See No Evil

ELEVEN

Connor grabbed two beer bottles from Dillon’s refrigerator, slammed them down on his kitchen table, and turned the chair around so he could sit in it backward.

“Some things never change,” Dillon mumbled as he twisted the top off his beer and swallowed.

Connor was trying to bribe Dillon with pizza and beer, though he knew his brother really couldn’t be bought for any amount of food or money. Dillon was as straight as they came, and Connor admired him greatly for his ethics, even when they ran counter to his own interests. This time, however, they were on the same side.

Based on the evidence they had, Dillon was working up a profile of the killers. He was determined to prove Emily wasn’t involved, perhaps using the information Connor had gleaned from Billy Thompson.

“I wish I had access to the crime lab on this one,” Dillon said. “I’d like a copy of Victor Montgomery’s autopsy report.”

“I’ll get it for you tomorrow.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going to break into the coroner’s office,” Connor said. “I’ll get it legitimately.” More or less, he thought.

“We don’t want Emily’s defense to be compromised.”

“It won’t be. It’s all information Jones will get in discovery anyway. You know as well as I do that the prosecution will hold on to everything until the last possible minute. Most of the time, I’m glad. But when Emily’s being dragged into a murder investigation? Nope, we need every in we can get.”

Dillon stared at a blank legal pad, pen in hand, a faraway expression on his face. He was entering his “killer mindset,” trying to go deep into the thoughts of someone capable of such a vicious crime.

At first, Connor just enjoyed his beer. Every few minutes, Dillon would write several sentences, draw arrows and lines, and then pause. After thirty minutes, Connor grew antsy. He hated sitting still. He wanted-needed-to be out doing something. He’d seen Emily earlier that evening, but she’d been sleeping.

If he could just see Will’s notes on the case, he might have another direction to go. Right now, he had to wait until morning to check out Emily’s school and talk to her friends. But he was no longer a cop. And it’s not like he could go down to the precinct and beg for his job back. Like that would happen. He didn’t take orders very well. And he didn’t like traitors.

Neither did his former colleagues. It’s just that they viewed him as the traitor, not his dead ex-partner. Don’t upset the apple cart. Crutcher is gone, we’ll just forget all this happened.

But how could he forget when Crutcher had left two dead girls behind and others in the department willingly looked the other way?

No, Connor couldn’t go back. If only he’d done things differently…but when you catch your mentor, the man who trained you to be a cop, taking bribes to turn the other cheek in the importation of sex slaves from Mexico, what do you do? Confront him and get a hole in the back of your head for the effort? Or go to the boss?

He’d done the latter, and he ended up without a badge.

But he was still breathing-that was some consolation.

“There had to be three people, one of whom was a female,” Dillon said, finally breaking the silence.

Connor started to peel off his beer label, leaving pieces of wet paper on Dillon’s table. “Makes sense. That’s what Julia said Hooper told her last night.”

“Three people,” Dillon mumbled to himself. “You need one person-a female-to sexually excite the victim-”

Connor interrupted. “But he wouldn’t have dropped his pants for just any woman who walked into his office. And a woman with a couple of guys? Do you think Judge Montgomery would get off with an audience?”

“Some do.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Okay, we have a female, on her knees, giving the judge a blow job. Maybe or maybe not two males watching.”

“But they’d have to be nearby. And if they were watching, it could mean the judge was participating in some fun and games.”

“After raping a kid, I suppose anything is possible.” Connor ripped the rest of the label off in one pull.

“If they weren’t watching, maybe he was having an affair and his mistress wanted him dead,” conjectured Dillon.

“Why?”

“You’re thinking too much like a cop, bro.”

“I am a cop,” Connor said, before correcting himself. “Was a cop.”

“You were a great cop, Connor.”

“Hmm.”

Dillon looked as if he was going to say something else, but then his brother changed the subject. “It takes a certain type of person to set up a man to be murdered. And a certain type of person to commit a particularly violent, premeditated crime.”

“It’s payback. Santos.”

Dillon thought about that for a long minute. “Emily denied anyone threatened her.”

“Maybe Santos’s men didn’t even realize she was home. Or maybe Montgomery was dead before Emily came in.”

Dillon pulled out a sheet of paper. “Julia said that Will told her the preliminary time of death was three-thirty to nine-thirty. The autopsy report would be more specific.”

“Emily could still have arrived after he was dead. Patrick said Montgomery had an unsent e-mail on his computer that he began writing at three-forty.”

