. I’m not talking about getting the FBI involved but even if we could glean a few insights from them and have them handle questioning a few persons of interest I’d think that’s worthwhile.”

  Armstrong nodded. “I’ll speak to Tim.”

  “Actually, he wouldn’t be the one assisting.”

  “Then who would?”

  Oh he knew he’d ask.

  “Kara Walker.”

  He put his glasses down, and chuckled. “Anna Walker’s daughter?”

  Noah nodded.

  “No. It’s not happening,” he said putting his glasses back on and looking at the screen.

  “But you said—”

  “If State wants to send Tim, that’s fine but I don’t want Walker involved. She’s not even working for Washington State Patrol.” He resumed tapping on his keyboard.

  Noah leaned forward. “No but their bureaus do work together across state lines. She’s already been in contact with Tim.”

  “No, I’m not having her involved.”

  “Chief. You know how many cases she has closed in her short career?”

  “I don’t care if she holds the world record. People know her family, and her history here in Clallam. It would be a conflict of interest.”

  “No, it would be ludicrous to pass up the opportunity to work with someone with her track record.”

  Armstrong peered over his glasses. “From what I can remember, the Swanson case isn’t solved. And I believe the media recently said she’d been reassigned.”

  “Reassigned? She came back for her mother’s funeral.”

  “Not according to the DA’s office. I was reading an article online yesterday about the Swanson case. What a screw-up they have made of that. The chance of anyone getting convicted is slim to none. You mark my words, it will be dragged out for another year and then the DA’s office will take it to a grand jury and will choose not to prosecute. The whole thing will be swept under the rug, classed an open case but with no active investigation. It’s the way they all do it now if they screw up.” He leaned forward. “We don’t need the bad press, Goodman.”

  “We won’t. I’ll take the lead, she’ll tag along as and when required.”

  Chief Armstrong grumbled and rolled his head around. “Listen, if I get one complaint, she is off the case. No exceptions. No second chance. You hear me?”

  He got up and shook the paper in his hand. “Don’t worry, Chief.”

  “Yeah, right. Get out of here. Go do some work.”

  As soon as he got back to his desk he dialed Kara’s number.

  “Kara? I got it green-lit. Did you square it away with your BCI lieutenant?”

  “I had the conversation this morning. He wasn’t too happy about it but between that or me resigning he didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  “You have your service weapon?” Noah asked.

  “I do.”

  “Good. You think you can meet me in fifteen minutes in front of the Cliffhouse restaurant?”

  At 10:30 a.m. he collected her from the restaurant and they headed to the first of twelve offenders. She was dressed in a dark leather jack, white blouse, slacks and small heels. Professional but not over the top. She also looked pissed.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Oh not much. Came home to find my dad out cold on the lawn and then some community-minded folks fired a brick through our window as a friendly gesture.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, Blackmore is handling it.”

  He wanted to ask further questions but she tapped the door looking impatient.

  As they rolled away his mind shifted back to the men on the list. On numerous occasions he’d had to visit their premises. It was routine if and when there was a sex crime, an attempted abduction or a missing kid. They were the first ones they looked at. He hated dealing with them. They were scum to him. If he had his way they would be locked up for life and the key would be tossed away. Not all of them were the same. They were each assigned a different risk level from 1 to 3 with 2 and 3 being the most at risk of reoffending. Those were the ones that were watched more closely. Anytime someone went missing or an attempt had been made, they would coordinate with the county probation office. Every high-risk offender also had to abide by certain rules, from where they could live and how close they could get to a school or a child-care facility, through abstaining from drinking, giving up their computer, wearing a GPS monitor, taking lie detector tests, telling their future partners about their history, to even getting chemically castrated. That was something the law should have imposed on all of them. Unfortunately only seven states had opted to have a court order this, and it was rarely carried out.

