by Alex Barclay
‘John Reiff? My name is Special Agent Ren Bryce.’ She threw a small plastic evidence bag on to the table in front of him. He looked up at her, not sure whether he could touch it.
‘Go ahead,’ said Ren.
Reiff picked it up, but quickly dropped it on the table.
Inside were broken fragments of ceramic. There were two pieces that stood out. One was no bigger than a quarter – a white skull with a black hood. The other piece was a tiny gold crown. They were both spattered with blood.
Ren stared John Reiff down. ‘So,’ said Ren. ‘What happened over spring break?’
Reiff’s pallor dropped a few shades on the color chart. He frowned. ‘I…’ He stared down at the table.
‘Do you know where I found this?’
‘No,’ said Reiff. ‘But…that’s blood.’
‘Yes, it is blood,’ said Ren. ‘It was found in the SUV. Michael Sarvas…’ Ren paused. ‘Did you meet Michael when you used to stay over in the Sarvas house? He was fifteen. Do you remember him?’ Ren held his photo in front of Reiff’s face until he turned away. ‘Michael liked skulls. He had skull T-shirts, a skull keychain…’
Reiff’s eyes returned to the bag. He looked ill.
‘But this is not Michael’s,’ said Ren. ‘This is something a little more sinister, isn’t it?’
She studied Reiff. ‘You have to suppress your intelligence too much in this new, dumbed-down teenage world, don’t you, John? Well, now is your chance to be smart. Tell me what you know. Take the opportunity.’
Reiff nodded. He stared at the bag. ‘It looks like…Santa Muerte.’
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘Santa Muerte. Saint Death. Patron Saint of drug traffickers and prostitutes and murderers…Patron Saint of the dark side…’
Reiff held the back of his hand to his mouth. He swallowed hard.
‘This tiny figure was found on the floor of the Sarvas’ SUV,’ said Ren. ‘That’s Gregory Sarvas’ blood, by the way. Do you remember him from when you used to stay over in the Sarvas’ house?’
Tears welled in Reiff’s eyes.
‘Michael was not a drug user,’ said Ren. ‘I would venture that he was too busy focusing on his studies, had never even traveled anywhere without his parents. I’m guessing that Gregory Sarvas, lawyer, and father of three, was not heavily into blow or meth. So, the question remains: what happened on spring break?’
23
The Sarvas house was in an upscale El Paso neighborhood on a half-acre lot. Access to the property was through a security gate with a keypad.
Ren got out of the car and pushed the call button. Catherine Sarvas buzzed her in. The gates swung slowly open and Ren drove through into a cobbled courtyard and a stunning two-story stucco house.
Catherine Sarvas was suddenly face-to-face with the woman whom she had been happy to talk to only because she was hundreds of miles away at the other end of a phone line. Her hands were shaking.
Ren smiled. ‘Thank you so much for seeing me. Sorry I couldn’t give you more notice.’ She shook Catherine’s hand and held it briefly.
Catherine’s shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Thank you,’ she said. She led Ren into the kitchen and poured her water from a jug that had lemons and tiny white flowers floating in it. They sat on high stools across the counter from each other.
Catherine’s fine, glossy blonde hair was tied in a pony-tail. Her freckled skin was tinted with light moisturizer, a little blusher. She was a natural beauty. But her ordeal had clearly taken a toll on her.
‘How was your trip?’ she asked.
‘The trip was fine,’ said Ren. ‘Catherine…I spent this morning at the El Paso police HQ interviewing Luke’s friends.’
‘Oh.’ Catherine looked taken aback.
Ren nodded. ‘I had some questions that I needed answers to.’ She paused. ‘How much do you know about what’s happening along the Mexican border?’
Catherine frowned. ‘I read the newspapers…but what has that got to do with anything?’
‘OK, I’m going to have to tell you a few things about Luke that may be difficult to hear.’
‘Oh, God…’ Catherine held a hand to her chest.
‘In April last year, Luke told you that he spent spring break with his friends in San Diego, is that right?’
Catherine nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘He did spend two days there,’ said Ren. ‘But the boys crossed the border into Tijuana for the rest of the vacation.’
