The Water Read online

  Jenny was wringing her hands unsure of what to do. “Pride’s not home.”

  “That’s okay. We need to talk to you,” said Carrie.

  Jenny looked out into the neighborhood before stepping back into the small living room, allowing Carrie and Randy to enter. As soon as they did, she took one more look out, then closed the door. There were always eyes on her and on everything she did.

  “May we sit?” asked Randy.

  Jenny nodded then gestured toward a chair. She wasn’t sure whether to sit or to stand. If she sat, they might stay longer. Indecision led her to look for her cigarettes and lighter.

  Two deep puffs in she felt calm enough to sit down. When she did, she said, “Gus is furious. He knows you were watching for him last night.”

  “Not us, but some uniformed officers,” said Randy.

  Jenny’s irritation escalated. “I told you he would take it out on us, on me.”

  “Is that what that bruise is on your arm?” asked Carrie.

  Jenny glanced down at the bruise and then back up. “Yes.”

  “Jenny, do you think Gus was the one who killed Cami?” asked Carrie.

  Randy was jotting notes down in his notebook. Carrie had removed her sunglasses in order to see Jenny clearly in the dim room. When Jenny didn’t answer immediately she let the silence draw her out.

  Finally, Jenny said, “I don’t know. He could have.” She looked down at the hem of the shirt she was wearing and worked the threads back and forth with her free hand.

  “Tell us about your relationship with Gus. What are his rules for you and his other girls and what makes him mad?”

  Jenny looked back up at Carrie and took another puff. There wasn’t enough nicotine on this earth to calm her nerves and she craved something stronger.

  With an exhaled breath of resignation Jenny began, “We get an 80/20 cut. He gets 80 percent and we get 20 percent. He always has eyes on us, so he knows how much we should be making. He gives the eyes twenty percent. So obviously he doesn’t trust us.

  “We have to work every night. If we are sick, he makes sure we are sick and then he’ll decide if we are too sick to work.” Jenny stopped and rested her chin on the upturned palm of the hand holding her cigarette. She gazed off somewhere that Carrie couldn’t see.

  “I’ve worked nights so sick I could barely move. If we look too sick, no one will go with us so we have to try hard to look okay all the time.”

  “Does he beat you?” asked Carrie.

  Jenny shrugged. “He knocks us around some, but I don’t know if they would be considered beatings. I had beatings when I lived at home. Gus is nothing like that.”

  Carrie wondered about this girl whose life was gauged good or bad on the depth of the beatings she was having to endure. She suddenly felt ashamed for complaining about her own life.

  Jenny stamped out the butt of her smoked cigarette and searched for another, then thought better of it. Looking up at Carrie she asked, “What else do you need to know?”

  “Did Cami have any tattoos or moles or other things that would distinguish her from someone else?” asked Carrie.

  “She has a tattoo of a hummingbird on her shoulder blade. Left side.” Jenny motioned with her right hand to her left shoulder blade.

  “You told us the other night you didn’t know where Cami was from, where she had grown up. We thought maybe you might have thought of something since then.” Carrie had wanted to say, after the shock of her death had worn off, but she wasn’t sure it ever would.

  Jenny shook her head, but Carrie could tell there was something. “Are you sure? We’re trying to help find her killer. What if Gus did it? Don’t you want to see him pay, and to keep him from doing it to someone else, even you?” Carrie’s words were emphatic.

  Jenny looked up at Carrie through a lock of brown hair that had fallen across her face, then back down.

  “I do. I just don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Can we look through Cami’s things to see if there is anything that would tell us where she came from or where her home was?”

  Jenny shrugged. She didn’t know what it would hurt. She stood up and pulled her arms around her midsection as if she was cold even though the room was far from it.

  “We shared a room. Pride gets one room and we have the other.” Jenny led them to her room and stepped inside. Her eyes were darting around wondering if she had anything that the cops shouldn’t find, which she could have forgotten about.

