I'm sorry it's been so long between postings! December is such a busy month. I hope that everyone had a happy holiday and a safe and happy New Year. Hopefully now I can get back to more regular postings. Thank you for your continued interest, and as always I appreciate all reviews. Cathy.
Chapter 35
"Thanks for agreeing to come in and talk with us voluntarily, Mr. Foss," Brass told the sandy-haired man congenially. "Have a seat."
"Sure, no problem," the other man replied. "And Barry is fine."
Could this be the guy? Brass wondered, as he took a chair on the opposite side of the table. Barry Foss didn't look like a cold-blooded killer. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance. Foss was tall; on the thin side. He had a narrow, clean-shaven face, pale blue eyes, and a slight overbite. He was the kind of guy who had no distinguishing features, one who passed unnoticed in a crowd. Of course, Brass reasoned, not all serial killers had the crazed, maniacal look of a Manson. You couldn't tell just by looking at someone whether or not he was a sociopath. It sure would make Brass' job easier if you could, though.
Brass had returned from Mesquite at about noon, and gone back to his office where he had holed up with the Holiday Murder files. He kept thinking about his earlier conversation with Sharon Gracin. About her belief that Todd Juneau was not guilty of the murders. Brass had decided to entertain that premise for the moment, and he went back to the beginning, back to when they had first begun to suspect Juneau.
There had been the statements by Marilyn Hegel's husband that Juneau had been bothering her. Confirmed by other cashiers who verified that Hegel had confided to them that the grocery clerk made her uncomfortable. There was the statement made by the deli clerk, who had seen what appeared to be an argument between Juneau and Hegel in the parking lot of the supermarket the day Hegel disappeared. Hegel telling him to leave her alone. There was the physical evidence that Ecklie had uncovered, Juneau's fingerprint on the roof of Hegel's car.
Obtaining and excercising the search warrant, they had gone through Juneau's home. There they had confiscated large amounts of pornography, both videos and written materials. And then Elliott Keeth had discovered the album, filled with the photographs of Marilyn Hegel. Photos that showed Juneau had been stalking her for some time.
Discovering the police at his address, removing materials, Juneau had fled. He had not returned to his home, nor had he gone back to work for two days, missing scheduled shifts. This action had seemed to evidence guilt, and an arrest warrant had been issued.
Why else would Juneau run? Brass had asked himself. If he was truly innocent, why would he evade police? Brass tried to get inside Juneau's head, based on what the sister had told him. Juneau was spoiled. Selfish. He had never had to face the consequences of his own wrongful actions before. Daddy had always stepped in to save him. But Daddy wasn't around anymore, he had died the previous year. There was no one to intercede this time.
And now a woman that Juneau had been stalking was dead. The police were at his house, and they would have found not only his stash of porn, some of it illegal, but the pictures he had taken of Hegel. Juneau could probably guess what they would think.
After being on the run for two days, Juneau had called his sister in Mesquite. A sister that he had not seen or spoken to in several years. Juneau had been scared. Desperate. Asking for money. His brother-in-law not only turns him down, but adds to his fears with talk of prison, and what Todd will find there.
Later that day, Juneau calls a co-worker, Barry Foss, and makes the same plea for money. The same protestations of innocence. Why would Juneau have called the sister first? The sister that he had sexually abused as a child. The sister that he had had no contact with. Why call her before calling a friend? They hadn't known, at the time, that the call to Foss was the second incidence of contact Juneau had made.
So Juneau is alone. Scared out of his wits. Knowing the police are looking for him, for three murders that he didn't commit. He can't access his bank account, and withdraw cash from an ATM because he can guess that his bank card has been flagged. He also can't use it anywhere for debit purchases. Same thing goes for his VISA. All he has are the clothes on his back, and his car. The police have his vehicle description and plate number. He can't even drive to Mexico, assuming he'd even try to make it across the border, because by now he's probably low on gas, and he can't risk stopping some place to fill up.
