Cry Mercy (37 page)

“So his first victim was one of the girls he met online?” Susanna asked.

“Yes. Jessica. He met her on the message board, but then he got together with her during a trip to Florida last year and talked her into going off with him. He killed her and drove back to Maryland with her in the trunk of his car, then he buried her at the far end of their property. There's a place the locals believe to be an Indian burial ground, and he buried her there. He stole her laptop and went onto the message board and posted as Jessica, said she was leaving for France because her father's job was transferred. End of Jessie, nice and neat.”

“If his first victim had been one of the boys, do you
think he would have enjoyed it as much?” Mallory asked.

“Probably not. I don't think shooting Henry gave him the kind of thrill that strangling the girls did. I think the whole thing kind of got all twisted in his mind. He enjoyed the rapes—he must have, because he kept souvenirs of each of the girls. A necklace of Jessica's, a length of Belinda's hair, a ring of Lori's. They were still trying to figure out what he took from Ali, but he did keep all of their laptops. I'm only guessing, but I think he probably got a thrill from reading their emails, you know, like a way to know them better?”

“How did Nick take it?” Robert wanted to know.

“As well as anyone can. I think it was terribly painful for him to hear what had been done to Belinda. He showed an admirable amount of restraint.”

“Emme—Ann—I'm not sure how to address you now,” Mallory said. “Obviously, we're pleased that our first case was successful. But, you know, we have a real problem here. You lied to everyone at this table.”

“I did. And I'm sorry … I cannot begin to tell you—each of you—how sorry I am that I had to do that.”

“Had
to?” Kevin asked. “Why did you feel you had to?”

“Father Burch, it's a long story,” she told him, tears welling in her eyes.

“I'm still Kevin,” he told her, reaching out to cover her hands with his. “Why don't you start from the beginning?”

She took a deep breath and tried to get her
thoughts and emotions under control. She kept her eyes cast down, unable to meet the gaze of anyone at the table. She had lied, she had let them down. Would she have eventually told them the truth? She didn't know. She'd like to think she would, someday, but she couldn't be sure of that.

“Mallory, we talked one day not too long ago, and I told you—”

“Some bullshit story about being found by nuns in a church as a newborn.” Mallory rolled her eyes. “You probably could have done better than that.”

“That bullshit story was the truth.” Emme managed a weak smile. Even now, she didn't want to think of herself as Ann.

“You were abandoned by your mother?” Kevin still held her hands, as if to give her strength, and his kindness brought tears to her eyes again.

She nodded. “They said I was only a few hours old. The nuns named me Ann after St. Ann—that's the name of the church I was found in. My mother was never identified. My father … who knows?”

“Were you adopted?”

“I was almost adopted twice, actually. The couple who had me first ended up divorcing before the adoption was finalized, so I was returned to Catholic services. The second time, my almost-mother died and my almost-father couldn't cope, so back I went again. I grew up in foster homes. When I was eighteen, I was out of the system and on my own. I got a job, I lived with some other girls like me who had no one to help them out… Long story short, I went through junior college in California while I was working as a file clerk for the police department in Silver Hill. I
worked my way up in the department, then I asked to go to the police academy. I applied, and I qualified.” She raised her head, gave Kevin's hands a final squeeze, then let go and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at every face, met every eye. “Regardless of what you might think of me now, I was a damned good cop. That's one thing you have to understand about me.
I was a damned good cop.”

“But why lie about your name? I don't understand.” Susanna shook her head from side to side.

“Five years ago, I was working undercover in narcotics. I arrested a young woman for sale and distribution and brought her in. She was young—I think she was only seventeen at the time. She wasn't using, but she was selling, and I was afraid it was only a matter of time before she started sampling the goods. I tried to mentor her, I guess is the best word. Got her one of the better public defenders, tried to get her to find a different line of work. If other things in her life had been different, I think she might have moved on. But her boyfriend was a man named Anthony Na varro, who now controls a huge piece of the drug trade between Mexico and the southern United States.” Her mouth was getting dry and she licked her lips.