“True, but it still puts the TOD about the same time she arrived home. Picture this: Emily comes home with friends. They walk in and Montgomery calls out for her like he always does. She goes in, gives him what he wants. Her friends quietly get into position and she severs his organ. They hold him down while she puts the penis in his mouth.”

Connor could picture the scenario all too well. “But she’d have a lot more blood on her, certainly more than a few drops on her hands and feet. Emily’s explanation also rings true.”

“I agree, but it could have happened either way. She had the motivation. And she bathed that night. She could have bathed after the murder.”

“You met Emily,” said Connor. “Do you really think she’s capable of a mutilation murder?”

“A lot of people are capable of terrible murders without showing any outward signs of depravity.”

“Dammit, Dillon, you’re not helping.”

“You’re the investigator, Connor. Look at the scene logically. You can’t come in with a faulty assumption that Emily is innocent.”

“She’s not guilty either. The man brutalized her. Raped and humiliated her-”

“And the prosecutor will probably offer a decent plea because of that.”

“If she did it. What about this Wishlist group?”

“It throws a completely new dynamic into the mix. Premeditation. Group dynamics. I’m going to talk to Emily again tomorrow, ask her about the message and what, if anything, she did about it.”

“We need to find out whether the police have tracked down the group, the organizer, any other messages that may have been associated with a solved, or unsolved, murder. The Judson homicide is still open,” Connor said. “I think it’s not a coincidence that Billy wrote that Judson needed his eyes checked, and a couple months later the guy is killed by two bullets in the head. And then Emily’s message.”

“Patrick already went out on a limb by giving you access to those messages.” Dillon looked at the two messages Connor had taken. “These are relatively anonymous. Did any of the other messages you saw have identifying names?”

“Not that I could see, but I was speed reading.”

Dillon shook his head. “Doesn’t mean anything, really. If it’s a small group of people, they could all go to the same school. Were Emily and Billy at the same school?”

“No. Emily goes to a private school in La Jolla; Billy went to a public school in the heart of the city.”

“No connection there.”

“Bowen.”

“Excuse me?”

“Billy said that he’d been required to take anger management classes from Bowen after he was arrested for vandalism.”

Connor’s mind started connecting dots. “What if,” he continued slowly, “Bowen had group therapy sessions? Isn’t that something that’s done?”

“Yes.”

“So they meet in person in this group therapy, and then start this online group where they push the envelope. Someone in the group knew about Emily’s wish, and knew who she was and who she was talking about even if her identity wasn’t revealed online.”

“Are you suggesting a vigilante?”

Connor nodded as his theory took shape. “Exactly. It fits in with the case of Paul Judson, who was murdered and had his eyes shot out when another Wishlist member, who we know was Billy, said Judson needed his eyesight examined. The only connection between Billy and Emily is Dr. Garrett Bowen.”

A knock at the door interrupted what Dillon was about to say. He got up to answer, and came back in with Julia Chandler.

Connor tensed. Every time he saw her, he became angry and conflicted. With himself, with her. Five years was a long time to hold a grudge, but it was his career-his life-she had destroyed.

“Hi, Connor.” She nodded stiffly.

She was tired, dark circles beginning to emerge under her eyes. Julia’s makeup had worn off during the day, making her skin translucent, pale. She was still a beautiful woman, particularly now that she’d dumped her too-conservative Ms. Deputy DA suit and put on a long flowing skirt and simple peasant blouse. Connor had never seen her out of her professional attire. He liked it.

Her hair was down, the waves of dark blond falling halfway down her back, held away from her face by a haphazardly placed clip.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t relax and…I knew you’d be working on Emily’s case.” She looked at Connor with an expression that said: But I didn’t know he was going to be here.

“Your insight into Emily may be helpful,” Dillon said. “She trusts you more than anyone. Sit down.”

Julia impatiently wiped a stray tear and sat in the chair between the two men. “So what have you come up with? Anything?”

Dillon nodded. “There was one ringleader. One person who made the decisions, who came up with the plan.”

“Why do you think that?” Julia asked

“It’s the psychology of group killers.” Dillon rose from his seat, retrieved two beers for Connor and Julia, and poured himself orange juice. “When you have a killing pair, there is almost always a submissive. Someone who takes orders, does what they are told. Doesn’t matter if the submissive is male or female-though in the overwhelming majority of killing pairs, the dominant partner is male.”

