Hidden Vices (12 page)

twenty-Three

They had a translator
for me while they searched my car. This fact didn't make it less confusing or startling. I could tell by the look on Callie and Ms. McGinn's face that something was wrong. The only thing I could think about was the man on the motorcycle, his hand around my mouth, unable to scream, and knowing I didn't know how to scream, or even what a scream sounded like.

I sat in the police station for a very long time. Mostly alone, but I knew I was being watched. I may be deaf, but there is closed captioning on television. I've seen the cop shows, which is why, even though I can't speak, I still remained silent. Some people consider this to be my curse. Now silence was my savior.

Megan parked in front of Krogh's. Sparta was preparing for the holiday season. Local merchants were decorating their windows. Men on ladders attached holiday lights to the trees overlooking Lake Mohawk. She remembered a time when she loved the holidays. She, her brother Brendan, and their father would go to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Her father would hoist her on his shoulders so she could see Santa when he waved to the crowd as he passed by. Afterward, there was a huge gathering for a Thanksgiving dinner with the McGinns and Murphys all together, but not this year. Three seats were empty at Thanksgiving and would be empty again at Christmas, and the reality of that gutted her.

Megan noticed a mailbox on the corner near Krogh's and dropped the package in. Good riddance. She couldn't get the videos out of her possession soon enough. She knew the brutal images of the assaults, the pure savageness of them, would stay with her forever.

Megan found Callie seated at the bar on his cell phone. He motioned for her to sit beside him and then waved down the bartender for drinks. He soon ended the call and gave Megan a kiss. “Thank you, and I'm sorry for what happened. Our argument.”

She nodded, not wanting to say very much. “So, what's going on?”

“I found a lawyer, Phillip Thompson. He's good. Very good.”

“That means expensive,” Megan commented in a rather jaded tone, which didn't go unnoticed by Callie.

“He's a media whore. It's pro bono. Are you okay?”

“Where is Vivian now?”

“Why are you ignoring my question?”

Megan was anxious as well as exhausted and doing a poor job of masking her mood. “Is Vivian in custody?”

“No, they released her a few hours ago. I took her back to the gatehouse. They impounded her car to do a more thorough search; at least, I think that's why they did. Police were all over Campbell's house when we got back. Do you know why?”

Megan rubbed her forehead and thought aloud. “They didn't arrest her. They know they don't have enough evidence. What time did they release her?”

“What does that matter?”

“Callie, what time did they release her? Jesus Christ, just answer the fucking question!” she snapped at him. She didn't mean to, but she was feeling too much, thinking too much. “Sorry. I had a long night.”

“I dropped Vivian at the gatehouse about three or four this morning. Why?”

Megan was hesitant, not wanting to relive what she'd witnessed on the videos. She leaned in close to Callie and barely whispered, “I searched through Campbell's house.”

“You broke into his house?” Callie was shocked. “I never asked you to break laws, Trouble; I just wanted your contacts, your influence. What in hell made you do that?”

Megan shook her head. “Don't. Don't.” She held up her hand. “You don't get a chance to lecture me or judge my actions. You haven't been where I've been.” Megan knew she wasn't talking about Campbell's room when she made the statement; she meant the last six months of her life. “I found a room,” she said, signaling for a second drink. “It was a secret room.”

“Like a panic room?” Callie asked.

“Maybe for some.” She knew it was poor form to say that and shook her head. “It was a—a sex room. It was disgusting.”

“How do you know?”

Megan gave Callie a glare. “Callie, I'm not fucking stupid. Jesus, there were a bunch of sex toys and robes. Videos.”

“What? Videos?” Callie finished his drink and ordered a second. “Megan, what are you telling me?”

She was just going to say it, hard and honest. “Campbell and others raped young boys. It was some kind of sex cult.”

Callie swallowed hard. “You know there were videos? Did you watch them? What … what happened?”

“It's brutal, and beyond disgusting. I took three out of his home.”

“Oh my God. You
stole
things from a crime scene. What were you thinking?”

“They've been returned.” Megan stared straight ahead when she answered. “And if you're suggesting I broke a law, think about what that man”—Megan pointed down at the newspaper on the bar, Judge Campbell's picture once again gracing the front page—“and his sick bastard friends did to those boys.” She needed to change the course of the conversation. “So, Vivian is back home, for now. That's good. They didn't have enough to charge her, but it also means she's still in the line of fire, even with what the police have uncovered. When do you see this lawyer?”

“
We
. In one hour at Vivian's. We'll take my car since yours is so recognizable.”

Neither Megan nor Callie were very hungry, but they needed to kill some of the alcohol in their systems. They ordered lunch to share. Megan couldn't help but state the obvious: “Callie, when all this comes out, this town is going to explode. You know that, right?”

His stare was vacant. “Yeah. How many videos were there?”

“What?” Megan was thrown by the question. “I don't know, why?”

“Do you think Vivian was in one?”

“No. It seemed to be just boys, very scared boys.”