Trula got up and went to the small refrigerator in the conference room and returned to the table with several bottles of water. She placed one in front of Emme and the others in the middle of the table for whoever might want them.

“Thank you.” Emme twisted the cap off and took a long drink.

“Go on with your story,” Trula told her when she finished.

“Tameka found out she was pregnant just about the same time that Navarro got tired of her. He set her up to be arrested with a large quantity of cocaine in her possession, which guaranteed her a prison sentence.”

“What do you mean, he set her up?” Kevin frowned. “How could he do that unless he had—”

“A friend in the police department?” Emme nodded. “We could never figure out who it was, but there had to have been someone. Supposedly it was an anonymous tip, but it was too specific, the wheres and the whens and the whats. Anyway, Tameka goes to prison, and before you know it, she's ready to have her baby.” Emme sighed deeply. “You have to understand, she was a really decent kid who got in over her head, and had no one to help her out. Her own mother was a junkie, she had no idea who her father was—she had no one in this world except her unborn child, and she was determined to do what was best for that baby.”

“Chloe.” Trula whispered.

Emme nodded. “Tameka asked me—begged me—to take her child and adopt it. She said she knew she wasn't going to get out of that prison alive, that she wanted her baby raised by someone who would give it a good life. She picked me.”

Tears rolled down her face and she had to stop for a moment.

“So I agreed to take the baby after it was born. We had a lawyer and someone from children's services there to make it all legal. When Chloe was three days old, I brought her home. A few weeks later, Tameka was dead. They never did find out who actually killed
her, but we all know that somehow Navarro had gotten to her.”

She took another sip of water. “Fast-forward four years. Anthony Navarro has a bad case of measles and finds out he's sterile, and he's pissed. He's older now, and he's been thinking about passing on his name, his empire, and now he's bummed out about not having any offspring. And then one day he remembers Tameka and the baby she had in prison. He spread a lot of money around to find out what happened to this child. He found the social worker who handled the case, he has the records copied for him, and someone in public service gets a nice fat envelope for coming up with the goods.”

“How did you find this out?” Susanna asked.

“I arrested a hooker one morning who offered to trade me a hot-off-the-streets news flash for letting her walk. The news was that Anthony Navarro was offering twenty-five thousand dollars to whoever brought him his daughter.” She turned to Robert. “I was home that afternoon and thinking, what would I do if someone came for my daughter? I was waiting to go pick her up at preschool and was watching your press conference. I went online and filled out the application. I heard car doors slam outside and when I looked out, there were two men staring at my house. I was pretty damned sure it wasn't a coincidence. So I grabbed what I could and went out the back door. I went to my friend, Steffie's, and stayed there for a few days while I got everything in order.”

“Would your friend Steffie happen to be Chief of Police Stephanie Jenkins?” Mallory asked.

Emme nodded.

“Please, please, don't do anything that would harm her. She agreed to go along with this for Chloe's sake. Over the past few years, we've both had to clean up some of the messes Navarro's men have left behind and we were terrified that he would find Chloe.” She turned to look Mallory in the eyes. “I know that you're not going to keep me on and I accept that. I understand why you don't want me here. I'm all right with it. I deserve whatever happens from here on in. But Steffie will lose her job, and she'll never be able to work in law enforcement again, and that's all she's ever known. Please don't ruin her life because of me. She was only trying to save my daughter.”

Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.

“It seems to me that that's all you were trying to do, too.” Trula rubbed her back gently.

“I don't understand why you didn't call the FBI.” Mallory sounded skeptical.

“The FBI has been trying to get their hands on Navarro for years, Mal.” Emme turned to her wearily. “I could not count on them finding him before he found Chloe.”

Robert cleared his throat and said, “I think we need some time to talk this over.”

“I understand.” Emme stood. “I just want you to know that I am sorry that I lied to you, that I disappointed you. But I'd do it again if I had to. There's no question in my mind that Anthony Navarro could have tracked me down if I used my real name. He isn't used to not getting what he wants. Right now, he wants Chloe.”

