You did this, p.13
YOU DID THIS, page 13
Tuesday morning, Claire arrived at work late for no good reason. Dread stuck in her throat like a tumor as she trawled the Newburgh PD parking lot for a vacant spot. Was the late start a delaying tactic of her subconscious—an attempt to put off this difficult task?
She backed into an empty parking space, turned off the ignition, and sat behind the wheel in silence, immobile. Her adult life had revolved around solving Tina’s murder, but today would be her last day on the case. The dominos were ready to fall. Her actions over the next few minutes might end her career in law enforcement and—in a worst-case scenario—take away her freedom. But Claire had made her decision and she would follow through. There was no other way.
While she’d read Tina’s case files on her living room couch last night, her cup of tea had grown cold. No matter how many times she reread the reports, she arrived at the same conclusion. Claire Wolfe, the victim’s sister, was the only suspect.
Detective O’Leary had visited her home several times. He had held hushed discussions with Claire’s parents and kept them abreast of his progress in Tina’s murder investigation. Claire had never imagined she was a suspect—never mind the prime suspect.
O’Leary’s argument was short and simple. The older sister hated the victim. She resented her young rival and was supposed to have walked her home from school. Minutes after Tina’s estimated time of death, the suspect had come home with multiple bloodstains on her body. Claire had played Cain to Tina’s Abel, and her motive was the oldest in criminal history. The detective lacked only the physical evidence, washed away by the suspect, to present his case.
But if O’Leary had suspected Claire, why had he not confronted her? At sixteen, a court would have tried her as a minor. Claire’s mother would have demanded Claire pay for Tina’s death. Had O’Leary shared his suspicions with her father? Had the detective taken pity on her? Or had he pitied her parents who, having already lost one daughter, now stood to lose both?
Claire closed her eyes and recalled the sensations of that terrible day: the sight of Tina walking away from Claire that morning, her hips swinging in her haughty, practiced strut; the pressure of the middle school’s chicken-wire fence against her back that afternoon as she marked time on her wristwatch; the sting of her leg and the sticky wetness on her hands when she arrived home. She had slipped on the broken curb and gashed her leg. So Claire had told her mom, and she had spoken the truth. But blind spots obstructed her memory of that day. That thick fog of doubt and unreality cloaked all her recollections of her little sister.
With the AC off, the air in the car grew stuffy. Claire forced herself, one last time, to consider the theory O’Leary had sketched in his report. Broken street curbs weren’t the only sharp edges Claire had encountered that day. Tina had carried a kitchen knife, the blade the police had discovered at the crime scene, covered in blood. Last night, Claire had cheered Tina on for using the knife in self-defense. But had her little sister carried that weapon to defend herself from Claire? Her breakfast of eggs and toast threatened to rise in her throat. Could she have killed her sister?
No, definitely not. The thought repulsed her. Claire was not a killer. She might have hated her sister sometimes, but Tina was her flesh and blood. Claire had tried to protect her. She had wanted a close relationship with her sister, but Tina always pushed her away. No, Claire could never have hurt her.
Except for that one time. Another image sprang into her mind unbidden—Tina sprawled on the kitchen floor, a dark wet stain spreading through her clothes. No! Claire exorcised the image from her brain. Claire had done nothing wrong. Tina had set her up. She had pulled an evil, twisted prank on her, turning Claire’s sisterly concern into a weapon. Claire’s fingers rubbed at the palm of her hand. She suppressed the compulsive movements. But no matter how hard she scrubbed her skin, the ghostly bloodstain remained.
Claire slammed the wheel of her car and cursed O’Leary. A brief talk with the old detective would have set the record straight. But O’Leary was gone. He had died weeks before her transfer. His death had opened the door for Claire to the Newburgh PD Investigations Bureau but closed the door on the truth she sought.
