Sweet Poison (26 page)

“No doubt in my mind.”

“My dad apparently didn’t think it made sense to take it to trial. He must have thought he could get Corey a better deal with a plea bargain.”

“That’s what I recall.”

“I’ve read some stuff about it—about the young woman who was on her way to see her boyfriend in Duluth.”

“She left the state, just in case you were thinking of contacting her.”

“No, I wasn’t. But what was the evidence against him? I couldn’t find that anywhere.”

Nolan scratched the back of his graying head. “Well, as I recall, he was working for a frozen pizza producer back then. The plant was somewhere up north. Hodge drove a delivery truck for them. A gas receipt put him close to the rest area where the attack occurred right around the time it occurred. The woman—sorry, can’t recall her name—identified the truck in the parking lot of the rest area when she pulled in. She also described his hands, which was the only part of him she saw. She remembered that they were freckled, and that he had a white spot on the middle finger of his right hand, like he’d taken off a ring.”

“How did that get you to Corey?”

“We’d been looking at him for another possible rape stemming from the year before. That one took place down near Albert Lea, again along the interstate. Same MO. A taser to drop his victim. There was no word written on her stomach in that case, but he’d drawn the shape of a heart with lipstick. No pizza truck either, but there was a motorcycle parked in the lot. We got lucky on that. The victim’s dad owned a motorcycle shop. She’d worked there while she was in college, so she knew a lot about cycles. She was sure this one was an older-model Italian Moto Guzzi. Black and red, with saddlebags and a slightly rounded top case. It’s not that common. We matched it to one Hodge owned, but that’s as far as we got. The woman didn’t remember anything else, so the case went cold.”

“But you went back to him after the rape near Duluth.”

“We got a warrant to search the pizza truck he drove. Sure enough, we came up with the taser, duct tape, and some lipstick. His girlfriend said the lipstick was hers, and Hodge insisted he had a taser for protection because he was on the road all the time, but taken all together, it was pretty damning. Oh, and by the way, he wore a thick turquoise and silver ring on the middle finger of his—freckled—right hand.”

“But there were no witnesses.”

“Witnesses are overrated.”

“And no actual forensics. No semen. No prints. No fiber or hair.”

“It took awhile to get a crime scene unit there. By then, the woman had moved around, washed the lipstick off her stomach. Lots of people had walked around the area. The woman—”

“Her name was Louisa Timmons.”

“Right. Timmons. She was so traumatized that the pictures taken at the scene were pretty bad. She refused to be taken to a hospital other than Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis. She wanted her parents to be with her because she knew that a rape kit was part of the deal. So that’s what the police did. Brought her back. To answer your question, yes, a small amount of semen was found, but it was so contaminated by the time it got to the lab it was useless. The crime lab unit did its best but didn’t find much of anything. It was a transient place. Lots of fibers, lots of fingerprints. And by the time Timmons was examined, it was all pretty moot. Rapes are hard to prove, even if the woman knows her attacker. So, yeah, you want my honest opinion? When we put Hodge away, we put away a serial rapist.”

“You think he was planning to do it again?”

“Without a doubt. The guy’s a classic sociopath. Charming. Smart. But completely lacking a conscience. Actually, a few months after Hodge was sent up, we found out about a rape that occurred down in Iowa. It was about a month before the one near Duluth.” He counted off the details on his fingers. “Taser, lipstick with the word
justice
written on the woman’s stomach. Right off the interstate. Believe me when I say that this time, I hope the justice system locks him up and throws away the key.”

Jane tended to trust Nolan’s instincts, and yet she knew the police could be myopic when it came to suspects. Taken as a whole, a case against Corey could certainly be made, but it was hardly airtight. Jane wasn’t sure that if she’d been on the jury, they would have convicted him beyond a reasonable doubt. “I assume you know more about Charity Miller’s murder than I do.”

“Not really. Just the basics. Another Corey Hodge special.”

“Charity had a boyfriend who’d been stalking her. She got a restraining order against him.”

By the scowl on Nolan’s face, Jane could tell he hadn’t heard any of this before. She went on to explain what she knew about Gabriel Keen, how he’d been implicated in the beating of a gay Methodist minister, a good friend of Charity’s. She told him about the conversation she’d had with Keen earlier in the day.

“The lead detectives will follow that up. They’ll do their job.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“Look, Jane, I know you’re concerned about Hodge because of the potential impact his arrest could have on your dad’s campaign. But I think, when everything is said and done, if Hodge is arrested before the election, it will have a negligible effect on voters. You’ve got to give people more credit.”

Jane nodded, finished her drink. “Maybe.”

I
thought you were at work,” said Mary, coming into the kitchen and setting a sack of cleaning supplies on the table.

“Bad news on that front,” said Corey. “I was fired yesterday.” He waited for the flood of emotion. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh, Corey. Honey. Why didn’t you say something last night?”

“I promised to take you to dinner and a movie and I meant it. If I’d told you, it would have wrecked the evening.”

“Who gave you the ax?”

“The floor supervisor. The delightfully subtle Mr. Cox.”

“And he fired you … why?”

He stepped over to the refrigerator to get a glass of milk. “He said I was late for work a couple times and that I was late again last Friday.”

“You were at the police station on Friday.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t call and Cox said that it was grounds for beheading. Oh, come on, Mary. Don’t give me that shocked look. It was just an excuse. He’s been gunning to get rid of me ever since Wayne hired me. I’m a convicted felon, and because the papers have been printing stories that I’m a suspect in another felony, he decided to be both judge and jury.”

“That’s so unfair.” But her distress turned quickly to wariness. “Your probation officer won’t like it. You’re supposed to be employed, right?”

“I’ll find another job. A better one this time. I’ve got more money in the bank now than I ever have before in my life. I’m going to look around, sure, but I’m also going to take my time.”

