by Blake Pierce
“Okay.”
“I need you to promise me, Susan. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my daughter. But I can’t bear to lose you too. You’ve become very special to me. You have so much potential and I see you fulfilling more and more of it every day. Promise me you won’t put any of that at risk.”
“I promise, Detective,” Susan said, smiling. “It was just a wild thought. I would never do anything that interfered with our book club meetings. I was actually hoping I could get Darla to join the next one. What do you think? Nancy Drew mystery therapy?”
“I’m in,” Keri said, as they got up and hugged goodbye.
“See you soon, I hope,” Susan said as Keri headed for the door.
“Everything okay?” Rita asked as she met Keri at the front door.
“I think so, just keep an eye on that one,” she said, looking back at Susan, who was immersed in a book, her legs curled up under her, her blonde hair gently swaying, the morning sunshine highlighting her untroubled face.
“Why?” Rita asked.
“Because she reminds me of me and that usually means trouble.”
*
Keri was on the 405 freeway about halfway home when it happened. She was focusing on the mental image of Susan’s curly blonde hair brushing her shoulders, letting it soothe her, anything to keep the bubbling pit of panic in her gut from boiling over.
Susan’s hair was like a visual mantra, keeping her from completely falling apart. It was weird how something as small as that could have such a powerful emotional impact on a person.
Suddenly, she had a flash of recognition that almost made her swerve into the next lane of traffic. She could feel herself hyperventilating and reminded herself to breath slower. She looked at the time. It was almost 10 a.m. If she hurried, she could be at the Rainey house by 10:15.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Jessica wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when she was suddenly awoken by the sound of loud music. It was some kind of organ music with men chanting, but they just repeated the same word over and over again: koyaanisqatsi
The door opened and the beekeeper stepped into view again. He raised his hand up in the air as if ordering Jessica to rise. She tried to but had trouble. She’d been lying on the concrete floor for so long and in such an uncomfortable position that both her legs were asleep.
Using the metal pole for support, she finally got up. A second later, she was being hosed down again with water so cold, it took her breath away. After about thirty seconds, the man turned off the hose, walked over, and undid the handcuff attached to the pole. He then attached it to his own arm.
He began walking at a brisk pace. It took Jessica a second to process that she was supposed to go with him. She slipped on the slick floor, stumbled, and fell to her knees, but the man seemed oblivious and kept walking, dragging her for several seconds until she regained her footing.
They were moving down a cold, dimly lit tunnel toward a wooden staircase. When they got there, he immediately began ascending them quickly, even skipping one entirely. It required everything Jessica had to keep up. At the top of the stairs was another metal door just like the one to the room she’d been kept in.
He unlocked it and pulled her through a thick, tunnel-like mass of jungle-style vines, littered with sharp thorns. He seemed undaunted but the sharp points cut into her arms and face and she winced involuntarily. That seemed to make him mad and he tugged hard on the handcuff, yanking her forward forcefully.
And then suddenly there was sunlight, at least some version of it. The roof of whatever place they were in was made of some sort of gauzy canvas and the room was stiflingly hot. There were plants of varying sizes throughout the entire cavernous space. They were in a greenhouse.
Suddenly, Jessica realized that she was no longer in a soundproof room and opened her mouth to scream. The hoarse beginning of the word “help” had just started to escape her lips when the man stuffed a thick rag in her mouth.
She looked at him and though she couldn’t see his expression, she knew he must have been anticipating her reaction, wondering whether the rag would be necessary. He tugged at her arm again, even harder this time, and she saw where he was taking her. In the middle of the greenhouse was a long stone slab propped up on two additional stone blocks.
It looked familiar but Jessica couldn’t quite place why. She knew she’d seen this sort of thing before somewhere, maybe in a textbook or at a museum. The man took the handcuffs off both their wrists and shoved her roughly onto the slab so that she was lying flat.
He grabbed her right arm and attached it to something dangling from the side of the slab. It was some kind of manacle. As he did the same to her other limbs, she heard him muttering something softly to himself. His voice was low and it took her a few seconds to get it. But after enough repetitions, she understood. He was saying “purify the sinner.”
And that’s when she realized what she was lying on. It was an altar.
*
Keri was arguing with the FBI agent stationed at the Raineys’ front door. She demanded to see the family but the agent, young and square-jawed, simply repeated the phrase he was apparently ordered to say: “You do not have authorization to enter, ma’am. Any requests to talk to the family must go through appropriate channels.”
After three times going around with him, she was tempted to get physical. It was only the knowledge that assaulting a federal officer could get her in more trouble than an Internal Affairs investigation that held her back.
They both stood there, staring at each other in awkward, tense silence, when Keri heard the door being unlocked. It opened to reveal Tim Rainey. He was wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts. The circles under his eyes were so dark from lack of sleep that it looked like he’d been punched in each.
But she noticed that his hair was brushed and his eyes didn’t have that wild, panicky look she’d grown accustomed to. He had the appearance of a man who was resigned to the events around him.
