Once Raine had recovered from Professor Kassin’s devastating conclusions—or lack of conclusions—she’d put her brave face back on and accompanied Callum on dozens of other interviews. But here it was, more than a week later, and in spite of how incredibly hard he was working, the lack of sleep, the endless hours he spent poring over files in his home office, they weren’t any closer to saving Joey.
And time was their enemy.
It hit her hard, during breakfast on Callum’s back patio earlier this morning, that the next handful of days could very well be her brother’s last. And here she was, in Callum’s SUV now, watching the landscape roll past the window while he drove them to yet another interview.
She’d spent this precious time talking to strangers, driving countless miles, with nothing to show for it. Was there some point at which she should stop, give up? Should she instead go see her brother, take advantage of the lax visiting rules as his execution date drew near? Did it make more sense to talk to him through a thick pane of glass and an old-fashioned phone, with nothing new to share, no hope to give him? Or was her time better spent in the seemingly endless conference calls with his lawyers? And brainstorming with Callum. No matter what she did, it didn’t seem as if it even mattered anymore.
A single tear spilled over her lashes and ran down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and drew a ragged breath.
Callum’s warm, strong hand was suddenly on top of hers. She automatically threaded her fingers with his and took the comfort he offered. They’d become so used to each other’s moods that they often didn’t even have to say anything to understand what the other was thinking, feeling. It was a closeness she treasured and relied on so much now that she didn’t know how she’d survive without his support going forward. Here she was, the hardened lawyer who’d spent most of her adult life fighting for justice in one way or another. And yet, when it really mattered, she was losing the battle and thinking about giving up.
“Don’t give up yet, Raine. We’re not done. Not even close.” He squeezed her hand.
Her throat tightened. It was as if he’d read her thoughts. Again. Somehow, when she was at her lowest, he always knew what to say, and how to make her feel better. Just knowing he hadn’t given up gave her the strength to straighten in her seat and sniff back the tears.
When she trusted her voice again to be able to speak, she asked, “How is the serial killer investigation going? You haven’t given me any updates lately, except to say no new victims have been discovered. Maybe the killer died. Or he was sent to prison on some other charge. Wouldn’t that be a blessing?”
“If it meant he’d never be out on the streets again, hurting anyone else, it sure would be. But the families of his victims need closure, if that even exists. At the very least, they need to know the man who hurt their loved ones is locked away for good. I did speak to Asher this morning, when you were taking your shower. The team has zeroed in on a suspect. Ever hear of a guy named Drake Knox when you were looking into the case?”
“Drake Knox.” She thought a moment, then shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Who is he?”
“Someone who would never appear on the police radar. He’s a trust fund baby, living off his inherited wealth. Never worked a day in his life, doesn’t have to. No criminal record. No history, that we know of, of animal abuse or other warning signs typical of someone who goes on to become a serial killer. Then again, he was an only child, raised in the family mansion on property up in the Smoky Mountains, somewhat isolated. He was homeschooled, not that it’s a precursor or cause of psychopathic tendencies. But it paints a picture of him growing up pretty much alone, with only his parents or nannies to socialize him.”
“If he’s so antitypical and isn’t on police radar, why does UB think he’s the killer you’ve been looking for?”
“Asher isn’t sure he’s the killer, not yet. He’s just the only viable suspect they’ve come up with, so they’re looking deeply into his past and trying to form timelines for where he might have been during the killings. His name originally came up as someone in the area during the same time frame as two of the murders. There have been few links between any of the victims. They’ve been pretty random. So to find someone who was in the social circle, for a brief time at least, of two victims got Asher and Faith curious about him. So far, they’ve linked him to an additional victim as far as timelines go and being in the area when the murder happened. That’s a total of three, and they’re still looking for more links.”
“Sounds promising. I hope they’re onto something.”
“There is one more thing that makes Knox look promising. Four of the victims’ cars were found to have illegal GPS trackers on them, attached to the frame. Knox was pulled over in a traffic stop once, years ago, and one of the things the cop noted on the ticket was that Knox had GPS tracking equipment sitting on the seat beside him. He thought it was odd enough to put it in his write-up.”
“That’s really odd. How did he explain it? Knox?”
“He didn’t. He told the cop it was none of his business what he had in his car. And since it was a simple traffic stop, he’s right. The officer didn’t have any just cause to do a search. But obviously it raises flags. A theory we’ve always had about the victims is that they were stalked for some time before being killed. That’s based on the fact that these women had busy lives and he always managed to get to them when they were alone, like when their boyfriends in two of those cases were gone on business trips. A GPS tracker would make following them easy.”
He squeezed her hand again. “Enough about that. Let’s focus on Joey’s case. You don’t have to go on all of these interviews with me. If you don’t feel up to it today, I can—”
“Don’t tell me to go home now. I’d never forgive myself if we can’t... If we’re unable to stop... If I didn’t do everything I could for my brother. You never know. I could think of the one question in an interview that might shake some new information loose. Or I could connect the dots in a different way than you and come up with a new avenue to explore. I want to be there.”
