See No Evil (9 page)

“Billy, you know I understand where you’re coming from. Don’t give me shit.”

Billy said nothing, but his physical demeanor relaxed. He shrugged, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “What about Judson? Everyone thinks I killed him, you know.”

“But you didn’t. You have the truth on your side,” Connor said softly.

“What do you want to know?”

“Have you heard of a group called ‘Wishlist’?” Connor asked.

Billy straightened. “How do you know about that?”

Connor slid over the message he’d taken from Patrick’s file.

“Do you recognize this?”

Billy didn’t touch the paper, but he read it.

“Yeah. I wrote it. What’s it to you?”

“What is ‘Wishlist’?” Connor asked.

“Hell if I know. Just a bunch of whiny pricks. Life sucks, you know? Shit happens. But these people just whine and complain ’bout every fucking thing that happens to them.”

“You were in the group and you don’t know what it is?”

“It’s just an online message group. You know, sign up and get e-mails from everyone in the group. It was supposed to be anger management or something—talk about your problems and they’ll disappear, shit like that. But it wasn’t for me, you know? I quit after a couple months.”

“How did you get hooked up with them in the first place?”

“After Judson expelled me I was stupid, okay? I took a bat to his car. I had to pay for the damage and take this anger management class. So I did. The shrink told me about the group, said it was for people like me who just wanted to talk. Do I look like someone who needs to
talk
about my shit? But I did it because I thought I’d get points and get out of the stupid class. I dumped it as soon as my probation was up. Kept my nose clean since. You know that, Kincaid, don’t you?”

“You have the cleanest nose down at the gym.”

A half-smile turned Billy’s lips up. “Damn straight.”

“Did you save any of the e-mails?”

“Naw, and I never had a computer either. I used the computer at the library at school. Haven’t been online since I graduated last June.”

So “Wishlist” was an online anger-management community, apparently aimed toward teenagers, considering that both Billy and Emily had been members. Billy’s psychiatrist recommended it, and Connor wondered if the same had happened with Emily.

He was about to ask when Billy tapped the message and said, “Damn, I sounded like a lunatic when I wrote that. But it’s easy to rant when it’s anonymous. Now, I don’t care. I’ve got a chance to go to Texas in the fall and the only thing I want to do is play basketball and take care of my ma. I’m not going to blow it.” He looked at Connor, fidgeted. “Um, thanks for the recommendation letter. Appreciate it.”

Connor nodded, stood. “By the way,” he asked, “who was your shrink?”

“Dr. Bowen. Some rich-ass shrink. Nice enough guy, I guess, but he never understood. Though, to tell you the truth, talking about my frustration did help. Maybe not then, but now…well, I don’t let things get me riled like they used to, if you know what I mean.”

“A lot of people never realize that, Billy,” Connor said. “You’re already ahead of the game.”

The bell over the main door rang and Billy said, “Look, Kincaid, I really can’t help you. I wish I could, but I have a good job here.” He stood up. When he looked through the door, he swore. “Fuck.”

Connor stood, looked around Billy’s shoulder. Will Hooper was standing at the counter, hand poised above the bell.

“Billy Thompson? I’m Detective—” He stopped when he saw Connor. His jaw clenched and Connor could feel his anger even fifteen feet away.

“Kincaid, can I talk to you?”

“I was just leaving,” Connor said. He glanced at Billy and said quietly, “You have my number. Call me if you remember anything.”

Billy grunted.

On the sidewalk, Will started in on Connor. “What are you doing here? I thought I saw you around the station, and now here? You interfere with a police investigation and I’ll take action.”

“Lighten up, Will.”

“You’re going to get Patrick fired.”

“Saint Patrick? He does the work of three guys. He didn’t tell me anything, anyway.”

“I’m not stupid. He wouldn’t have to say anything.”

“You think Emily is guilty?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. I’m just looking at the evidence.”

“And the evidence says?”

“I’m not talking about this case with you.”

Connor leaned over. “I saw the e-mail. If I were still a cop, I’d be all over it.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Go easy with Billy. He’s a good kid.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Ask him.” Connor walked away. He wasn’t going to make it easy for Will, especially not now when his gut told him Emily was on the verge of being arrested.

