by J. M. LeDuc
“Finally, you must have thought, someone who understood you. But what you didn’t know at the time was that he, too, was a huge fan of Blake’s Songs of Innocence.”
Miranda took a step closer. Sin could feel Miranda’s breath on the back of her neck as the crazed woman panted with hatred.
Garcia’s voice buzzed her ear. “She’s moved out of my sight.” He said. “The wall is blocking my view. Maneuver her back toward the center.”
Sin turned and looked into the face of evil; a smile crept across her face. Picking up where she left off, she said, “Yet, you fell in love. You loved the man who praised your art and your beauty.” She looked deep into Miranda’s eyes. “Although his love was yours, his lust knew no bounds. His ego was bigger than his love and he…showered it on many.”
“Enough!” Miranda shrieked.
Sin didn’t stop. She turned from Miranda, moving in a direction that would lead Miranda toward the center of the room. She studied the macabre artwork that covered the walls; amateurish paintings depicting pain and death. “So, again, you returned to the place you found your inspiration: Blake.
“ ‘I went to the Garden of Love, and saw what I never had seen: A chapel was built in the midst, where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this chapel were shut, and “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; so I turned to the Garden of Love, that so many sweet flowers bore, and I saw it was filled with graves, and tombstones where flowers should be; and priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, and binding with briers my joys and desires.’
“You took those words as your mission. If you could not have the complete love of Vincent Ash, you would make sure no one would. You killed the girls he lusted after.” Facing Miranda once more, Sin stepped in front of her and, with each step, she forced Miranda back toward the window. “It wasn’t good enough just to kill them, was it?” Sin yelled. “You had to disfigure them. Make the beautiful ugly before finally taking their life.”
“I gave them what they deserved; they each received a whore’s death!” Miranda spat.
“And then you killed the one person left that loved you. You killed Vincent.”
Miranda laughed at Sin’s words. “He was incapable of love. He could spout words of love, he could fuck as if he loved, but his only love was for himself.”
“And yet he left you with the ultimate gift of his love…a child.”
“He left me with a burden.”
“A burden with talent. A talent not yet born, but soon even you wouldn’t be able to ignore Joel’s God given talent.”
“God gave him nothing. His talent came from me. I taught him everything.”
“Beat into him, you mean.”
Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but Sin closed the distance between them until she was close enough to shut her up with her proximity. “These paintings,” Sin pointed to the walls, “must be your own work because they are not the same quality as the ones Joel painted.”
“His only talent was the talent I gave him!” Miranda screamed.
Sin ignored her rant. “I didn’t mean to jump ahead. Let’s get back to where we left off, shall we?”
The left side of Miranda’s mouth curled upward in a disgusted smirk. “Please do, I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“It felt good to kill, didn’t it, Miranda? So good you couldn’t stop. You spent the next seven years killing innocent people. From Texas to Alabama, you continued to murder innocent girls who reminded you of Vincent’s indiscretions.
“Then you found yourself in Miami. A new home. A home where your art could finally be appreciated. A home where Joel’s talent could blossom. But then fate stepped in and gave you two more children. You figured that if you could teach Joel to paint, you could do the same with Ashley and George. But they didn’t have the talent. They only knew the fear.”
Miranda’s eyes opened wide and a smile burst through her scowl. She laughed so hard, that the pitch hurt Sin’s ears. “You think you’re so smart. You don’t know anything!”
“No? Then why don’t you tell me. Tell me the truth according to the great artiste, Miranda Stokler.”
“You think my children are so innocent. They are their mother’s children.”
Sin felt the momentum shifting. She needed to keep the upper hand. “While we are on the subject of your children, where is George? Did you kill him before you left Miami?”
“You’ll have to ask the innocent Ashley.” She waved her arms as she spoke, the blade still locked in her grip and knowledge beaming in her eyes.
“This is getting hairy,” Garcia radioed. “I don’t have a clear shot. I repeat, I don’t have a clear shot.”
“Affirmative,” Fletcher responded.
“What’s her part in all of this?” Sin said.
“You would have to ask her yourself, but let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” With her last word, Miranda lunged at Sin with her blade.
She barely raised her arm before the sound of a single bullet echoed through the apartment. Stumbling backward, Miranda was dead before she hit the ground.
Fletcher entered the room from his position in the foyer, gun still pointing at his target. “You okay?”
Sin nodded, staring down at the bleeding corpse. She looked at a bullet hole right in the middle of her forehead; the same location Miranda had shot Vincent Ash so long ago. “How’s that for poetic justice?”
66
The absolute silence on the flight back to Miami was broken by Sanchez. “I have to ask,” he began, “how did you know all that information about Miranda?”
“Some of it was in Charlie’s private files—the stuff about her maiden name and her parent’s histories. The rest,” she shrugged, “I surmised based on my prior knowledge. I knew if I had any of the story wrong, Miranda would correct me. Her ego was too big to let it go. If my info was right, I knew I would eventually hit a nerve, causing her to react.”
