No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks)

by T. R. Ragan

  The look on his face was borderline disgust. Clearly he didn’t give a shit about anything she had told him.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Although you already have the original flash drive, I thought you might want to take a look at the newly enhanced version. It’s much clearer.” She took a breath. “I also thought you would be interested to know what Ian Farley had to say. Maybe you can get more information out of him, and it will help you solve the Black Wigs case.”

  Elbows planted on his desk, fingers entwined, he set his gaze on hers. “What, exactly, are you trying to prove?”

  She didn’t understand the question. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I just want to help in any way I can.”

  “Detective Grumley called me last night, told me about you chasing after a killer and nearly being run over by a freight train. Do you think you are some sort of superhero?”

  She stared at him, unblinking, her blood pressure rising.

  “What were you thinking?”

  She felt a rolling heat in her belly. She could not believe his arrogance and complete lack of professionalism when it came to hearing what she had to say. “I was thinking wouldn’t it be great if I could stop this person from killing someone else.”

  “Did you have a gun on you?”

  “No.”

  “So what were you going to do if you caught this person?”

  She said nothing.

  “What were you doing at an auto shop late at night?”

  She told him about Nick Calderon and Bruce Ward’s connection to the Children’s Home of Sacramento and how that had led her to Aston Newell. She intended to ask about Calderon and Ward wearing only one shoe at the crime scene, but it was clear Perez wasn’t interested in hearing what she had to say.

  He gestured to his right, to the large paneled glass window. The blinds were open, and she could see the rows of cubicles she’d passed on her way to his office. “We’ve got plenty of hardworking women and men in blue who give up time with their families to hit the streets every day to keep the citizens of Sacramento safe.”

  “I realize that. And I, for one, appreciate everything they do.”

  His gaze was like a steel-pointed laser, burning right through her eyes. “I don’t think you do appreciate what we do here. From the beginning I think you’ve been dead set on making the department look bad.”

  Her stomach roiled. “There’s nothing further from the truth.”

  “Here’s some advice, advice I don’t hand out often. Quit your little reporter job and become a police officer. When you put on your uniform, you’ll see that everything changes as you mentally prepare for the day. You strap on your ballistic vest and make sure your utility belt is on good and snug. You kiss your kids and spouse goodbye, never quite sure if you’ll see them again.”

  “I was only trying to help, Detective.”

  “You’ve helped us enough. Stick to your newspaper stories. I’ve only put up with you out of respect for Palmer. He’s a softie. Right out of the gate, you lucked out on a case or two and made him believe you were a gifted investigator, a shining star.” He waggled a finger at her. “I think you’re good at one thing and that’s manipulating people.”

  Stunned into silence, it took Sawyer a few seconds to find the strength of mind to come up for air. More than angry, she was saddened, frustrated, and disappointed. The man cared more about his ego than solving a case. Her phone buzzed. It was a text message from the PI she had contacted about the license plate number. Call me.

  “I guess this is it, then,” Sawyer said, pushing herself to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”

  She turned and looked at him, watched him sort through his mail, thinking she should tell him about the footprints she’d seen near the train track, how she was now certain the killer was a man, when he said, “Shut the door behind you on your way out.”

  She left his office and the building knowing that she would never set foot inside that place again. What had happened to the detective to make him so damn bitter and resentful? She’d recently helped locate a missing girl and had really believed that the two of them had turned a corner and come to respect each other. But that was far from the truth. Without a “Thank you for your help” or a “Goodbye,” she’d been excused. She wondered if he would even bother to look at the flash drive.

  There were good guys and there were bad guys. Sawyer decided that Detective Perez fell somewhere in between.

  Once she was back inside her car, Sawyer did her best to put it all behind her. Then she gave the private investigator, Mimi Fletcher, a call, hoping she’d finally solve the mystery of who drove a green Kia Soul.

  “Oh, good. Glad it’s you,” Mimi said first thing. “I don’t have long. I stepped outside for a smoke break so I could call you and let you know I have the information you asked for, but I have to get back soon. Infidelity business is booming. Everyone wants their spouse followed these days. Anyway, it’ll cost you a hundred dollars.”

  Her price had doubled since they last talked. They were acquaintances more than they were friends. Using an app on her phone, Sawyer sent her the money. “Okay. The money has been transferred to your account. What do you have for me?”

  Sawyer would have preferred it if Mimi texted the information to her, but that’s not how she did business. Mimi rattled off the name Lena Harris, followed by an address at Treetop Apartments in West Sacramento.

  “Thank you, Mimi.”

  “No problem. Got to go.”

  Still sitting in her car parked outside the police station, Sawyer used her phone to do a quick internet search on Lena Harris. There were a few people with the same name, but one Lena Harris stood out: Lena Harris, thirty-six, was gang-raped at a fraternity in Chico. Lena had gone to court, naming three males. After a short trial, all three defendants were found not guilty.

  Sawyer tried different search engines and specific keywords, but she couldn’t find any of the defendants’ names. Finally, she called Lexi, who answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” Lexi asked.

  “I’m sitting in my car outside the Sacramento Police Department.”