TEN

F
AYE
K
ESSLER SAT
in the papasan chair in Cami’s ornate penthouse apartment. Faye yearned to have her own place, where she didn’t have to hide, didn’t have to be anyone but who she really was. Cami was brilliant. She had graduated from high school early and could have gone to any college she wanted, but she was tired of school. Genius-level IQ, but Faye knew having a high IQ was as much a curse as being ugly. Cami had connected with Faye in a way no other person ever had.

They were soul mates. Bound by something greater than life.
Blood.
There was no greater union.

“Do you think it’s safe?” Skip asked. “Shouldn’t we lay low for a while?”

Cami shook her pretty head. “It’s perfect.” She gave Skip that smile, the one that said,
I know what I’m doing and I love you for caring, but we’re doing it my way.

Faye marveled at Cami’s ability to control men. Faye wanted that control, but she was destined to stand on the sidelines and observe.

“Where’s Robbie?” she asked.

“He’s coming,” Skip said, winking at Faye.
He knew.
He knew that she and Robbie had had sex. The idea turned her on as much as it scared her. Maybe Skip had even watched. Seen her body, scars and all. Robbie didn’t care about them, he had his own. It’s why Faye let him touch her naked.

Even if Skip had watched that night, when Cami was doing her thing and she and Robbie were on the couch, he couldn’t have seen anything. No lights, that was Faye’s rule. And Robbie didn’t care, he just wanted to screw her.

Only Cami had seen her marks.

They’d met last year after talking online for months.

They’d gone to different schools. Faye to a private high school; Cami, a year older, had graduated from high school early and was part of an independent study program with Stanford. They were from opposite ends of the same track—both smart, Cami pretty and poised while Faye was ugly and gangly. Rich single parents, only children, and one other thing in common:

Boredom.

They’d talked online about everything, but some of their cybertalk was dangerous. They were crossing a line and Faye’s self-preservation kicked in.

“We should meet,” she suggested to Cami.

“Where?”

“The club.”

That was another thing they had in common. Cami’s mother and Faye’s dad had memberships to the most exclusive golf club in San Diego County.

At the end of their oh-so-formal lunch overlooking the dock, Faye asked, “Have you ever cut yourself?”

She knew Cami had, it was one of the first things they’d talked about online. It was the reason Cami had been sent to therapy.

Cami’s pretty blue eyes glazed over. Excitement? She flushed. “I can’t. My mom checks my arms all the time.”

“Still?” Cami was eighteen and didn’t even live with her mother anymore.

She frowned, nodded. “Not as often, but I never know when. She’ll send me away. She said she’d commit me.”

“Can she do that now?”

“Yes. She wants my trust fund. It’s why I moved out, but I still have to go through the hoops until I’m twenty-one. God, I can’t wait.”

“Come on.” Faye got up and they walked to the bathroom.

The bathroom at the club was opulent. There were no stalls, but complete rooms that housed a toilet, sink, and shower. Two private sitting areas and even a lounge, which Faye suspected some of the refined women used after purging. Doors that closed. Walls that were, almost, soundproof. Sometimes two women came out of a private room. Flushed. Doing the forbidden.

Cami followed Faye, who closed the door tight behind them. Without a word, Faye pushed up the sleeves of her shirt.

Cami gasped, took a finger and ran it over the rows and rows of raised scars. “Wow,” she breathed heavily. Cami turned her left arm over, palm up, and Faye touched the old, faded scars, seven of them, on her forearm. They were shallow. Time would make them disappear to all who didn’t know they were there.

Faye reached into her purse and extracted her favorite knife. Very thin, very sharp. She handed it to Cami.

“I can’t,” she whispered, though she held the knife, staring at the blade as if in a trance. She licked her lips.

Faye turned around, pulled up her shirt, and showed Cami her back. There were no scars there; a clean slate.

“Do me.”

“You want me to cut you?”

“It will seal our friendship.”

Faye almost thought she’d read Cami wrong. But then Cami’s breath caressed her neck and she relaxed with anticipation, closed her eyes.

