The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  I interjected, looking at her. “You saw him recently?”

  Her eyes bugged out, which seemed to indicate she thought I was being too motherly. Maybe I was, but Leo was a twenty-one-year-old Hollywood actor. How they’d met was a long story. He seemed like a decent guy, but Cristina was still in high school. I’d told her repeatedly not to fall for this guy. He could have—probably did have—a dozen other girls pawing over him back in la-la land.

  “He came into town a couple of weeks back. A real quickie.”

  Stan put his hand on my back as I processed what she’d just said. “A quickie?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Her face turned flush.

  Stan said, “Pressler and the crime scene guys are already there. You ready?”

  “More than you know.”

  8

  Looping to the back of the school in Stan’s navy-blue unmarked police car, I spotted pole after pole with flyers affixed to them showing a picture of Mia and a phone number to call if anyone had information.

  Raul and Consuela had assembled their band of helpers and started distributing flyers with lightning-quick speed. I was reminded, again, that taking a child away from a parent, at least for most parents, was akin to removing an appendage. They would do anything to bring her back.

  The parking lot nearest the athletic field house was only half full. Thankfully, kids weren’t around because of the in-service holiday. But I still spotted plenty of women and a sprinkling of men behind the outline of yellow tape. Stan and I got out, walked through the crowd and under the tape. I’d been to so many crime scenes at this point that no one asked anymore about a badge, knowing Stan had my back. Almost immediately I spotted Detective Brook Pressler, one of Stan’s colleagues. She was impossible to miss. Her red mane of hair set against her pale face was striking. Adding to that, she was wearing a pair of leggings that accentuated her curves. She kind of reminded me of an Irish version of my best friend, Zahera, who was part Canadian, part French, Muslim…and a knockout. More than one person had said she looked like an international model—the kind who didn’t look like they were on a hunger strike.

  I missed Zahera. She’d recently left for a vacation all by herself. She said she needed the time away to heal and reflect, to figure out what her life was all about. I got it, completely. Her father had been killed and her fiancé had turned out to be some type of international gun for hire. We’d traded a couple of text messages, but mostly I tried to leave her be. The fact that she was by herself told me she was serious about her time of reflection. I wasn’t even sure where she had gone.

  “Hey, Ivy.” Brook slipped off a pair of rubber gloves and then used her shoulder to scratch her face.

  I reached to shake her hand, and she pulled both arms up in a defensive position.

  “No offense, but even with rubber gloves, I can barely get near myself. The dead animals are attracting all sorts of nasty critters in there.”

  I leaned in front of Stan and glanced into the field house. It was a lot deeper than I’d expected. Thankfully, it blocked the northern breeze, so I could stand there without my teeth chattering. I saw artificial grass on the floor, but what stood out most were the number of police spotlights positioned at the far end by the back wall. There were so many it looked like a movie set. A quick thought of Cristina and Leo entered my mind. I wished she could find a boy closer to her age to hang out with. She’d once called Leo the “Latin Zac Efron.” I wasn’t sure any seventeen-year-old boy could compete with that.

  Loud voices drew my attention behind me. A man with a receding hairline and a light-blue suit that fit about forty pounds ago was in an animated conversation with a lady half his size. Actually, a third was probably closer to the correct ratio. He was wagging his finger at her. “Is he the principal?” I asked Brook.

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Do I need to go down the checklist?”

  “Good point. He’s upset, for many reasons.”

  “He doesn’t have to take it out on one of his teachers.”

  “That’s not a teacher. She’s the assistant superintendent, Meg Burton.”

  “She’s letting him berate her like that?”

  “Not for long. She’s a ball-buster. She just came in from Austin. I’ve got family in that area. They brought her to San Antonio to serve as the second-in-command while the old geezer superintendent does his farewell tour. Before long, she’ll be the top dog. Mr. Peterson better watch himself or she might just bite off his finger.”

  Not a second later, Meg barked at the larger Mr. Peterson, who quickly withdrew into a submissive position. I wasn’t sure which sagged more, his face or his shoulders.

  “I want to take a look at the crime scene,” Stan said, “but before I do, I need to talk to Mr. Peterson about another matter for a quick moment while he’s, uh…on the other end of the leash.”

  Brook gave a what’s-up tilt of the head. I shrugged and followed behind Stan. As he introduced himself to Mr. Peterson, Meg answered her cell phone and stepped off to the side.

  “Nice to meet you, Detective Radowski.” The principal shifted his eyes to Meg for a quick second as he held out his hand. Stan, who had no qualms with being transparent about his condition, held up his prosthesis, then extended his left hand.

  “Oh…oh my. I’m so sorry.” Peterson slowly connected hands with Stan and completed the obligatory introduction. It was awkward at best.

  “I need a favor,” Stan said, getting right to it.

  Peterson’s eyes finally landed on me. His brow furrowed for a moment, as if he were wondering who I was, what I was doing there.

  “You listening, Mr. Peterson?”

  “Of course.” He moved his eyes back to Stan. “It’s just horrible what happened in there,” he said, nudging his head toward the field house.

