“Thanks.”
“John, just make sure you don’t associate yourself with Kaitlin Roe too much. For all you know, she engineered this recent attack.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“That’s not your big head doing the thinking, pal.” Logan shook his head. “John, you need facts not feelings. She’s a suspect until you, the cop, can prove otherwise.”
INTERVIEW FILE #14
THE THREE AMIGOS
In the Saint Mathew’s 1993 yearbook, there is a picture of Mrs. Triton’s third grade class. In the back row stand three smiling boys: Randy Hayward, Brad Crowley, and Derek Blackstone. They are three fresh-faced boys, all grinning broadly as if sharing a private joke. Like the other children in the classroom, the Three Amigos, as some called them, shared a similar background. Affluent homes. Doting parents. No history of violence in the homes. Talk to the former students in their class, and they all remember the trio. Thick as thieves. Pranksters. Shouter-outers. Boys being boys.
In conversations with Mrs. Triton’s former students, hints of Randy’s darker traits emerge. Stolen money. Spying on girls in the restroom. The missing class gerbils. But all agreed Derek Blackstone, charming, well mannered, and attractive, was the leader and instigator of their little antics. He was always nearby when trouble began but never blamed for anything.
But remember, this was third grade, and well, boys will be boys.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sunday, March 18, 2018; 3:00 p.m.
Adler had called Kaitlin’s boss, Susan Saunders, and asked to meet. Ms. Saunders had agreed and requested he come to her university office.
He left Logan poring over the Gina Mason case file and drove back into the city. He parked, entered the quiet lobby in the university communications building, and rode the elevator to the third floor. As he walked down the hallways, memories of his own college days at the University of Virginia returned.
His major had been political science, but in his sophomore year he’d started picking up criminal justice courses. He was still dialed into law school, but after he’d passed the bar, he told his parents he wasn’t ready for a desk job. There was plenty of time for him to be a cop and then, later, a lawyer like his old man. His father hadn’t been happy but reasoned it wouldn’t take long for Adler to get this “cop thing” out of his system. That was seventeen years ago.
He moved along the corridor, following the signs to the communications director’s office. He found the door ajar, the light on inside. He knocked.
“Enter.” The voice carried a stern edge that sounded more practiced than natural.
He pushed open the door, drawing out his badge as he entered the room. “I’m Detective Adler with the Richmond police. I spoke to you about Kaitlin Roe.”
Her gray hair was arranged in a loose topknot, and dark-rimmed glasses emphasized gray eyes. She rose and extended her hand. “Yes, yes, of course. Come in. I’m Susan Saunders. We heard about Kaitlin last night. How is she?”
“On the mend. She’ll be fine. I’m looking into her attack and had a few questions.” And he was honest enough with himself to admit his curiosity for Kaitlin ran deeper than the case.
She gestured toward a seat in front of her desk. “How may I be of service?”
He adjusted his tie and deliberately kept his body language relaxed. “Is she a well-liked teacher?”
“Yes. And she knows PR and can teach it. She can spin a question or answer in a dozen different ways.”
“You’ve sat in on her classes?”
“Sure, a couple of them. She is quiet outside the classroom, but when she’s in front of the kids, she’s very animated. She’s also young and attractive, which has won her some attention from the male students.”
He’d not witnessed this animated side of Kaitlin. He tried to imagine her smiling and her eyes lighting up with laughter. “Any of these students try to ask her out?”
“That’s against university policy.”
A horny student wouldn’t have let policy get in the way of hooking up with Kaitlin. He was older, supposedly wiser than the young men in her class, and he thought about her too often.
Susan turned toward her computer. “I had a student email footage from a class project Kaitlin arranged back in early December. Remember the arsonist who burned several row houses in the city?”
“I do.”
“Two of the buildings destroyed are within blocks of the school. Kaitlin took several classes over there to film and discuss their reactions.” Susan turned her computer screen toward Adler and hit “Play.”
The cell phone footage of the class started off shaky and out of focus. Kaitlin appeared on screen. Her head bent, she was listening to several student comments and then pointing to the burned-out wreckage of the building. He’d been to that same site several times.
The camera swung back around, capturing Kaitlin again. This time she was explaining why it was important to be a witness to moments like this.
“Can you send me that?” Adler asked.
“Sure.” As he recited his email address, she typed it in and hit “Send.”
“Has Kaitlin had anybody hassling her?”
“No.”
“Does she date?”
“If she does, she never mentioned it.”
“Anyone following her around or sending her notes?”
“No, not that I know of. Certainly none of the students have stepped out of line with her.” Susan hesitated. “So you haven’t caught the guy who did this?”
“Not yet.”
Susan drew in a breath. “Surely what happened to her isn’t linked to the Gina Mason project?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have an idea, or you wouldn’t be here asking about it.”
“I’m gathering facts right now.”
Susan arched a brow. “Should I be concerned?”
He handed her one of his cards. “No. But if you do see anything, would you call me?”
“Sure.”
He made his way through the building and out to his car. He pulled up email on his phone, selected the one Susan had just sent, and opened the video attachment. He replayed the video, finding his gaze drawn to Kaitlin. It was hard to stop looking at her. Muttering an oath, he shut off the recording. Logan was right. He needed facts, not feelings.
While waiting in the hospital lobby for Dr. Coggin, Adler called the Oak Croft Retirement Center and learned visiting hours lasted until eight. He checked his watch and asked them to inform Joshua North he’d be by soon.
The elevator doors opened, and Dr. Coggin exited. Coggin spotted Adler, nodded, and approached. Adler extended a hand to him. The man’s smooth, boyish face belied world-weary eyes.
“Thanks for meeting me, Doc,” Adler said.
Dr. Coggin had been on staff the day Adler and Logan had been brought into the emergency room. The doctor had saved his partner’s life.
“How’s Detective Logan?” Dr. Coggin asked.
“He’s making good progress,” Adler said.
“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it. What can I do for you?” Dr. Coggin asked.
“I’m investigating the stabbing of Kaitlin Roe,” Adler said.
“Right. A nasty stab wound. She was lucky.”
“How is she doing?” Fear had dogged Adler when he hurried to Kaitlin’s bedside after he’d been notified about her stabbing.
“She’s strong and will recover.” The doctor’s gaze grew quizzical, as if he were trying to figure out where this was going. “What can I do to help you?”
Adler would have to tread carefully. “Hypothetically speaking, could you determine if a wound were self-inflicted or not?”
“Theoretically?” The doctor folded his arms and leaned toward Adler a fraction. “Sometimes.”
“Would the angle of the cut be important?” he pressed. Adler didn’t like the line of questioning, but knew it had to be done.
“It’s difficult to stab yourself with the proper force. The natural tendency is to flinch. It’s also difficult to get the range of motion and momentum to drive the blade into flesh while trying not to make it a mortal wound.”