Chapter 9
In this job, Knight had met more victims’ families than he would have ever imagined.
When he’d first joined the Bureau, he’d assumed he’d not be dealing with those most directly affected by the cases.
He’d figured that would be the domain of those who were more like Miss Not-so-Sunny beside him. He had been wrong.
Somehow, as time had gone on and he’d advanced up the hierarchy, Knight had ended up dealing with those who had lost everything more than others on his team. It was never easy. For anyone.
If it was…well, they had no business in this business then.
Hell, he’d gotten into this job with the intent of helping those who needed it.
To stop assholes who hurt others who couldn’t defend themselves.
Now, he just felt…it was routine. He was good at what he did, but no matter how many predators he got off the streets, there were always more coming up to take their place.
Disheartening, no denying that. If just to himself.
But when it was someone’s dead child, no matter how old, those were the ones that stabbed right through him. The parents.
Seeing how much they’d loved the children lost. Children they’d actually wanted, unlike Knight himself, who hadn’t been wanted at all.
Hell, he even admitted to himself, he didn’t understand why the parents bothered him so strongly.
Knight didn’t remember his own parents. He didn’t know if they’d been together when he’d been born, or if his mother even knew his father’s last name.
No one had ever told him. He’d never even seen a photo of either of them—all he had was vague memories of a tall dark-haired woman just driving away from him when he’d been around four.
He didn’t even know where Knight had come from.
It wasn’t the name listed for his mother on the birth certificate social services had provided him over twenty years ago.
Knight had never been curious enough to dig into his own past. He just didn’t care.
His parents hadn’t wanted him. He’d learned that lesson long, long ago.
Fifteen years a ward of the state had made that very clear. No parents, no grandparents, aunts or uncles—not even a fourth cousin two times removed—none of them had wanted the little boy he had been.
And unlike Miranda’s little boy, there hadn’t been anyone to rescue him.
He’d bounced to multiple foster homes and group homes for eleven years.
Until he’d finally ended up at one with a woman in her forties who took in teenage boys and prepared them to face the world after they aged out of the system.
The entire focus of her home had been on the future—on how to pay bills, find housing, work a damned job, get an education.
She was the one he credited with the doctor in front of his name.
She’d made sure he completed his homework every night, made sure he cared about his future.
He and his teammate Taggart Walker both had come from that woman’s home—Knight had just aged out two years earlier than Tag.
But that woman, Ms. Cindy, had made sure Knight and Tag and another boy had stayed in reasonable touch through the years.
The youngest boy Knight had shared a room with had been a year younger than Tag.
Reed.
Reed had been killed eight years ago. The case was still unsolved. Knight…would never forget. He’d keep looking until he or Tag found the answers. It drove Tag—Knight had known that. And known the other man would not admit it haunted him.
Reed and Tag had been close—and Knight had always done his best to protect them both. Hell, it haunted Knight, too. Reed had been the best of them.
And much like the woman who drove Knight insane just by existing.
Miranda was very much like Reed in how she viewed the world. The idea that the world would hurt her someday—Knight thought about that more often than he would admit.
The world had a way of destroying people like her eventually. And in this job…it was just a matter of time.
He turned toward the man in front of him now.
Harper Wycoff’s father was a man about three inches shorter than Knight, and fifteen years older.
His clothing showed he was of moderately comfortable socioeconomic status.
He worked in a lower-end white-collar industry, but he was successful at it.
Knight suspected he and his wife had made good financial investments, lived within their means, and had grown their wealth over time—while providing for their multiple children.
His red polo shirt was reasonably new, well kept, and tucked neatly into his jeans, belted with a narrow leather belt.
His appearance told Knight that he focused on details and appearances had mattered to him at one time.
His eyes, though…showed what he had lost. Harper had been the eldest of his daughters.
He had told Knight he had had five. There was a solemn-eyed teenager in the family kitchen who greatly resembled her sister; two other daughters were supposedly at their places of employment.
Miranda was in Harper’s former apartment now.
Harper had lived in a converted garage apartment behind her parents.
So she wouldn’t be so alone, her mother had said, earlier.
Harper had wanted to stay close to her family.
These people, this family, had not deserved what had happened. This nightmare. “Tell me, Harper’s softball? There was equipment found in her car. We’re trying to determine if the location was significant or just random at this point. We want to start at the beginning and form our own impressions.”
No murder weapon had been found. But it wasn’t too far of a jump to go from softball field to softball bat. There hadn’t been a bat found in Harper’s car. But other softball equipment, neatly in a wheeled bag. The missing bat was conspicuous.
Harper had been twenty-five—and he did not think she played on a team anywhere. No teammates had been listed as witnesses, either. No one had clearly established why Harper Wycoff had even been at the Buckbert softball fields the evening of her death, either. “Did she still play?”
“Occasionally. Pickup games when she could. She…loved that game. Said it always cleared her head when she needed to think.”
“But she quit ten years ago?”
“About. After…her coach. She was close to Coach Kevin. He encouraged her during…one of her toughest times in life. Harper…was a twin. Harper and Hila, identical down to their toes—but so different. We lost Hila…when they were thirteen.”
“I am sorry.”
“Hila had a stroke when she was twelve. Complications from a difficult birth. It wasn’t her first stroke.
She just never was strong. And when she was thirteen, after the stroke, she caught the flu.
We were vaccinated, but…it was still enough…
she died from complications from a simple virus after…
Harper took it very hard, of course. But Kevin and his daughter Ramey—they were there.