“Let her in,” he said quietly but firmly to the agent.
“Sir, she doesn’t have auth—” the man started to say before Rainey interrupted him.
“I say who has authorization to enter my home, Agent Buxton. Step aside.”
After briefly hesitating, Buxton did so and Keri entered. Rainey closed the door behind her.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Sure.” She wanted to jump in and immediately ask him her questions but sensed that he wanted to address something else. She gritted her teeth and forced herself not to say anything else until she got a better sense of his headspace.
“I’m surprised to see you,” he said as he led the way toward the kitchen. “I thought you were kicked off the case.”
“Not just the case but the entire force,” she answered and seeing his raised eyebrows, continued. “I’ve been suspended, but not for this. I’ve had a…controversial last year. I don’t always follow protocol to the letter.”
“You mean, like secretly helping a guy half out of his mind not get arrested for pulling a gun in a public place and threatening to shoot up a van?”
He was smiling slightly. Keri took it as a good sign and decided to respond in kind.
“That’s nothing. I’ve done stuff way more against the rules than that. Following orders isn’t really my thing.”
“Well, I wanted to thank you for violating them last night. You were right. Whatever happens with Jess, Carrie and Nate need me. If we’re going to survive this, I need to be here for them.”
He poured her a cup and then one for himself.
“Where are they, by the way?” she asked.
“They’re both sleeping in Nate’s room. They need it.”
“So do you,” Keri pointed out.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. Not even medication has helped. But I’m pretty sure you’re not here to check on my sleeping habits, Detective. I can tell there’s something you want discuss. Go ahead.”
“You’re rig
ht,” she admitted. “But before I say anything, I need to be clear about a few things. I am no longer on this case and am officially on suspension from the LAPD. So anything I ask is just as a concerned private citizen, you understand?”
“I get it.”
“And the questions I have won’t necessarily improve the outcome for Jessica,” she said. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Understood,” he said, sounding as if he really might.
“Okay, let’s go back to the first FedEx package you received. The timestamp was one fifty-eight p.m., right?”
“That sounds right,” he agreed.
“And we thought that was pretty brazen because Jessica didn’t even get out of school until two thirty-five. So he sent it before he had even abducted her. We were all amazed that he would take such a risk because if something went wrong with the abduction and you got the letter, you’d take precautions and he’d likely never get another chance.”
“Yeah, we definitely would have. He was taking a big risk.”
“But there was something else weird about it, something I didn’t really think about until now,” Keri said.
“What?”
“That package also had strands of Jessica’s hair. But how could he have strands of her hair to send to you at one fifty-eight if he didn’t kidnap her until around two forty-five?”
Rainey’s mouth dropped open. “How?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.
“He had to have access to your house before the abduction. He’s been in your home.”
Rainey was quiet for several seconds.
“You think this man broke in and stole some of her hair?” he asked, stunned.
“I doubt that. Your wife works at home. There’s not much time when the house is unoccupied and I don’t think he’d try it at night. You have a security system and there are too many variables. I think you or your wife let this man into your home. I think he’s an acquaintance or someone who worked for you.”
“But we already gave you a list of everyone we know and who does work for us,” he reminded her. “I thought you didn’t find anyone suspicious. And I heard that guy who worked on our neighbor’s place, the peeping Tom, was a dead end.”
“He was,” Keri admitted. “But I think we missed something. I hate to ask you to wake your wife, but I want to go over everyone who’s had access to this house with both of you. Can you get her and the list you put together?”
Rainey hesitated for a second. She could tell that he didn’t want to wrest his wife from her slumber, especially to confront the possibility that they may have invited a threat into their own home. But he nodded.
“Give me a couple of minutes,” he said and left the kitchen.
Keri sipped the coffee but was too anxious to sit still. She got up and wandered around the kitchen, then made her way through some of the other first-floor rooms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in front of the house and walked over.
She wandered over to the dining room and pulled back the curtain to see what the commotion was. One of the photographers from a local paper had apparently gotten inside the perimeter and had been taking close-up shots of the house. Two officers were forcefully returning him behind the police tape.
Keri looked out at the scene. There were still multiple law enforcement vehicles on the street, and yellow police tape created a wide oval around not just the house but parts of the neighbors’ property too.
She glanced at the front yard and saw it was getting torn up by all the foot traffic. A small Nerf football lay in the grass. With everything going on, no one had thought to collect the toy and it rested forlornly, almost hidden by the long blades.
A thought popped into Keri’s head and she almost dropped her coffee as she turned and headed toward the stairs. She was about to go up when she saw Tim and Carolyn Rainey leaving Nate’s room and tiptoeing toward her. They must have seen the look in her eyes because they immediately picked up the pace. They were only halfway down the stairs when Keri, unable to wait any longer, blurted out her question.
“Do you do your own yard work or do you use someone?”
“We use someone,” Carolyn said, taken aback. “George McHugh Tree and Lawn Service. He was on the list. I thought everyone we gave you checked out.”
