The Omega Team: In the Eyes of the Dead (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Ryker Townsend Book 3)

by Jordan Dane

  I fought to keep surprise off my face.

  “Allison Barstow, age seventeen, died after an explosion. Others were injured.” Sinead put up the girl’s class photo, as well as pictures of the others injured. “Local PD is investigating, but they’ve had a series of unexplained deaths. Three more to be exact. They’d like our help in determining if this latest incident is connected.”

  The pain of my dream came back in a rush like a jolt of electricity. My skin puckered with the shocking sensation of burning acid. I couldn’t imagine dying by fire. Surviving family often asked if the victim suffered.

  No one would ask that for Allison.

  “Why do they suspect these deaths are linked?” I asked.

  “A couple of factors. The ages of the victims. They were all teens. Plus there were similar religious symbols at each crime scene. Local PD called it Voodoo, but that’s only a guess. No confirmations.”

  Sinead continued.

  “Where Allison died, there also appeared to be evidence of a ceremony.”

  She clicked a button and more images projected onto the screen. Colorful ceremonial drums, an altar with candles and food that looked more like offerings than a buffet, and two chickens strung up by their feet.

  “Haven’t these people ever heard of KFC?” Hutch asked.

  I understood why the locals had gone with Voodoo, but other religions performed sacrifices.

  “Go on,” I said. “Tell us what else you’ve got on the case connections.”

  “The other deaths started three months ago, but it’s Halloween. Nothing’s too crazy. Our UNSUB could be setting up for a ritual killing on November 2nd, Dia de los Muertos. If that’s not enough to raise the hair on your arms, we’ve got a rare blood moon coming.”

  She had a point about our unknown subject. The timing for a finale could prove to be irresistible to a ritualistic killer.

  “Dia de los Muertos, the day of the dead.” I translated the Spanish. “It’s a Hispanic celebration primarily observed in Mexico, but other countries all over the world have their versions. It’s a way to remember the dearly departed.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Rosetta Stone.” Sinead smiled.

  “Remember the dead? Wish I didn’t,” Hutch muttered. When all eyes turned on him, he said, “What? I just mean that I wish there was an off switch.”

  Cam nudged his shoulder in commiseration. If anyone could appreciate an off switch, it would be my team. We’d all seen too much.

  “The blood moon can bring out the lunatic fringe.” Cam said. “If there truly are signs of a ritualistic killing, the timing of the celebration and the moon phase probably aren’t coincidences. Our UNSUB could have a greater plan. Or maybe the locals are being overly superstitious.”

  “Doesn’t matter whether they are or not, if our UNSUB is inspired by the color of the moon, we need to understand the motivation,” I said. “A blood moon occurs when the earth passes between the sun and the moon. The sun’s rays curve around the earth and reflect a blood red color onto the moon. That’s the science, but as you might imagine, there are many superstitions about this phenomenon signaling the end of the world.”

  Given what I’ve seen in my visions—where the dead speak to me—I found it ironic that I wasn’t more superstitious.

  “We’re in the middle of four blood moon phases. These are rare,” I said. “This is only the fourth time in five hundred years. These four events started last year and will end in next. Some believe they mark the beginning of the end. That’s Armageddon for those of you with a mortgage and a propensity to buy green bananas.”

  I could have quoted Revelations 6:12 about the sixth seal being opened and a great earthquake prophesy, but that would be overkill.

  “It’s tempting to be swayed by superstition as a factor for motive, but we need to remain objective and follow the evidence.”

  Sinead shared what she knew of the request for assistance. The locals had made their assertions, but I wanted my team to see everything for themselves and not be influenced by other opinions. We would start from scratch on our analysis.

  I had to see the crime scene while it was still fresh. If the local cop shop had need for the expertise and resources of the FBI, they’d have it tonight. All plans for the evening would be cancelled. I would only have time to grab my go bag and hit rush hour traffic.

  I texted Lucinda a message—doing my best to be discreet—and watched as she received it.

