Fully Committed. Janie Crouch
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to be here, be somewhere nearby so they could help if needed. While Jon appreciated the gesture, they had to leave.
He turned back to Wales. “A little crowded out here, don’t you think, for a woman who’s just been brutally attacked?”
Wales looked a little surprised that Jon had said something reasonable. Probably had expected him to pick a fight about not being notified.
“Actually, I agree,” Wales said. “The last thing that woman is going to want or need is a bunch of people—men especially, probably—out here hanging around.”
The detective’s statement reassured Jon on multiple levels. First, he had already been aware of the problem before Jon even pointed it out and would’ve handled it himself soon, hopefully. Second, Wales might not like him or the fact that he had been assigned to the case, but at least he wasn’t going to do something potentially case-damaging such as keep a bunch of unnecessary people there just to spite Jon. The victim was Wales’s priority.
So cowboy hat notwithstanding—the jury was definitely still out on that—the young detective had just proved himself to be at least competent and focused.
Jon backed out of the way as Wales went to talk to the uniformed officers and dismiss them. He could hear him reassure the men that they personally would be the first ones called if anything could be done for the victim or if any further help was needed. He was glad to see Wales wasn’t a jerk in general.
Just with him, evidently.
After the uniforms left, Wales made his way over to Jon. Both knew it could be some time before they were able to talk to the victim, depending on the extent of the physical and emotional trauma. But sooner was definitely better, while everything was, unfortunately, still fresh in the victim’s mind.
They’d have to wait until the doctor came out to give them more information.
“Do we know anything about the victim?” Jon gave it about a fifty-fifty chance that the detective would be forthcoming with information.
Wales hesitated but then responded.
“Vic’s name is Jasmine Houze. She’s twenty-seven, not married, lives on Mustang Island, which is out near the beach. Works for Flint Hill Resources, an oil company.”
Corpus Christi, in Jon’s opinion, was a city with an identity crisis: part touristy beach town, part oil/shipping industry. Both businesses seemed to vie for what the city would be known for. There were lovely beaches, but if you wandered too far from them you were right in the middle of oil industry with their buildings and warehouses and machinery. So you had all types of people in the city’s makeup.
“Nurse said there was similar craniofacial trauma?” Jon asked.
“I haven’t seen her yet or any medical records to confirm,” Zane Wales responded. “But, yeah, I understand that’s the case.”
The extent of the woman’s wounds would determine a lot, such as how soon they could question her and to what degree she would be able to coherently remember facts.
It was a full hour later before the doctor, a female, and two female nurses came out. The doctor closed the door behind her in a way that suggested no one would be entering soon.
“Gentlemen,” the doctor said in greeting.
“How is she, Dr. Rosemont?” Wales asked. “Is it possible for us to speak with her?”
Jon stayed a half step back. It was better for local detectives to take the lead in these types of cases, he knew from experience. He would only jump in if necessary.
Although the nurses left to complete their other duties, the doctor positioned herself even more solidly in front of the door.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, Ms. Houze is in a delicate state right now, both physically and emotionally.” The doctor crossed her arms over her chest.
Jon was glad to see Wales nodding, taking seriously what the doctor was saying. It was important to talk to Ms. Houze, but it was also important to remember that this was the worst day of her entire life.
“We understand,” Wales said. “And we want to be sensitive to the situation. But talking to her soon is important, if medically possible.”
“Ms. Houze has significant bruising to her face and jaw. The rapist struck her a half-dozen times in rapid succession to stun her. She’ll have no permanent damage from those blows, but both her eyes are currently swollen shut.”
That was undoubtedly what the attacker had intended, so the victim wouldn’t be able to identify him. Jon grimaced. The same thing had happened in the other cases. As a matter of fact, the facial abuse was what had helped alert them to the fact that this was the work of a single man.
“Do you think she’ll be willing to talk with us?” Wales asked her.
“I definitely don’t think she’s interested in surrounding herself with men right now, so only one of you, and that may not work at all.” Dr. Rosemont shrugged.
“Then I’ll be handling that, boys.” The drawl came from behind them.
Jon turned the find the last person he would send into a room with a woman who had been victimized. Senior detective Frank Spangler.
Unlike Wales, who might not like Jon personally, but at least showed promise as a detective, Frank Spangler was the epitome of everything that could be considered bad about law enforcement.
The man had been wearing a badge for too long. He had lost touch with what was most important about his career: namely that he was supposed to serve the people. Spangler was smug and crass and definitely not the person best suited to question a woman who’d just been viciously attacked.
Unfortunately, Detective Spangler was not only the ranking detective, but he was also the Nueces County forensic artist. The only one. Jon had already checked.
Jon had seen Spangler’s composite drawings for other cases and had to admit the man had some skill with a pencil. But for the current case, none of the victims had seen the rapist’s face. They’d all been hit so hard, so quickly, that they’d been completely disoriented and unable to get a clear view before their attacker had pushed them down. So even if Spangler had some drawing talent, gathering any usable intel from the victims hadn’t been possible.
But maybe Ms. Houze was different. They had to try.
Dr. Rosemont nodded at the older detective. “That’s fine. But under no circumstances are you all to barge in on her at once. My word is law around here, gentlemen. Remember that. Door open at all times and if Ms. Houze says she’s had enough, you’re to leave immediately.”
Jon and Zane both nodded at the doctor. Frank Spangler just gave her a patronizing smile. Her lips pursed.
“I’ll check with her and be right out.” The doctor knocked softly on the door and made her way inside.
Caroline Gill, the paramedic who had sent Jon the text alerting him of the new victim, joined them in the hallway.
“Hi, Jon. Hey, Zane,” Caroline said. She smiled at Jon. But her eyes, he realized, were only for Zane. The detective, on the other hand, didn’t really seem to notice the pretty paramedic.
He barely glanced at her from where he was looking over a file in his hand. “Hey, Caroline.”
“I’m just getting off work and waiting on my ride.”
“Where’s your car?” Jon asked her since Zane seemed oblivious that Caroline was here to see him.
“A friend from college is in town and is going to pick me up in a few minutes so we can go to dinner. She dropped me off for my shift this morning so I wouldn’t have to find parking.”
Wales nodded without even looking up from his file. Caroline’s face was a little crestfallen at his behavior.
“Hey, thanks for the text,”