“According to the woman—the kid’s sedated—she came home early from work to check on the kid, who was home from school on a sick day. That checks out. Found her ex in the kitchen, raping the kid. Rape kit and medical exam also verify, and the kid was beat up pretty good. The mother states she grabbed the knife out of the block, at which time the ex went at her, knocked her down, ripped at her clothes, threatened to kill both of them. She says she managed to get clear, and when he went for the kid again—whom she states was barely conscious on the kitchen floor—she stabbed him. Kept stabbing him until he was down.”
“What doesn’t check out?”
“The angles, LT, the movements. The kid—she’s fifteen—was assaulted, was raped, that’s solid. The mother has injuries to her face, to her breasts, and her throat. The DB had a good fifty pounds on her, facial scratches, and on the back of his neck—and both females had skin under their nails—and the stab wounds are all in the back.”
She could see it, and could see where her detective was going, but let him lay it all out.
“The angle and placement and depth—we’ll get the ME to verify—but, Dallas, it wasn’t the mother who stabbed him. She’s stick
ing to it, won’t budge an inch. But you can see by the body, the angles, the blood patterns on the mother’s clothes, the kid’s.”
Yeah, she could see it. “The kid stabbed him.”
“Had to, boss. He goes after the mother, who tried to drag him off, scratching the back of his neck in the attempt. He gets off the kid, clocks the mom, knocks her down and back, then jumps her. The kid gets up, gets the knife, and makes him stop.”
“Did you relate this to the mother?”
“Yeah, we did, but she won’t budge, and she’s not going to let us talk to the kid until she has time with her. She’s not going to let us talk to the kid without her being present.”
He took a breath, rubbed his jaw. “I can’t blame her for it. Lieutenant, he beat the hell out of that girl, raped her, blackened the mother’s eye, choked her. We ran background, and the mother’s solid, a publishing exec with eighteen years in, no criminal. Kid’s a good student, no trouble. Father—he doesn’t live with them—is a lawyer, and you can bet she’s tagged him. He’s out of Charlotte now, but I’ll guarantee he’s on his way.”
And they’d flank their daughter, their traumatized, likely terrified daughter. Who could blame them?
“The thing is,” Santiago continued, “we’re going to prove she’s lying, and that’s just going to make things messier for them. But she won’t budge. Carmichael tried the woman-to-woman thing while I stepped out, told her it was clearly self-defense, but she’s sticking with her story. Doesn’t deviate.”
“How about the vic? Any priors?”
“Two, both sexual assaults, both vics recanted. She says they started seeing each other last fall, and she broke it off a couple weeks ago. She didn’t know about the priors, but claims he got over possessive, and the daughter told her he’d ‘accidentally’ touched her breasts or ass too many times. So the mother booted him, and he got bitchy about it, but she figured he’d move on.”
“Contact the father—you, not Carmichael,” Eve added. “Keep it male, cop to father, looking after the best interests of a child. He’s a lawyer. Lay it out for him straight. If and when the ME confirms, if and when—and it sounds like when—you verify all the steps, relay it all to the PA’s office, to Reo, because let’s stick with a female there. She’ll talk lawyer-to-lawyer so they’re assured not only will no charges be brought, but it’ll be kept out of the media. Nobody talks to the kid without one or both of her parents present.”
“The father. Yeah, that could work. I’ll push on that.”
“And, Santiago? Let them see they matter. Take off the cop face and let them see. If you can’t wrap it up, let me know.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He started out, paused. “He ripped off the kid’s sick-day pajamas. They had bunnies on them. Fricking bunnies.”
Eve let out a long sigh, let herself close her eyes for one moment. She knew exactly what that girl still had to face. Then she set it aside, put on her coat, and walked out.
“Peabody, with me.”
“I talked to all three of Ongar’s party. Sylvie MacGruder thinks, and it’s a big maybe, the man who came out behind them was about six feet. She bases that on the fact that Patteli is about five-ten, and the man was taller. She thinks. She only has the vaguest impression of him, and thinks Caucasian, and her best guess would be between maybe thirty and sixty, but wouldn’t swear to any of it. The others didn’t even notice him.”
“But she, again, believes male?”
“I asked if she’d noticed an individual walk out behind them. She said there was a guy a couple steps behind them. So she thinks male.”
“Well, that gives us next to nothing. Let’s see if DeWinter has more. E-geeks are bringing it in,” she added, giving Peabody a rundown as they rode down to the garage.
“That’ll give McNab some juice. Did you say the Canary Islands?”
“Yeah.”
“Durante?” Peabody bundled into the car. “I bet that’s Missy Lee Durante. I remember reading she had a fall break in the Canary Islands. She plays Elsie on City Girl. Screen series,” Peabody explained. “It’s really popular. She’s the sweet, naive teenager who moved to New York from Iowa when her father got a new job.”
“Teenager?”
“Well, she plays one. I think she’s about sixteen on the series now, but I’m pretty sure she’s more like eighteen or nineteen. Wholesome character, wholesome rep.”