  Rain check on dinner

  She texted back.

  Rain check on whatever

  Wasn’t interested in food anyway

  My cheeks flushed with heat, too late for poker face. I didn’t have to see Lucinda to know she’d enjoyed my reaction. When Sinead shared the last of her presentation on our new case, I stood and shoved my cell phone in my suit jacket.

  “Wheels up in thirty. Don’t be late.”

  Before I left the conference room, I stared at the face of Allison Barstow projected onto the screen.

  A young life had been cut short, whether by accident or murder, and I’d gotten a taste of how Allison died. The girl had shared the horror with me—and I was certain she would have more to say when I got to Brownsville.

  I didn’t need to remember the dead. When I slept, they wouldn’t let me forget.

  ***

  Brownsville, Texas

  Nearly midnight

  Ryker Townsend

  Although we’d gained an hour in time zone difference, the flight put us on the ground on the short side of midnight, near the time the local PD said Allison Barstow had died, according to witnesses. The first forty-eight hours of any investigation were critical to gathering leads. We were already behind and would have to play catch up.

  Sinead had arranged for a Chevy Tahoe, an SUV rental that would be large enough to accommodate my team and their gear, and rugged enough for off-road travel. Crowley tossed her bag into the back alongside mine.

  “You’re doing the Babbitt, aren’t you? That mental checklist thing.” Lucinda slid into the backseat next to me.

  She had seen the movie, Rain Man, and saw many similarities between me and Dustin Hoffman’s portrayal of Raymond Babbitt. I’d told her that I’d never watched Wheel of Fortune and had never bought boxer shorts at K-Mart, but that didn’t stop her from teasing me when I became quiet before a crime scene.

  Yes, she’d been right. I did have a checklist in my head, but I also had something else on my mind since we’d touched down in Brownsville.

  “Only a day ago, Allison Barstow was alive,” I said.

  I let it go and she did too.

  Hutch drove and followed the directions we’d been given by Detective Arturo Ramirez, the lead investigator. Cam rode shotgun and helped with the navigation. We’d been warned that there would be no street address where we were going.

  From Port Isabel-Cameron County Airport, we headed out Buena Vista Drive to Old Port Road, and toward the crime scene. As we drove through town, we saw older kids still roaming the streets dressed in costumes for Halloween. I caught glimpses of colorful shrines that commemorated Dia de los Muertos.

  When I saw a flash of something familiar, I had to see it for myself.

  “Stop the car, Hutch. Pull over at the shrine ahead on the right. I have to see something.”

  Hutch pulled to the curb and parked down from a large display outside a church near a cemetery.

  “Keep the motor running. I won’t be long.”

  I shot a glance to Lucinda and nudged my head, a subtle sign I wanted her to join me. As we walked up to a candlelit mound of religious trinkets and mementos at the wrought-iron gate entrance to the Holy Spirit Cemetery, small children and their mothers were adding to the treasures, placing sugar skulls and orange marigold flowers on an altar. From what I remembered of the celebration, the children were beckoning the angelitos, the spirits of dead children, to return on the day of the dead—the culmination to the ceremony on the second of November.

  “Bef
ore last night, I would have sworn that I’d never seen the Day of the Dead celebration up close,” I said when we got to the commemoration.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  The memorial had glittering white skulls on cloth covered shelves. Votive candles cast flickering shadows onto framed photos of dead loved ones and skeleton dolls. Bigger skulls were decorated with vivid orange flowers draped on ribbons. A large cross had been made entirely out of the blossoms and fashioned into a centerpiece.

  I knelt close enough to pick up one of the skulls. I scraped at the glittery granules over the outside and tasted it. Now I knew why it caught the light and glistened.

  “I dreamed of these skulls last night. They’re made of sugar.” I reached for something else. “And these orange flowers rained down on me.”

  “Those are marigolds,” Lucinda said. “I noticed they’re on every shrine as we drove in. They must be part of the ritual.”

