Revenge of Innocents (33 page)

He played back everything that had happened since he’d started tailing the suspect. Instead of following him on foot, he’d used the car. He was certain Stockton didn’t make him because he’d never once turned around. He’d lost sight of him once when he’d got stuck in traffic, but only for a few minutes. Stockton had seemed to know where he was going. He hadn’t hung out on the corner waiting for a ride or tried to beg money.

Stockton had been wearing a red and blue nylon parka. When he got to Barranca Vista Park, he’d lain down on the grass and covered his head with the parka, probably so the sun wouldn’t wake him the next morning.

Opening the car door, Gary removed his jacket and tossed it in the backseat. So Stockton wouldn’t know he was a cop, he pulled one side of his shirt out of his slacks. Then he grabbed his half-empty paper cup of Diet Coke and poured it down the front of his clothes. He’d check to make certain the guy was breathing, then make a quick pit stop. The public restroom was only a few feet from where the subject was sleeping. If Stockton ran, he wouldn’t get far.

Just as the detective stepped onto the grass, the sprinklers came on. Stockton rolled over, then sat up, looking around in a daze. Gary’s jaw dropped when he saw his face. He raced back to the car, his heart pumping like a jackrabbit.

He pounded the steering wheel with his fists. A short time later, he picked his phone off the seat and hit the autodial to call Mary. He started talking as soon as she answered. “It isn’t Stockton. I don’t know what the hell happened. I never took my eyes off the guy. I must have followed the wrong man from the jail.”

“I’m not hearing this, Gary,” Mary said. “This is a sick joke, isn’t it? You’re mad because we didn’t get someone out there to relieve you.”

“No, man, I wouldn’t lie about something this serious,” Gary told her, seeing his detective shield flying out the window. “I only saw Stockton’s driver’s license photo. I wasn’t there when you and Hank interrogated him. The jail released three black guys at the same time. I was certain this one was Stockton.”

“You stupid, worthless prick,” Mary shouted, hurling the phone across the room.

Carolyn exited the 101 Freeway at Johnson, then turned left at Ralston. Barranca Vista Park was hard to see because of a hilly embankment. She saw a few joggers in the area, but it was too early in the morning for schoolchildren or mothers with toddlers.

She looked for Gary’s car, but didn’t see it. She made several passes at the park to make certain. Stockton wasn’t sleeping on the grass, which made her wonder if the detective had already left his post when she’d spoken to him. Stockton was sleeping on the concrete in front of the men’s restroom, curled up in a ball with his parka thrown over his head.

On the drive over, Carolyn had questioned her judgment, not about ending Stockton’s life, but precisely how she was going to do it without getting caught. Since she’d expected Gary to be some where nearby, her plan had been to use the trees as cover and attempt to land a kill shot from there. The distance was greater than she had anticipated. She needed a rifle.

Her instincts had been right about Gary Conrad. He was probably having breakfast somewhere, guzzling coffee and chatting up a waitress. And here the murderer was, not a care in the world, able to get up and walk off whenever he wanted. She felt a hard knot in the bottom of her stomach. How could anyone be so negligent? But in this case, the system had failed. A murderer was free to kill again because the DA of Ventura County, Sean Exley, didn’t want a dent in his conviction record.

Carolyn took several deep breaths, asking herself if she was prepared to go through with it. She loved Marcus, her children, her mother, her brother. If something went wrong, she would wreak havoc on all their lives. John was doing great at MIT, well on his way to reaching his dream of becoming a physicist. Rebecca had finally found a father figure in Marcus.

Thoughts of her family were replaced by the faces of Stockton’s victims, Veronica, Drew, Haley, and Jude. Jude had said Stockton had bragged about killing other people in New Orleans, as well as raping young girls. When people thought of pedophiles, they generally conjured up images of dirty old men. A pedophile could be any age, any race, any religion, any face.

Carolyn opened the glove compartment to put away the box of ammo, finding one of Marcus’s baseball caps. She glanced at the Nike emblem on the front, then slapped it on her head. Stopping and slamming the gearshift into park, she left the engine running and got out.

