Authors: Gregg Olsen

Closer Than Blood (29 page)

BOOK: Closer Than Blood

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A half hour into the darkness of the pod, Lainie heard footsteps, the sound of a key inserted into the lock. She turned in her bed as a hand went over her face.

She couldn't breathe.

What is happening to me?

The smell of chewing tobacco came at her.

“Shut up. You're mine.”

Lainie rolled onto her back, twisted her frame to try to get some leverage. She wanted out of there. She clawed into the darkness. The sticky hand over her mouth pushed harder. She couldn't breathe. She was a virgin, but she knew what was happening. She knew what that man was trying to do to her.

Please, God, don't let him rape me!

“Stop it, you little bitch. You're ruining my game here,” Hector said. “I like a good dust-up in the sack, but you still have to get the job done.”

Why isn't Tara or G.G. or whatever her name is doing anything?

Lainie was unsure how it happened, but he was on top of her. Somehow he had slithered under the blanket. She could feel his body and she started to cough, then vomit. Vomit of chicken wings and mashed potatoes spewed over the bed, onto the officer, over the surface of the scratchy blanket.

“You fucking dirty little bitch!”

She was choking on her own vomit. She couldn't breathe. She fought, and she fought hard. There wasn't a moment in which she wouldn't have begged for her life, even if he'd loosened his grip enough so that she could. No one who'd been pinned down, held tight with the hot breath of an assailant all over her, would deny the feelings that spun through her terrified mind. He put his hand on her breasts and pushed before he bent down, panting, and whispered in her ear.

“I know what you did,” he said. “Don't piss me off. You did a real number on your sister, you little privileged bitch. You mess with me by saying anything and I'll kill your sister and your dad. After I feed them to the sharks in Puget Sound, I'll go out and have waffles and eggs for breakfast. And then, I'll come looking for you.”

He released her. A sliver of light fell over the room. The door shut.

Lainie was crying, coughing, choking. Tara climbed down and took her over to the toilet. She handed her a towel.

“Get a grip. Pull yourself together,” she said. “What the hell was all that drama tonight, Tori?”

“Drama?” It was a single word, but the only thing that could come to her lips.

Tara started for their bed. “Whatever. Your puke really stinks. I don't know how I'm supposed to sleep around here. Thanks for nothing. God, I hate this place.”

The dreams started then. The nightmares. Whatever they were. Tori didn't come back the next morning. In fact, she
never
did. Tori told her father that she just couldn't go back to “that place,” that it “hurt too much” to see her sister that way.

Tori let Lainie serve out her sentence.

Dex O'Neal had no idea what had happened, that the switch had been made. When he saw his daughter in the correctional facility later, he remarked about her new look.

“You cut your hair like your sister,” he said.

“Yeah, it was getting too long,” Lainie said.

“I love it.”

The sisters never talked about what had transpired the last time they ever switched places as twins.

Tori ran across Daniel Hector at the Safeway on Bethel Avenue one time, and he approached her.

“Your sister was a total bitch,” he said. “You said she was going to be hot stuff.
Fun stuff.
That she was into a sexy, fun scene.”

“Didn't you have fun?”

“She practically threw me on to the floor.”

“She's a fighter.”

“She was a bitch. I'm glad I've got you to mess around with.”

She smiled. It wasn't a real smile, but he was too stupid to know. “Those were good times. Freaky, but good.”

When Daniel Hector was arrested for molesting a ten-year-old girl three years later, it opened a Pandora's box of other accusations. There were some suspicions from the staff at the Secure Crisis Residential Center in Port Orchard, but no one really had anything conclusive. The girls in 7-Pod had turned over to a new group three times since Lainie as Tori O'Neal walked free.

Lainie was in college studying journalism when she saw the item in the paper, but she resisted the urge to dial the Kitsap County Prosecutor's Office. While it was true that she didn't want to be thought of as a victim, neither did she want anyone to know that she'd been duped by her sister. She was damaged goods. Raped. Abused.

Tori had faded away after her release and the time between visits with what was left of their family lengthened.

The only time she saw her sister was in her dreams.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Tacoma

Tori Connelly paced the house, starting in the master bedroom, then the guest room, down the hall, and to the stairs. Everything in that old Victorian was perfection. On the first floor she lingered in the kitchen looking at all the things she had amassed. The best appliances. An antique paella pan from Spain that hung on the wall cost more than two thousand dollars. She didn't even cook and never intended to learn. She was going to have to leave all of what she'd fought so hard to get. She was going to have to pray that her sister and Kendall Stark didn't talk.

