by Jordan Dane
“You know how we can get in touch with Justin?”
Becca thumbed through her phone and read off his address and phone number. While the girl was distracted, Ryker asked another question.
“When did Allison get into Santería?”
Lucinda knew from experience, Ryker liked to ask odd questions from left field. It kept people off balance and their first reaction often exposed the truth.
Both girls gasped and tried denying it, in unison.
“Who said she did?”
“Where did you—?”
“It was her party,” he said. “Someone like Allison, she’d be in charge. We saw an altar, chickens to sacrifice—she had to know.”
Both girls sneaked peeks at each other until Mia finally broke the silence.
“That chicken thing was nasty.” Mia admitted with her head down. “I told her it was unsanitary, but she was into it.”
“For how long?” Ryker pushed.
“Two years ago, she and Justin went to Mexico and met someone down there.” Becca dabbed her nose with a tissue. “Something happened on that trip. It must’ve. Both of them came back all weird.”
“Weird in what way?”
Becca thought about it before she scrunched her face.
“She stopped talking to us about stuff. It’s like she had a secret and we weren’t good enough to know it.”
“Yeah, and she got meaner, even with us.” Mia nodded. “She has an altar in her basement. It’s hidden, but she showed me once.”
Lucinda made a note in her case book.
“Allison liked to pretend she could control things, like with spells.” Becca glanced at Mia, more of a nervous twitch. “She experimented with it. I don’t know what she had planned for her party. She kept it a secret, but it kinda scared me.”
“Yeah, me too.” Mia nodded. “She made my Yorkie sick once, with her Voodoo black magick. I swear it happened. Little Boo had diarrhea for a week.”
The girls opened up about their friend. Fact or fiction, everything came out in a flood of random thoughts. They both shared a little too much on Little Boo’s sudden affliction, but when things turned toward more rumor than fact, Ryker shifted topics.
“Did you see anyone at the party inhaling something?”
“No. Like what?” Becca said. “Except for that blond skank with Jessie. Now she wore a nasty perfume. It reeked.”
“No, nothing like that,” Ryker said. “Is anyone at school into a cheap high, like glue sniffing or huffing?”
The girls shook their heads.
“Half our friends are vegan,” Becca said. “Besides, killing brain cells like that would mess up my SATs. Not cool. My parents would ground me.”
“Can’t argue with that,” he said.
Lucinda asked a few more questions before Mia interrupted her.
“I just remembered something,” the girl said. “Justin’s at the Sunrise Mall. You might still catch him. His chess club has a demonstration today.”
“Please don’t tell him you got his name from us,” Becca said. “He’s got a long memory and a short temper.”
“You got it.” Lucinda nodded. “He won’t hear your names from us. Promise.”
After she wrapped up the interview with the girls, Lucinda headed out of the country club with Ryker as she queried the Sunrise Mall name on the Internet. She plugged the address into her GPS with a few clicks.
“We gotta book it if we want to catch Lutrell at the mall. Event is over in half an hour.”
“Let’s go. I’m right behind you,” Ryker said. “Every time I hear the word ‘mall,’ I get a craving for Cinnabon.”
“You had to go there.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes.
***
Sunrise Mall
Brownsville, Texas
Late afternoon
Ryker Townsend
I knew a little something about playing chess. Most people I grew up with, who played the game well, developed an ego about their own abilities. To keep my ego in check, I would recall an old saying—once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.
I hadn’t realized chess had become the thing to do in Brownsville until I researched it off my cell. The Brownsville Independent School District carved out money for their chess program, the only school district in the nation to significantly support chess. The leading club, the Dark Knights of Brownsville, had established a remarkable legacy and a national reputation. The award-winning chess club had an event at a local mall on North Expressway.
Crowley and I had little time to dawdle or we would miss him.
We parked near the movie theatre and hustled into the mall entrance, following signs for the chess event. The directions gave a distinctive feature in the mall to look for and made the chess club easy to find. Game tables were set up near the food court where a giant electric carousel dominated the spot with its brilliant lights and organ music.
According to notices posted in the mall, members of all ages were playing challengers. The event had come to an end. I recognized Justin Lutrell from his DMV photo that Sinead had sent me. He sat at a table on a stage and was the only player on the platform. No challengers. He looked bored.
As I came closer, Lutrell glanced up and fixed on me. I understood why girls his age might be attracted to the guy. He had dark hair and pale eyes worthy of any romance book cover, but something behind those eyes struck a discordant noise in me, like a voice out of harmony.
Before I came looking for Lutrell, I had wiped my mind clear of any bias Becca and Mia had stirred in me. After all, I had no firsthand knowledge of Justin striking Allison. For all I knew, her friends may have lied. Investigations were like that. People lie. They spread gossip as if rumors were truth.
But now as I gazed into Justin Lutrell’s eyes, the dark underpinnings of an all-too-familiar evil arose from my nightmare. My gift surfaced to warn me, like a shark rising from the cold depths of the ocean, restless and in search of something. I knew who and what the guy was—a predator.
