You did this, p.8
YOU DID THIS, page 8
Come on, Justin. Pick up!
Seven rings. Eight. If she got his voicemail again, she’d let him know she was angry. Pissed off, as Derek would say.
On the ninth ring, he answered.
“Karla.” Justin’s voice was like music to her ears, and all her frustration melted. “I can’t talk now.” Why was he whispering?
“Are you OK?” Had something happened to him?
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been trying to call you since Thursday.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Things are crazy. I have to lie low for a while.”
Lie low for a while. What did that mean? Were the cops after him? Justin had never seemed worried about getting caught with weed. Had his mom found out?
“Are you grounded?”
“No. It’s just…”
She waited for him to complete his sentence. What terrible thing had kept him away from her?
“Did you know the girl who died?”
“Grace Miles?”
“Yeah, Gracie.”
Gracie? How well did Justin know her? Too well, it seemed. Now Karla was suspicious.
“Sure, I knew her.”
How could she not? She and Grace Miles looked so much alike, Marlene had asked if they were cousins. The news of her lookalike’s death had disturbed Karla, but hearing her name on Justin’s lips aroused another emotion. Yep, Karla was pathetic. She was jealous of a dead girl.
“How do you know her?”
“I don’t. It’s just…when I heard she was dead I was just…shaken, you know?”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Something wasn’t adding up. Was he lying to her? No, Justin would never lie to her.
“It’s crazy, you know. She was so…”
Karla tensed while he searched for the right word.
“Young.”
Karla relaxed. She had thought he was going to say “pretty.”
“Justin, I need to see you.”
“I want to see you, too. But things are a bit complicated now.”
“What do you mean?”
The line went silent. Justin’s secrecy and talk of Grace Miles grated on her nerves. This was so unlike him.
“Like I said, I need to lie low.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No! No. Nothing like that.”
He wasn’t making any sense. She needed to see him, to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers, and inhale his scent. Why was he keeping his distance? Karla remembered her other need.
“I’m down to my last one.”
Maybe the promise of money would convince him to risk a meeting. Karla had saved up some cash from babysitting the neighbors’ six-year-old. Those savings were running low, too, but seeing Justin again would be worth it. She could always borrow a twenty from her mother’s handbag if she needed to. Her mom wouldn’t even notice.
Justin sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“So I’ll see you soon?”
“I’ll try.”
Karla hung up. She shoved Garfield from her warm, comfortable lap. The cat leaped to the floor, stretched his legs, and stalked off, switching his tail to show his displeasure. He’d get over it.
Karla showered and blow-dried her hair. She put on a push-up bra, a fresh pair of jeans, and a sweater. Adding lip gloss and a touch of glitter under her eyes in her bedroom mirror, she grabbed a handbag and stepped out of her room. The door to her mom’s bedroom was still closed, the soft sounds of hushed voices within.
“I’m going out, Mom,” she yelled. She ran downstairs, her boots pounding the stairs and drowning out any protest her mom would make. Karla had school tomorrow, and where was she going after dark? Karla had ten seconds before her mom threw on some clothes and followed her downstairs, and Karla used those seconds to escape.
The crisp night air chilled her skin as she marched along the sidewalk. Streetlights created widely spaced islands of yellow in the darkness. The neighbors across the street were home, their lights on.
She searched the road for Justin’s small white car. Crickets chirped. Leaves rustled overhead. A few cars lined the road, but none of the dark, silent vehicles belonged to Justin.
Where was he? And why was he “lying low?” Had he’d gotten mixed up in something bad? Something illegal? Well, besides the weed. Or because of the weed? And why had he mentioned Grace Miles out of the blue? Grace had died on Wednesday. Ever since, Justin had blocked her calls. Did his sudden radio silence have something to do with Grace’s death?
The shudder that gripped her had nothing to do with the chilly night air. Suddenly, standing alone on the street curb at night didn’t seem like a smart idea.
A car engine hummed down the road. A white car cruised toward her and pulled over. “I’ll see what I can do,” Justin had said. Had he sent someone to pick her up? Was he injured and unable to drive?
Karla peered through the passenger window. The driver was not Justin. In the darkness, the silhouette of a woman glanced at her. The driver looked too young to be Justin’s mom. She didn’t roll down the window. Karla opened the door, and a light turned on inside.
“Need a ride?”
Karla relaxed. She recognized the woman from her school. This was a safe bet. She was in luck!
“Yeah, thanks.”
Karla climbed inside and told the woman her destination. A sudden thought froze Karla on the seat. She was bumming a ride to visit Justin and stock up on weed. What if the driver asked about Justin? It was too late to back out now.
“Seatbelt,” the driver said.
“Right!” Karla gave a nervous laugh. “Safety first.”
Karla buckled up, and the car drove off. She’d get out a few blocks from Justin’s house to make sure the driver wouldn’t tie her to him.
The car slowed down, and they stopped at a shadowy stretch along the roadside. Was the driver waiting for someone else? Of course, she was! She hadn’t come here for Karla.
“You see that?” The driver pointed a gloved hand toward the street outside the passenger window.
