Cold-Blooded, page 7
Knox smiled, the corners of his mouth tightening. “There’s no home for me anymore,” he said, his voice raspy. “Just this case. I’d like to be here.”
“Okay,” Jocelyn said. “But how about you stop taking the bus. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Until you find your car.”
He laughed, lapsing into a coughing fit. Pounding his chest with a closed fist, he said, “I might die before that happens.”
Before Jocelyn could respond, her cell phone chirped. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw a text message from Trent Razmus.
Got clearance from my captain. Watch the 12:00 news. Channel 6. Again at 4, 5, 6 and 11.
“That didn’t take long,” Jocelyn said.
“What’s that?” Knox asked.
“Razmus came through for us. We’ve got our newscast.”
She went over to the corner of the room to a flat screen television they’d had mounted on the wall and turned it on, flipping to Channel 6. The twelve o’clock news was underway. They sat through several “top stories” which entailed coverage of the Ebola scare and various shootings throughout the city. Then traffic. Finally, a rectangular graphic with the words COLD CASE superimposed over an image of yellow crime scene tape appeared next to the anchor’s head. The woman spoke, her voice clear and loud. “Police are looking at the cold case of a murdered teenager after new evidence was brought to light last week.” She launched into a recap of the details of Sydney’s murder and concluded with, “Police are not discussing the nature of the new evidence, but they are hopeful that they’ll bring Sydney Adams’ killer to justice very soon.”
They cut to Trent Razmus standing in front of the police headquarters sign at 8th and Arch Streets. His mouth was set, brow drawn down in seriousness. “We’re not at liberty to discuss the new developments. This is an active investigation again. We hope to have a suspect in custody soon.”
Once the broadcast returned to other news, Jocelyn turned the television off and shot Trent a quick text thanking him. Anita appeared in the doorway with a pen and pad of paper in hand. “PTG has availability within the next month. How soon do you want to do this?”
Jocelyn glanced at Knox, but he shrugged. She pursed her lips momentarily. “Well, our client is dying, so as soon as we can. I guess it will depend on how quickly we can amass some people to attend.”
“Okay, I’ll make some calls then, see what kind of interest there is, how many people we can get on short notice. Old classmates and teachers, family members, old friends. Let’s see if we can pin this down in two to three weeks.” She made a notation on her pad. “So, we get a few people to talk about what kind of person Sydney was, and then what?”
“We’ll need photos. We’ll pick three good ones and have them blown up,” Jocelyn said. She walked over to where Anita had hung the flirty photos. She tapped a finger on the one of Sydney laughing and reaching for the camera. “This one,” she said. “We blow up this one.”
Knox sat up straighter, his eyes bulging. “Are you out of your mind?”
Anita smiled. “She is, a little.”
Jocelyn said, “Nobody knows the photos are the ‘new evidence.’ We’ll start bringing out the blow-ups while Rigo gives his speech. See if we can spook him, and we’ll need someone to collect drinking glasses and put them into paper bags. Not in a place where everyone will see, but in a place Cash Rigo will.”
“Drinking glasses?” Anita asked.
“So it looks like we’re collecting prints and DNA,” Knox said, shooting a look of admiration in Jocelyn’s direction.
Anita’s face brightened. “So it will make him think we’ve either got his prints or DNA to make comparisons. Brilliant.”
“I want this guy rattled,” Jocelyn said. “I’ll go to his house and ask him to give a speech about Sydney.”
“What are you going to tell Rigo—about who you are?” Knox asked.
“I’m going to tell him that Jynx hired us to track down Sydney’s old classmates and friends to invite to the fundraiser.”
“That’s kind of lame,” Knox said bluntly.
“Exactly,” Jocelyn agreed. “I want him to know I’m lying. I want him to think I’m in league with the police. We’ve got to make him nervous.”
