CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Monday, March 19, 2018; 10:00 a.m.
Quinn had found the names of the two girls who had been sexually assaulted two years before Gina vanished. One of the victims, Lily Jackson, had moved to California, but the other, Maureen Campbell, worked as a cop in the state police’s vice unit. She discovered it was Agent Campbell’s day off and arranged to meet her in her Goochland home, forty-five minutes west of Richmond.
Minutes later, Adler and Quinn were in his car driving west, and within the hour he was parking in front of a small brick house on a large wooded lot. The grass around the house was cut, and the trim around the door and windows sported a fresh coat of white paint. They made their way to the front door, and he knocked.
Footsteps in the home moved toward the door. There was a hesitation, and he sensed they were being studied through the peephole. He stepped back and rested his hands on his hips while moving his jacket back slightly so his badge was in view.
The door opened to an attractive woman with long dark hair, a fit body, and green eyes that shifted from wary to somewhat welcoming. “Detective Quinn?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and this is my partner, Detective John Adler. Thanks for seeing us, Agent Campbell.”
“It’s Maureen.” She unlatched the screened door and pushed it open. “Your timing is good. I was about to open the paint cans when you called. It’s my first day off in a few weeks, and I’m determined to paint the living room.”
“Sorry to disturb your plans,” Adler said.
Maureen laughed. “No, any excuse to not paint is a good excuse.”
In the living room, there was a couch, a couple of chairs, and a navy-blue rug covering polished wood floors. All her pictures tilted against a wall in a neat stack.
Maureen sat and motioned for them to do the same.
“Have you been here long?” Adler asked as he took one of the chairs.
“Two years, but work has kept me on the go. There’s been little time to fix up the place. My unit and I infiltrated a human trafficking ring and just busted three guys controlling twenty girls.”
“That’s a hell of a win,” Quinn said.
“It is, but it’ll be a long way back for the girls.” She cleared her throat. “Can I get you coffee?”
Both declined.
“We’ll cut to the chase, if that works for you,” Quinn said.
“Absolutely.”
Quinn flipped open a notebook. “When you were sixteen a man broke into your parents’ home and sexually assaulted you?”
Maureen lifted her chin a fraction. “That’s correct. My parents had gone out for the evening and left me home alone. I’d fallen asleep on the couch and woke up to find a man standing over me. He had a knife pressed to my throat.”
“You said that your attacker was wearing panty hose over his face,” she continued.
“Yes. He kept his face covered. I later met with a police sketch artist, but the image wasn’t helpful.”
“Can you tell us what happened next?” Quinn asked.
Maureen shifted and then settled. “He dragged me to my room, tied me to my bed, and for approximately two hours raped me.”
“Was he concerned that your parents might return?” Adler asked.
“I told him they’d be home any second, but he laughed. He said he’d been watching the house and knew Wednesday nights were their movie nights and they never returned home before eleven.” She raised her fingers to the base of her throat. “Several times he put his hands around my neck and squeezed, but he seemed to grow tired.”
“He underestimated how hard it is to strangle someone,” Quinn said.
Maureen nodded. “Yes, I think that is exactly it. If I had to bet, I’d say I was one of his first victims.”
“Any other reason to support that theory?” Adler asked.
“Even though he said he knew no one was coming to help me, he was nervous. His hands shook as he was tying mine to the headboard. And once a car passed by outside and he stopped, put his hand over my mouth, and waited until the street was silent again.”
“Your attacker wore a condom, correct?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. He also made me take a shower after the attack. He stood by the shower and made me wash my hair and wash my entire body. He was smart. The forensic nurse who examined me couldn’t collect any useable evidence.”
“When did you learn about Gina Mason?” Adler asked.
“It was hard not to hear about her. She was in all the headlines. I was obsessed about her case. It struck very close to home for me.”
“Two years after your attack, you were shown Randy Hayward’s mug shot,” Quinn said.
“I was. I couldn’t identify him.”
“Did you ever see Hayward in a lineup?” Adler asked.
“His attorney argued because I couldn’t ID his mug shot and because there was no DNA in my case, a lineup wasn’t warranted. A judge agreed.” She sighed. “I’m older now and can see my case from a cop’s perspective. The MO of my attacker was different than Gina Mason’s. My attacker attacked me in my home, and he let me go. Yes, he covered his face, but many guys like that do. It’s reasonable to argue we had different assailants,” she said, frowning.
“Why do you think your attacker let you go?” Quinn asked.
“After he raped me, he noticed a stuffed bear on my bed. He said he’d had a bear like that when he was a kid. He asked me if I’d named my bear. I told him its name was Buddy. That seemed to amuse him. I thought we had some kind of emotional connection and he maybe finally saw me as a person. Five minutes later he left.” She scanned both detectives as if they were suspects. “Why all the questions now?”
