Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) (19 page)

39

A week went by, and Baudin had thought about little more than the murder of Alli Tavor. He’d never had a suspect come in and confess to unburden the soul. The human soul, in his experience, could take a hell of a lot of burden.

He’d caught other cases since then: a missing person and a convenience-store robbery. He didn’t miss the compartmentalization in Los Angeles. The diversity of cases here refreshed him.

But he couldn’t get the Tavor case out of his head. It was closed, and he was grateful for that. He’d been the one to tell her mother, and she’d seemed to accept it well, but something didn’t sit right. Orridge wasn’t the type of person to have a change of heart. Something happened to make him come in and confess.

He was at his desk on a phone call when a woman came in. A detective named Hernandez was walking back to the interrogation rooms with her. The woman was young and attractive but crying profusely. Hernandez had her arm around the woman’s shoulders and sat her down before shutting the door.

After fifteen or twenty minutes, Hernandez came out to the squad room.

“Who’s that?” Baudin asked.

“Oh, her name’s Kaitlin Harris. She says she was raped a couple of weeks ago by some guys at a club.”

Baudin didn’t have to ask about the time lapse. He knew most victims were reluctant to come forward right away. They felt guilt and shame, as though they were somehow responsible for the assault. It usually took coaxing by family and friends to finally get them through the precinct door.

“More than one?” Baudin asked.

“Yeah, she says one guy took her back to his place, and then a bunch of guys came out and took turns.”

Baudin was silent for a moment.

“You okay?” Hernandez said.

“Yeah, sorry, yeah. Just sad is all.”

“Yeah, poor girl. Luckily they drugged her, and she only remembers bits and pieces. I was gonna head down and get a crisis counselor.”

Baudin nodded and went back to his computer. He waited until Hernandez was out the door before he rose and hurried to the interrogation room where Kaitlin Harris was seated.

She looked frail and weak. As though if he weren’t careful with her, she could crumble to dust right in front of him. He sat down across from her, rose and unplugged the camera, and then sat down again.

“I’m sorry,” was all Baudin said. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded, twirling the tissue in her fingers. “Are you a detective?”

“Yes.”

She sniffled. “I feel so stupid. I just feel like the stupidest person in the world.”

He reached his hand across the table, letting it rest near her. “You’re not. This was not an act of God, like lightning striking. This was an act of evil perpetrated by men. It had nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault.”

She seemed to slump in her chair, as though her muscles couldn’t hold her up any longer. The long strands of hair came down over her eyes, and she sobbed quietly. He moved his chair next to her, and the action, though he’d been as slow and quiet as possible, startled her.

“Shh,” he said.

He didn’t touch her until she was ready. And even then, it was only a couple of fingers gently placed on the back of her hand—just enough that she knew someone else was there, someone who cared and empathized.

When she was through sobbing, he said, “I need your help.”

“How?”

He pulled out his phone and brought up a photo of the Sigma Mu frat house. “Do you recognize this house?” She shook her head. The symbol over the door was blurry. He flipped to a clear photo of the Sigma Mu symbol. “What about this?”

Her mouth nearly fell open. “I saw that in a painting. When he was taking me upstairs, I saw that painting hanging there.”

“Can you tell me anything about the house?”

“It was empty, like no one lived there. There was plastic over the furniture, dust everywhere.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I’m so stupid.”

“Kaitlin, stay with me… stay with me… what else did you see?”

“Nothing. We went upstairs to the bedroom, and all these guys came out. He’d given me something so I couldn’t move. I was just lying there like… I couldn’t move. And all these guys came out. And they started… they started.”

“Who took you there?”

“Some guy. He said his name was Casey.”

“What’d he look like?”

Kaitlin wiped her tears away again, taking a deep breath. “Good-looking. Blond, I guess. He said he was forty-three, but he looked a little older.”

“Forty-three?”

“Yeah, but he looked older.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive. I saw him really close. When he was on top of me… when he was…”

She began to sob again, more forcefully this time, as though losing control. Hernandez walked in, the counselor behind her.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just making sure she’s okay,” Baudin said. He rose to leave, but before doing so, he bent down. Close to her ear so only Kaitlin could hear him. “I’m going to find them, Kaitlin. I’m going to find them, and I’m going to kill them.”

She looked up. The sobbing ceased. Their eyes held each other a moment, and then he turned and rushed out of the room.

40

When Baudin found Dixon, he was sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot, eating a bagel and drinking coffee. He sat next to him, and they didn’t speak right away. He let Dixon eat for a bit, getting comfortable with his presence before springing it on him.

“I think Dustin Orridge didn’t do it. Or at least didn’t do it alone.”

Dixon chewed and just said, “Why?”

“There’s a woman in there right now talking about a sexual assault. She saw the Sigma Mu symbol in the house she was gang raped in. The guy who took her there was in his forties, maybe even older.”