What if...considering how he had been trailing her so persistently...Juneau had seen what had happened to Hegel? What if he had witnessed her abduction? What if he knows the real killer? But, not sure if the police would believe him, and figuring he would still be in trouble for the porn and the photos of Hegel, Juneau decides that skipping the country is still his best bet. He's never had to face the ramifications of his actions before. He might still go to jail for the stalking, and his brother-in-law's words of what that will be like, haunt him.
So, Juneau contacts the killer. He contacts Foss. Tells him that he knows Foss killed Hegel, and therefore the other women too. But promises to keep quiet, in exchange for enough money to get out of the country. Maybe by this point he's picked up the toy gun at a dollar store somewhere. Perhaps, getting desperate for money, he had contemplated trying to rob a convenience store, if his plan to get money from Foss didn't pan out.
But Foss double crosses him. Calls the cops. When they are there to arrest him, Juneau panics. Runs across the parking lot, away from police. Furthering cementing his guilt in the minds of his pursuers. Realizing he is trapped and has no where to go, either in stupidity, or figuring that suicide-by-cop was better than having to go to jail, or maybe just having seen one too many action flicks and forgetting this was real life, Juneau pulls the toy gun on Takei. And Takei shoots and kills him.
Maybe Juneau doesn't know anything about Foss. Maybe he only suspects his co-worker was involved in the murders. Maybe Foss isn't involved at all. But...if Foss and Juneau were such great friends...why didn't Juneau go to the other man first? Before he contacted the sister. At the time of Foss's call, nine years ago, notifying them that Juneau had called him and was meeting him at the store, Brass and the other detectives had made the assumption that Foss and Juneau were friends and that that was why Todd had asked for money and thought Foss would comply. They had thought that Foss had turned Juneau in because he was a concerned citizen doing the right thing. But perhaps those assumptions had been erroneous. Maybe there was another reason Juneau had contacted Barry Foss with an expectation that Foss might assist him.
And, going back to the premise that Juneau was guilty, if Juneau was the killer...or if he was involved in some way, and had a partner...who was a more logical suspect than Barry Foss? The man Todd had turned to to get money to help him evade police. Something didn't add up. Knowing now that Juneau had gone to Foss after he'd gone to the sister, knowing that Foss hadn't been Juneau's first choice to seek help from, put an entirely different spin on what had transpired all those years ago.
Brass was tired, and he rubbed his left hand over that side of his face, before running it back and through his thinning hair. His eyes ached, blearly from the hours he had spent going back over old notes, both his own and those of the other detectives. Initial statements from co-workers at the supermarket, taken by Denny Martens...before the search warrant had been executed and in the initial stages of the investigation when they had first turned their interest to Todd Juneau...had been that Juneau was a loner. That he didn't socialize with any of the others outside of work. No one knew much about his personal life except that he was unmarried, and that aside from his interest in the married Marilyn Hegel, which she had repeatedly rebuffed, Juneau had kept to himself.
Martens had interviewed Barry Foss at the time, then a grocery clerk like Juneau, and Foss had not indicated that he and Juneau were friends, or that they were close in any way. Foss had not been able to confirm or discount Juneau's interest in Hegel. He had had nothing to add to the investigation. Denny had either failed to recall, or had discounted the importance of that discrepancy later on.
So why had Todd Juneau called Barry Foss that fateful day and why had he felt he could reasonably expect that Foss would help him? Why Foss?
A couple of phone calls this evening had determined that Barry Foss no longer worked at the same supermarket location where he had worked with Juneau and Hegel at the time of the murders. He was still with the same chain, promoted now to assistant store manager at a downtown location. Brass had stopped by the store a few hours ago to talk with Foss, and had found the other man supervising the unloading of a delivery truck at the rear of the store. The detective had recognized Foss, remembering him from the night Juneau had been shot.
Foss had recognized him as well, Brass knew, and he had seen the uneasiness come over the man's thin features. Had watched the wary shifting of Foss's blue-eyed gaze, refusing to meet his own. Brass had told him that he was following up something from the murders of nine years ago and wanted to talk to Foss. The assistant manager's eyes had widened with surprise, then he had turned his back to the detective, ostensibly to direct the unloading of some dairy products to one of the big coolers. The other man's voice had seemed strained as he reminded a young clerk to strap in a dolly of milk crates so they wouldn't topple.