Kendall was digging into her affairs. Lainie was poking around in things that she should leave alone. And Parker had been a fool.

I've been through more than any of those idiots can imagine. If they knew what I'd faced, they would back off and give me some space,
she thought.
I don't deserve this.

She went back upstairs to her phone. Her heart was racing a little, a feeling that she did not appreciate at all. She dialed Parker's number. It went to voice mail.

“Baby, I was just thinking about you. About
us
,” she began. “We have to go
now
.”

She hung up and continued to review the house that would never again be her home. She went into the living room where she'd pointed the gun at the back of Alex's head and kick-started the series of incidents that was the middle of her plan. Not the beginning. She smiled. She knew that she'd never come back to the old Victorian that she had been her dream. It had reminded her of the dollhouse that she, her sister, and the other girls in juvy had worked on, and owning it was a big F-U to all of those who'd hurt her.

Her mother.

Her father.

Her sister.

Her husbands.

She examined herself in the mirror. She looked pretty in an ordinary way. Her hair no longer golden, but some color that approximated averageness, something she never wanted to be. Inside her purse, she'd packed plane tickets, five grand, and the code to her Bahamian bank account.

She drew a deep breath and reminded herself that the best plans in the world had to be fluid. She knew that, but taking that deep inside once more was necessary. She understood the power of adapting and changing.
Steady, Tori.
The only person who should know someone's next move is the one holding the cards. She set a single overnight bag on the front step and turned the key in the deadbolt.

Tori went inside the carriage house and shut the door. She could hear Alex's voice as he told her that he no longer loved her, that he wanted out of their marriage. She'd begged him to reconsider, though she really was only buying time.

She climbed into the deep, dark leather seats of her Lexus and shut the door.

Then she screamed as loudly as she could.

As she dealt with another sleepless night, Lainie's thoughts fell to her sketchy memories of Zach Campbell. She'd remembered how excited her sister had been when she announced that she was going to marry the former navy officer based in Bremerton. Tori had met him when she was a casino singer at the Clearwater in Suquamish. He was handsome, almost two decades older. His chiseled good looks had softened with age a little, but with brown eyes and a full head of sandy hairâso full that some wondered if it had been a toupee, which it
wasn't
âhe was a charmer.

“Aren't you worried that he's a little, you know, old?” Lainie asked when her sister met her at a Port Orchard coffee shop on Bay Street. They were barely in their twenties and their relationship had slowly ebbed since high school. Lainie had gone to Western Washington University in the northern part of the state. Though Tori was given her high school diploma, it came with the tarnish of having finished her education in juvenile detention. Neither had ever acknowledged it was Tori who walked at graduation as Lainie. So much had never been discussed. The crash. The prison. The switch.

All had turned them into friendly adversaries, not sisters.

“I was a little concerned, at first,” Tori said, of Zach's age. “But he told me that age is nothing but a number. Besides he's financially secure and that matters. I don't have a career like someone I know.”

“Just so you know, reporters make less than teachers,” Lainie said.

Tori shrugged. “Casino singers make less than just about anyone, Lainie.”

“Very funny. Don't you want a family someday?”

“He's old, not dead, Lainie. And maybe a baby sometime. I'm not in a hurry.”

“What about the wedding? When and where?”

Tori held up her ring finger. Set in a thin platinum band was a one-carat square-cut diamond that sparkled like a midnight star. It was an ostentatious stone that was meant to draw gasps and envy. And it did.

“We were married last weekend in Las Vegas.”

“Oh . . . congratulations.”

“We'd always planned on being maids of honor for each other. We'd talked of a double wedding. Remember how the other would wait for her sister?”

“That was
before
,” Tori said. “Before the accident. Before Mom died. I just want to get out of Kitsap as fast as I can. Zach is my ticket out.”

“That sounds lovey-dovey.”

“You can think whatever you want to think, Lainie. Just remember that when I'm gone, no one will look at you and think that you're me. The scorn or pity or whatever it is that is passed in your direction by mistake will vanish.”

Lainie thought a moment, choosing her words carefully.

“Because
you're
going to vanish.”

Tori let out a breath.

“Something like that,” she said.