“Justin Lutrell?” Crowley reached for her credentials.
“Yeah?” He looked up in annoyance and his eyes shifted from me to Lucinda. “You guys ever hear of casual Friday?” He smirked at his own joke.
Crowley made the introductions and we showed him our badges.
“We’d like to ask you some questions about Allison Barstow,” I said. “Were you aware of what happened to her?”
“Yeah. Word gets around, but why are you coming to me? I wasn’t at her stupid party.” Justin fiddled with a chess piece in his hands—a rook—and slouched deeper into his chair. His long legs stretched under the game table.
Lutrell didn’t appear to be encumbered by grief. Perhaps he’d already risen above the inconvenience of losing a girlfriend.
“You knew her. Dated her,” Crowley said. “We just have a few—”
Justin interrupted her.
Big mistake.
“We broke up. I haven’t seen Ally in weeks. I’ve moved on.”
“You sound broken up over her death.” Crowley cocked her head.
I had a suspicion she took great satisfaction at visualizing him in a chokehold and I would’ve paid good money for a front row seat. I’d grown up with guys like Lutrell. Occasionally I put guys like him behind bars.
“I’ll miss our break up sex,” Lutrell said. “She always came back for it. What can I say?”
“Do you know someone from your school by the name of Selina Madero? Did Allison know her?” Crowley asked.
Lutrell thought about it before a slow grin spread over his face.
“Oh yeah, the human vibrator. Ally gave her the shakes whenever she came close. That chick is mental.” He laughed.
“Allison picked on her?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I suppose you stayed out of it, like the humanitarian you are,” I said.
“If that helps you sleep at night, yeah.” He smirked. “Look, whatever Alli
son wanted, I made it happen when it suited me. End of story.”
How many kids did Allison enlist to bully Selina? My sympathy for the Madero girl hit the red zone, but my training forced me to see Selina had motive. I fought to hide my disgust as I stared down at Lutrell, but I suspect I failed miserably.
Justin narrowed his eyes and sized me up.
“Do you play?” His lip crooked into a disdainful sneer.
I shrugged.
“I haven’t played since I was a kid.”
His smile grew wider and he waved a hand to invite me to sit and play.
“You won’t be here long. I promise.” Justin popped his knuckles and placed the chess pieces on the board.
I deliberately set up my side with the rook and bishop switched. Justin reached over and moved them into the proper positions for me. He couldn’t hide the smug expression on his face.
I moved my Queen to dominate the center four squares. That opener rattled him.
“You sure you want to—” He pointed.
“Just play, Einstein.”
Chapter 6
Sunrise Mall
Brownsville, Texas
Late afternoon
Ryker Townsend
After Justin Lutrell moved one of his chess pieces—a knight—he focused his full attention on the game. I asked him baseline questions to get him to open up, but he looked determined to trounce me in a dick-measuring show of his chess prowess.
“You travel with your chess club?” I asked.
“Yeah, some.” Justin moved a pawn and kept his eyes on the board. “I’m the best player. They don’t like competing without me.” After I made my next move, he scrunched his face. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
I sprawled into my chair and ignored his attempt at intimidation. Crowley caught my eye and gave me a faint smile.
“You’re the best they have?” I didn’t wait for him to answer before I said, “Huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Your move.”
Beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip. I had nothing to lose, but I doubt he could say the same. As he played, I asked him more questions.
“I’ve never been to Mexico. I bet with you living near the border, you go all the time. When was the last time you crossed the border?”
“I haven’t been since I went with—” He stared at the board and focused on his next move. “It’s been a couple of years.”
“Would it surprise you to know Allison kept a diary?” Interviewing persons of interest, like Justin, I often fabricated things to make him believe I knew more than I did. I kept my face stoic and unreadable and leaned my elbows on the table, drawing closer to his personal space.
“What?” He stopped playing and glared at me.
“That trip you both took to Mexico, she’d written interesting stuff about it. Like how you got into Santería.”
“What? Santa who?” He hesitated on a play and kept his fingers on a bishop, before he changed his mind. He looked flustered.
“You’re not a stupid guy, Lutrell. So why are you acting like one?” I asked. “You know what Santería is. How did you and Allison get into it? I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Justin glowered at me.
“If she told the truth in that diary of hers, you’ll know it wasn’t me who got her into it,” he said. “It was him, that freak she met in Mexico, or maybe she went looking for him. I don’t know, but I tell ya, he was a scary dude. He didn’t like me at all.”
“Hard to imagine.”
“Yeah. But he did something to her. Put her under a spell or something. She wasn’t the same after our trip. That crazy chick set up altars in town, got other people into it.”
“Where? We know about the one in her basement,” Crowley said.
“Yeah, but there are more,” Lutrell said. “She freaked me out, but I went along with it because I got a piece of ass whenever she went all voodoo on me. Really kinky stuff. Whatever I wanted, she gave it. What guy is gonna turn that down?”
I’d lost my taste for a Cinnabon.
“What’s the name of the guy from Mexico?” I asked. “Where do we find him?”
