Chapter 2 #2
Addison’s hitch was so slight, it probably would’ve gone unregistered by most people. But Chloe knew her better than nearly anyone else, and Addison was choosing her words with care. “Not exactly.”
Xander filled the beat of silence that followed.
“When patrol arrived on-scene, they did a search and found a man named Sal Brinkman. He had a handful of prior drug charges, most dismissed or pled down. We think he was a mid-level dealer but could never connect him to anyone higher. Not on paper, anyway.”
“Was.” The word rang in Chloe’s ears like an alarm.
Maxwell nodded, one lift of his darkly stubbled chin.
“Brinkman was stabbed to death. His ID was in his back pocket and confirmed by his fingerprints, which were obviously in the system. Patrol secured the murder scene and found a thirteen-year-old girl named Esme Crawford hiding behind some crates nearby.”
Shock slammed through Chloe’s veins. “You don’t think she…”
“No.” Addison’s head shake was adamant. “Turns out that *67 thing to block your identity on calls has a back door for emergency responders. We were able to trace the nine-one-one call back to her cell phone pretty quickly. Also, the crime was, ah. More brutal than most.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. You don’t want to—“How brutal?”
“Brinkman was stabbed multiple times,” Maxwell said, his voice low. “He lost about three-quarters of his blood volume on that warehouse floor.”
Well, that explained why Capelli hadn’t put any crime scene photos on the board. “Do I even want to know how much blood is in a human body?” Chloe asked.
Of course, Capelli took her question at face value. “Well, it depends on the size of the person, but—”
“No,” Addison cut in, shaking her head. “You do not. At any rate, a stabbing like this takes brute force. Given Esme’s size—and Brinkman’s—it’s extremely unlikely she’d have the physical capability to commit the crime.”
“Patrol officers didn’t find any blood on her hands or clothes,” Xander added, “she made the nine-one-one call, and she was hiding at the scene even though she had ample time to flee.”
Understanding clicked into place, making Chloe’s stomach dip. “She’s a witness.”
“We think so, yes,” Addison said. “But she’s not talking.”
Sure. The poor kid was probably scared out of her mind. “Okay.” Chloe drew the word out, moving her gaze from Xander to Maxwell to Addison, still trying to connect the rest of the dots. “That’s definitely horrible, not to mention traumatic. But what does it have to do with me, exactly?”
“Esme has been in the foster care system for the past twelve years,” came a familiar, gravelly voice from the back of the room.
Sergeant Sam Sinclair didn’t enter the room so much as he simply walked in and owned it, and he made his way to the middle of the Intelligence office in a handful of strides.
Chloe belatedly noted that another man was with him, a Remington CFS case worker named Tom who she’d worked with on a few mentoring cases and always liked.
Considering the holy-shit circumstances, though, Chloe skipped the pleasantries. “That’s a long time. What does her support system look like?” she managed to ask, and apparently, it was the million-dollar question.
Tom fielded it. “I’ve only been her case worker for a few months, but I check in every two weeks.
Right now, Esme lives in a group home for girls—her third in the past two years.
The home director says she’s fallen in with a bad crowd at school this semester.
She’s been caught cutting classes and sneaking out after hours a few times, and there have been some other issues that have been getting worse lately.
Lots of defiance and boundary pushing. Some with the other girls, but mostly with authority figures. ”
“Neither of those is horribly uncommon among humans turning into teenagers,” Chloe said. Nearly all the girls she’d mentored had been in possession of varying degrees of attitude, not to mention a boatload of hormones that seemed to make their decision-making skills null and void.
“No, but they’re also not convenient when we need her cooperation,” Sinclair said. “Esme has refused to talk to anyone since we brought her here.”
Chloe looked at the clock on the wall. Did a little math. Blinked. “That’s, what? Ten hours?” The kid must be exhausted, terrified, and feeling defensive as hell. Probably not in that order.
As if she’d read Chloe’s mind—not super hard, considering she wore her feelings like a billboard—Addison said, “She’s safe and well-cared for. Paramedics gave her the all-clear at the scene, and as her case manager, Tom has been with her the whole time.”
Taking the baton, Tom continued, “I immediately brought in a child psychologist and a Guardian Ad Litem to explain the legal end of things to her and emphasize that she’s not in any trouble.
She stonewalled both of them. Sergeant Sinclair tried.