She inhaled sharply at the first sting of the cut, the familiar warmth, pain and heat blending to create a power she only felt at this moment, when blade sliced flesh and reminded her she could end it all if she chose. There was always the option, always the choice. She had the power. Just a matter of how deep, how long, how quiet she could be…

Cami was gentle, the cut was shallow, perfect, an inch long. Blood oozed over its edge, trailing slowly over her shoulder blade. A finger touched her back, along the slender line of blood. Faye closed her eyes. Lips touched the fresh wound, and she held her breath, squirming against her jeans, a rush of pleasure gliding through her body.

Cami’s lips kept pressure on the cut until it stopped bleeding. Faye had many sexual fantasies, but they were all about boys.

None of her fantasies felt as good as Cami’s lips on her back.

“Thank you,” Cami whispered in her ear. “Can we meet here again sometime?”

Faye could only nod.

“I’ll TM you.”

Then she kissed her on the neck and left.

“So we’re all in agreement?” Cami said. She looked at Faye, who nodded.

“Dammit, Faye, can’t you talk some sense into her?” Skip was angry, but that wasn’t unusual.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” Cami countered.

Skip had. Faye had watched his expression when she killed Judge Victor Montgomery. Wide-eyed. Amazed. Empowered. Blood held a surprising attraction.

And there had been a lot of blood.

“It’s justice,” Cami said, using the one argument that always worked with Skip. “You know what he did to Emily. And do you really think anyone as
establishment
as a judge would be prosecuted?”

“I just didn’t think Emily would get hurt.”

Cami waved off the concern. “She’ll be fine. She didn’t kill him, they’ll let her go. Now, we had a plan. I want to finish it.”

Robbie entered then, clearly stoned. Cami fumed. “You’re doing drugs again.”

Robbie shrugged, slumped on the floor up against the door. “Whatever.”

“You
promised.
” Cami despised drugs. Like some people hated gays and some people hated Christians; Cami hated drugs with an unusual fervor. When Robbie joined them ten months ago, right before they took care of the teacher, the rule was
no drugs.
Robbie had been fairly sober since.

“What happened?” Faye asked him as she knelt next to him.

He looked at her with glassy eyes. It wasn’t just drugs she saw in them. It was pain. “What happened?” she asked again. When Cami tried to interrupt, Faye put up her hand.

She reached over and lifted up his shirt. Fresh bruises covered his chest. “Oh Robbie, you need to go to the hospital.”

“Hell no.” Robbie brushed off her hand. “I got three fucking months left. Three months and I get my money. I’m not doing shit until I get the money and then I’m going to kill him and disappear. Fucking bastard.” He sniffed, rubbed his nose, and winced.

Skip helped him up. “I’ll take care of him.”

Cami was unmoved by Robbie’s pain. “No drugs. That was the rule. You’ll get no second chance.”

“What are you going to do? Suck me dry and cut off my dick, too?”

Cami reddened and pointed at Skip. “Talk to him. Straighten him out. This is bigger than all of us. Don’t you see? This is justice. This is payback for everyone who can’t fight for themselves. Straighten Robbie out or he’s gone.
Disappeared.
”

Skip glared at Cami, but nodded. He took Robbie into the bathroom.

“His old man really walloped him,” Faye said, walking over to Cami.

Cami frowned. “Drugs are like drinking. Loose lips. You know that saying? It’s like military or something.
Loose lips sink ships.
We can’t let Robbie destroy everything we’ve been planning for over a year. I won’t have it.”

What she really meant is
he
wouldn’t have it, but Faye didn’t correct Cami. They never talked about him. Cami didn’t even know that Faye knew about him. The less Cami knew about that the better.

“Robbie won’t screw us,” Faye assured her, though even she had her doubts.

She’d had early doubts about bringing in Skip, but he’d turned out to be immensely valuable. Cami could get him to do anything—
anything—
and Faye loved watching her in action. But at the beginning, when they first talked about this, it had just been the two of them. Cami and Faye.

“We’re going through with this.” Cami sat down heavily on her bed. “As soon as we know when. No backing out. It’s the final act, the one we’ve been waiting for. And if Robbie and Skip are problems, you know what we have to do.”

