CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
An hour later, Hatcher asked the deputy to get coffee for the four women they’d brought in for questioning.
He wanted them to be comfortable and relaxed so they would talk.
And he wanted that damn news anchor’s head on a platter. She’d already blasted the story about Hortman’s death.
“I took screenshots of the conversations in the Keepers’ chat room,” Korine told him as they stood outside one of the interrogation rooms. “If they are collaborating, it means they’re organized and know enough about crime scenes not to leave evidence behind.”
The deputy returned with coffee, and Korine took a cup for herself and one for Liz Roberts inside room one. As they entered, the thirtysomething blonde looked up at them from behind the table, her sparkling blue eyes assessing them as they approached. She was not only a professional but also a drop-dead gorgeous woman who looked so sweet she couldn’t possibly have a violent streak inside her.
“Miss Roberts,” Hatcher said. “I’m Special Agent Hatcher McGee, and this is my partner, Special Agent Korine Davenport.”
She nodded, acknowledging them.
Korine set the coffee in front of the woman, and she immediately reached for it.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Hatcher asked.
“Not exactly,” Roberts said. “Did something happen to one of my clients?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I’m worried about one of the women I work with. She was beaten nearly to death by her ex and was released from the hospital today. Her ex made bail and threatened to come after her if she testified against him.”
Hatcher fought a reaction. “I’m sorry. I can check and verify that she’s all right if you want.”
“Thank you,” Roberts said. “I’ve phoned her several times and left messages, but she hasn’t returned my calls.”
“What’s her name?” Korine asked.
“Latoya Clinton. I can give you her phone number and address.”
They paused a second for her to write down the information, then Hatcher stepped outside and asked the deputy to check on the woman.
“You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?” Korine asked.
The counselor shrugged. “If you’d seen what this man did to her, you would be, too.”
Hatcher stepped back into the room. “The deputy is going to check on her.”
“I appreciate that.” She glanced at Korine, then folded her arms and stared at him. “All right, if this isn’t about Latoya, it must be about that driver’s ed teacher who was murdered. I’m sure you’re aware that I counseled two of the teenagers who accused him of sexual harassment.”
Hatcher raised a brow. She was direct. He liked that. “That’s true.”
“You have a difficult job,” Korine said. “Counseling victims. It must get to you sometimes.”
Roberts sipped her coffee. “If you mean some of the cases upset me, of course they do. I’m passionate about advocating for victims. But I’m a professional, and just like your job, it’s my job to be objective and not allow personal feelings to interfere with my work.”
Hatcher exchanged a look with Korine, then claimed the chair across from the young woman. “Where were you midday today?”
She traced a finger around the rim of the disposable cup, then looked directly at him. “In my office.” She leaned forward. “You can’t possibly think that I killed Louie Hortman.”
Korine tapped her nails on the table. “You must have hated that he got off without being tried, that he was free to hurt other young girls.”
Roberts released a wary sigh. “Of course I was angry, but his case was minor compared to some I’ve worked. Women who’ve been beaten, tortured. Last month a victim’s ex-boyfriend came to her office, tossed lighter fluid on her, then threw a match down. She suffered third-degree burns over most of her body and is still in the burn ward.” Pain underscored her tone. “I’ve seen children who were molested, ones whose parent burned them with cigarettes, one whose father locked her in a closet for days on end without food. Another teenager I treated was tied to a post out in the backyard like an animal.” She met his gaze head-on. “Do I detest those people? Yes. Would I like to see them suffer? Absolutely.” She took another sip of the coffee. “Would I ruin my reputation and life to get back at them? No. I believe in letting you guys handle that part of the job while I counsel the victims through recovery.”
Admirable.
Hatcher placed a photograph of the judge, then Pallo Whiting on the table. “You’re aware that these two men were also murdered this week?”
Emotions flashed in her eyes as she glanced at the pictures of the judge lying dead on the dock and Whiting covered in blood.
“I saw the news,” she said, her voice wavering.
“Where were you the night the judge was murdered?” Hatcher asked.
She picked at a hangnail. “Having dinner with friends.”
Hatcher narrowed his eyes. “I assume they can corroborate that?”