“While we were at the police station, I remembered thinking about her car, Vivian's car. She had it in the shop for service a few days ago. So someone else had access to it. What do you think?”

“Anything is possible. I mean, someone could have done it right here, outside the restaurant, but, yes, it's possible it happened at the garage.” She turned to Callie. “Wait, why do I have the feeling you want me to somehow look into this garage?”

He squinted. “Didn't you mention that your engine light keeps coming on?” He stared down into his beer, waiting for her to get his shameful suggestion.

Megan ignored the coy attempt. “Where is the garage?”

“Right near Vivian's, around the corner. Actually it's on the way to your place.”

“Does a woman run the shop, she pumps gas?”

“Yeah, her name is Lynn. She owns the place, and her son works in the shop.”

“I stopped there when I first arrived.”

“And you'll be stopping by again.” He smiled, nudging her elbow. Then Callie noticed the time. “Let's go to Vivian's. I'm parked out back.”

They walked through the kitchen and were nearly out the door when Megan glanced to her right and stopped dead. A burlap sack filled with vegetables was on the counter.

“What's the matter, Trouble, you've never seen vegetables before?”

Twenty-Four

Megan was quiet as
they drove to Vivian's to meet with the pro bono lawyer. Seeing the burlap bag in Callie's restaurant forced her to recall the incident on the dock. The memory ran in snapshot mode through her mind as she tried to piece together the event with the clarity she had when working a case. What was the most overpowering were the smells. The pungent smell of the sack, which she was now sure had most likely been filled with onions at some point. The smell of smoke. The cigarettes had dark tips, but there wasn't enough time to see the brand. There wasn't time for anything, except to survive the moment. Survive the moment, as she hoped the boys she witnessed in the sex videos had, though her experiences on the force made her think and know differently. Her gut, as it slowly returned to being the honed tracking device she relied on in her life, didn't leave much hope for those victims.
Still, there's a chance
, she thought to herself.

It was obvious the lawyer had already arrived, given the sleek black Porsche parked in Vivian's driveway. For every pro bono
defense Phillip Thompson worked, he surely defended some very rich clients.

“I should have stayed in pre-law,” Callie said with an air of jealousy.

“Is it too late for me to marry rich?” Megan asked, giving Callie a gentle elbow jab.

Callie smiled. “
I'd
marry this guy, are you kidding me?”

They rang the doorbell. The lights flickered. Vivian answered the door immediately, signing with Callie.

Phillip Thompson stood up from the couch in the living room. He was not at all what Megan expected. She presumed he'd be tall, cocky. Pitbull lawyers have a way of handling themselves. Megan had seen enough of them in the courtroom. She'd dared even to call some of them menacing—not in regard to their looks but their courthouse style. Phillip Thompson was on the short side, with dark hair and glasses. His eyes were close together with arched eyebrows. His countenance, to Megan, was very jackal-esque. Smart, with laser-sharp attention and ready to pounce on any weakness. In any other circumstance, Megan would have hated him. In this situation, she knew that if anything were to happen to Vivian, this was the kind of lawyer that would be needed.

“I'm Phillip Thompson. No need for your introduction, obviously,” he directed toward Megan.

Fucking Oompa-Loompa
, Megan thought. She disguised her reaction by biting her lip so hard she was going to morph into Angelina Jolie.

Callie looked Megan's way and mouthed, “Please, don't.”

Phillip continued with his introductory speech. “Here is what we have so far, Callie. Would you please translate while I speak?” Phillip didn't wait for a response. “The good news is if they had any hard evidence on Vivian, she would have been arrested on the spot. Now, it doesn't mean they
don't
have anything. They could be holding on to information as they gather more evidence. I don't need to tell you that finding a knife in the trunk of her car goes against her.”

“We think it was planted. A setup,” Callie said.

“Vivian had her car in the shop for over twenty-four hours this week. Anyone could have had access to it to place the knife,” Megan said in a monotone.

Phillip nodded. “I'll need the information on that, name of the garage, who worked on the car, how long it was there.”

Vivian was signing back as fast as Callie was translating.

“She says she has all the paperwork of the work done on the car, but it's in the glove box of the car and the car is in the police impound lot. Is there a way to get to it?” Callie asked.

“The garage, I'm sure, has a copy of everything. I'd rather go that route than deal with the red tape to get into the car while in police custody. Small towns have a way of putting up roadblocks, especially in a case involving this particular
victim
.”

It didn't take a cast-iron skillet to hit Megan over the head (though many perps she'd locked up over the years would have enjoyed the moment) to make it obvious there had been bad blood between Phillip Thompson and Judge Monty Campbell.

“I'm curious, Mr. Thompson.” She noted he didn't ask her to refer to him as Phillip. “Why take on this case? How did Campbell cross you?”

He offered a respectful nod and an ominous smile. “Let's say Judge Campbell impeded certain employment opportunities I was overtly qualified for, and leave it at that.”

