Resilience Read online

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  Over the phone, Bob screamed at Tyler to keep everyone quiet and shut the hell up until he got there. He made it in ten minutes from his hotel, although he was wearing shorts and an old T-shirt, and carrying his wallet and cell phone, and didn’t look anything like a lawyer.

  “Someone better get me coffee, for starters,” Bob said.

  Tyler set about preparing another pot of coffee, since the first was emptied.

  “How did he die?” Nevvie asked the detectives.

  They answered simultaneously.

  Dunn: “Ongoing investigation.”

  Cash: “Gunshot.”

  They glared at each other and Bob started laughing. “Fuck me, you two hate each other. I bet she’s here only because she’s lead detective on the rape investigation. Dunn, you’re pissed off they’re making you include her, because you think she’s biased toward the victims.”

  Bob shook his head as both detectives looked startled. “Guys, you’re young enough to be my damn kids. This is no shocker. Someone shot the little bastard. Well, considering Georgia residents love their guns almost as much as Florida residents, that’s not surprising in the least. Any other questions?”

  The two uniformed deputies turned out to be CSI techs, and were sent away after Bob authorized them doing a gunshot residue test on everyone. That left Cash and Dunn.

  Tyler handed Bob a mug of coffee. “Thank you.” He sipped the mug of coffee, then stared at the two detectives. “How many alleged Cole Johnson victims are we up to now?”

  “Twelve,” Detective Cash said, leaving Dunn to grimace.

  “Hmm,” Bob said. “Twelve victims. So that’s a minimum of twelve potential suspects, if you only figure one parent or guardian per victim. If you add in the victims themselves, that’s twenty-four people, minimum. If, like in Zoey’s case, there are multiple relatives who wanted to grind that particular axe, that exponentially increases your UNSUB pool, amiright?”

  Bob arched his eyebrows at the detectives. “I’m guessing you do have detectives going to all those other victims’ houses right now, and putting their families through the same wakeup as here, right? Accusing them of doing it, and asking to verify their whereabouts? I mean, otherwise, it’d look like you have a pre-set agenda going on.” He sipped his coffee, staring at them over the rim, his point clearly made.

  “Whatever you need to pull our alarm logs,” Nevvie said, “we’ll give you. Because we know we’re innocent, and we want the focus off us as quickly as possible so you’re looking for the real killer. Beyond that?” She hooked a thumb at Bob. “You deal with him. Understand? You people have botched this from the start, and now we are left to deal with the emotional aftermath not only of what he did to Zoey, but your department revictimizing her by it getting out onto social media the way it did.”

  Tyler fought the urge to silence her, letting Bob take control. “She’s right,” Bob said. “And, because of what’s in Zoey’s best interest, and what’s in the best interest of her family, your contact with them from this point on happens only through me. I’ll designate a local attorney before I return to Florida, but you don’t do witness interviews, or talk to the adults or the kids from this point forward, unless it’s been cleared through me first.”

  “You aren’t licensed to practice in Georgia?” Dunn asked.

  “Oh, I absolutely am, but I live in Florida. And I guarantee you whoever is standing in for me after I leave, they’ll be as protective of them as I am.”

  Dunn didn’t seem happy with that declaration. “If they’re innocent they should want to talk to us.”

  “And they’re talking to you right now. Looky there. So ask away. But once you pull those alarm logs, and you get back the GSR tests showing negative to verify their story, your focus better point elsewhere. I will not allow you to harass my clients when they are the wronged party here. Now, I’m an officer of the court, and yes, it’s horrible that serial rapist was murdered before he could face justice in a court of law. But that’s the hand you’re dealt, and I suggest you play it.”

  Tyler had retrieved the alarm company information, including their account number, password, and anything else the detectives might need. He passed it to Bob, who read it before he handed it over. “There. Have fun.”

  “I could bring them all in to interview them individually down at the station,” Dunn said, glaring at Bob.

  “Oh, really?” Bob stood. “You want to do this, kiddo? Let’s saddle up and do this right.”

