Proof (5 page)
D
ETECTIVE
N
ATHAN
L
ONG
rested the phone in its cradle and leaned back in his leather chair. Tufts of padding sprouted through several tears in the cover, irritating the skin under his pants. Slamming his feet on top of the desk caused his five equally sharpened pencils to roll off to one side, clattering to the ground.
“You know, you break one of those leads, you’ll be sitting here for hours trying to even them up in that electronic sharpener of yours. We don’t have time for that,” Brett Sawyer observed, sitting in the worn metal desk that faced Nathan.
Taking a pen from his inner suit pocket, Nathan flicked it at his partner. Brett dodged it easily.
“At least you won’t have to sharpen that.”
“That was SMC on the phone.”
“You only have one concern there, and it’s Torrence.” Brett leaned forward.
“They just pronounced her and the baby.”
“They both died?”
“One of those cosmic events. The baby wasn’t doing well in the nursery so they brought it to her. Nurse said within ten minutes they were gone.”
“Funny how humans are,” Brett said.
“Yeah, funny.”
“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”
“Other than the fact that my one witness who could ID this serial rapist just died?”
“You’re ready to call him that?” Brett crossed his arms. “A serial rapist?”
“That ER doc was right. We have to notify the public about this creep.”
“Speaking of her, did I notice something between the two of you?”
Nathan paused, his silence a giveaway. “You weren’t even in the room.”
“I was hovering.”
“I don’t know how to say it. No doctor has ever been that protective of a patient.”
“She wouldn’t let you get your way.”
“Something like that. I can’t get her out of my head.”
“Let’s get back to your theory. We only have DNA confirmation on semen samples positively linking Heather Allen and Jacqueline Randall.”
“But we have suspicions linking this guy to four women.”
“Yeah, but the evidence isn’t strong.”
“It isn’t that weak, either.” Nathan crossed one foot over the other on the desktop. “I think the first victim in the series is Celia Ramirez.”
“Because her keys were missing?” Brett asked.
“No, because she stated that his eyes were different colors—one blue and the other brown. That unusual physical characteristic links her to Heather Allen, the third victim, who reported the same information in her original statement to the responding officer.”
“Just to keep playing, who else are you thinking of?”
Nathan leaned to one side, pulling a slim manila folder from the center of a stack at the side of his desk, straightening the remainder of the pile before consulting his notes.
“Torrence, of course. She stated her keys went missing but then reappeared. She remembers an odd tattoo of an animal creature, but she couldn’t describe it in great detail. I think this is the same tattoo that Heather Allen was also trying to describe.”
“The lion’s head with a dragon’s tail?” Brett ran his knuckles over his three-day stubble.
“Have you ever wanted to do something in law enforcement that was unusual but you thought it would play out in the end to your advantage?” Nathan lowered his feet.
“Are we talking legal or illegal?” Brett asked, one eyebrow ridged.
“You’ve done an illegal kind?”
“I’ll plead the fifth on that one.”
“Have you ever done much reading about the Green River Killer?” Nathan asked, closing the folder and realigning it with the rest.
“They use that case a lot in teaching about serial rapists. I can’t say I’ve done any reading on my own about it.”
“Gary Ridgeway was convicted of raping several women in the SeaTac area of Washington. Early in his crimes, he left semen behind. At the time, they weren’t doing DNA typing, and what they could do wasn’t very effective at identifying a single suspect. One of the detectives came across Ridgeway several years into the investigation during a prostitution sting. He had him chew on a cotton ball for evidence even though they were limited in what they could do with it. When DNA typing came along nearly a decade later, they matched that saliva with semen at several of the crime scenes. It’s what led to his conviction.”
“And how does this relate to our case?” Brett rested back in his equally abused chair.
“It’s Torrence’s baby I’m most disturbed about.”
“Why?”
“Our guy is very interesting in the type of evidence he leaves behind.”
Nathan stood from the desk and approached a large, dry-erase board with photos of several women aligned vertically to one side. He ran his finger slowly over each one.
