by Marti Green
Four teenage girls, abducted and killed. All of the girls had long blonde hair. All were good students, not part of a party scene. Tommy looked over at his own teenage daughters, both sitting at the dining-room table and doing their homework, insulated from the ugliness in the world. There were times when he thought they should be warned beyond the usual—don’t get in cars with strangers, don’t give anyone you don’t know your personal information, don’t drink and drive, don’t do drugs. The litany most parents tell their kids. Sometimes he wanted to say, “There are sick people in the world. Always look behind you. Be suspicious of everyone.” But he didn’t want his children to go through life afraid.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. At least they have dark hair.
CHAPTER
43
As soon as Jonah’s school bus pulled away, Dani began her five-mile jog. Katie was in the house with Ruth, and she had a little more than an hour before she needed to leave for work. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, typical for New York in the winter, but she’d dressed in layers and welcomed the briskness on her cheeks. She ran toward Bronxville Lake, then did a loop around it. Running cleared her head and helped her work out problems. Usually, they were problems with cases. Which ones to take, how to persuade a prosecutor to test DNA, what arguments to make to convince a jury her client was innocent. Today, all she could think about was California. And Jonah. When did he become so grown up? She thought she’d been worrying about Jonah’s needs when she fought going with Doug to Stanford, but now she realized it was about her. Her need to stay in New York. Her wish to continue working at HIPP. She’d been selfish. Yet, even recognizing that, she still found it hard to acquiesce. She shook her head. There was time to figure out what was best. Months before Doug would leave.
Her thoughts turned to Osgood. He seemed like such a sweet-tempered man. People who knew him back before his arrest said the same thing about him. How could they have thought he was capable of murder? She knew the answer. It was because he was different. And different made people uncomfortable. The group residence she’d found for him was a place where no one judged him. She hoped the DNA results came back soon. Dani was certain they would exonerate her client, and then he could return to the residence. He might not have a father who cared about him, but there, he had friends who did.
She finished her run, then showered and dressed for work. Before she left, she sat down with Katie.
“Doug’s been offered the position of dean at Stanford Law School.”
Katie’s eye’s widened. “That’s great for him. I bet you’re proud.”
Dani lifted her shoulders in a half shrug. “Sure. But it’s California. I don’t want to leave New York.”
“Oh, Dani, we all need to sacrifice for our family sometimes.”
Of course, Dani knew that was true. She glanced up at the ceiling, then back at Katie. “You wouldn’t be able to take care of Jonah and Ruth.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’d really miss you.”
Katie wrapped her arms around Dani and pulled her close. “You’ll always be my second family,” she whispered in Dani’s ear. “Even if you live across the country.” She let go of Dani, then stepped back. “Besides, Ralph’s been complaining that I don’t spend enough time with him. Now, he can get his wish.”
It came to Tommy as soon as he awakened that morning—the task he’d put off for later and then forgotten. As soon as he arrived in the office, he placed a call to Fitz Webber, the Stone Ridge High School football coach when Johnson played on the team. It was picked up on the third ring.
“Are you the Fitz Webber who coached football at Stone Ridge High School back in 1992?”
“The very same.”
Tommy introduced himself, then asked, “Do you remember Greg Johnson?”
“I coached football for twenty-six years, and I remember every one of my boys. Not just the starters but the benchwarmers, too.”
“By any chance, do you remember if Johnson ever got a concussion playing football?”
The coach laughed. “A concussion? Boy, that kid just about specialized in getting knocked out. Must have had three or four while in high school. A real trooper, though. He’d get knocked out, sit on the bench a quarter, then go right back in. You got to understand, we didn’t know then about the lasting effects of too many concussions. Nowadays, we’d make him skip a few games until he was all better. But—”
“Thank you,” Tommy said, interrupting him. He had the feeling Webber enjoyed talking and would keep going all morning if allowed. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“I remember he and his best friends used to have a bet going on who would get more concussions before they graduated. The three of them were thick as thieves.”
“His friends?”
“Derek Whitman and Russ Jessup. I think it was Jessup that won the bet. He beat Johnson by two.”
Tommy hung up the phone, stunned. Ever since the psychologist had told Dani the connection between head trauma and serial killers, it had further fueled his belief that Greg Johnson had murdered his girlfriend. His call to the football coach had been to confirm what he’d suspected—that Johnson had sustained at least one concussion on the football field. Now, for the first time, he had to consider both Whitman and Jessup as well. Both of them knew Kelly; both knew she’d broken up with Johnson the night she died. Maybe one of them had thought it was his chance. Maybe he’d never expected it to get out of hand. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He could speculate all he wanted. What he didn’t have was facts.
He walked over to Dani’s office and told her what he’d learned.
“That’s good, Tommy. Maybe Hammond and Wilson can check all of their movements when the murders occurred.”
