Murder at the Lake, page 21
“I don’t. Just the story surrounding it.”
“But it’s safe to say that you hated Richie Klein and his friends?” Madison snuck in the latter bit, planning to gauge his reaction.
Babcock’s eyes ignited. “Anyone who was a friend of Richie was scum.”
Madison bristled. “Sounds like quite the sweeping judgment. Did you even know the other guys?” She took offense since one was her fiancé and another a respected friend and cop who had fallen in the line of duty. She couldn’t speak to Dylan Graham’s character.
“I knew enough,” he hissed.
His eyes were clear, and so was his mind. The stupid act had been just that. The man in front of her could have committed the recent murders and tried to pin them on Troy. “Where were you today between eleven and noon?”
“Here.”
“Can anyone prove that?” She eyed him with scrutiny.
“Nope.”
“Do you have access to a silver Hyundai Accent, Mr. Babcock?” Terry asked.
“I don’t own any cars.”
“That’s not the question my partner asked you,” Madison shot back.
He stared at her. “No. I don’t ‘have access to a silver Hyundai Accent,’” he parroted Terry’s words.
She held eye contact with him, not believing a word coming from his mouth. “Then you weren’t in the downtown area following us?”
“What? No. I told you, I was here.”
People had lied to Madison’s face so many times, she’d lost count. She didn’t extend trust easily as a result. “I’m afraid it’s going to take more than your say-so. If we tracked your phone’s GPS, is it going to back up what you just told us?” She hoped she effectively called his bluff, because getting a warrant authorized for that would ignite a shitshow of epic proportions, considering the circumstances. She was cleared to talk to Babcock from the angle of Emily Kane, but this was encroaching on territory belonging to the Graham and Klein cases. She was fine going there on the down-low, but a warrant wasn’t that. Besides, they didn’t have enough to substantiate one anyhow.
Babcock shifted on the couch. “Fine, I was downtown, but it’s not what you think.”
“I’ll tell you what I think. Troy Matthews, one of Richie Klein’s friends, is facing two murder charges. One for Richie Klein, and one for Dylan Graham. But it was you, wasn’t it? You set him up.” After laying that out, she found herself standing, and her earlobes were on fire.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Come on, you’re joining us at the station.” Terry was now standing in front of Babcock, gesturing for him to stand, his cuffs dangling from a finger.
Babcock moved like he was going to comply. Instead, he hopped over the arm of the couch and disappeared down the hallway.
Why do the bad guys always have to run? But she had no idea what Babcock had planned. There wasn’t really anywhere for him to go. He was headed deeper into the apartment.
“Come on, Mr. Babcock, the show is up. Time to come with us,” Terry called out and shook his head at Madison. “Where does he think he’s going?”
“Haven’t a clue.” Then she heard a window opening and the clanging of metal. Her eyes popped open wide. “The fire escape.”
She bolted toward the hallway, but Terry was quicker. No surprise.
“Stiles PD! Stop!” Terry’s cries were going unheeded as the clanging continued. He ducked through the open window, but she came to a standstill.
She was in Babcock’s bedroom, and photographs of a teenage Emily littered the walls. He had drawn hearts around her head on some of them, but what got to her attention the most was the enlarged poster-size print of Emily Kane tacked to the ceiling above his bed.
Madison swallowed the bile that came up her throat and called in for assistance.
Dameon Babcock needed to be stopped. It was official that he was mentally ill and clearly obsessed with Emily Kane twenty-four years after her murder. But did he kill Dylan Graham and Richie Klein and frame things so Troy would take the fall?
-
Chapter 42
Madison and Terry were back at the station with Dameon Babcock. It had taken Terry a few minutes to catch up with him. They were currently watching him from the observation room through the one-way mirror. Babcock was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, pulling at the already-peeling laminate top.
“We need to stick to questioning Babcock about the car chase this afternoon,” Terry said. “But if we can put him there, we’ll hand him over to the Braybury PD.”
She appreciated that her partner was just reinforcing the game plan he’d come up with. But Madison’s goal was to free Troy. If the questioning took them over any perceived line, so be it.
The clock wasn’t slowing down. If they were to save Troy from another arraignment, they needed to pull off a miracle. Her phone rang, and she answered.
“You’re at the station with a suspect, Maddy. Talk to me.” Andrea rushed all that out the second Madison picked up. No greeting, just right to the point.
Obviously, Winston was aware of her presence. And here Madison thought she’d successfully avoided him. It would seem he was doing the same. That suited her fine. The man could set her off at the best of times, and the last thing she wanted was another lecture about respecting boundaries. Clearance from the police chief aside. She’d like to see how he’d handle it if the roles were reversed, and this was personal for him. She doubted he’d adhere to any rigid rules. “I am. Terry and I are quite sure this guy was the one tailing us and was chased through downtown Stiles. He put lives at risk.” She thought it would only help her case to point that out blatantly. “I ran this past you before we went to his place,” she added.
