Already dead, p.6
Already Dead, page 6
“All right, so you said you saw this girl. When did you see her?”
“Three nights ago. I saw her in Junkie Row three nights ago. Never saw her again.”
Floyd internalized this information.
“So, she was only here one night?”
Another shrug.
“You said you’d answer our questions,” Tate warned, his voice escalating. Floyd looked around and saw that they were starting to draw a crowd.
This was not a good sign. They may be FBI agents, they were also carrying guns, but to be attacked by a dozen or more of these people with nothing to lose was something that Floyd wanted to avoid at all costs.
“I did answer,” the man said, the timbre of his voice equaling Tate’s. “I said, I saw her here one night. I ‘on’t know how long she was here.”
Oh, great, Floyd thought, we have Capt. Literal before us.
“Okay, okay, let’s just calm down. You said you saw her and also spoke to her?”
The man nodded.
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?” Floyd was starting to get annoyed, as well. This was like pulling teeth and given the general paucity of the little white cubes in the vagrant’s mouth, he was particularly keen on keeping them.
“Nothing.”
Tate threw his arms up in the air.
“This is a fucking waste of time,” he said.
“Nothing,” the vagrant countered. “She didn’t say nothing.”
If it hadn’t been for the mention of the smell, Floyd would have been certain that they were getting played.
Bribery was a lot like torture in that way: show enough money or cause enough pain and people will say whatever they think they want you to hear.
“Nothing at all?” Floyd asked.
“Naw, she wouldn’t speak. I tried—I tried to talk to her… but she didn’t say nothing. After I got used to the smell, she was… I dunno… cute. Tight little ass, know what I mean?”
Floyd’s stomach did a flip.
Cute?
Even potty mouth in the bikini and Daisy Dukes would have been a more palatable choice than a walking corpse.
“You sure she didn’t say anything?” Floyd pressed.
“Nuh-uh. I don’t even know if she could speak.”
“Why? Was she high?” Tate asked.
Floyd made a face, wishing that, for once, Tate let him run with this part of the investigation. This was his witness, after all.
But Tate was his superior, and he had much more experience.
“No. She wasn’t high.”
Of all the answers that the man had given them thus far, this was the most definitive.
“How can you be sure?”
The man looked at his toes then, as if he was ashamed of himself.
“I just know,” he said quietly.
“How?” Tate demanded.
Floyd reached out and put his hand on his partner’s shoulder, silencing his inquest. He already had a pretty good idea of how things had gone down between Jane Doe and this man. The junkie had seen her, a new face in Junkie Row, and had approached. Maybe his intentions had been decent at first, but when Jane refused to respond to him, the vagrant tried to rob her. When he came up empty, he probably attempted to have sex with her. Given that the ME hadn’t mentioned anything about recent sexual activity in regard to Jane Doe, that too was likely unsuccessful.
“Okay,” Floyd said. “Can you tell us anything else about this woman? Did she do anything strange? Did she have any belongings with her? Anything?”
“Naw, man. She didn’t have nothin’ and didn’t do nothin’. She just sat right over there.” The vagrant indicated a corner of the fence near the very back of Junkie Row. “It started to rain, but she still didn’t move. Was weird, man. Like, she didn’t try to get under one of the tarps or tents or nothin’. She just got soaked. Then I fell asleep, never saw her again. I didn’t see nothin’.”
This was a signal that the conversation was over if there ever was one.
I didn’t see nothin’.
“Okay, thanks.”
As Floyd and Tate walked back toward the location where Lieutenant Lehner had dropped them off, the man grumbled something about pigs—likely to save face with his fellow vagrants.
“Well, that was a complete and utter waste of time,” Tate remarked.
True to his word, Lehner was waiting for them. The big man was no longer in his car, however; he was now leaning up against it, dozens of spent sunflower seeds scattered on the ground around him.
“It told us something,” Floyd said to his partner.
“Like what? That our killer was fucking weird? That she didn’t eat anything and didn’t do drugs? That she liked the rain?”
Floyd said nothing. He felt as if they had learned something, something important, he just wasn’t sure what.
“Hey, don’t worry about the five bucks, I’ll expense it,” Tate said.
Floyd chuckled and didn’t bother correcting him on the amount spent.
“You guys done?” an unsmiling Lehner asked. The man spit sunflower seeds dangerously close to Floyd’s feet.
Tate took the lead, and this time Floyd let him.
“All done… here, anyway. But I think we need to explore option two.”
The lieutenant’s round face, which was already twisted in displeasure, became even more tortured.
“Option two?”
And for the first time since meeting this rotund lieutenant, Tate broke character.
“We need to visit Julia Dreger, the woman who was sleeping with Dr. Wayne Griffith III and who was with him when he was murdered.”
Chapter 12
“Fuck!” Chase shouted as soon as they were outside the walls of Franklin County Jail. Then she looked skyward and screamed the word.
Aware that Terrence was staring at her, she slowly brought her breathing under control. Still fuming, she waited a few more seconds before looking at the man.