“Randy Hayward is back in custody and is willing to lead us to Gina Mason,” Adler said.
Maureen stared at them both closely. “What do you want from me?”
“You know, as well as we do, that guys like Hayward evolve,” Quinn said. “First stalking, then rape, and then murder. Serial offenders require more violence to get the same rush of adrenaline and sexual payoff.”
Maureen drew in a breath. “When is Hayward supposed to take you to Gina?”
“End of this week,” Adler said. “I don’t know if we can ever link Hayward to your rape, but I hoped you might be able to tell us something we could use.”
Maureen regarded him a moment. “After my rapist finished, I could tell he was worried about being captured. He climbed on top of me and put his hands around my throat again. Before he started to squeeze, I asked him if he’d named his stuffed bear. The question caught him off guard, and he released my neck and climbed off of me.”
“Did he tell you the name?” Adler asked.
“Charlie. He said his bear’s name was Charlie. Ask Hayward what happened to Charlie.”
Adler nodded. “Will do.”
“Keep me posted,” Maureen said. “Whether he’s my guy or not, that poor kid needs to be found.”
“We will,” Adler said.
They left Maureen Campbell and drove to Ruth Hayward’s home, but found the house closed up, the blinds drawn, and no cars in the driveway or garage.
“Think she’s left town?” Quinn asked.
“We’ll find her,” Adler said. “One way or another, we’ll talk to her.”
“She’s worried. Her kid is about to spill the beans, and she’s going to face a lot of questions,” Quinn said.
“What’s so special about Hayward? He has so many friends and family willing to protect him,” Adler said.
“He was young and charming. Mama’s boy. Everyone’s best friend. Psychopaths can be charming manipulators,” Quinn said.
“Nobody said they were stupid,” Adler said.
As Adler and Quinn made their way to his car, his phone buzzed with a text from a detective in a neighboring jurisdiction. Brad Crowley had returned home and realized the police were looking for him. He was ready to be interviewed.
“We don’t even know Erika is missing,” Quinn pointed out as she slid on her sunglasses. “She could be on a vacation.”
“You really think she’s on a vacation?” Adler asked.
“No. But we don’t have any evidence otherwise.”
“I want to listen in on the interview,” he said.
“I’d like in on it as well. I’ll try not to step on toes.”
A smile tugged at the edge of Adler’s lips. “Don’t kid yourself. You never miss a chance to stir shit up.”
She laughed. “Guilty. I’m a card-carrying provocateur.”
At the station, Adler and Quinn entered the room adjacent to the interview room. Through a two-way mirror, they saw Brad Crowley sitting in a plastic chair next to a scarred wooden table. Crowley wore charcoal-gray pants, a white shirt, and a yellow tie he’d loosened. His blond hair looked as if it had been slicked back but was now disheveled. His gaze downcast, he picked at a Styrofoam cup.
Detective Jeff Beck, a midsize, lean man, sported a blue suit and a full gray mustache reminiscent of the nineties. He stood outside interview room six sipping a cup of coffee.
Adler walked up to Beck and shook his hand. “Thanks for the call.”
“Hey, anytime.” Beck had taken a job with county police three years ago, but Adler and Beck had attended the city police academy together. Beck was one hell of a smart guy. They’d spent a few all-nighters studying for academy tests and had crossed paths during their uniformed patrol days more times than he could count. Each had attended the other’s wedding, and each commiserated when those marriages fell apart under the strain of the job.
“What’s his story?” Adler asked.
“He said he and his wife had an argument last week. He got angry, thought she was being unreasonable, and decided to split for a while.”
“He dropped everything just like that?” Adler asked.
“I checked with his office, and his secretary did clear his schedule at the last minute. She was supposed to tell everyone that he was attending a conference. She said he had a lot of pissed-off patients. Not everyone makes logical choices when they’re angry,” Beck said.
“Point taken.”
“Does he appear worried about his wife?” Quinn asked.
“More irritated and inconvenienced,” Beck said. “He thinks this is her way of paying him back because he took off.”
Adler studied Crowley through the two-way mirror. His shoulders were relaxed, and his expression oddly calm as he rolled a quarter over his fingers with practiced agility. This guy was far from stressed, or so it appeared. Even an innocent guy would be a little uncomfortable. He was trying too hard.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Beck studied him. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks.”
“Tag team?” Quinn asked, grinning with anticipation.
Adler looked at Quinn. “Play nice.”
She shrugged. “Sure, might be fun to switch it up.”