Detective Hale tried. I tried—twice—but all she’ll say is that she didn’t do or see anything.
She won’t even admit to making the nine-one-one call. ”
Whoa. This kid was dug in pretty deep if she was denying things the police could prove. “Are there any leads other than what Esme might have seen?”
“Patrol canvassed the area and we’re still pulling whatever video feeds we can.
There aren’t a lot of cameras around the warehouse, though.
” Xander gave up a slight shake of his head.
“I’m not saying we won’t get anything at all, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be much, and whatever we do find is going to take time we don’t have to lose. ”
Addison murmured, “The more time this guy has, the greater the chance he can ditch the murder weapon, his clothes…anything that could connect him to the crime.”
Chloe’s thoughts twisted and spun, her gut going along for the ride. “Don’t you guys have people who go over crime scenes with, like, microscopes, looking for evidence?” Hair, fibers, fingerprints—those had to count as things to connect the murderer to the crime.
“We do have crime scene technicians at our disposal,” Capelli said, “although they don’t technically use microscopes in the field.
Only once potential evidence is brought to the forensics lab.
” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his light blue button-up shirt, straightening.
“And I am belatedly realizing that reference was not meant in the literal sense. So, yes, CSU has processed the scene, but forensic testing is an exacting process, and it also takes time. Especially DNA analysis.”
“So, the fastest way to figure out whoever killed this Brinkman guy is to find out what Esme saw,” Chloe said, earning nods from everyone in the group.
“It’s also the fastest way to make sure she stays safe,” Maxwell said, and Chloe’s pulse whacked against her breastbone at the implication.
“You think she’s in danger?”
“We think whoever did this is very dangerous,” Addison semi-corrected, her voice as cool and calm as a summer lake at sunrise, “and we don’t know if he saw her.
The sooner we can find him—or them—and make an arrest, the better.
And since we’ve all struck out trying to get her to talk, and the clock is ticking fast, we thought you might be able to give it a try. ”
A sound that wanted to be a laugh came from Chloe’s throat. Giving advice, she got. But actually talking to Esme? Trying to get her to talk to Intelligence? “You can’t be serious.”
The look on her best friend’s face said she was.
Very. “We know it’s not exactly conventional.
But you grew up in the foster care system.
You’re a trauma survivor. You trusted Intelligence with your life on a case.
We’re hoping Esme might connect with someone who knows where she’s coming from and what she’s feeling, firsthand. ”
“Plus, you’re already on CFS’s books as a mentor,” Sinclair said, nodding at Tom, and Chloe turned to look at him more closely.
“You’re her case worker, and like Addison said, my trying to get her to open up isn’t exactly SOP. Are you sure you’re on board with it?”
Tom nodded without hesitation. “Her safety could be at risk. At the very least, it’s likely she saw something highly traumatic. We need her to connect with someone, and Detective Hale is right. Esme will probably relate to you better than anyone else.”
“And it’s perfectly legal,” Addison added. “We’ll have to observe the conversation, of course. The Guardian Ad Litem will be in the room with you the whole time to make sure Esme’s legal rights are protected, and you or Esme can ask for me or Tom to come in for an assist at any time.”
Chloe’s heart twisted. “What if she won’t talk to me, either?” If this kid had shut out everyone else, chances were high she’d stiff-arm Chloe, too.
“None of us wants to make her talk,” Sinclair said, and Chloe knew him well enough to know he meant it. “But the longer she stays quiet, the higher the chances that someone gets away with murder. We have to do everything we can to find out what she saw.”
The words echoed in Chloe’s head, setting her resolve in bedrock. “Okay. I’ll try. But first, I need to see the crime scene photos.”
Maxwell and Addison both reacted at the same time. “No,” Addison said, as Maxwell shook his head, Sinclair joining in. “That’s not necessary.”
Except that it was. “This kid can spot bullshit from forty meters out. You want me to empathize with her? To tell her I know what she’s feeling, how scared she must be? Then, I need to really know, without filters.”
“The photos are quite graphic,” Capelli said, but on this, Chloe couldn’t back down.
She pointed to herself with an index finger. “Targeted by a serial killer who crushed his victims’ windpipes with his bare hands, remember? I’m a big girl. I can handle it. If I’m going to gain Esme’s trust, I’ll need to handle it.”
To Chloe’s surprise, Addison put her hands up first. “Okay. Just be sure, because Capelli isn’t exaggerating.”