  “It is, and we intend on finding out who did it. But before you do anything else, I need you to run back into the main building, log onto your computer system, and search through yesterday’s video footage until you find a clip of Mia Romero leaving the school. And then I want you to save it and show it to me.”

  He nodded slowly, then glanced at me again. “Wait, haven’t I seen you before?”

  “Sorry, I graduated over ten years ago.”

  He tapped the side of his nearly bald head. “No, that’s not it. Wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve seen your picture on the news or in the newspaper. Somewhere, I know.”

  “It’s not important,” Stan said. But the guy kept gawking at me.

  “Up here, sir.” Stan pointed at his own eyes.

  “I heard about Mia not being in school yesterday. I don’t know what to say. Kids miss school all the time.”

  “You or someone from your administration spoke to her father, Raul, this morning.”

  “Wasn’t me,” he said with a chuckle.

  We weren’t laughing.

  “Anyway, they said they would look at the video footage, but Raul didn’t feel very confident that he was being taken seriously.”

  Peterson huffed out a breath. “We’re snowed under, to be frank with you.” Again, his eyes were drawn to me. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. I’m Ivy.”

  He stuck out his left hand, and then his right. He looked confused, but I kept my hands clasped in front of me.

  Stan spoke up. “We all have jobs to do, Mr. Peterson. But when a kid goes missing, that becomes a top priority.”

  “How do you know she’s not in a motel somewhere smoking pot?”

  I looked at Stan, then back to the principal. My eyes were not friendly. “Do you know Mia personally?”

  “Eh. She’s not on the student council, so I guess not.”

  “We’re not going to debate Mia’s character,” Stan interrupted. “Assume she is doing just that, for the point of this conversation. Are you going to do what I asked?”

  “I guess so. You do have a badge.” He looked down at Stan’s waist where
his badge was clipped. “Just to warn you, the system that captures the video feeds all over the school is antiquated. It’s always blipping and going down for minutes at a time. The company that supports it just went bankrupt.” He turned his head, then spoke louder. “Another great decision by our school board.”

  He was trying to get the attention of Meg, who was still on her phone, now pacing on the other side of the yellow tape. She either was pretending she hadn’t heard him or had learned to drown out his voice.

  “If you’ll do that, then I can go into the field house and try to figure out who’s behind this crazy animal sacrifice.”

  “Man to man…” He kept his eyes on Stan, leaning closer. “I’d give my left nut if you could find the heathens who did this before school starts tomorrow.”

  Stan looked like he’d just eaten rotten eggs. He was no more impressed with this guy’s locker-room talk than I was. But, like a good little girl, I just stood to the side and kept my mouth shut. Anything to quicken the process for him to find the video footage of Mia.

  Peterson kept going. “Otherwise, it will be a circus tomorrow. Emotional kids, more emotional parents. The media will descend upon us like the vultures they are. I can already feel an ulcer coming on.”

  “We’ll do our best, but I can’t make promises.”

  We turned around and saw Brook holding up rubber gloves for each of us. “Are you ready to throw up your breakfast?”

  9

  Brook had not overdramatized the gory scene in the back of the field house. Two dead animals—a dog and a cat. I’d seen dead animals before, victims of being run over in a busy street. But my first response, other than putting a hand to my stomach, was bewilderment. In what state of mind could a person be to do something like this?

  “Twisted fucker,” were the words that Stan uttered.

  I was in complete agreement.

  Each had been sliced open like a zipper down the front. Lots of blood. Their eyes were all white. I tried to remind myself that they weren’t humans. But it didn’t help. I have a black cat named Zorro. During my most difficult periods as an adult, including a period when the dark abyss of anxiety and depression nearly strangled the life out of me, Zorro was always there, nudging me to get out of bed to feed him, purring as he nestled next to me on the couch. It was odd to think about now, but I’d found his quiet desire to continue living in a pseudo-normal state as a subtle reminder that I had a purpose. And that had kept my motivation somewhere above zero. Ultimately, Cristina had marched in and demanded I get my ass in gear and stop wallowing in self-pity.

  Damn, that girl could be a thorn in my ass. But where would I be without her? She’d been vital in helping our little firm develop a solid reputation for doing whatever it took to help children in trouble. She’d sacrificed a lot and, on most days, acted with a maturity well beyond her teenage years. On many levels, she was the little sister I never had. Not that we shared every little intimate detail of our lives. But when it mattered most, she knew I had her back. And I felt the same way about her. Our alliance was unspoken, but no less legitimate or sincere.

  “A makeshift altar,” Brook said, pausing for a moment.

  I’d been lost in my own thoughts—probably a way of dealing with the grisly scene before me—and I hadn’t yet noticed the particle board being supported by blocks of wood on either end. The altar was about three feet off the ground.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about something. The altar…” I said as a lead-in for her to continue.

  “We found melted wax in two different places.”

  “As in the wax from a candle?” I asked.

  “That’s the only way I’ve seen wax used,” Brook said.

  I hesitantly searched the board, trying to avoid looking at the dog and cat, and she pointed at one mound of wax. The color was close to translucent, with a slight pink tone. But most noteworthy was the size of the mound—it extended at least three inches off the surface.

