She moved on to the next door which was the bathroom. It was bright, large and airy with a tile floor and a freestanding cast-iron, clawfoot tub. Like the rest of the house, it was neatly kept, decorated with blue accents. She relieved herself and then took a look around. A closet held cleaning supplies, extra towels, washcloths, and tampons. The medicine cabinet was crowded with men’s shaving tools, toothpaste and lots of over-the-counter drugs, like Aleve, Motrin, Benadryl, and Sudafed. Others were prescription drugs. For Francine there was Prilosec and a large bottle of prenatal vitamins. On the shelf below those were bottles with Cash’s name on them: Lisinopril and Imitrex.
Jocelyn took photos of the bottles with her phone. She wasn’t sure what she’d be able to do with the information, but one never knew what would end up being useful in an investigation. There were two bottles whose labels had been peeled off. They were on the very top shelf behind a box of Band-Aids and two rolls of gauze. Jocelyn opened the first and peeked inside. She recognized the oblong shape of the Percocet tablets immediately. She’d taken the drug for a few weeks after being attacked the year before. The bottle was half full. The other bottle held two types of pills. The first was white and hexagonal with the word Searle and 1461 printed on one side and what looked like an image of some sort of internal organ on the other side. A stomach maybe. The other pill was blue and diamond shaped with Pfizer printed on one side and VGR 50 on the other. Jocelyn pocketed one of each and made her way back downstairs.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted up toward her, as did the sounds of hushed, angry voices. Jocelyn stepped onto the landing as quietly as she could, keeping out of sight of the doorway leading to the kitchen but leaning toward it so she could hear the Rigos.
“I just washed those, Cash,” Francine said.
“Do you think I give a rat’s ass which cups these assholes drink from? I’m using these,” he answered.
A heavy sigh. “If you don’t care, then just use the ones I put out. They’re nicer—and clean.”
“No,” Cash said firmly. “We’re not giving them the fancy mugs, Fran. Can’t you see they’re out to get us?”
There was a beat of heavy silence. Then Francine hissed, “Us?”
Another tense moment of silence, this one longer. Jocelyn heard two mugs clanging against one another. Then Cash barked, “Go back to goddamn bed, Fran.”
Quickly, Jocelyn returned to the couch, where Trent was thumbing through the coffee table book on natural disasters. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jocelyn stopped him with a finger over her lips.
A moment later, Cash followed behind Jocelyn with two cups of coffee. Evidently, he had won the coffee cup argument, because he gave them both old faded Temple University mugs. Trent’s was chipped along the rim and Jocelyn’s handle had previously broken off and been glued back on. Cash left and came back with a spoon, a bowl of sugar, and a small carton of half and half. He watched them fix their coffee. Trent took his time, and Jocelyn was sure he moved slowly just to piss Cash off.
Cash sat on the arm of the love seat across from them, arms folded over his chest, eyes cast down at them. Jocelyn and Trent sipped their coffee at the same time. It was surprisingly tepid and unusually bitter. Must be dark roast, she thought. But as Kevin had always said, even bad coffee is good coffee. She kept drinking while Cash and Trent stared one another down.
Finally, Cash looked away. He stood up. “You people have some nerve,” he said, so quietly that Jocelyn strained to hear him. “Coming to my home, insinuating—”
Trent said, “We know about you and Sydney, Mr. Rigo.”
Jocelyn tried to hide her reaction. They hadn’t even discussed putting all their cards on the table yet. Cash’s gaze returned to Trent’s face. Trent stood, facing off with the other man. Cash made a half-hearted attempt at a scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Trent downed his coffee and slammed his cup on the table. When he stepped into Cash, Jocelyn stood quickly, ready to get between them if necessary. But Trent just smiled like the cat that ate the canary. Like he knew something Cash didn’t. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you piece of shit.”
“Trent,” Jocelyn cautioned, clamping a hand down on his arm.
The two men’s faces were inches apart.
“Get out of my house,” Cash said.
“You think these kids are expendable?” Trent continued, his tone low and menacing, like a dog’s growl. “Becky Wu. Sydney Adams. You think you can just use them up and discard them when you’re finished with them?”
“Get out of my house.”
“Trent,” Jocelyn urged, tugging now on his arm. She pulled him toward the front door, but he kept staring at Cash, who followed them, keeping his distance, his steps tentative.
Trent pointed his index finger at Cash’s chest. “I’m comin’ for you,” he promised.
Jocelyn pushed him out onto the front stoop as Cash reached the doorway. He threw his arms into the air, as if in surrender, and kept walking toward the street. Jocelyn stood just outside the Rigos’ front door, between the two men.
“You got nothing on me,” Cash yelled after Trent, but again, his tone was lame and unconvincing.
At that moment, Jocelyn saw what Trent had been attempting by confronting Cash with his relationships with Sydney and Becky Wu. He’d set her up nicely in there, all she had to do was tighten the noose and hope Rigo never called their bluff.
She caught Cash’s eye, her face a mask of sympathy. “They’ll have everything they need soon, Mr. Rigo,” she warned. “Evidence doesn’t lie.”
Chapter 24
April 21, 2005
Becky Wu waited for Coach Rigo outside the boys’ locker room. He was always the last one out. He said it was so that none of the boys would linger there and get into trouble. Becky had always wondered what kind of trouble Coach meant—until last week. She’d waited for him like she always did so they could walk out to the field together. But they’d ended up back in the locker room.
She’d been flirting with him for weeks. She knew it was wrong, but all the girls had crushes on him. She was the only one with enough balls to do something about it. Once she put the pressure on, once she went for it with him, she was surprised how easily he gave in. Of course, the whole time she was giving him the blow job, he was saying “no” and “stop,” but not in a real way. Not in the kind of way he really meant it. It was more of a breathy, gasping expression of pleasure. He’d let her do it.
Twice the week before, he’d let her give him a blow job in the boys’ locker room before practice. He never pushed her away or walked off. In fact, Becky remembered being a little shocked at how rock hard he was in her mouth. There’d been rumors for years that Coach Rigo couldn’t get it up. But that clearly wasn’t a problem where Becky was concerned. Now that she had his full attention, she was hoping to take things to the next level. She wondered what sex would be like with an older man. A couple of her friends had done it. They always said older men were better at sex. They’d been at it longer, had had more partners, more practice.