“So?”

“So how many fifty-year-olds you see in those Sigma Mu photos? He’s alum.”

Dixon looked at him. “You think the alum raped her?”

“Why not, man? They get into these rape parties, but they gotta leave the frat sometime. Doesn’t mean they can break the habit. They got a taste for it… but you already thought of that.”

Dixon took a sip of his coffee. “I did.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because the case is over. It’s closed. And if you think Jessop is ever gonna let us reopen it and start interviewing alums from that frat, you can forget it. The mayor and DA are both alums.” He went to take another sip of coffee and stopped. The two of them stared at each other.

“Shit,” Dixon said.

Baudin’s house was empty as Heather was in school. Dixon entered and followed Baudin down to the basement where the photos of the Sigma Mu brothers were set up. Baudin took down the photos of the past fifteen years, and they had five photos left. They spread them on a table and leaned over them like generals looking at a map.

Baudin got out some reading glasses and went over the faces of each one. In one particular year, 1995, he stopped. In the center of the pack, smiling widely with a bad haircut, was a face he recognized.

“I know that face.”

Dixon bent closer. He took the glasses and raised them above the photo, making the face as large as possible. He dropped the glasses and turned away, taking a few steps back, his hands coming up over his head before his fingers interlaced and rested on the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” Dixon shouted, grabbing the first thing that came to hand—a plastic bottle from a shelf—and throwing it. The bottle bounced off the wall and hit the floor, rolling to the center of the basement until it lost momentum.

“Who is he?” Baudin asked.

41

Dixon paced the hallway. The secretary was staring at him as though she’d never seen him before. Baudin seemed calm. He was standing against the wall with his eyes closed, as if he were meditating or something. Dixon, on the other hand, felt as though he were about to hurl.

“The chief will see you now, Detective.”

“Thanks,” Dixon said meekly.

They walked into Chief Robert Crest’s office and sat down across from him. The chief was on the phone and held up one finger, indicating he needed a minute. Dixon swallowed and looked around the office.

When the chief was done, he smiled widely, pulled a cigar out of a drawer, and said, “Great job on that crucifixion case, boys. I don’t think I’ve gotten to congratulate you yet. Sorry about that, mayor’s got me running ragged on this new drug initiative he’s got going.” He lit his cigar and took a puff.

“No problem, sir,” Dixon said. “We’re just happy you could fit us in.”

The chief leaned back in his chair, the smile never leaving his face. “So, what can I do for you?”

Baudin said dryly, “You never told us you were a member of Sigma Mu.”

The smile instantly disappeared. Dixon’s guts tightened. He’d been hoping he could avoid the confrontation and just talk like gentlemen who had found an intellectual curiosity, but Baudin had his own plans.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Chief Crest said, his face contorting with rage.

“Seems like an interesting little fact you’d want to tell the investigating detectives on a case involving that frat.”

“That isn’t relevant to anything. I think your partner here worked at U of W. Maybe you should be interviewing him, too.”

“If he belonged to a frat that systematically raped women, I would be.”

Baudin and the chief stared at each other. The chief’s face was flushed red with so much anger that he seemed unable to contain it.

“Get the fuck outta my office now!”

Baudin rose and smirked before leaving. Dixon felt that he should say something—anything—but couldn’t think of a single thing. He just nodded apologetically and left the building behind Baudin.

“That’s not gonna be good for us,” Dixon said.

“I had to feel him out. What did you think? Honestly.”

Dixon spit on the ground. “I think if he
didn’t
know anything, he’d be more surprised than angry.”

Baudin slapped his shoulder and grinned. “See, now you’re thinking clearly.”

Dixon’s phone buzzed, and he looked at it. It was a text from Jessop saying he wanted to see them immediately. “Well, hope you like the taste of shit ’cause we’re about to eat a boatful right now.”

Dixon gazed out the window. Jessop had screamed so much he’d lost his voice. A vein in his neck looked as if it were about to pop, like a snake writhing up his neck into his head. Dixon tried not to look. He tried to keep his stare out the window, but it was difficult. Jessop was circling the office and, since he’d lost his voice, bent down to whisper hoarsely in his ear when some insult came into his head.

“Sir,” Baudin said, “we didn’t accuse the chief of anything. We just went in there to talk, and he’s the one who flipped out.”

Jessop, his voice completely depleted, picked up a pencil and flung it at Baudin’s head. The three men then sat there in silence, watching rain beginning to spot the cars outside in the parking lot.

Jessop pointed to his desk. Dixon pulled out his badge and gun. He laid them on the desk. Baudin did the same, and they stared at Jessop before he pointed to the door.

The two of them walked out of the building. They stood in the rain. It wasn’t coming down hard, just a sprinkle that would leave droplets on clothing.

“Well, that went well,” Dixon said.

Baudin was staring at his phone. “I gotta go.”

“Now? Where you gotta go now?”

