The Last Good Girl (2 page)

“Thanks. You don't look so shabby yourself.”

“I look like a man who needs a shower and a shave. But who am I kidding? With you on my arm, no one'll be looking at me.”

In fact, Cooper got more than his share of double takes. He was tall, with a shock of black hair and cornflower blue eyes. His body was honed from farmwork rather than a gym. Anna had known him since he was a skinny, bookish boy in her elementary school. Back then, his lopsided grin looked too big for his face; now it fit him perfectly. She was still surprised every time she glanced at her old friend and saw how gracefully he'd grown into his skin.

Anna's phone buzzed in her pocket. Cooper took the baby so she could pull her phone from her jeans. The picture of the incoming caller showed a chiseled African American man with shining green eyes, holding a laughing six-year-old girl on his shoulders. Jack and his daughter, Olivia. Anna had taken the photo a year ago, back when she and Jack were still engaged to be married. Back when she thought she'd be Olivia's mother. Before everything fell apart.

She looked at Cooper apologetically as her thumb hovered over the send button. Cooper saw the picture and sighed.

“I'll be upstairs taking a shower,” he said.

Anna watched him walk to the living room to give Leigh to Jody. His gait had a little hitch that strangers might interpret as a swagger but which was the result of an IED explosion. Cooper had served as an Army Ranger in Afghanistan, where he lost the lower part of his left leg. After coming home, he'd chosen urban farming because he loved Detroit and wanted to help rebuild it. And maybe he had to prove that he could do anything. He was optimistic, determined, and resilient. He'd be fine, Anna assured herself.

She pressed send. “Hello.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Jack said.

She broke into a smile. “Hi, Jack. How are things in D.C.?”

“Actually, I'm in Michigan. Staying at a hotel in Ann Arbor. A few miles from you.”

She pulled the phone away as if it had burned her ear. In her life, there were two worlds: D.C., home to her job, Jack, and her friends; and Michigan, home to her sister, Jody, and their rusting hometown, where Anna had nursed her broken heart and found comfort in Cooper's arms. These two worlds were separate and did not overlap. Hearing that Jack was in Michigan was like watching Han Solo walk into a
Hunger Games
movie.

“Wow. That's a surprise.” Anna's mind and heart raced. “Why are you here?”

“You've heard that the Department of Justice assembled a task force to investigate sex assaults on college campuses?”

“Sure.”

“The head of the task force was named Acting Deputy Attorney General last week. The AG asked me to fill her shoes. I said yes, of course. Now I'm visiting colleges, and I'm here on the midwestern leg of the tour.”

Anna's emotions cycled through relief and disappointment. Jack wasn't in Michigan to see her. He was just here for work. Jack was the Homicide chief at the U.S. Attorney's Office in D.C., the country's largest USAO. His reputation for integrity, hard work, and effectiveness made him one of the most respected federal prosecutors in America. When the Justice Department had a high-profile investigation, it often called on Jack for leadership.

“That's an important task force,” Anna said. “Good to know you're on it.”

“I'm actually calling to ask for your help.”

She paused. They'd broken up for complicated reasons last year. Three weeks ago, Jack had called, resolved every complication, and asked her to come back to him. She hadn't given him an answer yet. She still didn't know it herself.

She wondered if this phone call was his way of tipping the scales—asking her to work with him because that was where they'd always bonded. As teammates, joined together to fight crime and keep communities safe. He knew the task force was exactly the sort of job she'd love.

“I appreciate you thinking of me,” she said. “But I have to say no. It would be too messy for us to work on the task force together.”

“I agree,” he said. “I'm not asking you to join the task force.”

“Oh.”

“I just need your help brainstorming. Have you seen the video of the missing girl from Tower U?”

“Yeah, on the news. Her poor parents.”

“I need to figure out a way we can investigate.”

“Mm, that's tough,” Anna said. “Kidnapping, assault, homicide—it's all local crime. The DA's office has jurisdiction.”

“I know. That's what makes it so frustrating. The boy in the video—his father, Robert Highsmith, is Michigan's lieutenant governor. Before that, Robert served as a DA himself. He has all kinds of ties to state law enforcement. A lot of people around here owe him favors. I'm not confident the locals will conduct a fair investigation.”