Dillon poured Julia’s beer into a chilled mug. “But when you get into group killings-and I think all the evidence points to three participants in the judge’s murder-you have another influence. Some might call it ‘mob mentality’ or peer pressure. When two or more people get together to commit a crime, they’re more prone to doing things they’d never consider doing on their own.”

“Wasn’t there a case out in Florida or Georgia about four teenage boys who killed a teacher at their school?”

Dillon nodded. “I read about that case. One of the kids was older, nineteen I believe, no longer a student. Two of the kids came from solid homes. There was no apparent motive. They went to the house of a music teacher and shot him dead.”

“But wouldn’t people like that already be predisposed to murder?” Julia asked.

Dillon tilted his head. “Perhaps. Or their leader could be so charismatic or threatening-or both-that they think they’re doing the right thing. Consider cults. Most are relatively harmless, but Jim Jones convinced hundreds of people to kill themselves, most of whom probably would never have considered such an act without his influence.”

“That would play into the Judson murder,” Connor said.

“Judson?” Julia interjected, confused.

Connor explained what he learned from Billy Thompson about Wishlist and the e-mail from Emily.

“And you didn’t tell me?” she asked, angry. “Isn’t that what I’m paying you for? To keep me in the loop?”

“You’re paying me to clear Emily. If you want more than that, go get it from your pal the DA.”

“I would if I could,” she snapped. “But I’m on administrative leave.”

Both Connor and Dillon looked up, surprised. “What happened?” Dillon asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t like that I hired Connor, and I don’t think he liked that Iris brought you in before they could retain you.” She gave him a wry smile. “We all like working with you on our big cases.”

Dillon grinned. “Thanks. But Stanton’s actions make sense, even without Connor or me working for the defense. The press are all over this case. He wants to separate his office from any impropriety.”

“I had to turn over all my cases to another prosecutor.”

Julia looked so forlorn that Connor found himself touching her arm. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him, startled. Her lips parted and Connor stared, recalling the one incredible kiss they’d shared five years earlier. Would she taste just as delicious now as then?

He removed his hand. Don’t go there, Kincaid.

“There are two theories that fit the evidence as we know it,” Dillon said, thankfully interrupting what could have been an awkward moment. “First, that Emily planned the murder and had someone help her.”

“No-” Julia interrupted but Dillon put his hand up.

“The second is that the killers are vigilantes.”

“Vigilantes?” Julia asked, her brow furrowed.

“Possibly, though I’d go a step further.” Dillon sat down and looked from Connor to Julia. “I think they’re young. Teenagers or college age.”

“They’re damn smart criminals for teens,” Connor said.

Dillon agreed. “These crimes are connected. In some way both victims had hurt a young person. A fellow teenager. The connection is the online group Emily and Billy were part of. Just like Emily’s case, Billy Thompson is connected to Judson’s murder, even though he didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Why can’t we just subpoena the host company and find out who’s involved?” Julia asked.

“We can’t, but I’m sure the District Attorney’s Office will,” Dillon said. “I’m going to talk to Emily about the group and hopefully she’ll give us information that we need, because we’re not going to get it from the police department.”

“I don’t even know what kind of case they’re building against Emily,” Julia said. “But they still have a guard on her door, and it’s not for protection. Iris is trying to get information, but it’ll probably be easier for me. I have friends inside.”

“If you can get the autopsy report and what they have that points to Emily, it might help in figuring out what’s going on,” Dillon said.

“I’ll work on it tomorrow.”

“Don’t do anything illegal.”

“I’ll do anything I have to for Emily.”

There was an awkward silence, and Connor finally said, “So Dil, what’s the verdict on the killer? We were talking about a profile, something to go on.”

Dillon looked at the closed file. Julia grew antsy the longer he remained silent. She glanced at Connor and found him looking at her. Staring at her, his dark eyes unreadable, his face hard and unyielding. But he didn’t look away, he didn’t have that edge of hatred she’d felt when she’d first talked to him this morning about helping Emily.

She turned away, picked up her mug, and drank. Still, his eyes were on her, his probing gaze unnerving. Anger and frustration, all rolled up in a tight, hard body.

Connor Kincaid might be a total jerk, but he was a damn sexy jerk. When they’d first met, she’d been a new deputy district attorney and had worked with him on a case that ended miserably. Two cops killed, one suspect dead, and one suspect beaten nearly to death. Connor resigned after testifying against the cop who took bribes, and two others had ended up facing prosecution for their crimes. It was a messy situation, but it wasn’t the police department’s responsibility to mete out justice. That was for the court system, the same system to which Julia had sworn allegiance.

