Desperate Girls

22

LINDSEY PACED the conference room, her body vibrating from an overload of sugar and caffeine and adrenaline. The sugar came from the candy bar she’d eaten for dinner. The caffeine came from three cups of coffee. And the adrenaline came from the unshakable certainty that she’d just handed the marshals a major break in the case.

Calm down, she told herself. Keep working. Break or no, she couldn’t let up until Corby was actually in custody. She stopped pacing and stared at the timeline tacked to the wall. There were still too many blanks, and she needed to fill in the gaps.

A knock sounded at the door, and Dillon leaned his head in.

“You’ve got visitors. They say you’re expecting them?”

“Yeah, send them in.”

Dillon stepped back to let Brynn into the room. His gaze lingered on her ass while Brynn’s bodyguard gave him an icy stare.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Brynn said, taking a chair at the table. Erik took the one beside her, watching the door as Dillon closed it.

“You’re working late,” Brynn said.

Lindsey sank into a chair across from them. “I’ve been here all weekend.”

“Alone?”

“For the most part.”

It was an interesting phenomenon that Lindsey should have expected. With every day that ticked by, she spent more and more time on this case, and her colleagues spent less. Max had practically disappeared, and so had the other detective.

“You know, each day Corby eludes capture, we look more incompetent,” Lindsey said. “I think everyone here wants to distance themselves, let the marshals go down in flames for this.”

Brynn stood up and walked to the bulletin board, where crime-scene photos were arranged in clusters. She zeroed in on several photos of Corby’s fourth victim, Lauren Tull.

“I remember these,” she murmured.

“From the trial?”

“These two were on her Facebook page. We used them in a trial exhibit.”

Lindsey could see why they’d selected the pictures. Besides showing the victim in life, with a dazzling smile on her face, they also showed her wearing the necklace that was later recovered from Corby’s house.

“I’ve been pursuing your theory about the necklace being planted,” Brynn said. “I went back through my trial notes and found some evidence that makes me think you’re right.”

Lindsey felt a wave of relief. For the first time since she’d come up with this idea, she had some support. “What have you got?”

Brynn returned to her chair. “We had some issues with the necklace from the beginning. Jen and I did. For one thing, there’s no crime-scene photo of the necklace in situ at Corby’s house.”

“No?”

“This came out in deposition. Detective McGowan, who was the lead, said the necklace was discovered in the inside pocket of a canvas jacket found in Corby’s closet. The jacket is brown, so it vaguely resembles a jacket worn by someone sighted near one of the crime scenes, which is why police took it into evidence when they conducted the search warrant. We have a crime-scene photo of the jacket hanging in Corby’s closet. And McGowan said the necklace was discovered later, inside the pocket, when they were going through items in the evidence room.”

“You think he lied?”

“I don’t know. At the time, I thought maybe it was a simple mistake—he found the necklace in the pocket, so he vouched for the jacket. Or maybe someone found the necklace elsewhere at Corby’s place, but somehow the crime-scene photographer missed getting a picture of it.”

“If that happened,” Lindsey said, “maybe McGowan was trying to keep that critical piece of evidence from being tossed out on a technicality, so he made up the jacket-pocket scenario, and Corby knew that was bullshit—hence his hatred for McGowan.”

Brynn smiled thinly. “Chain of custody is hardly a ‘technicality.’ ”

Spoken like a true defense attorney.

“Here’s the thing,” Brynn said. “I saw Mark Wolfe again yesterday. The profiler has been analyzing the case files, and he reached the same conclusion you did.”

“He thinks the necklace was planted?”

“Not only that. He takes it a step further,” Brynn said. “He believes Corby didn’t kill Lauren Tull at all.”

Lindsey’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wolfe found discrepancies between Lauren’s crime scene and the others, and he believes someone else killed her.”

Brynn launched into a detailed summary of Mark’s theory. When she got to the part about fabric fibers being found on Lauren Tull’s mouth, Lindsey was puzzled. When she got to the part about the Rohypnol, Lindsey was intrigued. And by the time she reached the part about the necklace, Lindsey was speechless.

“So Mark believes the killer staged the scene to look like the other recent murders that had been all over the news,” Brynn said. “And investigators bought it and played right into his hands when they planted that necklace at Corby’s house to beef up their case against him.”

Lindsey watched her, absorbing everything. A notorious serial killer framed for one—but not all—of his crimes. The idea was potentially explosive.

“What do you think?” Brynn asked. “This is the theory you came up with, just taken a step further.”

“A big step.” She looked from Brynn to Erik. As usual, the bodyguard was silent. By Lindsey’s count, he’d said zero words since stepping in here. “To be honest, this sounds like something a defense attorney would cook up. No offense to you.”

“None taken,” Brynn said. “But I didn’t cook this up. And the more I think back on certain aspects of the case, the more I believe this idea has merit.”

