Criminal Affair Pt. 03

I fast forward to about the time Natalie Hawthorn leaves her house and slow the rate of the fast forward. In ten minutes I say aloud, "Holy shit."

Natalie was in the store just before sundown. She was wearing a skirt and a University of Arizona sweatshirt. I guess that's a better cover than your high school shirt when your trying to illegally purchase alcohol. She starts talking with two boys, who appear the same age, maybe older by a year or two. They're laughing, and she's flirting by slapping one of them in the arm.

I ask the cashier if they have a camera outside, but they don't. I call Derek and update him, and he arrives fifteen minutes later. My guys have begun to canvas this new area, looking for nearby shops with outside cameras to no avail.

Derek carefully watches the tape and grabs a twelve case of Coors Light, a bottle of Jaeger, a bottle of Captain Morgan, and silver off brand tequila before bringing them all to the counter.

"Could you ring this up, and go through your receipts to see who had an order that cashed out to that amount yesterday?" Derek asked, and with five minutes the girl dropped the copy of the receipt on the counter. Accurate down to the cent.

Paid with a credit card, signature on the receipt was signed with the digital screen on the card swipe pin pad so it was gibberish. Warrant would need to get started to see bank statement if they wouldn't hand them over, and considering we can't prove a crime, I doubt they'd just hand them over. No fake identification was used apparently, they scan the ids, but they don't maintain any data on them, only checking the date of birth. While he's checking that I take a snapshot of the man with my phone.

"Missing person was last seen with adult male, twenty-one years of age. Caucasian, brown hair, five foot seven to nine inches, muscular build. Wearing black jeans with a grey hoody," Derek said to dispatch, letting go of the mic and waiting for them to read it back. "Could you talk to her friend again?" He asks me while waiting.

"Stacy?" I ask, him nodding.

"Ask if she knew of an older male she could have known. Possible relationship by the looks of the video," Derek says as dispatch begins to read it back to him. "Good copy."

"I'll let you know if I get any hits," I say and leave in my squad car to go see her friend who was hosting the party.

Her house was just down the road from the store, so I'm there in minutes, only having to pull of the main road and turn once to get to the residential street. I pull onto the curb and walk along the driveway and turn to her porch, making sure not to walk through the grass to arrive at the door. Not everyone likes when you walk on their grass.

After I ring the bell, the door opens a few seconds later to a young woman I'll assume is Stacy Oliver.

"Ms. Oliver?" I ask, her nodding and gesturing for me to follow her. Stacy is eighteen so I don't need her parents permission even if they were here. They're out of town, hence the party. I guess she assumes I know something. I stay standing while she sits on the bar stool next to her counter top island. The entire house still smells like alcohol and cleaning supplies in an attempt to hide the odor of alcohol.

"Did you find her?" Stacy asks.

"Not yet, but we are making progress. Did Natalie have any relationship with an older boy? Probably early twenties?" I ask, Stacy shaking her head.

"I think she'd mention that to me," Stacy said.

"I don't mean strictly as a boyfriend, a friend or relative. Does this man look familiar?" I ask, Stacy leaning into my phone as I open the picture.

"He looks familiar...hold on," Stacy says and pulls out her phone. Pulling up her Facebook app, she opened Natalie's profile and scanned through her pictures. "That him?"

Stacy showed me a picture that Natalie took when she visited her future college during spring break. Her cousin attended the school, which is why she applied. Besides her cousin who I identified by the same last name, was my suspect with a group of other people. Vincent Yorkton.

"Thank you," I say to Stacy before stepping out and calling Derek.

--

Vincent Yorkton wasn't from town, but a friend of his lived very close, within ten miles. Michael Stafford. He was friends with Natalie's cousin who went to the University of Arizona as well. We were able to identify the friend through the pictures. Derek and I knocked on the door of his friend's house, a voice laughing as it opened the door, that suddenly got suspiciously silent.

"Evening sir, I'm detective Whitaker, this is Sergeant Simpson, are you the owner of this residence?" Derek asks.

"No..it's my moms place," he said nervously, looking over his shoulder, then back, "She's not home."

"Have you seen this girl?" Derek asked, showing him a picture of Natalie. He went ghostly pale.

"Nope, can't say that I have," Michael stammers.

"Who the fuck you talking too..." a second voice says, and I lean over and see Vincent.

"Like I said, haven't seen her," he repeats.

"That's interesting, because I could swear this is you, and that's her," Derek says, holding up his phone with the video from the store on it playing. "Rather flirty with your buddy there."

