D-Ray appeared behind Gage—apparently interested in what he had to say. “Can we use a conference room? I’d like to sit down,” Gage said.
Sam nodded her assent and stood up. They followed D-Ray down the hall and bumped into Chief Roberson as he came out of his office. Gage invited the chief to join them, and Sam fought back the desire to scream childishly, “Don’t forget, this is
my
case!” That would go over well.
“You grow up round here, Flint?” the chief asked conversationally as they headed down the hall toward the lone conference room in the small station.
“Utah’s Dixie, actually. Lived right in Saint George. Not far from Zion.”
“Oh, you’re from Dixie, huh? My mom and dad retired down there. Lived there till they died. Still have a little place in Washington, just outside Saint George. I go down there when the snow gets too high and the wife gets too loud,” Chief Roberson said, instantly turning into the good old boy Mormon small-town police chief. Sam wanted to smack the chief between the eyes.
“Oh yeah?” Gage answered. “Where in Washington? I grew up just off Saint George Boulevard, but my aunt LaRae lived in Washington until they finally moved her into a home in Saint George.”
Great. He has an aunt LaRae, a perfect Mormon name.
The tradition came from taking the first syllable of both parents’ names. “Larry” and “Raylene” became “LaRae.” And it would give Gage immediate Brownie points in the chief’s eyes.
“Oh, it was just a ways off that first exit, you know, by the Maverick—”
“Uh, I think we have some work to discuss,” Sam said, interrupting their little stroll down memory lane.
Chief Roberson gave her a dirty look, and she cursed the moment Gage Flint weaseled his way into the good graces of the man who held all the cards as far as she was concerned.
“Sure, Sam, let’s head on in here.” The chief’s tone was kind, but his facial expression was stern. He was not pleased with her. She knew she’d better play along. The look was a warning.
As they settled into the room, Gage took control of the conversation. “Here’s what I’m thinking. This choking game, kids are doing it for thrills, and sometimes, they die. I did some Google searches late last night and I found some pretty scary stuff.”
“Is it like autoerotic asphyxiation?” Sam asked, wincing a little. Masturbating while choking definitely held no attraction for her, but it obviously did for some people. She had been involved in at least two investigations while with the SLCPD.
“Same concept, but without the sexual component.”
“Are you suggesting this is what Whitney was doing?”
“No, I’m not. But what I am doing is looking at all the options. What if one or any of these were actually connected with the choking game? It’s becoming a real problem in some areas, and that could be what we’re dealing with here. I just figured you would want to cover all your bases, before the media gets ahold of it.”
Damn Nixon. Somehow she knew, and had already talked to Gage.
Sam felt her blood boil.
“Tell us more,” Chief Roberson said, and Sam sat back, feeling as though the case were a runaway train and she was the incompetent engineer, unable to do anything to stop it.
“The choking game goes by a variety of names, including ‘passout’ and the ‘fainting game.’ Both girls and boys do it, although usually the girls do it in groups at slumber parties and other events and use chest compressions. Boys usually use their hands to choke each other.”
“But why in the hell do they do it?” Chief Roberson asked.
“It’s the same concept as autoerotic asphyxiation,” Sam said, jumping in before Gage could completely take over. “When you have restricted oxygen and blood flow to your brain, you get a rush.”
“Right,” Gage said. “Kids have described it as a fuzzy feeling, where your vision goes black and you get very woozy. That’s the sensation they’re looking for, and once they feel it, the pressure is supposed to be released. When the blood rushes back into the brain, it gives them a secondary rush.”
“Damn,” D-Ray muttered. “Where do they come up with this shit?”
“It’s crazy, I know,” Gage answered. “And it seems like boys are more likely to try it alone than girls, which means their fatality rate is drastically higher.”
“But neither girl was with anyone else,” Sam pointed out.
“That we know of,” Gage answered.
The name Bethany rang through Sam’s brain. The friend who became the enemy: the girl they all turned on. But how could Bethany have managed to convince these two mean girls they were still friends and get them involved in the choking game?
“So, you’re thinking someone else was there?” Sam asked.
