A Revelation of Death

by Alexa Padgett

  “Yeah, I do,” Sam said.

  “I don’t see how,” Raynor said.

  Sam might not either if he didn’t have Cici’s visions to help guide him. “Humor me on this. I’ll make the call, talk to them so that you can continue to focus on the current case.”

  Sam could practically see Raynor’s shrug. “Knock yourself out, man.”

  Raynor’s voice held a faint hint of censure—like he couldn’t believe Sam’s crazy thought progression. Sam swallowed down the frustration burning in his throat. Sure, he knew his investigative process might not be as straight forward as Raynor’s, but Sam’s record for solving violent crimes spoke of his successes.

  If the tension he carried in his shoulders and the desire to lash out were indicators, then the case must be getting to him. Or maybe it was the timing. He’d wanted a quiet week with Cici, but instead, he’d managed to get them both embroiled in yet another dangerous investigation.

  “Can you get me their number from the file? It was Cornell’s case but it should be in the filing cabinet containing the cold cases.”

  Sam heard papers shuffling and the sound of a metal file cabinet closing.

  “Ah. Here’s the number…they live in Taos.” Raynor read off the digits.

  Sam read them back to Raynor, and once sure he had them correct, he said, “I’ll give them a call. Thanks, man.”

  “You got it.”

  Sam tapped his phone on his opposite palm. He blew out a breath before he dialed the number.

  “Vander Keck residence.”

  “Good afternoon. I’m Agent Samuel Chastain.”

  At Cici’s raised eyebrows, Sam pulled out his new badge and tossed it on the bench next to her hip. She whistled softly, her fingers drifting over the insignia.

  “I’d like to speak with either Mr. or Mrs. Vander Keck.”

  “Apologies, Agent Chastain, but the couple is not currently in residence.”

  “Who are you?” Sam asked.

  “I’m Sharon Madsen, the…well, now I’m the housekeeper. The sir and madam left last night.”

  “Oh? Where to?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  Sam highly doubted that. More, Sharon didn’t want to tell him.

  “Would you be willing to give me a cell number?” Sam asked. “I have some pressing questions about their daughter, Kelli Ann.”

  The line remained quiet for a long moment.

  “Do you happen to have information about her whereabouts, Agent Chastain?”

  “I’ll need to speak to her parents about the details,” Sam said.

  “I was her nanny,” Sharon said, her voice catching. “I…I miss her.”

  Ah. Well, Sharon might prove more useful than the parents, especially if she was an integral part of Kelli’s life.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have new details. I wanted to ask—”

  “I think it would be better if I got your number and passed it along to Mr. Vander Keck, then.”

  “Would you mind telling me why?” Sam asked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Vander Keck finally managed to move out from under the grief,” Sharon said.

  Her voice held censure. He was really stepping in it with people today.

  “And, I, for one, do not wish to watch such a nice couple once again dissolve into the pain of their missing daughter.”

  “I understand your concern, but I’m working a new case that I believe is related. That’s why I want to talk to them. I want to ensure we catch this criminal so he can’t hurt another person.”

  Sam gave his number and thanked Sharon for her time. “Before you click off, would you mind telling me where I can reach Kelli’s friend Mara?”

  Sharon sucked in a breath. “Mara?”

  “Yes. She’s the last person Kelli contacted.”

  “That can’t be right,” Sharon said. “No. She can’t have. What agency are you with? Why would you call and ask such horrid questions?”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I wanted to talk to Mara—”

  “Well, you can’t,” Sharon said, her tone even fiercer now than it had been before.

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “Mara never existed.”

  23

  Sam

  A man attaches himself to woman—not to enjoy her, but to enjoy himself. ― Simone de Beauvoir

  * * *

  Sam’s mouth dried out and his sinuses tingled at Sharon’s unexpected response. “What do you mean?”