Karla searched for whatever had caught the driver’s attention. All she saw was a dark house. The lights were out. Whoever lived there was sound asleep or away from home.
Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second, then something thin and hard tightened around her neck. Karla couldn’t breathe! Her hands rushed to her throat, and she tried to dig her fingers beneath the thin rope, but the driver was pulling back too hard.
This made no sense. The driver’s job was to protect her, not hurt her! This was… But her thoughts flew away. Her lungs screamed, filling her mind with one desperate desire.
Air. She needed air. She tried to scream, but her lungs wouldn’t inflate. The rope was so tight she feared it would cut into her neck and slice her head off. Karla lunged forward, away from her attacker, but her throat only burned more painfully. She flailed with her legs but found no leverage. Her fingernails tore into her skin around the cord, and her neck stung.
Karla reached for the phone in her bag. Her fingers ran over the smooth surface of the screen, like a blind person reading braille, but the phone slipped away.
Bright spots appeared on the dark ceiling of the car. The spots merged and clouded her field of vision. Her arms felt heavy. Her strength fled. Karla wouldn’t see Justin tonight or ever again. She was going to die here. As her limbs went limp, the strangest thought flittered through her mind. She hadn’t said goodbye to her mom. Then, the bright spots swallowed her world completely, and she knew no more.
Chapter 12
Claire regretted eating breakfast Monday morning as Jed drove her to the southern outskirts of Newburgh. Another crime scene. Another young girl. And all during Claire’s first week on the job. Somehow, her instincts whispered, both murders would lead back to Tina.
Jed had said nothing the entire way, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. She knew what he was thinking. On Friday, Captain Emmerso had prevented him from arresting their only suspect. Four days later, they had another corpse on their hands. Claire understood Jed’s frustration even though she still believed Gareth Miles did not kill his daughter. Innocent until proven guilty. Captain Emmerso was right. That rule was all that separated law enforcement from The Inquisition.
So far, this second homicide had little in common with Grace Miles. The crime scene was far from Newburgh Middle School. And yet that premonition wouldn’t keep quiet. Somehow, this murder was Claire’s fault, too.
Incomplete office buildings rose from the construction site like giant skeletons, a far cry from the artist’s impression of futuristic skyscrapers in chrome and glass displayed on a large sign. The label in a bold sci-fi font read Silicon Towers.
Jed’s car raised dust clouds. He turned a corner and swore softly. A media van parked on the sandy new street beyond the police cruisers and ambulances. This time, the press had beaten the detectives to the crime scene.
A short female patrol officer waited on the sidewalk. Officer Dunn offered them the logbook wordlessly, her face grim.
Jed signed his name and handed the clipboard to Claire. The forensic tech, a patrol sergeant, and another patrol officer were already at the scene. At least this time the detectives had arrived before Captain Emmerso.
Officer Dunn seemed to read her mind. “Captain Emmerso’s on his way with the chief.”
A ball of stress burned in Claire’s stomach. One dead girl was bad enough. Two dead girls within a week was a crap storm, and the detectives still had no solid leads on the first.
The patrol officer pointed to a pile of yellow helmets. “Use the hard hats. Site rules. Just follow the planks. The guy who found her is inside with the others.”
The detectives ducked under the yellow police tape and did as they were told. Claire followed her partner, picking her way along loose wooden boards, piles of gravel, and shovels. In the distance, a jackhammer pounded the earth. High above them, drills whined.
Related or not, the unsolved murders would dominate the news. The media would want heads to roll. They would blame the Chief of Police, and the crap would flow downhill. A morning breeze kicked up the dust, turning their clothes gray.
Sergeant George Eckhardt was speaking on his phone when they arrived. He nodded at them and waved at the second patrol officer, Officer Daniel Hackett, his cue to walk them through the scene while the sergeant continued his conversation.
“The foreman called nine-one-one an hour ago.” Hackett pointed a boney finger at two men in overalls and hard hats who stood twenty feet away. “It took time to understand what they wanted. They’re Russian immigrants and have trouble with the language. We got here fifteen minutes ago and secured the site. The chief is on his way.”
“Yeah,” Jed said, “we heard. Let’s have a look.”
They made for the forensic tech crouched over a body on the gravelly path. Today, the tech added a face mask and a yellow hard hat to his blue-and-white surgical gear. The dead girl lay on her back, arms at her sides. The dust had painted her clothes and skin white. Despite the lack of foliage, the scene was all too familiar. Adrenaline churned in Claire’s stomach. The dust could not hide the extensive damage to the girl’s face. As they approached, the forensic tech looked up. The dust turned his patches of visible skin gray.
“No need for fingerprint powder today,” he said. He got to his feet. “If we’re going to meet so often, Detective Wallace, you might as well introduce me to your new partner.”
Jed stared at the dead girl. He didn’t seem to register the tech’s words. Had the dust powdered her partner’s face white? Or had the crime scene drained the blood from his face?
“Claire Wolfe,” she said.
“Brandon Yang. Welcome to the party. Help yourselves to some latex party favors.”
