Profile of Evil (27 page)

“
What about?”

“
We talked about school and her difficulties with her parents.”

“
But that’s not all,” Carly said. “And don’t lie to us because we have the transcript of all your email conversations.”

“
Oh, shit,” he said again, this time with a heavy sigh as he rubbed his hands over his face. “Well, if you already know, why are you asking me questions?”

Cameron leaned forward, focusing all his attention on Daniel Suggs. “Because we want to hear it from you. Tell us about your relationship with Amanda.”

“
We became close and wanted to meet in person. She lived in Terre Haute, so I sent her a bus ticket to Morel.”

“
How long ago was this?”

“
I don’t know, maybe seven or eight months ago.”

“
Keep going.”

“
Things didn’t go well once she arrived and discovered how old I was. She got pissed that I’d posted a photo of myself when I was fourteen and lied to her about my age. Amanda wanted to get back on the bus to go home, but there were no more buses going to Terre Haute until the next day, so we went to my house.”

“
How many times did you have sex with her?” asked Carly.

“
Sex? I didn’t have sex with her. I swear. We went to my house, ordered a pizza, and just talked. Amanda was very unhappy. She’d lost her parents in a car accident and missed them terribly. She hated living with her grandmother and hadn't made any friends in her new school.”

Cameron broke in, “That’s a pretty story, Daniel. But considering what we know about your obsession with sex, I don’t believe that’s all that happened.”

Weeping again, Daniel cried, “I swear I’m telling the truth. I didn’t touch her. I slept on the sofa that night and took her to the bus station the next day. Check at the bus station, maybe someone remembers me buying the ticket.”

Cameron slammed his fist on the metal table and Suggs nearly jumped out of his chair. “You know Amanda is dead, don’t you Daniel? I think you know how she got that way. What happened? Did she threaten to call the cops on you?”

Visibly shaken, Daniel bawled, “No. You have to believe me. I didn’t kill her. I would never have hurt her, not in a million years.”

Carly slipped another photograph out of her file and held it up for Daniel. "Remember Jasmine Norris? She’s missing. Coincidentally, you communicated with Jasmine online, too. I don’t like coincidences. We’ve got two missing girls, one of them is dead, and guess what? They both talked with Daniel Suggs online. What are the chances?”

Daniel gulped as more tears streamed down his face. “Yes, I knew Jasmine. We talked online, but we never met in person. I didn’t even have a chance to ask her, because she met another guy online and told me she was in love with him.”

“
What guy?” demanded Cameron.

“
I don’t know. Jasmine didn’t give me his name when she dropped me.”

Hearing a knock on the other side of the one-way mirror, Carly said, “We need to leave now.”

“
Please, could you bring me a bottle of water when you come back?” Daniel pleaded.

“
Sure,” Cameron called over his shoulder as he closed the door.

They joined Brody, who had been watching the interview from the observation glass. “What do you think?”

Cameron replied, “I’ll work the next five years for free if that guy killed anyone.”

“
I agree,” added Carly. “He openly admitted communicating with both girls. I even believe his account of what happened with Amanda when she came to meet him. I think he has an obsession with child pornography and may have even molested some children. But is he our serial killer? I don’t think so."

<><><>

It was mid-afternoon, so Brody was surprised to see Deputy Jim Ryder standing in his office. He'd known the deputy for five years and had only seen him in the office in the early morning hours when Ryder was in his cubicle, checking his emails before his shift. But this early? Never.

"What's up?"

"I've got Shelly Tyler in the interview room."

With raised eyebrows, Brody asked, "Shelly Tyler? Isn't she the waitress at the Donut Place? What did she do? Burn your Krispy Kreme?"

"That’s funny, Sheriff. That may cost you a couple of your favorite chocolate-filled doughnuts next time I bring in a box," Ryder shot back with a grin. "She's pissed off at her husband, Ron, and claims he has a meth lab at the house."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, she says she can prove it."

"Did you run her background so I can review it before I talk to her?"

"Yes, sir," Ryder said, as he slid the report across Brody's desk. Heading out, he called over his shoulder, "I'm going back on patrol if you need me."

Brody skimmed the report. Shelly Shipman Tyler was twenty-seven- years-old, the same age as his brother, Gabe. After graduation from Morel High School, she married Ron Tyler, thirty-nine, and moved to his farm off state road fifty-five. As far as criminal history, Shelly had one drunk and disorderly when she was twenty, but nothing since. She'd worked at the Donut Place as a waitress for the past six years.

Ron Tyler's background told a different story. He'd been in and out of jail since his early teens and had a variety of charges ranging from petty theft to
aggravated assault and battery. If he was running a meth lab, Ron Tyler was entering Class A felony land, with a possible twenty to fifty years in prison.

Brody sighed with relief when he noticed Ron and Shelly Tyler did not have children. At their last meth bust, deputies discovered two children, ages two and four, hiding in a closet. They were poster kids for the malnourished, improperly clothed, and neglected. Both kids had tested positive for having methamphetamine in their bodies because of their exposure to the second-hand smoke lavishly provided by their parents — two people who should have protected their children instead of condemning them to a life of chronic health problems.

Over the past few years, the number of clandestine meth labs was on the rise in Shawnee County. Meth labs were a scourge that meant trouble for law enforcement as well as first responders who have to deal with hazardous materials, corrosives, flammables, and great amounts of trash and debris at the scene. If not handled properly, injuries and deaths could occur.

