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Rather than explain Lydia’s reasoning, I stared Wellesley straight in the eye, and said, “Ooopsy.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“At the very least there should be a police presence around Joanne Yardley’s house.”
“Well, first, that’s no longer my district. I have no jurisdiction there. I could call over to Rampart, but I’d have to explain the situation and you probably don’t want me doing that.”
“So you’re going to do nothing?”
“I assume you’ve warned Joanne.”
“Of course.”
“That’s all I could do, and you’ve already done it.”
She was unpleasantly calm about the whole thing. Between grit teeth, I said, “A woman is in danger of being raped.”
“No, Mr. Reilly.Fifteenwomen are in danger of being raped today. Just as they are every day. And you’re worried about one.”
This was pointless. I stood up and walked away. I almost got to the hallway but instead turned around and went back.
“You know you can do what we did. You have samples in those old cases. You have Whatley’s DNA profile.”
“Those are no longer my cases.”
“You could find out whose cases they are, couldn’t you?”
“Do you know the term ‘cleared by exceptional means?’”
“No. That’s a new one on me.”
“It’s what happens when you put criminologists in charge, you get new lingo. It’s sounds good, doesn’t it? Cleared by exceptional means... Sounds like we did a good job. Like we tried really hard. In reality, it sucks. We want to clear cases with arrests. But with some kinds of crime, it’s not always possible. Rape is one of those crimes. Most rape cases we clear are cleared by exceptional means. It means we know who did it. We’ve gathered all the evidence we can. And we don’t have enough to charge. There’s not enough science. Or the victim’s memory is bad. Or they refuse to testify altogether. So an exception is made and the case is cleared.”
“All right, thanks for the education.”
“Stu Whatley was the prime suspect in five rapes we couldn’t charge. All cleared by exceptional means. I put him in prison. I did my job. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
****
I should l have brought more snacks. I’d found a parking spot two houses down from Joanne’s place on the other side of the street. I adjusted my mirrors so I could watch her house, and then experimented with scrunching down in the seat. I thought it unlikely anyone trying to get into her place would notice me. It was late afternoon. I figured I’d be staying until the sun came up the following morning. Yes, I definitely should have brought more snacks.
Vengeance. Stu didn’t just see opportunity. It wasn’t just that he could get away with raping Candy, that he might get away with raping Joanne. He wanted vengeance on these women. The fact that he was guilty of other rapes, that he had deserved to be in prison even if he was there for the wrong reason, that didn’t seem to bother him. He’d been wronged and he wanted payback.
For a while, I actively tried not to think about Stu Whatley. He wasn’t worth my time. Instead, I thought about leaving California. Where would I go? Should I go someplace big, like New York City? Or should I find some tiny little place in the middle of nowhere? Maybe I should split the difference and move to the suburbs. What kind of job would I get? Bartender was not a good idea. I’d already decided that, so maybe it was time for something new. I liked what I was doing for Lydia. Yeah, it didn’t work out with Stu Whatley, he was definitely someone we should have left in prison. But most of the work we did was for the innocent. The truly innocent. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. How much was I going to miss Ronnie? A lot. More than I could think about.
I should go soon though. Monday? Tuesday? I had to feel like this Stu Whatley mess was handled. I couldn’t leave while he was running around raping women I’d interviewed. Women we’d made unsafe by getting him out of prison. Was Tuesday soon enough, though? Gilbody was nosing around The Hawk. What if he decided Dom Reilly might be his guy? What if he started asking questions like where did I live? Did I have another job?
I didn’t think Robbie would say anything. Robbie kept to himself. I’d worked there a year before I learned he had a boyfriend. He told me in a slip of the tongue and then made me promise not to let any of the regulars know. He liked flirting with them—and often fucking them. He just didn’t want them knowing much about him. Of course, one of the regulars might—my flip phone chirped. It was Ronnie.
“Where are you?” he asked, a chill in his voice. I wasn’t used to that. “And don’t tell me you’re at The Hawk because I’m sitting at the end of the bar.”
“Elysian Heights. In front of a witness’s house. I think Stu Whatley might try to attack her.”
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means mmmm-hmmm.”
