“This is why I told Andy to hire you,” Reggie pointed his finger at his temple, making it clear he was the smart one. “The three attacks stretched out over 2019, all in DeKalb County, which is where Andrew lives. The first victim was at the CinéBistro, spitting distance from his house. Credit card shows him at the Men in Black matinee on June twenty-second. The victim was there three hours later for Toy Story 4.”
Leigh started taking notes in earnest. “There are cameras in the lobby?”
“Yes. Shows him arriving, ordering popcorn and a Coke, then leaving when the credits rolled. No overlap between him and the first victim, but he walked home. No cell phone records. He said he forgot to bring it.”
Leigh underlined the date on her notepad. She would need to check for rainfall because the prosecutor sure as hell would. Even without that, June in Atlanta saw average temperatures in the high eighties and the kind of rancid humidity that warranted an official health warning. “What time was the matinee?”
“Twelve fifteen, right around lunchtime.”
Leigh shook her head. The hottest time of day. Another mark against Andrew.
Reggie said, “For what it’s worth, every single one of the businesses where the victims were last seen—Andrew frequented them a lot.”
That wasn’t necessarily a point in his favor. The prosecutor could argue he was staking out the scenes. “Second victim?”
“She was eating out late with her friends at a strip mall that has a Mexican place.”
“Was Andrew there that night?”
“It’s one of his regular spots. Goes there at least twice a month. He got take-out half an hour before the second victim showed up. And like always, he paid with his credit card. No car again. No phone. Dude took another walk in the heat.” Reggie’s shrug had a hint of defensiveness. He knew this didn’t look good. “Like I said, it’s a guillotine.”
Leigh’s pen stopped. It wasn’t a guillotine. It was a very well-constructed case.
Ninety percent of Atlanta fell inside Fulton County while the remaining ten percent was in DeKalb. The city had its own police force, but DeKalb investigations were handled by the DeKalb Police Department. Fulton had by far the largest number of violent crimes but, between MeToo and the pandemic, the last two years had seen a spike in rape reporting across the board.
Leigh thought about a detective at an over-burdened DeKalb precinct spending hours cross-referencing hundreds of credit card payments at a movie theater and a Mexican restaurant against reported assaults. They hadn’t picked Andrew’s name from thin air. They had been waiting for him to make a mistake.
She said, “Tell me about the third victim.”
“She was at a bar called Maplecroft, and Andrew was on the prowl back then. You can see it in his credit card statements. Dude charges a pack of gum. Never carries cash on him. No Ubers or Lyfts. Seldom has his phone. But he was buying a lot of women a lot of drinks all over town.”
Leigh needed him to make the connection. “Andrew’s credit card statements put him at Maplecroft on the night of the attack?”
“Two hours before the third victim disappeared. But Andrew had been there at least five times before.” Reggie added, “No CCTV on this one. The bar burned down at the beginning of the pandemic. Very convenient for them, but good for Andy because the server melted down and they didn’t back up to the cloud.”
Leigh looked for a pattern across the three cases, the same way a police detective would. A movie theater. A restaurant. A bar. All establishments where you’d drink from an open container. “The cops think Andrew roofied all three?”
“Just like with Tammy Karlsen,” he said. “None of them can remember jack shit about the assaults.”
Leigh tapped her pen on the notepad. Rohypnol cleared the blood in twenty -four hours and urine in seventy-two. The well-documented side effect of selective amnesia could last forever. “Did the victims drive themselves to these places?”
“All of them. The first two, their cars never left the parking lots. Cops found them the next morning. Victim number three, the one from Maplecroft, was involved in a single car accident. Hit a telephone pole two miles from her house. No traffic cams or CCTV. Car was found abandoned with the door unlocked. Tammy Karlsen’s BMW was on a side street about a mile from Little Nancy Creek Park. Purse still inside the car. Same as with the others, no CCTV or traffic cams caught any of this, so the guy’s either an evil genius or damn lucky.”