“And why didn’t Corby’s attorney come up with it?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Brynn said. “But the guy’s a public defender, and he hasn’t exactly set the world on fire, career-wise. Jen and I rolled over him at trial. Also, there was so much other evidence against Corby—the first victim’s blood on his boot, the media clips at his house, the fact that Corby had done work at three of the victims’ homes. The jury was looking at a mountain of evidence when they arrived at a guilty verdict.”

“My other thought is if you’re right, if Mark is right, then Dallas PD has a problem on its hands.”

“They’ve got a rapist and murderer roaming free,” Brynn said.

“Correct, and his trail is ice cold at this point. They’ve also got a corruption problem.” Lindsey leaned forward. “Walk me through how you think this might have happened. How did Lauren Tull’s necklace end up at Corby’s house?” She nodded at the bulletin board where the photos were displayed. “By your own trial exhibits, it looks like Lauren wore that necklace a lot. Are you saying Mick McGowan or some investigator took it off the body? I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a murder scene, but it’s a zoo. People, vehicles, cameras everywhere. I can’t picture McGowan just reaching down and tugging a necklace off the corpse. Too risky.”

“I agree,” Brynn said. “More likely, he—or someone—found it elsewhere in Lauren’s home. Maybe on her dresser or something. This person might have pocketed it to use later, as an insurance policy when they zeroed in on a suspect. I think he kept it and either planted it at Corby’s house or somehow got it into the evidence room.”

Lindsey paused to think about it. “Evidence rooms—especially for a large department—are crowded and sometimes chaotic places. And people are people, so things can get lost or mishandled, either by mistake or intentionally. The reality is, it happens.” She sighed. “I’d have to see the logs from the evidence room to pin it down better.”

“Any chance you can get a look at those?”

“I could try. I have some contacts over there.”

For a long moment, she and Brynn simply stared at each other. Lindsey had never expected to team up with a defense attorney on anything, and yet here they were.

“Why is Mark analyzing this now?” Lindsey asked. “I mean, whether Corby killed Lauren Tull or not, he killed the other three. And he’s killed three more people since escaping from prison. What we should be focused on right now is how to locate him.”

“I’m with you,” Brynn said. “Mark thinks motive could be important in determining his next move.”

“Tell me what you’re working on in terms of locating him,” Erik said.

Lindsey looked at Erik, whose priorities clearly were aligned with hers. “I’m convinced Corby has someone helping him, offering him refuge. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to pull all this off.”

“Agreed,” Erik said.

“I got a new lead from that reporter, John Dewitt, who interviewed Corby in prison, hoping to write a book about him.”

“That guy is helping him?” Brynn asked.

“No. He’s in LA working for some magazine now. But I wanted to see what he could tell me about the prison interviews.”

“And what did he tell you?” Brynn asked.

“Two interesting things. One, Corby vehemently proclaimed his innocence. Said he was set up, and the whole crooked system was out to screw him over. In light of this new theory, maybe that wasn’t all just noise. The other thing he told me, Corby had a pen pal.”

“Who?” Erik leaned forward on his elbows.

“Some woman named Ann Johnson—not sure of the spelling. The reporter said Corby once asked him to mail a letter to her.”

“And he did it?” Brynn exclaimed. “That little shit.”

“My guess is he was trying to rack up some favors with Corby to get an exclusive or something. But it may be how those letters ended up with you and the judge.”

“I got another one this morning,” Brynn said.

“Where?”

“Her house,” Erik said darkly.

“Did you share this with the marshals?”

He nodded.

“Back to this pen pal,” Brynn said. “Tell me her name again? And do we know her address?”

“It’s Ann or Anne-with-an-e Johnson—not sure of the spelling. And Dewitt claims he doesn’t remember where she lives.”

“He’s lying,” Erik said.

“I’m inclined to agree, but what am I gonna do? It’s not like I can sweat this guy down. He’s in Los Angeles.”

“I’ll talk to someone.”

Someone meaning the marshals in Los Angeles? Or did he have a bodyguard friend out there? Whatever he meant, Lindsey didn’t want to know about it.

“However she spells her name, it’s extremely common, which doesn’t help us,” Lindsey said. “There are hundreds in Texas alone. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Why Texas?” Brynn asked.

“It seems logical because she probably delivered those notes to you and Jennifer Ballard. But you’re right, she could live somewhere else, such as Oklahoma or Louisiana.”

“Run the name against owners of a black Honda,” Erik said. “That should narrow it down.”

“We’re working on that,” Lindsey said. “The task force is doing everything possible to find this woman, because we think she’ll lead us to Corby.”

Brynn looked at Erik, then Lindsey. “We should let you get back to work.” They stood, and Lindsey did, too. Brynn started for the door, but Erik stopped her and turned around.

“One more thing,” he said to Lindsey. “If this necklace thing wasn’t McGowan, then you’ve got a cop out there who knows the man he framed for murder is out of prison. He’s bound to be getting nervous, and he’s not going to like it if he hears you’re digging into this.”

“I’m aware,” Lindsey said.

Erik pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over. “If you’re worried about anything, call us. Day or night, we’ll get somebody on it.”

She laughed. “You’re saying I need protection? I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake.”

Erik nodded. “I’m saying be careful.”