Brody
pulled a file folder out of his desk and slipped Shelly's background information inside. Before he went into the interview room, he slipped into what
looked like a small observation room situated next to the interview room and glanced through the one-way glass at Shelly Tyler.

The department recorded all interviews and stored the recordings on DVDs, so Brody flipped on the television and the recording equipment, slipped in a fresh DVD, then stood
at the one-way glass to get a good look at Shelly Tyler before he went in. She had to be the most emaciated woman he'd ever seen, just skin and bones, with reddened sores all over her face and arms. With short, spiked hair, dyed a flaming red, she looked like she'd just escaped from a burning building.

Her body was in constant movement, as she alternated between picking at her skin and pulling at strands of her hair. He'd bet anything this woman was a meth-head. At this moment, her anger at her husband was outweighing her need for the drug, but Brody knew that as time went on, her need for meth would supersede all else. If he wanted information, he needed to move fast.

In the interview room, he placed his folder on the table, sat down and looked at Shelly. "Would you like a cup of coffee, water or anything else?"

"Not now," she replied. "You're one of the Chase brothers, aren't you?

"Yes, do I know you?"

"Probably not. You're older than your two brothers, and we didn't exactly run in the same high school circles," she began. "Your brother, Gabe, was in a couple of my classes. I used to be hot for him big time, but don't think he ever noticed me."

Brody nodded and changed the subject, "Deputy Ryder said you have something to tell me."

Shelly crossed her arms tightly across her breasts, as if that were the only thing she could do to still the constant, jerky movement of her hands. "My sonofabitch husband, Ron, has a meth lab and has been cooking for more than five years."

"If that's true, why haven't you reported this before?" asked Brody.

Fidgeting in her chair, she responded, "Guess I was afraid."

"Afraid of Ron, or afraid to lose your supply?"

"Fuck you," Shelly spat, as she glared at him.

"How'd you get those burn marks on your lips, Shelly?"
Brody
pressed on.

"Hot coffee," she returned, with her eyes glued to the table.

"Hot coffee? Did hot coffee cause those track marks on your arms too?"

Shoving the sleeves of her green sweater down to her wrists, she looked at the floor.

"You're looking very thin, Shelly. How much do you weigh?"

"Not your business, but around ninety pounds. I've been on the Jenny Crank diet," she answered and then laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I'm a user. So fucking what? I'm handing you a meth lab on a silver platter. You interested or not?"

"You may know about a meth lab, or you may not. How do I know you're not spinning a story just to get back at your husband?" It wasn't that
Brody
thought she was lying, but he knew unless she had some kind of evidence to back up her story, he couldn't move on it.

Shelly picked up an old brown leather purse from the floor and dug around in it until she found an envelope. Plucking out a photograph, she slammed it on the table in front of
Brody
and said, "What does that look like to you, Sherlock?"

He picked up the photo of what looked like an ordinary kitchen. Except in this kitchen, a row of Coleman camping fuel cans filled a shelf of an open cabinet. Large open boxes of coffee filters, small plastic bags, and lithium batteries lined the wall under a window. There was also a supply of drain cleaner, paint thinner, and rock salt.

On the kitchen counter were dozens of packages of Sudafed and other types of cold medicines next to a coffee grinder and a blender. This section of the counter appeared to be coated with white powder.

"How's he getting all the decongestants?" asked
Brody. If Ron was cooking meth, he'd need a steady supply of decongestants with pseudoephedrine. It was a precursor ingredient, and it wasn't sold over the counter. You had to ask a pharmacist for it, and he or she recorded your name and address.

"There's a group of us who go to different pharmacies at least twice a month."

Brody
nodded. This information would be easy to verify. The state's pharmacies recorded in a database any purchases of decongestants with
pseudoephedrine.

"I'm going to need names."

Shelly shifted in her chair. Obviously, she had not expected to be asked for names. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"They wouldn't have to know the names came from you."

Shelly nodded, considered this offer, but said nothing. She slid another photo to him. This one was a shot of a messy living room. On the coffee table was a dozen small plastic bags filled with powder or crystal meth, short straws, a small mirror with a razor blade, a couple of burned spoons, rubber tubing, a glass pipe, and three syringes.

Brody
stared hard at Shelly for a moment and said, "So why are you here, Shelly? Sounds like you've had close to five years to report Ron's meth lab. Why now? And don't even think about lying to me."

Tears glittering in her eyes, she said, "He's dumping me." She pulled a tissue out of her purse to blow her nose. "The bastard is leaving me for a thirteen-year-old girl."

An alarm going off in his head,
Brody
straightened in his seat. "How do you know this?"

"He left his laptop open when he left the house yesterday. I heard a beep and looked at the screen and saw he'd gotten a message from @HotBloomieTeen. I opened it. The email was from this girl in Bloomington. I think Ron asked this girl for her photo." Shelly pulled out a folded piece of paper that she spread out on the table to show to him.

Brody
stared at the paper. The girl in the photo looked too young to even be interested in boys, and here she was sending a naked photo of herself to a man old enough to be her father. It looked like the photo had been taken by a web cam. Posing with a seductive pout, she had one finger in her mouth, and with her other hand was inserting two fingers into her vagina. Bile rushed to
Brody's
throat; he felt nauseous. Her underdeveloped breasts were a sign that she was more child than even a teenager.

"How do you know Ron is leaving you for her?"

"It was pretty clear in their emails. They're making arrangements to meet," said Shelly, as she dabbed at the stream of tears running from her eyes.

"Do you know where?"