Adler and Quinn entered the room. Quinn tossed a smile at Crowley and chose the seat closest to him. Crowley’s glance was dismissive and defiant until he looked at Adler. Anger flashed, and he rightly identified Adler as a threat.
Crowley kept his composure. “Do you have any news about my wife?”
Where Adler sat during an interview said a lot about his goals. If he were dealing with a traumatized witness, he’d pull up his chair beside the individual as Quinn had done. Sometimes he stood. Today he sat across from Crowley to show him he wasn’t his ally.
“My name is Detective Adler, and this is Detective Quinn. I understand your wife is missing.”
Crowley tugged at his left cuff. “I haven’t seen her since Thursday, but I wouldn’t classify her as missing.”
“Thursday is the last day you were home?”
“I went by my house today. I saw the police tape. And I called 911, and they told me to come here. Are you telling me my wife is injured?”
He wanted Crowley to answer as many questions as possible before he started sharing facts. “Where did you see your wife last?”
“At the house. It had been a long day for both of us, and our tempers flared. Normally, we cool off by now. I texted her several times, but she hasn’t answered. That’s why I went by the house looking for her.”
“Is there anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”
Crowley straightened, sniffed, and cleared his throat. “Are you telling me my wife is hurt? What the hell is going on here?”
“Your wife is missing. Another woman who came to visit you was assaulted on your property by an unknown assailant.”
Crowley drew in a deep breath, and he hesitated. “But Erika was not hurt, correct?”
“We have no evidence,” Quinn said. “But we are concerned about her welfare.”
“Why don’t you know where she is? You’re the damn cops, aren’t you?”
“We’re trying to find her,” Quinn said. “There’s no sign of credit card use. No one has seen her. And her cell is dead.”
“Who is the woman who was hurt?” Crowley demanded.
“A friend of your wife’s,” Adler said.
“Who? I know all my wife’s friends.”
“Kaitlin Roe,” Adler said.
“Roe?” Crowley shook his head. “She’s not a friend of my wife’s. They went to the same high school, but they haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Apparently, Kaitlin wanted to interview your wife for a podcast she’s making on Gina Mason.”
That bit of news seemed to surprise him. “Maybe Kaitlin was breaking into my house. She had a drug habit.”
“No evidence of a break-in. Do you have any idea where your wife might be?”
Crowley’s anger melted as the color drained from his face and the reality set in. “No. Where’s her car?”
“We found it at a gas station on Route 1. We had it towed to the police impound. Right now it’s with the forensic team.”
“Forensic team?” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t you think this is getting way out of hand? She’s jerking my chain.”
Adler wasn’t here to answer questions but to ask them. “Are you sure you don’t know where your wife might be?”
“No, damn it, I don’t. Again, do you have evidence she’s hurt?”
“A friend of hers was killed, and we’re concerned for her safety.”
“Which friend?”
“Jennifer Ralston.”
“Jennifer? Jesus, what happened?”
“You didn’t know about Jennifer?”
“I told you, I’ve been out of town. How did Jennifer die?”
“I can’t discuss that now,” Adler said. “What do you know about Ms. Ralston?”
“She went to high school with my wife. We saw her at a school fund-raiser last year, but haven’t seen her since.”
“You’re sure your wife hasn’t seen her?” Adler asked.
“My wife rarely leaves the house. She goes to yoga twice a week and that’s about it.”
“Why doesn’t she leave her house?” Adler asked.
“She agoraphobic. Leaving the house creates a great deal of stress. It took a lot of therapy just to get her to yoga.”
“Both your wife and Ms. Ralston were two of four girls on the river the night Gina Mason vanished.”
“I know. We never talk about Gina. It upsets Erika too much, so we don’t.”
“Any idea where she might have gone?” Adler asked.
“Nowhere. My wife went nowhere. You’re the cops, and it’s your job to find her. She functions within a three-mile radius of the house.”
“You sound pretty certain,” Adler said.
“I’m always looking out for my wife’s best interests.”
“We’d like to return to your house. You can join us and tell us if any items are missing.”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Does now work?” Adler asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Crowley asked.
Without comment, they escorted Crowley to a car. The drive took under twenty minutes, and no one spoke. Out of the car, Crowley moved past the cops and headed up the front stairs to the door. As Crowley moved out of hearing distance, Quinn looked at Adler.
“I call bullshit,” she said loud enough for only her partner to hear. “I don’t think he cares about his wife.”
“He appears upset, but I’m not buying it.”
“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck,” Quinn said.
Adler trailed behind Crowley up the stairs and through the front door. Crowley had flipped on the entryway lights and immediately spotted the bloodstain on the floor. He froze.
“That’s not Erika’s blood, correct?”
“Correct,” Adler said.
