the back of the file, he found the arrest report on Jack Allen Wright. Wright had been arrested twice before on suspicion but never charged. In the first incident, a young woman about the age Sara had been when she was attacked had dropped the charges and moved out of town. In the other case, the young woman had taken her own life. Jeffrey rubbed his eyes, thinking about Julia Matthews.
A knock came at the door, then Keith said, “I gotta call time, Jeffrey.”
“Yeah,” Jeffrey said, closing the file. He didn’t want to hold it in his hands anymore. He held it out to Keith without looking at the other man.
“This help you any?”
Jeffrey gave a nod, straightening his tie. “Some,” he said. “Were you able to find out where this guy is?”
“Just down the street,” Keith answered. “Working at the Bank Building.”
“That’s what, ten minutes from the university? Another five from Grady?”
“You got it.”
“What’s he do?”
“He’s a janitor, like he was at Grady,” Keith said. He had obviously looked at the file before giving it to Jeffrey. “All those college girls, and he’s ten minutes from them.”
“Do the campus police know?”
“They do now,” Keith provided, giving Jeffrey a knowing look. “Not that he’s much of a threat anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Jeffrey asked.
“Part of his parole,” Keith said, indicating the file. “You didn’t get to that? He’s taking Depo.”
Jeffrey felt an uneasiness spread over him like warm water. Depo-provera was the latest trend in treating sexual offenders. Normally used in women as part of a hormone replacement therapy, a high enough dosage could curb a man’s sexual appetite. When the drug was used on sexual predators, it was referred to as chemical castration. Jeffrey knew the drug only worked as long as the perpetrator took it. It was more like a tranquilizer than a cure.
Jeffrey indicated the folder. He could not say Sara’s name in this room. “He raped someone else after this?”
“He raped two someone elses after this,” Keith answered. “There was this Linton girl. He stabbed her, right? Attempted murder, six years. Got early parole for good behavior, went on the Depo, went off the Depo, went out and raped two more women. They caught him on one, other girl wouldn’t testify, put him back in jail for three years, now he’s out on parole with the Depo administered under close supervision.”
“He’s raped five girls and he’s only served ten years?”
“They only nailed him on two, and except for her”—he indicated Sara’s file—“the other IDs were pretty shaky. He wore a mask. You know how it gets with those girls on the stand. They get all nervous and before you know it opposing counsel has them wondering if they were even raped in the first place, let alone who did it.”
Jeffrey held his tongue, but Keith seemed to read his mind.
“Hey,” Keith said, “I’d been working those cases, the bastard would’ve been sent to the chair. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Jeffrey said, thinking this boasting wasn’t getting them anywhere. “Is he ready for his third strike?” he asked. Georgia, like many states, had enacted a “third strike” law some time ago, meaning that a convict’s third felony offense, no matter how innocuous, would send him or her back to jail, conceivably for the rest of his or her life.
“Sounds like it,” Keith answered.
“Who’s his PO?”
“Already took care of that one,” Keith said. “Wright’s on a bracelet. PO says he’s clean going back the last two years. Also says he’d pretty much cut off his head before going back to jail.”
Jeffrey nodded at this. Jack Wright was forced to wear a monitoring bracelet as a condition of his parole. If he left his designated roaming area or missed his curfew, an alarm would go off at the monitoring station. In the City of Atlanta, most parole officers were stationed at police precincts around town so they could snatch up violators on a moment’s notice. It was a good system, and despite the fact that Atlanta was such a large city, not many parolees slipped through the cracks.
“Also,” Keith said, “I walked on down to the Bank Building.” He shrugged apologetically, recognizing he had overstepped the line. This was Jeffrey’s case, but Keith was probably bored out of his mind from checking purses for handguns all day.
“No,” Jeffrey said. “That’s fine. What’d you get?”
“Got a peek at his time cards. He was punched in every morning at seven, then out to lunch at noon, back at noon-thirty, then out