  The first guy they saw was a swim teacher by the name of Allan Marshall who had molested a number of underage minors and had ended up doing twenty years inside. On the surface he looked like your ordinary clean-cut guy who held down a steady job, had a girlfriend and drove a sensible car, however, behind all of that lurked a mentally unstable individual who was caught when two of his victims came forward. At first he lawyered up, but when four more came forward they knew they were fighting a losing battle. He now worked as a cook for a nursing home. The irony wasn’t wasted.

  As soon as they pulled into his driveway he was just about to get into a 4 x 4 truck. He was a thin man that looked ten years older than he was with sunken eyes. He still dressed like any other American in their forties. There was a curvy dark-skinned woman in her late thirties with him. The second he saw Noah he put a hand to his head and said something to her.

  “Just let me handle this,” Noah said.

  “By all means,” Kara replied climbing out.

  Allan got all theatric raising his arms out wide. “Detective Goodman. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Let’s go inside, Allan.”

  “I’ve not done anything wrong.”

  Noah walked up to his truck eyeing the new woman. “Didn’t say you did.” He made a gesture to her. “And who’s this pretty little thing?”

  She gave a smile.

  “Look, I have an appointment.”

  “Really? With who?”

  Allan scratched the side of his face. Noah looked at the woman.

  “Do you know he’s a registered sex offender?”

  Her eyes lit up and darted towards him.

  “Oh come on, man.”

  Kara smirked as Noah made a tutting sound with his lips. “Allan. I would have thought you would have shared that little tidbit with her.”

  The woman had her door partially open as though she was about to get in the truck, instead she slammed it, gave him the stink eye and trudged away as Allan protested.

  “Alliyah, come on. It’s a misunderstanding. The cops are always like this.”

  “Well that has got to be the shortest relationship you’ve had, although that isn’t counting the ones you had with those underage boys,
is it?”

  Allan threw his hands up. “Fuck’s sake.”

  “Let’s go inside.”

  For ten minutes they searched through his house and peppered him with questions. Noah took down notes, phoned a few numbers to confirm his whereabouts on the night of the attempted abduction and once it was all squared away they left.

  Allan stood at the door, a glum look on his face.

  “Keep up the good work, Allan. We’ll soon turn you into a model citizen.”

  “Do you always wind them up like that?” Kara asked.

  “Hey, I don’t get to see them often.” He grinned as he got back into the vehicle.

  They visited four more before Kara brought up their names.

  “So out of the three suspects only Seth Leonard has a rap sheet for sexual offenses,” she said.

  “Yep, however, rumors have circulated about Ray Owen and Darryl Clayton. I was going to leave Seth until the end but he doesn’t live that far from here. Let’s take a little ride over to his neck of the woods.”

  Noah spun the car around and floored the accelerator pedal.

  Chapter 20

  Parked outside the home of Seth Leonard, both of them stared at the rusted business sign jammed into his neglected lawn. It read: Exotic Woods. Wildflowers mixed with weeds, and branches from a tree had snapped and lay on the front lawn begging to be removed. A tan-colored Oldsmobile was parked at the far end of the driveway in front of a one-story home with dark gray shingles and black shutters. There were pine trees to the right and left, and several overgrown hedges that badly needed trimming back.

  Leonard had held the position as deacon at the Catholic church in Blackmore until he was charged with molesting two minors back in 1978. He was convicted in 1979 and placed in the Walla Walla pen until 1987 when he was placed on 10 years’ supervised release. There were specific conditions that he had to meet, including reporting to his parole officer within 72 hours of his release, no contact with minors, no viewing pornography, attending treatment, and not leaving the limits of his judicial district without written permission. On top of that he had to notify his probation officer within two days if he changed his address, he had to file a report each month, he couldn’t violate any law, he couldn’t associate with anyone involved in crime, he couldn’t be an informant to law enforcement and he had to perform work to the satisfaction of his probation officer. If that wasn’t enough, he couldn’t drink alcohol in excess, he couldn’t use drugs or go where they were sold, he couldn’t possess a firearm or ammunition, and he had to submit to drug testing on a regular basis.

 

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