Worst Nightmare
Previously: The team is starting to feel the strain of the investigation. Owen finds a gap in Tally’s timeline and Raj reveals evidence of another video.
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6:07 PM - Thursday, November 6, 2014
US Park Police Office, Ft Winfield Scott, The Presidio
Jeannie stalked out of the metal office door followed by Paco.
“Pac - I’m fine. You don’t need to escort me anywhere.” Jeannie grumbled, shouldering her bag.
“I know, I’m just being nice.” He smiled. “I don’t want you to go either, but I get the situation.” A brisk breeze picked up as they made their way down the stairs to Martha. Paco giggled a little at the old car.
“What’s funny?” Jeannie asked.
“I dunno, I guess I think you’re fancier than some old beater is all.”
“You dare to diss the great Martha Mercedes? You cannot imagine the things she’s seen, the adventures she’s been on.” Paco chuckled again and considered her silently.
“You sure you’re good? I mean, not just because you’re going home, but I mean from — you know, earlier today. You’re better?” Paco held the door open for Jeannie as she tossed her bag into the passenger seat.
Jeannie sighed quietly and leaned against the car, rolling her lips.
“I’m — I’m okay, yeah. I’m going to call my therapist, but I’ll be fine.” She looked up at him with a shrug of a smile. “It’s my stuff. I’ve been avoiding it, like I said. So, you’re right —” she sighed again. “You’re right, I haven’t handled it, so it’s handling me. In more ways than one.”
“What do you mean?”
“This case is — intense. I’m feeling everything. Everything I’ve been stifling is coming to the surface. It’s all so…I don’t know, like, raw? I had a major meltdown last night in front of Chris. I think he found it reassuring.” She scoffed a little. “I’ve been so locked up and now it’s all coming apart.” A little wrinkle formed between her eyes, making her face age unnaturally for another moment. “He — he says I’m more dangerous when I’m quiet and still, and I’ve only wanted the stillness lately.” She faded, sinking into thought.
“So he was grateful for the explosion?”Jeannie shrugged ruefully. “I get it. I like the stillness too. It makes things a lot more clear.” Paco nodded, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets. “But life is noisy, you know?” He added softly, looking up at her.
Jeannie smiled a little. “Yes it is.” She chuckled. “I’m going to have to write a book of all of your wisdom, Paco. You can tell me more across the poker table sometime.”
“You’re on.”
Jeannie got Martha ground to a rattling start and roared away with a wave. Heading back upstairs, Paco paused to take in a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge towers in the distance, lights blinking at the very top. The golden uplighting brought out the shadows in the orange-ish red facade, while the crystal clear night sky wrapped them in a shade of deep navy blue. Ascending the stairs again, the garish spotlight mounted outside the door clicked on, shocking his pupils.
Paco grabbed a bottle of water in the kitchen and poked his head in the conference room where Raj was still typing away on a laptop.
“You’re still here?”
“Greenberg told me to stay.” Raj looked over his shoulder at him. “He’s in the back room.”
“Okay, let us know when the guy gets here.”
Paco made his way to the small conference room at the back, Mark’s voice being interrupted by another man — an angry man, an angry man with the slightest hint of an Irish brogue.
“We’ve been here nearly an hour — you waltz in her late —”
“Mr Reilly, we are working on the investigation into the death of a teen. As the father of teenagers, I should think you’d understand.” Paco rounded the corner and entered the small room, moving to take a seat next to Mark. “Especially since your son here is right in the thick of the whole situation. So, I think we should all get comfortable and tuck in for the duration.” Mark gave his steeliest eyes to the man across the table, who now went completely silent. “Let me introduce you to Officer Paco Mayfield of the US Park Police —” Paco reached his hand across the table to shake hands. “This is the federal officer that your son assaulted earlier today.” The man’s blue eyes went wide with fear.
