Vicky looked like she wanted to cry. “That little bitch. She’s a fucking thief, Jill. A thief!”
“Who?” Jill asked, aghast.
“Katie Timbolt! And she’s got Tyler mixed up in her mess. That’s why Coach benched him!”
With that, she covered her face with her hands and broke down and bawled.
* * *
Cooper finished talking with Bette at around ten-thirty, wished her well, causing a tear to slide down her unbandaged cheek. He headed back to the station. A news van was parked outside, and when they saw Cooper, a young man and woman rushed over to try to interview him. He didn’t want to be on the evening news, so he ducked away from them and hurried up the back steps. Once inside the detective bureau, he headed to his desk. Howie was standing and conversing with Verbena.
“It’s hit the fan,” Howie said.
“The attack on Bette?” Cooper asked.
“Phil Kearns is being chased by reporters, as is Eric Volker.”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Volker yet.”
“I know. He called here, pissed. Said you talked to his ex, and he plans to sue.”
“Sue?” Cooper repeated. “For what?”
“Damage to his reputation, putting words in her mouth, anything he can come up with. The usual . . . but there’s more.”
“What else?” Cooper asked.
Elena rolled her eyes his way. “That theft and vandalism case broke wide open. Cathy Timbolt’s daughter and—”
“Tyler Stapleton. Quarterback for the River Glen Pirates,” Cooper cut her off.
“Allegedly,” Howie put in.
“How’d you know?” Verbena asked at the same time.
“I know someone at the school.”
“Jamie Whelan,” Howie said with a nod of acknowledgment.
“What’s happening with that?”
“The Stapletons are lawyering up. I haven’t heard about Timbolt yet. Katie’s father lives in Phoenix.”
“The people they allegedly burglarized, the Pendelans, are pissed,” said Verbena.
Howie added, “The Stapletons want no part of it. They’re coming in today, with Tyler, who they say was not with Katie. That she did this all on her own.”
“It’s your case,” Elena said to Cooper. “What do you want to do?”
“It’s my case only because I was the one who went out to Staffordshire and saw where they pressed their hands into concrete.”
“Think that’ll hold up as evidence?” Howie mused.
“More likely there’ll be fingerprints on the vodka bottle.”
“We’re having that checked. By the way, no one’s arguing that they put their hands into the wet concrete. The Stapletons said they’ll take care of that,” said Elena.
“Is Lawrence Stapleton involved in that development?” Howie asked. “This kid’s gotta be stupid if he’s doing that to his old man’s business.”
“Or maybe that’s the point,” Elena said knowingly.
“What about the theft?” Cooper asked. “Have the Pendelans pressed charges?”
“Not yet, but they said they’re going to. Cathy Timbolt’s ex is a lawyer, so . . .” Howie spread his hands.
“Katie Timbolt babysat their dog,” Cooper said slowly.
“And then stole from them,” Elena reminded him.
“She’s only sixteen,” Howie added.
Elena glared at both of them. “She broke in. Stole jewelry and liquor. She and Tyler Stapleton went to Staffordshire Estates, pressed their palms into the concrete, drank the stolen vodka, put down a blanket, and had sex on the grounds.”
“Allegedly,” Howie said more strongly. “Her sister’s one of the top students of the senior class.”
“Well, great,” Elena snapped.
“I’m just saying, we don’t know everything. We need to take our time,” said Howie.
Cooper sighed. Man, oh, man, this one was going to be a bitch. “My daughter’s a friend of Katie.”
“I’ll take the case. I’ll okay it with Bennihof,” Howie said. “I’ve already got the other boys.”
“Who didn’t tell you about Tyler Stapleton,” Elena reminded him.
“I know,” Howie snapped back at her.
“And don’t go with that boys-will-be-boys attitude. That’s all I’m saying. Sixteen or no, Katie Timbolt stole from people who trusted her. Allegedly,” she forestalled Howie, who’d opened his mouth to protest. She turned to Cooper. “Either way, you’re off this one.”
“What about Bette Kearns?” Howie asked, and Cooper laid out what she’d told him at the hospital, which wasn’t much more than what they’d already learned, or at least speculated, that she had an impression of bulky dark clothes, a ski mask, and gloves.
“Ski mask,” Howie said.
“Maybe tech’ll pick something up,” said Verbena.
“I want to talk to Eric Volker,” Cooper told them.
“He left his number when he called earlier,” Verbena said.
Howie scooped up a paper from his desk and handed it to Cooper, who punched in the numbers from his desk phone. Howie added, “He’s a hothead.”
Cooper spent the next twenty minutes on the phone with Meghan Volker’s ex, who had a lot to say about the police, his ex-wife, and the cheating bastard who was fucking her, Phil Kearns, and even Bette Kearns, who would spread her legs for anybody who could rub a few nickels together. Volker said Meghan was a whore and only Dara was worth anything. He’d fought for custody for years, but now at least Dara was eighteen and could make her own decisions. He felt he was the victim in the divorce and had fought hard not to pay his wife any alimony. In his mind, she shouldn’t get half of the equity they would receive from selling their house. He’d allowed her to stay in it while Dara finished her senior year, but come June, he was going to throw her out on her sagging, forty-year-old ass. When Cooper asked where he’d been on Thursday night between five and eight, he’d triumphantly told him that he was at a Portland restaurant with a date and then went back to her place, a high-rise condo, and enjoyed monumental sex into the wee hours of the morning. He provided her name and phone number and finished with, “I’ve got no beef with Bette Kearns. She wants to screw half the town, have at it. Phil, I don’t like, but he can have Meghan. She’s an expensive habit. One I’m happy to be rid of.”
Cooper was pretty sure that was all bluster, but he thanked the man