  She gestured to the twin bed opposite hers. “That was Cami’s bed, and that's her stuff there. We shared that closet.”

  Jenny went to her bed and sat on the edge while Randy and Carrie looked through Cami’s things. On the wall over Cami’s bed were photos that had been thumb tacked to the wall. Carrie stood for a long time studying them.

  After a few moments, Carrie reached up and pulled one down off of the wall, walked over to Jenny, and sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

  “This photo here,” Carrie held over to Jenny, “is this Cami?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is with her?”

  Jenny took the picture from Carrie’s hand and sat looking at it. In the picture Cami was younger than when she had come to Pride’s. Jenny was trying to remember what, if anything, Cami had said to her about the picture.

  “I think those are her sisters,” said Jenny looking up at Carrie.

  “Did she ever talk about them to you?” asked Carrie.

  Jenny looked back at the picture in her hand and was trying hard to think. Then she pointed to the one on the right side. “I think that one left before Cami came here.”

  “Left home? Before Cami came here to Pride’s?” Carrie was trying not to force this forward, but she could feel momentum and was growing eager.

  Jenny looked up at Carrie. “I think I remember when I first met Cami, that she talked about her. She said someone had taken her right before she’d left home. A man I think. Her sister never came here to Pride’s, and I never met her.”

  “A man took her?”

  “I’m not sure what happened. Cami never really talked about it.” Jenny’s face was sad. “I really don’t remember anything else,” and she handed the photo back to Carrie.

  “Can we keep this photo?” Carrie asked.

  Jenny shrugged then nodded. “I guess so. Take whatever you want that will help.”

  Randy had finished searching through the couple of drawers that had been hers, her pockets, and under the bed. He’d found nothing he thought would be of any use.

  “Jenny, here’s my card. I know we gave you one the other day, but I want you to keep this one. If you need us, if Gus or anyone else tries to hurt you, promise me please, that you will call me.” Carrie was holding Jenny’s gaze.

  As Jenny looked into her eyes, she thought she could maybe trust this lady cop. She didn’t know why, but she would try. What did she have to lose?

  Back in the hot car, Carrie cranked the AC as soon as the motor roared to life. Randy just looked at her and said nothing.

  Carrie buckled her seat belt and studied the photo. “I know where this photo was taken.”

  “Where?” asked Randy surprised.

  “There’s an old abandoned amusement park outside of town. I’m guessing that it was abandoned in this photo but not yet dismantled.”

  The photo was faded and had a pale yellowish tint from being in the light, but Carrie could see what looked like old bumper cars in the background behind the short wall the girls were leaning on. She tilted the photo and thought, yes, there was a Ferris wheel in the background as well.

  “Not much to go on,” said Randy. He wondered just how many people had taken pictures at that park.

  “True,” Carrie said looking out her side window. Her mind was engineering a strategy to find out who Cami really was.

  “The sister. Wasn’t that odd what Jenny said? A man took her. But she didn’t indicate that Cami had been alarmed about it.” Carrie was looking at R
andy to gauge his reaction.

  “Just because Jenny hadn’t said she was, doesn’t mean that she wasn’t.”

  Carrie took a deep breath and sighed. It was time for the autopsy and she hoped that would reveal something for them.

  Cami lay on the cold steel table in the autopsy room with Henry Bloom standing next to her. His six foot three inch frame, rotund in the middle, seemed to fill the room.

  Carrie and Randy had arrived about ten minutes early, coming straight from speaking with Jenny. Henry didn’t like to start until all parties were present so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself, but Carrie thought it would be okay to ask a couple of questions.

  “Henry, we’re having trouble locating her family. Does she have any distinguishing marks, moles, or tattoos?” Carrie knew that she should have a hummingbird on her shoulder, but her position on the table hid it from view. She hoped Hendry would confirm.