  “Is it true that you were at that auto shop last night where the owner was killed?”

  “It’s true,” Sawyer said.

  “What were you doing there, and why the hell did you chase after a killer?”

  All the fight had been sucked right out of her. “I wasn’t thinking,” Sawyer said flatly, wanting to get on with why she’d called her in the first place.

  “You need to slow down and stop pretending you’re a one-man police force, or you’re going to end up dead.”

  “You sound like Detective Perez.”

  “Speaking of Detective Perez, what did he say about Ian Farley?”

  “In a nutshell he told me to mind my own business.”

  “Oh,” Lexi said. “He seemed fine with us being at the crime scene the other day.”

  “It was all an act. I’m telling you . . . if looks could kill, I’d be dead.”

  “Okay. So what now?”

  “I’m interested in finding out more about a woman by the name of Lena Harris. She’s thirty-six now, but she was eighteen or nineteen when she was gang-raped at a fraternity party in Chico. I read that there were multiple males named as defendants. A jury found them not guilty, but I’m curious to learn their names.” Sawyer could hear the clacking of a keyboard in the background. “If you’re at your desk, I thought maybe you could use PACER or another electronic records service to see if the defendants are listed anywhere.”

  “Got it.”

  Before Sawyer could say, “Got what?” Lexi named all three defendants: Eddie Carter, Don Fulton, and Felix Iverson.

  “Felix Iverson? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. His name is listed right here in front of me. Why? What’s going on, Sawyer?”

  “I’ve got to go,” Sawyer said. “I’ll update you later.” Sawyer hung up, then drew in a breath.r />
  Not only had Felix Iverson been a bully at the Children’s Home of Sacramento, he had also attended Chico State University long enough to go to a frat party and end up named as one of three defendants at a rape trial.

  Sawyer turned on the car’s engine so she could run the air conditioner and cool off. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel as her mind spun.

  Lena Harris had to be a part of the Black Wigs group. But who was the Copycat Killer? The size-ten footprint told her it was a man. That left Jimmy Crocket and Stanley Higgins.

  Sawyer grabbed her laptop from her carrying bag and looked up Lena Harris. She had two parents who had supported her throughout her courtroom ordeal, so she wasn’t an orphan and therefore had no connection that Sawyer could see to the children’s home. Lena’s connection to Felix Iverson had to be solely because of the events that took place at the fraternity house.

  The bigger question was why had Lena Harris been following her?

  Her phone buzzed. It was Aria. Sawyer told her about everything that happened at the auto shop when she went to talk to Aston Newell.

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes. I was too late.” Sawyer then explained that she knew the name of the driver of the Kia. “I’m going to her apartment now to confront her.”

  “I think I should go with you,” Aria said.

  “Not this time. I need you to drive to Citrus Heights to see a guy named Stanley Higgins.”

  “That was the boy sitting by the tree who Nancy Lay, the cook at the children’s home, noticed in the picture,” Aria said.

  “That’s right. That’s the one. Like Emily and Jimmy, he was also bullied, so you need to be careful. I’m pretty sure the killer is a man, which puts Emily Stiller in the clear.” She went on to explain the footprints she’d found by the train track.

  “I’ll bring my gun with me,” Aria told her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good,” Sawyer said. “But there’s one more thing I need to tell you about Stanley Higgins.”

  “Spit it out,” Aria said. “It can’t be worse than possibly being a killer, can it?”

  “Well, it depends on who I’m talking to. Stanley Higgins is a taxidermist.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you can’t do it, I understand. Just text me if you change your mind, and I’ll take care of it later. I need to get going.”

  “I’ll do it,” Aria said. “I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Treetop Apartments off Fruitridge Road was a three-story building, nice and neat with perfect rectangles of newly cut grass out front. There was available parking since most people were probably at work.

  Sawyer parked, climbed out of her car, and walked up three flights of stairs, made a right and found 313C at the very end. She knocked and waited. Knocked again.

  The door flew open. So fast it took Sawyer by surprise and prompted her to take a step back.

  “What do you want?”

  Lena Harris looked just like the young woman she’d seen in the article. She couldn’t possibly be as tall as the story claimed. Five foot three inches was Sawyer’s guess. Lena had long black hair and flawless skin. She wore black jeans and a T-shirt. Flip-flops on her feet. Even with the menacing scowl, it was easy to see that she was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Don’t make me ask again,” Lena said, “because I don’t like repeating myself.”

  Lena’s aggressive posture and defiant look made Sawyer nervous. She might not be the Copycat Killer or part of the Black Wigs, but she definitely looked dangerous. “I want to know why you’ve been following me.”

  Lena looked over Sawyer’s shoulder toward the parking lot and said, “If you really want to know, you’re going to have to come inside.”

  Her flesh tingled, but Sawyer refused to be intimidated, especially after dealing with Detective Perez. Sawyer stepped through the door, holding her head high. Lena Harris had some explaining to do.

  The woman was married with two kids, but the place was quiet. The apartment was all muted colors and sparsely decorated with hardly any furniture.