Claire had searched the case files for other leads. The ME had found no signs of sexual assault on the corpse, but Forensics had collected pubic hairs on Tina’s clothes. Dr. Fleischer had talked about the serial killer’s sexual fantasy. Had the murder aroused the killer? Had he masturbated near her corpse? The file contained no lab results or DNA analysis of either the blood or DNA.
Claire would follow up with the forensics lab and the ME’s office, hoping they kept records for the case. To do that, she’d need to share Tina’s file with the team. This was no longer just about Tina.
A straight, bloody line connected her sister with Gracie Miles and Karla Smith. Claire was sure of it now. But if she shared Tina’s file, Claire would become a suspect, not in one murder but three.
Claire knew how the wheels of justice turned. Things would not look good for her. The murders had started soon after she’d reappeared in Newburgh. The murders matched Tina’s, detail for detail. Dr. Fleischer’s profile for the killer had mentioned a cold and critical mother, a personal connection to the first victim, and high intelligence. Claire met all three criteria. The killer knew about police procedures and forensic science. He would inject himself into the investigation. Claire had joined the police force and pushed for the transfer to Newburgh PD for years.
There were too many coincidences. If Jed had pounced on Gareth’s ax and fingerprints, then this truckload of connections would make him foam at the mouth. And Claire wouldn’t blame him. She had visited both recent crime scenes. Flecks of her dry skin might have ended up in the forensic samples. Her name might appear on the crime scene log, but she’d still have a hard time proving she hadn’t been there earlier.
Claire’s only defense was her sex. The killer was a man, according to Dr. Fleischer. But that one detail did not prove her innocence, and a jury would lose little sleep over her conviction.
A surge of dark, ironic humor filled her, and Claire laughed. Tina’s death was her parting shot, one last prank to trump all the others. Well done, little sister. Without even trying, Tina had framed Claire for her murder.
As she sat on the couch last night, Claire had lifted O’Leary’s incriminating report in the air by her fingertips. The solution to her problem was both simple and terrifying. All she had to do was destroy one piece of paper. The case file contained plenty of irregularities. Nobody would miss a memo about the victim’s sixteen-year-old sister.
But Claire dropped the page into the folder and closed the manila cover. Destroying evidence was a crime. It was wrong. Tampering with evidence would not help her discover the truth, it would only make her a criminal.
At that moment, she made her decision. She would share Tina’s file with the investigation. Claire had not killed Tina. She had not killed Gracie Miles and Karla Smith either. The wheels of justice may be imperfect but they turned. She had to trust the system. The system was all she had. The system would deliver the true killer.
Two loud knocks on the window by her ear startled Claire, waking her from her reverie. A familiar face smiled at her. Claire opened the door and got out.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” Her cheeks warmed at being discovered there, just sitting in her car.
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to see you. We haven’t spoken since Friday.”
“I know. I’ve been busy at work.” The excuse sounded lame even to her ears. Just when she’d reconnected with her dad, she’d neglected to visit again or even call.
His expression darkened. “I know. I saw the news. The department is after a serial killer, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
There was no point in denying it. Picking up the scent, the hyenas ensured nobody in Newburgh felt safe. Claire remembered the manila folder on the passenger seat and the confession she had to make. Would her father still be happy to see her after she became a suspect in the murder of three girls, including his daughter?
“Can I walk you in, see where you work?”
“Sure.” Claire collected her bag and the manila folder and led her father inside.
The squad room brimmed with people. Claire almost collided with Dr. Fleischer at the door. The dark pools of her eyes rippled with concern. Dr. Fleischer had sensed Claire’s tension but said nothing, turning her attention to the man beside Claire.
“Dad, this is Dr. Sally Fleischer of the FBI.”
Dr. Fleischer shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Call me Bill. I didn’t realize the FBI employed doctors.”
“She’s a forensic psychiatrist. The FBI is helping us with a case.”
Her dad’s eyes widened. “You’re one of those profilers who hunt serial killers, like on TV? What a fascinating job.”