  He picked up his cell phone. “Tyler’s publicist is staying in a hotel here in town. I can have her here in about twenty minutes. Within an hour, I can get a shave, look human, and hold a press conference with a direct satellite pool feed to CNN and MSNBC, in addition to the local TV stations and Facebook live—hell, let’s throw in Periscope, while I’m at it, for shits and giggles—about how the inept sheriff’s office is trying to cover their own asses by focusing on the family of the brave first victim who spoke up to put a stop to the wholesale pimping out of Savannah’s female senior high students to a freaking serial rapist by his principals and football coaches, instead of looking for the real killer.

  “And I haven’t even had my coffee or blood pressure meds yet, dude, so I’m just getting started. With Mr. Paulson’s social media network, I can probably amass several thousand outraged protestors to converge on your office by noon. Hell of an optic for the evening news. I’ll make sure everyone knows your name. Bet your sheriff—who is up for reelection this November, by the way—will love the hell out of you for that. And I’ll make sure I say your name every other fucking sentence. So try me. I dare you.”

  Dunn blinked first. “Jesus fucking Christ, no.”

  Bob pointed behind him, where Tyler, Nevvie, and Tom were standing. “Then pull the alarm logs and get them cleared as suspects ASAP, or I swear to a god you will wish you knew up close and personally that by the time I finish with you, you won’t even be able to get a job as a meter reader in Fargo, North Dakota. Try me, son.

  “Now, I’m the first to admit sometimes clients lie, but I’ve personally known these people for over twenty years as family friends. I watched their kids grow up. You botched this. Own that. Had Cole Johnson been sitting in a holding cell, instead of out and about, he’d be alive. Fine, someone dropped the ball there, either on your end, or in the prosecutor’s office. Maybe legit, maybe because Cole Johnson’s father asked for a favor—I really don’t care why. That’s on y’all. But I will not let you take it out on my clients just to hide your fuckups.”

  Once the detectives had left, and the triad broke the news about Cole Johnson’s murder to the kids, Bob waved off their offer of breakfast. “I need to get back to my hotel and take my meds and get a shower and make some calls. Fucking cops. I know they have a job to do, but none of us needed to be awakened out of a sound sleep for them to do it so badly.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Bob kept them posted, but there literally wasn’t any more news to be had. They got Zoey in with a counselor recommended by the rape crisis center, and while Zoey hadn’t wanted to miss any school, Nevvie had kept her out until Wednesday, until after the counselor could talk to them and give her recommendation.

  The coach and principal had already been suspended by the time Zoey returned to school.

  Steven became a frequent visitor to their house, in addition to Andrew’s. Nevvie really liked the boy, and while she got the distinct impression Zoey and Steven would never be anything more than friends, at least it helped restore Nevvie’s faith in humanity a little bit that he took time to be her friend and help her with no expectation of anything in return. Someone safe to talk to and be with, outside her siblings and cousins, kind of like Crystal was quickly becoming to Nevvie.

  Mikey reported that Steven was super-protective of her in school, too, and had threatened another senior, who’d made a derogatory remark about her in one of his classes.

  A week after Cole’s murder, Nevvie wa
s in the kitchen with Willow and getting dinner ready when Mikey walked in from the living room. “Mom? Someone’s coming up the driveway.”

  Nevvie wiped her hand on a dish towel and stepped out of the kitchen so she could look through the living room windows. “Tommy! Tyler!”

  She recognized the shape of a Ford Crown Vic. Before it even pulled to a stop in the driveway behind her car and the driver stepped out, she knew it would be Detective Cash.

  Nevvie was already heading out the front door and ordering Mikey and Willow to stay inside when Tyler and Tom emerged from the hallway leading to their offices.

  Stepping down to the walkway, Nevvie blocked the way. “Detective.” She heard the front door open and close behind her and didn’t bother looking to see if the kids had obeyed her or not.

  “Detective Cash,” Tyler said from behind Nevvie. “To what do we owe this visit?”