  At the sound of the door being locked behind her, Sawyer turned around in time to see Lena’s expression change from annoyed to full outrage. Her hair flew back from her face as she lunged for Sawyer, catching her completely off guard and taking her to the ground. The back of her head hit the floor. Her teeth clamped down on her tongue. She tasted blood.

  Before she could get to her feet, Lena was on top of her.

  Sawyer wasn’t a fighter. She’d never been in a brawl, but this woman with her flashing eyes and permanent frown meant business.

  Sawyer yelped as the sharp tips of Lena’s fingernails swept down the length of Sawyer’s jaw and neck. Lena was sitting on Sawyer’s stomach, straddling her, holding her down.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sawyer caught sight of a gold cylindrical glass vase on the end table next to the couch. With a burst of adrenaline, Sawyer used her legs and core and pushed Lena off her, bolted upright onto her feet, and ran to the tabletop. She grabbed hold of the vase, and held it in front of her like a shield.

  Lena stood a few feet away in a wide-legged stance, her chest rising and falling. They were both breathing hard.

  Sawyer thought it might be over, but then Lena reached for one of four high-back chairs surrounding a square dining room table and charged at Sawyer, ramming into her, using the chair and her weight to send Sawyer toppling backward over the sofa. The vase crashed onto the tiles where the carpet ended and the tile floor started.

  Sawyer got back to her feet, then ducked when a chair flew through the air, smashing into the wall. Splinters of wood rained down around her.

  Sawyer ran to the kitchen and grabbed the broom leaning against the wall. When Lena rushed around the corner, Sawyer jabbed the bristles of the broom into Lena’s chest, stomach, and throat. Determined to get out of the apartment alive, Sawyer jabbed harder each time, forcing Lena to take backward steps. The look on the woman was crazed. Her lip was curled, her eyes narrowed.

  “I told your sister I was going to kill you if you showed up, and I meant it.” She plucked a butcher knife from a wooden knife block on the kitchen counter.

  Aria? Harper? What the hell? Keeping the bristly end of the broom aimed at the woman as if it were a gun, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

  Lena swung the knife through the air in front of her as if testing her footing and the weight of the blade. “You really do need to learn to mind your own business.”

  Sawyer made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder to see if there was an escape route she might have missed. Big mistake.

  Lena sprang forward, but Sawyer was pumped up, and she whipped back around in time to make Lena take a quick half step back.

  With a good firm hold on the broom handle, Sawyer swung at the hand with the knife and struck gold. The steel blade flew across the kitchen and hit the stove with a clank.

  Sawyer dropped the broom and made a run for it. She almost made it to the door, but wasn’t fast enough. Lena had leaped for Sawyer and now had hold of Sawyer’s ankle. She yanked hard enough to pull Sawyer to the floor.

  There was no question that Lena Harris had gone mad. She was angry and determined to take out Sawyer at any cost. They rolled into a decorative table that was pushed against the wall in the small front entry. Framed pictures crashed to the ground around them.

  Sawyer tried to claw her way to the door, but Lena kept pulling her back.

  After all she’d been through, Sawyer thought, this was how she was going out? Sawyer didn’t even know why the woman had it out for her. A feeling of slow motion took over as Lena twisted Sawyer onto her back, as easily as if she was a rag doll, then jabbed an elbow into Sawyer’s side, making her grimace in pain.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sawyer asked.

  But Lena didn’t answer. Her attention had suddenly fixated on something else. Sawyer watched Lena slide off her and scoop u
p what looked like a family picture that had fallen when they knocked into the table.

  Lena’s crazed expression softened. Pushing herself to her feet, she looked as if all the air had been sucked out of her. With the picture grasped in her hand, she said, “Get the fuck out of here before I kill you. If you want answers, talk to Malice.”

  “Malice?”

  “Also known as Harper—a bigger pain in the ass than you. When you talk to your sister, you might want to ask her what happened to Otto Radley.” Her jaw tightened. “Get out. Now!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Sawyer’s hands shook as she unlatched the lock from Lena’s apartment door, hoping, praying she wouldn’t feel the pain of a steel blade slicing through flesh and muscle before she could escape. Relief flooded through her as she pushed the door open and ran outside. She didn’t scream for help or even think about calling the police. There was only one thought in her mind.

  Harper.

  What had her sister gotten herself into?

  Her legs wobbled as she made her way down endless stairs. She held on to the railing for support and then ran for her car, jumped inside, and started the engine. Her hands trembled as she tightened her grip around the steering wheel and drove away. Her thoughts were a jumble, circling around in her head, knocking into other thoughts and making it impossible to think clearly.

  Her head throbbed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

  I told your sister I was going to kill you if you showed up, and I meant it. If you want answers, talk to Malice.

  Malice?

  Also known as Harper. When you talk to your sister, you might want to ask her what happened to Otto Radley.

  Nothing Lena Harris had said made any sense.

  Harper had been acting strange for a while now. It was time for the two of them to have a chat.

  It wasn’t long before Sawyer pulled up in front of Harper’s house. She shut off the car, then jumped out and headed for the door. She’d always knocked before, but not today. She needed answers.