  “Kelli started talking about Mara after she began to play computer games. Mr. and Mrs. Vander Keck didn’t like Kelli sharing her personal information with a stranger, so they banned Kelli from the platform. Or server. Whatever those things are called.”

  “I can understand her parents being concerned—”

  “You don’t get anything,” Sharon cried. “We believe Mara wasn’t a girl—she wasn’t even a she.”

  Ice slid solid and hard into Sam’s belly. “You’re saying Kelli was duped into sharing personal information. Mara was a code name for a man,” Sam said.

  “We think so,” Sharon sobbed. “We didn’t understand, not then. Just that…that…Mara asked Kelli to meet her when she arrived at New Mexico State. Kelli’s parents were concerned, so they took her car keys and her laptop. She seemed to get over the urge to reach out to Mara, so they let her go to Santa Fe with some friends—they were supposed to camp in the National Forest. The kids drove down, and Kelli disappeared the next day.”

  Sam’s review of the file showed that Kelli had made purchases at Collected Works, a bookstore near The Plaza, and then at a nearby ice cream store. Those showed up on the Vander Keck’s credit card statement, further evidence Kelli spent time in town—not up the mountain, camping, as her parents originally thought. The kids Kelli traveled to Santa Fe National Forest with said they dropped Kelli downtown instead of taking her to the campsite. She said she was meeting a friend. None remembered the name of the friend and none of the teens saw Kelli again.

  Sam frowned, not understanding Cornell’s logic. He should have followed up about the friend. “If the detective knew of Kelli’s purchases in town and the person who called himself Mara, why was Kelli listed as a runaway?” he asked.

  “Kelli sent her parents a text, stating she hated their rules and wouldn’t abide by them any longer.” Sharon sniffled. “She never returned. So—I think you can guess what we think happened to Kelli.”

  The woman’s comments were biting, but Sam now understood her frustration. He dealt with some of his own.

  “Why wasn’t the name Mara listed in her file? Why didn’t her parents state the possible link to a video game?”

  The line went dead. But Sam understood Sharon’s reason for hanging up, just as he understood why Kelli’s parents never mentioned Mara: hope.

  Such a powerful motivator. If Mr. and Mrs. Vander Keck admitted their daughter’s disappearance was related to a faceless man behind a computer screen, they’d have to learn the truth—that Kelli was abducted and probably murdered by the man; one they never wanted her to meet.

  “So how did Kelli continue to talk to Mara?” Sam asked aloud. He groaned. “Of course—Sharon told me they took her computer. Not her cell phone.”

  Sam pressed his thumbs against his eye sockets. Her parents worried about her communicating with him on the video game, but they never considered Kelli giving him her phone number. She still had access to the guy.

  Perhaps withholding details about Mara, a.k.a. other aliases and the likely rapist and murderer Sam was tracking, was unintentional. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. By Kelli’s case remaining open, the Vander Kecks and Sharon could live with the tiny kernel of hope she’d return. A hope that, even by Sharon’s admission, was now extinguished with Sam’s question about Mara. Worse, their decision may well have caused the rape and death of other young women. How could they have been so selfish?

  But he dismissed his thought even as it formed in his mind. Selfishness never occurred to
the Vander Kecks. They were too busy grieving their daughter to think through the repercussions.

  Sam might have been offended by Sharon’s rudeness if he hadn’t understood her shock and grief at having to relive one of her worst memories.

  Sam met Cici’s concerned gaze.

  “That sounded…” She trailed off.

  “Intense. Yeah. But it was helpful, too. I need to find out if I can get into Kelli’s gaming history. She made a friend—the Mara you mentioned—through the server.”

  “Oh?” Understanding dawned and Cici’s mouth flattened. “He picked her out online, groomed her, and then got her to meet him.”

  “Possibly. That makes sense. But, according to your dream, she ran away, scared.”

  “I don’t think she made the connection that the big, scary man was Mara. Not until he found her,” Cici finished. She splayed out her fingers, staring at the healing cuts on the backs of her hands. “And killed her.”