Everything was set up perfectly.

Her hands began shaking violently as soon as she pulled the gun out of the waistband of her jeans. What if she failed to land a shot at this distance? She couldn’t chase Stockton through a residential area. She refused to chance hitting an innocent bystander. And she didn’t want to go through this to merely injure him.

Carolyn wanted this bastard dead!

Making a decision, she held the Smith & Wesson flush at her side, the barrel pointing at the ground. She assumed a running position and sprinted as fast as her feet would carry her, diagonally cutting across the park and heading straight for the dark mound on the ground near the men’s restroom.

As Carolyn ran, her body began to consume the adrenaline just as she’d planned. Her hands felt steady now, even though she no longer had to worry about hitting her target. When she killed Stockton, she would be standing directly over him.

Thursday, October 20
—
8:30
A
.
M
.

H
ank barreled down the hall at the police department like a man on fire, his jacket flapping and his arms pumping. Mary was blocking the door to the conference room with her body. “Get out of my way,” he shouted, saliva dripping down one corner of his mouth.

“Stop, Hank,” Mary said, holding her hands out in front of her. “It wasn’t Gary’s fault.”

“My ass, it wasn’t his fault. Whose fault was it? The Easter Bunny’s?” He tried to shove her out of the way, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Just listen, okay?” Mary said. “Gary didn’t follow the wrong guy. We’re the ones who messed up. Stockton is still in custody at the jail. New Orleans never got around to releasing the hold on him. We should have checked before we sent Gary over there. Stockton’s public defender, Richard Ford, said they’d already faxed the release papers and Stockton would be released within the hour.”

Hank began to calm down. “You’re not making this up, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s not our job to try to repair this situation, is it?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I didn’t think so. I notified the jail and they promised to call us as soon as the paperwork comes through from New Orleans. It may not come through for a week unless someone keeps after them.”

“Stockton will call his attorney.”

Mary smiled. “Ford left today on a two-week vacation. I doubt if he’s going to call Stockton from Europe.”

“Does Carolyn know about this?”

“No,” Mary said, a concerned look on her face. “No one knows where she is, Hank. Marcus said she left early this morning to go to her office. I called Preston and he said no one at probation has seen her.”

“Have you called the hospital?”

“They haven’t seen her, either.”

Hank ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, at least we know Stockton didn’t kill her. Carolyn turns her cell phone off sometimes. She’s probably holed up somewhere trying to get caught up on her work. Just because no one’s seen her doesn’t mean she’s not at the hospital. You can’t use a cell phone in that place.”

“There’s some new developments on the case,” Mary said, opening the door to the conference room.

Gary was seated at the table with a hangdog look on his face. “Did she tell you it wasn’t my fault?”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Get out of here. Grab a few hours of sleep and come back.”

“I sent Keith over to the school to talk to some of the kids again,” Mary continued after Gary left. “I had him take Jude’s diary with him to see if anyone could help fill in some of the blanks. A girl named Chloe, who knew Jude, but was closer to Haley Snodgrass, said the dairy didn’t belong to Jude. It wasn’t her handwriting.”

Hank’s looked disinterested. “Is this really important?”

“Absolutely,” Mary said, taking a seat at the table. “Chloe swears the diary actually belonged to Haley Snodgrass. She remembers seeing Haley with it on numerous occasions. Keith only showed her copies of the pages, and she correctly described the book’s cover, green with a yellow flower on front.”

“From what I recall, there were only a few pages and all the girl wrote about was how much she loved Reggie Stockton. We know both girls dated the guy, so why is this a such a big revelation?”

Mary gave him a stern look. “Front and back, there were twenty-three pages. The writer implied that her father was abusing her, and mentioned how worried she was about her younger sister. Did you even read this book?”

Hank pulled his collar away from his neck. “Carolyn told me what it said.”

“That’s been one of our problems in this investigation, the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.” Mary’s lips compressed. “Everything from this point on has to be backed up with irrefutable evidence, or we’ll never get an arrest warrant out of the DA’s office.”