‘Tijuana?’
Ren nodded.
‘Why would he go to Tijuana? Tijuana is—’
‘While they were there,’ said Ren, ‘they…partied hard.’
‘Meaning…?’ Catherine waited for Ren to answer.
Ren nodded. ‘Yes – drugs.’
‘But…there is no way Luke would touch drugs. Maybe some of his friends, but still…we made it very clear to Luke what the dangers of drugs were and what the consequences would be if he went down that route.’
‘I spoke with his friends,’ said Ren. ‘And I’m afraid they confirmed that he had been doing drugs.’
‘Did they say that they had too?’
Ren nodded.
‘I…I…just can’t believe this.’
‘Also,’ said Ren, ‘there were girls…’
‘With them?’ said Catherine. ‘From school?’
‘No.’
Catherine stared at her. ‘What kind of girls?’
‘Prostitutes.’
Catherine looked ill. ‘Prostitutes.’
‘A couple of the boys, yes,’ said Ren. ‘But we’re not sure exactly what Luke did. They were very drunk, they had been taking cocaine. The boys’ memories are hazy. But enough of them have backed up the story.’
‘Luke wouldn’t need a prostitute,’ said Catherine. ‘That’s ridiculous. He’s a very handsome boy…Girls lined up for him.’
‘Boys get swept up in this kind of environment,’ said Ren. ‘They were at one of the table-top bars—’
‘What’s a table-top bar?’
‘Like a strip club. Full contact. You can touch the girls. It was that kind of atmosphere. Apparently Luke went outside at one point – halfway through the night. The guys didn’t know where he went, but they say he was gone for at least an hour, maybe more.’
‘I’m a little lost,’ said Catherine. ‘What has Luke’s trip to Tijuana got to do with what happened to my family?’
‘We’re not sure yet,’ said Ren. ‘But what I do know is that the Mexican cartels are recruiting American teenagers to take drugs across the border. There is so much traffic going through every day, Border Patrol just can’t check every vehicle and every person in it. A lot of these kids are strapping packages to their bodies—’
‘Hold on a second.’ Catherine shook her head. ‘This sounds ridiculous. There is no way that Luke would carry drugs across the border for anyone.’
‘He may have had no choice,’ said Ren. ‘Based on something that happened during his trip to Tijuana. It could have been anything. He could have hit on the wrong girl in one of those bars and had to trade his way out of the situation. He could have been forced to do it. Maybe he tried to get out of having to do it and what happened to you…and your family was the result of that.’
‘Me? But…there’s no way. Would these…drug dealers…come all the way up here to do that?’
‘Look at Erubiel Diaz,’ said Ren. ‘And not long ago, San Diego State arrested a lot of middle-class students who were dealing on campus and had direct links with Mexican cartels. We’re looking into it. There is also a possibility that Luke willingly agreed to take drugs across the border for money and may have made a mistake that led to something else—’
‘Luke did not need money,’ said Catherine. ‘Once our boys got good grades at school, we were very generous with them. Greg wanted to show them that hard work pays off – he wouldn’t give them money for nothing. They valued it. And they valued earning it honestly. In fact, Greg had given Luke a thousand dollars fo
r spring break. Along with what Luke had saved up already, he wasn’t in a vulnerable position financially.’
‘Mrs Sarvas, I’m trying to help you find out what happened to your family,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not judging Luke or you or your husband. Luke is young. Kids his age do that separation thing – in his head, he could have been just “driving”. These kids can get four or five thousand to “take a drive”. If they make it through in one piece, depending on the kid involved, the rush can get a lot of them hooked on doing it, which could account for the several months between the trip to Tijuana and the events last July. He could have been doing this for several months.’
‘This is insane.’
‘That hour that Luke disappeared when he was in Tijuana?’ said Ren. ‘That was a crucial gap. And it will be extremely difficult for us to fill in what happened during that missing time. But, I think that whatever happened in Tijuana may be linked to what happened here.’