“Nice to meet you sir.” Paco moved to rub the back of his head. “How you doin’ Dash? You sobered up?” Dash looked up at Paco, eyes wide like his father’s. He nodded slightly, his fear moving across the table like a wave. “Good — I’ve been icing all day, so I’ll be fine, but you definitely got lucky.” Paco’s felt his own eyes go flat, staring down the teen. He didn’t like intimidating people, but felt this moment was probably a good exception. “A few inches either way I could’ve hit the edge of the concrete and —” Paco made an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Could’ve concussed…or worse.” Paco ended with a hard note, staring at Dash again.
No one spoke.
Mark narrowed his eyes on the teen. “I don’t hear you apologizing Dashiell, you should really be apologizing at the minimum.”
“I — I’m sorry.” Dash whispered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen at all.”
“Well, we could get into what you meant and didn’t,” Mark countered, “but the fact remains, you were drunk and disorderly, charged a federal officer, knocking him down and giving him a head injury. Hagen had to put you in a hold just to get you to stop, which you were also resistant to — according to the Sergeant you could be facing multiple charges: drunk and disorderly, of course, but also resisting arrest, endangering an officer — and those are just from the SFPD. Since Mayfield is federal, well, suddenly you’re looking at a whole other charge.” Silence. Mr. Reilly turned to look at his son.
Paco cleared his throat. “In your interview on Sunday you said you wanted to get into UCLA or one of the Ivies?” Dash looked up warily and nodded. “Yeah, I remembered that part.”
“Do you honestly think any top tier college will touch you with a federal felony?” Mark added. “They’re usually fairly particular about that.” Dash’s eyes began to water and he looked up to the ceiling, taking a hard swallow. “And, realistically, you’re only what? 6’1”? And white? I mean, I haven’t seen you play, despite all the “Bash and Dash” we’ve heard, but do you really think your basketball game is good enough to make them look the other way?” Dash squinted his eyes shut, tears beginning down his face.
Everyone was quiet for a long moment, Dash’s torso beginning to shake with silent sobs.
“Mr. Reilly?” Mark said quietly to the father.
“What — what do we need to do?” He sighed. “Look, I was born in Ireland, but I came here when I was 18 and I’m a citizen. My wife and I have been married almost 20 years and we do alright. I have a high-end cabinetry business — all the designers work with us. I do custom build, beautiful work, kitchens, bathrooms, closets — you know? My wife is a CPA — she runs my business and does the books for other accounts too. We have a home, I pay my taxes, I pay my employees. We have four kids — they’re all in private school, and make good grades. Dashiell has never been in trouble like this.” The father huffed, shaking his head. “I mean, I get there today and my son’s sitting in the back of police car. It’s my worst nightmare.”
Mark considered him and felt for the man, his desperation right at the surface.
“This — this isn’t who we are. This isn’t how I’ve raised my son.” He glanced at the boy next to him, his face shifting between apprehension, sadness, fear, disappointment, and anger.
“Mr. Reilly were you aware that your son would often have liquor at the home of Tripp Hartman? He told us that the Hartmans let him and his friends — Seb Podesta, Vin Parisi, Tyler Shea…there’s a few others — drink at their house because the Hartmans liked being able to “keep an eye on them”— were you aware that this went on?”
“Yes. My son is 17, I’m entirely aware that he drinks with his friends — I’d be a fool to think otherwise. And if the Hartmans want to supervise, it’s fine by me.”
“It’s illegal.”
“So they’re supposed to sneak around and get liquor on the sly and drive around and find some place to drink it? That sounds more illegal to me.” The man was indignant and leaned back in his chair, staring down Mark. “I used to be a bartender — when the kids were small, I’d pick up a Friday or Saturday night at Irelands 32 on Geary. I’ve seen drunks of every stripe, believe me, but my son is not a drunk. He got drunk today with his friend who was sad about his girlfriend. He was being a pal.”
