Sketch of a Murder

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Hey, Dawn," Nita said as she dropped into the chair across the square table at Honey's Golden Brew a few blocks south of her office, tucked between a tiny bookstore and a deli. "Do you realize that Seattle has proportionately as many coffee shops as a small Bible belt town has churches? At least that's what I read on the internet the other night."

Dawn gave her a "tell-me-something-new" look and continued sipping her coffee.

With Gareth's words nagging at her mind, she popped the lid off her cardboard cup, wishing she hadn't forgotten her travel mug, and took a cautious sip. "You ever hear of a young man named Foster Gareth?"

Dawn set her thick china, drink-it-here cup on the chipped saucer. "Wasn't he the kid who got slapped with a statutory rape charge last summer?"

"Yes, that's him. What do you know about that case?"

"I covered it, so I have notes somewhere. But pulling some head-files, the thing that stood out was the raw deal the boy got."

Nita's jaw tightened and her lips flattened. "What about the raw deal the girl got?"

"That's the kicker." Dawn wagged her forefinger at Nita. "The parents wouldn't let me interview Evelyn."

One arm flung over the back of her chair, Nita ran a finger around the rim of her cup. "Maybe they felt she'd already gone through too much."

"Wasn't the feeling I got, that's why I dug around until I found her girlfriends. No one wanted to make trouble for her. She was pretty well liked, but I heard enough to piece together that her parents wouldn't let her date. And her dad was just this side of abusive. The girl was apparently terrified of him. There was one girl, Dana Reynolds, who finally came clean. She said Evelyn told her that she and Foster were an item. Problem was Dana wouldn't tell her parents, the authorities, or Gareth's attorney."

"So..." She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Foster Gareth got railroaded?"

"Yep."

"Damn!"

Dawn ran her spoon through the foam floating on top of her coffee, creating brown and white swirls. "What's your interest in Gareth?"

"He's one of four young men we pulled in on the rape case we caught early this morning."

If Dawn had been a dog, her ears would have been erect and pricked in Nita's direction. "What rape?"

"An eleven-year-old girl was raped by, we thought, four men. But it may have been only three." For some reason she wasn't worried that Dawn would use that tidbit of information. She shook her head at herself and hooked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. If the damn stuff didn't start staying where she put it, she was going to get it all chopped off.

"Those bastards." Dawn looked like she wanted to do some serious butt kicking.

Time to change the subject. "What's the big epiphany you wanted to talk to me about?"

The reporter scooted her chair closer to Nita's side of the table. "The way I write stories is the same way you solve crimes-I look for connections. I may have found a connection."

Nita rolled her hand in a "well-come-on-give" motion.

Wrapped in a self-satisfied air, Dawn wiggled on her seat, obviously dying to impart her news. "I talked to the director at Woman's Place, Ms. Rogers. Want to hear something interesting?"

She tilted her head and spread her hands, palms up.

"Molly used to teach art at Sisters Helping Sisters DV shelter."

With an irregular beat, Nita tapped a finger on the rim of her cup. "Already knew that. Daniel told me."

"Ahh, but here's what is really interesting. I took my copy of that last composite sketch you gave me-the one Arneau did from Molly's work and Filmore's description-to the woman who does general repairs for the shelter. She's a friend of mine from high school. She said the sketch reminds her of a client she used to see at the shelter, except the client's face was rounder. Maybe The Avenger and this woman are related, maybe even siblings."

"Why couldn't she be The Avenger?" She drew herself straighter in the chair. "Don't tell me you've bought into the idea that women can't do these kinds of killings."

"Oh, I believe a woman could do it." She needlessly stirred her coffee. "It's just that I don't believe a client of Sisters Helping Sisters could do it."

"Why not?" she demanded.

Dawn raised a questioning eyebrow. "You've never really known a domestic violence survivor, have you?"

Her brows climbed her forehead and she gave a quick shrug. "Went out on some domestics. Never really knew any woman in that kind of relationship, though."

Focused on Nita, Dawn assumed a lecturing tone. "Some of these women may, eventually, be driven to kill the man who abuses them. But, they simply don't have what it takes to go after revenge on this scale. Could be their basic personalities, could be life beat it out of them."

Nita raised her hands in surrender. "You're sounding dangerously like Lieutenant Williams, but for now I'll take your word for it. Was your friend able to recall the woman's name?"

Dawn laid her spoon on the saucer and leaned back in her chair. "Not a hope in hell of her recalling a woman's name from a couple of years ago. Amazing she recalled the face. Though, like I said, she did see some difference between her memory and the sketch." She held up a forestalling hand. "No, I will not give you my friend's name so you can hassle her. When I tried to talk to the director about the identity of the past client who resembled the sketch, she kicked me out of the shelter and threatened to get a restraining order against me if I persisted in, quote, 'harassing and stalking her clients and staff.'"

***

An hour later Nita stood in front of the battered wood desk of the director of Sisters Helping Sisters domestic abuse shelter, hands gripping each other tightly behind her back.

Director Judith Peritsky glowered at her. "Sergeant," she made the title sound like a dirty word, "if you do not have a warrant, I suggest you leave immediately. Do not return until you have said warrant in hand."

"This sketch means something to you. I can see it in your face." Nita bent over the desk and poked a finger on the sketch. "By forcing me to jump through all the legal hoops, you may be signing a death warrant for some man."

Palms flat on the desk, Peritsky leaned across the clean expanse. "Not a death warrant for a man. From what I have read about The Avenger the only death warrant I would be signing would be for a monster, the same kind of monster that has stalked and harmed each and every woman who has come through our doors seeking asylum. I have no problem with the deaths of monsters." Slowly she straightened up, letting the tips of her fingers rest lightly on the desk. "I suggest you leave. Sue will show you to the door."