Page 14 of Justice for Samara

“Oh! Thanks. Nice place?”

“May be a little rustic, but it’ll be in good shape. He’s good about taking care of his property.” The server stepped up to the table and placed their plates in front of them. “Thanks, Tasha.”

“Y’all are welcome. Enjoy.”

The girl sashayed away from the table and Samara watched as Michael took in her sweeping backside. “Nice girl,” he mumbled.

“Nice-looking girl,” she said, thinking nothing of it.

His brow wrinkled downward. “Are you a lesbian?”

Samara started to laugh. “God, no! I was just watchingyouwatchingher. And she’s cute. But definitely not your type.”

He quirked his mouth to one side. “Oh yeah? What’s my type?”

“You want somebody who’s soft but tough. Somebody who understands what you do for a living and can live with it. Somebody who wants the same things you do?family, home, job security, community. That girl wants somebody with a paycheck so she can go have her nails done every four days.”

That set Michael laughing. “Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right about her. As for me… Maybe you’re right about me. Everybody keeps saying, ‘Oh, Michael, eventually you’ll meet somebody who’s perfect for you.’ But I’m a little afraid. I hear STIs are running rampant in nursing homes, and that’s how old I’ll be before I find her.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe not.” Then she got a glimpse of her plate. “God, this fish looks amazing.”

“Yeah, this steak does too. Their food is really good.” He took a bite, tipped his head back a little, and moaned. “Oh, god, this is the best steak I’ve had in a year.”

“You mean your mom doesn’t make steak for you?”

He snickered. “No. She’s got a repertoire of about eight casseroles, and that’s what I’m going to have. Every night. No question. It’s just a matter of which one.”

“Ah. Just think?you’ll move into your house and you can fix whatever you want.”

“That’s right. I’ll have steak at least once a week.” He sat there for a second, chewing, before he said, “Oh, god. Yeah. I need to build a patio with a fire pit and an outdoor kitchen. That would be perfect.”

“Itwouldbe perfect,” she said in agreement as she took her second bite of fish. It had to be the tastiest fish she’d ever eaten. But as she chewed, something occurred to her.

She was having fun. Michael was a pleasure to be around. He treated her with respect and had good manners, plus he wasn’t talking down to her or trying to compete with or impress her. They were having a genuine conversation, and she felt safe talking to him and sharing things with him.

Safe. That was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long, long time.

* * *

The next week was a blur.Carter assigned her several felony cases they hadn’t been able to crack, and when she looked over the investigative work, she was stumped. It was solid. They’d done everything right, but they still hadn’t managed to generate leads, and that was troubling.

She went back to the scene of the first crime. It was an abandoned meth lab, but it hadn’t been abandoned when they’d gotten the original call. Somebody had obviously tipped them off because they were gone when law enforcement got there. Worse yet, it was in an unused barn on someone else’s property, someone law enforcement knew had nothing to do with the criminal activity, far enough back from any road or occupied structures for anyone to see them. Added to that was the fact that they came and went through a nearby wildlife refuge property, so there was no one to glimpse them there. Everything in the place had been dusted, and there were no fingerprints. It appeared they’d been wearing full hazmat suits, rubber gloves, and hair protectors, indicating that it was more sophisticated than the locals could usually manage. They couldn’t find a shred of evidence.

The second was the site of a fatal shooting, and it seemed the assailant was probably someone from outside the community. It looked like a crime of opportunity. They were coming through, saw lights, stopped and robbed the occupant of the home, then shot and killed him, followed by driving away into the night. There were no surveillance cameras anywhere near the place or on the way to or from, so they had nothing to go on, and ballistics had gotten no hits for use of the weapon in previous incidents. The trail had gone cold.

The last group was the most disturbing, at least to her. It was a cluster of rapes that had taken place over the previous three years with a victim list comprised of younger women of all different ages, and all in a ten-mile radius. In each instance, the investigating officer said he got the distinct impression that the women knew who their assailant was, but were unwilling to tell anyone. After reading the interviews with all seven women, Samara felt the same way. They were afraid, and she wanted to know why.

But the effect it had on her was jarring. In her mind, she went back three years to the moment she’d been overpowered and violated. She’d fought?god, how she’d fought!?but it had been for nothing. He was bigger and stronger, plus he’d plotted for an advantage. The worst part?

She couldn’t tell anyone.

Samara knew exactly how those victims felt, and she was sure they were in the same situation. Someone they knew and/or trusted had done that, and her heart hurt thinking about how they must feel. She was climbing back into her cruiser when her phone rang. “Hey there!”

“Hi. I just got off the phone with my mother. There’s a lady named Montgomery who lives over on Spring Street, and she has a mobile home on a lot next door to her that she’s wanting to rent out. Want the address?”

“Sure!” Samara jotted it down as Michael read it off to her. “Listen, thanks so much. Between gas and the room, I’m not making anything living that far away.”

“I hear ya. Hope this pans out.”

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