“His EX girlfriend. Alexa Thomas was no longer Seb Podesta’s girlfriend.” Paco corrected. “Your son knew that. He also knew that the funeral today was for invited guests — he and Seb were not invited, but they showed up drunk anyways. It wasn’t even 11AM.” Mr. Reilly huffed in response. “Dash and Seb were looking for a reason to drink.”
“Not to mention that the Dean at Xavier is pretty upset about the two of them cutting school.” Mark added. “They have a pretty strict attendance policy, from what I understand. Not to mention the varsity basketball coach — I hate to tell you Dash, but they’re going to be ON you for a long while.”
“I’m already ON him.” Mr. Reilly glared. “My son is grounded until the end of the year; after Christmas that might extend to being grounded until the end of the basketball season. He won’t be doing anything except school and his sport.”
“I would expect that, Mr. Reilly. Especially given everything you’ve told us just now. Seb Podesta will likely have it a bit harder, seeing as how he doesn’t have a father at home.” Mark paused, looking to Dash. “So I want to know whose idea it was to get blitzed and come to the funeral.”
“It — it was my idea,” Dash choked out. “Seb was really down. He wanted to be there and say goodbye to Alexa.”
“Spiro Thomas specifically told Seb to never come to their home ever again — I should think that would bar him from the funeral too.” Paco tossed out, folding his arms across his chest.
“I know.” Dash whispered. “I — we both felt like we wanted to do something.”
“You do something by respecting the family’s wishes, Dash.” Mark was terse, his annoyance coming through. “Or, you come here and talk to us.” Mark raised an eyebrow at him.
“Wh — what do you mean?” Dash turned to look at him, his face going pink with tears.
“I mean, if you wanted to do something to make yourself feel better about Alexa, you could have come here and told us some more details about a few things.”
“Like, like what? I told you everything.”
“No you haven’t, Dash.”
“What? What do you want to know?”
“I want to know why Tally Briggs was seeing you on the quiet and how she was using you — we know she wouldn’t date you, so were you passing her drugs from Tripp? I want to know why you sent Tally the picture of Jen Tyson pouring a shot down Alexa’s throat — and don’t tell me it was just a party pic like you told Mayfield and Hagen. I’m not buying that. You knew that shot was dosed and you sent that photo to her for a reason. I want to know how much you knew about the prank that went very wrong on Friday night that resulted in Alexa’s death — the Trick-or-Tito’s, the wolf masks, all of it. I want to know why Tally had it out for Alexa, and why you, Tripp Hartman, and Jennifer Tyson helped her to bring her down.” Mark bridged his fingers on the surface of the table, his voice chillingly low.
Dash stared at him, chin trembling.
“I — I liked Alexa. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“You liked her, but you intimidated her and attempted to coerce her into group sex at the July 4th party and she told you off.” Dash’s head swung left and right. “You didn’t want to hurt her, but you surely wanted to embarrass her, if not for yourself then for your best friend, right? Get back at her for rejecting you both?”
“Jesus, Dashiell — what have you gotten into?” Mr. Reilly whispered.
“I’m afraid this is just the beginning, sir.” Paco sighed, adjusting his chair.
“What do you mean?”
“We mean, Mr. Reilly, “ Mark began again, “that your son is in this up to his ears. He’s been involved in an effort to bully, demean, and embarrass a young girl because she broke up with his best friend, and when he tried to make a play himself, she rejected him too. Originally I thought this was some kind of revenge plot hatched by Seb, but let’s face it, between “Bash and Dash”, you’re the one with the brains, right?” Dash flinched slightly and looked at Mark. “And then you found out that Tally didn’t like her — Tally, the girl who’s also way out of your league but gives you just enough attention to keep you strung along — and you were all in on her plan. Am I right?”
Dash sniffed and wiped his eyes with the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. “Yes.” He whispered.
“Okay. Good. We’ll come back to that. Why was Jen Tyson involved, because you could use her to keep Seb out of the way? Because I think if Seb knew you guys were coming for Alexa he’d probably be upset about it.”