Dr. Fleischer forced a smile. She was not enjoying the attention. “Yes, many people say that. Nice to meet you.” She slipped out the door.
Claire made for her desk. Rob intercepted her, his eyes moving from her to the older man beside her.
“Dad,” she said before Rob could say a word. “This is Special Agent Robert Cline.”
“Wow, two FBI agents. I chose the right day to visit.”
Rob swallowed hard. “Glad to meet you.”
He shook her dad’s hand. Claire grinned. Rob seemed as uncomfortable as a teenager meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.
“Claire, uh, does fantastic work here.”
“I don’t doubt that.” A note of rebuke chilled Dad’s voice. Had his fatherly intuition picked up on their relationship?
Claire stepped in to ease the tension. “Rob trained as a hostage negotiator.”
“Really?” Her dad considered him with renewed interest. “That’s impressive.”
Rob shrugged off the compliment. “It was challenging work.”
While her dad took in the squad room, Rob shot Claire a subtle but ironic grin. “Look at us,” he seemed to say. “This isn’t awkward at all!”
Then, her father’s expression darkened. Claire followed his gaze. He was staring at the list of girls’ names on the whiteboard.
“The papers said you’d found two girls. Are you expecting more?”
Claire cringed inside. He knew what losing an adolescent daughter meant. Claire should never have brought him into the squad room.
“No, Dad. But we’ve placed some girls under police protection until we catch the killer.”
“Detective Wolfe,” someone said behind her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for joining us this morning.”
Jed strolled over from the captain’s office, a spring in his step and a smirk on his face. Claire tensed up, remembering her decision. Once she handed Jed the manila folder, the investigation would slip out of her control.
“And just in time for our briefing. And you are?”
“William Wolfe. Claire’s dad.”
The smirk faded, and Jed offered his hand. “Detective Jed Wallace.”
After a moment’s hesitation, her dad shook Jed’s outstretched hand. “I knew a Detective Wallace, years ago.”
He held on to Jed’s hand, and drops of sweat appeared on her partner’s forehead.
“You must mean my father, Harry Wallace.”
“Yes, that’s him.” An undercurrent of menace heated his words. Had he met Jed’s father after Tina’s death? “He wouldn’t remember me, though.” Bill released Jed’s hand and spoke to Claire. “I don’t want to get in your hair. I’ll show myself out. Speak to you later, Cub?”
“Sure.”
Her father walked off. He had aged a few years since entering the squad room. Claire turned to Jed. She needed to speak up before she lost her nerve.
“Jed, I need to—”
“Not now. We’re late enough as it is. I’ve got an important announcement.”
Claire hesitated. Last she heard, the investigation had stalled. Had Jed uncovered a new lead? Had he discovered the connection to Tina? Would he expose Claire’s connection to the case before the entire bureau?
Jed raised his voice. “Gentlemen—and ladies. We’ve made a breakthrough.”
Enthusiastic murmurs circled the room. Claire stepped back, away from Jed and the center of attention.
Jed cast a glance at Tom Brown, who stood nearby. “With Special Agent Brown’s help, we gained access to the second victim’s phone last night.”
At the words “last night” he gave Claire a dirty look. Was he judging her for leaving work before him? Had she, in his opinion, not put in enough hours?
Jed waved the grainy print of an enlarged photo in the air. “We have a new lead.”
In the photo, Karla Smith laughed. She glanced away from the camera toward an older boy with long brown hair. He locked his arms around her shoulders, the tattoo of a Chinese character visible on the pale skin of his freckled forearm. A white trail of smoke wafted from the joint in his hand.
“The male in the photo is Justin Fox, a senior at Hannover High and three years older than the victims. As you know, Karla Smith called an unlisted number several times. The number also appears on the call log for Grace Miles’s phone, which is still missing. We suspect the number belongs to Fox and that he’s been dealing marijuana at the school. He’s officially a person of interest in both murders.”