  “She did. A hummingbird on her left shoulder.” He produced a photo he’d taken earlier. “As for moles or other marks, none I could find, and you know I try to be thorough.”

  Henry was thorough. He was a great medical examiner. Carrie had the highest respect for the man.

  The swinging stainless steel doors whooshed open and in walked Mike and Rick. “Sorry we're late,” said Rick. His face was red and flushed and he was wiping sweat from his forehead with a man’s handkerchief. Carrie didn’t realize they still made those, or that anyone still bought them. A pang of sadness swept through her.

  Her father had always carried one of those with him, and she remembered the feel of the soft cotton on her cheeks when he would wipe ice cream from her face. Shaking herself out of the memory she smiled at them both and nodded to Henry to begin.

  “She was drowned. It appears to me that the perpetrator held her head under water by holding her hair close to her scalp. If you push the hair aside, you can see bruising as if knuckles pressed into the back of her scull.”

  Henry presented photos showing the bruising. “They were perimortem, so they occurred prior to death. Also, if you notice here and here, there are small spots where it looks as though tiny clumps of her hair were pulled out, presumably in the struggle while gripping her hair tightly.” Henry was demonstrating with his hand as though he were grabbing someone by the hair tightly and then pushing down.

  He then moved around to where Cami’s left hand lay and picked it up. “If you notice here, her fingernails are chipped and broken to the quick. I scraped underneath and found dirt and other small bits of debris. I’m hoping she scratched her killer in the struggle.”

  He laid her hand back down and raised the sheet to reveal her feet. “She lost both shoes in the struggle and there was considerable dirt underneath her toenails as well. The tops of her feet were caked with mud too.” He produced yet more photos of her toenails and feet.

  “This goes along with the indentions in the mud at the crime scene where it appeared she had dug into the ground with her feet trying to escape,” said Carrie as much to herself as to the others.

  They all envisioned this tiny petite young girl struggling against someone who was strong enough to grab the back of her head with her hair and simply hold her head underwater until she drowned. They could see in their minds, her hands and feet flailing seeking a way to break free from her assailant.

  “Were there any additional injuries?” Randy asked.

  “There was considerable bruising to her upper arms.” Henry produced yet more photos, but with her laying before them they could see for themselves the imprints of fingers laying in dark blue stripes across her thin upper arms.

  Carrie thought of Jenny and what her arm had looked like earlier. “Can you get us some measurements so we could compare that hand print to another one?” Carrie hoped that Jenny’s bruises would yield the same type of print, but then realized that Jenny’s bruises were already too faded for a distinguishable print.

  Henry thoughtfully nodded and said he would do his best. The photos he had handed them though, were taken with his ruler in place. Carrie was hoping for a full hand print in exact measurement, size, and scale. She wanted to be able to take Gus’ hand and lay it on the photo and see an exact match.

  “There were no cuts or other abrasions on her body.” Henry concluded.

  They all four left deep in thought. Once in the hallway Randy and Carrie discussed with Mike and Rick what they knew about Gus. Carrie had taken a picture of the photo they had taken from Cami’s bedroom wall with her phone and sent it to both Mike and Rick.

  “I remember that place. When I was a kid, we used to go out there,” said Rick. “I don’t think that place has been running in years.”

  “I don’t think it was running in this picture,” said Carrie. “I have a feeling these girls were just out exploring. Sometimes places are more fun to explore in their graveyard state than they are when fully operational.”

  She saw both Mike and Randy nod their heads. Who hadn’t loved exploring crazy places like this when they were kids?

  “If that’s the case, then these girls probably lived close to the park,” said Mike.

  “I know it’s a long shot, but we can try. I want to get this to forensics to see if there is anything they can get from the photo that isn’t readily obvious to us. Who knows, maybe we will get lucky and find they lived right next door,” Carrie smiled at the group. The clues were slow to come and hard to pull out, but they were still coming.

  “Beth, I want to volunteer more,” Sandy was saying to Beth over the phone. She felt a nervous excitement as she spoke.