There was a huge sigh from Andrea’s end of the line. “You’re right, but now I think I’ve messed up. I suppose I didn’t give myself over to the hope this… What’s his name again?”
“Dameon Babcock, Emily Kane’s stepbrother for a time.”
“I just didn’t consider exactly where this might take us. That this Babcock guy might be the one who framed Troy.”
“Okay, so what do you want us to do?” Madison could appreciate that Andrea’s mind would be all over, but it didn’t make it less frustrating to deal with her.
“What’s he saying so far?”
“We just spoke to him at his apartment, but he wasn’t eager to come in and talk more. He did admit being downtown during the time of the car chase. Thus far, we haven’t been able to put him in the silver Hyundai. But there’s motive. He’s already expressed his dislike for Richie and his friends from the time, including Troy,” she said his name for emphasis.
“Man, this is really getting close to the line.”
“I know. If we’re going to cross it, we’ll hand him over to Braybury.” Not to say she wouldn’t push the boundary line.
“You bet you will. So you think Babcock has motive?”
“We just know he doesn’t think Richie paid enough for what he did. But, Andrea, the creepiest thing about all this and makes me think we have the right guy… This Babcock is obsessed with Emily Kane, even now. He has pictures of her in his room. We’re talking about a forty-year-old with photos of a teenage girl lining his bedroom walls. He even has a blown-up photo of her over his bed.” It didn’t matter how many times her mind turned over that fact, her gut curdled.
“Pictures?”
“Yep. And according to Emily’s mother, he was in love with Emily as a teenager.”
“Love or obsession, something that’s stood the test of time. I’m still reeling from the news about the pictures.”
“Makes two of us.”
“Okay, well, push this guy, but try to tiptoe around the murders. As you said you’ll hand him over. I’m counting on your word here, Madison.”
“I hear you.”
“Good. Now, I didn’t just call because I heard you had Babcock downtown. I’ve got some good news. Troy’s arraignment has been postponed.”
“Is he free to go?”
“Not yet. But Detective Snow came forward with some new findings that cast doubt on the case against Troy. Something about the journal and fingerprints. But what matters is Troy is no longer facing a judge this afternoon. There’s a chance he might not even have to. That’s if everything starts coming together.”
Madison bit her tongue on the new findings bit. It had likely existed all along, but the detective hadn’t taken the time to investigate. But it sounded like her call had helped steer Snow in the right direction. “What about the journal and fingerprints?”
“There were some anomalies with both apparently.”
Madison smiled, giving herself a second to revel in that. Maybe Detective Snow wasn’t the enemy and incompetent, after all. Was he finally doing his due diligence? But she was curious about one thing. “Did he tell you or Troy’s lawyer about the suicide note at Graham’s scene?”
“Just in the last hour. Vincent Park, Troy’s lawyer, is having fun with that one, I tell you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Troy’s home in time for dinner.”
Madison was smiling. “That would be good news.”
“You know what? Scratch what I said about tiptoeing with this guy. Snow can hold back, so can we.”
Madison’s chest lightened at that comment. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Go at this Babcock with whatever you have. As far as I’m concerned, Snow brought this on himself by holding back the suicide note all this time. A suicide note at a murder scene, no less,” Andrea muttered the last bit under her breath, clearly ticked off.
“You got it.” She ended the call and turned to Terry, who was watching her. “Troy’s arraignment has been postponed, no new time scheduled, but they are holding him.” As much as she hated to think of him still behind bars, it was better than him facing a judge again.
“That’s good news. What else did she say?”
“We can go at Babcock however we see fit. Including approaching him outright as a suspect in the murders. Snow came through and got the arraignment postponed, but he hasn’t exactly been playing fair from the start.”
“Ah, so the chief feels justified in not toeing the line now.”
“When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound good.”
“But it doesn’t change the point.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m in disagreement.”
She nudged her head toward the one-way mirror to Babcock, who had stopped delaminating the table and was sitting back, arms crossed and looking bored. “Let’s go break ’im.”
“That’s the Maddy I know.” Terry chuckled and followed her next door.
She dropped into the chair across from Babcock. Terry took up his usual spot against the wall behind her. “We just wanted to talk to you, Mr. Babcock. Why did you run?”
Terry jingled his change before Babcock could answer. It was something Terry did that often threw suspects off their game.
“You think I’ve done something, but I haven’t.”
Madison settled into her chair and opened the folder she brought in with her. She didn’t take anything out but made a show of looking at what was inside. It was an intimidation tactic to make Babcock think they had a bunch gathered against him, but his clean record up until this point didn’t provide fodder with which to rattle him. She let seconds stack up in silence before she broke it. “You ran from us. Before that, you told us you were downtown during the time of a car chase through the city. Were you running then too?”
“What? I don’t know about any car chase, but I was downtown earlier today.”
“When?” She’d play along for a bit, but patience was never her strong suit.
“Around noon. I grabbed a burger from Sally’s.”
“How did you get downtown?” she countered.