“You sound like you’re the one running this task force,” Hank said, his voice booming out over the conference room. “If we had irrefutable evidence, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Mary ignored him. She knew he considered her a threat. All intelligent, assertive women were threats to the male ego, and more so if the woman happened to be African American. In the past, she wouldn’t have had a job that didn’t involve sweeping floors and cleaning out toilets. People thought they weren’t prejudiced, but they were. Harvard had a great test called the IAT, or Implied Association Test, where white and black faces were flashed on the screen, and people had to associate them with words such as
bad
or
good.
The test was administered over a short period of time, so the person taking it was forced to answer spontaneously. An overall majority associated the black face with the word
bad,
even if they themselves were black.

“Keith got some of Jude and Haley’s school papers so we could compare their handwriting.” Mary slid over two pieces of paper. “I haven’t had a handwriting analysis done yet, but you can see it. These are copies, so I’ve written the girls’ names on the respective pages.” She placed another piece of paper on the table. “This is a page from the diary we found at Jude’s house. It’s obvious that the handwriting is Haley’s instead of Jude’s. That means it was Haley who was being abused by her father instead of Jude.”

“Good God,” Hank said, realizing the implications. “This could support our case against Snodgrass.”

Mary stopped and rubbed her eyes. “I haven’t been able to put everything together, but I’m working on it. Except for the accident, I don’t think any of the things Jude told us involved her or Drew. According to Chloe, whose parents should be bringing her down within the hour so we can get a formal statement, Jude became insanely jealous of Haley because of her relationship with Reggie Stockton. Jude was in love with Stockton. Stockton was already in love with Haley. The last day Haley was seen at school was the day we had all the wildfires, the same day Veronica was killed. I also went over the forensic report on Haley’s clothing. The lab found minute particles of ash in the fibers of her sweatshirt.”

“It would be nice if we had the missing pages.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Mary told him. “I believe Jude ripped them out because Haley wrote things about her. What Jude did, essentially, if I’m right, is steal Haley Snodgrass’s life. She knew this would make us see her in a sympathetic light.”

“But why blame Drew?”

“Who else was she going to blame?”

“How does Stockton fit into all this?”

“Okay,” Mary said, taking a swig of her cold coffee. “Remember when I said Stockton might have been the avenger? You laughed at me, but I may have been right.”

Hank grumbled something, then smiled. “You’re always right. That’s why I get so annoyed with you. Just put this case together for me, and I’ll help you make sergeant.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she told him before picking up where she’d left off. “Everything could have started when Haley dropped hints that she’d been sexually abused as a child. Maybe she didn’t tell Stockton the abuser was her father. Once she disappeared, Jude could have gone to Stockton and told him it was Drew, that Drew had been forcing both her and Haley to have sex with him on a regular basis since they were children. From what Drew told Carolyn, Haley practically lived at their house until Jude started making a play for Stockton.”

“What about Veronica’s murder?”

“We can figure out how Veronica’s murder comes in later.” Mary arched her back. “Right now, let’s stay focused on Jude. Once she tells Stockton what’s been happening to her and Haley, she gets his full attention, precisely what she’d been craving. Haley is found dead, so Jude’s lie is now cemented in fact. Stockton decides to avenge her death by killing Drew. He’s committed violent crimes in the past and doesn’t have a lot to lose. He feels certain either we or some other police agency will eventually arrest him and send him back to New Orleans to serve out a prison sentence. He’s probably also terrified that he’s going to be blamed for Haley’s death.”

“But I thought Jude showed the same signs of abuse that Haley did.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Mary said, her eyes drifting downward. “I’m the one responsible for letting it get out of hand. I remembered what the doctor who examined Jude the first time at the ER last night actually told me. She said Jude had been sexually active from an early age, and that she saw evidence of more than one abortion. I guess my mind was so flooded with other details, I set the age somewhere around ten. The doctor never mentioned a specific age with Jude, although Charley did with the Snodgrass girl. According to what Jude told Carolyn the other day, she started having sex with boys when she was young to make them like her, not because her father abused her.”

