Trace of Innocence (12 page)

B
y seven o’clock, we were on the road in the limo, heading toward northern New Jersey. Lewis had suggested getting Harper in the morning, but Ginger told us that when she didn’t show for her night dance shift, they might suspect something. So we arrived on the grounds of the Addison School around nine-thirty. Ginger signed the sleepy little girl out, saying there was a death in the family. As soon as Harper was in the limo, head on Ginger’s lap, she was fast asleep again. From the Addison School we traveled to Joe’s house,
which had room enough for all of us. We needed to regroup.

“It’s just about time for us to go to the cops,” Joe said. “We need to find one we can trust.”

I thought of Jack. Things had ended badly, but surely he wouldn’t want his ex-partner enslaving women into prostitution.

I went upstairs to shower and change, borrowing a clean sweatshirt and socks from Joe. The sweatshirt was huge on me, but it was warm—and I was tired. I laid my belongings out on the bed. The tux was ruined. Then I looked at my cell phone. I must have put it on vibrate at some point, but it flashed on its digital screen “5 new messages.” I hadn’t heard it ring.

Four calls were “urgent” from Mikey. One from Jack, of all people.

I called Mikey.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Joe’s house.”

“Stay put. I’m coming to you.”

“Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“No. Give me Joe’s address.”

After I hung up, I climbed in the shower. It was hot and felt great. Ginger and Harper were tucked in down at the end of the hall. I had rarely witnessed so sweet a scene as when Gin
ger talked to her daughter in sign language. Lewis was downstairs having a drink with Joe and David and C.C.

I dialed Jack’s cell phone.

“Jack?” I said cautiously. “It’s me.”

“Baby…what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Billie…you’re in deep trouble. You need to stick with what you do at the lab and leave solving crimes to the police.”

“I don’t think so, Jack. The police are the problem here. They don’t want to solve the crime. They want a fall guy.”

“Look, you just have no idea what you’re messing with here.”

“Wait a minute,” I whispered. “How do you know I’m involved?”

“Surveillance tapes. The club’s got eyes all over the place. Reviewed the tapes after an incident with a woman in the parking lot. Funny…the woman in the parking lot looked a
lot
like my old girlfriend, Marty said. I looked at the tapes and guess what? It
was
my old girlfriend.”

“Jack, Marty’s into some really nasty stuff.”

“Billie—” his voice was urgent, heavy with emotion “—I still love you. I’ve been wrecked
since you’ve been out of my life. Wrecked. I’m trying my hardest to make sure you’re safe, but if you don’t listen to me, it’s out of my hands.”

“Jack…” I warned, “just stand clear, because when this house of cards falls, I don’t care who I take with it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, Jack…it’s someone who once loved you and knows what you’ve been through, trying to get you to see that covering for these guys is a mistake. Be careful, Jack.”

“Be safe.”

I disconnected my cell phone. At least I knew we were most definitely on the right track. I went downstairs to wait for Mikey and told the others what had transpired on the phone.

“I knew I didn’t like that guy,” Lewis said.

“Lewis,” I reprimanded him. “At least he’s trying to warn us. We need solid proof, but I’d say we’re pretty damn close.”

Suddenly, I had a thought. I hurriedly dialed Mikey. “Where are you?” I asked him.

“Just getting ready to get on the turnpike.”

“Can you go to my apartment and get something for me?”

“Sure.” My brother and father both had keys to my place—so did Lewis.

“You know where I have all those pictures in the wall unit?”

“Yeah.”

“I think on the right-hand side, way at the back, is this eight by ten taken at a police department picnic two years ago. When I was with Jack. We had played softball and took this massive group shot. Can you get that and bring it?”

“Sure thing. You okay?”

“Yeah. Will be more okay when we’re done with this mess. Can you grab me some clothes, too?”

“No problem. See you in a little while.”

I closed my phone and looked at David. “I have this photo from the police department. It has a shot of Marty—who you met at the club. And also just about every other cop from that precinct. Maybe, if there’s a connection to Cammie, one of those guys is the person who showed up that night. Then—” I turned to look at Joe “—we’d have an eyewitness, the dirty club, Ginger’s ordeal, and we can go to the police with the whole damn thing, wash our hands of it and let them get the bad guys.”