There was pity in his eyes. Or maybe it was compassion. Either way, this would typically be the ignition point for the powder keg that was Chase Adams, but she managed a herculean feat of self-control that surprised even her. Chase didn’t understand why Terrence had this effect on her, but he did. Maybe it was his demeanor, or that he’d been present when she’d found her sister, or perhaps it was the fact that he’d reached out to her when others rarely did.
“I’m sorry,” Chase said from between clenched teeth.
Surprisingly, Terrence didn’t appear to need anything else from her, which was a good thing, because Chase wasn’t prepared to offer more. In her experience, an apology was just the tip of the iceberg, a stepping-stone. People wanted multiple apologies, then they lauded it over you, expected reparations, debts to be repaid, that sort of thing.
But not with Terrence. Because Terrence was different, but exactly how, Chase wasn’t sure.
They walked in silence toward the man’s car. And as they did, Chase’s thoughts started to swirl.
That piece of shit. He thinks he can control me? He thinks that I should be the one looking over my shoulder? Really?
When they got to the car, they both got in without saying anything.
Chase was so lost inside her head that she didn’t notice that Terrence made no move to start the vehicle.
Stay in the moment, Dr. Matteo whispered. Stay in the moment, Chase.
“I can’t,” she said out loud. “Because this moment… it’s too fucked up.”
Realizing that she wasn’t alone, Chase looked over at Terrence and her face immediately turned red.
“I said, I’m sorry—that’s it, that’s all you’re getting.”
“I didn’t even want that,” Terrence said. “I just want to know if you’re going to be okay?”
It was a loaded question and Chase didn’t understand the motivation behind it. Was Terrence concerned that he would be responsible now if she did something crazy? Or was he genuinely worried about her?”
“No, I’m not okay. But I will be fine. I’ve gotten through worse. I’ve survived worse things than Brian Jalston.”
Terrence nodded.
“You want me to take you back to the airport?”
Chase guffawed. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever made a sound like this before, but if there had ever been a time for it, it was now.
“No fucking chance. I’ve got a friend looking after Georgina and she won’t mind another four days.”
Terrence finally started the car and left the Franklin County Jail parking lot.
“Four days?”
The man’s intonation suggested that this was a question, but he wasn’t stupid. Terrence knew exactly why she needed four more days.
Because that’s when Brian Jalston was scheduled for release. And when he stepped through the door in the chain link fence, Chase would be there, arms crossed.
What she planned on doing next, even she wasn’t sure.
“I don’t understand how he only got two years,” Chase said absently. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Terrence sighed.
“It was complicated. Things—”
“You said that already,” Chase snapped. “But it doesn’t make sense! Brian and his brother kidnapped girls and raped them. Kids. And then they brainwashed them so they could rape them over and over again.” Her anger about everything finally reached a boiling point and spilled over in spectacular Chase fashion. And this time, even Terrence’s presence couldn’t stop it. “For years! For fucking years! My own goddamn sister! They kept her and it ruined everything! My mom, dad… everything! And when I finally found her, she was gone. Before Mark Kruk killed her, she was already dead. And the man responsible for all of this gets two fucking years in a country club.”
Terrence suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road. Then he hammered it into park and glared at Chase.
“You done yet? You done accusing me? You done blaming me like I’m the fucking judge, jury, and executioner?”
Chase recoiled, surprised by the sudden aggression from the man. She’d never seen this in Terrence before.
“You—”
“No, you had your chance, Chase. Now it’s my turn. You wanna know why he got two years, Chase? The real reason?”
Chase remained silent.
“Because of you. Because of what you did to his brother. Brian told the DA about how you killed him, about how you slit his throat. About how you murdered him.”
“Murdered?” Chase was aghast. “They fucking—”
“I know!” Terrence shouted, tapping the center of his chest aggressively with two fingers. “I fucking know! But those women? His women? They were prepared to testify against you, and they told one hell of a story, Chase. A twisted fucking tale about how you had grabbed Timothy Jalston, how he was begging for his life, and how you cut him. The DA… he wanted to press charges. Not against Brian, but against you.”
“W-what?”
Terrence nodded.
“Yeah, they wanted to get you up on charges. I couldn’t fucking believe it. And don’t get it wrong, I know what you did in that house, and goddamn it, I would have done the exact same thing. It wasn’t anything like what Brian said, but they had… they were… they had the perfect story and the perfect appearance. I was scared it was going to stick.” Terrence started to calm down a little. “I don’t—I don’t blame you, Chase. But the only way I could get Brian to shut the fuck up about what happened to his brother was to offer him this half-assed reduced sentence plea. I don’t blame you, but please, please, don’t fucking blame me for this.”
By the end of the man’s revelation, Chase’s eyes were wide, and she felt an unusual sensation.
She felt like she was going to cry.
It had been a long time since anybody had spoken to her like this, a long time since anybody had put things so bluntly and succinctly. People liked to use kid gloves with Chase given her past and what she’d been through over the years. Despite her best efforts to get others to treat her like an equal, it was a rare occurrence.
