Virna DePaul: It Started That Night

John frowned. “Just what are you insinuating?”

Park raised his hand in an appeasing gesture. “Nothing. It’s just, I’ve always felt he got off easy because he was a cop.”

Park had apparently forgotten that’s what John was. “We’re exploring everything, Mr. Park.”

“Oh sure, sorry. It’s just with the memory loss and all …”

“What,” John prompted when the man hesitated.

“Well, there’s all those cases about sexual abuse and women remembering it years later. I wonder if …”

Park trailed off as John stared at him.

“So now you’re accusing Doug of molesting his daughters? I’d be careful who I said that to.”

“Oh, I’m not accusing. I just thought, you know, it shouldn’t be dismissed offhand. Right?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you for your help.”

As John drove away, he tried to calm the adrenaline buzzing through his body. Park didn’t know what he was talking about.

But yet, his mind countered, was it really that unbelievable? Incestuous molestations were a sad fact of life. Plus, he’d seen Doug manhandle Lily once after walking her home. Doug had spewed his accusations about John dealing drugs while ignoring the way Lily had gasped in pain when he’d grabbed her wrist. John had instantly seen red. He’d grabbed the older man’s wrist, forgetting that he was a cop who could have him thrown in jail again. All he’d known was he was hurting Lily. He could’ve hurt Tina, too.

Then there was the fact that Lily resembled her mother, and that she’d had marks on her, faint but still there, when she’d come to his party.

He pulled over, rolled down the window, and took several deep breaths to clear his head. Now he was letting his imagination get away from him. Poor Doug Cantrell was no longer just a murder suspect in his mind, but a sexual abuser, as well.

Rein yourself in, John.

He started driving again, the picture of a happy family in his rearview mirror.

One thing for sure, he wasn’t going to rest easy until he knew for certain The Razor was caught and that nothing—and no one—posed a threat to Lily or her family again.

John worked like a madman all the next day, hunting down potential video surveillance or witnesses for any of The Razor’s victims, pausing only when his stomach grumbled, calling his attention to the hollow feeling in his gut. He hadn’t eaten anything but the banana and apple he’d grabbed on the way out this morning. He glanced at the clock, surprised that it was almost 6:00 p.m.

He took a break, wolfed down pretzels and a soda from the vending machine, and confirmed the office was virtually deserted. Returning to his desk, he stared at the paperwork covering the surface.

One picture bothered him more than others. Staring at it, he struggled with the frustration of knowing something—he just didn’t know what—was wrong.

In the picture, Tina lay in bed; her arms were by her side with her hands resting near her stomach. Her legs were bent.

Suddenly, it hit him. It looked like someone had stretched an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. The way a groom would carry his bride over the threshold.

He already knew from the autopsy report that Tina hadn’t died in her bed; that meant her body had been moved there. What if someone had moved her from the hard floor to the soft bed because he’d felt guilty? What if he’d moved her because he’d cared about her?

Under that theory, the positioning of her body actually supported Park’s implication that Doug Cantrell, and not Hardesty, had killed Tina.

He rifled through some boxes until he found what he was looking for. A plastic baggie containing a tape of Doug Cantrell’s 911 call. Walking to a table on the other side of the office, John inserted the tape into a tape player and pressed Play.

First static. Then Cantrell’s voice.

“Help me. My wife and I … my daughter and I … ” He sobbed. “My wife … I just found her … . Oh my God, she’s dead.”

John’s stomach spasmed at the gut-wrenching grief in Cantrell’s voice.

“Where are you, sir? Are you safe?”

“Yes, yes. My name is Douglas Cantrell. I’m an officer with Roseville P.D. I just brought my daughter home. My wife and I…?. I mean, we’re divorced… . She’s been murdered. Stabbed. Oh, God.”

“Where is your daughter now? Is she with you?”

“Yes. Lily, come here.”

John tensed but didn’t hear Lily’s voice. No crying. Nothing.

“Lily … she found the body but I can’t get her to respond. She won’t talk. She’s in shock. Oh God, Lily.”

The dispatcher confirmed the address and said officers were on their way. That had been at 12:35 a.m. John had arrived at Lily’s house less than ten minutes later.

Picking up the phone, he called Thorn. “It’s John.”

“Hey, thanks for taking time out of your busy day. Or did Murdoch forget to tell you I stopped by yesterday?”

“No, he told me.”

Silence buzzed in John’s ear as Thorn waited for him to explain. He didn’t say a word.

Thorn sighed. “Look, I know you’re still pissed at me for breaking up with Carmen, but we have to work this case together.”

“I’m not pissed about you and Carmen,” John said, and it was true. Thorn wasn’t a good friend, but he’d become a better one since he’d started dating his sister. Thorn had ended the relationship months ago, but Carmen refused to say why. “She’s hurting but so are you. I’m not blind to that, just to your reasons. If you want to explain, fine.”

When he responded, Thorn’s voice was tight. “I talked to Doug Cantrell.”

“Funny. He’s been dodging all my calls.”

“Not surprised. I am surprised, however, by the fact he thinks you’re a druggie. And that you have a history of harassing his daughter.”

“I didn’t harass her. She slapped me when I tried to comfort her at her mother’s murder scene. She was sixteen. Pissed because I’d rejected her. You have the police report from that night, Thorn. I’m listed on it. You telling me you didn’t see that?”

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