“This must have been some kind of robbery gone wrong. Jesus, with all the drug addicts running around on the streets today, nice houses like ours are a soft target.”
“Let’s have a look around.”
“How was Kaitlin Roe hurt?”
“She was stabbed,” he said.
Crowley’s jaw tightened. “My wife never liked Kaitlin. I can’t see her allowing an interview with anyone, especially with Kaitlin.”
“What did your wife tell you about the night Gina vanished?”
He moved past the bloodstain into the living room, flipping on lights as he moved through the space. “Like I said, she didn’t like to talk about it.”
“She must have mentioned it once or twice,” Quinn said.
“She was eaten up with guilt. She felt if she’d stayed behind instead of leaving, Gina would still be alive.”
“You think Gina’s dead?” Adler said.
“After all this time, how could she be alive?”
“It’s been known to happen,” Adler said. “Where were you the night Gina vanished?”
“At my parents’ house. I was waiting for Erika, but she never came.” He shook his head. “The Kaitlin Roe I remember was always good at manipulating people. She convinced her aunt to take her in and pay for her tuition. If there’s anyone who knows what’s going on, it’s Kaitlin Roe.”
“Ms. Roe has no memory of the attack,” Adler said.
Crowley clenched his hands. “Don’t believe her,” he said. “She’s a fucking liar.”
Dear Kaitlin,
You are lucky. You escaped your punishment. The plan wasn’t to stab you but to take you. I have a special room for you, and nothing will make me happier than to lock you in it and then set it on fire. You are a witch. You deserve to burn and to suffer. I am coming back for you, and remember when you are drawing your dying breath, you asked for this.
The words in the note felt inadequate. They didn’t begin to tap the rage he felt toward Kaitlin. Jennifer he could forgive. She’d never been strong. Even Erika would be forgiven. But Kaitlin was the one who’d had a real chance to save her friend, but literally turned her back on Gina.
He balled up the letter and threw it on the floor. He had been so careful with his planning. He’d driven Erika’s car to a Route 1 gas station, bound her hands and feet with tape, and transferred her to his truck. After dumping her off at his place, he’d returned to her house to wait inside for Kaitlin. But the plan had gone to shit when Kaitlin had set off that alarm. He’d panicked and lunged with the knife, hoping only to make the noise stop.
A wave of frustration churned in his gut. Kaitlin was supposed to be here, and he wanted to snatch her now. But for the next few days, she was out of his reach. Shit! The agitation crawling under his skin was going to drive him mad.
He grabbed keys and unlocked the basement door, then flipped on a light and descended the rickety staircase. Another lock secured the last door.
Erika had been in the dark for forty-eight hours. No food. No water. Essentially entombed alive. It was a hell of a way to go. He wanted to leave her down here until she died of thirst and deprivation. It was another of the horrible ways he’d imagined Gina dying.
However, he no longer had the patience to kill her slowly. He had to do something to calm his nerves. Today she would be Kaitlin’s proxy, and her death would ease the tightness in his chest. Give him enough relief to prepare once and for all for Kaitlin.
He slipped on a white hazmat suit and gloves before opening the door. The light streamed into the small room, illuminating walls filled with dozens of pictures of Gina. The acrid smell of urine made his nose wrinkle.
Erika struggled to sit up and raised a weak hand to shield her eyes. A person could go a long time without food, but lack of water took a much faster toll on the body.
He gave her a moment, wanting her eyes to adjust clearly enough to see the walls papered with Gina’s beautiful face.
She didn’t have the strength to rise. “Gina.”
“That’s right.” Seeing Gina’s smiling face always made him angry. That girl had died too young, and her death could be laid at the feet of her faithless friends who’d abandoned her. “Do you ever think about how she died?”
“What?”
Lack of water had left her lightheaded. That was unfortunate. He wanted her fully aware. “So many horrible ways she could have died. I’ve imagined each and every one of them.”
He pulled the knife from his pocket and unfolded it. “I wanted you to die cold, abandoned, scared, and desperate.” He took a step toward her and raised the knife, imagining what Kaitlin had felt.
She flinched and rolled on her belly, ready to crawl. Her fingers scraped against the stone floor. There was nowhere for her to go.
He approached her from behind and without a word cut her throat with one swipe. She flinched and then raised her filthy hands to the blood spurting from her neck. Adrenaline surged through him as he held her close. Feeling her life ebb was a release. He craved more.
Her body went limp with her last breath. He didn’t move immediately, hoping the high would linger. It didn’t. It evaporated almost immediately, leaving him feeling empty and angry.
He gently brushed the hair from her pale, now-angelic face. “I forgive you, Erika.”
She’d gotten off easily, but Kaitlin would not.