Even more infrequent for this to come from someone like Terrence.
Chase choked back her tears and straightened.
“The bar.”
“What?”
Chase shook her head.
“Don’t bring me to the airport, Terrence. I want to go to the bar.”
Terrence threw his arms up.
“The bar? It’s in the middle of the—”
“Take me to the bar, Terrence. I owe you a drink. Maybe even two.”
Chapter 13
“I don’t know why you want to talk to this Julia chick,” Lieutenant Lehner said. “I can tell you exactly what she said in the interview because I was there.”
Floyd knew what Tate’s rebuttal was going to be even before he opened his mouth. He’d heard it many times before.
“I know, I know. I’m not questioning your work, lieutenant, it’s just… it’s just I have this thing.”
“This thing? What thing?”
Tate nodded.
“Yeah, like when someone tells me something new, I just have to look it up. It doesn’t matter if it’s just a random fact, or who tells it to me, I have to research it for myself. It’s annoying, even to me, but…”
Floyd couldn’t tell from the lieutenant’s expression if the man understood what Tate was saying or if he thought he was batshit crazy.
It didn’t really matter.
The only thing that Floyd was presently concerned with was the fact that they didn’t have their own car—and that there was no way in hell he wanted to speak to Julia with Lehner present.
“I know you’re probably really busy,” Floyd began, taking a page out of Tate’s book and appealing to the man’s sense of authority. “So, if you could just take us to the nearest car rental joint, we’ll be out of your hair.”
The lieutenant looked to Tate, who backed Floyd up with a nod.
“It would be more convenient for all of us, I think,” Tate said.
Lehner grunted, which Floyd was beginning to recognize as the man’s preferred form of communication. Then he said, “Rental? Naw, I can’t let the FBI drive around in a rental. I’ll get one of my boys to lend you their car. How long do you think you’ll be in town for?”
“As long as it takes,” Tate said, and this was something that the lieutenant could get behind.
The man grunted again.
“All right, I’ll drop you off at Julia’s and then have one of the boys leave a car for you.”
“We can just meet your officer at the station or—”
The lieutenant pulled into the driveway of a large house with a manicured front lawn.
“Too late, we’re here.”
Floyd peered out the window at the modern home.
“I thought you said that Julia was a hooker—excuse me, a prostitute?” he asked, confused.
“Well, that’s not what it says on her tax return, but that’s what she is.”
Floyd squinted.
He figured that real estate in Columbus wasn’t as expensive as New York City or Richmond, Virginia, for that matter, but this wasn’t a home that he pictured a prostitute living in any part of the country.
“Looks like I picked the wrong career,” Tate muttered as he got out of the car. Floyd followed, but the lieutenant did not.
He turned back and saw Lehner leaning out of the window.
Without prompting, he said, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for people to see my car here again. They’re going to start asking questions.”
Floyd wasn’t sure if Lehner was referring to questions about Dr. Wayne Griffith and his involvement with the prostitute or the lieutenant’s own.
He was just glad that they didn’t have to convince him to stay back. Questions or not, Lehner’s presence wasn’t going to inspire fluid conversation with Julia Dreger. Floyd had already seen the lieutenant in action back at Junkie Row and tact was not the man’s strong suit.
“I’ll have one of my men drop off a car.”
“Thanks,” Tate said, as the lieutenant drove off.
Floyd turned to his partner.
“Well, that was interesting.”
“Sure was. Just glad to be rid of him.”
“Me too. How do you want to handle this?”
Tate grinned.
“The same way I always do.”
And then he was off, heading up the front walk, and knocking on the door.
Floyd didn’t expect Julia to answer. After all, women of the night, as Tate had referred to them, usually didn’t like their visitors wearing identical suits and carrying FBI badges, irrespective of the profession listed on their tax returns.
But he was surprised when the door opened, and a petite blonde woman peered out at them. She wasn’t wearing makeup and the skin beneath her eyes was red and chapped.
She’d been crying.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m very sorry to bother you, Mrs. Dreger, but we’re with the FBI. We just have a couple of questions for you.”
Julia nodded.
“Do you have ID?”
Tate and Floyd took their badges out, and Julia gave them a casual look over before inviting them inside.
“Come on in. And just call me Julia, please.”
The interior matched the exterior: nice, but not extravagant, tastefully decorated.
“You guys want a coffee or something?”
Floyd, who never really drank coffee before starting at the FBI opened his mouth to say yes but he was too slow.
“No, thank you,” Tate answered for them.
Speak for yourself, Floyd thought.
“I hope you don’t mind if I make one for myself, then,” she said.
“Of course,” Tate said.
Floyd looked around while Tate kept his attention locked on Julia. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but this was of no consequence; he never really was. It took an additional few moments to discard further misconceptions and generalizations—Chase would have slapped me silly for this—based on Julia’s profession.
Julia’s home was clean and neat and could have belonged to a suburban housewife for all he knew. Everything seemed in order.