“Heather’s not answering her cell. She should’ve been at Molly’s house.”

Dixon sighed. “Well, I may as well come with you since I don’t have a job right now.”

42

The car rolled to a stop in front of Baudin’s home. The truth was, Dixon didn’t want to go home. Home meant he’d have to face his wife and tell her he’d been suspended. At least, he thought he’d been suspended. Jessop might very well fire them. Despite not saying much, they had flat-out accused the chief of being involved in the death of a young girl and with the rapes of dozens more.

He followed Baudin up to the doorstep, the rain now pelting him in the face. Baudin unlocked the door and stepped inside. The house was quiet. He checked Heather’s room and then went to his bedroom.

“Heather?” he called.

As he was walking by the bathroom, Baudin’s eyes went wide. He seemed to have the wind knocked out of him, as though he were collapsing right there in the hallway.

He dashed into the bathroom. Dixon followed.

“No, baby, no, what did you do… What did you do?”

Huddled on the floor, Baudin held his daughter in his arms, both of them now covered in blood. The dark fluid spurted out of cuts in her wrists. The cuts weren’t long, but they were deep, and the girl was white. She wasn’t conscious.

“What did you do to yourself?” Baudin said, tears on his cheeks. “What did you do? What did you do?”

Dixon called it in and took off his belt and ran over. He wrapped his belt around one of the wrists and tightened it just above the wound. Baudin seemed far away. Dixon grabbed him by the back of the neck, looking into his eyes. “Hey! She needs you right now.”

Baudin, seemingly in a daze, slipped off his belt and tightened it around her other arm. Both of them held her, putting pressure on the wounds with towels. The girl responded once—she just said, “Daddy,” before losing consciousness again. Baudin wept as he rested his forehead against hers.

The ambulance was there in less than five minutes. Dixon stepped into the hallway with Baudin, both of their clothing looking as if they’d been sprayed with blood from a hose. As the paramedics hauled her out on a stretcher, Baudin cried again. He buried his face in his hands.

Anything Dixon said right now would be cheap. So instead, he put his hand on his partner’s shoulder and followed him out as he got into the ambulance.

“I’ll follow behind,” Dixon said.

Dixon had never liked hospitals. As a kid, his grandmother was a hypochondriac and took him in for the most minor cough or ache because his father didn’t care enough to pay attention to illness. He’d come to despise the smell of antiseptic and the stale taste of tongue depressors. Once, a doctor pierced his eardrum to drain an infection. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, Dixon swore he’d never go to the doctor again. Since then, he’d only been twice.

The waiting area was nice, as far as waiting areas went, decorated with paintings of sunflower fields, plants on the side tables, a rug with intricate designs beneath their feet. Baudin had been rocking gently back and forth for the past hour. His eyes were red-rimmed, and every once in a while tears would stream down his face. Dixon leaned forward on his knees.

“My daddy told me kids are the best and worst thing ’bout life.”

Baudin shook his head, his unblinking gaze directed at the floor. “This is my fault, Kyle. She was trying to tell me she’s lost, and I didn’t hear her. She reached out to me, and I slapped her hand away.”

“That’s horseshit. We do the best we can with what we have, man. Raisin’ a girl on your own without a mother around… I can’t even imagine it, man. Hillary knows when Randy is hungry, when he’s sleepy, when he has gas, all that just from the way he cries. I don’t know nothin’. It’s like dealing with an alien.”

“I need to take her back. I never should’ve left California. Her friends were there.”

Dixon saw a speck of mud on his shoe. He wanted to kick into the floor to get it off, but the motion seemed inappropriate. “I ain’t no psychologist, but my guess is that wouldn’t have done nothin’.”

“Mr. Baudin?” a woman in a white coat said as she stepped out of the double doors.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Juni, nice to meet you. I’ve been treating your daughter.” She sat next to them. “First, I want you to know she is perfectly okay. She’s lost some blood, but other than that she’ll be fine. The wrists are actually a difficult place to bleed out from.”

Baudin exhaled a puff of breath, but it didn’t seem conscious. It was as if a great pain had lifted out of his body and left a quivering sack of meat and blood behind. “Can I see her?”

“She’s sleeping now. Why don’t you give her an hour or two and then head back there?” The doctor paused. “I’ve asked that our psychiatrist on call come down and meet with her. I hope that’s okay.”

“It is.”

She nodded. “Teenage suicide is usually a cry for help. She’s trying to get your attention. A real attempt is frequently successful. We’re not as hard to kill as people think. But I’ll let the psychiatrist get into that with you. Her name is Dr. Natalie Leishman, she’ll be down soon.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

When the doctor had left, Baudin rose from his chair. He stood by the window overlooking the parking lot, staring down at the cars coming and going. “I did this to her.”

“You can’t think that way, man.”

“There’s no other way to think.”

He turned and strode down the hall.