“They’ve already got someone at the FBI going over credit-card receipts for Johnson. I’ll ask them to add Whitman and Jessup to the mix.” Tommy knew it wouldn’t be quick. Getting records from every possible credit-card company, especially gas cards, was time-consuming. These weren’t computerized back when the earlier murders occurred.
“See if you can confirm whether either of them had a thing for Kelly,” Dani said. “And, keep in mind, Milgram said that when there’s head trauma, it’s likely that another factor is present as well. Maybe you can find something in their backgrounds, some instability.”
Tommy returned to his desk and pulled out his notes on the investigation. He found the phone number for Stacy Carmichael, Kelly’s best friend, and dialed. “This is Tom Noorland,” he said when she answered. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions about Kelly.”
“Sure.”
“You mentioned that Derek Whitman and Russ Jessup were part of your group. Do you happen to know if either had feelings for Kelly?”
“I’m sure they did. All the guys did. But they all knew she was off-limits.”
“How well did you know the families of the kids in your group?”
“Some better than others. Most of the girls, we’d hang out at each other’s homes, so I knew their families pretty well.”
“How about Greg’s?”
“I’d met his parents a few times.”
“What were they like?”
“Nice enough, I suppose. Look, what are you trying to get at?”
“Was there any scuttlebutt about how they treated each other? Or Greg?”
“Just seemed like a normal family to me. They doted on Greg, I remember. He was their only child.”
“How about Derek Whitman? Know his family?”
“Sure. Nice folks. They moved to Florida two years back.”
“Any scuttlebutt about them?”
“Seemed normal to me.”
“What about Russ Jessup’s family?”
“Just his father. His mother left them when Russ was ten. Ran away with another man.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, everyone in town knew. Six months later, they got into a car accident, and both died. His father was so broken up that Russ pretty much
raised his sister.”
There it is, Tommy thought. The extra something.
CHAPTER
44
His sister had come through. It had cost a bundle—$25,000 for a new life. He would become Patrick Barnes. But he’d gotten more than a name, more than a driver’s license and Social Security number, a credit card in his new name. More than an address where he’d lived the past twenty years, an address far removed from Columbus, Georgia. He’d gotten a history. Patrick Barnes graduated from the University of Arizona with a 3.8 average. He’d gotten his MA in business administration from the University of Texas, graduating summa cum laude. A search of those school records would confirm those lies. He’d worked as an analyst for a consulting business located in Houston and founded by his father, recently deceased. When his siblings demanded their share of his father’s estate, he sold the business, pocketing a handsome profit for all the children. Now, he was ready to offer his considerable skills to another consulting firm, willing to relocate anywhere in the United States.
For another ten grand, he could get a death certificate sent to his wife, with a police report about his fatal car crash. That way, she could collect on his life-insurance policy. One million dollars, a benefit of his job. Well worth the money, he thought, to know his family wouldn’t be left destitute.
He didn’t need to implement his plan yet. No one had come back asking him questions. Maybe it would all blow away; maybe he’d overreacted. But still, it was comforting to know that he had a way out. He didn’t want to leave his family; he loved them. But, if the police were closing in, he knew now he could disappear. And then he would be safe.
CHAPTER
45
You need to add another name to your list,” Tommy told Lou Hammond. “Russ Jessup.”
“Who’s that?”
“He shared a dorm suite with Greg Johnson at college. Also a friend from Stone Ridge. He knew Kelly. He knew she’d broken up with Johnson.”
“Still, why him?”
“It’s a hunch. But listen, he has a job that requires travel. Some management-consultant company. Check and see if he was anywhere near the towns when those girls were killed.”
Tommy heard a sigh at the other end. “You know it’s probable that it was a stranger. Not someone who knew her.”
“Yeah, I know. Still, he’s worth checking into.”
“I’ll let my FBI contact know. But my guess is he’ll be way down on the list of people to check out.”
Tommy hung up, frustrated. He’d been relieved that law enforcement was now on the case. Trying to close their own murders would lead to Kelly’s killer, and that meant he could leave John Doe alone. But he didn’t want to wait for the FBI to get around to checking out Jessup. He picked up the phone and called the hacker. “I just have one more thing for you to do.”
Two days later, Tommy got the answer he was looking for.
“The first date you gave me,” JD told him, “the one killed a few months after Kelly Braden, the student at Clemson University—all three guys were still students then. All three had gas credit cards, but for Johnson and Whitman, the charges were all near the University of Georgia. Athens is about an hour-and-a-half drive to Clemson, maybe less if you have your foot on the pedal. Now, I didn’t find any gas charges right there, but in the few days leading up to her death, Jessup filled up his tank an unusual number of times. And once, it was only twenty miles from Clemson.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s more. The second one, years later, was killed in Madison, Florida, right? By then, Jessup was working as a business analyst and had a company credit card. He used it that week for a stint in Tallahassee, less than an hour away from Madison.”
Tommy felt his excitement rise. “And how about Alison Grant?”
“Well, Atlanta is his hometown. I got into his company’s HR records, and it turns out he called in sick for the three days leading up to Grant’s murder.”