“Fair enough. I spoke to Danny, Detective Cooper, this morning too. The BOLOs are still out on Scoggin and Hagen. No sightings of either of them. UB is actively researching Scoggin to try to find him, see if he’s a one-off killer or whether Knox could be responsible for that one too. Danny did finally finish evaluating the cases that Farley worked.”
As he passed a slow-moving car, she said, “I’m guessing from your tone this is going to be another disappointment.”
He nodded. “There aren’t any patterns to show that Farley purposely chose to not record confessions and recorded other, non-confession interviews. Danny even reviewed the data with Internal Affairs to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. They agreed with him. There’s no basis to think Farley was anything other than lazy or inept about being consistent with recording interviews. And like Professor Kassin, IA doesn’t feel there’s enough evidence in the written transcripts of Joey’s confession to argue it was coerced. I’m sorry, Raine. I wish I had better news.”
She tugged her hand free and wrapped her arms around her middle as she looked out the window. “Not your fault. You’re doing everything humanly possible, as well as half the team at UB.”
“Half is stretching it. They’ve had to move resources to dig into the Knox angle and follow up on Scoggin too. But if we have anything we need help with, we can get some local PIs in on it.”
“I understand.” And she did. UB had many cases to focus on. Expending most of their resources to help her with a closed case, when they were working on a cold case that had heated up, didn’t make sense. If she was the owner of UB, she’d have reallocated resources too. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sink her hopes even lower.
“Four days,” she whispered brokenly. “They’re going to kill him in four days.”
“Not if we can stop it. I told you, don’t give up yet. I made an appointment with Joey’s lawyers and the prison board for the morning of his scheduled execution date. We’ll present whatever we’ve found. They’ll rule on it right after the meeting, granting a stay if they feel they need more time.”
“Well, that’s something. That’s a good thing.”
“It is,” he agreed as he slowed and turned into an apartment complex.
“Thank you, Callum. For everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all of this without you. Truly.”
“My pleasure. Now, stop moping around and engage that amazing brain of yours. We’re about to conduct another interview.”
He parked in front of the first apartment building on the left. Then he leaned over and pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her lips, then quickly pulled back. “Oops. Couldn’t help it.” He winked, making a lie out of his apology.
She laughed, unable to resist his charm, as always. “I’ll forgive you this once.”
He grinned and they both got out of the SUV.
Regret gnawed at Raine once they were sitting on a couch across from the woman who lived in apartment 1101. Her name was Rose Garcia and she’d dated Joey for two years. And yet, Raine had only met her a few times. Rose had testified as a character witness at Joey’s trial, on behalf of the defense. But Raine barely knew her. She and Joey had been like ships passing in the night, partly because he was so much older than her. It was only after his arrest, and conviction, that she’d made the efforts she should have made earlier. Their age gap should never have been an excuse to not be involved in her brother’s life. It was one of many regrets she had to live with.
“Rose, we appreciate your time,” Callum said. “And you’ve been very helpful in telling us Joey’s usual routines, where he liked to go, people he considered his friends. Now, I’d like you to focus on the day that Alicia Claremont was murdered. The prosecution’s timeline indicated that there was a three-hour window in which Joey could have killed her. Is there any additional information about that day that you’ve remembered that can help us flesh out the timeline, narrow that window of opportunity? Perhaps you have something written down that might jog your memory, a diary, or journal? Maybe an old calendar you saved that has appointments and notes on it about Joey? Documents with dates in particular could really help. Lawyers love those as evidence.”
Rose twisted her hands in her lap, her gaze darting around the worn, beige-colored room. “I testified at his trial. I told them he was a good person.”
Callum glanced at Raine before continuing. “Are you worried about telling us something different than what you said under oath?”
She twisted her hands even harder, her knuckles whitening.
Raine scooted forward on the couch. “Rose? Can you look at me, please?” She kept her voice soft, as unthreatening and nonjudgmental as possible.
Finally Rose met her gaze. “You’re Joey’s sister.”
She smiled sadly, her stomach dropping at the implications in Rose’s hesitation, her demeanor and her worry over Raine being his sister. “It’s okay to tell the truth, whatever it is. That’s exactly what we want, no matter what. No one’s going to get upset at you.”
Rose chewed her bottom lip and looked down at her hands.
Callum gave Rose a sympathetic look. “Would it be easier to talk if Raine leaves the room?”
Still, Rose remained silent.
Raine stood. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“No.” Rose sighed heavily and stood. “Have a seat. Please. If you really want the truth, then you deserve to hear it. Give me a minute.” She headed down the short hallway and disappeared into what Raine assumed was her bedroom.
Callum’s hand covered hers. “Are you sure you want to be here for whatever she’s going to say?”
“Yes. As she said, I want the truth.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded and pulled his hand back.
Rose emerged from her room and returned to her spot in the recliner across from them. In her hands was a blue spiral-bound notebook, the kind you could get for a few dollars at a convenience store. But from the worn look of it and dog-eared pages, she’d had it a long time.