“She did both,” Fletcher said. “You played it brilliantly.”
Sanchez white-knuckled the arms of his seat. His voice becoming angry. “You goaded her to attack, so you…” He eyed Fletcher and Garcia, “so your team could take her out.”
Sin scowled in his direction. “I did what I had to do in order to get her to spill the truth. She had free will to react to that truth in any way she chose. She chose to attack.”
Sanchez shook his head. “She had no choice. She reacted in the only way she knew. In a way you knew she would if you pushed her buttons.”
Sin didn’t respond.
“So what’s our next move?” Garcia said, breaking the tension.
“We get the mayor back to his city, we go talk to Joel, and I need to talk to Charlie,” Sin said.
“I thought I heard you speaking to him before we left the Quad Cities?” Fletcher said.
“The only person I spoke to was Evelyn. I needed her to start gathering some intel for us.”
“What kind of intel?” Garcia asked.
“The kind that will prove or disprove Miranda’s words about Ashley.”
There was a temporary lull in the conversation.
“I’m surprised you didn’t speak to Charlie,” Fletcher said, finishing his prior thought.
Sin glanced at him and then back at some notes she was writing. “If he is following his itinerary,” she said, “Charlie should be in the air heading home. I figured I would let him get on familiar turf before talking to him. I need to see him in person.”
“Why talk to Joel?” Sanchez said.
“Did you notice anything unusual about Miranda’s face?” Sin said in response.
“Besides the bullet hole?”
“Yeah,” Sin said flippantly, “besides that.”
“She wore a lot of makeup,” Sanchez answered. “Probably trying to cover her age.”
“She didn’t need to cover her age; she was still beautiful. She was covering her scars. They were slight, but she had a few scars from when she sliced up her own f
ace,” Sin said. “Now picture Joel.”
Sanchez’s eyes opened wide in acknowledgement. “His face was scarred.”
Sin nodded. “From his art lessons with his mother.”
“George’s face bore similar scars,” Fletcher followed up. “They were faint, but you could see them on close inspection.”
“I’m sure if we checked his medical records, we would find some plastic surgery done in the past,” Sin said. “He is meticulous about his looks. It’s a safe bet, he tried to have them removed.”
“And Ashley?” Garcia asked.
“That’s the interesting part,” Sin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her hair partially covering her face. “Ashley is a natural beauty. Wears very little makeup and has a spotless complexion.”
Sanchez squinted and shrugged. “So you think she was part of this all along?”
Sin raked her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. Her head hung down, but her piercing jade-green eyes veered up. “I don’t know. She wasn’t lying when she spoke of her hatred for her mother or about her abuse when she was younger, but I think her abuse may have been more psychological than physical.”
“Why? I mean, what makes you think that?”
Sin addressed Sanchez. “A couple of reasons. First, there would have been a physiological sign if she was lying, and there wasn’t; and, second, her fear and hatred of her mother was real. She was abused in some way, but there’s no visible evidence left over. She doesn’t even have a tiny scar. So I don’t think it was physical.”
“Or,” Fletcher pointed, “Miranda may have punished her and beaten her body, just stayed away from her face.”
“Possible,” Sin bit her bottom lip, “that’s one of the things I want to talk to Joel about.”
“If Ashley is part of this, shouldn’t you pick her up?” Sanchez asked.
“No, I want her free. She may let her guard down and give herself away. Besides, she’s not going anywhere.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I asked Sergeant Glenn of the PBSO to keep a watch on her. He is the sergeant who secured the Delray Beach scene for me. If she strays, he’ll let me know.”
67
It was late when they landed in Miami.
Sin tossed her backpack over her shoulder and walked Sanchez to his car. “I hope you were able to get some closure by going with us, Mayor.”
Sanchez stopped and turned to her. “Do you know why I insisted on going?”
Sin shrugged. “I assumed it was for the reason I just mentioned.”
“That was part of it,” he agreed, “but there was another part, a more important part.”
“And that was?”
“I always wondered if I’d made a mistake leaving the FBI. I never told anyone that I left because of this case, but it was the underlying cause. Everything that happened to those girls…to Melody…I couldn’t let it go. I felt as if her death was my fault. I left the Bureau out of fear and guilt. Now I’m sure I made the right decision.” Sanchez looked east toward Miami Beach. “This is where I belong.”
“It must have been hard for you to live with those feelings hanging over your head.”
“You have no idea.”
Sin said her goodbyes and turned to leave.
“How do you do it, Agent?” Sanchez said.
Sin stopped but didn’t turn back around. “Do what?”
“What you do. I’ve read your files, even private files. You’ve been in heinous situations and have dealt with the worst of humanity, but somehow you seem to come out of it unscathed.”
Sin turned to face him. “Every case has left its own scar,” she said, “but every case has left me more determined to make a difference.”
A smile crept across Sanchez’s face as he squinted from the morning sun. “La Perla Angel de la Muerte,” he muttered, walking away.