  Cici’s eyes widened and she gripped Sam’s forearm. “Cooper said Patti acted strangely—different—and she refused to leave the house. What if this guy threatened her on the game?”

  “Any idea what platform?” Sam asked.

  Cici shrugged. “I’d have to ask Cooper. But if I had to guess, I’d say Dissonance. It’s popular. A lot of games are on it.”

  Sam’s hand stilled, hovering over the paper. “How do you know that?”

  “I have a high school youth group, Sam. They tell me things. Patti helped out as a chaperone sometimes.”

  “They’d tell you what games they’re playing?”

  “When I asked. People tend to be truthful with their clergy.”

  Sam agreed they did: probably because they worried about their eternal soul if they lied to their pastor.

  Cici handed him back his badge. “Impressive. When did you get it?”

  “Jeannette dropped it by your place this morning just before I left to meet Raynor up by St. John’s.”

  Cici pressed her lips together. Her lips seemed healed and the more superficial scrapes had faded as had her sunburn. The once-angry scrape on her temple now congealed in a dark scab. She looked better. Even her cheeks were filling out a little. For the first time in days, her eyes remained steady, clear.

  One of Sam’s biggest pet peeves when it came to Cici was how often people underestimated her kindness. They seemed to think her gentleness made her servile. She wasn’t; while Cici would offer people her shoulder and even the shirt off her back, she stood strong, buffeted by storms most of society would crumble under.

  Like now, instead of a passive-aggressive comment about Jeannette, Cici asked with great interest, “How is she?” And Sam knew Cici wanted an answer.

  “Irritated when I told her about the case I was helping the SFPD with. I’m lucky my ears weren’t bleeding when she finished with me.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Cici said.

  “You aren’t. I’m curious. More, I’m concerned for these women.” Sam tapped his pen to the notebook. “The gaming is a likely connection between them.”

  Sam rose and offered Cici his hand. She took it and they headed inside the building.

  Sam scowled. “If this guy is still luring girls online, that means he’s been active for at least four years.”

  “So, you think there are more women,” Cici whispered the words Sam refused to say.

  24

  Sam

  It is the mind that makes the body. ― Sojourner Truth

  * * *

  “God. I hope I’m wrong, Cee.”

  He stared into her hazel eyes, so bright in the dimness of the atrium to the church, and found the miserable certainty he didn’t want—the missing twenty-year-old named Jenny was related to the drowning death of a young mother who helped out with a church youth group. Each connection made Sam feel worse—like he’d let the community down by not finding the killer in their midst or by not volunteering more.

  “I’ll talk to Cooper to gather more details on the gaming and changes in Patti’s behavior,” Sam said. “That’s a great tip. Thanks for passing it along.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth. “And I’ll get the situation with the neighborhood sorted out. That may mean I need to talk with the neighbors—as a follow-up precaution to Raynor’s contact yesterday.”

  He buttoned his suit jacket, shifting his arms to get the material to lay better against his shoulders. He missed his slacks and button-down days, but he’d decided to get used to the more formal attire—it was his dress code now, after all.

  Cici hugged him. Sam wanted more than a hug, more than another night at Cici’s house, even if it was in her bed, but her church, with Mrs. Sanchez’s avid eyes on them even now, wasn’t the place.

  Sam headed to the station to collect Raynor for the continued questioning and canvassing of the neighborhood. There were only a few more hours in that golden time—about forty-eight hours—before the trail to find Patti’s killer cooled. People would forget important details; he would miss connections because citizens continued with their lives, unknowingly carrying around a detail of information that would fit with another person’s, forming a detailed picture of the man they were struggling to find. Sam refused to lose any potential lead. He wanted justice for Patti, but now he worried about this college girl, Jenny who’d just disappeared.

  “I’m glad you talked to Cooper,” Raynor said as he drove the city’s unmarked sedan from the Urlich’s hotel on Cerrillos up toward Sol y Lomas. Raynor tugged at his sleeves. “He seemed to like you better.”