CHAPTER FORTY

Port Orchard

The phone at the Kitsap County Sheriff's Office had rung nonstop with calls from congregants of the Lord's Grace Church. Most callers were exceedingly polite, offering prayers and volunteering to do whatever they could to help with the investigation. Although Josh was designated lead on the Mike Walsh homicide, both he and Kendall took turns fielding those who wanted to help in one way or another.

Kendall told each they were in the middle of the investigation. She never offered specifics. She knew better from seeing other cops get burned when they made promises of solving a case.

An obvious murder like Pastor Walsh's, with bloody footprints and sadistic binding of the victims' wrists, could languish until such time as the killer struck again.

If, indeed, the killer was prone to do so. Josh was convinced it was payback for sexual abuse because of the repeated and unnecessary stabbing. Kendall was of another mind.

There was a connection and a very real one with Jason Reed.

One call from a prepaid cell phone, however, was nothing like the others. Kendall took the call. It was a woman's voice.

“You really messed up on this one. We'll never know what happened to Jason Reed now. Thanks for nothing.”

“Who is this?” Kendall asked, her adrenalin pumping.

“It doesn't matter.

“It does to me.”

The line went dead.

Under the green glow of her desk's banker's lamp, Kendall Stark spread out copies of the case file from the Connelly homicide investigation. She was on thin ice and she knew it. The material was given to her as a courtesy because of her reinvestigation of Jason Reed's death and Tori's connection with the cases. She'd already overstepped some boundaries by talking with the nurses at the hospital. She doubted Kaminski would appreciate her doing anything moreâand she knew she'd resent any cop who'd insert him or herself into one of her active investigations.

But this was different.
It was personal
. It was something she simply had to do.

She found herself flipping back and forth between the reports made at the scene and the interview notes for both Darius Fulton and Tori Connelly.

Tori claimed she'd been in bed when she heard the gunfire. She went downstairs and the masked intruder shot her as he ran out of the house.

Darius claimed he knew nothing of that, of course. But his statement had one detail that seemed puzzling.

“. . . Mrs. Connelly arrived in a nightgown . . . bleeding ... her hair was wet.”

Kendall poured herself a diet cola and returned her attention to the notation made by Kaminski:

“. . . The master shower had been wet.”

It was easy to surmise that Tori Connelly had taken a shower that evening. No crime there. What troubled Kendall was the idea of a woman going to bed with a sopping wet head. She never would have done that. In fact, Kendall, like many women, took her showers in the morning precisely so she could blow-dry her hair to perfection before work.

Tori Connelly's hair had been soaking wet.

She looked at the photos of the master bedroom. The image showing the Rice bed revealed that while it had been turned down for the night, no one had been inside it. The duvet was smooth. There was no indentation where Tori Connelly's head might have rested.

And certainly, there was no indication that there was any dampness on the pillow.

If Tori wasn't in bed, as she had said, what was she doing?

Kendall felt that the condom wrapper found in the guest room was also problematic. It hadn't been seen by Kaminski or the others who'd processed the scene for the Tacoma Police Department. She conceded that the first floor of the house on Junett would have been the most crucial for processing. But the master bath, master bedroom, and the guest rooms upstairs were also relevant. Certainly what transpired May 5 was not a sex crime, so there would have been little reason to consider it of any evidentiary value. Yet, why was it there?

It didn't make sense. Something, she was sure, was amiss.

Kendall left her office and found Josh Anderson behind his desk surfing
Match.com
. She lingered a moment, kind of happy to see that he was working out of his personal funk. She no longer saw Internet dating as pathetic, but necessary.

Especially for Josh.

“Making a connection?” Her tone was kind, not snide.

Flustered, Josh looked up and clicked his mouse to shut the window. His face went red. “How did youâ”

Kendall pointed. “Behind you. The glass on the watercolor reflects your screen.”

“Thanks. I didn't know.”

“Of course you didn't,” she said.

“What's up,” he said. “You're obviously not here to critique the state of my love life.”

Kendall smiled briefly. “No, not this time,” she said, holding out the Tacoma Police report and pointing out what Lainie told her about the condom wrapper.

“She found the wrapper. Practically in plain sight.”

He pushed the paperwork back. “Two things,” he said. “One, what does Kaminski say? And two, why in the F are you working their case when we have our own here?”

