by William Mark
“I take it that Curt’s neighbor doesn’t own a Lincoln?”
“Nope,” he answered with a smile, “but you know who was there around ten this morning and drives one?”
“The good Senator,” Rachel said.
“Okay, what does that mean?” Beth didn’t understand the significance.
“He waited until they left.”
“So?”
“Why would you wait until the mother and especially the boy left before visiting? He’s a schmoozer and a charmer, why did he wait?”
“That means what exactly? I’m a little lost,” Beth questioned.
“Not sure yet, but yes, that is certainly weird.”
In the days that followed, Rachel and the team kept digging into the life of Thomas Pittman. They were met with roadblocks along the way, but they were undeterred from continuing. It wasn’t until Louis noticed Curt leaving his house early one morning that things started to happen.
“He’s headed to the jail.”
“The jail?” Rachel asked quizzically.
“Yeah, according to the GPS I put on his car.”
“Okay, let’s head that way. Do they have their own radio channel at the jail?”
“I’m sure they do. I’ll find it on the scanner.”
As the team sat in the parking lot of the jail, they listened to the jail radio channel for anything of interest. Rachel perked up when someone asked for inmate Gregory to be taken to the Unit. She had no idea what the “Unit” was, but Gregory, she knew. She hoped Curt wasn’t going to do anything foolish while inside the jail. If he did, they might not let him leave.
Louis forced his virtual will on the security measures in the jail’s computer system. He started poking around with its features and managed to find the unusual visit by Bobby Richards. After continuing his search, he was able to uncover the mystery man switch rather quickly. Like Curt, they didn’t believe Richards was someone who would actually visit a person like Helton. But unlike Curt’s limited access, Louis was able to find the girlfriend of Richards and pulled up her visitor log, revealing the mystery man.
“Who the hell is that?” Louis asked.
On the screen was a late twenties, white male with trimmed, low-cut hair, thin-rimmed glasses, and a slight effeminate look. No one on the team had seen him before, and they were at a loss as to who he was.
“Jeremy Stephens,” Louis announced, reading from the visitor’s log.
“Wait…who?” Rachel asked with urgency.
Louis repeated the name, and Rachel pulled open the laptop Louis loaned her and clicked several times before finding what she was looking for.
“Found him!” Rachel turned the screen around to show the team. They peered at the screen to see the image of a well-dressed man and compared it to the visitor of Bobby Richards’ girlfriend. It was the same man, but just as quickly as the comparison was made, the rest of the website that hosted Stephens’ picture became known. It was Thomas Pittman’s Senatorial page. Rachel found Stephens under the “Meet the Staff” page, and Stephens was listed as a personal assistant.
Just as the team tried to make sense of the latest information, the jail channel came to life, breaking up the silence of the van’s interior.
They listened intently to the ensuing confusion and finally heard the name Helton. The radio reported he died by way of hanging himself in his cell. The team sat incredulously thinking about the timing of Helton’s death and hoped Curt hadn’t become unhinged. When Beth Young spotted Curt walking away from the jail, the team let out a collective sigh of relief. Responsible or not, at least he was leaving on his own accord.
The black Mercedes Sprinter pulled out of the jail parking lot and headed for Pittman’s downtown office. Interestingly, it was in the neighborhood just north of Tallahassee Gym Works on the Parkway. Rachel made the connection right away but felt this coincidence was just too good to be true. Obviously, she wanted more. Louis kept tabs on Curt as he watched him move to the Bennett Street address of Bobby Richards. Rachel could only assume Curt had learned of Helton’s visitor but not about the switch and was going to question Richards in person.
***
From across the street of Thomas Pittman’s office, they could see the black Town car parked around back. There was no doubt that it was the same car from the news footage; the front vanity tag was a dead giveaway. It read “Sen8R.”
They sat at his office all morning, watching in silence. They were not really sure how to continue when suddenly Beth Young let out a gasp, setting off alarms inside the van.
“Holy shit!”
“Oh my God; what is it?” Rachel asked.
“I got something, I mean…I think I figured it out….”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Doesn’t it bother anyone else knowing what case Curt was working on when Josh went missing? As soon as Josh went missing, that case seemed to just disappear with him. At the time, there were at least six rapes that had occurred in the six months preceding the kidnapping, and according to the case files, they were closing in on the suspect.”
“So, they’re connected? Curt’s old case and the kidnapping?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was coincidence.”
“So are you saying Pittman is involved in the rapes?” Rachel sounded hopeful.
“Maybe, but listen to this.”
Beth Young summarized the rape cases Curt worked prior to the kidnapping. She found another rape that occurred about a month after Josh’s disappearance and then noticed they seemed to have stopped altogether. This seemed odd, and she researched any other similar rapes in and around the state. She found five more reported stranger rapes over the following six months that were committed with the same M.O. as the ones in Tallahassee. The women were followed to their homes where the suspect managed to gain entry and then gain control by ambushing them. They were all reported in the Panama City and Panama City Beach area. Beth noted that this was the hometown of Thomas Pittman.