"Get a warrant, or fuck off," Vincent say, opening the door wider to say that. Big mistake. Her bag was on their coffee table. You can see her carrying it in the video. Very conspicuous leather Coach bag with the Cs all around it.

"Then why is her bag in your home?" I ask, then both looking back and pausing for a moment before Vincent slammed the door shut before we could block it. They bolted the door and we could hear them take off.

"Back door!" Derek shouts and readies his weapon. He begins to ram the door as I take off around the back. I know the back door is quickest if I go to the right, Derek advising we survey the place in case we found her here.

The back door burst open and both run out and passed the corner. I miss Vincent, but Michael I tackle to the ground, me landing on his back with his face in the grass. I press my elbow to the back of his head while getting the cuffs ready. He tries to push me off, but he's in no position for leverage, so I lean into his head more and shout for him to not resist.

"Need additional units at my position, one suspect fleeing south on foot," I say into my radio and pull him to his feet and walk him around the house, my grip on the chain and on his shoulder at the crook of his neck. I throw him on the hood of my squad car and wait for something to charge him with besides fleeing police.

I hear Derek calling on the radio for an ambulance not long after. Natalie was in the house, strung out and tied to a bed naked. Most likely drugged.

"Michael Stafford, you are under arrest for kidnapping, fleeing police, and false imprisonment. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

--

Rape kit came back positive for both suspects semen, and bloodwork tested positive for the date rape drug. Vincent didn't get very far and was soon in an interrogation room next door to his buddy. This was a pretty open shut case, and now I get to see Derek at work to get a confession. Vincent was the only smart one and asked for a lawyer. Didn't help him much. They were also formally charged with rape.

Both had the same story. They were going to go to the party, and drove passed Natalie on their way. Natalie remembered them from spring break, and ask them to buy her some liquor. The Captain Morgan was for her. They drove to Michael's house at first to pick up some marijuana, but while he went to get it in his room, Vincent and her began to make out. They hit it off really hard when she visited during spring break.

When he began to try attempt to strip her, she stopped him and said they didn't have time, but maybe after the party. She asked for a drink before going, Vincent pouring it for her and dosing her. He asked Michael to stall, saying he was still looking for where he hid his stash for it to come into effect. Ten minutes later she was influenced, and they pulled her into his bedroom.

They took turns. They took pictures and video of it. There was enough evidence to put them away for a good long while.

--

Hard to celebrate passing the detectives examine after a case like that. I've worked canvasing, and interviews, and other things like this before, but I've never been as involved as I have been recently. It fucks with you.

I went over to Derek's after work, like I had been nearly every night for weeks, and stopped with my hand raised to knock. Thinking about what I was here for, made me hesitate. With the life style I've been living, it's nothing short of miracle I haven't been Natalie yet. Drugged and tied to a bed, having to go through the same horror for hours, while my victimizers high fived each other and laughed.

Derek deals with this every day. I don't know if I can. Part of me knows Derek would rather be shot at in Iraq than to respond to this case again. I know he's seen some shit, and how he retains anything resembling calm is beyond me. His life is pure chaos. Is that why he's the way he is with sex? It's not about controlling the other person; it's about being able to control something in his life.

I lower my hand and turn away from the door, only for it to open behind me. Derek leans against the frame, as I slowly turn around to face him.

"How do you do this every day?" I ask, Derek doesn't respond in any way. "How?"

"Because someone has to do it," Derek says and steps into the hallway. "If you don't want to ask yourself every day, whether or not you can take another day of it, don't be a detective. I can do it, because I think about the girls those two won't be able to do it to next."

"I want to come in, but I don't know if I can tonight. You know," I say. That case even made me unable to say sex. The word has been tainted.

"I understand. I lost my mood for it as well. I have some coffee on the pot. We don't know much about each other, and I'd like to know who you are," Derek says, and I look away, flushed.

I'm not the girl who talks over coffee. I'm the girl who skips coffee, the lunch and dinner dates and goes straight to dessert. I love for men to claim me, and tell me the way I like it. Maybe that's why I don't actually know how I like it. Maybe I've been taking orders for so long, I never figured that part out. You don't get many guys like Derek who wants to stick around after he finishes on your tits three minutes after you meet him.

For the first time in my life, I'm willing to be the girl who talks over coffee.

"I grew up in Missouri," I start, Derek reaching over his cabinet peninsula to pour my cup, "A town so small it says 'Welcome to' and 'Now leaving' on the same sign. Town that small, there was only three things to do; drink, farm, or fuck.