  She turned toward me and stared as she puzzled through what I had told her.

  “So you dreamed about this assignment…before we got it.”

  I nodded.

  “Now that I have confirmation of what I dreamed, I’d call it a vision, but yes. I saw the skulls and flowers last night, before I knew we’d get this assignment.”

  Lucinda tugged at the sleeve of my jacket. It was her way of sympathizing without any public displays of affection.

  “You’re not telling me everything. Did you have any visions of Allison and how she died before Sinead briefed us?”

  I fixed my gaze on her and took a deep breath until she understood. I answered her anyway.

  “Yes.”

  Lucinda tugged at my sleeve again—not taking her eyes off mine—but this time she let her fingertips slide down the back of my hand.

  I didn’t tell her how I had sensed the killer in my dream—a faceless menace—a sensation that had never happened to me before. She didn’t need the added head game.

  After we climbed into the Tahoe, we drove until the two-way ribbon of road took us beyond the city lights. Signs indicated we were near the Mexican border. The Tahoe headlights captured tall grasses blowing in the night breeze and barbed wire fences that never seemed to end.

  “Slow down, Hutch,” Cam said. “I see flashing lights. That’s gotta be the mile marker.”

  A police cruiser had been parked on the shoulder of the road with its lights spiraling. When we slowed down, a cop in uniform got out of the vehicle and waited for us to stop. Hutch rolled down his window and showed ID.

  “Make the next right and take it slow,” the officer said. “The ruts can jar your kidneys loose.”

  “How far in?” Hutch asked.

  “A few miles. You can’t miss it.”

  Hutch made the turn and drove through a metal gate and over a cattle guard. Lights glowed in the distance, beyond the crest of a hill. It had to be the crime scene.

  “Did the locals say how many kids came here last night?” I asked Lucinda as the SUV jostled over the rough terrain. The headlights caught the glowing eyes of a feral dog or a coyote, but the animal didn’t stick around long enough for a positive ID.

  “I got a text from Sinead while we were in flight. She said twenty-three is the head count so far. They’re still working on the numbers. Some kids ran,” Lucinda said. “Six were injured and Allison was the only fatality that we know of.”

  Hutch parked the SUV and we got out. The crime scene was well lit from a circle of patrol cars and their headlights, plus portable generators. Crime-scene tape fluttered in the breeze at the center of a stone grotto. We stayed beyond the perimeter of the tape and took in the details of the scene. A hole in the dirt looked to be the remnants of an explosion. The sight was ringed in dark soot that covered the rocks around a fire pit.

  My team and I would take over the crime scene now, but I knew from seeing the number of footprints in the dirt, the chaos of kids running from the blast would’ve trampled evidence. We’d have to deal with it.

  An officer in uniform approached, offering his hand. He had a dark-haired woman with him. Dressed in BDU pants and a black T-shirt, she looked like she belonged on a SWAT tactical team or in the military.

  “I’m Detective Arturo Ramirez. I called for your help.” He nudged his head toward the woman at his side. “This is Athena Madero. She’s consulting on the case at my request.”

  Despite my misgivings about Ramirez bringing on a consultant, I held out my hand to both of them.

  “SSA Ryker Townsend.” I introduced Crowley, Hutch, and Cam. “Special Agent Crowley will be your point of contact.”

  Crowley knew to take over with the locals. I preferred to connect to the scene right away, but as I turned to leave, a shadow followed me.

  “Do you mind if I accompany you?” Athena Madero didn’t wait for my answer. She matched my step and joined the party.

  “Actually…”

  “Good. It’ll give us time to talk.”

  “Talk about what?” I asked. “The fact Detective Ramirez called in a consultant on an FBI case?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Don’t hold back, Townsend.” She smiled as we walked up a steep incline. “Arturo is a friend of my family, but I used to be a homicide detective in Tampa. I have creds.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why he brought you on, after he called my team in. You have a personal connection to this case?”

