Revenge of Innocents Read online

  She wouldn’t be having this discussion with Veronica if the crime wasn’t what they referred to as a wobbler. Section 245 of the California Penal Code allowed the court to sentence the defendant to serve a year in the local jail, or two, three, or four years in a state prison facility. The Judicial Council in San Francisco had developed specific rules that were to be applied to determine if the interest of justice would be best served by one sentence or the other.

  “Don’t you understand?” Carolyn argued, slapping back in her chair. “Whether the victim was male or female doesn’t matter. Patricia Baxter is only a few months past her nineteenth birthday. When her sex organs didn’t develop normally, her mother made the decision to raise her as a girl. Granted, this may have been a poor decision, but Patricia wasn’t the one who made it. She’d never had sex with anyone, male or female. Her mother was saving money for a sex change. Regardless, the medical report showed significant injuries from a violent sexual assault. The jury simply chose to ignore it because of the circumstances.” She paused and sucked in a breath. “So what if she was hanging around a nightclub in a short skirt? Would you feel the same if something like this happened to Jude?”

  “Hey,” Veronica said, pushing herself to her feet, “if you want to trump me on this one, go right ahead. You’re the boss now. No one cares what I think.”

  “You know I respect your opinion,” Carolyn told her. “I have to call the cases as I see them, Veronica. This was a brutal attack that resulted in great bodily injury. Circumstances in aggravation clearly exist and support the maximum term of four years in prison. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to rewrite the report and submit it under those conditions.”

  “Can I go now?” Veronica said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “I have to track down a probationer.”

  “Which one?”

  “Phillip Bramson.”

  “Is he in violation?” Carolyn asked, hating it that her investigators had to supervise people because of the overflow in field services.

  “I called the place where he works yesterday and they haven’t seen him in over a week. My guess is he’s using again. I left a message on his cell phone. He didn’t check in, so I’m going to try to track him down today.”

  The details of Bramson’s case were beginning to surface in Carolyn’s mind. “Doesn’t he have a suspended sentence?”

  “Yep,” Veronica said. “He doesn’t get to pass go or collect his two hundred dollars. If he tests dirty, all I have to do is put him on the next bus to prison.”

  Because of the overcrowding in the state prisons, judges were utilizing suspended sentences more often. “I’m going to get these supervision cases off your back,” she told her. “I’ll dump them on one of the new people. It was a mistake to assign them to you in the first place.”

  “I could manage if I didn’t have to rewrite reports.”

  Carolyn was upset that her friend was taking things personally. She could understand Veronica’s jealousy over her promotion. They’d been on the job for almost the same amount of time. What Veronica didn’t factor in was all the time she’d taken off on maternity leave, as well as management’s belief that a woman with four children might not be able to meet the demands of the position.

  Carolyn had also made a name for herself as an interrogator, and had years of experiencing assisting Brad Preston, the former supervisor of the unit. “Your dress is at my house. Are you still going to be my maid of honor?”

  “I guess,” Veronica said, shrugging.

  “Please, sit back down,” Carolyn said, gesturing toward the chair. When Veronica settled herself in the seat again, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She’d always been an earthy type, but lately she’d stopped wearing makeup. Something was bothering her. She should have noticed it before now. “I’ve been so busy, we haven’t had much time to talk outside of work,” she said. “Marcus and I should have got married by a justice of the peace. I never thought this wedding would turn into such a big production. How are things with Drew and the kids?”

  “Fine,” Veronica said, still miffed.

  “Look,” Carolyn said, folding her arms on top of her desk, “we promised we wouldn’t let my promotion come between us. Let’s go to lunch one day this week.” She glanced at her calendar. “Friday works for me. How about you?”

  Veronica stood, ignoring her question. “You’re probably right about Brett Dover. After what happened last year, I’ve become more sympathetic toward people who make mistakes.”

  Carolyn knew what she was referring to, but she also knew this wasn’t the time or place to discuss it. Both of her lines were ringing. Her assistant, Rachel Mitchell, would pick up one of them. She reached over and grabbed the other. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, placing the caller on hold so they could firm up their lunch date. When she turned back around, though, Veronica had already slipped out of the office.

  Driving dangerously fast over the narrow residential streets, Veronica kept her fingers locked on the steering wheel. She and Carolyn had grown apart recently. It was more than the promotion. While she was living a nightmare, her friend seemingly had everything. She was marrying a wealthy, handsome man who was madly in love with her. Her son was attending college at MIT, studying to become a physicist. Her daughter was one of the most popular girls at Ventura High.

  Veronica had been assigned to handle the unit while Carolyn was in Europe on her honeymoon, with no compensation above her normal pay. She couldn’t fault Carolyn for the supervision cases, however. She had asked for them so she could qualify for a county car.

  Her husband no longer loved her. They hadn’t had sex in four years, not since their last child was born. She was certain Drew was having an affair, but she had no way to prove it. In reality, the problems had been present from the onset of their marriage. Now they seldom spoke. They lived together like strangers.