As she placed it on the glass coffee table between them and flipped it open, Raine couldn’t help but tense. The word DIARY was spelled out in block letters across the top, along with a date—two months prior to Alicia’s murder.
The woman’s hands shook as she flipped through the pages, stopping at the first one written in red ink instead of the blue that had been used on other pages. The date, again, was at the top—six weeks before Joey’s trial. A legal-sized envelope was nestled against the opposite page. Rose took it out and set it on the coffee table. But instead of opening it, she flipped to the end of the journal.
Another envelope lay there, this one much thicker than the first. Written in blue ink across it was one word—trial. She handed the envelope to Callum.
“You want me to open this?” he asked.
She nodded. “Please. You can show Raine too. I think she’s seen most of them before.”
And she had. As Callum thumbed through them, leaning close to Raine so she could see them too, she recognized them as having been entered into evidence at trial. Or, at least, copies of these photos. She didn’t think very much of the evidence had been released, not while there was still a chance of another trial, no matter how remote.
“We were happy then,” Rose said. “Good times.”
Callum stopped thumbing through the pictures. “Not all the times were good?”
Rose’s cheeks turned a light pink as she glanced at Raine. She cleared her throat. “No. They weren’t.” She picked up the first envelope that obviously contained more photos and handed it to him.
As soon as he pulled out the first picture, Raine gasped and pressed a hand to her throat. It was a selfie of Rose, standing in front of a bathroom mirror. Her throat had purplish bruises on it. Even without being a forensic expert, Raine could easily tell what had made those bruises. Hands.
“Rose?” Callum asked, his voice soft. “Who did this to you?”
Her eyes brightened with unshed tears. “My sweet Joey. I don’t even remember what I did to make him mad.” She twisted her hands and looking imploringly at Raine. “I didn’t lie about him being sweet at the trial. I wanted people to know he was a good person. He was sweet, kind, smart. He took good care of me...when he was sober. I just...didn’t tell them about when he wasn’t sober.”
Raine fought back her own tears as Callum flipped through the other pictures. When he was through, he put them in the envelope and slid them across the table.
“Those are some awful injuries,” he said, his voice still kind, gentle. “Are you saying Joey was responsible for all of them?”
She nodded. “But only because he was drunk, or sometimes high. I loved him. Still do. But that last time, the throat, he choked me. I passed out. When I woke up, he went white as a sheet, as if he’d seen a ghost. I’m pretty sure he thought he’d killed me.” She wiped her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. “I don’t know why I took those pictures, or why I kept them. I guess it was my subconscious, wanting proof for later, when I was in denial. Countless nights, after he’d been out drinking, I’d sit in my room, waiting for him to come home. Wondering if tonight would be one of those nights. I think...those pictures, seeing how many there were, are what finally gave me the courage to leave him.”
“I’m so sorry,” Raine whispered. “So sorry.”
Rose shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It wasn’t Joey’s either, not really. Alcohol released a monster inside him. He never would have done it if he was in his right mind. He loved me.”
Raine exchanged an agonized glance with Callum. They didn’t have to speak for her to know that he was remembering the same thing she was—the police report for when Joey was arrested. Although sober by the time they found him, he reeked of alcohol and had bloodshot eyes, indicating a recent binge.
“I don’t doubt you, Rose. But for this to be evidence, we need proof. Do you have anything to show that Joey is the one who did these things to you? Maybe you told a friend, your mom, a sister?”
She motioned toward the diary. “It’s all there, in writing. With dates. You said dates are good to have written down, right?”
He nodded and thumbed through the diary.
“The red ink,” Rose said. “I wrote the entries that go along with the pictures in red ink.”
As Raine watched Callum turn the pages, skimming entries, the amount of red ink had her stomach roiling with nausea.
Callum closed the diary and set it beside the envelopes. “One more question, Rose. In spite of Joey’s abuse of you, you still testified to help him. The prosecutor even asked whether you felt Joey could have killed Alicia. You said no. Was that the truth?”
Her chin trembled, and the tears she’d been trying to hold back slid down her cheeks. “You have to understand. I loved Joey, but I was scared of him too. If I’d said anything bad on the stand, and he got out, came home...” She held her hands up in a helpless gesture. “I had to protect myself.”
“Understood,” Callum said. “But you have to say it. We need to hear it from you, in your own words. Do you think Joey Quintero had the opportunity, and could have killed Alicia Claremont?”
Rose picked up the smaller envelope and thumbed through the pictures. She paused, staring at one as she answered Callum.
“I went to bed before Joey came home the night Alicia was murdered. So I wasn’t able to say whether he was with me at the time of her death. All I could say on the stand was that he was in bed when I woke up the next morning. I was honest about that, and everything else I testified about—except one thing. Do I think that Joey could have strangled and killed Alicia Claremont?” She set the picture down on the coffee table, faceup, the picture that showed the bruises around her throat. “Absolutely.”