  She stopped a few feet away, apparently recognizing the “none shall pass” body language Nevvie was throwing her. In her hand was a tablet. “I wanted to stop by and tell you personally that you and your children have been officially cleared as potential suspects.”

  Despite the relief washing through her, Nevvie held her ground and standoffish attitude. “Yeah?”

  “Yes. We pulled the records from your alarm company. They said there’s no way to fake or delete records on their end. The snapshots show the last person entering the house Friday night well before the window of opportunity, then the alarm was turned on. It’s not turned off again until the next morning, well after the window has closed, when we arrived to talk to you. Plus, there are not any unalarmed openings in your home. Every window, every door has a sensor, according to the company, upstairs and down, and the records show all of them were active and engaged that night. The motion detectors also picked up no movement inside at the entry areas. And the GSR tests all came back negative for all of you.”

  “In other words,” Tyler drawled from behind Nevvie, “one of the bastard’s many other victims or their family did the deed, no matter how determined Detective Dunn was to arrest one of us for it.”

  The detective nodded. “Yes. I’ve already notified your attorney. There is, however, something I need to show you.”

  “What?” Tommy asked.

  She stepped closer and, after queuing something on the tablet, she showed it to them. “This is irregular, and I don’t have permission to share this yet, but I felt I owed you. The cameras at the road, driveway in front of the house, front door, and rear of the house all tripped the night of Cole Johnson’s murder, within the window of opportunity.”

  Gooseflesh rippled across Nevvie’s arms as a person dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, their face not visible, walked up their driveway and it looked like they checked both the front and back doors of the house to see if they were unlocked before they finally left again via the driveway. With the IR pictures in black and white due to it being night, details were fuzzy, and it was impossible to identify the person other than a rough estimate of their height and build. It wasn’t even possible to tell their race, due to what looked like gloves on their hands.

  “What the fuck?” Nevvie gasped.

  “Who the bloody hell was that?” Tyler asked.

  “We don’t know,” Detective Cash said. “I’ll make sure copies of these are given to your attorney. We went through the previous thirty days of data the company had on file for your account. There were no other instances of it happening before the night of the murder that we could see. After, however, this person, or someone similar enough to look like them, has returned four different times. This was included from the latest data dump we received from your alarm company this morning. The latest time being last night.”

  She showed them the pictures. The person did almost the exact same thing every time. They walked up the driveway, checked the entries, and left.

  “Holy shit!” Nevvie cowered closer to Tommy’s side. “You mean whoever killed him is, what, stalking us now?” She glanced around. Despite the wide pool of lights cast by the floods on the front of the house, the darkness beyond them loomed, imposing.

  “We don’t know. It’s impossible to tell, although the timing certainly is suspicious. Right now, they’re not guilty of anything other than trespassing on your property, or maybe a prowling charge. But it is pretty suspicious this started the night of the murder and has continued. And yes, before you even ask, we don’t suspect your son, Adam.”

  “Besides, he would just come into the house,” Nevvie said. “He’s got a key and alarm code because he’s our son! He wouldn’t be doing this. And he was inside the house with us the night of the murder. Plus he went back to Athens to school last Sunday. He’s a couple of hours away.”

  “I know, ma’am. But it doesn’t mean someone who knows him isn’t behind this.”

  Tyler scrubbed his face with his hands. “But what can we do?”

  “We’re stepping up patrols in this area, for starters. Might not be a bad idea to think about taking on extra private security for a while.”

  “Rhys,” all three of them said at the same time, looking at each other.

  “Sorry?” the detective said.

  “My nephew,” Tyler said. “One of his spouses works for a private security company in Florida. We’ll speak with her and ask her to get involved.”

  “I’d do that immediately, if I were you. Also, tell your kids not to talk about this with anyone. You don’t want to alert whoever it is that we’re on to them. And make sure to tell your kids to keep the cars locked, as well as doors and windows.”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to buy every last fricking motion sensor light in Savannah and get them hooked up,” Tommy said.