“I don’t know. She knew him, not me.” Justin wiped the sweat off his lip. “But Allison helped him recruit believers into his hoodoo on this side of the border. You find one of them. They’ll know how to reach the guy.”
“If he has followers here, does that mean he comes to Brownsville?” Crowley asked.
“Like I said, I don’t know anything about him. What do I look like, Google?”
Lutrell made another move on the chessboard.
I countered his play and he grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Check,” he said.
I kept my eyes on him. I knew what move he’d made without looking—very predictable—and I made my final play of our game.
“Check mate.” I stood and his smile vanished.
Lutrell’s jaw dropped. He stared at the board, gasping for air like a dying fish. When he finally looked up at me, he stammered.
“I thought you weren’t into chess. You spanked me, dude.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Beginner’s luck,” I said. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
I turned and headed for the mall exit with Crowley running to catch up.
“That wasn’t luck, Ryker,” she said. “You schooled him.”
I smiled and kept walking.
I’d been named a National Chess Master by FIDE, the World Chess Federation, since I was twelve. The recognition had been a part of my past and not something I wore on my sleeve because at the end of the day—the king and the pawn go back in the same box.
Guys like Lutrell always pictured themselves as the king when a pawn could ruin his day in one move if he didn’t see it coming. Fact.
***
Care House Teen Shelter
After dark
Ryker Townsend
Crowley payback hung in the air—the pungent odor of onion rings. I had a suspicion whenever she craved a sit down meal and I insisted on pushing to the next interview, she retaliated by ordering the foulest smelling item off the drive-through menu. The odor forced me to roll down a window.
“Thanks for stopping. I was starving,” she said.
I turned onto 6th Street, heading toward the teen shelter, as she tossed the last of our trash into the Rutledge Hamburgers bag.
“Who runs the shelter? Do we have a name?” I asked.
Crowley flipped through her notes.
“Antonio Guzman. Sinead said he was a former Catholic priest. I guess he found a different calling.”
She gave me the run down from the background check Sinead had run. Guzman had a rough start in life—getting mixed up in gangs—but after a car theft conviction at the age of sixteen, he served time in Juvenile Detention and came out reborn.
“Why’d he drop out of the priesthood?”
“Sinead came up empty on that one. The Catholic Church sealed his file, but they did say the request for him to step down came from the church.”
“And now he’s running a teen shelter?” I heaved a deep sigh, not expecting her to answer. “That’s reassuring.”
I parked the SUV and we walked through the line of kids smoking in front of a building that looked more like a barracks. One kid had a skull painted on his face. I hoped it was a leftover from Halloween, but I didn’t want to judge.
“Antonio Guzman? Where can we find him?” Crowley asked one of the kids.
He only shrugged, but another one pointed inside and said, “Try the cafeteria.”
“Thanks.”
Inside we followed the aroma of dinner through the maze of corridors. By the time we found Guzman, a kid had already cornered him, whispering.
“Word travels fast,” I said.
Before we crossed the cafeteria floor, a short muscled man in jeans and a black T-shirt got up from his table and headed toward us. Hi
s square body looked more like a moving wall. As he drew closer, I noticed dark markings on his face, tattoos of two tears draining from one eye. The quality of the body art made it look like something he’d gotten in prison. His arms carried more ink of a coiling snake and the Virgin Mary.
“My name is Antonio Guzman. I run the shelter. I hear you’ve come to see me.” He held out his hand and we shook. “Can I see ID?”
“Yes, of course.” I pulled my creds and Crowley did the same.
“Let’s go to my office. We’ll have privacy there.” As he walked, he added, “My kids get skittish if they know we have POPO on the property.”
“But we’re not police,” Crowley said.
“No, you’re worse.”
He led us into a small office at the end of a hall and flipped on the lights as we entered. The tight quarters had case files stacked on one end of the desk with a coffee maker on the other. A red Naugahyde sofa had a blanket and a bed pillow tossed on it as if Guzman slept there on occasion.
One thing I hadn’t expected to see stared me in the face—a deer head mounted on the wall. When I tapped the end of the dead animal’s nose, Guzman noticed.
“We teach skills here for the kids to learn. Woodworking, auto mechanics, and taxidermy, whatever will hold their interest. I take the kids hunting on my ranch sometimes. Whatever we kill, we make use of the full animal.”
He pointed to framed photos on the wall behind his desk, images of him and his kids hunting deer, feral pig, and turkey.
“What can I do for you?” He waved a hand toward the seats in front of his desk and we sat. “Is this about one of my kids?”
“One of your volunteers actually, Selina Madero.” Crowley pulled a photo of the Madero girl and showed Guzman, but he barely looked at it.
“I know Selina and her mother. What about her?”
“She’s a person of interest in a case we’re investigating,” I said. “What does Selina do for you here at the shelter?”
“Whatever needs done. There are always lots of things to do, like serving food and helping in the kitchen. On weekends, she comes in early and has her own key. She brings her mother sometimes and they help us with paperwork, state and federal reporting, and charity grants. Selina is real smart and she catches on quick.”
