Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Lidle house would be off limits for the foreseeable future, at least until I could finish the autopsy and make an official ruling on cause of death.

Daniels and her team were going through the painstaking process of cataloguing and photographing every item in the office, as well as taking into evidence other writing samples so it could be determined whether Robert Lidle actually wrote the note we found under his head.

Lily and Sheldon had come to retrieve the body, and I'd planned to ride back with her and start on the autopsy, but there was plenty of time left for work. It had been an emotional day, and I wasn't quite ready to jump back into another autopsy. Three in twenty-four hours was a lot, even for me. So I'd let Lily and Sheldon leave and they could get things set up in the lab.

When we stepped outside the clouds had started to move in again. "I guess it was nice while it lasted."

Jack looked up at the sky. "Nothing to worry about. Just a quick shower. The sun is here to stay for a while."

"Is that Farmer Jack talking?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Hey, don't knock it," he said. "There's a reason Farmer's Almanac is a success."

"Maybe you should take that talent to Vegas," Martinez said, putting on his sunglasses and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "You think we can break Astrid into giving us more names?"

"Maybe," Jack said. "But she was as tight lipped as Geoffrey. No wonder the employees here stay forever. It's like the Hotel California."

"What about Molly?" I asked. "She's been here longer than anyone. You think she knows something?"

"I think they all know something," Jack said. "The question is to what extent. I got the impression that Molly was only here because of her loyalty to Mrs. Lidle. But she's an observant type and her son and granddaughter work here too. Maybe they can place some names and faces. But at this point, no one is worth discounting."

I looked to the right, to the opposite side of the pool, and saw Carson and Janet and Everett sitting together on a lounger, looking completely helpless and lost. Phin had left with the attorneys and Astrid and Geoffrey had been put in the back of squad cars and taken to be processed and booked. But we still didn't have a killer.

"Where do they even begin to pick up the pieces?" I asked quietly, nodding in their direction. "How's Everett supposed to go home and tell his wife everything he learned today?"

"I can't even imagine," Jack said. "But they have each other, at least what's left of their family, and they'll figure it out together."

Everett got up from the lounger and went in the opposite direction so he didn't have to talk to anyone, and he got in his car and drove away. But Carson and Janet came toward us. Carson's arm was wrapped tightly around his wife, and her face was swollen and blotchy from crying, but it looked like Everett had been right. Carson loved his wife and would stick with her no matter what.

"Sheriff," she said, and then she encompassed all of us and I could see the polished politician in her. "I feel like I need to apologize for the mess that is my family."

"You don't," Jack said. "We're here to help however we can."

"I'm glad you were able to make an arrest for Mother's murder, and I hope you catch every one of those bastards."

"We're not going to stop looking," Jack promised. "And we're going to follow up every lead. Sex trafficking is an epidemic in this country that no one wants to tackle because of what it might uncover."

"You're right," she said. "Which is why I'm going to make it my mission to start uncovering it from my position. There are girls and women like me all over this country. They don't have a voice. Maybe I can give them one."

"I think that's a policy we can all get behind," Jack said. "Make sure you take some time for yourself too."

"Now you're starting to sound like Carson," she said with a glimmer of a smile.

"Sounds like the sheriff is pretty smart to me," Carson said. "We met Everett's friends yesterday. Dr. Bancroft and his wife. Everett said he's a very successful psychologist, and mentioned that his regular patients frequently include high officials and politicians. Everett said we should give him a call and set something up, but I forgot to ask him for his information."

"That sounds like good advice," Jack said. "Actually, I've got his card in my wallet." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out the card with Peter Bancroft's information on it, and then he handed it to Carson.

"Thank you," Carson said. "Come on, Janet. Let's go pick up Jason and go home."

She nodded and then thanked us once more, and then it was just the three of us.

"I think we've got a problem," Jack said.

"Why?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"We need a laptop and Doug," he said.

"On the phone or in the flesh?" Martinez asked.

"Grab your laptop and let's go inside," Jack said.

I raised my brows but followed him back inside and into one of the side rooms that was empty. Jack already had Doug on the phone and put him on speaker.

"Doug, you there?"

"I'm here," he said. "My eyes are starting to cross with all this financial stuff. Whoever is moving all that money around is a freaking genius. Small amounts, large amounts, thousands of accounts. Did you hear me say that? Thousands of accounts all over the world. That is not a good sign."

"No, it's not," Jack said. "But what we can focus on is what's here in front of us. Robert Lidle, Astrid Nielsen, and Geoffrey Higgins. We know they were all involved in what happened to Evie. But there were others.

"We've got an eyewitness account that on the night of Evie's murder there were two dark SUVs driving around Regent Park sometime before midnight. One of the drivers was identified as a woman."

"Astrid?" Martinez asked, setting up the laptop on the table.

