CHAPTER 23
Sean could tell at a glance that Hannah Lipsky didn’t want to be here. The nineteen-year-old wore ripped jeans and a black hoodie, and her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing an intricate vine tattoo on her skinny arms.
Sean introduced himself, and she watched with a sullen look as he took a seat.
“Thanks for coming in.”
She didn’t respond.
“I’ll wait outside,” Farrah said.
Hannah looked panicked. “Wait, you’re not staying?”
“Would you be more comfortable?”
“Yes.”
Farrah glanced at Sean before pulling over a chair from the corner of the room. She positioned it so that she was between Sean and the witness, as though she were a mediator or maybe a court-appointed attorney.
Hannah had brown hair dyed black at the ends, and hostile blue eyes, which she settled on Sean. “So . . . what do you want to know?”
“Why don’t I start with some background.” Farrah looked from Hannah to Sean. “Four years ago, Hannah was arrested as part of a drug raid over in Burr County.”
“You were fifteen?” Sean looked at her. She could have passed for fifteen now with those bony arms, and Sean noticed the parallel scars inside her wrists.
“Almost sixteen. I was at my boyfriend’s place, and these cops kicked in the door and cuffed everyone up.” She shrugged.
“Hannah appeared in Judge Mahoney’s courtroom following her arrest. She had no prior record at that time—”
“Shoplifting,” Hannah cut in.
“Oh. Excuse me. Shoplifting.” Farrah nodded. “Anyway, the judge gave her probation with thirty hours of community service.” Farrah paused and looked at Hannah. “Why don’t you tell Detective Byrne what happened after that?”
Hannah shifted in her chair and refolded her arms. Sean watched her, hoping he was wrong about what she planned to say.
“So, then”—she cleared her throat—“about three weeks later, or maybe it was a month—I don’t know—but I was still on probation, and I snuck out of my house to go to the park with some friends and this cop rolls up, and he’s, like, ‘Hey, who’s got the weed?’ ”
“Which park?” Sean asked.
“Mayfield. Over by the train tracks.”
“It’s in Burrville,” Farrah said.
Sean nodded.
“So . . . he starts patting us down, you know. I had a bag on me. He told my friends they could go, and then it’s just me and him, and he asks me my name and I tell him, and he runs me and finds out I’m on probation, and then he’s, like, ‘What are we gonna do about this, Hannah?’ ”
Sean gritted his teeth as she shifted in her chair again.
“And then he’s, like, ‘Think we need to take you to see the judge.’ ”
Sean looked at Farrah, and she was watching Hannah intently.
“And where did he take you?” Sean asked.
“It was late. Maybe eleven or something, so I thought maybe he was taking me to the police station, but he took me to the courthouse. He parked around back and said the judge was in his office.” She looked down at her arms. “We went up, and there he was sitting behind this desk with a green lamp on it. And he”—she hesitated a beat—“he waved me over and he wanted me to blow him, so I did.”
“He asked you for oral sex?”
“He didn’t ask. But it was obvious, all right? He had his pants unzipped and he was just hanging out there, like, waiting for me to do it.”
“Where was the officer at this point?”
“In the hallway. On the other side of the door.” She looked away.
“Hannah.”
She met his gaze.
“Did the officer ever identify himself to you?”
She shook her head. “He was big. I remember that. He looked like a skinhead. I don’t know his name, but he had a gun and a badge and his car smelled like vomit.”
Farrah cleared her throat, and Sean looked at her. “We walked through the incident this morning, in great detail. Hannah let me record our session on my phone.”
Sean nodded. “What happened after that, Hannah?”
She shrugged and looked away. “That was it. He zipped up. And he said, ‘You’re free to go.’ And I walked out, and the cop was waiting for me.”
“Where did he take you?”
“Back to the park. He dropped me there and told me to stay out of trouble or I’d have to go before the judge again. I remember that, ‘go before the judge,’ like it was a trial or something.”
Sean clenched his teeth as he watched her. His gaze went to the scars on her wrists. He thought of Jasmine’s file that he’d spent half the night reading in front of Mahoney’s house. Jasmine had been admitted to the ER for a drug overdose when she was fifteen, the same summer she first appeared in Mahoney’s courtroom.
Sean took a deep breath. “So, he dropped you off in the park . . . and then what did you do?”
“You’re asking if I went to the police?” She sneered. “Who would believe me?”
“That’s not what I’m asking. But where did you go?”
She brushed a tear from her cheek and looked down. “I wanted to go to my boyfriend’s but . . . I couldn’t. I didn’t want to tell him, so I went home. My mom was passed out. She never even knew I was gone.”
• • •
Brooke knelt beside the ditch and collected a shard of glass with a pair of tweezers. At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see Roland standing behind her finishing off a sandwich.
“Hey, thanks for joining us.”
“I was at lunch.” He dusted off his hands and crouched beside her. “What’s the scoop?”
“SUV versus pedestrian. Hit and run.”
Roland grimaced. “Damn.”
“The paramedics just left with the victim. She was in bad shape.” Brooke nodded at the pool of blood on the asphalt a few feet from where Maddie was setting up her tripod. A uniform had put down cones to reroute traffic.
“This the headlamp?” Roland asked.
“That’s right. I’ve got this area covered, but you could go help Maddie. We haven’t had time to measure the tire marks yet.”
Roland stood and walked off as Brooke’s phone chimed in her pocket. She sealed her evidence envelope and dropped it into her kit, then pulled out her phone.
“Porter.”
“Brooke, it’s Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn Spence.”
The distress in her voice made Brooke stand up. “What’s wrong, Kaitlyn?”
“Has Cameron called you? Have you seen him?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, God.”
“Isn’t he in school?”
“No. I just came from there. I was supposed to pick him up after lunch for his interview with the police artist and I went by to get him and he wasn’t in the office and his science teacher says he never showed up for fourth period—”
“Kaitlyn, where are you right now? Have you called the police?”
“I’m almost there. Maybe he went over there without me. But why would he do that? The police station is, like, two miles from the middle school!”
Brooke’s heart was racing now. “Yes, but . . . maybe he’s there. Cameron walks everywhere, right? Two miles isn’t a long distance for him.”
“But he’s not answering his phone.”
Brooke looked at the congested road where a uniformed officer directed traffic around the accident scene. “Kaitlyn, listen to me. When you get to the police station, if Cameron’s not there, ask for Sean Byrne or Ric Santos right away. Tell them what happened.”
“I don’t know what happened! He’s just gone! Why isn’t he at school? Are you sure you haven’t missed a call from him?”
“I’m sure, but why would he call me?”
“He’s been begging me to call you to see if you could bring Fenway to the shelter to visit us.”
Brooke felt a swell of hope. “Maybe he went to see Fenway. Did you call your neighbor who’s taking care of him?”
“She was my first call. I thought maybe Cam cut class to go visit the dog, but Mrs. Nance hasn’t seen Cam since we were there together on Monday. Where could he have gone?”
“I don’t know.” Brooke packed her evidence kit and clicked the lid shut. Roland was going to have to take over with this crime scene so she could follow up on this.
“I have to go now, Brooke. I just pulled into the police station.”
“Maybe Cam will be there,” Brooke said, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel.
“Brooke, he wouldn’t just disappear like this! There’s something wrong.”