Page 8 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Some people, those with money and the ear of power, never pay for their crimes the way ordinary people do. Farrow had told Amanda that Wallace Crone was their man. He’d been arrested and questioned about another child’s murder long before Jess had been killed – a little girl aged nine who’d died some years ago. Farrow had been the detective on that case and built up quite the file on Wallace Crone. He shared his views on Crone freely and often when he dropped by to see how she was coping and update her on the case. Crone was one of the more dangerous sexual predators Farrow had ever encountered.
‘Believe it or not, the ones who get caught early and released are the really dangerous ones. Crone had been caught for rape and illegal images. That’s two strikes. He knew the next time he got caught there would be no way he could be saved, no matter how many lawyers his father hired for him. So he made sure he didn’t leave witnesses. That’s why we never found Emily alive.’
‘Emily? Was that the nine-year old?’ she asked.
Farrow nodded, said, ‘Emily Dryer. Her father had been a family friend to the Crones. Wallace Crone’s father, Henry Crone, had a mansion on Park Avenue and the Dryers stayed there from time to time. Their little girl, Emily, liked to swim in the pool in the basement of the mansion house. Wallace Crone was said to be friendly with Emily. Overly friendly. He swam with her, read to her, they played hide and seek together. Emily’s father said Wallace Crone was like an uncle to her. He didn’t know Wallace was a sex offender. We did. When she disappeared, he immediately became a suspect, given his history.’
He took a sip of coffee, leaned forward on Amanda’s couch and stared at the floor.
‘There was nothing to connect him to her disappearance other than they knew each other.’
‘You said she was murdered.’
Farrow nodded, said, ‘We hauled Crone in and sweated him and got nothing. I know he killed that girl. I saw it in his eyes. He hasn’t changed. Monsters like that don’t, but what they do is make sure they don’t get caught. They no longer leave their victims alive. We found Emily’s body in a dumpster.’
Amanda swore, stood up and began pacing the room.
‘But Jess’s case is different to Emily’s, right? There’s the security camera footage. You can get him this time.’
‘Right, I just hope it’s enough.’
This was the first time they had something solid on Crone. Video evidence. They raided his apartment, his office, his holiday home in Aspen. No forensic evidence linking him to Jess nor the vehicle they’d seen on camera. Still, they were so sure it was him on the video footage that they arrested and charged him.
For all of thirty-five days it looked like Jess and Luis would get justice. On that last day, Crone’s lawyers had the charges dismissed on a pre-trial motion. There wasn’t even a jury, just a judge. The assistant district attorney had his hands full against a veritable army of Wall Street lawyers saying the footage wasn’t clear enough – and of course Crone was relying on an alibi from his father. After the hearing, Farrow didn’t call Amanda – he went to see her.
They sat in her apartment and both of them cried for Jess and Luis.
That was the last time Amanda had shed a tear.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Amanda finally.
‘There’s nothing we can do but wait until he tries to take another child,’ said Farrow.
‘But you can’t watch him twenty-four seven,’ she said.
‘No, I can’t. No one can. One thing I’m sure of is that he’ll do it again. And this time we won’t let him get away,’ said Farrow.
‘I’ll watch him,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m not going to let this happen to another child.’
‘Amanda, I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Farrow.
She reassured him she wouldn’t let him see her. She would keep an eye on him from a distance. And so, for months, Amanda watched Wallace Crone. She built up files on him. Photographs, news articles, memos on his routine, his garbage, his social life, his work . . .
While Amanda built information at the rate of an obsessive, she had no skill for covert surveillance. Not at first. Crone spotted her a few times and reported her to the police. Farrow managed to smooth things over until Crone applied for a restraining order, which he got in a heartbeat. Amanda didn’t have money for a lawyer. Instead, she got wise. She read everything she could about surveillance, watched hours of YouTube videos and seemed to be able to keep up her vigil for most of the day without detection. She knew his routine, inside out. She planned her surveillance, made notes, got better. Just as she’d planned out every major life goal. She knew what she wanted and prepared to succeed.
His travel to work, where he ate, his gym, his appointments, his predilection for young call girls. She’d called Farrow about that one. She noted everything in detail. She would watch a girl, much too young to be out on her own late at night, arrive at Crone’s building and wait in the lobby. Sometimes he went out with them to a local Italian restaurant, or a bar, then back to his place. Most of the time he just buzzed them up to his apartment. If he didn’t occasionally go out with them somewhere then Amanda wouldn’t have known they were going to his apartment. She had no way of getting a view into his window. One of those girls might go up there and never come back down again.
She didn’t go back to her job. At first, the care home directors were sympathetic, and then, as the months went on, their sympathy ran out. Amanda was fired, with a small severance payment. The bills and the overdue rent mounted up in envelopes that she stuffed into the kitchen drawers unopened. She only cared about one thing. Saving another family from what she’d gone through and getting justice for her little girl.
Then, sitting in her Volvo across the street from Crone’s building one night in August, watching him leave arm in arm with the dark-haired Asian girl, there was a knock on Amanda’s window.
Farrow. He got into the passenger seat. It took him a little time. He bent slowly at the waist, putting in one foot, then lowering himself further, then another foot. The last foot coming in made him bite down as he let out a grunt.
‘How’s your back?’ asked Amanda.
‘How do you think? Never mind my back – I just got a call from a pal at the precinct. Said they had a report of you outside this building in breach of your restraining order. The sergeant there is a good man, and he called me. I need you to go home, Amanda. I’m sorry. I feel I started you on this whole thing and that was wrong of me. I made a mistake. Don’t throw your life away on this scumbag.’
Amanda lit a cigarette, cracked the window and said, ‘My life is over anyway. I don’t care if they send me to jail. I’ll get out, and I’ll come right back.’