  Veronica’s biggest problem was her eighteen-year-old daughter. Jude had become pregnant at thirteen, claiming she’d had sex with too many boys to identify the father. This had been the onset of a five-year period of promiscuity and delinquency. She got involved with drugs, served two terms in juvenile hall, and had undergone a number of abortions. Since Jude was now legally an adult, Veronica refused to continue supporting her. Although she had no means of support, she was going to demand that Jude move out by the end of the month. It was a hard decision for a parent to make, but she had no choice. She had to safeguard the well-being of her other children.

  Veronica had distanced herself from her religion because of the way the church had sheltered priests who were known sex offenders. Her belief in God had fallen by the wayside as well. There was too much evil in the world. If the devil was responsible, then God was either indifferent or powerless. All the innocent children who died agonizing, violent deaths needed a God who would protect them. The promise of eternal life with Jesus and Mary meant nothing to a kid in the hands of a sadistic maniac.

  During the past summer, Jude had slept all day and stayed out all night. When Veronica gave her a list of chores to do around the house, her father sometimes did them for her. Usurping her with her daughter was another way for Drew to express his contempt for their marriage.

  Veronica slammed on the brakes at a stoplight, reaching in her purse for a bottle of pills. She popped one in her mouth and swallowed it without water. Her doctor had placed her on antidepressants, and given her a referral to see a psychiatrist. Her daughter was the one who needed counseling. She didn’t have time for Jude’s bullshit. She had five reports due next week, and she had to chase down a drug dealer who should already be in prison.

  Hearing a horn honking, Veronica realized she’d dozed off waiting for the light to change. She stepped on the gas and took off. Everyone placed demands on her. The previous year, the agency had implemented a new program that allowed investigators to work from their home three days a week. She’d jumped on it, thinking she could save a fortune in day care. During the past six
months, she’d desperately tried to keep up with her caseload, but concentrating with three kids under eight and a belligerent lazy teenager in the house was next to impossible.

  When Veronica finally went to bed, sometimes as late as four in the morning, as soon as she drifted off she would jolt herself awake, as if there were something in her subconscious she couldn’t bear to face. The problems with Jude weighed heavily on her mind, but what she sensed was more sinister. It was like glimpsing something just outside your range of vision, and then forgetting what it was you saw. Was it her guilt over her daughter’s abortions, or was she having a legitimate breakdown?

  She and Carolyn used to talk about people who caved in under pressure. They’d been certain it would never happen to them. They were rocks, machines. So what if they dealt with violence on a daily basis? They could handle it. They were seasoned officers. There wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.

  Carolyn would find out the truth any day now—that Veronica’s recommendations weren’t appropriate because she didn’t know half the facts of the case. She regularly fabricated the defendant and victim interviews. If you were going to make things up, she’d decided, it was better to err on the side of leniency. If a judge didn’t think the sentence she proposed was severe enough, all he had to do was ignore it. Judges were esteemed members of the community, with a salary far above that of a probation officer. She was tired of doing their job for them.

  Drew was a technician at Boeing, but even with both of their incomes, they couldn’t make ends meet. The price of raising four children in today’s world was insane, and the cost of living was still rising at an alarming rate.

  In addition to everything else, Veronica had become Jude’s chauffeur. Her daughter would disappear for days, and then place a frantic call for her mother to come and get her. The Ford Taurus they had bought for her sat in the driveway. She’d forbidden her to drive it until she began contributing to the insurance. Jude was supposed to graduate the year before, but she’d flunked several of her classes. She was a smart girl, so things didn’t add up. Why did she stagger around with a blank look on her face? Why had she abruptly ended her relationship with Haley Snodgrass, a girl she’d been close to for most of her life?

  Veronica’s red-rimmed eyes scanned the buildings. She steered the car into a parking lot, getting out and hiking up the stairs to the second floor. As she was trying to focus on the arrows that showed where room 246 was located, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She managed to open her purse and pull out her gun, but before she could turn around, someone reached around her waist and wrenched it out of her hand.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tuesday, October 12—5:30 P.M.

  The Ventura government center was similar to a small city. The courts, the district attorney’s and public defender’s offices, as well as the records division, were all housed on the right side of a large open space. A bubbling fountain stood in the center, surrounded by concrete benches and blooming flowers. To the left was the probation department, the sheriff’s department, and the women’s and men’s jails. The general public assumed the two structures weren’t connected, yet an underground tunnel was used to transport inmates back and forth.

  Carolyn headed to her new red Infiniti M35 in the parking lot. The wildfires had been contained, but her car was covered with ash. The car was a wedding gift from her fiancé, Marcus Wright. Two weeks ago, the house she had raised her children in had sold and she’d no choice but to move into Marcus’s home in Santa Rosa. She’d wanted to wait until after they were married. She was old-fashioned when it came to certain things. And why have a formal wedding if you were already living with the person?

  Carolyn’s old house would fit into Marcus’s living room. Her son, John, was in his first year at MIT. Rebecca, her sixteen-year-old, adored Marcus and was elated they were getting married. Everything was finally coming together, and Carolyn couldn’t be happier.