With a sigh, Mary eased down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I wish the police would make an arrest. Then people would have to eat their bad opinions.”

“I’ll never be off the hook for that rape. I think we both better come to terms with it.”

“It’s just wrong and you know it,” she said, her anger flaring. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Jane Lawless and a private investigator friend are looking into Charity’s murder for us. Anything she can do to move the investigation along is welcome in my book.”

He stared at her, holding the carton of milk in his hand so tightly he put a dent in it. “Are you nuts?”

“What?”

“How could you do that? The
last
thing I need is more people watching me, digging into my life.”

“But you’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not in prison anymore. My life is private. Don’t you get it?
Not for public consumption
. Call her right now, tell her to back off.”

“I can’t, not after she was so kind about it.”

She was as dumb as a stump. “Goddamn it, Mary. I’m not your personal reclamation project. Stop messing with my life.”

“Corey!”

“I hate it that you ask favors of people like Jane and her fat-ass father—almost as much as I hate that you have to clean their houses.”

“It’s my job. It’s how I support myself. And I like cleaning.”

“Well, I don’t. It makes you their servant. And that’s exactly how they treat you.”

“How would you know?”

“I helped out a few times when I was in high school, remember? I
was so embarrassed I felt like smashing things the whole time I was in those houses. It makes my skin crawl to think of you cleaning rich people’s toilets.”

“They’re not all rich. Some of them are just busy.”

“Bullshit. If they can pay you to clean up after them, they’re rich in my book.”

“Watch your mouth! I will
not
put up with that kind of language in this house. Maybe you think I’ve gone soft, but I haven’t, Corey. I can throw you out now as easily as I could’ve tossed you out when you were a teenager.”

“You won’t need to. Serena and I are getting back together. I’ll be living over at her house from now on.”

Christopher had been so upset by the cop’s interrogation after the funeral that he’d talked Luke’s ear off on the way home in the car, railing against everything Gabriel Keen had said about him, insisting that it was all a lie. Luke assured him that he’d never doubted it for a minute. It wasn’t that Luke didn’t have questions of his own. He did. Serious questions. But he couldn’t bring himself to start in on another interrogation immediately after the cop had finished.

By the time they returned home, Christopher was wrapped in a moody silence. Luke urged him to go lie down while he made dinner. Later, they ate together in the dining room, both exhausted, both locked into their own solitary misery.

Christopher went to bed early. Luke sat up and watched a bunch of cop show reruns and eventually, after polishing off a bag of potato chips and two beers, fell asleep on the couch. He hadn’t even moved when the sun, streaming in through the oversized windows, struck him in the eyes just before eight. Christopher seemed to be resting peacefully, so instead of waking him, Luke showered and dressed, grabbed an apple from the kitchen counter, and headed to the campaign office. But by noon, he felt he’d waited as long as he could. There were questions on the table that demanded answers.

Luke stopped by a Bruegger’s and picked up a couple of bagel sandwiches.
When he walked into the condo, he found Christopher on the phone, a grim yet oddly resigned look on his face. Luke shook the sack to get Christopher’s attention, then tossed his coat over one of the living room chairs and went to the window to watch the river.

“Boy, what a day,” said Christopher a few minutes later.

Luke turned around, still holding the sack, watching as Christopher lowered himself carefully onto the couch. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

He tossed him one of the sandwiches. Taking a seat across the room, he watched Christopher tear off the paper and take a bite.

“What is this?”

“Smoked turkey, scallion cream cheese, sun-dried tomato spread, and veggies on honey wheat.”

“It’s really good.” He nodded to the unopened sandwich in Luke’s hand. “Aren’t you eating?”

“Who was on the phone?”

He chewed for a second, then said, “The bishop’s secretary. I’ve got an appointment to meet with the bishop on Friday afternoon.”

“You ready for that?”

Christopher spread one arm across the back of the sofa, thought it over. “Yeah, I am. I thought it was important to take a stand as a gay minister. I still do, but I don’t think I’ll ever go back.”

“You’ve served above and beyond the call of duty in my book.”

Christopher set the sandwich on the table next to him, folded his hands in his lap. “I don’t know. I guess I need more time to figure some things out.”

“What things?”

“Well, for one, do I want to continue in the ministry. And then—” His eyes shifted to the windows. “I know this sounds melodramatic, but … if I’m no longer a pastor, who the hell am I?”

Luke decided just to plunge in. There was never going to be a perfect time to ask his questions. “Listen, Christopher, maybe this isn’t the right moment, but there’s something I need to ask you.”

“What?”

“I was working at my desk the other night and I noticed … well, actually I saw that my taser was gone.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding.

“Did you take it?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“Protection. I lied to the cop yesterday because I knew he’d jump to the wrong conclusion. I took it when I first started leaving the house. I needed it. I should have said something to you, but I felt guilty, like a minister shouldn’t need a taser to make him feel safe.”

Luke breathed an inward sigh of relief. “I wish you’d told me. I would have shown you how to use it.”

“I found some instructions online.”

“Well, whatever. Do you still need it?”

“I … I don’t have it anymore.”

Luke felt a tiny zap of adrenaline hit his system. “No?”

“No. I … gave it to Charity.”

“Charity? When?”

“A week or so before she died. That’s why the police saw so many phone calls from me to her, or from her to me. Sometimes she’d call me from work to tell me she was leaving. Then she’d call when she got home, when the door was locked and she felt safe. She called like that all the time, to let me know where she was, where she was going. Or I’d call her to check up. Keen was a monster in both our lives, Luke. You of all people should understand that. She knew I had the taser because we’d talked about how hard it was for me to go out in public again, alone. One day she called and asked if she could have it.” He held his breath. “God forgive me. I gave it to her.”