Foss had finally turned back to Brass, and with a fixed smile had remarked that he would be happy to talk to the detective, but that he was rather busy right then, and that he was in charge of the store closing that evening. Foss had said that he would be done by eleven thirty, and would be happy to stop by the station then, if Brass would like, since it was on his way home. Brass had accepted the offer and thanked Foss for his co-operation.
Foss appeared nervous, sitting across from Brass now. But the detective knew that many people were intimidated just by being in the precinct building, and that for many, even innocent people with nothing to hide, it could be unsettling to be questioned by police. Foss's unease might not indicate anything meaningful at all. Or...Foss might be their killer.
"We were wondering, Barry, if you would give us a sample of your handwriting?" Brass asked off-handedly, as though the request was perfectly natural.
Foss frowned. "My handwriting? Why? I thought you wanted to talk about Todd Juneau, or Marilyn Hegel. Those terrible murders." The blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Though I don't understand why you'd bring it up again now, after all these years."
"Yeah," Brass said with a smile. "I do. I'll get to that. Of course, we can't compell you to give us a sample, your prescence here is strictly voluntary, which the LVPD appreciates." He didn't explain his reasoning for wanting the writing sample. He just sat there, with his elbows on the table, looking expectantly at Foss.
Clearly, Foss was confused. Brass watched him intently, looking for signs of guilt. Wondering if Foss would get up and walk out. Or perhaps demand a lawyer.
"Sure, okay," Foss said at last. "If it'll help you somehow."
Brass was mildly surprised that Foss would give up a sample so easily. That could either mean that Foss hadn't penned any of the letters. Or it could mean that he thought he was clever enough to try to change his handwriting, to alter it enough so that it would not resemble the writing on the letters they had in evidence. Or perhaps Foss thought he could provide a sample, which on the surface would make him look innocent, leave the station, and then disappear before they had completed their analysis and had enough to issue an arrest warrant.
"Catherine," Brass called towards the open doorway of the interrogation room.
Catherine Willows entered at the detective's beckoning. She smiled at the suspect charmingly, to try to put him at ease. As she handed Foss a sheet of paper and a pen, and explained that she would read several sentences to him, and that he should just write them down exactly as she dictated, her mind swirled with questions. Could this be the guy who had been involved in the Holiday Murders along with Juneau? Could this innocuous looking man have planned and executed the murders of three police detectives? Did they have him? Was this all going to end tonight, and things could go back to normal, and she could stop worrying that Jim Brass's life was in imminent danger?
She watched as Foss reached for the pen with his right hand. The creator of the letters was right handed. But so was the majority of the population. The true test would be the composition of the paragraph Ronnie had given them. The analyst waited in another room nearby, ready to go over the sample as soon as Catherine could bring it to him. Clearing her throat, she began to read what appeared to be a series of disjointed sentences.
On the other side of the glass window, Cecilia watched the proceedings in the room. She stood ramrod straight, her hands clenched at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms. When Catherine had gotten the call from Jim that he had a suspect coming in to the station tonight, Cecilia had prayed that this would be all over. That Jim would be safe.
She hadn't seen or spoken to him since she had fled from his apartment yesterday morning. She had learned from Catherine that Jim had come into the lab later that morning to talk with Ronnie about his analysis of the letters. They had learned that whoever had written the three letters to police at the time of the original murders, had indeed been the same person who had written the letter to Detective Martens. And Catherine had explained that they had definitively proven that the letter to Martens had been written recently. After the death of Todd Juneau.
Catherine had expressed her surprise that Cecilia had not accompanied Jim back to the lab. Cecilia had been unable to hide her distress, and Catherine, thankfully, hadn't pressed for an explanation. Conversation last night between the women had been brief and strained. Catherine was working tirelessly, going through old evidence, double checking everything that Conrad Ecklie had originally processed. Last night she had reconfirmed that the print taken from Hegel's car had matched Juneau's left index finger. She had cross-referenced other prints taken from the car's trunk, against Hegel and her husband. Cecilia had watched her work, observing the intensity with which the CSI approached each task. As though each detail could mean the difference between life and death. And secretly both women believed that it might.