“So…that can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“Uh, no honey; that’s damn near probable cause,” Melinda added with certainty.
“How do we know it’s Pittman and not someone who’s working for him? I mean, this Stephens guy is a good candidate, right?”
“Actually…no, I wouldn’t think so,” Louis chimed in as he was pecking away at his keyboard.
“Why not?”
Louis explained he had found enough information through social media and an unwelcomed glance into his personal emails to indicate he preferred the company of other men, not women.
“I wouldn’t think that he fits the profile of a rapist.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so either,” Rachel agreed.
“That fits. I mean, Pittman that is. Politicians often seek office due to a need for power and control. Those are the same traits as a rapist. Is there any evidence from the rapes either here or in Panama City that could be linked to Pittman? Do the police have anything useful?”
“He’s good. I mean…real good. He binds the women, assaults them, and keeps them that way even while he cleans up the scene. He leaves them there until they manage to fight through the restraints and free themselves. By then, he’s long gone. I’ve gone over all the forensic reports and there isn’t anything there—except for….”
Rachel looked at Beth with a spit-it-out-look.
“I found one more, but it may be a long shot.”
Beth explained that in her exhaustive search of the rape cases, she came across a similarly described incident, but the victim was listed as “Jane Doe.” The name is reserved for a victim who wants to report the crime but stay anonymous and bypass prosecution. They go through the motions to preserve evidence and testimony, many even withhold the names of the suspect but decline moving the case forward to an arrest and prosecution. It’s more about the victim acquiescing to the report and evidence collection, in case she later changes her mind. Many terrified women dread having to relive their enc
ounter and be second-guessed through the court system.
Rachel held a thousand-yard stare as she placed herself in the victim’s role, a familiar yet terrorizing place.
“In this case, ‘Jane Doe’ reported that she saw his face.”
“What? That means she can ID him!” Rachel’s voice rose with excitement.
“If she remembers, and if she talks to us.” Melinda was reminded of the complications in dealing with reticent rape victims.
“The problem is that she’s listed as ‘Jane Doe,’ and there’s no way to find her.”
“Dammit.”
“Hold on. Do you have the report? Let me see it.” Melinda’s cop skills kicked in. Beth handed her the copy, and Melinda scanned it, searching for something specific. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she found what she was looking for.
“There! They put an address for the incident location. That’s probably where she lives. He stalked the women and followed them home, right? So this has gotta be her house.”
“We need to find her.”
***
The Mercedes Sprinter rolled to a stop next to the house of “Jane Doe.” It was a long shot but worth trying in order to take down a serial rapist and kidnapper.
The house was modest and on the unkempt side, mostly from neglect, she figured as she walked up to the front door. It was a home built in the late ’50s located in the center of town. It had a large front porch and a detached garage in the back. Rachel stepped up the wood, plank stairs and knocked on the door. The house had the feel of old family charm but with an air of sadness.
As the first knock went unanswered, she tried again and noticed the plants off to the side were in desperate need of watering. She shot a glance back to the van and saw the others share a look of disappointment.
Suddenly, the door cracked open, and a demure woman, late thirties, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants answered. Rachel noticed the woman matched the vague physical description in the report and was hoping she was “Jane Doe.”
“Yes?”
“Hi. Um….” Rachel was speechless for a moment as she realized how awkward the reasoning was that brought her to this front porch.
“What do you want?”
“I’m sorry. My name is Rachel Goodwin, and I need your help. You see, my friends and I are trying to stop a man, a very powerful man, from getting away with hurting women as he has for the last several years. I believe we can stop him, but I need your help.”
The woman didn’t respond. She held Rachel’s expectant stare.
“And you’re here because? You want some money?”
“Huh? God no! I believe you filed a report about five years ago when you were attacked, here at your home. You were listed as ‘Jane Doe.’”
Rachel played her best cards first and waited for the woman to acknowledge that she was “Jane Doe.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Okay.” Rachel was gut punched and felt the disappointment of everyone, to include Curt’s, stacking up against her. “Are you sure?” There was desperation in her voice that was unintended.
“Yes, I’m not that person you’re looking for.”
The woman closed the door shut. Rachel threw her best card out as a last ditch effort and blurted, “The man also kidnapped a little boy to help cover up his crimes. He won’t be stopped unless we do something now!”
Rachel stared at the faded, wood door as it stayed shut. She pleaded through the door for her to find the courage within herself and help. Rachel vowed to walk the path of restoration with her and fight alongside.
“I know what it’s like to live in hell every single day. I’ve been there. I’ve had to look over my shoulder and wonder if the monster will ever return to finish what he started. The fear is crippling—I know. I have to fight through every day just to survive. I know I can’t let him hurt me any longer, and I live my life despite the fear. And if I’m ever given the opportunity, I will not hesitate to bring him to justice for his crimes.”
The door remained silent. “Dammit, I’m giving you the chance to fight back, right now! Please, please help!”
