“Yeah,” Hayley chimed in. “That’s the one.”
The girls sat next to each other on the window seat.
“Stalking? What do you mean by stalking?” he asked.
Hayley, again, took the lead. “He was e-mailing her.”
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked again, pausing for a moment while he processed what was said. “And just how do you know any of this?”
Neither wanted to tell their father just how they were sure of it. The idea that they were able to draw information from people or even inanimate objects was too much for their dad, a man who saw things as either black or white, true or false, real or not.
“Mrs. Berkley asked us to get into Katelyn’s laptop,” Taylor said. “She was worried that something was up. She didn’t know what. She just had a feeling, Dad, you know … the kind of feeling parents sometimes have when they think their children are in trouble?”
Kevin knew that feeling too. One time when the Ryans had been vacationing in London, the twins were separated from their parents at the King’s Cross station. In that moment, he and Valerie both had the agonizing fear that they’d never see their girls again. Of course, the family was eventually reunited, though it was some agonizing eight hours later. Nevertheless, there was no doubt among any of the Ryans that emotions were often more powerful than reason.
Bad things happening are the exception, Kevin always insisted, not the rule.
The girls were relieved. Their dad wasn’t asking too many questions. It seemed like a good time to drop the other bomb.
“Dad, did you know that Jake was a janitor for Bellevue schools?”
“Custodian, I think,” he said. “They like to be called custodians, and yes, I think I’d heard that.”
“Did you know he got fired?” Hayley asked.
Kevin clearly didn’t. “For what?”
“He was fired for having an inappropriate relationship. My guess is with a student.”
“That’s pretty sick, if it’s true.”
“It’s true, all right.”
“How do you know?”
“I called the district and they told me …”
“Wait a second. Even if he had been let go for something like that, why would they tell you?”
“She lied and said she was his new employer,” Taylor said. “But she had no choice. Who knows what Jake might do next?”
Kevin didn’t like the fact that Hayley had lied. He didn’t like that Taylor was acting all worried about Jake attacking other girls. What he did like, and what he could respect a little, was the fact that Hayley had kind of gone undercover with that little ruse. He’d have hugged her right then, but he knew that that was the wrong message.
“We’ll deal with your tricking the school district out of confidential information later,” he said. “Right now, we have to let Chief Garnett know what we know.”
Taylor produced a stack of documents that until that moment Kevin hadn’t even noticed she was carrying.
“Here are some of the e-mails, dad,” she said.
He took the papers, his eyes taking in each disgusting word.
“We’ve also got some chats that she saved,” Hayley said.
“I see that,” he said, still immersed in the pages. “How do we know it came from Jake?”
“Colton tracked the IP. All e-mails came from the Larsens’ place,” Hayley said.
“The guy’s a pig,” Taylor said. “Dad, he pushed her into killing herself. Told her how great she was, beautiful, smart … then dropped her like a hot rock. He told her she was stupid and should do the world a favor and kill herself. Isn’t he guilty of something?”
“He’s guilty of incredibly bad judgment and of being a scumbag, but Internet bullying, harassment, all of that is a new area. There are laws on the books in some states, but not all. And most haven’t been tested.”
“What are you going to do?” Taylor asked.
“Only one thing we can do,” Kevin said. “We’ve got to get this to Annie.”
chapter 42
BETH LEE TEXTED HAYLEY AND TAYLOR at the same time with the news that Jake Damon had been picked up by the Port Gamble Police. The twins were watching TV downstairs, not talking to each other. Taylor resented Hayley and Colton for going off on a Jake dirt-finding mission without her. Not cool. And there was no saying when they would forgive each other. One time, they didn’t talk for five days—and that was over a sweater that Hayley had stained with cranberry juice.
Accidentally. Honest. Really!
BETH: MOM’S DORKY FRIEND NINA WORKS THERE. SAYS JAKE WZ WANTED ON AN OUTSTNDNG WARRANT 4 DUI.
TAYLOR: DID THEY ARREST HIM FOR KILLING K?
BETH: NO. NOT YET. NINA SAYS THAT HE’S BEEN ?ED BOUD STLKNG HER, BUT HE DENIED IT.
HAYLEY: HE’S SUCH A LIAR!
BETH: YEAH, BUT KIND OF QT.
TAYLOR: OMG, U THINK A SLEZ GUY LYK THAT IS QT?
BETH: DON’T BLAME ME. I ♥ ME A BAD BOY.
Hayley turned to her sister and they burst out laughing.
“Can you believe her?” Hayley asked.
“No,” Taylor said, her smile fading. “And I’m still kind of mad at you.”
SAVANNAH OSTEEN CRAWLED ONTO HER COUCH knowing she had made a very big mistake. She pulled an old poly-filled comforter up to her neck and allowed her tears to tumble.
Whenever she told anyone about her sister’s death, it was like the creation of a fresh wound—a rusty knife into her stomach. Hurt poured out of her. Regret, shame, and guilt too.
Savannah could never let go of her sister and how she’d loved her more than anyone—more than her mother, father, older brothers. When Serena came home from the hospital, it was like getting a real-life baby doll. She was pink. Straight-haired. Perfect. Their mother let Savannah bottle-feed her and bathe her. She was, Savannah believed, her baby too.
Because of her, her baby was gone forever.
To lose Serena as Savannah had and to have missed the opportunity to save her was a tragic event that shaped the rest of her life. She quit the university, got involved in drugs, and went from boyfriend to boyfriend. She’d only come out of the darkness the year before she posted the response on the Kitsap Kalamities website.
Curled up with the comforter, Savannah knew she had made a grave error sharing that videotape with the reporter, but she couldn’t help herself. She had wanted to tell somebody for the longest time. Someone who didn’t know her and wouldn’t judge her.
In doing so, she had unleashed something that she hadn’t meant to.
Just then she made a decision. Her pity party was over. Savannah threw off the comforter, dried her tears, went to her computer, and found Kevin Ryan’s website. She hit the CONTACT button. An e-mail window opened and she started typing a message.
She hoped that it wasn’t too late.
A MESSAGE FROM THE WASHINGTON STATE CRIME LAB was waiting for Dr. Waterman when she returned to her desk from her autopsy suite. The note made absolutely no sense. She dialed the lab and got a tech on the phone.
“The pregnancy test kit you sent in with Ramstad came back negative, no presence of hCG. Picked up a trace of blood, though. We typed it though, AB. Nada else,” said the lab tech, a cheerful woman named Paris who always made sure that everyone knew she was named for the French capital, not the plaster.
Dr. Waterman slid her glasses down her nose as she searched for the Ramstad folder.
“There must be an error,” she said.
“Nope. Pretty clear. That gunshot victim, Robin, wasn’t pregnant.”
“I should hope not,” Birdy said.
“What’s with that?” the tech said.
“She’d be the first man to have a baby.”