That first day, after the scene with Jim at his apartment, Cecilia had gone back to her place. Too upset to sleep, she had lain down in bed anyways, rolling and tossing restlessly. She had realized that initially she had been expecting Jim to call. Or to come over. To tell her that it was all a mistake, that he hadn't meant to just shut her out, and that what they had was important to him. That he was just stressed out right now. But that they would get through this. Together.
But he hadn't called and he hadn't come over to her apartment. Even after he had had time to reflect on what had transpired, Jim had obviously meant what he had said. He had never viewed their relationship as anything long term. He had always anticipated it ending at some point. Jim Brass was not emotionally invested in Cecilia at all, despite what she had hoped. And now, when he was in the midst of this crisis, he did not need her to comfort him and support him. Her prescence would merely be a burden. An unwanted distraction that might get him killed.
He looked so tired, Cecilia thought. She ached to be able to comfort Jim. She wanted this to be over for him. She watched him, as he watched Barry Foss write down the words that Catherine spoke slowly and clearly. She saw the vein that throbbed in Jim's temple, and could only imagine how tension-filled this moment was for him. Unconsciously, Cecilia raised one hand to the glass, and over it traced the contours of his dear face.
"Thank you, Mr. Foss," Catherine was saying briskly. She took the sheet of paper, casting a glance at the detective, her sapphire eyes brimming with the hopes that both of them held. Jim nodded, the barest inclination of his head, and then the CSI was moving off, on her way to where Ronnie waited.
Catherine came around the corner, pausing in the corridor. There was something so indefinably sad about the way Cecilia stood leaning against the glass, her dark eyes riveted on the detective. Cecilia was in love with Jim Brass, Catherine knew intuitively. Deeply and completely in love with the gruff, battle-weary cynic who had come, over the years, to be Catherine's friend. What that was going to mean for either of the two, Catherine did not know.
Sensing her prescene, Cecilia turned.
"I'm taking this to Ronnie," Catherine said needlessly. Cecilia stared at the paper in the other woman's hands. "It shouldn't take too long."
Cecilia nodded. There was nothing to say. No words to encompass the enormity of what Ronnie might determine.
Catherine sensed that Cecilia was not going to accompany her, but would remain here, watching Brass. Waiting with him, in a sense. The blonde reached to touch the other woman's shoulder, her own throat too tight now to express the comfort she wanted to extend. Instead she gave a gentle squeeze, then continued down the hall.
Brass sat back in his chair, and regarded Foss. "The day Todd Juneau was killed, you reported that he called you, wanted to borrow money, and was meeting you at the grocery store." Brass smiled. "That was the break we needed, and thanks to you we were able to apprehend a murderer and stop the killings." He watched Foss bow his head and shrug his narrow shoulders self-deprecatingly, though the other man gave a small smile at the gratitude.
"There's something I don't get though, Barry," Brass continued, his voice lightly tinged with curiosity. "Why you? Why did Juneau call you?"
"He, uh, he wanted to borrow some money," Foss said, seemingly confused by the question.
"Yeah, sure," Brass agreed nodding. He leaned forward across the table, and his dark eyes narrowed speculatively. "But why you, Barry? Why would Juneau call you?" He titled his head.
Foss looked down and away. "Because we worked together, I guess," he mumbled, shifting in his seat.
"I guess Juneau wasn't a very smart guy, huh?" Brass inquired genially. "He knows he's got an arrest warrant out for him. We're closing the net. And he calls some guy that he works with, expecting that guy is going to not only give him money...aiding and abetting, which is a serious crime in itself...but he must not have been expecting that guy to call the cops.
"Why you, Barry? Why would Todd think you would be that guy?" Brass's dark eyes were piercing. "You told Detective Martens you hardly knew Juneau. You weren't friends or anything. Right? So why would Todd call you?"
"I don't know," Foss replied evasively.
"I think you do know," Brass went on. "I think there was a reason Juneau called you. A reason he thought you would help him. Why don't you make this easier on both of us, Barry, and just tell me."