“Well, for all of us to be safe, we have to go to the police or the FBI. We now have a little girl sleeping upstairs, her terrified mother, and
you were attacked in Atlantic City. I think enough is enough. Time to bring in the big guns,” Joe said. “Outside the local cops. Has to be someone we trust.”

Lewis started pacing. “I have a friend in the FBI. Agent down in New Orleans. After the hurricane, they moved him to Atlanta.”

“You trust him?” Joe asked.

“Like a brother. I was actually a college professor until someone…very important to me turned up a floater in the bayou. I damn near lost my mind. She’d been tortured, along with a half dozen other women. This FBI agent, Tommy Two Trees, he interviewed me. Asked questions about my sanity. Hard to believe but I was a tad off center.”

I looked at C.C. Her eyes were moist, and she was studying him as he spoke.

“Tommy is a big bear of a man. Interesting guy. Half black, half Native American in a city that takes people’s racial origins seriously. Always looked at askew, like people don’t know if he’s black or foreign. Drinks Bloody Marys so hot it’d scorch the average person. I call him T-cubed. You know, three Ts in his name. Anyway, T-cubed took me out drinking one night. Let me wail at the moon over my first love. When the night was over, I somehow had made
a decision to leave academia, which is how I met you folks. Tommy and I have been friends ever since.”

“This isn’t his jurisdiction,” Joe said.

“Doesn’t matter. I can call him right now and short of a nuclear bomb being detonated in the middle of Atlanta, he’ll be here, no questions asked. I don’t like to burn through too many favors, but I’d say it’s time to ask for his help.”

“Call him,” I said firmly, handing him my cell phone.

Lewis nodded. He flipped the phone open and dialed this guy’s number.

“Tommy?”

We watched as Lewis paced and talked. “I’m in a bit of trouble. Billie and I—yes, that mobster’s daughter I work with.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Sorry, Billie.”

Lifting his hand again, he spoke. “Seems we may be close to solving the suicide king murder, and it’s most definitely not the man who went to prison for it. Oh? You saw me on CNN.” Lewis looked pleased. “Well…the thing is, now it’s gotten decidedly deadly. I can’t tell you all of it over the phone, but looks like some officers of the law are actually the villains. And I need someone I can trust.”

Lewis nodded as Tommy spoke. Then Lewis picked up the conversation again. “Yes, yes, I still have that tarantula…. Well, I don’t understand a man your size fearing a hairy spider. Well, sure, but…but…all right, then, Billie will spider-sit while you’re up here. See you tomorrow.” Lewis closed my phone.

“You have that much pull with an FBI agent?” Joe asked.

“There is my charm.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What?” C.C. asked.

“I’m a man of many talents, but that’s a story for a different evening.”

About a half hour later, Mikey’s car pulled into Joe’s driveway. I went to the front door and opened it, throwing my arms around my big brother when he got to the door. He gave me a huge hug in return, and we held each other a few moments. Usually, it’s the other way around with us—he’s in trouble up to his eyeballs and I’m scrambling to make bail.

“Dad wants to know if you want the O’Malley twins to come keep watch.”

“After what happened to Tommy Salami, I’m not dragging anyone else into this. Come on in.”

“What happened to your face?”

“Slammed into a hubcap. Long story.”

Mikey followed me into Joe’s den, where everyone was waiting.

“Want a drink?” Joe asked.

“Yeah…a beer, if you have one.”

Joe nodded. He had a wet bar, so he opened the small stainless steel refrigerator and handed my brother a cold bottle of Michelob. Mikey twisted off the cap and took a big swig.

“All right…I asked around. Word on the street is Cammie Whitaker was working as a call girl.”

“What?” I sank down into a chair.

“Yeah. Only it’s a lot more complicated. Seems she was the golden child. Cheerleader, A-student. Bartended to pay for school, but she was nothing like your typical call girl.”

“How come the police never turned up her past?” C.C. asked.

“Seems no one looked. They nabbed David quick, and her family was anxious to keep certain things out of the media.”

“They knew?” I asked. That sort of explained Harry’s near breakdown.

