Chapter Twenty-Five
Jonesy
I walk into the colonel’s office a few hours before Thomas Vale’s appeal.
I’d been trying to contact Colonel Rogers for days, but he’s been unavailable, according to Tilly.
Where he’s been is not my business, but I have some things I need to say, especially now that Connor Maddox has enlisted me to help work out what the hell is going on.
Despite usually meeting in Tilly’s office, this is a private meeting. Maybe that’s stupid, given what I need to say to him, maybe I should have Tilly here as a witness. But it’s too late now.
I step into the room, stand at attention, and salute.
The cream walls have started to brown slightly in the corners.
He has a photo of himself on the wall wearing his full honors and another photo of the president shaking his hand.
The colonel is a powerful man. He’d have to be to run this size of a base.
I have no doubt his threat to move me to the East Coast is a real one.
He could move me to butt-fuck nowhere if he so wishes.
“Jones, where are you with the investigation?” he asks lazily, flicking his hand in front of him, indicating to me to stand at ease.
I shift my legs wide and clasp my hands behind my back.
No pleasantries, but we're both busy, so I ignore that.
“At the moment, there are no other suspects. Connor Maddox is refusing to talk more than he has. I believe his girlfriend may have been threatened, and he is keeping information to himself to prevent any harm coming to her.”
His mustache bristles. “I highly doubt that.”
I shrug. “We’re still waiting on toxicology reports for Connor Maddox, the night of the crime. But as you know, the DNA evidence went missing from the lab.”
“The toxicology evidence didn’t also go missing?” The vein in the colonel’s neck bulges, his eyes widening.
“No, sir.”
He rubs his hand over his mouth and stares out of the window, saying nothing. Maybe I’m reading too much into his reaction, but he should be happy that not all the evidence was stolen. Clearly, he’s absolutely livid, or exasperated, or maybe both.
“This is a good thing, sir. I’m sure the evidence will suggest that Connor Maddox was drunk but otherwise unencumbered. We’ll have our man,” I lie, watching the colonel closely.
My gut is telling me that the colonel arranged to have that evidence destroyed. But whoever did the job forgot about the toxicology report as well, instead focusing on the DNA evidence found on the victim’s body.
He twists his head, a slow sneer creeping across his face. “I’ve put in your transfer paperwork, Jones. You’ll be moving by the end of the month.”
I fight the urge to snarl. “Yes, sir.”
He smirks now. “I’m sure things will be a little easier when you don’t have a woman to distract you.”
“I’m sure that’s true, sir.” She’s been distracting me for the better part of fifteen years, but sure, we’ll call this a win for you, you asshole.
Katie has more sense in her little finger than this guy has in his brain.
He nods at the door, indicating me to leave, but I stay rooted to the spot.
“I saw that you had visited Connor Maddox in prison,” I lie again. I haven't seen the visitor log yet, but Connor all but confirmed it.
His eyes narrow, his mustache twitching against his nostrils. How is he not sneezing?
“How do you know that?” he snaps.
“Visitor log confirmed it.” I shrug.
“I went to convince him to end this madness and confess.”
And this is how I know he’s lying. The colonel doesn’t have to answer to me.
He’s in charge of every person on this base, and yet he still felt the need to justify why he’d gone to the prison that day.
If it wasn’t for something untoward, he would never explain it.
But this . . . this is how I know he has something to do with what’s been going on.
But why? Why has he had a stick lodged up his ass about this particular crime?
Sure, it’s a murder, but this doesn’t reflect on the military.
Last year, when the soldier, Adam Taylor, was being investigated for The Poser case, there wasn’t a rumble from him.
“Convince him to admit to a crime he didn’t commit?”
“How stupid are you? The bodies were found at his house. He’s on CCTV committing a murder. What more evidence do you need?” he bristles.
“The DNA evidence, the one that got destroyed. That would be a good start, sir.” I should keep my mouth shut until I’m sure. Instead of a transfer, he could very well dishonorably discharge me.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” He rises to his feet, his clenched fists taking his weight as he leans across his desk. He looks like a gorilla readying himself to charge.
“You’ve been adamant that Maddox was guilty from day one. Why is that?”
“Because there was clear evidence he’d done it.”
“Not straight away, there wasn’t.”
“His clothes, the CCTV, the fact that he conveniently has no memory of the events.”