"I thought it could have been," Jack answered. "But if it was she left her cell phone at the Lidle residence because it shows she never left that night. We know Robert Lidle showed up in King George Proper about a mile from Regent Park the night Evie died for a kind of indoctrination. But whoever was supposed to transport her got carried away and took her for himself. Maybe he had another buyer lined up and was going to take it outside the family, so to speak.

"And then she somehow managed to escape and he really started to panic. We never found her clothes. Imagine a naked, bruised, and bloody child running through the country streets and fields looking for someone to help her. Who do you call for help? Who do you trust? Not the person who hired you. Robert Lidle would have put a bullet through him if he'd found out. Or at least paid someone to do it."

My eyes widened as I started to see the picture that was being painted. "You call your wife," I said.

"I'm still not following," Doug said.

"Get in line, kid," Martinez quipped.

"Two vehicles, tracking her like a dog and closing in on her, until they're close enough for the ground game. He catches her and she still puts up a fight. Clawing, scratching, kicking. Enough so that he doesn't even notice when his baseball cap flies off to be found by the crime-scene techs the next day."

"Oh, hell," Martinez said, the lightbulb coming on.

"I still haven't found a match for that logo," Doug said. "It's not registered. Could be any mom-and-pop shop on the internet."

"It's not," Jack said. "Look up the private practice of Dr. Peter Bancroft."

"I know that name," Doug said. "He's on my list of searches but is low probability."

"Look him up," Jack insisted. "And have Margot screen share everything with Martinez's laptop."

"Yeah, yeah," Doug said. "On it."

The website for Peace of Mind Psychotherapy came up. And there in the top right corner next to a picture of Peter Bancroft were the three intertwined triangles—the same triangles that were on the hat recovered from the scene.

"He's a perfect candidate," Jack said. "Both of them are. She's the head of an all-girls school, and he's the school psychologist. They'd have access to everyone's personal records and home life. There are girls who live on campus full-time, away from their parents. And he'd know which ones would be susceptible and stay quiet. We'll get a warrant to get access to school records and any parent or student complaints.

"Martinez, why don't you find a judge to get us a warrant and then get in touch with DC Metro and see if they'll send a couple of officers over to the Bancroft residence and to his practice just to make sure they don't disappear."

"My pleasure," Martinez said and took his phone out and stepped out of the room to make the calls.

"Doug, how fast can you hack into the Dolley Madison School for Girls computer system?" Jack asked. "I want to know about any internal complaints. Anything suspicious that might pile on the charges for our friends."

What Doug was capable of doing with a computer was not exactly within the law. We were going to get our warrant, so we'd have the information one way or another, but it was best that Martinez didn't have knowledge of what Jack was asking Doug to do.

"I got in before you finished saying the word warrant," Doug said and then he started muttering to himself. "Disciplinary actions, expelled students, teacher complaints…" He whistled tunelessly. "Petty theft. Lots of drugs confiscated. Some minor assaults. Rich girls are wild, man. Who knew?

"Ahh, here we go," Doug said. "Here's some good stuff. Abigail Dresden. Age fifteen. Disappeared from her dorm last November. It was first reported to campus security, and then the city cops. According to the school psychologist Abigail was dealing with depression, and she was on academic probation for cheating. He said she'd mentioned in one of her sessions that she wanted to run away from it all. Cops eventually declared her a runaway. She's still a missing person."

"That's what we're looking for," Jack said, keeping an eye on the door for Martinez. "What else?"

"They've got locked files," Doug said, clicking his tongue. "Looks like the only person who has access is the head of school. They've got their own campus police department. Looks like they've been through four chiefs of police in the last seven years. A seventeen-year-old student filed a formal complaint against Peter Bancroft, saying he sexually assaulted her during a mandatory counseling session. Campus police brought the complaint to the head of school, as is policy, and Dr. Bancroft denied all allegations, saying the student suffered from narcissistic personality disorder. He claimed she became outraged when he didn't reciprocate her advances and she told him she would do everything in her power to discredit him and ruin his career."

"Convenient," I said.

"Yeah, I guess the police chief thought so too. His contract wasn't renewed for the following year, and the girl ended up transferring to a different school for her senior year. Couple of other similar cases. Same MO and different police chief each time. Then three years ago another fifteen-year-old was found off campus. She's been beaten and raped. She was the daughter of one of those wacko A-list actors who's always shilling themselves for politicians, and guess what happened when the school called to tell them about their daughter? They decided it would be too embarrassing for word to get out, so they told the school to handle it in-house and made her do mandatory counseling with Dr. Bancroft. The girl hanged herself in her dorm room three days later."

"God," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "And how perfect it is that his wife is right there to make sure he can keep up his sick fantasies and clean up any messes he makes."

"Maybe that's why he didn't care about leaving his DNA everywhere," Jack said. "His wife kept the slate wiped clean or she just hired different cops who didn't know the kind of man he really was."

