Chapter 35 Kobe #2
Yates flew into the room like a hurricane, energy and animosity aimed in my direction, but he ground to a halt the second his gaze landed on the teen sitting beside my desk. All the color drained from his face. It was clear that despite the passing of three years, he recognized Jolie.
And Jolie recognized him.
She flew from her chair, mittens and hat tumbling to the floor, ivory cheeks aflame. “Esti de porc.” The teen shook her head, features contorted with disgust. “You killed her.” The accusation came out laced with venom. “It’s your fault. You had one job. Va te faire enculer.”
“I know.” Yates held up his hands in self-defense, flashing his gaze at me like he expected to be saved.
I had no fucking idea what was going on. Killed who?
Before I could ask or calm Jolie down, the once quavering teen launched across the room and barreled bodily into Yates. She screamed and slammed her fists against his chest. “You fuck. You killed her.”
“I know,” he shouted, backing up unsuccessfully, arms in the air.
“She died because of you.”
“I know.”
“We were not whores. We did nothing wrong. We were children.”
“I know.”
The abuse intensified. Yates tried to defend himself, but Jolie slapped and kicked and spat in his face. She tore at his clothes and raked her nails down his cheeks. Anything she could grab hold of was fair game.
The startled constable frantically backed away, dodging and blocking her attack. The whole while, he repeated, “I know. I know. I know.”
Jolie chased him around the bullpen as Yates hollered, “Stop. I tried to fix it.”
“You didn’t. You bastard.”
“I looked for them.”
“You lie.”
“I swear to god. Please believe me.”
“I hate you. She’s dead because of you.” Jolie cleared the top of a desk and slammed into him again. “You killed her.”
Yates tripped and almost fell on his ass but found his feet at the last minute. He caught Jolie’s wrists so she couldn’t land more punches and held her off. “Stop it. Listen to me.”
“No,” she screamed, pulling against his restraining hold and kicking him in the shins.
“I did you wrong, but I’ve been doing everything in my power to make it right.”
“You liar. You killed her.” She kneed him in the balls, and Yates bellowed, losing his grip and folding in half.
Jolie didn’t retreat and moved in, biting his cheek.
Yates screamed and shoved her away. Fury burned in his eyes, but before she could attack him again, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her around until she crashed to her knees, subdued.
“Ari!” I hollered.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, which was half the reason I didn’t immediately react.
Jolie snarled and fought, but Yates wouldn’t release her. Blood trickled down his cheek from where she’d bitten him.
Before this went any further—and I saw intent in the constable’s eyes—I lurched forward and slammed a hand against Yates’s chest.
“Let go.”
He growled, but I stood firm.
When he released her, I shoved him backward until he clattered into a desk. Yates’s ass landed on its surface, and he stared at me like I’d somehow betrayed him.
I balled my fists in his shirt. He wasn’t in uniform. I wasn’t sure why he was in the building at all. Bringing my face close to his, I hissed, “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”
“I didn’t do anything. She attacked me.”
“Get. The fuck. Gone.”
He glanced over my shoulder, breathing still labored, anger still simmering, cheek still bleeding. “I’ve done everything in my power to fix my mistake, you bitch. She wasn’t supposed to die. That’s not on me.”
“Ari,” I hissed.
He held up his hands. “All right. I’m going.”
I let go of his shirt but stayed between him and Jolie, not trusting either of them.
Yates straightened his clothes and touched his injured cheek, wincing at the discovery of blood on his fingertips. Before he headed to the door, he locked eyes with Jolie again, his rage tempered. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself.”
Yates left, and I took a second to straighten several messy desks as Jolie collected herself. I feared she would run out the door and never look back, and I had too many questions to let her go.
Top of the list. What the actual fuck just happened?
Four dead men. A volatile teenager. A victim of rape who seemed to be dead, if I was understanding correctly, and a cop who knew more than he let on. Jolie’s story had layers I wasn’t aware of, and I needed to get to the bottom of it.
“Are you all right?” I asked, relieved when she chose to sit and not fly out the door.
“I’m fine.” She straightened her headband, cheeks hot with simmering rage.
“Can I get you some water?”
She nodded, and I escaped to the break room to hunt down a glass. I took an extra minute to decompress and review what I’d seen. The words. The hysteria. The aggression. Something didn’t sit right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
By the time I returned to the bullpen, Jolie seemed composed. I set the glass in front of her, and she thanked me.
I sat and waited to see if she would restart the conversation. When she kept her gaze down and didn’t speak, I took the liberty of pushing.
“Your friend Gigi is dead?”
“She killed herself.”
Shit.
“When?” And how the fuck had Yates known?
“Not quite a year after it happened. She never came back from it. It destroyed her. She stopped coming to school. She stopped talking to me. Bastian tried. He always had a crush on her, but she wouldn’t talk to him either. He felt responsible since he was the one to invite us to the party.”
“I’m so sorry, Jolie.”
“You said I can charge him. I want that man’s badge. For Gigi. He should not be allowed to be a police officer after the way he treated us. I don’t care if he’s sorry. Sorry won’t bring her back.”
“No, it won’t.”
Jolie lifted her chin and couldn’t have looked more like a defiant teenager if she tried. “What do you need to know?”
I spent the next hour taking a proper statement, listening as Jolie recounted the incident at the college, as she talked about the people involved, and described the fearful steps she, Gigi, and Bastian had taken that night to try to get Gigi help.
The entire time, I made notes. The raw pain laced throughout the teen’s story made it impossible not to apply what I learned to the case.
The unsub was within reach, of that I had no doubt. After seeing this frail, wisp of a girl attack Yates, I could no longer disregard her as a potential suspect. Jolie had enough fire in her core that with better planning, I was certain she could have taken Yates down.
She nearly had.
If she wasn’t a primary suspect, she was involved somehow or knew who was responsible. Maybe she had helped.
I could have asked again—she dodged my question the first time—but I didn’t think I needed to.
Perhaps, I didn’t want to.
When I’d written down the full scope of the story, I had Jolie reread and sign it. I collected a contact phone number and an address and walked her out. On the street, she zipped her coat, fit her hat over her golden blond hair, and drew her mittens over her hands.
I thought she would say goodbye and walk away with her head down. Surprisingly, she hugged me and thanked me for listening. As she clung, the tropical scent of her perfume infiltrated my nose. I had noted the familiar scent the minute she sat down beside my desk.
I ignored it then, and I ignored it now.