“I made this link chart to illustrate what I’m proposing as his series. We’ll start at the beginning.” Nathan pointed to the photo at the top of the board.
“Victim one: Celia Ramirez. Victim two: Torrence Campbell. Victim three: Heather Allen. Victim four: Jacqueline Randall. Semen samples positively link the last two victims as having the same perpetrator. It’s what’s missing from the crime scenes that I find unusual. No hair, no saliva, no skin scrapings from under their fingernails that would otherwise identify him.”
“We know he spends time bathing them. It’s likely his ritual versus him trying to clean up evidence.”
“Victim one, Celia Ramirez, likely destroyed the semen sample. She states that she showered and douched several times before notifying police of the rape.” Nathan paused a moment before placing his finger next to Torrence’s photo. “Torrence did the same thing—showered and douched. No recovery of a sample from her, but she ends up pregnant.”
“Obviously sperm was left behind in Torrence, but you also think there would have been in Celia?” Brett clarified.
“Yeah, and I wonder why our criminal doesn’t care that he leaves it behind. He’s highly intelligent. It’s not him being sloppy.” Nathan turned his back to the board.
“Maybe he doesn’t like to wear his raincoat when it’s raining.” Brett smiled.
“I don’t think that’s it.”
“Then what do you think?”
“I don’t know. Why would he hunt down the only victim that became pregnant?” Nathan pressed.
“We’re not sure it was him.”
Nathan hit the board with an open palm. “She was run off the road on her way here!” Several sticky notes drifted to the floor.
“All right … all right. I’ll give you that it likely was him. He could have caught wind of the ID.”
“That’s even worse—it would mean we have a mole tipping him off.”
“You’re right. That would be worse and an unlikely possibility.”
“It’s not just the hit-and-run. It’s that he made contact with her, telling her to get rid of the baby.”
“Doesn’t want to be sued for future paternity.”
Nathan ignored the comment. “It’s perplexing me, but something within me wants a DNA sample from Torrence’s baby. I just want to have it to hold in reserve, like that Green River detective did with the cotton ball.”
“So get a sample.”
“I’m trying, but there’s a problem.”
“What?”
“It’s the grandparents,” Nathan sighed, leaning against one edge of the display. “They flat-out refused. They want Torrence and the baby cremated.”
“We’ll have to get a court order.”
“I know. I already have a judge on board. I know this has to be done, but I don’t want to traumatize the family anymore.”
“Catching this guy will be good for them in the end no matter what they think. It’s not going to be that invasive getting the samples we need.”
Nathan nodded in agreement. “This guy is very crafty. He takes his time. He watches them long enough to get a copy of their house keys.” He turned back to the board. “It’s odd. They don’t even resemble each other. He starts with Celia, a Hispanic woman. Torrence is next—the all-American girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. He follows with Heather Allen; a young woman, early twenties, brunette with brown eyes. Last is Jacqueline, an older mom with four kids. They have different occupations, social status. The attacks are spread all over the city.”
Nathan returned to his chair and placed his palms on the desk. Brett returned his gaze.
“I think he leaves his semen because he doesn’t believe it will connect him to the crime.”
“Well, that just proves he’s another dumb criminal. Science is way too advanced to let this guy get by. We just need one ID.”
“Unfortunately, we’ll probably get our chance.” Nathan leaned into his chair. “If I’m correct in the fact that these are all his victims, then there is a pattern. The last attack was Jacqueline. He usually strikes every other month, sometime within the first week.”
“And that would be any day now.”
L
ILLY RETURNED FROM
the kitchen and sank deep into her pillow-covered couch. Grabbing her drink from the glass-topped table in front of her, she stirred it thoughtlessly, staring at no point in particular.
“That must have been Kadin on the phone,” Dana said.
Focusing on her best friend, she gave a weary smile. “He’s coming over.”
Dana set her drink down, nestled back into the opposite mission chair, and twisted her hair about her index finger. A habit that hadn’t left her in the years Lilly had known her. Sometimes it was hard for people to believe Dana was an accomplished surgeon.