“When was the last time he came out here? Your grass looks a little overgrown.”
“It’s been several weeks, now that I think about it. He only comes every couple of weeks in the winter, and he had to postpone the last time because one of his guys had quit and he was backed up with other clients. He finally called and said he’s supposed to come in a few days. Why?”
“So it’s not just him then?” Keri asked. “He has employees?”
“Yes,” Carolyn answered, suddenly understanding.
“But they’re not on the list,” Keri noted.
“No. To be honest, I don’t even know their names, and since it’s been a while since they were here I never even thought about it. He rotates two or three guys.”
“You ever let them in the house, say to use the bathroom?”
“I did it all the time,” Carolyn said, her voice faltering.
“I need George McHugh’s number,” Keri ordered.
Carolyn rushed into the kitchen. Tim stared at Keri, his eyes wide.
“Remember, don’t get your hopes up,” Keri told him.
A second later, Carolyn returned with McHugh’s number. Keri called and got him directly. Until a few weeks before he’d had three employees; he gave her all their names and information. The guy who had quit was Johnny Peters.
“One last thing,” Keri asked him. “Why did he quit?”
“He didn’t really have a big reason,” McHugh said. “Just said he was tired of LA and it was time to move on.”
“What was he like?” Keri asked.
“Quiet. Polite. Kept to himself. Mostly just did his job and went home. He seemed to especially enjoy tending the plants; had a real green thumb. I never had a problem with him; was sad to see him go.”
Keri hung up and immediately called Jamie Castillo on her cell phone.
“Stir crazy already?” Jamie asked when she picked up.
“I need your help, Jamie,” Keri replied brusquely, dispensing with the pleasantries.
“Always,” Jamie answered without hesitation.
“But I need you to do it quietly so no one knows it’s for me. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Not a problem. What is it?”
“Just to be clear,” Keri reminded her, “it could be a problem for you if the wrong people find out that you’re helping me. You don’t have to.”
“Have you forgotten who you’re taking to?” Jamie asked, borderline insulted.
“Fair enough. Here’s what I need. I’m going to send you the names and social security numbers for three guys who worked for the Raineys’ yard service. Put them all in the database and get their driver’s license photos. But I want you to focus particular attention on Johnny Peters. See if he has a record. Check for any aliases. And send his photo to Sheriff Calvert in Missouri to see if he recognizes him. Then let me know what you got, okay? This is time sensitive.”
“On it,” Jamie said and hung up before Keri could add anything.
The Raineys were looking at her with a mix of anxiety and optimism that was unsettling.
“Please don’t start getting too excited,” she insisted. “Even if this is the guy, you should prepare yourself for the possibility that it’s too late. Tim, you’ve been a witness to what a cruel bastard he is. The chances that he’s already done something horrible are pretty strong. Don’t forget that.”
They both nodded but she could tell they were allowing a flicker of hope to rekindle itself inside them. And despite her misgivings, she couldn’t really blame them.
It only took ten minutes for Castillo to call back. The second she started speaking, Keri could tell they were on to something.
“Keri?�
�
“Yes.”
“I’ve got Sheriff Calvert on the line with me,” she said. “He wants to talk to you. Go ahead, Sheriff.”
Keri held her breath, waiting for the older man to speak.
“Detective Locke?”
“Yes, Sheriff, I’m here.”
“The Peters guy—I recognize him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Keri hurried to her car as she listened to Calvert. She had just said goodbye to the Raineys, telling them she had a lead she needed to follow up and would get back to them as soon as she knew more.
As she spoke she punched the address listed on Peters’s driver’s license into her GPS and headed off. It was in Mar Vista, near the Santa Monica Airport. Allowing for a brief stop at her apartment to get her personal non-department-issued weapons, it would take about twenty minutes to get there. She put Sheriff Calvert on speaker.
“So this guy Peters went by another name when I encountered him,” he said. “It was also something with a ‘J.’ It’ll come to me in a minute. Anyway, he was part of a religious group. You know those caravans that go from town to town and set up revival tents for services? It was one of those types of things.”
“Do you remember anything about the group?” Keri asked. “Were they some kind of cult?”
“They were pretty devout. But I wouldn’t call them cult-like. Folks around here are pretty religious as it is. These people were maybe a shade more intense, but not so much that it was a concern, if I recall.”
“So what made Peters so memorable?”
“Well, he used to mow my lawn sometimes for one thing. He did it for several folks in town. I think that’s how he made his pocket money. But that alone wouldn’t stick with me. It’s that I had to arrest him once for proselytizing on the street.”
“That’s not allowed?” Keri asked, surprised.
“No, it is. But he was literally in the street, blocking traffic. And he was a little more aggressive than most. Put his hands on a few people; made them uncomfortable. I got a few complaints so I went down to talk to him. He was very polite and stepped onto the sidewalk but he refused to stop getting in people’s space. I politely insisted. He politely declined. So I politely put him in cuffs and took him down to the station for the night.”