Terry kept jingling his change, and the noise was even working on her nerves today.
“I walked.”
She smirked and angled her head. Sally’s would have been a manageable walk from Babcock’s apartment, but she wasn’t letting that derail her. “You’re sure you never borrowed a friend’s car?”
“I walked,” he repeated.
She pulled a photo taken from CCTV at one of the intersections. It showed the silver Hyundai Accent tearing through. “Where did you get this car?”
Babcock leaned forward and studied the picture, then looked up, brow furrowed, the mask of confusion. “I’ve never seen that car before.”
“Uh-huh.” Madison leaned back, leaving the photo to stay put. “Can you prove you had that burger at Sally’s at the time you said?”
“You could ask the person I ordered from.”
“Then you paid cash? No digital payment trail?”
“No.” Babcock lowered his head, as if he were timid, but Madison wasn’t buying his act.
She placed a photograph of his bedroom on the table, steering away from the chase. “You were in love with your stepsister, Emily.” Though labeling his obsession as love settled like acid.
Babcock reached for the picture and pulled it to him. “I already told you that.”
“After all these years even. You must really miss her.” Madison didn’t want to get too carried away in her thoughts about that poster above his bed. It was clear that he fantasized about Emily, his mind taking him on perverted journeys into the past as he nodded off to sleep at night. She wasn’t going to think about what else he might be doing.
“She never deserved what happened to her. I told you that. But Richie was owed what he had coming.” Babcock’s cheeks flushed bright red, and he clenched his jaw.
“Had coming? So you set things right? You killed him?” she countered.
“Killed him? What? I meant time in prison.”
Apparently, he was back to playing dumb. “You mentioned how you hated Richie and his friends.”
“They tried to help Richie get away with murder.” He shifted in his chair and sat straighter. He drilled a fingertip into the top of the table. “As it was, their testimonies likely shortened his sentence.”
“Richie Klein was also only seventeen years old.” As she leveled this out, she was torn between feeling any empathy for a child and the gravity of his crime. Usually she adhered to a black-and-white approach to life, and not that she didn’t think Richie deserved to pay for what he had done, but he also wasn’t fully in his right mind either.
“He knew what he was doing,” Babcock seethed.
“You’re right he did.” She was siding with Babcock to see what emotion she could stir to life.
“He should still be in prison, and his friends should have shitty lives.”
She prickled at that. Did he truly not know about their murders or Troy’s charges? She shook the thought aside, chalking it up to a chronic liar who was trying to throw the spotlight off himself. Sometimes he presented himself as stupid, and other times he seemed sharp. At this point in an interrogation, normally Madison would pull out photos of the victims. But she didn’t have any from the Graham or Klein crime scenes. Instead, she’d approach it from another angle. “Where were you last Tuesday between four and six?”
“Last week? I can’t remember that far back.”
Terry stopped jingling his change, and it had Babcock looking past Madison to him. Then Terry started up again.
“Oh, please. You don’t have a job that you might have been at?” She closed her mouth, unsure why she tried to give him an alibi.
“I’m in between jobs at the moment.”
“So you’re unemployed,” she fired back, and Babcock’s eyes narrowed. He was proud, and Madison doubted he’d take rejection well. Based on what Emily’s mother told her, Emily hadn’t been a fan of her stepbrother. The mother also made him sound persistent back then.
“It’s just temporary,” he eventually said.
“Sure. Where were you last Tuesday evening?” She raised her eyebrows, stressing again that she wanted an answer.
“I don’t know.”
“Were you catching up with Dylan Graham?”
“I haven’t seen Dylan since high school.”
She could push him on this, but she’d use his own act against him. “And what about Richie Klein? You see him when he got out of prison?”
“Only the pic online with the news report.”
That statement had the skin tightening on the back of Madison’s neck. It supported the fact that Babcock was apprised of the news. “Then you know that he is—”
“Dead? Yeah, I do, and I’m not shedding any tears over the fact either.”
“Huh. When did you last see him?”
Babcock sat back and smirked. “I see what’s going on here. You’re looking to pin their murders on me, all so you can set that cop free. Well, I’m not letting that happen. Lawyer,” he dragged out.
Madison glared back at him, Terry stopped jingling, and they both left the room.
She shut the door behind them. “He’s our guy, Terry. He told us he ate at Sally’s and denied seeing the Hyundai Accent. Not exactly a strong defense. He suddenly has amnesia for the time of Graham’s murder. Before we can ask for an alibi for Klein’s, he yells for a lawyer. Come on.” Madison clenched her jaw and paced down the hall, turned back. “He did this, Terry.”
“Except for we need more than a gut feeling. Can we tie him to either murder scene? To your house, either the shoeprints outside or to Troy’s gun?”
She let out a deep breath, feeling boxed in a corner, and she didn’t particularly care for the feeling. “We get clearance to obtain his fingerprints and DNA, go from there.”
“I’m afraid we might need more before a judge would sign that warrant.”