“He doesn't say. He's probably embarrassed that his tech missed it. I know I would be.” The muscles in Kendall's neck tightened, like they always did when she felt backed into a corner. “As for your second point, I can't give a clear answer. I thinkâand it's a gut feeling that I'm sure you'd dismiss as woman's intuition or something of the likeâthat Tori is responsible for her husband's murder. Not the sap they've arrested.”

“I won't denigrate your intuition, Kendall. You know I don't put much stock in things that aren't black-and-white. And that's the way I've lived my life and do my job.”

Kendall held her tongue. She could have said something cruel back, something along the lines of how lousy his life had turned out, but she didn't. Being overly defensive wouldn't get her anywhere.

“Thanks. I just know that Tori killed Alex, Zach, and, yes, Jason.”

“Good luck with that, Kendall,” he said. “You're on dangerous ground.”

“Fine,” she said. “Thanks for listening.”

Kendall retreated to her office, angry at Josh, but knowing that her compulsion to figure things out was greater than any admonishment she'd get from her partner, her husband, or the sheriff.

If it came to that.

She called Darius Fulton's lawyer Maddie Crane's office. Her paralegal Chad told her that Ms. Crane was out to lunch.

“She doesn't take calls during her lunchtime, but if you're nearby, you can bug her in person. I don't care.”

Kendall knew where Maddie and all the lawyers congregated in Tacoma. Only two blocks from the Pierce County Courthouse, an Italian restaurant called Mama's was the scene of more one-upmanship than a fight club in a dank warehouse downtown. Lawyers were showy competitors. That meant they liked to be seen.

“I'm going on an errand,” she said, barely stopping by Josh's office as she made her way down the hallwayâa place that had been remodeled too many times without consideration for function.

“Your mom?”

“Yes, Mama's,” she said, relieved that it really wasn't a lie.

When her phone rang, it was Laura Connelly.

“I don't want to say anything over the phone,” she said. “I need to see you.”

“Are you all right? Can you tell me what it's about?”

“Parker,” she said, her voice catching a little in her throat.

“It has to do with my son. Meet me at Shari's on Union. I'll be there at three.”

“Can you make it earlier? I'm planning on heading over to Tacoma around lunchtime.”

“All right. How about one-thirty?”

“Perfect.”

She hung up, wondering what was up with Laura, though she had an idea.

Kendall Stark was greeted by a wave of garlic as she swung open the big brass doors of Mama's Ristorante. Finding Maddie wouldn't be hard. Everyone in the Northwest knew Maddie Crane. Kendall and the lawyer had actually met a time or two before. Maddie got around. Kendall passed through the restaurant and went into the dimly lit bar, where she immediately caught the attention of Maddie's horde, two women and a man in dark, expensive suits and spray-on tans. She nodded at the defense lawyer. Maddie made a face and got up to greet her.

“You wouldn't be unlucky enough just to stumble on this place,” she asked. “What is it?”

The place was warm, so the detective unbuttoned her jacket.

“It might not be anything,” she said. “Can we sit?”

Maddie seemed irritated. “Make it fast. I'm with friends.”

“I see that. Looks like a fun crowd.”

They found an empty booth by the kitchen door. “What is it?” she repeated.

“Like I said, it might not be anything. Tacoma PD missed a potential piece of evidence. Or maybe not. I don't know.”

Kendall chose her words carefully, but in doing so, she made the scenario appear worse than it was. She was, as Josh said, on shaky ground. While she was technically working her own case involving Tori Connelly, she was stepping on the toes of Tacoma Police and that was never a good idea.

“I'm working my own case,” she said. “But it could be related to yours. Hear me out.”

Maddie was devoid of facial expression, which spoke more of her ability to hide her feelings than of Botox. It didn't matter to her if she believed her client or not, but a mistake by the police was always a good thing.

“Go on. All ears here.”

“Lainie says there was a condom wrapper in the guest room. The deceased had a vasectomy.”

Maddie's eyes were flinty. Again, cool. “All right.”

“What about your client?”

“That's extremely personal.”

Kendall fidgeted a little in her chair. “Well, sure it is,” she said. “But we can't figure out why there would be a condom wrapper in that bedroom.”

The lawyer tapped her long nails against the dark walnut surface of the tabletop. “So what you might be sayingâand what Kaminski probably would not like brought up at trialâis that there might be another man involved with the charming Mrs. Connelly.”

“Something like that,” Kendall said.

Maddie got up and started for her table.

“I'll get back to you,” she said.

BOOK: Closer Than Blood

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