"What kind of cars do they drive?" I asked.

"He's got a black Mercedes G550, and she's got a dark blue BMW X7."

"Are those SUVs?" I asked, having no clue why Jack would know what those were off the top of his head, but he did.

"Yeah," Jack said. "We'll have impound pick them up so we can check for hair and fibers. Between all the evidence discovered at the rental properties Robert Lidle purchased under a dummy company and the Bancrofts' vehicles, not to mention his hat being found at the scene, we've got enough for a solid arrest for first-degree murder."

"And we'll just pray that the district attorney doesn't try to plea him down for more arrests of other people involved."

"Yeah, well," Jack said. "One problem at a time."

"Got it," Martinez said, coming back in. "Judge Warner was more than happy to sign off. And we caught a stroke of luck. DC Metro sent a couple of units by their house and both were closed up tight and lights were out. On a hunch, I had Plank drive by Everett Lidle's house. He ran the plates on a Mercedes that was parked in the driveway, and it came back registered to Peter Bancroft."

"That makes my day," Jack said, closing the laptop. "Thanks for the help, Doug."

"Oscar and I are just doing our duty," Doug said, and I heard Oscar woof in the background.

The drive to the Lidles' was somber, though my skin tingled with anticipation at the arrest of Peter and Tiffany Bancroft. It felt good to get the bad guy, and I could admit I wanted them to go down hard. Part of me hoped they resisted arrest just a little bit.

I could see police units parked at the entrance to the neighborhood, and there was another unit parked a few houses down.

Jack parked once again in front of the big family home of the middle Lidle brother, and Martinez was right behind him. There was an electric energy surrounding us as we made our way to the door and rang the bell.

Everett Lidle answered the door, his eyes red rimmed and his clothes disheveled.

"I just can't do any more today," he said. "I'm sorry. We just can't. Whatever questions or information…I'm at the breaking point. My wife is already past the breaking point. Please give us some space."

"I'm sorry, Everett," Jack said. "But we've got some important information for you about the case."

There was a spark of hope in his eyes. "You've got something? You found him?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Can we come in?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, stepping back to let them in. "Peter and Tiffany are here too. They wanted to help, but they were just about to leave. We just need to be together as a family. Me and Jenny and the girls."

"Perfectly understandable," Peter said, helping his wife put on her jacket. "Just know that we're only a phone call away."

"We know," Everett said. "And we appreciate it. Just give us a couple of days. Jack just came by to let me know they've made progress on the case. They've found Evie's killer."

"Thank God," Tiffany said, shuddering. "I can't imagine a monster like that being out among regular people."

"Can't you?" Jack asked menacingly.

She laughed and put her hand to her sweater set, this one in yellow today. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Detective Martinez," Jack said.

"I'm going to need you to roll up your sleeves and show me your arms, Peter," Martinez said.

"I beg your pardon?" Peter asked, looking at Tiffany and smiling as if they were sharing some kind of joke that no one else was in on. "I think everyone is short on sleep. You guys aren't making any sense."

"We can do it the easy or the hard way," Martinez said. "I've got an arrest warrant for both of you. And believe me, I'd love to do this the hard way after the last couple of days. Now roll up your sleeves or I'll do it for you."

What remaining color that had been in Everett's face drained and he swayed violently. "I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"Sleeves," Martinez said again. "Now."

A look so full of hatred passed across Peter's eyes I almost took a step back. But he stood there and looked at us defiantly and unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt. And then he pulled up the sleeves. There were deep groove marks that cut into his skin—nail marks—Evie Lidle's nail marks.

An inhuman sound came from Everett Lidle and he launched himself at Peter, knocking him to the ground, his fists making contact with every inch of flesh he could find as he pummeled relentlessly.

Martinez and Jack both waited longer than usual to wade in and separate the two men. Martinez got hold of Everett and lifted him to his feet.

"You were my friend!" Everett screamed, charging toward Peter again.

Jack had Peter on his stomach with his knee in his back and his hands in cuffs before I could blink. And then he jerked Peter to his feet. His nose was obviously broken and his face was covered in blood.

Everett's screams had turned to sobs as the betrayal set in, and Martinez just held him in a loose embrace, letting him yell and cry at a man he thought he could trust.

Jack took out another set of cuffs and stared at Tiffany. "Turn around."

The look in his eyes must have been enough to convince her not to try anything, because she turned and willingly put her hands behind her back.

"I know my rights," Peter said. "You need to take me to a doctor. I need medical attention."

"Shut up," Jack said. "You have the right to remain silent…"

It was the end we'd wanted, to find the person responsible for Evie Lidle's death. But finding a killer didn't always bring satisfaction. Sometimes justice being served still left an empty hole inside you.

But in this case, it was the start of unraveling and dismantling something bigger than all of us. We couldn't stop an international operation. But we could make King George County safer than it was before. And at the end of the day that was all we could hope for.