October 22, 2014
Lonnie Burgess had become a lawyer specializing in estate and family law. He was a solo practitioner with a small office in the Germantown section of the city. It was housed in a three-story, semi-detached brick home. The upper floors each had three windows in front, and the first floor was a windowfront framed by ornately carved wood that had been painted a golden yellow. Dirt clung to the creases in the wood. White curtains obscured the view inside but served to make the words Attorney at Law, which were stenciled in gold, stand out. Jocelyn let herself in, setting off a bell as she opened the door. Inside, the walls were painted a bland taupe, punctuated by large oil paintings of mountain landscapes. A crack in the plaster snaked down behind one of the paintings. On the ceiling above it was a small water stain. Jocelyn’s feet sunk into the plush, beige carpet. The secretary, a black woman who looked twice Jocelyn’s age, sat behind a desk, typing away at a computer.
Jocelyn had called ahead. Once she introduced herself, the secretary waved Jocelyn into Lonnie’s office through a doorway to her left. Lonnie stood up from behind his massive oak desk and came around it to shake her hand. He had a kind, easy smile. He was tall, like Caleb but huskier, carrying more weight in his torso. The rangy teenager she had seen in Knox’s interrogation video was gone. The man before her had obviously filled out, resembling a football player rather than a lawyer, although the wire-rimmed glasses resting on his face made him look more erudite. His hair was cut close to the sides of his head but was longer and curly on the top.
“Ms. Rush,” he said, motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat.”
She sat in the nearest chair, and he took the one across from her, instead of retreating behind his desk. She liked him already.
“I saw on the news that Syd’s case has been re-opened,” he said. “Do they really have a suspect this time?”
Jocelyn nodded. “I think so, Mr. Burgess.”
“Call me Lonnie.”
Jocelyn smiled. “Lonnie, I’ve been asked to assist in trying to bring some attention to Sydney’s case—try to help bolster the police efforts. I could use your help.”
He spread his hands in his lap. “Anything.”
“One of the things we had in mind was a scholarship in Sydney’s name.” She explained about the fundraiser, and he eagerly agreed to speak about Sydney.
“What else can I do to help?”
“It would be great if you could tell me a little bit about Sydney,” Jocelyn said.
Lonnie’s smile faded for a moment, his eyes taking on a glassy, pained look. “Sydney was an amazing girl. She was gorgeous, smart, and funny as hell. She had a real dry wit about her, a great sense of humor. I know people tend to romanticize the dead, but Sydney really was a great person. Always kind to people. Always had a smile on her face.”
“When did you start dating?”
“We were in the tenth grade.”
“You were both students at Franklin West?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We had geometry together as sophomores. It wasn’t easy for me. Syd helped me out. Like I said, she was smart.”
Jocelyn motioned toward the law degree on the wall behind him. “I see you went to Temple, here in Philadelphia. Sydney had planned to go to Georgetown. Had you planned on staying together?”
“Do the long distance thing? Sure, we talked about it. D.C. is only a short train ride from here. We were going to try to make it work.” He scratched behind his ear and shifted in his seat.
“But?” Jocelyn prompted, sensing something unsaid. “Did something change?”
His forehead crinkled. “About a month before she died, Sydney became . . . I don’t know . . . distant. I didn’t see as much of her. Even when we were together, she seemed distracted. I just thought it was the specter of graduation, of college, of the fact that everything about our lives was about to change.”
Jocelyn crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward. “Lonnie,” she said. “I need to ask a very personal question.”
He smiled. “Can’t say I’ll answer it, but go ahead.”
“How were things between you and Sydney sexually?”
Lonnie frowned. He didn’t look as shocked or put-off as she had expected. He considered his words for a long moment before speaking. His tone was a statement, not a question. “You think there was someone else.”
“There is a theory that has come up in the investigation—then and now—that Sydney might have been seeing someone in secret, so yes.”
He looked away. His shoulders slumped a bit. When he looked back at her, the glassy look was back. He sighed. “I always wondered. I mean we were teenagers, you know? Filled with raging hormones. We had sex a lot—as much as we could. You know how it is when you’re teenagers. You want to do it all the time. You sneak around so you don’t get caught by your parents. It’s all new and exciting, but there’s nowhere to actually do it.”
