He jotted down the names, then handed them to Leon. “Does she know who attacked her and killed her husband?”
“Yes, Detective. Her daughter.”
*
The fifteen minute drive to Jake’s office had been hell. When Owen had wanted to apologize and right his wrong, Rachel refused to speak with him about anything but the investigation. In between the few comments she made, she’d gnawed on her damned pencil, something she hadn’t done for days.
Now they sat, side by side, in Jake’s stuffy, cramped office, waiting for Robert Conway, the missing kid’s dad, and his wife to show. Marty O’Reilly, the inspector from the Michigan State Police Field Service Bureau, stood behind Jake’s desk, where the sheriff remained seated. The inspector kept his arms folded across his chest as Rachel told Marty and Jake what she’d learned about Robert Conway and Guarinot Security.
“That’s some decent info,” Marty said when she finished, his tone complimentary and yet smug. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Rachel frowned. “Well, for now. And I think it’s more than decent. The malfunctioning equipment is key. The fact that the missing boy’s father was probably the one who donated it…I don’t think that’s something we should overlook.”
“Could just be a coincidence,” Marty countered. “Could be one has nothing to do with the other.”
Owen had enough of this guy. For Marty to dismiss the evidence as coincidence had him wondering not only how up to speed the inspector was, but if he was ready to take over the investigation.
Jake’s phone rang. He quickly answered, then said, “I’ll be right there.” He rose and wound his way through the tight office. “Robert Conway is here.” He looked to Marty. “I’m grateful for your assistance, but unless he directs his questions to you, I want Owen and Rachel to take the lead with Conway. They’ve been here all week and Rachel knows his son. Agreed?”
Marty’s face reddened, but also softened with relief. “Whatever,” he said, and turned his back on them as if more interested in the county map hanging on the wall than them.
The uncomfortable silence in the office thankfully lasted for only a few minutes. Between Marty, who pouted like an angry kid, and Rachel, who refused to even look at him, claustrophobia might have squeezed him out of the room.
Jake introduced them to Robert Conway, a tall, well-dressed guy who looked to be in his forties and obviously took his gym membership seriously. After introductions were made, Conway ran a hand over his close-cropped, blonde hair.
“I just flew halfway around the world to get here.” He fisted his hands, then dropped into the metal folding chair Jake had set up for him. “I had to walk away from a top secret job because you people can’t do your fucking job. I want to know everything,” he demanded, and directed an angry glare at Marty. “And I mean now.”
The state police inspector pushed off the wall, and twisted his mouth into a mocking smile. “The sheriff and the private investigators he’s hired have been handling the investigation. I just got here yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Conway shifted his anger toward Jake. “You waited until yesterday to call in the professionals? Sheriff, I’ll have your badge for this. Understand? If something happens to my son, I’ll make sure you won’t even be able to work as a fucking meter maid. I’ll—”
“Mr. Conway,” Rachel interrupted. “I can assure you that we’ve been doing everything possible to find your son.”
He slammed a fist on the desk. “Bullshit.”
“If you continue with your threats and profanity, I’ll escort you from my office,” Jake said in a calm voice the belied the tension rolling off his shoulders. “This is a courtesy, nothing more. Trust me. We want your boy found just as much as you do.”
“A courtesy?” Conway looked to Marty. “Do you have any idea who I know? I’m well acquainted with some of the most powerful—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marty said. “The sheriff’s right. The information we have pertaining to an ongoing investigation isn’t public record.”
“That being said,” Rachel added. “We would like to share with you some of the details. We’re also hoping you can answer a few questions for us.”
Conway looked away for a moment. “Fine. Whatever.” He waved his hand.
“Will your wife being joining us?” Rachel asked.
“No. She’s at the hotel…thirty miles from here, by the way. I don’t know what the hell is going on in this town, but I couldn’t find a room. Which was a total pain in my ass.” He crossed his ankles. “She’s suffering from a migraine. This whole thing with Josh has her…she’s not taking this well.”