“I’m just pointing out the obvious. We don’t know. We don’t know that they were alone, even though all indications point to suicide. Were they just suicides? Or was Jeremiah Malone’s case a botched encounter with the choking game?”
“This is giving me a headache,” D-Ray said.
“What we need to consider,” Gage said, “is that these kids don’t realize that once they’ve decided to use a ligature to reach the sensation, it’s only mere seconds before the sensation turns from exhilarating to lethal. They lose consciousness, and their own body weight kills them.”
“So you think we need to do some asking around to see if kids are doing this?” Chief Roberson asked, and Sam felt a rush of despair in her chest. It was going to happen. He was going to take this away from her. It wouldn’t be her case anymore. “And I’m guessing you think this because it will give us some time to figure out what’s really going on.”
D-Ray’s mouth dropped open and Sam turned to look at Roberson with surprise. They all liked the chief, but he wasn’t really known for his policing skills. At one point, he’d gone to a local Kanesville girl’s house and threatened to arrest her if she didn’t return some seriously overdue library books. The librarian was a friend of his.
“Exactly,” Gage said. “It’s just a precaution, and to cover all the bases. It’s possible, although not probable, that the first two girls and Jeremiah were either suicides or victims of the choking game. And maybe Whitney just decided to kill herself because she was pregnant.”
“What the hell? How did you find that out?” Sam asked angrily, clenching her fists and rising out of her chair.
“She was pregnant?” D-Ray said incredulously.
“Calm down, Sam. Your sister told me.”
“When did you talk to my sister?”
“This morning, when I went to check on Whitney. The doctors had just told Susanna the news.”
“She doesn’t even
know
you and she told you that?”
“I have a face that inspires confidence.”
D-Ray guffawed, and Gage gave him an angry glare.
The implications of Whitney’s pregnancy, along with her accident, hit Sam then, like a gut punch. “The baby?” she asked him.
He just shook his head.
“Oh, poor Susanna.” Was it a relief or an answer to a prayer? And what kind of prayer would that be?
“There is good news, though. Whitney is starting to respond, squeezing her mom’s hand, and reacting to pain. The doctors are cautiously optimistic.”
“That’s good. But … I find this out from you?”
“Of course. You would rather the news come from someone else. Anyone else. Well, sorry, but I’m what you’ve got.” His lips thinned in anger, and his face flushed. Sam saw something else there: pain. She’d hurt him. Well, good. It was his turn to be hurt.
Roberson looked from Gage to Sam and then back to Gage. He turned to D-Ray, who just put his hands up in the air with a “don’t ask me” posture. Once again, the chief surprised Sam.
“This is why I don’t like having female officers,” he said. “You think it’s because I’m sexist, or a chauvinist, but the truth is, sometimes when men and women work together, there’s friction.”
He pointed a chubby index finger at Gage. “You came here as a favor, but take this as my warning. While I welcome your opinion and help, I am not that old and stupid.” He looked at both of them.
Gage rose, gave Sam a smoldering look, and then said a polite good-bye to the chief and D-Ray, offering each his hand. “I have some phone calls to make. I’ll be in the empty cubicle on the other side of you, Sam. In case you need to find me.” He turned and walked from the room without another word.
The chief turned to Sam. “And you, missy, you need to be professional here. You’re walking a damned thin line on this case, especially now your family’s involved. If we had more detectives, you’d be off it so fast your head would spin. But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“‘Missy’?”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. You and I both know I’m as fair as they come. I hired you, and not because it made me look good, either. I hired you because I have an instinct about good detectives and I know you’re one. I’ve worked with a few in my time, and even though we don’t see a lot of stuff here in our town, it happens. And when it does, I want it solved, and I want it solved fast. Got it?”
Sam blinked and nodded, and he got up and wandered out of the conference room, muttering something about a donut and another “damn stupid mess with red tape.”
Sam sat silently in her chair for a minute, then looked at D-Ray. He got all wide eyed and innocent. “Don’t be looking at me. I didn’t say squat to him about Gage. Still think it’s a pansy-ass name, but he seems like an okay dude.”