But that case had disturbed Julia for a long time, and she’d quietly been pleased when the former district attorney had been forced from office in scandal and Andrew Stanton was elected to clean house three years ago.

She drank more beer and then caught herself biting her thumbnail. She put her hand down. Fidgeted.

Dammit, why was he looking at her so intently? What was he thinking? What were they thinking? Dillon Kincaid with his quiet, studious manner pondering the profile of a vicious murderer; Connor Kincaid, the younger brother, with his hard, dark eyes on her. Analyzing, probing, judging.

Five minutes later, Dillon spoke. It might as well have been five hours.

“The leader is the oldest and able to convince others of the rightness of what they’re doing. Completely in control, focused, methodical. A planner. Thinks about the details. Thinks ahead. Does not fear being caught. Might even enjoy the limelight of being caught. Enjoys irony. Plays on people’s emotions and is able to turn emotions on and off at will. Has little empathy for others.”

“You said he’s a teenager or young adult,” Connor said. “Are you thinking college student? Maybe underachiever-smart but not living up to his potential?”

“I never said ‘he.’”

“A teenage girl?” Julia asked in disbelief. “Andrew Stanton is not going to buy that.”

“I don’t know if I buy it,” Connor said. “You said yourself that the leaders in killing pairs are men.”

Dillon countered, “The leader could be male or female. Either way, this person was abused as a child by a male authority figure. It may or may not have been sexual abuse. Penile amputation-even if they were going off Emily’s fantasy of killing her stepfather-is still a sexual and incredibly personal crime. It would be difficult to accomplish such a gruesome murder without additional motivation.”

“But the other crime-Judson’s shooting-wasn’t sexual.”

“The eyes-it was Billy Thompson who said that Judson needed to get his eyes checked. But why did that draw out the killer or killers?”

“Maybe because the victim was easy to identify. Billy Thompson gave a personal connection to the victim, called him Jackass Judson, that maybe the other e-mails didn’t do.”

“Made it easy for them,” Julia said.

“We need to learn more about this group,” Dillon continued. “That’s the key. And I don’t think Dr. Bowen’s involvement is a coincidence. I’m going to play a little give-and-take with Patrick and see if I can get any other information if we give up what we know. Patrick needs to dig deeper online. I can almost guarantee that they have more than two murders under their belt.”

“You said the killers were young. Bowen must be in his forties,” Julia said.

“The leader himself may be young or not, but it’s definitely someone older than the others and in complete control. The killers themselves are under thirty. The leader’s the key. Without him-or her-these murders would never have happened.”

“Going through all the unsolved cases in the county will take hundreds of hours of manpower,” Connor said.

“I’m going to write up an informal profile for Chief Causey to give them a direction, but I don’t know if they’ll use it, considering they don’t have me on their team.”

“They’d be foolish not to,” Julia said, “but is this going to jeopardize Emily?”

Dillon shook his head. “The police need to look at every angle, and I’m sure that they will. But there are only a handful of psychiatrists who consult with the police department, myself and Bowen are among them. They need to know that they have to stay away from Bowen. I talked to him today. I didn’t like what he had to say.”

“How far back in the files do we need to look for similar crimes?” Connor asked.

“Eighteen months. Two years, to be on the safe side. They have a taste for killing, so they’re going to continue. They see themselves as meting out justice. Vengeance. They may have started with people identified on Wishlist, but they’ll find their victims in the newspaper, anywhere. They’ve gotten away with at least two murders; they feel invincible.”

“What else? Two years of unsolved crimes? That’s a lot of man-hours.”

“Look at unsolved violent crimes. Stabbings, shootings. Male victims. All ages.”

“I’ll do it. I have the time and I’m still a member of the bar, so I have access,” Julia said. “I’m on leave, remember?”

Connor caught her eye and for the first time Julia felt something like protection from his gaze. “Don’t do anything stupid, Julia. If this gets hairy, let me handle it.”

Spoken like a true Neanderthal. Why had Julia even thought for one minute that Connor had changed?

“Come in, Cami.”

His dark eyes pierced her, held hers, drew her toward him like a bitch to her master. Her breath hitched as she glided over to him. He took her hand, kissed it. So elegant, so refined.

“Tell me everything. Again.”

She crawled into his lap and he stroked her hair. “Everything went exactly according to the plan.”

“I want details. Leave nothing out.”