“Did you meet your wife while you were attending Wexman University?” Rachel asked.
“No. I met her a few years after I graduated.”
“From Wexman, right?”
Conway released an exasperated sigh. “Yes. What does this have to do with anything?”
Rachel held up a finger. “When you were at Wexman, do you remember anything about the university initiating a no hazing policy?”
“Yeah.” He looked to the ceiling and squinted. “I was a junior, I think.”
“Do you know what happened to cause this policy to go into effect?”
“How the hell should I know?” Conway leaned forward. “Mind telling me where this is going? Because I got a missing kid out there.” He pointed to the door. “And if I don’t get some answers, I’m calling the FBI. I don’t need a bunch of backwater cops and a couple of private investigators, who don’t know their heads from their asses, wasting my time.” Focusing on him and Rachel, he sent them a look of disgust. “Don’t you people have some cheating housewives to spy on?”
Keeping his temper in check, Owen forced a chuckle. “Mr. Conway, I can assure you that Rachel and I are quite competent to handle this investigation. But your cooperation is necessary. The insults…aren’t.”
“Fine. Waste my time.” He folded his arms across his chest. “No. I don’t remember anything about the no hazing policy. Anything else?”
Rachel sent him a smile. “Thank you. Now about the security equipment you donated to the university.”
“What about it?”
“Why did you donate the equipment?” Rachel asked.
“I make sure things are secure for a living. Since my son was attending Wexman, I wanted to make sure there were extra security measures. The system I donated wasn’t top of the line, but the model was only a few years old and used to be one of our best sellers. I got it for next to nothing and told the university president if it wasn’t installed, they’d never see another dime from me. Trust me. President Lambert doesn’t want that to happen. I’ve been very generous.”
“Why is that?” Owen asked.
“Wexman’s engineering program is excellent. Over the years, I’ve personally hired over a dozen graduates.” He glanced around the room. “I’m trying to be patient with you people. Now I demand you tell me what this has to do with my son.”
“Mr. Conway,” Jake began, “your system malfunctioned the night before Josh was kidnapped.”
Conway looked around the room, then shook his head in disbelief. “Impossible. That system has an impenetrable firewall. The only way it could be disabled is if…” He moved to the edge of the metal chair and poised himself as if ready to run. “I need to speak to President Lambert. Now.”
“Why is that?” Owen asked.
“Because he has the codes to disable the system.”
Owen looked to Rachel, who met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “And he’s the only one with this code?” he asked, when he refocused on Conway. “Wouldn’t the head of security have this code, too?”
Conway nodded. “Of course he would. But in order to keep it secure, I instructed Lambert to make sure that code wasn’t public.” His face growing red and mottled, he cracked his knuckles. “The reason I donated the system was to keep my son safe. I need to head to the university and find out what dumbass messed up my syst
em. I also want the name of the guard on duty that night.” He shook his head. “How in the hell could someone take a kid from a dorm room without being seen?”
“He wasn’t taken from his room,” Rachel answered. “He went missing after he left the residence hall.”
Relief crossed Conway’s face. “So Josh isn’t missing because of me…thank God.” He blew out a deep breath. “Anything else? Because while you people attempt to do your job, I’m going to the university to get my own answers.”
“There’s nothing more,” Owen said and looked to Rachel, then Jake. Prior to meeting with Conway, they’d agreed not to show Conway the copy of the photo of Josh. Even Marty had been onboard. After meeting Conway, Owen couldn’t be happier with that decision. The man would likely raise holy hell if he saw the picture, and they needed him to keep his cool and not interfere with the investigation. “As for President Lambert, he—”
“Have you ever heard of Wexman Hell Week?” Marty asked.
Shit. They’d also agreed not to discuss anything about the other missing kids. Adding to the father’s worry when they didn’t have solid evidence that there was a serial killer, even if they believed it to be true, hadn’t been part of the plan.