Jed pulled a pair of disposable gloves and booties from the box on the ground. “Let’s get started.” He glanced back at the street and the invisible media van. “The sooner we finish here, the better.”
He spoke into his digital recorder. “The victim is a Caucasian girl found lying on her back, hands at her sides, legs extended. Ten feet from the retaining wall of an office building, still under construction. She looks about the same age as the first victim, Grace Miles. About fourteen years old.”
He looked at Claire, and she nodded. Her gut clenched. Was the victim one of Gracie’s classmates? Had Claire interviewed her at the middle school yesterday?
Jed crouched over the girl. “Blonde hair. Severe facial mutilation. No signs of a struggle or sexual assault. Again, like the first victim.”
Claire’s insides twisted in a knot. There was no denying it now. Gracie’s killer had struck again.
“No ax this time,” Brandon said. “I checked. But don’t bank on any trace evidence. The dust has destroyed everything. Except for a few red hairs on her sweater.”
Jed shot Claire a meaningful look. Gareth Miles had red hair. He spoke into the recorder. “There’s dust everywhere and red hairs on the victim’s body.” He stopped recording. “Can you rush a DNA analysis for the hairs?”
“We’re still processing the first crime scene.”
“Give the hairs priority. Have you photographed everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Any identifying marks or belongings?”
“There’s a handbag.” He pointed at a numbered circle.
Claire almost missed the bag. Dusted white, the handbag blended in with its surroundings. Jed fished around with gloved hands. “There’s a phone. The screen is locked. Send it over once you’ve lifted any fingerprints.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Claire scanned the construction site.
“Anything to add?” Jed asked Claire.
She shook her head. Two guys in construction overalls stood at the gaping entrance of the building. The older one had a square jaw of thick gray stubble. Or was the gray hair also an effect of the dust? Jed and Claire approached the men, while a crane shifted far overhead.
Igor Kapilevich was new to the construction outfit. He lived on-site but spoke little English, so his friend translated. Living on-site was not strictly legal, and while he was happy to cooperate, he asked to have his name dropped from the record to avoid any unpleasant visits from Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Jed assured Igor he’d stay out of trouble if he told the detectives all he knew.
Igor had woken up early that morning and prepared for work. The moment he discovered the body, he called his supervisor, the translator who had notified the police.
“Did he see any strangers at the site last night or this morning?”
The manager translated, and Igor shook his head. None of their colleagues had seen or heard anything either. Jed handed out his cards.
“This is a nightmare,” he muttered to Claire. “Where is Captain Emmerso?”
He glanced at the street where cameramen waited for them. Officer Freeman yelled at the reporters to stand back. Soon the detectives would have to run that gauntlet, too.
Jed shook his head. “Red hairs. We should have arrested the Miles father.”
Claire swallowed her words. Truckloads of media pressure would rain on them soon, and they could not afford a fight.
Jed’s phone rang, and he put the device to his ear. “Yes, sir. We’re here right now.” He listened a little longer. “Yes, sir. I understand.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Captain Emmerso wants us back at the station right away.”
“I thought he was coming here.”
“Change of plans. The chief went ahead without him to handle the press. Patrol will close up the scene.”
The recall was like a slap across the face. “Is he pulling us from the case?” Emmerso might replace Claire, the new detective, to satisfy the media lynch mob.
Jed shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. We have an ID for the girl. Her mother reported her missing this morning.”
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Smith. Karla Smith.”
Jed dusted off his jacket and headed for the line of reporters with their cameras and questions. Claire hung back, frozen to the spot. The world wavered around her. For a dizzying moment, she almost fainted. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of yellow notepaper. A single name appeared on the sheet in Claire’s handwriting. Karla Smith.
Chapter 13
The squad room buzzed with uniforms, and Claire knew she was in trouble. The hubbub was the death rattle of her career in law enforcement.
Detective Mahoney looked up from his desk and smiled when Claire and Jed walked in. “Good morning!”
Jed eyed the chatting uniforms in the squad room. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.” He glanced at their dust-coated shoes and smirked. “Detective Wolfe joins the department and suddenly we’re up to our necks in dead girls.”
He was joking, but Claire’s cheeks burned.
Jed looked at the closed door of Captain Emmerso’s office. “Is the captain in?”
“Yeah and he’s got company. Three suits. I’d wear a bulletproof vest if I were you.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“On the bright side,” Mahoney said to Claire, “your business cards arrived.” He pointed to the shrink-wrapped tower on her desk.
Claire examined the pack of cards. She might never get the chance to use them. “They got my phone number wrong.”
“That’s your department-issue number. It redirects to your phone, then to your home line if there’s no answer.”
“So I’m always on call?”
“We live to serve.”
“Nice.” She dropped the pack onto the desk. “Not sure I’ll be needing these after today.”
Claire and Jed traded brave grins and prepared to face their doom. Jed knocked once on the captain’s door, and they entered. Captain Emmerso gazed at them. Claire failed to divine her fate from his sincere but calm expression.
“Detectives, these are our new friends from the FBI.”