Sin stood in the hot sun watching him drive away before joining her men.
68
The next morning, the team split up. Fletcher headed to Delray, Garcia went to help Evelyn gather information, and Sin went to speak to Joel. He was in a county lockup in the Chrome Detention Center located in western Miami-Dade County.
Sin waited in an interrogation room for Joel to be brought to her. Accompanied by armed guard, he shuffled in with cuffs and shackles in place.
“Please remove his restraints,” she said.
“That’s against protocol,” one guard replied.
Sin looked at Joel. She knew his spirit was broken. “Please,” she said. “On behalf of the FBI, I will take full responsibility for his actions.”
The guards removed the restraints and told Sin they would be outside the room if she needed help.
Joel sat down, rubbing his wrists. He looked drugged, but coherent.
“How are they treating you?” she asked.
He slumped in a chair and shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Has anyone hurt you?”
He shook his head.
Reaching across the steel table, Sin clasped his hands in hers. “Joel, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Did you find Miranda?” he asked in a meek, trembling voice.
“I did. And I can promise you that she won’t be visiting you anymore.”
His countenance changed a bit. Visibly showing relief, Joel lifted his head and looked at her for the first time. “What did you want to ask me?”
“I need to ask you about your childhood. Do you think you can talk about that time?”
“I’ll try. I don’t remember some of it.”
Sin’s eyes smiled back at him. “What can you tell me about Ashley and about her time at Water’s Edge?”
“Not much. Miranda was always trying to keep us apart.”
“Did you know she was your sister?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, looking back I guess it makes sense.”
“Did you know she and George were Miranda’s children?”
“Yeah, I knew that, but—”
“You didn’t know she was your mother.”
Joel shook his head. “Miranda told me that she found me when I was a baby. That I was abandoned by my parents. She told me that she took me in because she felt sorry for me.”
“When did you realize that you were her son?”
“I never knew Miranda was my real mother until Ashley said she was my sister.”
Sin was quiet for a moment. “I’m having a hard time understanding. Help me out. Please.”
“At Water’s Edge, Miranda called me by my name. She never referred to me as her son. I can remember her introducing Ashley and George to other people as her children.”
“Were you friends with any of the other students?”
“I never had much contact with them. She didn’t let me go to class with the rest of the kids. She tutored me herself.”
“Before you came to Miami, when you were with her in Texas and Alabama, what was she like?”
Joel seemed confused. “I wasn’t with her in Texas and Alabama.”
“Where were you?”
“Foster homes.” His eyes opened a little wider. “She would visit now and then. She told me we’d be together one day.”
“What was she like back then?”
“She was nice, I guess,” he shrugged. “When she came for me and told me that I was going with her to Miami, I was really happy. We both were.”
“What changed? Why did she become abusive? Do you remember the first time she hurt you?”
Joel quivered and goose bumps rose on his arms. “I remember being about fourteen. I was living in the back room of the school. I had a girlfriend, one of the girls from the school.”
“What was her name?”
“Brianna.”
Damn, Sin thought. “Was that the same Brianna that disappeared the night Miranda’s car crashed?”
Again, he nodded.
“Okay,” she continued. “So what happened?”
&
nbsp; “I was with Brianna in my room and Miranda caught us kissing and stuff. She started screaming that I was just like my father. And Brianna was a whore just like the others.”
“What others? I mean, did you know what she was talking about?”
Joel shook his head. “No. Miranda wasn’t making any sense. She just yanked Brianna by the arm and told her to get back to her dorm room. She said she would deal with her later. She told me to get dressed and to meet her in the art studio.”
“What happened in the studio after she caught you with Brianna?”
“She went crazy. She kept calling me, Ash. I didn’t know who she was talking about. She said that if I was going to act like my father, she would treat me like him.”
“Is that when she started hurting you?” Sin’s voice broke when she spoke. Her words getting stuck in her throat.
Joel had a blank stare; he said nothing.
Sin waited a few minutes to see if he would come back but it was as if he had retreated into another world. She knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her anything more.
She called for the guards who escorted Joel back to his cell.
Joel’s words and the ramifications of how deep his abuse stuck with Sin after she left Chrome. Vivid images, vile images, looped in her mind the entire time she rode down to the Keys.
69
Sin stopped in Marathon to stretch her legs and make a couple of phone calls. One was to Charlie. He sounded as if he was happy to be home, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. He told her that he was at the airport and Sin said she would meet him at his hangar. She couldn’t help but notice that his voice sounded weak.
She rolled onto the access road that led to the old Key West Airport. A newer one had been built to accommodate larger aircraft, but the locals and small aircraft still preferred the original. This was where Charlie’s hangar was located; Sin’s home-away-from-home.
Giving the throttle of her bike one quick twist, she blasted down the long road that housed the hangars. She did it for old-time’s sake and to announce her arrival. The guttural roar of her Panhead echoed off the tin buildings letting Charlie, and anyone else within a half mile, know she was there.