This is the answer you needed, Sam. Until you find the real one. It’s all you’ve got, but it will keep the wolves at bay.
“Sorry,” she muttered, listening to Callie’s words of caution float away. “I was just a little surprised to hear he knew Whitney was pregnant.”
“Did you know?” D-Ray asked.
“Susanna told me she thought maybe Whit was pregnant. She said, ‘A mother knows.’ But she didn’t have proof. She just suspected it. But she did say that Whitney was dating Jeremiah Malone.”
“Okay, this just gets more and more complicated. Do we have a killer? An innocent choking game? A suicide pact? Maybe all three,” D-Ray said. “Or maybe none of it is tied together. Uh, no pun intended. I mean, the first two girls sure looked like suicide. Boys are more likely to die from accidental choking than girls, and Whitney—”
“Whitney wouldn’t kill herself.”
“Sam, she was seventeen years old and pregnant, and the father of the baby just died. If anybody had a reason to be suicidal, she did.”
“As much as I don’t want these to be murders, D-Ray, my gut tells me they are. The slide show was the killer’s way of saying, ‘This isn’t what you think.’”
“Yeah, I mean, I know coincidences happen and all, but this is a hell of one.” D-Ray scratched his head. “Somebody wants to keep us guessing. It’s working.”
“And we don’t have any choice but to do the legwork. So get prepared to put in some OT. Follow this possibility up. I have a phone call to make. I’ll meet up with you at Winger’s at noon.”
“And what would you like me to order you today?” D-Ray asked innocently. “I think the soup is French onion. One of my favorites.”
Sam just shook her head and walked away, listening to his soft chuckle.
She had to give Pamela Nixon just enough information to get her moving on a story, completely in the wrong direction. Sam felt slightly guilty about that.
Why are you feeling guilty? You don’t know squat. You have an instinct these are murders. Gage just handed you something to keep the media busy while you figure out what is really going on.
“Right,” Sam said aloud.
She walked outside, flipped open her cell phone, and dialed Nixon’s number.
“Time’s almost up, friend,” Nixon answered. “What do you have for me?”
“It’s called the choking game, and it’s killing kids across the United States. I’m not telling you more, and I’m an unconfirmed and unnamed source. You name me, you never get diddly from me again.”
“Choking game?”
“Choking game. Google it. You’ll find hundreds of entries on it.” Sam clicked the phone shut and hoped she was telling the truth. She would be Googling it herself later, but right now she had a girl named Bethany to find.
Sam walked toward her car, then stopped abruptly when she saw an angry Gage leaned up against it, arms crossed and folded across his chest.
“You look pissed,” she said. “Mind telling me why? Because from my viewpoint, you don’t have any reason at all to be mad.” She fought the hot flush she felt rising in her face but wasn’t successful. She knew he would see the emotion she could feel pulsing through her veins.
“You’re a detective; figure it out,” he said, terse words filled with strong emotion. She just wasn’t able to tell which one it was.
“You like me, and you don’t know the difference between wooing a girl and stalking her, so you’re just hanging out until I define that for you?” He winced, and Sam knew her words had struck home. For some reason, the fact that she’d hurt him made her flush. Guilt filled her. And panic.
What if he really leaves?
It was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
“Stalking?” He laughed harshly, but there was no humor on his face. “Sam, I’m doing what I should have done last time. Walking you through this, instead of knee-jerking it and not giving you a chance to finish what you started.”
“Huh?” Sam said, momentarily derailed. It was not the answer she expected.
“Figure it out,” was all he said, and then reached forward and stroked her cheek, his fingers warm. Sam jumped back, a hot sensation she couldn’t control running down through her body. He turned and left before she could say anything else, getting into his SUV and driving off without another look back at her.
Confusion filled her mind, and she ran her fingers through her hair, which suddenly felt heavy and in the way. She fought the urge to pull it back in a ponytail, like the old Sam would have done. She wondered if she should follow him and run him down. Pull him over, lights and sirens, and find out just exactly what he was up to.
D-Ray made sure that didn’t happen. He walked out the front door of the station, his dark brown sorrow-filled eyes meeting hers. “We’ve got another one.”