“What? Are we back to the hazing crap again?” Conway stood. “This is bullshit. After I meet with Lambert, I’ll be making a few calls. The four of you will be lucky to have jobs by the morning.”
Marty took a step forward and pressed his knuckles against the desk. “Back to the hazing crap.” He kept his attention on Conway. “Wexman Hell Week has—allegedly—been going on for the past twenty years.”
“What are you talking about?” Conway asked. “It’s been going on longer than that. Universities across the country have no hazing policies, but it doesn’t mean fraternities aren’t still doing a Hell Week. They just toned it down so pansy-ass kids don’t get hurt and call their mommies.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Mr. Conway, for the past twenty years, nine boys pledging with different Wexman fraternities have gone missing. Actually, Josh makes number ten. And each abduction takes place during Hell Week.”
Conway glared at the sheriff. “You knew about this? You knew and did nothing to stop it? You’re done, Sheriff.”
“The sheriff has nothing to do with this,” Owen said. “The university refused to get rid of the fraternal organization because the alumni wouldn’t hear of it.”
“If anything happens to my son, I’ll do more than shut down the fraternities. I’ll bulldoze the place until it’s nothing but a pile of rubble.” Conway stood and moved to the door. “I’m done with this. The president and I need to have a long…talk.”
“Lambert is in Wyoming,” Rachel said. “He left a few days before Josh went missing. You’ll have to speak with Xavier Preston, the dean who’s acting on his behalf. I’d be happy to give you his phone number. Actually, Owen and I were planning to head to the university now. If you want to follow us, we can take you to his office.”
“No.” Conway held up a shaky hand, then ran it down his face. “No. I…I’d rather talk to Lambert.” With a deep frown, he looked to the floor. “I need to check on my wife. Call me if you have anything.”
After Conway left the room, Marty grabbed his coat. “Sheriff, got a private place I can use to make some calls?”
“I thought we agreed not to bring up Wexman Hell Week,” Rachel said before Jake could respond.
“No. You three agreed. The only thing I agreed on was not showing Conway a picture of his abused son hanging from a wall. Besides, I find it hard to believe a guy with top secret access wouldn’t know the school he sent his son to had an alleged serial killer stalking it.”
“I can,” Jake said. “The last sheriff never asked for any help and most of the locals and students acted like it was a legend, not a reality. Even your office blew me off after the hoax six years ago.”
“I also doubt the university mentions a possible serial killer in their recruiting letters.” Rachel tucked the pencil she’d been holding behind her ear. “Are those calls you plan to make going to be to your lab?”
“They are. While I’m taking care of that, I want you two—”
“We’re good.” Owen stood. “Like Rachel said, we’re heading to the university.”
Rachel also stood. “When we cross referenced our list of faculty and staff, we didn’t consider visiting professors. Human resources is supposed to supply us with that list.”
“Sounds like a long shot,” Marty said. “I’ll have Jake call you if I get any lab results.”
When Marty left the room, Jake also rose. “I have a feeling Robert Conway is going to make some trouble. Don’t be surprised if Marty throws all of us under the bus.”
“After how the state police disregarded your last victim, I don’t think Marty and his division will get off clean if that happens.” Owen followed Rachel to the door. “We’re doing everything we can. Conway’s angry, and rightfully so.”
“It’s Friday,” Rachel reminded them. “We’re running short on time. If we don’t get a break, Conway’s going to be more than angry. He’s going to be grieving over his dead son.”
*
“Good morning, Puke,” he said to the pledge as he stepped off the ladder’s final rung. “Today’s the big day. Are you as excited as I am?”
He turned on the lantern, then swung it in the puke’s direction. The boy winced and turned his head away. In the process, the pledge revealed the horrible purple bruises and raw abrasions coating his neck.
A small sliver of guilt pierced his chest. He’d gone a little too far yesterday. He’d strangled the puke with the twine until the boy had almost reached the edge of no return. More times than necessary, he’d choked him, then allowed him to live…only to die today.