Megan possessed many attributes—some conflicting and dark, some clear as a crystal vase—but being wrong was usually not one of them. She smiled, gaining another inch in the direction of reclaiming a piece of her broken self.

Broken, not shattered
, she reminded herself.

Vivian's signing became faster, so fast Callie had a hard time keeping up with her.

“What is she saying?” Megan asked.

Callie asked Vivian to slow down when Thompson interrupted, “Wait, let's start from the beginning. I need to know everything.”

Megan went to get Vivian a glass of water when she caught a glimpse of a photo on the refrigerator. Vivian and her mother were in a boat on Lake Hopatcong. They both had huge smiles. Her mother had her arms wrapped around Vivian. It was obvious Vivian gained all of her good looks from her mother. They shared the same smile, the same glow. She thought back to the photos of her and her own mother, Rose. There weren't many, but the few Megan had meant the world to her, especially now with Rose gone. Photos were the only things remaining, some good memories too. As with the pictures, those were few and far between as well.

Megan looked through the kitchen window at the judge's house and the only thought she could come up with was how impossible it was to think that Vivian's mother would kill herself and leave Vivian with such a monster.

I'm only scratching the surface
, Megan thought to herself.

Megan returned to the living room with the water as Thompson began his questioning. He started with the last time Vivian saw the judge. She hesitated signing, and Callie prompted her to answer.

“She's holding back. Callie, tell her we have to know everything,” Megan urged.

Callie spoke through each word he signed. He told her it was safe to tell everyone in the room everything, that they were all there to help her. She was still hesitant when Megan picked up one of the framed photos on the coffee table. Pointing at her mother's photo, she mouthed, “Do it for her. Your mother.”

“That's a little harsh, don't you think?” Callie snapped at Megan.

Thompson intervened. “No, it's not. She's holding back something. I can't do my job unless we have all of her information, so, no, it's not too harsh.”

Vivian stared at her mother's photo, then leaned forward and took it out of Megan's hand. She held it in her lap as she began signing with Callie. She told them of the night she woke up and saw the judge in the great room having an argument with someone. How there was some kind of fight where the glasses were thrown against the window. Vivian abruptly stopped signing, clearly wrestling with the next part.

“Callie, she's hedging.” Megan looked at Vivian and mouthed, “It's okay.”

Vivian's demeanor suddenly took on that of a wounded doe. She was truly scared, bordering on shamed. Vivian took a steadying breath and told them about entering the house and going into the great room, seeing her father dead on the floor with a knife sticking out of his chest. How he had wounds everywhere. His throat was slashed, his arms were cut, and the knife rested deep inside his loveless heart.

Megan, Callie, and Thompson thought they'd heard everything until Vivian began signing again, explaining that she took the knife out of the judge and plunged it back in. Megan turned away, knowing exactly how bad this was. “Fuck.”

Thompson rubbed his forehead and shook his head.

“I don't understand,” Callie shouted. “He was already dead! She did this out of anger. He was terrible to her. This should be good news. Vivian didn't murder him.” Callie searched Megan's and Thompson's expressions for vindication only to find distressed reactions to Vivian's admission.

Megan spoke in an even tone to a situation that was less than tranquil. “Callie, her prints will most likely be found on the knife when Forensics comes back.”

“But he was dead. She said he was already dead when she went into the room.” Callie signed to Vivian asking her for the second time if the judge was dead when she entered the great room, and for a second time she answered yes.

“See?”

“I'm sure he
was
dead, but there's really no way for us to prove that in a situation like this,” Thompson said.

Callie was starting to unravel. “Okay, then answer me this. How could Vivian move the body some six hundred yards to throw in the lake?” He shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment of Megan and Thompson's lack of enthusiasm toward this obvious obstacle in the case against Vivian.

Vivian was exceptional at reading lips, and even if she weren't, the expressions before her pretty much read like instructions for Things Not To Do at a Crime Scene. She signed she was sorry.

Callie asked Thompson, “So, what do we do now?”

“I would suggest going back to the police and admitting she was in the house and did this. Ms. McGinn is correct. They will find her prints, and then it could get very bad. Was she able to see who was in the house with Campbell? Any description at all?”

Vivian shook her head no.

“Okay, then. We should go. You have somewhere else to go, I believe,” Callie said to Megan.

“Wait, Mr. Thompson. There is something else you could use for leverage,” Megan suggested.

“What would that be?” He started to pack up his briefcase.

“Judge Campbell was, I believe, in charge of a sex ring. A pedophile sex ring.”

“What?! How do you know this? Wait! Don't answer that; otherwise I'm required to answer if I'm asked how I know.”

“There were videos of the assaults in a secret room in the judge's house. The police have them. They know,” Megan answered.

He shook his head. “This is going to be a nightmare, but you are right. I can use this information to my advantage. Who else knows?”

“I do,” Callie answered.

“Does Vivian know about this secret room?”

Callie asked, and she answered no and added that she was never allowed in that part of the house.