The memory loss . . . why would the colonel look so ashen when I mentioned the toxicology report, unless the colonel is well aware that Connor would have had something in his system that night? Could Connor have been drugged and doesn't know what’s going on?
But why would the colonel give a shit about that?
I say nothing. I just stare the colonel down in the most disrespectful way I can muster, given that he’s my superior and I could be leaving immediately rather than at the end of the month.
“Your time is up, Jones. Get out of my office and get packing.”
Katie
“I’d like to bring something into evidence, Your Honor: Miss Murphy’s phone records and search history,” Thomas Vale’s lawyer, Evan Samuels, states with a smug expression on his face.
His slicked-back hair practically shines with the amount of product he has in it, as Thomas sits to his left, stoic, a small smile playing at his lips.
I try to avoid his eyes, but as if my body responds to him, I can’t help myself.
It’s been nearly a year since I last saw him, and he’s much the same.
Sharp blue eyes, straight blond hair that has grown out.
Sharp cheekbones. He’s a little thinner, perhaps, still looks horrendous in orange, but is enjoying the fanfare of his day in court, nonetheless.
“Your Honor, this is most unorthodox. Mr. Samuels has had plenty of time to submit this evidence to us, so we had time to prepare,” the prosecuting attorney protests, standing from her chair so fast that the chair scrapes against the floor in an ear-piercing screech.
“I assure you, Your Honor, we have only just received the phone records, and they are intrinsic to why Miss Murphy is not capable of giving sound judgment on this case.”
“Mr. Samuels, if you’d like me to take you seriously, I’d suggest you start using Dr. Murphy’s proper title.”
Thomas’s lawyer’s grin is back, and he almost bows to the judge. I glance at Jonesy in the public gallery, and he rolls his eyes in support. I give him a small, strained smile, and once I glance back at Thomas, I see him sneer.
“Yes, Your Honor. Apologies, Dr. Murphy.”
“I’m sure it’s not easy, Mr. Samuels. You have an awful lot of names to remember in this case.” I smile politely. Yeah, a hell of a lot of victims' names. Twenty-three, to be precise.
“I’ll allow the evidence to come to light, if only to see this appeal through quickly,” the judge notes.
I’d barely noted Thomas on my personal phone, so God knows what he seems to think is so damaging to my character.
The lawyer stalks toward me, handing me a few pieces of paper with a series of messages. He passes another to the state prosecutor and another to the judge.
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
My messages with Jonesy fill my vision, and the courtroom blurs. Weeks and weeks of him sending lewd threats, my responses to them, telling him how wet he makes me when he sends me things like that.
I feel the heat of pink stain my cheeks, and I look to Jonesy for any kind of comfort he can provide. We’re about to be ruined. This case, maybe even the Connor Maddox one. I’ll never be able to work here again.
He frowns for a moment, shuffling in his seat as if he’s fighting the urge to push through the barricade and make his way to me.
“If Dr. Murphy looks embarrassed, Your Honor, it’s because she’s reading through the messages her lover has sent her recently. I don’t think I could quite do it justice, Dr. Murphy. Would you mind reading the second one, labeled 2A?”
“These are completely irrelevant to Thomas Vale’s case,” I say.
“Please read the message, Dr. Murphy.”
“I don’t see how—”
“Please read the message, Dr. Murphy,” the judge commands.
I steel myself. He’s not even going to let me explain.
“I’ve been watching you. I know how you touch yourself at night.
I know the pink vibrator that you use to get yourself off.
I’m going to fuck you with that vibrator until you beg me to stop.
I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.
I’ll carve my name into your skin so everyone knows you’re mine. ”
“How graphic. Didn’t numerous victims have a symbol carved onto their bodies?” the lawyer asks.
“Yes, but—”
“Were the victims not chased down, stalked, and murdered with brutal violence and torture?” His tone is questioning, as if he’s shocked by this revelation, despite his client being put away for literally committing those crimes.
“Yes,” I grit out, my teeth clenched.
“And you would roleplay this out with your boyfriend?” his disapproving tone slides over me. “It’s sickening. Disgusting. That you would fantasize about such things.”
“Sex between two consenting adults is somewhat different from literally being murdered, would you not agree, Mr. Samuels?” I snap.
He grins again, his bright white teeth glinting.
“Are you in love with Thomas Vale?” He changes tack fast enough to give me whiplash.
“No. He’s a monster who murdered twenty-three women,” I say as calmly as possible.