She waited for what seemed like an hour and got no response. Defeated, she looked back at the team who watched from the road. As she took a step away, she heard the door crack open. Rachel spun around and saw the woman was crying.
“Can you really help me?”
“Are you ‘Jane Doe’?”
With a red nose and teary eyes, the woman nodded her head.
“You’re damn right I can.”
“Jane Doe” was actually Mirra Teal. She invited Rachel in and explained that she had been scared and living inside of a shell for the past five years. She was afraid to go outside and had even tailored her job so that she could do everything from within the confines of her home. She was a prisoner behind the bars that her rapist had created the night he violated her body, mind, and spirit.
“I don’t know if I can do it. Hell, you’re the first person outside of my immediate family to come to my door in the past four years. I’m terrified.”
“You have every right to be scared. I was a prisoner of sorts for years after my captor released me.”
Mirra looked at her, seeking more information. Rachel explained her own nightmare from when she was just a child and the fact that she hadn’t seen her sister since. She explained that she too, felt alone and that no one else understood what she had been through. Then, she decided to take it upon herself to make it right and take back control of her life.
“At some point, I knew I had to take a stand, and I know if I ever get a chance to fight back, I will.”
“So, they never caught the guy who took you and your sister?”
“No.”
Mirra fought an internal battle as she weighed the ramifications of this opportunity. She’d always wondered whether the day would come when she would be given a chance to fight back. She fought hard with her decision. She never told anyone who her attacker was and had only given the police a description. She cringed every time at the sight of Thomas Pittman on the television, making promises to be “tough on crime.” She hated him for the hypocritical monster that he was.
“Would I have to appear in court?”
“Maybe, but we can take it one step at a time.”
“But I would have to ID him, wouldn’t I? Like they do on television…point him out on the stand.”
“Yes, if it came to that.”
Mirra continued to wage the war inside her head, keeping Rachel on the sidelines.
“What if I had some other piece of evidence?”
“What do you mean?”
Mirra got up from her seat and walked over to a bookshelf in the corner of her living room. It was full of books and old pictures from another generation. She removed two books from the middle shelf and pulled a small, manila envelope from a hidden spot. She turned to look at Rachel while carefully holding it in her hands. She looked down at it, still lost in thought.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and handed it over to Rachel.
“Here. I think you’re going to need this.”
***
Rachel nearly ran out of Mirra Teal’s house and jumped back into the Sprinter. At Rachel’s order, Louis got into the Senator’s daily schedule and saw that there was a fundraiser at which he was going to be honored that night at the University Club. A Google search of the event told him it was a black tie event that caters to over two hundred guests of the area’s politically connected.
“Perfect. Does he have a plus one?”
“Nope.”
Rachel looked over at Beth Young with a sly smile, “He does now.”
Beth quickly changed into the Priscilla Harvey persona, and after a ten minute phone call, she managed to lure him in with no hesitation. She was now the Senator’s date for the fundraiser.
“I get to wear my new dress, yeah!” she said excitedly.
They were heading toward the stadium to set up for the plan
when Louis announced that Curt had driven home abnormally fast from the police station, and he speculated as to the reason. They wondered if something happened to Josh. Moments later, Curt left the house and was heading west, toward them, with urgency. Rachel shot a call to Tracy and learned of the identification by Josh and of Curt’s unclear intentions to get answers from Pittman. Tracy begged them to help him and to keep him from doing anything drastic.
“I’ll try,” Rachel said.
As they reached the stadium, they spotted Curt walking near a giant statue of a horse rearing in the air while carrying a man with a feathered spear.
“Over there!”
Curt was holding a gun by his side and staring across the street as Pittman walked up to the University Club. Rachel shouted for Melinda to hurry. She told her to pull the van up next to him before he crossed the small street and intercept him. The van sped up and hit a speed bump nearly causing the van to jump into the air. Melinda held on as she nearly fell out of her seat and stomped on the brakes. She screeched up next to Curt, missing him by mere inches. Rachel flung open the door and spoke to the man in the trench coat.
“Get in!” she ordered.
After a short debate, Curt reluctantly got into the van, and Melinda drove around to the other side of the stadium. Rachel explained what they had learned about the Senator and how they believed he was the rapist responsible for the six reported rapes in Tallahassee and five more in the Panama City area as well as the kidnapping of his son. She detailed the timing of the rapes, and the investigation’s momentum timed with his son’s disappearance. Rachel spelled out the news articles that Beth found after studying his case files and the existence of the “Jane Doe” case and the new evidence. Curt listened incredulously as he was now provided with the why.
“So, he took Josh to take me off the case. Because I was getting too close?” Curt grew angry. He felt foolish for not seeing the connection, but Pittman proved to be cunning and calculating. It had completely incapacitated him…which was Pittman’s intention.
Rachel begged Curt to go along with her plan and expose Pittman for the evil rapist and criminal he was, someone willing to trade the innocence of a child for his own criminal freedom and deviousness.