Close: A New Adult Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

out.”
    Becky was Becky Hatten, a Rape Crisis Advocate from the Santa Barbara Rape Crisis Center, and Cottage was Cottage Hospital where they had a specially designed unit in a private building where the medical/forensic exam would take place to ensure the victim’s well being and also, crucially for my job, to gather evidence.
    “We have witnesses?” I asked the Sarge.
    “She had a friend and her boyfriend staying over at this guy’s house, but they weren’t present during the assault.”
    Direct witnesses to rape were rare. They would have to be interviewed but their statements could go either way in court.
    On TV cop shows, the person whom the complaint was made against, the bad guy, was usually referred to as the perp. In truth, perp was most un-cop like language. When I asked the next question, I used the default cop term.
    “Who’s the asshole?”
    “Oh, this is the best part,” the Sarge said with barely contained glee. I was waiting for the name of an attorney, or maybe a local politico, perhaps even one of the many wealthy and retired show business or sporting figures who littered the landscape around Santa Barbara.
    “Someone special?” I prompted.
    “One of the Harpers.”
    Everyone in Santa Barbara knew the name. They Harper clan were the west coast’s answer to The Kennedy’s, except without the same level of political success, although that was hardly for lack of trying. I didn’t need to ask the follow-up, there could be only one member of the Harper clan dumb enough to do this. The rest of the Harper men would have had the sense to use an escort service, or to leave a hefty pay-off.
    “Bentley?” she said.
    The Sergeant came close to a chuckle. “The one and only.”
    Most cops in Santa Barbara knew Bentley Harper by sight. He was like Peter Pan with an attitude problem, hanging out in bars and clubs on State Street, the big man on campus, although he had never even graduated high school and was probably older than some of the younger professors. From what I knew of him, he was a poster boy for how to screw up your kids by giving them everything on a plate without them having to work for it.
    Bentley’s name had been mentioned before in connection to a serious sexual assault of a young woman. But before the investigation had got under way, the victim had recanted her statement. The department strongly suspected that she had been paid off although nothing was ever proved, and no one, least of all me, was going to go after a rape vic for deciding not to cooperate any further with law enforcement. It was a depressing part of being a copper. Sometimes the bad guys got away with it, especially if they had money and friends in high places.
    I began to walk back to my car. With every step, my nerves jangled with excitement. This was a real cop’s case, and they didn’t come that often in sleepy Santa Barbara.
    Climbing into my car, a beat-to hell Accord, I turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. I yanked down hard on the steering wheel as I reversed out of the restaurant parking lot, then buried the gas pedal. I wanted to get to Laura Warner before anyone else did.
    Right now, she was Laura Warner, the vic, but that would change. She’d become a lot more to me. Hell, she would become everything.

 
    Eight
     
    Laura was in a side room with Becky Hatten from the Crisis Centre when I arrived. Becky came out to talk to me. We’d met a couple of times before but always when I’d been with a female colleague. The Crisis Centre preferred to have a female officer present, which I understood. “I’m sorry,” I told Becky. “We’re short-staffed. How is she?” I asked, glancing towards the door of the side room.
    “In shock. Pretty raw.”
    “Can you come in with me?” I asked. Laura had already spoken to Becky and it was important that she didn’t feel she was just being passed along from one person to the next, like a parcel.
    I followed Becky into the side room.
    “Hi