Claire blinked. Justin Fox. The white male matched Dr. Fleischer’s profile. But Fox was five years old at the time of Tina’s death. If he was the killer, Tina’s death was unrelated to the homicides. Relief washed over Claire.
Jed glanced at her, a smug grin on his face. Did he think his smooth detective work had made her smile? Claire did nothing to dispel that impression.
“We’re bringing Fox in for questioning,” Jed said. “This sucker’s going down.”
Chapter 23
“Everything OK?” Rob asked Claire as he drove the blue Bureau car to their next destination.
First Dr. Fleischer, now him. Claire wished she wasn’t so transparent. Just when she’d summoned the courage to share Tina’s case file with the team, the investigation had changed direction. If Justin Fox had murdered the girls, Tina’s case was no longer relevant. But the justification failed to appease her conscience. She’d better be careful what she said. Rob manipulated hostage takers for a living. Squeezing information from her would be child’s play.
“Sure. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You seemed a little…flustered.”
She snickered. “Flustered? Old ladies get flustered. Are you calling me an old lady?”
Rob grinned but said nothing. She hadn’t told him the whole truth, but he didn’t pry.
Don’t tell him, Claire. Rob worked for the Feds. Even if he didn’t share the information with the department, he’d have to report his findings to his superiors. But after they had reconnected last night, Claire owed him an explanation.
“I’ve spent too many hours studying dead girls.” That much was true.
Rob nodded with empathy. She had told him about Tina’s death, but she had not mentioned her murder. Claire needed a change of subject.
“What do you think of our new lead?”
Rob frowned. “Too soon to tell. A lot of kids do drugs. Karla’s mom didn’t mention Justin, but she probably didn’t know about him. I guess a lot of girls don’t share their love lives with their moms. But not even recording his name on her phone—that’s weird. It strengthens Jed’s theory that Fox was her dealer. He probably asked her to keep his details off the record.”
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “Dr. Fleischer said our unsub is highly intelligent. If he’s been selling weed to middle school girls, how intelligent can he be?”
Rob laughed. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
By “we” Rob meant the department. Jed and Tom had rushed to Hannover High along with two squad cars to pick up Justin Fox. Meanwhile, Claire and Rob headed to the senior’s home to collect evidence. Claire didn’t mind. The home visit should pass quietly. After almost sharing Tina’s file with the team, Claire was glad the investigation’s spotlights had focused elsewhere.
The navigation app told Rob they’d reached their destination. The thickets of wild grass and peeling picket fence reminded Claire that they’d strayed from middle-class suburbia and entered Glenville, Newburgh’s poverty blocks to the west of the park. An old car tire hung from a hunchbacked Autumn Purple Ash tree. The single-level home must have looked charming in the seventies, but decades of neglect had taken their toll.
Rob pulled up behind a white Subaru. An old white Chevy rusted in a dusty patch beside the house. “Somebody’s home,” he said.
The sound of their closing car doors echoed off the walls, and that tingling sense of déjà vu crawled up Claire’s spine again. Another family home, another crime. Maybe this time, their net would close around the killer.
They walked up to the front door, and Rob pressed the buzzer. Hearing nothing, he rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. Feet dragged on the floorboards inside, and the door cracked open to the length of a security chain. A woman in her forties emerged from a cloud of high-tar cigarette smoke.
“If you’re looking for Justin, he ain’t here.”
Claire flashed her badge. “Detective Claire Wolfe. This is Special Agent Cline. May we come in?”
“I told you, he ain’t here.”
“We need to ask you a few questions.”
Justin’s mother took a drag on her cigarette. “Suit yourselves.” She unlatched the chain, and they followed her inside. The slack skin of her arms flapped as she walked into a living room with a large box-shaped TV the likes of which Claire hadn’t seen in years.
Mrs. Fox flopped on the pillow of a wicker couch, which belonged on a front porch not indoors. Claire and Rob shared the second matching couch.
“What’s he done now?”
“It’s probably nothing, but he might have information that can help our investigation.”