“Not in so many words. But they knew she was running with a crowd they didn’t like. And they didn’t like the fact that she was always with older guys. A lot older. And rumor has it she was being groomed. You know, a girl like
that…educated, beautiful, she can command a high price.”

“But why would she go along with it? What would make a girl who had everything throw it all away?” C.C. asked.

“A married boyfriend. Her self-esteem was in the toilet.”

“Wow,” I said. “Mikey, that explains so much. And it links her, almost, to the new murder. Do you have my picture?”

“Oh, yeah. Nearly forgot. I left it in the car.”

Mikey went out to retrieve my picture. I felt pretty pleased with how things were coming together. “Once Lewis’s friend comes, then we should be able to wrap this up.”

“Amen to that,” Joe said.

Mikey came back in with the picture in the frame and set it down flat on the coffee table.

“David…come look at this. See if any of these cops was the man at her apartment that night. So far, we have Marty and Rick, and a cop named Charlie. I’m not sure who he is, but the FBI will figure that out. So one of them might be the actual suicide king. The DNA match. You saw Marty, so we know it’s not him…take a look here.” I slid the photo toward him.

“Can you turn up that light?” David asked.

Lewis turned the dimmer switch until it was pretty bright in the room.

“Found him.” David’s voice was confident. Resolute.

“That was fast,” I said. We all clustered around the photo, peering over his shoulder so we could see the man he pointed to.

“That guy there.”

“Oh, my God,” Lewis said.

“What?” C.C. asked.

Lewis looked at me, as tears streamed down my face.

“That’s Jack Flanagan,” he whispered. “That’s Billie’s ex-boyfriend.”

A
half a box of tissues later, I had stopped crying. Now I was mad. At Jack…but also at myself.

“How can you blame yourself?” David asked. He sat next to me, rubbing my back.

“Because I have an IQ of 148 and graduated valedictorian, and I should have figured it out. The clues were all there.”

“Where? What? Did he keep a big ice pick under the bed like Sharon Stone in
Basic Instinct?
” Lewis said. “I’ve met the man a dozen times, I never picked up that he had a screw loose other than his drinking.”

“No…look. The poker-playing foursome. He played poker with some cop buddies. So now it all makes sense. Acey, Deucey, Suicide King…and One-Eyed Jack. That’s Jack. My Jack. My ex-Jack. And I bet if we go online now, we’ll find a strip club called One-Eyed Jack, with the same logo.”

“Let’s go to my office,” Joe said.

We followed him in a group and stood behind him as he logged on.

“Nice computer,” I said, momentarily distracted. His was state-of-the-art with an enormous flat screen that put my home computer to shame.

Joe went to Google and did some searches. Sure enough, One-Eyed Jack’s was a strip club in Hackensack.

“He was the married cop,” I whispered. “He once told me that his marriage was dead long before his daughter got sick. That he had these dark things in his past. Was trying to put them behind him. He was Cammie’s married lover.”

Mikey let out a low whistle. “Man…this is so fucked up. I hate messing with cops. You guys better be damn sure you’re right because if not, with a name like Quinn, Billie, you’re going to be risking pissing off every cop between Ft. Lee and the Jersey Shore.”

“You and Dad have taken care of that nicely,” I said. “Besides, I’m more worried about these particular four cops than anything else. They have a lot to lose.”

“Can you prove all of this?” Mikey asked.

“Close enough. We called the FBI.”

Then a thought flew into my mind.

“Oh, my God! Oh, God…I
can
prove it. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Beyond anything.”

“How?” David asked.

“Jack’s toothbrush.”

“What?” C.C. asked.

“Jack’s toothbrush. After we broke up, I threw his things into a cardboard box. Figured one of these days we’d have closure. You know, meet, have dinner, talk about what happened between us…I’d give him his things, he’d give me mine. He still has a sweater of mine and my favorite bathrobe. Figured we’d be all adult about it. Anyway, that toothbrush has his DNA on it. We match that to the DNA from Cammie…and gentlemen and Sister Catherine, we have ourselves a murderer.”

“How soon can we test it?” Joe asked.

“Tonight. At the lab.”

“What are we waiting for?” C.C. asked.

“Lewis and I are the only ones who can go in the lab. You all wait here.”