  “That would be wonderful. Things seemed to go well last night. The girls warmed to you, and I believe you were a comfort to them.”

  “I start back teaching in a few days so I can only do nights and weekends then, but whatever you need,” said Sandy.

  “I’ll put together a schedule and email it to you. I will also send a list of meetings I would like you to attend. It’s important that you gain as much knowledge as we can provide you. Many on our staff are licensed counselors volunteering their time. We also have many other professionals who are well acquainted with the needs of these victims.

  “You being a teacher is a great asset, but the trauma we need to help them deal with is in a whole other realm. If we don’t approach them appropriately, then we can do more harm than good. The more training you can get, the better you’ll be able to help them,” said Beth.

  Sandy was listening intently to all that Beth was saying and growing more excited with every word.

  Sandy’s phone beeped to notify her of a call coming through. “I hear you have a call and I have to go, anyway. I’ll email you soon,” said Beth.

  Sandy saw it was Randy calling, so she answered. They’d had a good talk the night before when she came home. It was good to have him back in her life.

  “Are you busy?” asked Randy.

  “Not too much. I just got off the phone with Beth. I called her to tell her I want to do more volunteer work,” said Sandy. She was sitting on the edge of her desk at school and was nervously flopping her sandal off and on again. She still held her breath every time she talked to Randy about volunteering at Safe At Last.

  “You’ll do great. I admire your compassion and love for others,” said Randy. His response surprised Sandy.

  “Thank you.”

  “I can’t say I won’t worry about you, but you have a good head on your shoulders and I hope you won’t put yourself in any unnecessary risk.”

  Sandy was now chewing on a cuticle. “It’ll take time away from you and the kids. I’m only available to volunteer in the evenings and weekends.”

  “Can you find a balance? A night or two a week would be enough I would think, and then certainly only an occasional weekend,” Randy was trying not to get frustrated again. He really wanted to understand, but he was genuinely opposed to this. He was trying to be the husband she needed him to be.

  “True. I want to start out slow, but there are also meetings
I will need to attend to get additional training.”

  “Ok. Well, I’m doing my best to be supportive. I’ll help with the kids when your mom isn’t available.” Randy was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “Will you be home for dinner tonight?” asked Sandy. She hoped so. They hadn’t had dinner together as a family for several days now.

  “I plan on it, but you never know. I’ll call you later,” said Randy.

  “I love you,” said Sandy.

  “I love you too.”

  Carrie walked into her empty home with thoughts of Cami and Jenny on her mind. She looked around her simple home, the home she’d made for herself alone, and realized she was doing okay. It wasn’t a mansion, but she wasn’t forced to live on the street and sell her body the way those poor girls were having to do.

  Then the thought raced through her mind, No you simply give yourself away for free. Shame overwhelmed her. Since Billy, she hadn’t dared take a chance on a relationship, only an eight-year run of one-night stands. Well, except for Mike that was. But that wasn’t a relationship either. They’d both known what it was when it started, a fling while they were working on a case together. It had ended when the case had ended.

  She was sick of it all, but didn’t know what to do. Self control, which had always been her modus operandi, wasn’t working for her now. Growing up, if she wanted something, sheer force of will and determination had made it happen for her. Now it seemed that she had no control over her toxic emotions and behavior.

  It had been suggested to her by Randy and SAC Bracket that she talk with someone. But what would talking do?

  She locked her gun away in her bedside safe and laid her badge on the nightstand. Sitting on the edge of her bed she could already feel the pull of old habits drawing her to the bar. She shut her eyes and attempted to will herself to shun the desire, but that only made it intensify.

  For eight years she had walked through life as a zombie. This had to change. She didn’t want to live like this anymore. The joy of her life was her job. It had been her dream for so long, and she had seen that dream come true. But even the love of her life, her job, couldn’t fill the huge hole in her soul.