Bleeding Out

8

Homicide victims are frequently killed by someone they know, so Frank and Noah wasted no time interviewing Randy Wyche. He had plausible excuses at the garage for the days around both Agoura's and his stepdaughter's disappearances, but because the police couldn't pinpoint the exact time of either girl's abduction, his alibi wasn't infallible. What they could more closely approximate was the time each girl died, and for those times, all Wyche had was his wife's backing. He readily admitted to not much caring for his stepdaughter, though he resented the fact that he was in any way a suspect in her death.

'We have to pursue all avenues,' Frank explained patiently. 'It's not uncommon for stepparents, especially in the heat of an argument, to kill their stepchildren. We see it a lot. It happens. Usually no one means for it to, but things just get out of hand...'

Frank trailed off and Noah asked, 'Did you and Jennifer ever fight?'

'We had arguments, yeah, but nothing like this.'

'Did you ever hit her?'

Wyche's head drooped toward the chipped linoleum, and Frank had to prod the answer.

'A couple times. She was so fresh, thought she knew everything.'

'A teenager,' Noah lied, 'I've got one at home.'

'Then you know how they are?' Wyche insisted.

''Fraid so,' he agreed, siding with the man. 'Curfew's a big thing in our house. What about you? What did you and your stepdaughter argue over?'

'Everything. But the worst was when she'd just take off. It worried Dee sick. We got into a big fight about that one time. She called me a lazy fucker, said I couldn't tell her what to do, so I hauled off and smacked her. That shut her up.'

'Where'd you hit her?'

'I slapped her face.”

'What did she do after that?'

'I don't know. Ran up to her room crying, I guess. Her mother went after her.'

'What did you do?' Frank pressed.

'Went out into the garage, I guess.'

'What do you do in the garage?'

'I got a '56 Jeep I'm fixing up.'

'How long you been working on it?'

''Bout two or three years now. I don't get as much time out there as I'd like, especially with the weather we've been having lately.'

Frank made a note to have Johnnie look at the car, to see if it had been worked on lately. She also wanted to check out the garage at Wyche's job. Whoever had killed Agoura, and now Peterson, had worked them over in a secluded place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Maybe one of the garages offered a spot like that.

'You said you'd hit her a couple of times,' Frank said. 'What were the other occasions?'

'Shit, I don't know, let me think. I know we had a big fight when she got arrested for shoplifting. We grounded her and she had a fit about that. Started mouthing off again.'

'Where'd you hit her that time?'

'I don't know. It all happens so fast, you know. I didn't mean to hit her, but I got a temper you know, and I'm not just gonna take crap from some kid.'

'How do you think you hit her?'

'I probably slapped her. I never like punched her out or anything. Not like the guy that did that to her,' he said, indicating the photos arrayed before him.

'How do you know it was a man who did that to her?' Frank jumped on him.

'Why would a woman do it? I mean, whoever did this had to be pretty strong.'

'You're pretty strong aren't you?'

'Yeah, but so are a lot of guys.'

'Yeah, but a lot of guys don't have a bratty stepdaughter hanging around the house insulting them all day.'

'Well, you're right, she could be a pain, but you don't kill someone for that.'

'Isn't it true that you wished she'd go live with her father?'

'Yeah. I would've liked that a lot, but Dee would've hated it. It's her kid. She loved her.'

'But you didn't.'

'No,' he shrugged, 'I didn't.'

'Man,' Noah sighed, shaking his head, 'it's hard enough having your own kids copping an attitude with you, but it must be really hard with a stepkid.'

'It wasn't always so bad. We usually just ignored each other. Sometimes I'd even forget she was around.'

Noah grinned sheepishly. Turning conspiratorially away from Frank he asked quietly, 'Randy, you know I look at my girls and I think, man, they are lookers, but you know they're my daughters, but Jennifer, man, she was a pretty girl and she wasn't really your daughter. You know what I'm saying?'

Wyche shared the grin.

'Yeah, I hear you.'

'Was she like into that at all with you? You know, you being the older man. Girls like that, huh?'

'Naw, nothing like that ever happened, but I'll tell you it was hard to not stare when she walked around in her nightie or in some of those shirts.'

'So'd you ever get any? A little feel? Brush up against her in the hallway kinda thing?'

Wyche was motioning no, but he was blushing. Noah whispered lewdly, 'But you wanted to, didn't you?'

'Crossed my mind a time or two,' he agreed.

Noah was folded over the table toward Wyche, leering at him. 'Did you get any?'

'Naw, man, nothing like that. She's my wife's daughter.'

'Man, you didn't even try for a little? Who'd have known?'

Wyche was shaking his head. 'Nah. It ain't right, you know? How'd you feel if some guy was poking your girl?'

'That'd be different,' Noah conceded. 'But she wasn't your girl.'

Noah's line of attack was slipping away so Frank bluntly took over.

'Mr. Wyche, who's to say that nothing happened between you and Jennifer. You certainly wouldn't tell your wife about this and the only other person who'd know is dead. Why should we believe you didn't have a sexual relationship with Jennifer?'

Ticking off points on her fingers, Frank continued, 'You've already told us you were attracted to her. You've already told us you hit her in anger. You've said you have a temper. You said you didn't like her—'

Now Noah interrupted. 'Aw, man, I totally feel for you. It'd be so easy to lose your temper and what starts off as a slap turns into something else. And man, if I had a hunk of her in my hands...I don't know. I mean, one thing leads to another sometimes. I've been there.'

Wyche adamantly protested to Frank, 'Nothing like that happened. I know I lost my temper a couple times, but I never hurt Jennie. Not like that.'

'Then how?' Frank asked.

'Like I told you.'

'Tell us again,' Noah soothed, and that's how it went for hours. Wyche's accounts never varied. The detectives didn't catch him in a lie or break his composure. He was earnest, insistent, and paced around the table during a five-minute break. It was Frank's observation, after thousands of interrogations, that guilty people tended to nod off. Sometimes they were so deeply asleep they'd fall out of the chair. Other times they'd curl up in the corner and be cutting Z's. But Wyche was worried, as well an innocent man should be with two homicide detectives grilling him like a cheese sandwich.

They let him go home after midnight. He was simultaneously relieved, exhausted, and furious. The detectives both apologized for the work-over but insisted they had to know, that Jennifer deserved the truth. The apology