“Carolyn should have called in by now,” Hank said, glancing up at the clock. “It’s almost ten.”

“You’re right,” Mary said, her brows furrowing. “Something’s wrong. Call the guys who’ve been tailing Snodgrass. Make certain they haven’t lost him. He may think Haley talked to Jude, and Jude told Carolyn. I’ll start working the phones. She wouldn’t stay out of touch this long. She’s too involved in the case. Since she thinks Stockton was released last night, she might be trying to find him. Unlike Gary, Carolyn has seen Stockton in person.”

Carolyn stood on the beach at the water’s edge, the wind whipping her hair back from her face. She stared out at the sea, watching the churning whitecaps. The sun had been out that morning at Barranca Vista Park. A storm must be moving in because dark clouds were looming on the horizon. She walked out into the surf up to her waist. For a long time, she just stood there as the frigid water swirled around her body, unable to think beyond the moment.

She finally reached into the waistband of her jeans, pulled the Smith & Wesson out, and threw it as far as she could. When the sky opened up and started spitting forth moisture, she turned and waded back to the shore. She’d left her purse and shoes in the sand. She got her phone out and turned it on.

She had six messages. She ignored them and called Marcus at his office. When a machine picked up on his private line, she dialed the number that rang in his study at the house.

“I need you,” she said when she heard his voice.

“Thank God you called,” Marcus said. “Where are you? Everyone’s been trying to find you. I just got off the phone with Mary. She and Hank were afraid something happened to you.”

Carolyn began weeping. “Please, Marcus, come and get me.”

“Where are you? Why are you crying? Jesus, if someone hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

“I’m on the beach next to the pier and the Holiday Inn.”

“You mean where we went on our first date? It’s hard to hear you with the wind. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to send the police or an ambulance? Have you been in an accident? Tell me if you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” Carolyn said, her voice shaking. “I need you, Marcus. I need you to hold me and tell me you love me.”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Stay on the phone with me. Don’t hang up.”

“I don’t deserve a wonderful man like you. I’m not the person you think I am. Right now, I’m not even sure if I’m sane.”

Marcus was already backing Carolyn’s Infiniti out of the garage. He’d checked it that morning, and nothing appeared to be wrong. Not paying attention, he turned too sharply and scraped the side of the Wrangler. He didn’t stop until he reached the end of the long driveway where Bear was parked in his black Chrysler. Muting the phone so Carolyn didn’t hear him, he told the burly bodyguard to follow him.

He was terrified Carolyn had been kidnapped. The work he did for the military wasn’t known to anyone outside his direct contacts, but even in the most sensitive areas, information was occasionally leaked. A foreign entity, or for that matter any person who believed he possessed classified information of substantial value, could be holding Carolyn hostage.

“Please baby,” Marcus said, “just answer yes or no. Is someone holding you captive?” There was no response. “No matter how scared you may be, you must find a way to tell me so I can take the appropriate action. I’ll do anything they say to get you back, but I won’t be able to help you if you let me walk into an ambush. I’m going to ask you the same question again. Are you being held hostage?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you answer the first time?

“You forgot about what happened in the parking lot of the Chart House restaurant. That’s where I—”

“Are you talking about when you shot the arms dealer?”

“I killed him a few feet away from where you parked the car last night. How could you think I’d ever knowingly lead you into an ambush? If someone kidnapped me, I wouldn’t call you even if they tortured me.”

“Is that what upset you?” Marcus asked, darting in and out through traffic. “You killed that man in self-defense. If you hadn’t shot him, he would have blown your head off. He and the rest of those men were smuggling plutonium to North Korea.”

Compared to a kidnapping, a meltdown was a minor glitch. To say Marcus was relieved was an understatement. “No one could go through what you have without coming apart at the seams, Carolyn. The only thing wrong with you is stress and sleep deprivation. I’ll call Dr. Wyman. He can prescribe some tranquilizers so you can rest. By tomorrow, you’ll feel like a new person.”