“I’m coming,” Mikey said. “I brought a piece.”

“A piece?” Lewis asked. “You brought a gun?”

“Now, Lewis,” Mikey said. “There’s no use talking me out of it. The bad guys always use real bullets, so the good guys need them, too.”

“I wasn’t going to talk you out of it,” Lewis drawled. “I was just going to ask if you were a good shot.”

“Lewis, if my sister is in danger, trust me…no one will be a better shot than me.”

So I found myself at eleven-thirty at night, driving through New Jersey with Lewis and Mikey. First I got Jack’s toothbrush. Then we headed to the lab.

I thought by the time we got there that Mikey would have driven Lewis stark raving mad. When Mikey is worried, he’s a motormouth. So the entire time we were driving around, he proceeded to tell Lewis everything from the baseball batting averages of the current Yankees lineup—though spring training was months away—to his current legal predicament using his Al Pacino in
Scarface
impersonation, to the time he found my training bra and soaked it in water and froze it.

Lewis was silent. Finally, he said, “It’s a wonder, Michael, that you don’t confess imme
diately when picked up by the police. Do you ever shut up?”

“Oh, trust me, Lewis. When the
police
are involved, I exercise my right to remain silent.”

“Remarkable,” Lewis said sarcastically.

Soon, the lab loomed in the distance, its sign lit up with bright spotlights. We parked the car and entered the building and left Mikey with the security guard—I was taking no chances leaving him in a car alone after the Tommy Salami incident. Then Lewis and I headed to the lab, swiping our cards and putting our thumbs up to the scanner.

I loved the lab when it was empty. I liked getting lost in a microscopic world. From a quantum physics perspective, I subscribed to string theory, and I loved knowing that the world is only our perception of it. Beneath the surface, hidden from the human eye, was a universe alive and always moving, particles and creatures, crystals and DNA that could reveal a hidden truth. The smallest trace could tell you a story, tell you whispers of crimes past.

Lewis and I worked together.

“Your brother…he’s quite bright, isn’t he?”

“Mikey? Yeah. Why do you say that, though? I could tell he was making you nuts. He likes to talk.”

“You think?” Lewis let out a half laugh. “I could tell he was smart. Those batting averages…he rattled them off like they were nothing. Details…great memory he has.”

“Yeah. He was always like that when it had to do with gambling, sports, whatever.”

“So what made him use his brain for…certain illicit activities, and you use your brain to become a criminalist?”

“I guess it was sexism in a way. My father groomed him to follow in his footsteps, and both of them groomed me to stay out of trouble and get an education. I was never allowed to date any of Mikey’s friends. I mean, not that the guys would try.”

“Oh, come on…they must have.”

“You kidding me? My brother would have broken their legs—literally—if a single one of them even dared to ask me out. I went to my prom with my
cousin.
”

“What? You’re beautiful!”

“Thanks, Lewis. But no one would ask me out. My second cousin on my father’s side—he was from Manhattan, so no one knew he was my cousin. Still, I felt like the biggest loser in the world.”

“How do you think Mikey feels about David?”

“I don’t know. As I got older, as long as the guy was a real gentleman, they were at least slightly less pit-bullish. But then I was so involved in my work that they started to worry. What if I
never
got married? So then they started bugging me to find someone, to settle down.”

“Can’t win, eh?”

“Not hardly.”

We worked through the night, and near dawn we were ready to look at the film and see if Jack’s DNA matched the semen left on Cammie Whitaker.

Lewis grabbed my hand before I could look. “Now, Billie…whatever the evidence says, we’re going to get through this.”

“If he did it, Lewis, how could I, of all people, have loved a killer?”

“There was always something wounded about Jack, and you responded to that. I think that makes you special. So forgive yourself. Before we even look, forgive yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t okay me. Look me in the eyes.”

I did. “Okay, Lewis.”

“You’ll always be the love of my life, Billie. As a friend, as a sister to me.”

“I know. Now shut up with the mushy stuff. Let’s see what the film says.”

We looked, holding hands—encased in latex gloves—down at the strands of DNA, the lines and dots of blackness exposed on the film. There was Jack’s DNA. There was the DNA left on Cammie Whitaker’s panties.

They were a perfect match.