‘But, how?’ said Catherine. ‘This is all crazy. Luke involved with drugs and prostitutes—’
‘Please don’t look at it that way,’ said Ren. ‘He had – from what we can gather – one blowout vacation where he behaved, yes, out-of-character or irresponsibly, but he would not be the first.’
‘He was going to study law…’
‘He might have been overwhelmed,’ said Ren. ‘Scared he couldn’t live up to the behavior expected of a lawyer.’
‘But…drugs? Sex?’
Ren shrugged. ‘Sounds to me like Luke was a good guy who spent one weekend living a very different life—’
‘That ruined his whole family’s lives, if what you’re saying is true.’ Catherine started to sob, sucking in huge breaths that after a while, she was starting to lose control of.
Ren poured her some water and handed her the glass.
‘I am so sorry. I…What about Michael?’ Catherine wiped her nose with a Kleenex.
‘We don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry. Right now, we’re going to presume they’re both together.’
‘Dead…’
‘No. We have no reason to believe that.’ Apart from precedent.
‘I know they are alive,’ said Catherine. ‘I just know they are. No one believes me. Not even my Church any more. They think I’ve lost my mind.’
‘It’s hard for other people to watch the kind of pain you’re going through,’ said Ren. ‘They feel helpless and they just want it all to go away. It’s more about them than you. I’m sure no one thinks that you’re crazy. They just don’t know how to handle your grief. They want you to have hope, but they don’t want to be the people to give it to you, because they don’t want to be to blame if that hope is shattered. They see how devastated you are now, they can’t imagine how bad it would be if you got worse news.’
‘This is a nightmare,’ said Catherine. ‘My worst nightmare.’
‘I know,’ said Ren. ‘But we’re going to do everything we can to find your sons. And to find out the truth. Are you OK here? Is there anyone you’d like me to call?’
‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’
‘I’m sorry I’m going to have to leave this for now.’ Ren began gathering her things. ‘I don’t have much time. I have a flight to catch.’
‘That’s OK.’
Ren reached out, lay a hand on Catherine’s arm and looked her in the eye. ‘Don’t try to do this by yourself. Please leave this in our hands. You know the situation along the border. You’ve seen the news reports.’
Catherine nodded.
‘These people are animals,’ said Ren. ‘They are conscienceless.’
‘I feel so helpless.’
‘You would not be safe down there,’ said Ren. ‘Which means that you would be no use to your sons…’ Ren left the sentence open. I am not the person to give you hope.
24
The flight to Denver was grounded on the runway for an hour and the air conditioning had died. Ren was trying to read her way out of the panic of being in a small stranger-filled space, breathing in stranger germs. Her eyes started to close. The heat was overwhelming. She flashed back eleven years to Domenica Val Pando’s compound in New Mexico – waking up in the mornings, the darkness of the room. The sense of a searing sun behind the shutters.
Don’t go there.
Ren picked up her book and started to read again. She could feel a rising tension in her chest. It was the claustrophobia of the airplane, the oppression of being surrounded by people you didn’t know.
I am trapped.
Ren was back to the compound again, remembering the tension of the noise – the raised voices of the men, the trucks pulling in and out, the screeching of the birds. And then there was Domenica Val Pando’s voice, the type of screaming that would make you rigid.
The first time Ren had awakened, rigid, it was six a.m. and down the corridor she could hear the stamp of Domenica’s foot.
‘¿Qué chingados es esto? No. No. Malo. Malo. Malo. ¿Qué tu madre nitu abuela te enseñaron nada? Deshaz eso. Vuelve a empezar. Mírame a los ojos, pendeja. Si quieres hacerla en este país cada cosa la tienes que hacer perfectamente. Yo no estaría aquí si no fuera por eso.’
What the hell is this? No, no, no. Wrong. Wrong Wrong. Did your mother, did your grandmother teach you anything? It looks like this! This! Take that off. Start over! This is how it should be! Do not insult me! Do not insult me! If you want to succeed in this country, you do every job to the best of your ability. Look at me! I wouldn’t have got where I am today if it wasn’t for that!
Ren had gotten up and tip-toed toward the room. Domenica was making a bed, working the sheets into perfect hospital corners. A trembling sixteen-year-old maid stood watching her.