"Look, I did the right thing," Foss said, "I called you guys. Because of me you got him, you said so yourself." Foss risked a glance back up at the detective.
"Yeah, we already established that you were a big help," Brass said dismissively. "But you still haven't answered my question, Barry, and see I just don't like unanswered questions. They bother me. They interrupt my sleep at night. I don't like it when something interferes with my sleep." Brass watched the other man closely, to see if there was any recognition, any reaction to the talk of troubled sleep.
Foss remained silent.
"Okay, I've got a couple of theories I'll share then," Brass told him with exaggerated brightness. "Juneau had a partner. Someone was helping him murder those women. And when he got stuck between a rock and a hard place, he figured his partner would bail him out."
Foss paled as the words sank in. "No..." he denied hoarsely.
"Or, maybe Todd wasn't the killer after all. Maybe he was just a patsy. He'd been stalking Marilyn Hegel. He was obsessed with her. Watching her all the time. Fantasizing about her. Maybe...maybe one day, as he's following her around...he sees someone else kill her. But the police think he's the bad guy. And he knows he's done some things that are going to get him in trouble, even if he didn't rape and murder any of those women.
"So he approaches the real killer. In exchange for his silence...all he wants is some money to help him disappear..." Brass let the thought trail off.
Foss stared at the detective, transfixed, his mouth slightly agape.
"So which is it, Barry?" Brass asked coolly. "Did Juneau call his partner for help? Or did he call the real killer?" Suddenly, Brass smacked the table. "I'm asking you a question, Barry!" The other man startled in his chair. "Why did Todd Juneau think you would help him!"
"It wasn't like that..." Foss protested weakly, shaking his head in denial.
"And you knew you had to get rid of Juneau, before he talked. Before he implicated you. So you let him think it was safe to come to the store. That you would get him the money. And then you set him up. You called the cops. If Todd squealed, you'd deny it and who would believe him? Why would you turn him in if you were guilty and he could finger you? It would look as though Juneau was just trying to implicate an innocent man out of retribution for turning him in. You couldn't have known the shooting would go down though, huh Barry? That was just a stroke of sheer luck.
"Or maybe you did anticipate it. Juneau had talked to his sister and brother-in-law earlier in the day. He was wound up. Scared about going to prison. Did he tell you that? Did you play into those fears? Tell him that he'd better be careful not to get caught, that anything was better than going to prison?" Brass smiled coldly. "I gotta tell you, Barry, you were one lucky son-of-a-gun the way things played out. Juneau takes the fall alone for the killings. You walk away scott free.
"But you can't kill again, can you? At least not any more women. Not the same way. Because then we'd know that Juneau hadn't done it. But once you get that need, you gotta answer to it, huh? So you hatch a way to start killing again..."
"NO!" Foss cried out. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you've got it all wrong! I didn't kill anybody! Oh God, no! Todd did, you guys had the evidence and everything, I watched it on the news, and read about it in the papers!" Foss's pale blue eyes were wild. "Todd was into some weird shit, some sick stuff. He had this thing for Marilyn..."
"Did he?" Brass queried quietly. "You know more than you've been telling, Barry. You lied to Detective Martens nine years ago. You're in this deep. Maybe Juneau didn't have to face up for his part in things to a jury of his peers. But you'll pay for your part."
Foss put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "You've got it wrong," he moaned, his voice muffled.
"So tell me how it really went down then," Brass demanded. "And cut the bull. What do you know about Todd that you didn't tell us before? And why did he believe you would give him money and not turn him into the police?"
Foss looked up, stricken. "Okay, first you've got to promise that I don't get charged with anything. I want some kind of immunity. And I don't want any of this getting back to my wife."
Brass was taken aback. The request not to involve the spouse seemed strange. When someone was involved in murder, the last thing they would worry about was whether or not their wife found out. "I'm not promising anything, but if you're straight with me, it'll go better for you."