  By the flash of surprise in her eyes, I’d hit the bulls-eye.

  “In the interest of full disclosure, let’s say you’re right. I won’t let any personal link get in the way of my objectivity or your case.”

  “Not good enough, Madero.” I stopped and faced her. “Until you’re ready to tell me everything, stay away from me and my team. I can’t control who Detective Ramirez wants on his case, but I don’t need your help. This is my crime scene now.”

  As I turned my back on her and walked away, memories of my last hellish vision flashed in my head. Each image throbbed like pain behind my eyes as if I were suffering from a headache. I choked down aspirin dry and shoved the bottle back into my FBI windbreaker.

  Something new and unpleasant crawled under my skin. I had no choice but to follow instincts I hoped I could still trust.

  ***

  “Check this out, Cam.” Hutch stood over the main fire pit and pointed toward the center of it. “The burn pattern suggests a liquid accelerant. I took samples for trace analysis, but I’m detecting something chemical.”

  “That makes sense.” Cam agreed. “Local cops interviewed the kids on the scene. Most didn’t know how the fire happened, but a few mentioned an explosion near this fire pit. They said Allison Barstow was closest to it.”

  “Did they mention any sounds or smells? Smoke?”

  “Yes, they smelled something chemical but no one recognized it. They called it an explosion when it ignited, like a massive whomp as she caught fire. It spread fast. There was black smoke, too.”

  Hutch nodded his head.

  “Any guesses on what might have been used?” she asked.

  “I’ll need a GC-MS to analyze my samples.”

  A gas chromatograph mass spectrometer would break down the chemical elements to any substance. After that, Hutch would have to determine how the substance became part of the scene. His work had only begun.

  “Whatever this is, it’s not your normal combustible. The distinctive damage pattern suggests a flash point of volatile vapors burned above a liquid-accelerant. With any luck, we have a chance at residue recovery, but from what I’m seeing, if our vic stood next to where it went up, she never had a chance.”

  Hutch flinched at the horror of how Allison Barstow died. He didn’t have high hopes of sleeping tonight.

  ***

  Lucinda Crowley watched with amusement as Ryker went off on his own, only to find a shadow had followed him. She knew that would not end well.

  “Your consultant isn’t shy.” She smiled at the detective as she watche
d the Madero woman following Ryker up a hill. “This should be interesting.”

  Ramirez chuckled.

  “You have no idea,” he said.

  Lucinda knew from working with Ryker that the man preferred to hit the crime scene first. Pressing flesh with the locals wasn’t his thing. His gift manifested in different ways, he’d told her, but his body reacted in a way he couldn’t always control—hence his need for alone time.

  That explained his excessive use of aspirins. She used to tease him about his chill pills, but not anymore.

  Within minutes, Athena Madero rejoined them with a hard to read expression on her face.

  “It would seem SSA Townsend has all the help he needs,” Athena said. “The crime scene is his.”

  “But I asked you to consult.”

  “Oh, I’m still here, Arturo. Believe me. I’m not going anywhere. We can talk when you’re done.”

  Lucinda shrugged and Detective Ramirez got down to business.

  She listened as the detective gave her a rundown of the local investigation and pointed to where Allison Barstow’s body had been found. Ryker already stood on the spot. He’d found it without any help. Lucinda wondered if he’d used his training or had relied on his gift to sense where Allison had lost her life.

  Now that she knew his secret, Ryker intrigued her more. Things she had previously thought were his odd idiosyncrasies at a crime scene carried a greater weight and meaning now.

  “Your boss. He likes working alone, doesn’t he?” Detective Ramirez said.

  “He’s got a process and it works. He likes his space at a crime scene.”

  Lucinda found a quiet spot to talk to Detective Ramirez, but when she saw a puzzling glow on the horizon, she asked, “Those lights. What’s over there?”

  “We’re close to the Rio Grande and the Mexican border. Those are the lights from Matamoros, Mexico.”