“This is great. Thanks, once again.”
“I’m not finished.”
“What do you mean? You told me there were only two others with the same MO.”
“That’s true. But when I was checking Jessup’s gas charges, I noticed another anomaly. A few weeks before the Clemson murder, he filled up his tank near Auburn University, in Alabama. I decided to check the record of unsolved murders near the college around that time, and there was one. The very same night Jessup’s car was there. She wasn’t abducted from her room, but her friends described her talking to a guy at the bar who was built like a football player.”
“Damn. It has to be Jessup. I’m gonna find the proof and put that bastard away.”
“I hope you do. Because if you don’t, I suspect he’s going to keep on killing.”
“I can’t get his DNA on just your hunch,” Hammond told Tommy. “I need more than that.”
Tommy knew he couldn’t reveal the information gotten from his hacker. Dani had learned not to ask questions, but a cop would be suspicious. “Why don’t you see if he’ll give it to you voluntarily? Just to rule himself out.”
“Because if he’s the one, that might spook him. Let’s wait to see if we can place him in the vicinity of the murdered girls.”
Tommy hesitated a moment. “Look, I can’t tell you how I know, but I’ve already confirmed he was nearby each time.”
“If you want us to act, you need to be more specific.”
“I can’t. You need to trust me.”
“Sorry, Tommy. We need to go through the steps ourselves.”
“By then, he could have murdered another one.”
“You’re just going to have to be patient.”
Patience wasn’t part of his DNA. He could manage it when it was part of a plan—like a stakeout. But waiting for the feds to comb through decades of credit-card receipts and then maybe, only maybe, deciding they had enough to compel Jessup to give a DNA sample—no, that kind of patience he didn’t have. Not when lives were at stake. He had enough frequent-flyer miles for a free flight to Atlanta. He knew what he would do come Saturday.
When Dani arrived home, two letters were waiting for her. She opened the one from Stanford University first.
Dear Ms. Trumball,
We are very pleased that your husband has accepted the position of dean at our law school. When he was here last, he discussed with me the possibility of starting a new clinic at the school for students to gain experience working on overturning wrongful convictions. I wanted to reach out to you directly to let you know how much I would welcome doing so and having you head it up. In addition to the students, you would be provided with a budget to hire any additional personnel you needed to run the clinic effectively. I sincerely hope you consider this offer, as I know it would enhance the law-school experience for many of our students.
Yours, Jacob Harris, President, Stanford University
My own staff, Dani thought. I wonder if Tommy would come with me? As soon as she thought it, she knew it was impossible. He still had three children at home, all of them teenagers. They’d fight hard not to leave their friends. Still, Tommy was always complaining about the New York winters, and the weather was certainly nicer in Palo Alto.
She put the letter down and picked up the next one, with a return address from the Santa Clara District Attorney’s office.
Dear Ms. Trumball,
My brother, Jacob Harris, has let me know that your husband has accepted the position of dean of Stanford Law School and will be relocating here over the summer. He’s also informed me that he’s hoping you will accept a position at the law school to create a new innocence clinic for the students at the school and head it up.
As you are no doubt aware, integrity-conviction units are starting to take root in prosecutorial offices throughout the country, and I have been thinking of starting one here at the Santa Clara District Attorney’s office for some time. I’ve taken the liberty of looking into your background. With your experience as a federal prosecutor
, and your record of overturning wrongful convictions, you would be the perfect person to start such a unit here in Santa Clara.
I realize that I am competing with my own brother. However, at Stanford, you would spend much of your time supervising students, which would take away from directly representing clients. The Santa Clara District Attorney’s office is the largest prosecuting agency in Northern California, with a cutting-edge criminal laboratory. It represents 1.7 million people in fifteen cities. There are, at present, 190 attorneys who prosecute forty thousand cases a year.
I would be very interested in meeting with you to discuss such a position. Please let me know if this is something that would interest you.
Yours,
Rachel Harris, District Attorney, Santa Clara County
Two job offers, and she hadn’t even met either of the prospective employers. She thought about both. It would be advantageous to have access to a top lab, along with the budget of a government agency. But she knew it would be unlikely that she’d get to pick her cases. Bureaucracy came with rules and restrictions. Not the freedom she was used to. She had to admit, though, that the thought of starting a law-school clinic appealed to her. She’d enjoyed training Melanie, and expected she would feel the same with students.
Everything seemed to be pushing her to leave New York, to leave HIPP, to leave Jonah’s school, where each year his teachers nurtured him. To leave Katie, who’d become part of their family. Yet, did long-distance marriages really work? It wasn’t just Jonah who’d miss his father. She would miss Doug terribly.
She put down the second letter and just stared at both as she chewed on her bottom lip. Maybe it wasn’t outrageous to think Tommy would go with her. Maybe the California sun would entice his whole family. Maybe she could leave New York and still have the life she wanted. Maybe, maybe, maybe.