  A forty-year-old wearing a wedding dress seemed absurd, but Marcus had insisted. Both of their first marriages had ended in failure, so he wanted to make it a special occasion. She had intended to exercise and lose five pounds. Any mention of the word diet, though, and she became ravenously hungry. With all the hassle of moving and planning the reception, she’d gained seven pounds. Yesterday, she’d gone to the tailor and had the seams let out on her dress. She wasn’t heavy, just curvaceous. She didn’t need to look like a waif.

  Her cell phone rang and she fumbled around in her purse to retrieve it. “It’s Hank,” a gruff male voice said. “Where are you? Are you on the road?”

  Hank Sawyer was a lieutenant in Ventura homicide, as well as a long-term friend. The tone of his voice was alarming. “What’s going on?”

  “Are you driving?”

  “No,” Carolyn said. “What difference does it make if I’m driving or not? I can listen and drive.”

  “I have some bad news,” he said. “I don’t want you to be behind the wheel when I tell you.”

  “I’m in the parking lot. Tell me, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Veronica Campbell is dead.”

  Carolyn dropped her briefcase on the pavement. “God, no!” she exclaimed. “What happened? A traffic accident…”

  “Charley Young thinks she was shot sometime this morning. The maid at the Motor Inn on East Thompson found her around three o’clock.”

  “I’m on my way.” She swept up her briefcase and jogged toward her car.

  “There’s nothing for you to do here. Charley just gave the okay for us to transport the body. I’m sorry, Carolyn. I know how close you two were.”

  “It’s a mistake,” she said, panting. “It’s someone who looks like her. You don’t know Veronica that well, Hank. I’ll come—”

  The detective cut her off. “We have her badge, as well as the county vehicle she was driving. I thought you’d want to be the one to tell her husband. Can you handle it?”

  “I can’t…do anything right now.” Carolyn leaned against the Infiniti, then slid to the ground on her knees. People were walking past her and staring. She covered her face with her free hand, then grabbed on to the door handle and pulled herself up, unlocking the door and ducking inside. “Tell me she didn’t suffer, Hank.”

  “For what it’s worth, she probably never knew what hit her.” He stopped to bark orders to one of the officers at the scene. “Do you know what she was doing at a motel?”

  “She mentioned trying to track down a probationer she thought was in violation. His name is…God, I can’t think…Bramson, Phillip Bramson. He has a prison sentence hanging over his head. I’ll go back to the office.”

  “Give me whatever you can remember,” Hank told her. “Bramson is in the system, right?”

  Carolyn pressed her fingers against her eyelids. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Images from the past darted through her mind. Giggling when she’d told Veronica about her first kiss, their high school graduations, their weddings, the births of their children, all the years they’d worked together. It was the same as losing a sister. Worse, she decided. Most siblings didn’t see each other every day.

  “We’re losing time.”

  “I know.” She had to detach somehow, do whatever had to be done. “Bramson is a white male, mid-thirties, tall, slender. I think he has dark hair but I’m not certain. I’ve never seen him in person, only his mug shot.”

  “What’s the underlying offense?”

  The more she talked, the easier it was to remain in denial. It was work, she told herself, just work. Right now, that’s the only way she could handle the situation. The words tumbled out. “The sheriff’s office arrested Bramson with a large quantity of crystal meth. The DA originally charged him with possession for sale, but they pled it down to simple possession. The judge imposed a year in prison, then suspended it and placed him on three years of supervised probation. Veronica suspected he was using again.”

  “Do you know what kind of car he was driving?�
�

  “No,” Carolyn said. “Everything’s in Veronica’s file. I’ll go back to the office and get it. You can’t let this bastard get away, Hank.”

  “Someone tipped off the media. If you don’t get to her husband and family fast, they’re going to hear about it on the six o’clock news. Oh, and we need the husband to identify her body. It’ll be at the morgue within the hour. I’ll broadcast what you gave me and whatever else I can pull up on the system regarding Phillip Bramson. Call someone in your agency and have them go through his file, then get the info to me ASAP. The most important thing is a vehicle description.”

  “Wait,” Carolyn said. “Who rented the motel room?”

  “A black male in his twenties,” Hank said. “The owner of the credit card is white. We’ve already contacted him. He claims the card was stolen.”

  “But Bramson is white.”

  “Maybe the black guy was a drug buddy,” Hank said, impatient. “We’ve barely scratched the surface, Carolyn. Let us do our jobs here. I’ll need to talk to Veronica’s husband sometime later tonight.”

  She disconnected and called Brad Preston. After she filled him on what had occurred, she cranked the engine on the Infiniti and sped out of the parking lot. “I assigned this case to Veronica, Brad. My investigators shouldn’t be supervising people. They’re not used to it. They might not take the necessary precautions.”

  “Get a hold of yourself, Carolyn,” Brad told her. “You won’t do anyone any good if you fall apart. I’ll grab Bramson’s file and relay the information to Hank and the PD, then meet you at Veronica’s house. She still lives on Tremont, right?”

  “We’ll need someone to watch the kids,” Carolyn said, her thoughts racing. “How can I tell them their mother’s dead?”

  “That’s not your responsibility. Veronica’s husband will tell them when he feels the time is right. Doesn’t she have a teenage daughter?”