“Those look painful. Nothing to worry about, though. By the end of the day, you won’t feel a thing.” He moved to the boy and pulled a piece of cold, burnt toast from his pocket. “Open wide and eat your breakfast. Because today is such a special day, I’ve decided to make something extraordinary for your dinner,” he said as the boy slowly chewed. “Do you enjoy lamb?”
When the boy didn’t answer, he pulled a water bottle from his pocket and offered him a drink. “Do you know that in Christian teachings “Lamb of God” refers to Jesus Christ because he sacrificed himself to God in order take away the sins of the world? There are some that argue that the significance of “lamb” is derived from the notion of a scapegoat.” He gave the boy more water. “Someone who takes the blame for another person’s actions.”
He stepped away, then went to the corner of the room. After finding a rag, he doused it with the remaining contents of the water bottle. “You, my dear Puke, are my lamb. You are the sacrifice that will take away the sins of your father.”
“It sounds like I’m the scapegoat,” the boy said, his voice low and raspy likely due to yesterday’s game of choke the pledge.
As he wiped the boy’s face and cleaned off the dried blood around his cracked lips, he smiled. “In a way I suppose you are. I didn’t plan on discussing theology, but here’s another way you can look at this situation. Do you remember what you told me about Hell Week?”
The pledge slowly nodded, then hung his head. “The guys from the fraternity said whoever was taken was a Hell Week sacrifice.”
“Yes,” he said, thrilled to share this new insight with the boy who would save him from twenty-five years of nightmares. “When you told me this, I considered that perhaps all of my pledges were somewhat of a sacrifice, but I realized I was wrong.” He tilted the puke’s chin until they were eye to eye. “God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. Before Abraham killed his son, the angel of God stopped him, and told Abraham, ‘Now I know you fear God.’” He cupped the boy’s face. “You are my Isaac, my true sacrifice. The role of Abraham belongs to the devil who not only spawned you, but…tormented me.” He held the boy’s face tighter. “I’m playing God now. No, I won’t have your
father killing his own son, but his actions, the choices he made twenty-five years ago, are what put Hell Week in motion.”
He rested his forehead against the puke’s. “Unfortunately there will be no angel of God coming to your aid. I’m truly sorry for that.” He quickly drew back and held the boy’s shoulders. “But your father will know fear. He will comprehend at the most heinous level that for every action there is always a reaction.”
“You’re going to…kill me because of what my father did to you?” the boy asked, his eyes filling with hatred and tears.
“He’s given me no choice.”
“Sir,” the puke whispered, then cleared his throat. “There’s always a choice. You don’t have to kill me for whatever he did. If it was that bad, go to the police.”
He loved the boy’s determination, and while he should have gone to the police years ago, that choice had been taken from him. His selfish mother had not allowed her child justice. “You would want to see your father imprisoned?”
The puke looked away. “No.”
“But you don’t want to die for his sins.”
“No,” the boy repeated, louder, stronger.
“Well, you will. You see, your father cannot be tried for his sins. Michigan law has a statute of limitations for rape.”
Shock rounded the puke’s watery eyes. “R…rape?”
“Yes, Puke. Rape.” As he went back to the corner of the room and tossed the towel on the bench, the memories of that night haunted him, drilled a black hole into the depths of his soul. “Everything I’ve done to you this week, your father did to me twenty-five years ago.” He turned and faced the pledge. “He made me trust him. He made me think that if I suffered through his horrifying, painful, juvenile games, that I would be allowed into his circle.” He shook his head in disgust. “I wanted to desperately be his brother, to feel welcomed, to know that I had a group of men I could always count on when needed. Then he betrayed my trust.”
“Is that why you kept asking me if I trusted you? Because you wanted to betray me?”
“Yes,” he hissed, proud of his intelligent puke. “That’s exactly right.”
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