She nodded. “So can the waiter at the restaurant. We were celebrating a birthday, so we had cake and champagne.”
Easy enough to check.
He tapped a finger on the picture of Pallo Whiting. “How about when Whiting was killed?”
A restless sigh escaped her. “At the gym. I work out most days after I finish with the job.” She gave him a pointed look. “That’s how I relieve my stress.”
She took the pencil and pad and scribbled names and numbers before he could ask.
Korine placed her iPad on the table. “Do you follow Tinsley Jensen’s blog?”
Roberts’s eyes widened slightly. “Sometimes. I saw the story about her in the news and was glad she found a way to deal with her feelings. I also suggest my clients journal as a form of therapy.”
Korine angled the tablet toward the counselor and pointed to the screen. “You’ve posted on the blog yourself.”
Hatcher shifted. Not a question but a statement.
Roberts hesitated. “First of all, let me say I take my victims’ rights seriously and would do anything to protect them. That means honoring their privacy and the confidentiality agreement I have with them. I would never write anything about a patient or client or the cases I’m working in a public forum. And I certainly wouldn’t disclose information about one of them.”
A tense second paused. “Secondly, I respect those who do post. Writing about one’s feelings doesn’t mean that the person acts upon them. The purpose of journaling is to purge the dark emotions trauma evokes in a healthy way so the victim doesn’t implode and do something horrific like take her own life. Or take justice into his or her own hands.”
“What about this private chat room, the Keepers?” Korine said.
Roberts adjusted her jacket, buttoning it as she squared her shoulders. “As I said, cataloguing one’s inner emotions doesn’t mean that the person who posted it has committed a crime.” She clenched the coffee cup in one hand, then stood. “Now, am I free to go?”
Hatcher stared at Roberts with mixed feelings. She was a caring woman who devoted her life to helping others. She was also smart, strong, capable, and savvy.
His gut told him she wasn’t a killer. But he’d been fooled before . . .
“We aren’t holding you at this time,” Hatcher said. “But if you know or learn anything about these murders, you need to tell us, or we will charge you with accessory.”
She squared her shoulders. “You know that I can’t discuss information about any of my clients. I took an oath—”
“We’re aware of that,” Hatcher said. “But you also know that if you perceive that one of your clients poses a danger to himself or to others, you are required by law to divulge that to the police.”
She gave a quick nod and averted her eyes. Just enough of a reaction to make Hatcher wonder whether she was hiding something. Or covering for someone else.
Maybe not a client or patient but a friend . . .
He needed a warrant for her home and office files. But he didn’t have enough to justify it yet.
Maybe one of the other women would shed some light on the situation. If they had conspired to exact their own brand of justice, sooner or later one of them would slip up and talk—or make a mistake.
“Naturally, I was upset about Pallo Whiting’s escape.” Laura Austin ran her fingers through her wavy brown hair. “Every parent of every child he touched was terrified. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”
Korine chewed the inside of her cheek. For time’s sake, she and Hatcher had decided to split the interviews. Hatcher was questioning Rachel Willis.
Worse, on paper and in the eyes of the public and their coworkers, the four they’d brought in not only were model citizens but also gave selflessly to help others and looked like modern-day heroes.
The press would have a field day with the police if they filed charges without proper proof.
“I really don’t understand why you brought me in,” Austin said.
Korine swallowed hard. “You are friends with Liz Roberts, aren’t you?”
“We swam together in college.”
“And Rachel Willis and Beverly Grant?”
Austin frowned. “We were all on the swim team together. But you must know that or you wouldn’t be asking.”
Korine nodded, then angled her iPad to display Tinsley’s blog. “All of you frequent this page, Heart & Soul.”
Austin shrugged. “It’s interesting, a place to vent.”
“True,” Korine said, unable to argue. “But in light of the three murders that have occurred in the past few days, some of the posts sound like murder confessions.”
Austin shrugged. “People fantasize about getting revenge or justice for loved ones. That doesn’t mean they act upon it.”
“No, but considering the fact that there have been three murders in the past week, these posts do seem suspicious.”
Austin stood. “Listen, Agent Davenport, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work. I have an appointment in half an hour, then I need to prepare a statement for family court.”