He laughed, and she laughed with him—she and her first-and-only boyfriend in high school had had the same problem. Now she was sneaking around with Caleb and hiding it from her four-year-old.
“Then,” Lonnie said, “about two weeks before she died, she kind of pulled away. She didn’t want to do it. Said she needed time to think about things. I pressed her on it—what things? But she wouldn’t say. I just thought it was the college thing—that we were about to be separated, that everything was going to change. I suppose, in the back of my mind, I worried there was another guy. I mean now, fourteen years later, as a grown, more experienced man, it seems pretty obvious that she needed time to think because she’d met someone else.”
“When was the last time you talked to her before she died?”
“That day at school,” he said. “I waited with her at the bus stop. She kissed me before she got on the bus, like, really kissed me. I thought—” again, he spread his hands in his lap. “I thought it was a good sign. Like maybe she had thought about things and decided they were fine as they were.”
“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said.
Lonnie waved a hand dismissively even though tears glistened in his eyes. “We were teenagers. Who knows what would have become of us. I’m sure Syd would have met someone else away at school. Or maybe we might have made it.”
“Are you married?”
Lonnie laughed, the tone bitter. “Twice divorced,” he said. He reached over to his desk and turned a photo frame so that she could see its front. A tall, pudgy boy with a gap-toothed smile lay in a pile of fall leaves. He looked seven or eight, maybe. “But my second wife gave me a beautiful son,” Lonnie said. “He is all that matters now.”
“He’s cute,” Jocelyn said, meaning it. Lonnie’s face shone with obvious pride. Jocelyn could relate. Her entire world revolved around her own daughter. Right now, if anyone checked her phone, they’d find 661 photos of Olivia taken just in the last year, and in her jacket pocket were two pictures Olivia had drawn for her on Post-it notes the last time she’d gone to work with Jocelyn.
“So,” Lonnie said. “You haven’t said why you think there was someone else.”
“I can’t tell you why. Not yet. But let me ask you, looking back on things, do you have any idea who she might have been seeing?”
He looked at his lap, lips pursed, thinking. He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I really can’t. I mean I’ve thought about it over the years—from time to time—but I could never come up with anyone. Syd had a full life, a busy schedule. We had trouble fitting each other in. I’m not sure where she would have found the time to meet someone else and develop a relationship. Although I suppose things happen.”
“What about someone she already had a relationship with? Someone older, perhaps?” Jocelyn suggested.
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. A teacher, maybe? A coach?”
Lonnie was completely still for a long moment. He stared at her, a strange, half-puzzled look on his face. Disbelief warring with something else. It was as if he’d just figured out the answer to a riddle, but the answer was wholly unexpected. Jocelyn waited. The moment stretched on. Lonnie licked his lips but said nothing. Finally, Jocelyn said, “You have someone in mind?”
“You think Sydney was having a sexual relationship with Cash Rigo?”
“There is a possibility,” she admitted. “They were close, weren’t they?”
Lonnie blinked as if bringing himself back from a reverie. “Yes, they were. He was our coach and history teacher. He was cool. I mean, to us. Sydney used to say he was lame, but I know she genuinely liked him. She was always hanging around him. He was one of those teachers who tried to be your buddy, you know? Hard to believe he would do something like that, but . . .” he trailed off.
Jocelyn uncrossed her legs. It suddenly felt overly hot in the office. She resisted the urge to pull off her jacket. “But what?” she prompted.
Lonnie leaned closer to her, their heads nearly touching. They’d lowered their voices unconsciously, even though they were completely alone in his office. “I’ve never told anyone this story,” he began. “You know Cash Rigo was married to the school nurse, right?”
Jocelyn nodded. “Francine.”
“Yeah. We called her Mrs. Rigo. She came to school once . . .” he hesitated. He looked at his hands, picking at a cuticle on his left thumb. “Busted up.”
Jocelyn sat up straighter. “In what way?”