  “Not a bad idea, either. Might help us get a clearer picture of who it is. If something happens, call us. We’ll have an officer in the area over the next several nights. It’s happening between midnight and one a.m., a clear pattern. So it’s probably someone local. We’re going to have the unit park down at the far end of your road during that time, with their lights off, and see if they can catch someone.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, as if we don’t have enough to worry about.” Tommy shook his head. “This is just plain fucked up.”

  Nevvie nervously glanced around at the darkness outside the pools of light cast by the front lights. “We need to leave the outside lights on at night, all night, for now. They were off in all those pictures.”

  The detective glanced around the yard. “Not a bad idea. The motion sensor camera will catch the person in the driveway, and we can see if they still come up to the house or not with the lights on. The driveway’s long enough, and the way it curves, they likely won’t be able to see the lights until they’re in the driveway.”

  “What else can we do, Detective?” Tyler asked.

  “Beyond all of that—for now, nothing. We will likely have more questions for Zoey, though. Not now, but at a later date, as we finish our interviews with his other victims.”

  “How many victims are you up to now?” Nevvie asked.

  Cash looked uncomfortable. “Twenty-four.”

  “Holy shit,” Tyler muttered.

  “Why are you even doin’ that?” Tommy’s dark, angry tone made Nevvie shiver again. “Talking to them now? Why put them through that trauma? Cole’s dead. Not like you can dig him up and prosecute him.”

  He’d been buried in a small, private ceremony five days after his murder. His father had cancelled a larger funeral he’d planned when several victim’s advocacy groups threatened to protest it as more victims had started publicly coming forward and speaking to the press. That was in response to Cole Johnson’s father’s bizarre tirade to the press that his son had been innocent, and he was tired of years of girls lying about Cole just because they were jealous he’d turned them down.

  Once he’d done that, it was game motherfucking on, and Bob was now working on a growing roster of victims who wanted to join the lawsuit against the school system.
Bob had filed the initial papers in the first lawsuit already, and was talking to other families of victims with the purpose of possibly creating a class-action lawsuit.

  “Because we’re pursuing cases against others we feel helped cover up his crimes. We need to know who knew about them, and how much they knew, and assemble a full timeline of his crimes.”

  “Better get on that,” Nevvie grumbled. “Because by the time we get done suing the hell outta them, they’re liable to disappear to a Central American country or something.”

  “Understood. I should also add we received preliminary DNA evidence back yesterday on Zoey’s clothes, and they’re a match to Cole Johnson, including semen.”

  “So that’s that, then?” Tyler asked. “A serial rapist is murdered, and instead of a medal, whoever they are will get prosecuted?”

  “It’s the law, Mr. Paulson. Unless they can prove it was done in self-defense—which their actions and the circumstances don’t currently support—they will be prosecuted for killing him. I would think since it seems they’re now maybe fixated on your family that you’d want them caught, and at the very least questioned.”

  “I do. That’s…” He let out an aggravated sigh. “Thomas is right—this is fucked up.”

  “That’s one word for it.” She shut off the tablet. “I’ll let you know if we discover anything. Thank you for your time.” She returned to her car.

  Tom stepped around Nevvie. “Wait. We don’t even get an official apology from Dunn for accusin’ Nevvie of doin’ it? He was ready to arrest her with no proof other than her screamin’ at Cole.”

  Not to mention “official sources” had leaked it to the press during the past week that their family was under scrutiny and had yet to be ruled out as suspects. When paired with mentions of Tyler shooting Alex, and “anonymous sources” talking about Nevvie’s profanity-filled and very specifically descriptive threats to Cole…

  It’d kept Crystal and Elliot busy, that was for sure. Elliot had ordered Crystal to stay in Savannah for now, trying to keep this knocked down as much as possible and working hand in hand with Bob. The only good thing had been the media firestorm surrounding the firing and likely prosecutions of coaches and principals at two local high schools for helping cover up Cole Johnson’s actions. Much of the focus had been there, instead of on them specifically.