Her drugged, dreamy voice reached out to him and cut through his anger. “Stride, please don’t. Please.”
He took a breath. His fever broke. He let go of Casperson’s throat, and he could see the red imprint of his fingers on the man’s neck. Casperson gasped for air and fell backward, coughing. Stride slid his finger off the trigger, secured his weapon, and returned it to his holster. His fingers curled into a fist, but this man wasn’t even worth the broken bones. Instead, he grabbed Casperson’s collar and shoved him facedown on the floor, where his ass was still obscenely displayed. He cuffed him, then went to Cat on the sofa and put his arms around her.
This girl was always saving him. Again and again.
She had no strength to hug him back, but a tiny smile flitted across her face and melted his heart. She mumbled something he didn’t understand. “How many?”
“What?”
“How many watching? A hundred?”
That was when he remembered that Cat’s phone was still broadcasting the entire scene to the world on Facebook Live.
He glanced at Serena, who retrieved the phone from beside the television. Before she disconnected it, she checked the stats on the video and shook her head in disbelief.
“More than a hundred, Catalina,” she said.
“How many?”
Serena went over to Casperson, took him by the hair, and shoved the phone screen in the man’s face. “Let’s tell Dean how popular he is. Congratulations, dirtbag. Four and a half million people just watched your latest film, and they all saw the disgusting pig you really are.”
42
“I’m going to sue you,” Dean Casperson told Stride. He leaned angrily across the interview table, but his hands were cuffed to a metal bar and he couldn’t stand up. Blood had dried on his face and made a red stain on the collar of his white tuxedo shirt. “That was police brutality. You shoved a gun in my face. You nearly choked me to death.”
Stride shrugged and showed no concern. “I’ll take my chances. Meanwhile, Mr. Casperson, you’ve been charged with second-degree criminal sexual conduct. The sentence on that charge is at least seven and a half years, and we’re just getting started with you. You’ve been advised of your rights, and you know that you don’t need to talk with us if you choose not to. Are you willing to answer our questions?”
A smart man wouldn’t talk. An arrogant man couldn’t stop himself. Casperson was both, but Stride didn’t have any trouble guessing which side of the man would have the upper hand.
“File all the charges you want,” Casperson snapped. “Nothing will stick. This was entrapment. You sent that girl to the party to seduce me. Everything that went on in there was consensual.”
“That girl got the whole encounter with you on video.”
Serena sat next to Stride. She calmly checked her phone and said to Casperson, “It’s still going viral, Dean. You’re past 10 million views now. You should see the comments, too. It’s not pretty when heroes fall.”
“You don’t think my lawyers will get that video thrown out?” Casperson asked. “No jury’s ever going to see a minute of it. Face it, you have no idea of the shit storm you just brought on yourselves. When I’m done with you, you won’t have a house, a job, or a nickel in the bank. You’ll be lucky if a nightclub hires you as a bouncer.”
Stride waited as Casperson rocked back in the chair in frustration, only to have the cuffs jerk him forward again.
“You might want to save your money, Dean,” Stride told him, “because you’re going to need it for all the lawsuits that are about to be filed. I don’t think you fully understand what’s happening to you right now. My voice mail is already full with messages from news media, national magazines, and journalists around the world. You are done, Dean. You’re finished.”
Casperson was having a hard time grasping the reality of his situation, but Stride had said the magic word. Media. The actor who valued his reputation more than anything knew what was coming next. He could write the headlines on TMZ. He could see the video stills reprinted in Entertainment Weekly. Another sex scandal was like a feeding frenzy these days, and the sharks could all smell blood in the water.
“This isn’t just about Cat,” Stride went on. “She started the ball rolling, but there’s no stopping it now. In the last three hours, twenty-three other women have already come forward on social media to tell their own stories of abuse and rape by you. Do you want Serena to read some of them? They’re very detailed and very graphic. Several of the incidents are well within the statute of limitations in the various jurisdictions you were in, so plenty of other prosecutors will want a shot at you when we’re done. And regardless, all the women are going to be suing you. Your career is over. You’re radioactive. Your fortune will be gone soon enough. The only real question is how much of the rest of your life you spend behind bars. The best thing you can do right now is give us a full and complete accounting of what you’ve done.”
Casperson sat in silence, as if he were looking for a way out in a room with no doors or windows.
Serena shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Dean? Being a celebrity protected you for decades, but all that evil finally caught up with you. All thanks to a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“You’ll never prove I did anything wrong,” he retorted, but the bravado was gone from his voice.
“Keep telling yourself that if you want,” Stride said. “The fact is, the sexual assault charge is going to be open and shut. That’s the minimum, but you know where it goes from here. We’ve got Jungle Jack in the interview room next door. He knows the rest. He knows everything. We have enough hard evidence on Jack to put him behind bars for the rest of his life. You don’t think he’s going to jump at the chance to give you up in exchange for a deal?”
“And when he does, you’re the one who’s looking at life behind bars,” Serena added. “I hope you enjoyed your time in Minnesota, because you’re never going to leave the state again.”
“Life in prison? Are you kidding me?”
“That’s the penalty for first-degree murder,” Stride told him.
Casperson looked genuinely shocked. His gaze zigzagged between them, and for the first time his face showed fear. “Murder? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t know anything about murder.”
*
Jungle Jack was the opposite of Dean Casperson. He refused to say a word. He sat in the interview room, cuffed, and stared back at Maggie with a permanent smirk tattooed on his mouth. His dark eyes were hooded with contempt. He didn’t ask for a lawyer, and he listened to Maggie lay out the evidence against him without any reaction at all. The only words out of his mouth were to ask for a cigarette, and when Maggie said no, he shrugged and went back to his stony silence.
“I know you and Lieutenant Stride talked about this man,” Maggie told him, laying a photograph of John Doe’s body in front of him. “He’s dead, so he won’t be testifying any time soon. But this man is—was—a killer. Anyone who helped him commit premeditated murder is a killer, too. That means being a guest at the state correctional facility in Oak Park Heights for as long as you’re alive. By the way, Oak Park Heights is where we house the guys who don’t know the meaning of ‘Minnesota nice.’ I’ve seen it. Trust me, Jack, you’re going to spend a lot of years behind bars. You don’t want to spend them there.”
Jack used his thumb to dig dirt from under his manicured fingernails and didn’t even bother looking up.
“We know that our friend John Doe—say, do you know his actual name, Jack? That would really help us out.”
This time, Jack looked up and gave her a smile.