“Yes. Tally knew she could keep Jen in drugs and she’d do whatever.”
“That’s the only reason Jen is loyal to Tally? For drugs?”
“Mostly. There was the video.” Dash’s entire face went red.
“Oh yes, the sex video. The one you starred in as well.”
“Dashiell —” Mr. Reilly whispered in disbelief.
“We were wasted, Dad. Wasted. I don’t even remember —”
“You don’t remember? You seemed pretty acquiescent on the video. Two guys on one girl? Some dudes pray for that to happen to them. Should I bring it up so we can screen it altogether?” Dash shook his head again. Mr. Reilly’s eyes were bulging.
“So Tally had the video as a way to keep Jen in line somehow?” Dash nodded. “So then why would she post it publicly like she did earlier today?”
“I - I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Tally in a few days.”
“Did you know about the other video?” Paco ventured quietly.
“What other video?”
“The video that was taken after you left the room that night in Tahoe? Do you know what went on in that room once you left?” Dash’s face was contorted, his usually handsome features swollen and rearranged. Paco inclined his head to him, expecting an answer. “Do you need a hint? This video stars Seb and someone else…can you guess who?”
Dash closed his eyes slowly and exhaled a shaky breath. “Tripp.” He whispered.
“Did you know that was Tripp’s plan?” Paco prodded. He knew they barely had evidence of the video, and that this was a total bluff, but Dash was giving it up.
“No.” Dash inhaled sharply. “Tripp doesn’t admit to — “
“To being gay?” Mark countered. Dash nodded slightly.
“But he’s always had a thing for Seb somehow. He — he tries to hide it, you know, he keeps Angela Parisi around, but it’s always been Seb. That’s — that’s why he started in on Alexa.”
Mark considered this. “How did Tripp start in on Alexa?”
“All the online stuff. The mean comments on Pr3pSF. Even on her Instagram. The betting pool about her and Seb. That all started with Tripp. He was jealous Seb had a new girl and he couldn’t figure her out. You know, Jen he knows what she wants, so…he kept Jen in drugs and kept encouraging her to go after Seb, even with Alexa in the picture. Tally went all in on it because Tripp gets her coke. She didn’t want to piss him off.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Mr Reilly whispered. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“Yes, Mr. Reilly, this is quite a case.”
“A final thing about that other video — did Seb have any memory of what happened that night? Is he at all aware that Tripp may have assaulted him?”
“No. If he did, he’s never said anything to me, but he wouldn’t.” Dash licked his lips. “He’d be too ashamed. But he was completely out that night — Tripp dosed him with GHB. All of us, really.”
“You were dosed on July 4th?” Dash nodded.
“Not much, but yes.”
“And you left Seb passed out in that room?” Paco pushed. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a best friend does.” Dash squinted again and the tears started anew. Paco hated himself for saying it, but it needed to be said.
Everyone was silent for a long moment.
“What — what do we do here?” Mr. Reilly began tentatively. “What do you need from us?”
“I’m very glad you asked, because I have someone arriving any minute now that I’ll need your son to speak to on the record. This is an investigator for the DEA— “ Mr. Reilly leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “I need Dashiell to tell him about the drugs from Tripp Hartman: what kind he has, where they come from, who he distributes them to, what he charges, how often all of this goes on.”
“You want my son to talk against Jim Hartman’s son? Are you crazy? Jim Hartman’s a powerful man — if this gets out —”
“It won’t.”
“My son isn’t a snitch.”
“No, but he’s a conspirator in a girl’s death.” Mark nodded toward Dash. “He’ll talk, Mr. Reilly, because if he doesn’t Mayfield will move forward with filing a federal felony assault charge against him.” Mark paused, staring the father down. He then looked at Dash who was quaking in his seat. “Do you understand? Dashiell talks to the DEA or his future is over before it’s begun.”
A sharp knocking on the metal office door came from down the hallway.