“You're exhausted.” Trula rose also. “You're going
to get a few hours of sleep. There's a spare room right next to mine.”

“Trula, I couldn't sleep right now, not after all this,” Emme protested.

“Nonsense. Just a few hours of rest, then we'll see.” Trula took her by the arm and led her to the door, and then out into the hallway. Before she closed the door behind them, Emme heard her tell the others, “I'm coming back, and I'm going to have my say.”

It was ten minutes before Trula returned, but she had plenty on her mind when she got there.

“I'm going to throw in my two cents,” she told them as she sat back in the seat she'd earlier vacated.

“Please,” Robert told her. “The floor is yours.”

“I just want to say that if you fire that girl, I'm going to be one unhappy old woman.”

“Trula, we have every right to fire her. She falsified her credentials, she got her friend to lie for her and help her pull off this fraud—the chief of police who should know better, for God's sake!” Mallory said, pointing out the obvious. “We have good reasons to fire her.”

“And you have good reasons not to,” Trula countered. “She was trying to save her child.”

“You're just blind to what she did because of the way you feel about Chloe,” Mallory replied.

“You're damned right I am. I think what Emme—or Ann or whatever name she wants to be called by—what she did was very brave. Gutsy. She pulled up stakes and drove across the country to find a place where she could safely raise her little girl. She gave up
everything to do that—her home, her job … She had no way of knowing if you'd hire her, Mallory. And maybe I should remind you why you did.”

“She submitted a résumé that belonged to someone else.”

“She had an excellent reference from her former chief.”

“Who was her best friend!” Mallory reminded Trula.

“But wasn't everything she told you about this woman true?”

“That's not the issue.”

“Then what is, Mal? You needed a great investigator and you got one,” Kevin said. “She solved this case in a matter of weeks and made us all look good.”

“She's a fraud, Kevin. She should have told us the truth; we'd have kept her secret.”

“And how should she have known that? Reading between the lines, who has she been able to trust in her life? Tossed away like trash after she was born, bounced around from foster family to foster family, then bounced out onto the street when she turned eighteen to make her way alone from there?” Trula felt her blood pressure take off but she couldn't help herself. “Does anyone here know what it's really like to have no one in their life they can depend on?”

The room fell silent, and Trula let them sit for a few minutes before turning to Mallory. “I know you had some rough times growing up, but you always knew you had a place to come back to at the end of the day—no one was going to toss you out. This woman didn't even have that small bit of comfort. The one
thing she does have is her daughter, and she fought for her the only way she knew how. Just for the record, I'd have done the same thing, and I defy anyone at this table to tell me otherwise.”

“Trula—” Robert said, but she cut him off before he could say what was on his mind.

“Robert, in all the years we've known each other, I've never interfered in your business or in your personal life, but I'm asking you now to think really hard before you let her go.”

“Whether or not you've never interfered is open for debate,” he replied, “but we'll let that go for now. But just so you know, I'm leaning toward keeping her on.”

“Robert, if anyone finds out that she falsified her records, that we hired her even though we knew she was a fraud, we could lose our license and our reputation would most certainly be damaged,” Mallory told him.

“Let's think this through. First, how would anyone find out?” he asked.

Mal rolled her eyes. “Robert, that is the most naïve thing I've ever heard you say. All it takes is for someone to recognize her, and it could happen. Or someone who knew the real Emme Caldwell—”

“Whoa. There are lots of people who have the same name, right?” he said. “And who in California, besides her former police chief, even knows that she's here at the foundation? No one.”

“There is one person who knows,” Mallory told them. “I called the chief earlier in the week, but she was out. I left a message with the desk sergeant that I needed to speak with her about Emme Caldwell. He
said he and Emme—I'm sure now he meant the real Emme—had been partners early on. If he was wondering why someone from the Mercy Street Foundation was asking about a dead cop …”