40 #2
“He was just a boyfriend—a guy older than me that my folks would have freaked out about. I wasn’t going to tell anyone I had been dating him and suffer that wrath.
” I sag with defeat. “I had no reason to believe he was involved with the Judge case or any other dubious activity. He was just my boyfriend. Considering what he did to Wendy that day”—I look to my old friend—“I suppose I was the lucky one.”
Rick scrubs a hand over his face. “Have either of you ever seen him again?”
We both shake our heads.
“But he has to be the one who leaked those lies to the Times,” I insist. “He’s the only person who knew I didn’t mention him to the police. Even Wendy didn’t know, until she came here to find me and we talked everything out.”
“Now we’re terrified that he’ll come after us,” Fake Wendy says. “We may be the only two women alive who can identify him.”
“It’s possible,” Rick says, then pauses to finish off his scotch, “that Duval was just a middleman. He was young. No record.”
And there’s his first misstep. Another knot twists in my stomach. How does he know Casey didn’t have a record? Damn it. I knew he was hiding things about the investigation.
As if the question played out across my face, he says, “We had witnesses who saw the two of you together,” he clarifies.
“I was able to find a neighbor who lived across the street from him. I learned his name and not much else. Casey Duval had no criminal record—not then, not now. He has no history at all, as far as I could ever find.”
“You never said anything.” I wonder if he realizes just how telling this admission is.
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I figured you were keeping him a secret from your parents. It didn’t seem necessary to bring him up, so I protected you. Duval was irrelevant to the case anyway.”
Now I’m downright pissed off. The bastard was the case.
I glance at Julia, and although her expression warns me not to go there, I can’t not go.
“A few years ago,” I say, “the past started to needle me worse than ever. It was like PTSD flashbacks. Maybe because I had a child and the world looked different. Anyway, I hired a private detective to look into Casey Duval.”
Rick’s gaze narrows. “What did he find?”
“Hold on a sec.” I go into the kitchen and retrieve the file. I tucked it away in a drawer after we called Rick. I didn’t plan to tell him about it, since it looks pretty bad that I knew this back when I was on my justice-wielding spree.
But that, too, is part of the story that will never be made public, if I can help it.
I take the file to Rick. While he has a look, I sip my water. Wish it was bourbon. Not a good idea since I need a clear head.
He finally turns to me, his face pinched with something like disbelief. “Why have you kept this a secret?”
“The Judge hasn’t been active for nearly twenty years.
Everyone believed he was dead. So I figured there was no point turning the information over to you or anyone else.
But now, after hearing Wendy’s story”—I look to Fake Wendy—“I believe he just moved beyond showcasing his work as the Judge. Like I said before, maybe this whole Judge thing was just a cover for what he was really doing.”
Rick looks around the room, his mouth agape as if he doesn’t know what to do or say. “Does Phillip know about this?” The pitch of his voice is considerably higher now.
I can’t decide if he’s actually shocked or just shocked that I knew all this.
“No. Just the three of us.” I look around the room then too. “Is that enough to send him to prison?” That’s the expected question anyone in this position would ask.
He holds up both hands in a whoa gesture. “Maybe. The question is whether I can get the people who need to see this to believe you thought the Judge was dead or whatever, and that you didn’t willfully withhold evidence.”
“Why would I?” I stare at him as if there has never been anyone as innocent as me.
“He or one of his friends abducted me and left me in a place where I was raped and beaten for days before I escaped.” I look to Fake Wendy.
“You have no idea the horrors that were done to poor Wendy during her captivity. These are sick people, Rick. They need to be stopped. All of them. Starting with the man at the house Wendy told you about. Maybe he has more information about Casey.”
Except he doesn’t, because he’s long dead. Rick doesn’t need to know I’m aware of this.
He gathers the pages back into the file folder. “Can I take this with me?”
“Of course.” I have two other copies. One in my lockbox at the bank labeled “Open upon my death.” Another in my home office in Manhattan. “Rick, please, I need to know if you actually believe this is enough.”
“I actually believe this is sufficient.”
Wow. That was easy. Maybe too easy. He seemed so calm until I revealed this file. Now he’s flustered and distracted.
Suspicious, much?
“What happens now?” Fake Wendy asks.
“First”—he looks from her to me—“the two of you need to stay put. Keep the doors locked and your phones in your hands.” He frowns at me. “You need Phillip here.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. I need Phillip right where he is, taking care of Olivia. No way do I want her here.”
“Okay.” He stands.
I do the same. As does Fake Wendy. This really is so bizarre.
“I’m going to see the agent who took my place. He’s a good man. We’ll get everyone notified and have a security detail put in place here.” He points a firm look at me once more. “I’m serious, I need you both to stay put.”
“You said that,” I remind him.
“We’ll see where we need to go with this next.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. He left a warning,” I add quickly. “He said the end of this is coming.” I don’t want to involve Helen in this, so I don’t say how I received the warning, and I hope he doesn’t ask.
Rick blows out a big breath. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I need to know sooner rather than later. Please call me if you remember anything else. I’ll give the chief of police a call and see if he can assign someone to watch your house right now. Damn, Julia, this is mind-blowing.”
I laugh, a pitifully dry sound. “Tell me about it.”
Fake Wendy says nothing as Rick leaves. I show him to the door and lock it behind him.
Funny that he didn’t ask me how I received the message. Just another little tick mark in the “not trustworthy” column.
When I reenter the living room, Julia says, “You’re right. We can’t trust him. He was lying through his teeth the whole time.”
“Told you.”
I have a sinking feeling that we just outed ourselves to the enemy.