Domenica was teaching her how to make Una cama bien echecita! Una cama bien echecita!
The same type of ‘well-made bed’ with the constricting sheets that Ren had pulled loose every night before she got in.
Army corners/hospital corners – why would anyone want to recreate those conditions?
Ren was about to go back to her book, but she had set off on a course of pressing down on emotional bruises. Her next one was Ricky Parry. Even his name was trapped in time: Ricky. Ren remembered how hard he tried to be cool. When he was fourteen, he had started wearing tight black jeans, a black leather biker jacket and some sort of metal chain hanging from his belt. He had blond spiked hair, but a chubby, red-cheeked face and two middle teeth that were slightly longer than the rest. A chipmunk in chains.
Ren had liked Ricky Parry. After Beau’s suicide, they had come together as friends with a connection they never spoke about – they were the kids who wondered if there was anything they could have done to prevent what happened to the brothers they adored. So they swapped all that wondering time for talking and laughing and watching the same movies and reading the same books. The pretty little dark-haired girl and the sullen blond death-metal dope-head, taking the bus to Albany to shoot pool.
Before Ren realized it, she was replaying the scene in Beau’s bedroom, but instead of her mom yelling ‘He’s dead, he’s dead’, she was yelling, ‘Oh thank God, he’s alive, he’s alive.’
And they would all rush off in an ambulance and down the hallway at the hospital holding on to the side of the gurney, surrounded by doctors who were doing all the right things. And Beau would be lying in the bed, young and handsome and happy to be alive. And the whole family would collapse with relief and cry and laugh and Beau would promise never to worry anyone like that again. And he would be waiting for her at the airport to tell her that everything was going to be all right.
Glenn Buddy was in the office talking to Cliff when Ren got back.
Please don’t want to talk to me.
‘Hey,’ said Glenn. ‘Were you out of town?’
‘I was in Texas,’ said Ren. ‘And just off a flight that spent an hour on the runway with no air conditioning.’
‘Ooh,’ said Cliff. ‘Did they not know you were on board?’
‘How’s
everything going with the investigation, Glenn?’
‘The taint team was about to go through the files, trying to match A, B and C to their real files, but I got a call to lay off Patient B.’
‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘Why is that?’
‘Beats me,’ said Glenn. ‘But I have the word of a high-ranking honorable man, so I’m happy with that.’
‘Who?’ said Ren.
‘I can’t reveal that part. But…I went to Judge Hammond with that request. He says sure, no problem. I’m the investigator, he trusts me and it’s one less file for him to go through.’
Ren nodded.
‘But here’s the weird part,’ said Glenn. ‘Hammond comes back to me a few hours later and says, actually, the taint team does need to look at Patient B.’
What? ‘What?’ said Ren.
‘Hammond said that it was important to know the nature of the psychotic episodes at least. And that if the person was law enforcement, it could give them access to firearms, they could manipulate their position of trust, they could snap under the pressure of the job…blah, blah. He said as long as the taint team was looking through the files, pulling Patient B would not amount to too much extra work. Which I guess makes sense.’
No it does not. No. No. No. ‘All right,’ said Ren. ‘Well, there could well be something in there.’
‘Maybe, maybe not, who knows?’ Glenn shrugged. ‘I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to trawl through the crazy talk.’
Ren’s mind started to race. The thought of anyone other than Helen looking through her file was nauseating. But why were ‘psychotic episodes’ so prominent in Patient B’s notes? They weren’t Ren’s most prominent symptom. Now, if paranoia had been mentioned, that would make more sense.
It must be to create drama in the book I’m unconvinced Helen was writing. Everyone loves a psycho. And if it’s linked to someone on the right side of the law, it sounds more glamorous to the less clued-in.
Ren took some deep breaths. It’s OK. It will all work out. The worst-case scenario was that several attorneys she did not know would read her file. They wouldn’t find anything to make her look suspicious. She had problems, but she wasn’t unhinged. Yet. Her ‘psychotic episodes’ weren’t violent. She didn’t suffer from aural delusions.
