“I repeat, what does that have to do with this investigation?”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m dead serious.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him.
“Richard Stark was a bad guy. A really bad guy. And the bag of drugs proves it.”
“That’s not your job, Rader. Your job is to find Richard Stark’s killer.”
“There’s only one thing those roofies—”
“Alleged roofies.”
“—are used for. They prove Richard Stark was a sexual predator.”
“Even if it’s true—”
“It is.”
“Even if it’s true,” he repeated, “we’re not looking for a sexual predator. We’re looking for a murderer.”
Was he being deliberately obtuse? How could he not comprehend the ramifications of her discovery? She glanced at Jake, saw no help would be coming from that direction, and refocused on Buddy.
“It widens the field and gives us a motive. What we don’t know is how big the victim pool might be. Five? Ten? Twenty-five?”
“For God’s sake, Miranda! Victim pool? Get a grip!”
She went on as coolly as possible. “The killing, the brutality of it … his castration, for God’s sake.… Come on, Chief, it supports this being a vengeance killing, one hundred percent.”
Jake stepped in. “She has a point, Chief. Stark’s death was a case of serious overkill.”
Buddy stood, face red. “I will not let you drag a good man through the mud—”
“A good man?” she repeated, outraged, launching to her feet. “If I’m right, he was a sexual predator! Rohypnol, Chief! A dozen in the bag. A dozen!”
“What if you’re wrong? Think about his family, the pain this would cause them. And the university, its reputation. Just the rumor could be devastating to enrollment. A popular professor a sexual predator? What parent’s going to send their daughter to ULH?”
“You sure that’s whose reputation you’re worried about, Chief?”
He went dead still. “You’re out of line, Detective.”
She refused to look away or back down. “I’m not wrong about this.”
“What do you propose?”
“We go back into Stark’s house and retrieve the evidence.”
“It’s worthless now.”
She looked at Jake. “When you showed up, did I have my gloves on?”
“You did.”
Buddy dismissed the idea. “What difference does that make?”
“Somebody’s prints will be on that box and the bag in it. I was wearing my gloves so they won’t be mine.”
“Stark’s,” Jake said, looking at the chief. “She’s right—the man’s dead so there’s no way the evidence could have been planted.”
“But it was tampered with. It won’t hold up in a court of law.”
“It doesn’t have to. We’re not trying to convict with this evidence. We’re trying to support our line of questioning.”
“And that’s it? Because I won’t tolerate any attempt to use this as an opportunity to blame the victim.”
Jake stepped in. “That’s it, Chief. I’ll see to it.”
For a long moment, Buddy was quiet; then he nodded in Jake’s direction. “You bet your ass you will.” He turned back to Miranda. “We do it together. I want the photographic documentation and someone from the Sheriff’s Department along. They sealed the scene, so they should be there when we go back in.”
“Thank you, Buddy,” she said. “You won’t regret it, I—”
He held up a hand, stopping her. “We do this, then you’re off the case.”
“What?” She shook her head. “No. That’s not right, I’m the best person for—”
“No, you’re not. Not anymore, Miranda. You’ve lost your objectivity.” He turned to Jake. “You’re lead, Jones assists. My decision’s final.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
9:50 A.M.
It took nearly an hour to assemble the team. The three vehicles pulled up to Stark’s home, one with Miranda and Jake, another the chief, and the last the Sheriff’s Department crime-scene van. The officers exited their vehicles in unison and started silently up the walk. Miranda fitted on gloves as she did so, willing her racing heart to slow, her turbulent thoughts with it.
She’d never been removed from a case before, never had to endure the heavy silence in the squad room as she passed or the way her colleagues averted their gaze. They were embarrassed for her.
But they didn’t get it. The truth was on her side. Justice was on her side. All she had to do was stay calm. Once Buddy saw the box, the bag it contained, he’d come to his senses and put her back on the case, even if it was only as second in command.
The sheriff’s man cut the seal; the team filed in, making their way to the kitchen. Miranda waited while the tech readied the video camera. When he signaled the go-ahead, she opened the freezer and reached inside, making certain the camera caught and recorded her every move.
And it did: Her disbelief and momentary confusion, then her stunned expression as the realization dawned.
The box, along with its damning evidence, was gone.
*
Miranda stood beside her car, mind reeling and hands shaking. The box had been there. She’d held it in her hands, counted the pills in the bag. A dozen. There’d been a dozen.
She wasn’t delusional, although she had looked that way, rummaging wildly through the refrigerator, thinking maybe, in her excitement, she’d stuck the box there by mistake. Even though she knew she hadn’t—she clearly remembered placing the box exactly where she’d found it.
She hadn’t been able to look at anyone. Had been afraid to speak. What could she have said? Begged them to believe her? Stomped her foot or burst into tears, like an unhinged two-year-old?
So, she did something she never would have thought possible for her to do. Simply, without a word, she’d walked out.
And here she stood, waiting for the others. Feeling ridiculous and beaten. How long had it been since she’d felt this way, this soul-stealing combination?
The home’s door opened; the team emerged. Jake and Buddy started toward her; the sheriff’s techs headed straight for the van, neither glancing her way. No doubt they’d have a good laugh at her expense, a great story to share over beers later.
The breeze worked some hair free from the clip holding it back; Miranda tucked the strands behind her ear. Buddy and Jake stopped in front of her. She looked at Buddy. “I don’t understand, Chief. It was there.”
“Miranda—”
“It was. You have to believe me. Someone’s a step ahead. They knew what I found—or what was there—and in the time between—”
He cut her off. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Miranda. Maybe it’s some sort of PTSD, but you haven’t left me any choice.”
She heard pity in his voice. Resignation. She suspected what was coming next and shook her head. “Don’t do this, Chief.… Buddy, please—”
“Give me your badge, Detective Rader.”
She felt the words like a blow and took an automatic step back. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t that person.
He held out his hand. “And your service weapon.” He shifted his gaze slightly. “It’s temporary, until we get a handle on what’s going on with you.”