  “Must have been a big candle,” I said.

  “Whoever did this was in here a while. A number of hours I’d guess,” Stan said as he looked toward the corner of the high ceiling. “Any cameras in this place?”

  “We found one, by the back entrance,” Brook said. “Verified it with the athletic coordinator. Apparently, he has access to the video footage for that one camera. He and another coach are in his office reviewing the video from the last twenty-four hours.”

  Stan turned to the front entrance, through which we’d just come, scratching his head with his prosthesis. “They have a camera in the back, but not at the front? Makes no sense.”

  “I asked the same question. Apparently, when they designed this place, they’d only intended to open those massive metal doors in the front when they had to use a forklift to bring in heavy items, like new weight-training equipment. But since it faces the school, it’s left open most of the time for anyone in athletics to come and go. They use a chain and a padlock to lock it up when not in use.

  “And was the chain or lock broken?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “So, was it locked this morning when the coaches arrived?”

  “They said it was,” Brook said. “But honestly, they had doubt in their voices. I think it’s one of those things where they’re assuming procedures were followed, but they can’t be one hundred percent certain. I didn’t want to put them through a lie detector test. They were trying to be helpful, and eagerly ran off to scan the video footage.”

  “Is a cop in there with them?”

  Brook raised a shapely eyebrow. “Yes, I’ve got a uniform in there with them. You think they might destroy evidence?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect until we rule them out, right?” I said.

  “We rule them out?” Brook looked at Stan.

  He just shrugged.

  “You created this monster,” Brook said to Stan, throwing a thumb at me. Then she gave me a smirk. “I mean that in the warmest way possible.”

  I knew she was joking, mostly. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

  “The crime scene guys are dusting everything for fingerprints, so maybe they’ll find something. But for now, I want to show you one more thing.” She walked behind the board and pointed to the floor. “This.”

  I craned my neck but couldn’t see, then looped around the setup with Stan on my heels, stopping next to Brook. Burned into the artificial grass was a symbol—a circle with what looked like the letter A in the middle.

  “What do you think it is?” I asked.

  “One of the uniforms knew exactly what it was the moment she saw the symbol. Apparently, she has a theology degree, and to get that degree, she had to study all types of religions, including Satanism. This symbol represents animal sacrifice.”

  “Devil worshippers,” I said in a soft murmur, my eyes still riveted to the mark. Then, I realized I’d used a plural term, assuming there was more than one perpetrator. “So do you guys think this was done by a single person, or was it some type of group session?” I asked.

  “It’s just my instinct, but I’m going with more than one perp. So I revise my earlier assessment of who did this,” he said. “But whether it’s one or one hundred, I can’t wait to get my hands on the twisted teenage fuckers who did this.”

  “So you go straight to kids doing this?” Brook asked.

  Stan was staring off at something, not responding, so I did. “It’s my first thought too. Not sure if they’re necessarily from this high school either. Maybe a bunch of kids from a rival school did this; maybe someone from this school…just trying to create a huge stir, make everyone go bonkers. Some kids get off on that kind of stuff.”

  Was there any way that Mia Romero was one of those kids? Like Cristina had said, kids could put on a big show for their parents and actually be a very different type of person. Of course, I had no idea why I’d made that leap. Mia was a missing child. This was devil worshipping. Didn’t mean one was related to the other. “Good point,” Bro
ok said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “Could be one of the teachers just as easily; one of the staff who just lost it.”

  “Another good point. I’ll make a note to ask Principal Peterson for the HR files for each teacher, administrator…every adult who’s on this campus.”

  “What about his file?” I nodded in the direction of Peterson.

  Brook nodded, while pulling out her phone and tapping away on the screen. “I’ll go to that assistant superintendent for everything instead, keep Peterson out of it completely. This will take some work. Unless we find hair or blood evidence…” We both glanced at the dead animals, then back to each other. “The human kind. Or a fingerprint, or get lucky on the video footage. Our suspect pool is huge; the school population is close to two thousand. If we take into account a rival school, we could be looking at double that.”

  “Maybe these idiots left some sort of digital trail,” I said, staring at the symbol in the turf. “Maybe posted something on social media, texted friends.”

  “Yes, it’s possible,” Stan said. “Just takes man hours.”

  I added, “Or woman hours.”

  Brook and I smirked, then she said, “I’ll ask the captain for more men and women.”

  A phone rang. We looked to Stan, who broke from his trance and answered it. He turned his back for just a few seconds. All I heard was, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Was there some kind of full moon last night?”

  Then he flipped around. “I’m out of here. Ivy, you’re coming with me.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Double homicide. Same type of sacrifice setup as here.”

  “People, not animals?

  “Don’t know all the details, but I do know this: they’re both teenage girls.”

  An unnerving chill swept across my heart.

  10

  Against everything that Raul and Consuela had shared with me, I had considered the idea of Mia being involved in some “shit,” as Cristina would say—including the satanic sacrifice of two animals. But now, as Stan extended his badge out of his window to the uniform in the parking lot at Mission Concepcion, guilt consumed me for even having had that thought.