Ramey is a year younger…than…Harper was…
Kevin helped us all get through. And Ramey was there for Harper.
When Kevin died barely eighteen months later, the life just went out of Harper for a long time. ”
Knight waited a moment. He didn’t want to push.
It was easy to see that Harper’s father was still processing what had happened to both of his daughters—and a man who he had most likely considered a friend.
“We have heard some rumors that Kevin was murdered. But we are having difficulty finding old case files. We have our best in St. Louis searching now. Can you tell me what happened to him?”
Terry Wycoff was quiet for a long moment, then he headed into the kitchen.
Where his daughter had spread her textbook on the table.
He reached into the fridge and grabbed some bottles of water.
Knight just followed. He had seen how the man’s hands were still shaking.
The teenager just stared at Knight for a long moment.
Kid had powerful green eyes. Eyes that were hurting so much.
“Kayley, go up to your room for a bit, okay? We’ll call in a Chinese order for lunch soon. I promise. I’ll pick it up when I pick up Jana.”
The teenager, a tall thin girl with reddish brown hair and big green eyes, just nodded.
She reminded Knight of a younger version of Miranda physically.
The hair was almost the exact same shade—the eyes, too.
Then she was taking off up the stairs to the back of the tri-level.
Knight accepted the water the girl’s father handed out to him.
“I will need to get my other daughter after her class soon. I don’t…
let the girls go anywhere alone any longer.
Back to Kevin…Kevin…loved the game. Or at least, that was what everyone always said. ”
Knight took the seat the teenager had vacated. “Did you believe that? See it for yourself?”
“Yes, for the most part. He was one of the better coaches out there. I can say that. Harper played for years—8u all the way up to second year 14u. And Kayley takes it to even more extremes. She’s already A level, and she’s only fourteen.
She idolized her oldest sister. Harper was always willing to work with her.
The two of them had planned Kayley’s career out by the time Kayley was ten.
Some of my greatest joys came from watching the two of them together.
Harper was so patient with her sister. Not always easy to do—Kayley has ADHD.
Girl never sits still for a minute, but she’s a very bright kid. ”
“Rather like Dr. Talley. Most intelligent woman I have ever met. Constantly moving, and her brain going six miles a minute.” That was one of the things that truly fascinated him—the woman’s brain.
But Knight was going to keep that thought to himself.
Terry needed someone to meet him on common ground.
To make connections to validate the man’s view of the world—especially of the daughters he loved so much.
He needed to know that they would be okay someday.
That the world could still be a safe place for the daughters he had left.
Well, Knight couldn’t really make that promise. He so wished he could.
“That’s half my girls. So smart, so willing to go for what they want.
A man, a father, worries. From the moment they are born.
Wants to…protect.” The man’s expression was just broken.
Destroyed. Knight hurt for him. “Jana and Kayley and Faith—they don’t understand this. How can they? How can anyone?”
No one really could understand that. But Knight could at least help by finding out who. “Tell me about Kevin. We’ll start there. Work our way forward.”
Harper’s father pulled in a deep breath. Pulled himself together. Then he nodded. “Kevin. Yes, he was a good man. A really good one.”
“How exactly did he die?”
Surprise was in the man’s green eyes. Like he thought Knight should already know. Well, Knight knew what the deputy had told them. But outside confirmation helped. “Like…my little girl. My Harper. He was found, beaten to death. There at the fields.”
Same method of death, same location—but blunt force trauma wasn’t exactly a rare way for someone to be murdered. That the victims had known each other, however, that was a fact that stuck out. And had apparently known each other well. “How long had he been coaching?”
“Several years. His daughter Ramey was a year younger than Harper. Harper was right in the middle of the team, age-wise. There were a few girls playing up with older girls, too. It wasn’t an intense kind of team.
Kevin’s philosophy was that there was plenty of time for the girls to learn.
He was really about just teaching the game. He wasn’t a trophy chaser at all.”
“Trophy chaser? I’m not greatly familiar with softball.” But getting this man to talk would help him get to the heart of what Terry knew about Kevin Adams. It was a place to start.
“There are some coaches who only care about winning. They’ll take a team that should be playing A level and register as a C level team.
So they can trounce weaker teams—to build up wins.
But that just always made Kevin angry. He said he would rather the girls lose, but learn, than go and bully newer, less experienced players.
Unfortunately, there are a high number of coaches who do it for their own ego.
And girls end up quitting the game they love far too many times to count.
Harper quit, stepped away for her mental well-being.
It was the best decision for her at the time.
After Kevin…the next coach she had, Amanda Riccards.
Amanda wasn’t bad; she was just doing it for her own daughter’s sake, rather than the team.
That became clear. Amanda wanted as many trophies as she could get.
Probably still does; she has a few younger daughters still in the game, I believe.
Amanda was extremely competitive—with everyone.
Except Kevin. Amanda was close with Kevin, almost a different woman.
We were much more careful with Kayley when she started playing a few years later.
Asked more questions—watched the teams playing to see how the coaches actually acted.
Travel softball…it started off a way for the best of the best to keep playing, to get better.
Many had college hopes in mind. But it became so commercialized.
People, including coaches, preying on girls’ dreams. It’s disgusting in some ways.
Sometimes I wonder if we should have just put her in ballet instead. ”
But that still didn’t answer the question Knight had—was the location of Harper’s death significant, and did someone associated with the game have relevance? Or was it just random, like good old Sheriff Johnson had said?