She did. “You know I’m there.”

Cami smiled, touched her cheek. “I know. You understand better than anyone. I never have to explain anything to you.” She reached over Faye and into her nightstand. “I have a treat for you.”

Cami handed Faye a vibrator and a video. “Take them home. You’ll know what to do.”

Faye took them, both nervous and excited. She wanted to view the video before she shared it with
him.

She started to leave when Cami spoke.

“It’s only because of you that Robbie’s made it this far, Faye. He’s your responsibility. If he screws up again, you’re going to have to take care of him.”

Faye stared into Cami’s dead eyes. She wondered if they mirrored her own.

“I will.”

Julia didn’t want to be in her office. She should have taken the day, the week, off to take care of Emily. But she had a trial starting a week from Monday, a rape, and she needed to prepare. Talk to the victim, ready her for the stand. Talk to the detective. The witnesses. Julia had turned down a plea offer—six months, ridiculous for a forcible rape—and had to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Melanie Ruiz had said no and Juan Fuentes attacked. She had doctors’ reports, a witness, and the victim had bruise marks around her neck.

Fuentes told police that Melanie liked it rough.

The best thing right now was to focus on her job. Try to keep her mind off Emily. Putting Fuentes in prison for five-to-seven would satisfy her need for justice.

Besides, being in the office gave her an excuse to keep her ears open. Pick up any details about Victor’s murder.

She worked on her opening statement, but her mind was far from the case. She prided herself on always knowing what to do and when to do it, but right now she was so lost and she had no one to turn to, no one to talk with.

What few friends Julia had over the years had all left the San Diego area. They barely kept in touch via e-mail. Matt, her brother, had truly been her best friend, and he was dead. Maybe that’s why she’d thrown herself into her job, her career.

But when she needed someone, anyone, to talk to, there was no one.

She’d never felt so alone except the day Matt died and she’d lived. But for the grace of God, Emily would have perished with Matt.

“Where’s Em?” Julia asked when she opened her door to Matt that stormy Saturday night.

“She begged me to drop her at the movie theater with Jayne.” He stepped in and shrugged off his wet jacket. Julia hung it in the closet.

“You left two ten-year-olds alone at the theater?”

“I walked them in, and the movie lets out at nine thirty-five. I’ll be back long before.” He smiled, though it was a sad expression. She was about to ask her brother what was troubling him when he asked, “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.”

Matt followed Julia into the kitchen.

Julia poured her brother some tea from the pot she had just made for herself. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

He sighed. “I’ve thought of nothing else. I just don’t know anything anymore, Jules.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“Do you know how many of Emily’s friends have divorced parents? All but one.”

“So she’ll be in good company.”

He didn’t laugh. “Crystal wasn’t always like this.”

Julia disagreed, but didn’t say anything.

“Or was I just so blind I couldn’t see?” He was trying to convince himself.

“I don’t know, Matt. I guess she had her moments. And I really thought Crystal loved you.” For about five minutes, thought Julia, but she didn’t add that.

“She did. I just don’t know what happened.”

They sat in silence sipping tea. “You and Em could come live with me for a while. Until things settle down.”

“I appreciate that. Em adores you.”

“You know I love her.”

“I have something for you to sign. Guardianship papers. If anything ever happens to me, I want you to be her guardian.”

Julia’s eyes welled. “Don’t talk that way.”

“Seriously. You love my daughter unconditionally. That’s what kids need.”

“Something we never had.”

“We turned out okay.”

She smiled. “Because of you.” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “Hey, let’s put all this depressing stuff behind us and go meet Emily for that movie. When did it start?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Let’s go.”

Not only did they miss the movie, but Matt died before the movie was over and Emily heard about it from the media as she waited in the lobby of the theater for her father to pick her up, wondering why he was late.

And it had been Julia’s fault. After all, she’d been driving.

A knock on the door startled Julia out of her reverie. She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty? Where had the time gone? “Come in.”

Her boss, Andrew Stanton, entered and closed the door. He sat down across from her desk. Most prosecutors in her position didn’t have their own office, but Julia’s conviction on a high-profile rape-murder last year had earned her the door.