“You were right about the judge.”

“I’m always right, Cami.”

“He protested at first, but not for long.”

“Sex addicts never do.”

“I turned his chair around so his back was to the door. I showed him my tits, and then I had him completely.”

“You have beautiful breasts, Cami.” He stroked them softly, then squeezed her nipples hard. Twisted them. It hurt but she pushed her breasts into his hand.

Pain meant she was alive.

“I got down on my knees and took out his cock. Sucked him long and hard. The others came in quietly. I slowly moved the chair into position and as he was about to come in my mouth, I pulled back and Faye cut off his erection.”

“How did she do?”

“She didn’t hesitate. Just one hard snap. The shears were really sharp.”

“You did good recruiting her.” He ran his hand up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing panties, as he ordered. She spread her legs to allow access. His fingers played with her and she grew hot.

“Who put his penis down his throat?”

“I did.”

“How did it feel?”

“Powerful. He was screaming when Faye cut it off. Blood shot everywhere.”

“You changed shoes like I told you?”

“Yes. We threw everything in garbage bags, got out fast. Just like you said. We all wore gloves. I didn’t touch anything until…after. We wiped down to be sure.”

“You’re not in the system.”

“No, but Faye-”

“She won’t talk if she gets caught, would she?”

Cami shook her head, enjoying his talented fingers, the line between pleasure and pain, the sensations that poured through her body, making colors brighter and sounds sharper. “Faye would never talk.” Her breath was rushed, rapid.

“Do we have a problem with Robbie?”

“No.”

He withdrew his hand.

“Please,” she begged.

“Tell the truth, Cami.”

“I don’t know. He was high today.”

“Take care of him.”

“I told Faye if he used again she would have to take care of him.”

A long silence. Then his hand returned between her legs. He shoved three fingers up her vagina while his thumb probed her anus and then he pinched hard. Her vision faded as the pain took over, every cell in her body alive and on fire.

“Good, Cami. Very good.”

“Thank. You.” Her breath was rushed as she spiraled higher, higher. Thoughts faded, all that mattered was being here, feeling the pain and pleasure, the need, the heat. She was not dead inside, no longer a hollow shell to be looked at, admired, envied. She was real, the pain proved it.

“The final execution will be Saturday. Are you ready?”

“Yesssss,” she whispered.

He murmured in her ear.

“Release yourself to me.”

After Cami left, he tidied up his office. He was hard as a rock, but didn’t dare give himself over to Cami. He knew what drove her, what motivated her. She worshipped him, admired him, and he needed that to continue to control her.

He gave her the pain she craved, but not sex. Not with him. He could give her nothing of him. She manipulated everyone around her, everyone but him. Whether she thought she could was another matter, but he’d leave her to the boys and her fantasies. He gave her what she wanted and she always came back. He gave her lust and held back with the anticipation of more. Later, in the future, but that future would never come. He’d never fuck her. The thought sickened him.

Her desire for pain would be the death of Cami, but not by his hand. Not yet at any rate. He needed her. The victory and passion he saw in her bright eyes when she recalled her part in Victor Montgomery’s execution, that was the highlight of a successful operation.

Cami enjoyed it for the control, the power, the thrill.

He enjoyed it for different reasons, but for one. It was on his orders, his command, who would live and who would die. The thrill of the hunt, of marking the sinners, elated him, kept him focused. He would fix the world one death at a time.

He couldn’t fuck Cami, but he knew who would be waiting for him.

Faye Kessler had given him what he needed before, and he knew she hadn’t told Cami. Cami was a jealous, arrogant girl, she wouldn’t sit calmly on the sidelines if she knew he put his dick in Faye’s cunt when he wouldn’t do the same to her, no matter how much she asked or how much she was willing to do for him.

A woman with a closed mouth was a rarity, but one he would keep as long as it served him. Faye kept her mouth shut tight. He loved her for it…and for other reasons. There were things he could share with only her, because only she understood.

For a time, he’d worried about his attachment to Faye. After they were together, he was surprised to find himself missing her when they were apart. Her soulful eyes, her touch, her quiet understanding-he craved it. He didn’t mind wanting her, but he feared needing her.

These were thoughts for a later time. The game was still working perfectly, and he still had Cami and Faye completely under his thumb.

His girls would do anything for him. Everything for him.

And he didn’t have to bloody his hands in the process.

In less than forty-eight hours, the hammer would come crashing down on the one who had wronged him. He was truly a god.