The Unseen - A Mystery (The Baudin & Dixon Trilogy Book 2) Page 8

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, then Hillary’s arms wrapped around his chest, her head resting on his back. There was nowhere else he wanted to be at that moment, and he closed his eyes and pretended he had never left.

  23

  The next morning, Dixon woke in his own bed—not the bed at the apartment, but in his home. He opened his eyes slowly and wondered if it all could’ve been a dream: Chris, the murder, and the drunken haze that he’d lived in. Hillary was asleep next to him. Her hair was short, and he knew it hadn’t been a dream. All the pain came rushing back to him in a second, and the weight was back on his chest.

  They hadn’t made love, but she had held him the entire night. Dixon rose and stared at her for a while before he went into Randy’s room. He kissed the boy on the head, then went and sat on the couch in the living room. He didn’t know if he was back or if it had been just a night’s reprieve in a relationship that had disintegrated beyond the point of resurrecting. And he didn’t want to stay and ask Hillary because he was scared he would get an answer he didn’t want. So he left.

  Sitting in his car, he rested his head back and just breathed, staring at the roof of the car. Before long, the passenger door opened, and Hillary sat down. She was in a robe, a white and blue one he had bought for her while on vacation in Portland. She reached over and gently placed her hand over his.

  “I want you to move back in,” she said.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

  “I need you. I get so lonely sometimes that I forget I’m alive. Randy’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

  He looked at her. “Chris wanted a paternity test. Are you sure Randy’s not… I mean…”

  “I don’t know.”

  He swallowed and looked away. “I want a paternity test. I need to know.”

  “Would you love him any less if he wasn’t yours?”

  Tears welled in his eyes, and he shook his head softly.

  “Then what does it matter?” she asked.

  “It just does. I want to do it.”

  She nodded. “Okay. We’ll do it. And then after, no matter what the result is, will you move back in?”

  Her eyes were wide with either fear or anticipation. She did genuinely miss him. But if she loved me this much, why did she find comfort in another man’s arms?

  “Did you…” Now isn’t the time. But the time would come. “I’ll come over for dinner tonight,” he said, “and we’ll set a time we can go down and get the test done.”

  She nodded, kissed him on the cheek, then left the car. Dixon sat for a moment longer, then started the car and pulled away.

  After showering and changing, Dixon called the Records Division at the station. They ran a check and got Chesley’s current address, occupation—retail clerk at a tanning salon—and her criminal history, which consisted of one conviction for possession of marijuana. He called Baudin and said he would pick him up so they could head down there.

  Baudin’s new home was better than his old one and in a better neighborhood. When Dixon parked and texted him that he was outside, he looked around at all the houses and wondered what Baudin’s neighbors did for a living. It was a solidly middle-class neighborhood, and he was glad Baudin could swing a place like that. Cops in some cities qualified for welfare because they made so little. Luckily, Cheyenne wasn’t one of those cities.

  Baudin got in wearing a leather jacket with a band around his wrist that had metal spikes on it.

  “You goin’ to a rock concert or somethin’?” Dixon asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Wasn’t it Seinfeld that said a father stops changing the way he dresses when he has a kid? This is how I dressed when Heather was born, so it’s gonna stick.”

  “So you’re tellin’ me you’re gonna be in a nursing home wearing a leather jacket and a spiked bracelet, zooming around on your wheelchair?”

  “I have a feeling those older chicks would dig it.”

  Dixon grinned. “Facing your own mortality at ninety, and you’d still be thinkin’ ’bout pussy, huh?”

  “I don’t know a better time to think about it.” He paused. “No booze this morning?”

  Dixon suddenly realized he hadn’t had a drink that morning. He hadn’t even had the urge. “I guess not.”

  “What changed?”

  He hesitated. “Nothin’.”

  “If you say so.”

  They drove around through residential streets until coming to an apartment complex across from a high school. The pavement was cracked, and the metal awning covering the parking stalls was rusted and dirty. The apartments themselves were crammed together so tightly, they looked as though they were leaning on each other. Each building consisted of five floors stacked like Legos.

  Dixon parked near the management office then checked the slip of paper he’d written down Chesley’s address on. They got out, and Baudin followed him as he headed to Building G, looking for Apartment 1-101.

  Dixon knocked then took a step back. The woman who answered had once been beautiful. That shone through, but now, she looked tired. The lines on her face were taut, and she had circles under her eyes. Without makeup, the greasy skin, pockmarks, and acne were visible, and her teeth were beginning to yellow. She was a meth addict—or well on her way to becoming one.

  Meth was cheap, and the high lasted a long time. Dixon was old enough to remember when meth had really hit the scene in the nineties. The Department of Child and Family Services had to double their budget because so many children of meth-addicted parents were flooding the system. The state had to come up with the money from somewhere, and several state programs he had believed in, like a program that helped women escape prostitution, had been cut.

  “Michelle Chesley?” Dixon asked.

  “Yes?” she said shyly.

  Dixon showed her his badge. “We’re with the police. We’d like to have a word with you, if that’s okay.”