“I see.” Anna looked into the living room, at the baby sleeping in Jody's arms. One day, Leigh would grow up and, with any luck, go to college. Anna thought of Olivia, whom she loved like a daughter, and who would head to college in about ten years. Both girls would face all the wonderful and terrible things that could happen to young women on their own for the first time. “Did the kid call her any names?”

“He called her a bitch. It's clear on the video.”

“We could investigate it as a federal hate crime.”

“I like your aggressiveness,” Jack said, “but you know what a high bar that is. Assaulting a woman isn't enough to make it federal. It has to have been
because
of her gender.”

“ ‘Bitch' is based on her gender.”

“If that was the test, half the DV assaults in America would be hate crimes.”

“Look,” Anna said, “it's enough to open a grand jury and see if there's any
further
evidence of gender-based animus. The grand jury's powers are wide and broad. It gets us in. Now, today. When it's crucial. You know how important the first forty-eight hours are. Maybe this girl wandered, drunk, into a ditch and is freezing in the cold. Or maybe she was abducted. The best chance to find her alive is
now
—and getting smaller every minute.”

“True. Okay. Is there a federal prosecutor around here you'd recommend? Someone who knows Michigan but doesn't have ties to the Highsmith family? Someone we can trust.”

“Jack. I see what you're doing.”

“Of course you do.”

“I'm in.”

“Thank you.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “You'll run the investigation into her disappearance with a couple good FBI agents. You'll report to me and coordinate with the task force.”

“Got it.” Anna transitioned into full work mode. “Is there any criminal history on either the boy or the girl?”

“Nothing as adults. But they're both young—she's eighteen and he's twenty-one. Anything they did as juveniles, any campus disciplinary charges, wouldn't show up in NCIC.”

“Has a grand jury been convened?”

“Here in Detroit. I introduced the case to them, and we have full subpoena power.”

“To investigate a federal hate crime?”

He paused just a second before saying, “Yes.”

Right. Jack didn't need her to advise him on the federal hook. Anna didn't care. If she could help this girl, she had to.

“What's the case number?” she asked.

She found a notebook and jotted down the information. Names, dates, DOBs, addresses. Still on the line with Jack, she jogged up the stairs to change into work clothes and apologize to Cooper for postponing their date.

“Anna, one more thing,” Jack said. “This is a sensitive case. Emily's father is the president of Tower University. Dylan belongs to Beta Psi, a college fraternity in the Skull-and-Bones tradition. Four U.S. presidents were alumni, along with countless senators and CEOs. People are already making calls. These are the big boys. Handle them with care, and watch your back.”

“Got it.”

She'd prosecuted congressmen, street gangs, serial rapists. She could handle a bunch of frat boys.

B
y the time Anna changed into a black pantsuit, FBI Agent Samantha Randazzo had arrived at Cooper's house. As Anna jogged down the steps, Cooper was letting the agent into the foyer. Sam's eyes scanned the house in wonder. It was an old lumber baron's mansion, rehabbed by Cooper till it shone with its former glory.

“Sam!” Anna rushed down the steps and hugged her friend. “You're still in town.”

“It's gonna take some time to wrap up the Upperthwaite investigation,” Sam said, hugging her back. “Glad to get the old team back together. What
is
this place?”

“Detroit's best hope,” Anna said. “FBI Agent Samantha Randazzo, meet Cooper Bolden, my . . . friend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Samantha sized up Cooper with the same sharp eye she'd focused on his house. Cooper gave the women two portable mugs filled with steaming coffee.

“You know the way to an agent's heart,” Sam said.

Anna gave Cooper a chaste kiss, conscious that she was doing it in front of Sam, who had been invited, then uninvited, to her wedding with Jack.

“Good luck,” Cooper said. He'd been calm and understanding when she told him that Jack asked her to work this case.
Of course you have to help,
he'd said. He hadn't questioned the wisdom of working with the man she'd tried so hard to get over.