Foss seemed to understand he would have to be satisfiied with that. "After Todd had been working there for a while, I discovered that he was into some weird things. We were in the break room one day, and this magazine fell out of his locker. Real hard core stuff. Nothing I'd ever seen on the shelves, if you know what I mean, not your regular T and A stuff," Foss told Brass. "He didn't say anything, picked it up, shoved it back in.
"But I, um, asked him about it. Where he got it. Sort of...let him know I might be, uh, interested in some stuff, if he had a way to get it, and that I would be discreet about what I'd seen."
Brass watched Foss's cheeks colour.
"We were never friends, nothing like that, we didn't hang out together or anything. Sometimes, Todd would talk about some of the stuff he was into. Rape. Bondage. Or he'd talk about Marilyn. When we were alone. It was just talk, I thought, you know, fantasy stuff."
"So Juneau was getting porn for you?" Brass asked dispassionately.
"Yeah. Magazines. Some videos. I mean, okay some of it probably wasn't exactly legal, but it wasn't anything real bad. Not kids, or snuff stuff, nothing like that," Foss stated emphatically.
"So what was it then?" the detective asked.
"Look, I love my wife," Foss said. "And I'm not queer or anything, I've never been with a guy. It's just fantasy stuff. But Karen is real, uh, straight-laced, and she wouldn't understand. She'd kick me out in a heartbeat. And we've got a kid, a son, he's eleven years old now. She'd divorce me for sure, make it out like I was some pervert or something, try to keep my kid from me, I know it. Her parents have money, and they'd get her some high-powered lawyer and I wouldn't stand a chance.
"Look, I don't cruise or anything. I never cheated on her. I just...like to watch." He kept his eyes downcast.
"So Juneau blackmailed you because he provided you with gay porn?" Brass asked quietly.
"Yeah, he said he was going to go to Karen and tell her about me. I didn't know if she'd believe him or not, but I couldn't take the chance. So I told him to meet me at the store, and I'd give him the money. But then, I realized that I couldn't let him get away with killing Marilyn and those other women. He swore to me he didn't do it, but I didn't believe him. I knew I had to call the cops, even if it ended up that I had to tell Karen everything. But I didn't think it would come to that. I figured once you guys arrested him, he'd never have the chance to get near Karen, to tell her anything anyways.
"I didn't know he was going to run, or that he'd pull a gun. Well, you know, it looked like a gun," Foss amended. "I thought it was real, and I could see why the cop thought it was. When that Asian guy shot him, and Todd was dead, I thought it was all over."
We all did, Brass thought.
"I don't understand why you're asking me about this now though," Foss said perplexed. "Just now it started to bug you wondering why Todd came to me for the money?" Brass just stared through Foss as though he hadn't heard him though. Foss waited for a few moments, then said hesitantly, "So, since I came in and cleared this up, voluntarily and all...we, uh, don't have to involve my wife or anything, right?"
"Jim."
Brass turned towards Catherine's quiet voice. She stood just inside the doorway of the room, her lovely features impassive, but her pretty blue eyes were shadowed. Jim gave her a weak smile, knowing already what news she had for him. Slowly, Catherine shook her head. Ronnie had tested the sample Foss had given them, against the other letters, and there had been no match. Even if Foss had tried to disguise his handwriting, the analyst would have been able to make an infallible determination.
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Foss," Brass looked back at the other man, though his dark gaze seemed vacant and unfocused. "The LVPD appreciates the co-operation. Anything you've said in this room, remains between us," he added, his voice a monotone.
Barry Foss relaxed visibly. "Great! Well, thanks, Detective. Good night." He rose and edged towards the door, and finally deciding that this wasn't a trick and that they weren't going to detain him, he practically bolted around Catherine and to freedom.
Catherine came into the room. She perched on the table beside Brass. The detective stared down at his hands, clasping them before him on the shiny, metal surface. "He's not our guy," Catherine said, the disappointment heavy in her voice.
"No," Brass replied simply.
For the first time, the detective turned his face towards the mirrored rear wall of room. She was there, on the other side. He could sense her prescence. He stared at the wall, wanting to envision her, but seeing only his own image. A tired, middle-aged cop. His craggy features etched with fatigue and discouragement. Running out of leads, and running out of time.