  “I’m not sure it’s about liking, but, yeah, the information he provided was solid.” Sam paused a beat. “We know Patti played on Dissonance and we have the same cat in the avatar.”

  “It’s a different name,” Jeff said. “HostileNM723.”

  “We need to find out if the user is using the same computer or the same area.”

  “To prove it’s the same guy,” Jeff said.

  “It’ll be another piece of evidence.”

  Raynor rubbed his middle fingers between his eyebrows, his face contorting in discomfort.

  Because Raynor originally saw this case as an accident, details like checking Patti’s email and her browser history hadn’t been a priority. Sam had made them one. That was part of why Raynor was proving difficult. While he wanted help, he didn’t want to appear incompetent. Sam sympathized, just not enough to cut Raynor the slack he seemed to think he deserved.

  Maybe Sam was wrong to have suggested Raynor for detective.

  “How are you doing, Jeff?”

  Raynor ran his hand through already disheveled hair. “Overwhelmed, man. I mean, now you’re telling me we might have a serial killer… Has the department even dealt with one of those before?”

  “Not while I’ve been on the force.”

  They pulled up in front of the Urlich house and sat there for a moment, each lost in thought. The place seemed lonely somehow.

  “I messed up,” Raynor blurted.

  Sam paused in the act of opening the door. As he faced Raynor his heart sank faster than an anchor. “You talked to a neighbor.”

  Raynor looked like he’d tried to eat an unripe apricot. “The guy confused me.”

  “What guy?”

  “The one across the street,” Raynor said, his face now suffused with color. “Yesterday, when you suggested I come by and talk to the folks in the surrounding houses. I talked to all the neighbors, and they asked me if Cooper was involved. Then, the guy across the street…I wasn’t sure what to do, so I high-tailed it home.”

  Sam’s stomach plunged. He’d hoped Cooper overreacted. Based on Raynor’s comments, Cooper didn’t. Damn. This was going to take some effort to mop up and make right.

  “All right. Well, let’s see if we can talk to him again and set the record straight.”

  Raynor’s gaze held a beseeching quality Sam didn’t care for. “You gotta help me, Sam. I don’t want to lose this case.”

  Sam
waited, counting to five, but it didn’t really settle his jitters. “Here’s the deal: you may lose it anyway.”

  “What! Why?”

  Sam inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the whine in Raynor’s voice. “If there are multiple women—if this guy’s a serial rapist and killer—you said it yourself. The department doesn’t have the resources or training.”

  Raynor turned toward Sam, his expression florid with anger. “You mean I don’t.”

  “No, Jeff. I mean the department. The FBI’s in Albuquerque. They’ve taken over multiple cases from SFPD in the past. You know that.”

  “Fine,” Raynor said, his expression sullen.

  Sam understood his frustration—he’d done much of the legwork only to have a federal agent in a better suit slide in and close the case, take the credit. That wasn’t Sam’s preferred modus operandi, but he’d seen it happen before—been on the receiving end of such condescension.

  “I said it may happen. My theories may not pan out.”

  Raynor shoved open his door. “You’re the golden boy,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll solve this case, just as you have every other one you’ve touched or breathed on in the last year.”

  Sam bit back a sharp retort. Instead, he closed his car door as Raynor joined him at the rear of the vehicle. The older man straightened his tie—yeah, it was a different world, wearing the suit and tie each day rather than the blue uniform.

  Sam looked up and down the street. He saw a curtain twitch closed in the house next door. Sam headed toward the residence. Raynor followed.

  Sam knocked on the door, and a couple of minutes later, a tall, raw-boned gray-haired woman answered.

  “Are you the police?” she asked in a voice littered with hundreds of cigarettes and nearly as many shots of some hard liquor.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Federal Agent Chastain, and this is Detective Raynor. I noticed you were looking out the window, so I thought maybe you’d be able to answer a few questions, Mrs…”