A knock at the front door interrupted their good-bye. On the front stoop was a big man whose powerful arms were covered in tattoos. His nose had been broken, more than once, and a scar crossed his chin. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket and held up a tiny pink tutu. “Won't this look adorable on Leigh?”

“Hi, Grady,” Anna said. “Jody's in the living room.”

“Thanks.”

Grady kissed Anna's cheek, shook Cooper's hand, and walked through the house. Anna was glad to see Leigh's father here. Jody deserved a good time on a Saturday night—and the baby deserved a chance to get to know her daddy. Grady was a bartender whose one-night stand with Jody had led to Leigh. He'd only recently learned that he was the father. When Jody was pregnant, facing years in jail, she desperately wanted her baby to go to Anna, and Anna only. Jody hadn't told Grady about her pregnancy. He learned when he saw her sitting in the courtroom cradling a huge belly. The new parents were still getting to know each other—at a much slower pace than they'd started.

Cooper took Anna's coat from the rack and held it up. She slipped her arms into it, thanked him again for understanding, then stepped out with Sam into the chill of the night.

A black Durango with federal government plates was parked on the driveway. Anna climbed into the passenger seat, while Sam got behind the wheel. Although Anna was sorry to bail on Cooper, she welcomed the sense of getting back in the saddle, the opportunity to make a difference. There was nothing she liked more than heading out with a good agent and trying to set the world right.

“What've we got so far?” she asked.

Sam steered the big truck onto the street and pointed to an iPad on the console. “Two surveillance videos. Why is your boyfriend farming in the middle of Detroit?”

Cooper's was the only house still standing on his street; the rest had fallen or been burned to the ground. A few blocks away towered an abandoned skyscraper, its dark windows like a thousand blind eyes.

“He's trying to save the city.” Anna flipped open the iPad cover. “Finding a way to make it economically viable. All while providing fresh food for the locals.”

“He's not a practical one. But he's cute.”

“I know. He's not really my boyfriend either. He's . . . it's complicated.”

Anna tapped the play button. The first video was the one she'd seen on the news, Emily breaking free of Dylan and walking away. The time stamp started at 12:02
A.M.
The second, stamped 12:03, showed Emily walking about a block farther, still followed by Dylan, who was breaking into a run. Her shimmery scarf trailed behind her like a cape.

“The first was taken by a video camera mounted outside a bar called Lucky's,” Sam said. “Multiple sources put her there immediately before this interaction with Dylan. The second is from the Bank of America about a block away.”

“After that?”

“Nothing. After the bank, there's a construction site nicknamed ‘the Pit,' and then the block becomes residential. There's no video on the street after the bank. We've pulled all the video in a ten-block radius, but there's nothing else. Neither Emily nor Dylan appear again.”

Anna looked at the clock on the dashboard: it was 9:55
P.M.
on Saturday; the girl had last been seen at midnight the night before. Twenty-two hours for her roommate to discover her missing, to report it, for local police to decide it was actually an issue, then to pull the video and see the interaction between her and Dylan. Twenty-two hours for DOJ to realize they should step in. Twenty-two hours in which anything could have happened. The young woman could be lying in a frozen ditch, succumbing to hypothermia. Maybe she had broken bones or a concussion. Maybe she was tied up in a closet—Anna had a case like that once. Maybe she was wrapped in trash bags in a dumpster—Anna had a case like that once too. She wasn't sure she could stand that again. Her stomach was tight with urgency.

“Has anyone spoken to the boy? Dylan?” Anna asked.

“Not yet. The press hasn't gotten word that it's him either. He may not even know that he's been named.”

Sam pulled onto the Lodge freeway as Anna pulled up Facebook. More and more, social media allowed her an intimate glimpse at the lives of the people she was investigating: instant, free, and without a subpoena.

Anna swiped through Emily Shapiro's Facebook pictures. Emily was a pretty eighteen-year-old with gray eyes and long dark hair. She had a pointy chin that gave her an elflike charm. Her interests were listed as theater, music, friends, and cooking. There were pictures of her walking dozens of different dogs on campus, and posts where she urged people to adopt them. No pictures with her family.