Korine clenched her jaw. She had nothing to hold this woman or any of the others on. They were good-hearted. Caring. Helped others.
If they were conspiring to exact justice, they were smart enough not to include details online.
In fact, if they had killed the judge, Whiting, and Hortman, deep in her heart, she was tempted to applaud them instead of lock them up.
But . . . if they found evidence proving the women were guilty, she’d have to do just that, whether she liked it or not.
This interview was going just as it had with Liz Roberts. Not enough evidence to nail any one of the women.
Hatcher studied Rachel Willis. As a parole officer, Willis had seen some of the worst.
“Your father died after finally being released from prison, didn’t he?”
Willis slid her rectangular glasses on top of her head. “He certainly did. And before you ask, yes, I blamed the system and the lawyer who should have done a better job defending him. But most of all, I blame the man who framed him.”
“And that man was?”
“His business partner,” Willis said.
“Where is he now?”
Willis folded her arms. “He died of heart failure while he was awaiting trial.”
“So you became a parole officer even though your family was wronged by the system.”
Willis nodded. “I thought I could help others in my father’s shoes acclimate and rebuild their lives.” A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Boy, was I naive.”
Hatcher bit back a comment. With her family history and job, she might have reached the breaking point.
“Why are we all here, Agent McGee?”
Hatcher folded his arms. “There have been three murders this week. We think they’re connected.”
Her brows furrowed. “Do you suspect one of my parolees?”
“Not at this point.” He hesitated. “We discovered a chat room called the Keepers. Are you part of this group?”
Her brown eyes flashed with some emotion he didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she stood. “I’d like to call a lawyer.”
She tapped her heel on the floor, and Hatcher rocked his chair back. “Listen, Miss Willis. We’re prepared to offer a deal to the first person who gives us information regarding the case. Think about that.”
She locked gazes with him for a moment. “If I had information regarding the murders, I would tell you. But I don’t.”
She strode from the room, shoulders rigid.
She was a cool cookie, but beneath that cool facade lived rage.
She had just learned to cover it up over the years.
Had that rage driven her to kill?
Korine was quickly growing frustrated. Beverly Grant had deftly avoided her questions and been just as vague as Liz Roberts.
A knock sounded at the door; then Hatcher poked his head inside.
“Agent Davenport, we have to stop. Kendall James is here.”
The lawyer who’d come to Banning’s defense.
“Apparently one of the ladies phoned her,” Hatcher said. “She’s representing all four of them.”
Korine glanced at Beverly Grant. “Is Ms. James your lawyer?”
Grant nodded. “Yes, although I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Hatcher stepped inside. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your friend. Whoever talks first gets a deal.”
The young woman looked back and forth between them. “What kind of deal?”
“There are three counts of murder. We’ll take the death penalty off the table,” he said bluntly. “Parole is also a possibility.”
Another knock, and the door cracked open again. Kendall James appeared, her briefcase in one hand, an air of authority about her. “We’re finished here.”
She motioned to Beverly Grant, and the young woman hurried to the door. Hatcher and Korine followed them and watched the lawyer usher the four women down the hall.
“What now?” Korine asked.
Hatcher’s phone buzzed. Bellows. He answered. “Yes? . . . Dammit.”
Korine wrinkled her brow. “What?”
Hatcher strode into the deputy’s office and flipped on the TV. Korine’s eyes widened as a headline scrolled across the screen and Marilyn Ellis appeared. Shots of the murder scene of Hortman, then Whiting, then the judge appeared.
Ellis smiled into the camera. “The FBI have been investigating a connection between these three murders and now believe a vigilante killer is loose in the Savannah area.”
Hatcher cursed. “She wasn’t supposed to air that.”
“This vigilante killer paints a justice symbol on each of his victim’s foreheads.” Ellis continued. “If you have any information regarding these murders or the vigilante killer, please phone the FBI.”
Korine twisted her hands together. They had asked Marilyn Ellis to hold the story. In a murder investigation, it was important to keep information from the public in case they needed to use it to coerce a suspect into talking. Or to weed out false confessions.
The reporter had just ruined that strategy.