  “I’m heading to work in half an hour.”

  “We’ll just need five minutes.”

  She nodded and opened the door for them.

  They sat down on an old couch covered in stains and cigarette burns. She brought out a chair from the dining table and sat down. She looked nervous, and Dixon guessed she thought they were there about the meth.

  “We wanted to talk to you about Henry Peck.”

  Her face lost all color. She swallowed and crossed her arms as though protecting herself from a blow. “What about him?” she asked quietly.

  “We’re looking into him for a crime that was committed at his place of employment,” Dixon said. “We thought we’d come talk to you about his previous conviction.”

  Her face turned stern, and her eyes narrowed. “You mean when he raped me?”

  Dixon was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be insensitive. I just know you have to leave and thought I would get right to it.”

  She exhaled and leaned back in the seat. Dixon glanced at Baudin and saw that he was watching her unblinkingly, probably analyzing her body language or some other bullshit he thought would reveal something about her.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “His version of it was that it was consensual but that you changed your mind after the encounter. I’m guessing there’s no truth to that. Am I right in assuming that?”

  She shook her head. “That asshole still saying that? Officer, look at me. I may not have model good looks anymore, but do I look like someone that would fuck Henry Peck willingly?”

  “Honestly, no. Tell me what happened.”

  “He was a repairman. Um, a cable repairman. My cable went out, and I wanted to watch my shows, so I called the cable company and told them I needed it fixed. They said they would send someone between two and five. I had a shift at four, so I told them I would leave the door open.” Her lip quivered. “I was in the shower when he found me. He stood at the door and just stared. I knew what he was going to do right then.” She pa
used a long time. “He ripped me out of the shower and raped me right there on my bathroom floor. Then he left like nothing happened.”

  Dixon cleared his throat and looked down at the coffee table. “They cut him a pretty good deal. Do you know why?”

  She nodded and rubbed her hands together. “I had some issues, and they thought a jury might…”

  Dixon didn’t need her to finish that sentence. The prosecution didn’t want to risk her criminal history raising the specter during trial that she was being less than truthful. The prosecution had compromised to avoid an acquittal and letting Henry Peck back on the streets with a sense that he could get away with anything.

  “I’m sorry,” Baudin finally said.

  She nodded. “Yeah, me too. You can imagine I haven’t had much sleep since his release five years ago. I see him places sometimes. At the coffee shop or a Wendy’s or something. He makes sure I see him, and then he’s gone before I can call the police.”

  “When was the last time that happened?” Dixon asked.

  “I don’t know. A year ago, maybe.” She stared off into space for a while. “Makes you wonder, though—how many others there are. If he was a cable man, how many houses could he get into?”

  Dixon asked a few follow-up questions then felt it was time to leave. He thanked her for her time and rose. At the door, Baudin whispered in her ear. He took out one of his cards and pressed it in her palm. Then he followed Dixon out.

  “What’d you say to her?” Dixon asked.

  “I said that if he ever shows himself to her again, I would take care of it.”

  They got into the car. Dixon sighed and said, “Well, suddenly, Walk doesn’t look so good anymore.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. We need to talk to the prosecutor that handled Henry’s prosecution. If there were other girls he did this to, they should’ve found them. I wanna know why they didn’t.”

  24

  The district attorney’s office was in the City and County Building downtown. Dixon parked nearby at a meter, and they walked half a block to the building. Inside, a secretary who was popping her gum loudly and sipping on an energy drink greeted them. Baudin asked her for the prosecutor who had handled Chesley’s sexual assault, and she searched the computer.

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “That was one Mike handled on his own.”

  Baudin’s stomach dropped. “Mike Sandoval?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t the boss then, though. You’ll have to talk to him.”

  “Is he in?”

  “Lemme check.”

  While the secretary rang up, Baudin looked at Dixon, who shrugged.

  “He’s in. Go right up.”

  Most County Attorney offices were split along civil and criminal lines. The civil attorneys handled any issues that arose within county limits and were not explicitly criminal, but Baudin knew they primarily defended lawsuits. Most civil attorneys involved in litigation had an unpleasant disposition. It seemed when money was fought over people were generally unhappy.

  The government litigators were different. They didn’t work eighty-hour weeks, and it wasn’t their money, or even their boss’s money, at stake. They gambled with taxpayer money, and that seemed to be enough to take the pressure off. After all, if they lost a lawsuit and had to pay, few people would blame the county. They would blame the person who’d sued them.

  On the top floor, attorneys were laughing and joking around in their offices. A few glanced at Baudin and Dixon, but most didn’t acknowledge their presence.

  “You ever met him before?” Baudin asked.

  “Once. In court. He came to watch a homicide trial that was in the news. Seemed nice enough.”

  Sandoval’s corner office was at least three times the size of any other office on the floor. His door was open, and he sat at the desk, flipping through a thick stack of papers. Behind him, an American flag took up a good chunk of the wall, and on the opposite wall were photographs of him shaking hands with people Baudin didn’t recognize.