Lonnie looked back up at her. He pointed to his face. “Black eye. She told people she ran into a door or something ridiculous like that, and that, of course, sparked up some rumors.”
“When was that?”
Lonnie’s eyebrows drew together. “It was senior year, I remember that much. It was before Syd died.”
“Weeks before she died? Months?”
“A couple of months. It had to be sometime in March of that year because it was still cold. I twisted my ankle.” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, March. It was right before a big meet we had with Roxborough High School. I remember I was pretty bummed out that I couldn’t run that night. Anyway, I went to her office for my ankle, and she had a pretty nasty black eye.”
Jocelyn frowned. “There was nothing in the case files about domestic violence.”
Lonnie said, “Like I said, they were just rumors. I totally forgot about the whole thing. I mean Syd died two months later, and the way she was murdered—”
He broke off and looked away from Jocelyn, his eyes finding a spot on the floor next to her chair. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, a slight tremble in his frame.
“Did Mrs. Rigo say anything about her black eye?” Jocelyn asked. “Offer any explanation for it?”
He took another breath, this one less shaky, and met her gaze again. “While I was there, in her office, she asked me if I could keep a secret. I said sure I could, even though I didn’t really care about her secrets. I mean, I was seventeen. I cared about sports and Syd and getting laid. She told me that she had had a fight with Cash—that things weren’t good between them, and she was afraid of him.”
“She just told you all this? Just blurted it out?”
“Yeah.”
“But why?” Jocelyn asked. “Why would she tell all that stuff to a seventeen-year-old student?”
Lonnie smiled, a sardonic twist to his lips. “Because she wanted a gun.”
Jocelyn couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “She asked you to get her a gun?”
Lonnie nodded slowly, chuckling. “I was so mad. I mean I felt badly for her, no doubt, but here’s this white woman asking a black teenage boy to get her a gun.”
Jocelyn leaned back in her seat, stunned. “That is wrong on so many levels.”
“I know it,” Lonnie agreed.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I couldn’t help her. I asked why she’d assume that just because I was black and lived in North Philly that I could get her a gun. She got upset, said it wasn’t like that. I said that’s exactly what it’s like. She begged me not to tell on her. She said Cash would kill her.”
“And you never told?”
He shook his head. “She was so . . . pathetic. I really did feel badly for her. I mean, I was angry, but I wasn’t about to get in the middle of anyone’s domestic drama. A few more months, and I was out of that school. I didn’t want to get caught up in anything that might derail my future.” He looked at his hands again. “Selfish, I suppose.”
“No,” Jocelyn said firmly. “Not selfish at all. Francine Rigo was a grown woman. No matter how bad her situation was at home, she had no business asking a seventeen-year-old kid for help, much less asking you to do something illegal.”
“True,” Lonnie said noncommittally.
“And, from what my partner and I have gathered thus far, they’re still married, so maybe she didn’t need that gun after all.”
“I guess she didn’t. It was weird though. Coach Rigo never struck me as a wife-beater—or a murderer.”
Jocelyn thought of all the people she had arrested during her time as a police officer. Many looked and acted the part of criminal, but there were a large number of her collars who didn’t seem all that bad—and they were often the ones who had committed the most heinous crimes. She gave Lonnie a pained smile. As if of its own free will, her right hand moved to cover the scar on her other hand. “You never know what people are like behind closed doors.”
October 23, 2014
Jocelyn purposely waited for Cash Rigo to drive away before she knocked on the Rigos’ front door. She wanted to talk to Francine Rigo alone and she wanted to catch them both off-balance. They lived in a large two-story Tudor-style home in Mount Airy. It was a neighborhood nestled between the Chestnut Hill and Germantown neighborhoods in the city, touching both affluence and poverty, relative safety on one side and a strong likelihood of violence on the other. It had been rejuvenated in recent years, its large Victorian and Tudor-style homes rehabbed, and inhabited by young professionals like the Rigos, who kept their homes with loving precision—fresh paint, neatly mowed lawns, and perfectly pruned gardens. Nothing in disrepair.
