“Wow, and the four male bullies are still there.”
“Because none of the accused were ever dealt with. We need to make some phone calls.” And she grabbed her phone and handed him the list to split.
As it was, Lilliana walked in. “I can help.”
Owen followed behind her. “Me too.”
And, with the four of them, they split up the list and made phone calls to the sixteen complainants in question. When they all put their phones down about forty-five minutes later, they just stared at each other.
“These guys are sheer assholes.” Kate almost growled.
“The gist I got,” Lilliana said, “after comparing notes with Rodney and Owen, is that they surrounded their target, threatened them, pushed them—in one case knocked them down the stairs. In another case they knocked a woman over, and she broke the heel on her shoe, so she tripped on a lower step. Another one fell on the sidewalk in bad weather and slick mud. She already had a condition that made it difficult for her to walk, and she didn’t have a walker or anything with her that day. All the complaints were withdrawn, or they refused to follow through, and it took these phone calls and some pressure for them to confess that they were threatened. I got two people who wouldn’t even say that much. They wouldn’t talk about it, and they got very scared.”
“In other words, the threats are of an extreme nature.” Kate grimaced, shaking her head. “Whenever we get these assholes charged, we need to contact these people and let them know that they don’t have to be afraid for their lives from this guy or his pals again.”
“Not until the whole group of them is locked away,” Lilliana said. “You don’t dare right now. Their fear of that group is keeping them alive. If Brandon ever sees his victims again, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he wouldn’t take it a step further.”
“I think he did. I can’t reach this guy, Trent.” Kate tapped at the last number on her list. She brought the name up in the database. “And that’s why. He’s dead.”
“How did he die?”
She sat back, quickly reading. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“He supposedly fell off the top of a building.”
“And we’re calling it suicide?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned at the information. “The first responders found no suicide note. The investigators found no typical suicidal actions beforehand. He was thought to be a bright student and happy.”
“So, what do we—”
Kate pulled out her phone again and dialed Trent’s parents. When she identified herself to Trent’s mom, Kate explained that she and other detectives were taking another look at her son’s death, as it might pertain to others on campus. The mother said, a simmering rage in her voice, “You need to look at those assholes.”
“Who is that, ma’am?” Kate asked, instantly putting the phone on Speaker.
“He was being tormented by a group of people on campus. Because he had Tourette’s, they were always bugging him and mocking him, and there was nothing he could do.”
“Did he say what they were doing to him? Like did they physically attack him?”
“Several times. He would never press charges because they kept swearing they would make him pay if he did. I don’t know what the threat was, but it was always bad enough that he wouldn’t turn them in. I begged him to talk to his dean, and he finally did put in a letter about it, a formal complaint, but it never went anywhere, as far as I know.”
“Did he withdraw that complaint?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible,” she said, her voice heavy. “I know those guys tormented him mercilessly.”
“Did he ever go up on the rooftop before?”
“Yes, all the time. He loved to watch the stars up there. And, no, I don’t believe for a moment that he committed suicide,” she snapped, her voice once again revealing her grief and anger. “It wasn’t his style.”
“No, of course not. And he was a good student too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. He’d already overcome so many things in his life. But these kids, they just wore him down.”
“And that’s partly why there was suspicion of suicide, correct?”
“That and the fact that he was on the roof. Nobody seemed to think that anybody would go up there.”