“I just don’t get the two of you,” she continued. “There’s obviously an attraction. You’ve been going out for months … as friends.”
Lilly chuckled as Dana made air quotation marks around the platonic word.
“Neither one of you are seeing anyone else. You should see the nurses swooning over Kadin in labor and delivery. I mean, they’re all wrapped around his little finger.” She held up her pinky and tapped the end of it.
“You know the reason.” Lilly took a sip of her margarita.
“For the swooning? Well, of course, that’s obvious. I mean, he’s gorgeous, kind, thoughtful, considerate. He bathes the NICU in these quilts his sister makes.”
“No, as for why Kadin won’t make it official.”
“His faith and your lack thereof.”
“I think things might be changing between the two of us.”
“Is this a joke? It’s not fair getting my hopes up …”
“I feel peaceful around Kadin. Like all this chaos I try to control could stop. I’ve never had that with anyone else.”
“What about his faith?”
“One step at a time. Isn’t wanting to move past friendship enough for you?”
Dana’s eyes darkened. “You know I don’t take your atheism lightly, and Kadin won’t either.” She gathered her shoulder-length brown locks and formed a knot behind her head. Small wisps of hair fell around her face.
“I’m open to his thoughts about God.”
“What did you think about the tree?”
“I was shocked, and I’ve forgiven you for divulging personal information.”
“How was your annual graveside visit?”
“We never made it.” Lilly rolled the ice in her drink. “That was the day Torrence Campbell came into the ER, and Anderson dropped the case in my lap right when I was supposed to leave.”
“That was an ugly day. The OR was a mess for hours.”
“I didn’t tell you that I stopped to see Torrence today. Kadin brought the baby to see her.”
“How did it go?”
“They didn’t make it.”
“Strange … both of them dying the same day.”
“The baby wasn’t doing well in the nursery. Kerns agreed to let Kadin take the baby to Torrence.”
“Not like Kerns to be such a softy.”
Lilly nodded, tracing the drops of condensation.
“Have you gone to the cemetery? Did you know Kadin planted the tree?” Dana pressed.
“It doesn’t seem right unless I go on the day.”
“You drive me nuts, Lilly Reeves. You claim I have certain peculiarities, yet you won’t visit your mother’s grave unless it’s the exact day and you have the right flowers and you can bring a tape of her favorite song. It’s not about the ritual; it’s about the visit. It’s about your healing from her loss. Lilly, it’s been over fifteen years.”
“To me, it’s always just yesterday.”
“This is one of the issues with your lack of faith in God. You try to hold everything together in your universe. How much energy does that take?” Dana asked.
“A lot.”
“Yet you believe all life came from chance, without external energy forming it. Does your house ever clean itself? Have you ever come home and, by chance, found it was in an orderly state? This peace you feel from Kadin doesn’t come from him but from Christ living within him.”
So where did that leave their relationship? Was she attracted to him or just to his inner peace—his faith?
“This is not the time to get into this.”
“It never is for you.” Dana stopped and reached for her hip. “I’m vibrating.” Pulling the pager up, she noted the number.
“This is why you should have gone into emergency services.” Lilly pointed a finger. “You could have a life.”
“Good thing I was just drinking water. I’ll call you tomorrow to hear how it went with Kadin. I’ll want explicit details.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lilly said standing. She followed her friend to the door.
They hugged briefly.
“Don’t forget your triple locks.”
“I never do.” Lilly secured the door after Dana left.
T
HE FIRST THING
that alarmed Kadin was the fact that he found the door to Lilly’s town home open. Lilly was preoccupied with her safety. Triple deadbolts protected this entrance, each with a different key. He’d been unable, as of yet, to ascertain why.
He rapped the wood three times and stood, waiting for her tender voice to invite him in. A cool autumn wind whistled through the entryway. He rubbed his hands over his arms to cut the chill. The breeze pushed the door open another few centimeters. The hinges creaked.
“Lilly?”
Kadin worried about protective barriers two and three—her black belt in martial arts and her gun. “Hey, Lilly! It’s Kadin. I’m at your front door.”
He reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. Taking a few steps back, he leaned against the iron railing. The lights were on inside.
She should be home.
Ringing echoed throughout the living area.
Voice mail.
Kadin disconnected the call and returned the phone to his pocket. Eerie tingles crept up his spine. He neared the door and pushed it open with a single finger.
At first, he didn’t see anything out of place. Taking three steps in, he stopped cold. The glass table that sat between the overstuffed couch and chair no longer glistened under the lights. Four more steps and he figured out why.
The glass was missing. He put his arm through the surface and raked his fingers through the carpet below.
There were no shards. The carpet looked vacuumed with organized strips lining the floor. Stepping into the kitchen, he opened the cabinet beneath her sink and pulled out the trash.
There wasn’t any glass here either. Not even a plastic liner.
He exhaled, releasing pent up anxiety. Feeling certain Lilly had stepped out to empty the trash, he returned to the living area and sat down on the couch. One of the pillows toppled to the floor. A bloodied handprint showed prominently against the light fabric, like a warning in a crosswalk. Grabbing it, he traced a finger over each chenille ridge.
Damp.
Standing, the pillow falling to the side, Kadin raced to the hall that contained her study and an additional bedroom. He burst through the door to her office.
Empty.
He turned and threw open the door to the closet.
Nothing.
Racing across the hall, he entered her guest suite. It remained untouched.
“Lilly!”
He took the stairs, stumbling several times. Standing at the top, he paused indecisively between the two doors. The first door on the right was the bathroom. He entered. The shower curtain was closed. He flung it to one side.
It was empty, but wet from recent use.
“Lilly, this is not funny! You need to answer me!”
Exiting, he turned to the master bedroom. The door was closed. His chest was heavy with fear. Placing his hand on the latch, he paused.
He withdrew it and knocked.
“Lilly, it’s Kadin. Are you sleeping?”
He pounded harder.
“Lilly!”
The metal knob was as cold as his feet.
The fear of changing all he knew and all he hoped for paralyzed him.
Lord, I am begging you …
He opened the door and stepped in.
Lilly was on her bed, posed as a corpse in the coffin. She was nude, but covered in a crisp white sheet that was folded over her breasts and tucked beneath her arms. He swallowed thick mucus and walked to the bed.
Reaching down, he placed two fingers on the inner aspect of her wrist and waited. Her warm skin reassured him. The fast, steady pulsation beneath his fingertips proof her heart was beating. The rise and fall of her chest confirmed she was breathing.
He grabbed her shoulder and shook her.
“Lilly!”
Her black hair covered her face. With gentle motions, he smoothed it away and tucked it behind her ears as she preferred to wear it.
It was then he noticed the bruising—anger-inflicted patches of red and blue. Grab marks surrounded both her upper arms. Her right eye was tense with edema. The swelling so tight he couldn’t examine the pupil. The left eye appeared untouched.
He pried it open with gentle fingers.
The pupil, swallowed in a blue halo, was small and pinpoint. It ticked back and forth like a fast-paced metronome.
He knelt beside her.
“Lilly, I need you to wake!”
Reaching again for his phone, he dialed 911. The numbers blurred through his welling eyes. At that moment, his heart racing from massive adrenaline release, he realized he could no longer stand in judgment of any patient’s family member when they acted irrationally. His close emotional connection with Lilly superseded his years of medical training.
“Police, fire, or ambulance?”
“I don’t know … I need everybody,” he said, choking back tears.
“What’s the emergency?”
“My friend … she’s been attacked.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. “I think she’s been drugged. She’s not responding to me.”
“Sir, is she breathing?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the address?”
“1225 Aspen Circle.”
“Is the intruder still there?”
“I don’t think so. Please, can you hurry?”
“We are sir, we’re coming.”
“I’m scared for her.”
“Stay on the phone …”
He muddled through the rest of the questions. The next thing Kadin registered was the firm hand of a police officer on his shoulder and the man gently easing the phone from his grip.