  Dixon knocked on the door, and Sandoval looked up. He was an elderly man, maybe sixty-five or pushing seventy. A smile spread on his face, from ear to ear. He rose and thrust out his hand.

  “Mike Sandoval, nice to meet you, Detective.”

  “We’ve actually met before. The Jackson Dow case, ’bout six years back.”

  “Oh, right. I do recall that. Domestic violence case, if I remember correctly. You did a fantastic job eliciting a confession from him.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He held out his hand to Baudin, and they shook. “Ethan Baudin.”

  “Pleasure,” he said, the smile never leaving his face. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Baudin said, “We’re here on a case of a man named Henry Peck. Do you remember him?”

  “Vaguely. Sexual case, I think.”

  “That’s right. He was a cable repairman that sodomized a woman in her apartment when he was there on a job.”

  “Oh, yes.” He leaned back in the seat. “Yes, I do remember that. Nasty case. I believe she had to have reconstructive surgery afterward.”

  Baudin thought it interesting that the gruesome tidbit was the first thing Sandoval remembered about the case, but he kept his face passive.

  “What exactly are you looking at him for now?” Sandoval asked.

  “Homicide of two young women.”

  “Oh. Yes. My screening team mentioned something about this investigation. Found over there at Grade A, correct?”

  Dixon said, “That’s right. We’re trying to keep it as quiet as possible, out of respect for Mr. Walk.”

  “I’m sure he appreciates that. So why do you think Mr. Peck is involved?”

  “Just an unusual history,” Baudin said. “That’s the reason we’re here. The plea deal he took had him off the registry in ten years. Seemed like a sweet deal for someone that did what he did.”

  Dixon said, “Um, sir, we just think with his history, and that the bodies ended up in one of his machines, we should dig a little deeper into him. What we really wanted to know is if you knew of any other victims.”

  Baudin kept his eyes on Sandoval as he looked from one detective to another. He picked up a pencil and tapped it against the desktop.

  “Yes, Detective, there were others.”

  Dixon looked at Baudin and then back at Sandoval. “How many others?”

  “At least four, that we know of.”

  Baudin said, “Why wasn’t he prosecuted for those?”

  “I couldn’t get any of them to testify. I think—now I don’t have any evidence for this—but I think the son of a bitch threatened them. Ms. Chesley was the only one courageous enough to step forward. But we had some issues with her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Let me look up the case file.” Sandoval turned to a computer and searched for a minute. “For one, she’d made allegations against another man for rape about a year before she made the allegations against Peck. Three months after charges were filed and the poor bastard was in custody, she came forward and said that she had made the whole thing up. That she and that man were having an affair, and he called it off, so she wanted to get back at him. You can imagine how that would play to a jury. Also, she had a child, and a DCFS case was pending against her. As part of the case, she was required to do random drug testing. Looks like she tested positive twice—once for methamphetamine and once for cocaine. I was required to hand that over to the defense. It wasn’t looking good for a conviction, but I wanted to get something.” He turned away from the computer and faced them again. “So, I did the best I could with what I had.”

  “Do you think you could give us a list of names of the other four women?”

  “Certainly. Anything else?”

  Baudin was quiet for a second then said, “I noticed you were in Sigma Mu. That must’ve been hard to see Chief Crest go down like he did.”

  Sandoval’s smile turned into a frown, and he and Baudin stared at each othe
r for a long time. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I worked with Chief Crest his entire career. For him to turn out like he did… it’s just a shame.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Baudin said.

  The two men wouldn’t take their eyes off each other, and finally, Dixon had to say, “We’ll just get those names from your secretary.” He rose.

  “Please do,” Sandoval said, rising to shake their hands again. “Been a pleasure, boys.”

  Once they’d gotten the names and were outside, Baudin lit a cigarette and stood on the sidewalk for a second, blowing out the smoke through his nose.

  Dixon took a step away. “Do you have to smoke that shit? It’s so bad for you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll quit eventually.”

  “So?” Dixon said. “Is he the mastermind you think he is?”

  “He’s definitely hiding something. I don’t know about mastermind. I want to get in touch with those girls, though.”

  25

  The first two women on the list had moved out of state. Dixon got their phone numbers from Spillman and left voicemails for both. The other two still lived in Wyoming: one was a schoolteacher, and the other a stay-at-home mom. He printed off their current addresses then met Baudin in front of a grocery store. He got into Dixon’s car with armfuls of fruit.

  “That your lunch?” Dixon asked.

  “Best thing for you.”

  “So, you’re a vegan, but you smoke? You know what kind of shit they put into cigarettes?”

  He took a bite of apple. “Couldn’t be worse than young girls ground up in pork, could it?”

  Dixon had thought about getting a sandwich and fries then eating on the drive over, but he suddenly wasn’t hungry.

  The woman they were visiting, the schoolteacher, lived about twenty minutes away by freeway, and the school she taught at was just around the block from her home. Dixon turned on the radio, and they listened to Willie Nelson. Dixon had thought it would drive his partner crazy, but Baudin didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window, expressionless.