Divine Vices

by Parkin, Melissa

  “I’d make it worth your while,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

  “No, you won’t,” I interjected, pulling her away. “You’re not pimping yourself out for a car.”

  Gwen turned to Joe and held up her pointer finger, asking for a moment of privacy. She yanked me away with a forced smile.

  “What are you doing?!” she sneered. “We need a car, and he’s hot.”

  “What about Jeff?”

  “It’s a free country and it’s not like I’m marrying him,” she said. “Besides, this is the only safe choice we have. Plus, I wouldn’t object going to at least first base with Joe.”

  “I doubt he’s gonna let us drive the car all the way to Arlington.”

  “And we won’t. The Buick is still at your house,” she said, walking back over to Joe. “Here’s the deal, Feldman. We’re just gonna swap vehicles after we get out of the lot. Is there a way for you to pick up Maude at Cassie’s house when you have a chance?”

  “Can I ask what this pertains to?” asked Joe.

  “Top secret investigation,” replied Gwen.

  He laughed. “On what? Overpriced handbags?”

  “Hardy har har,” she cracked. “No, but thank you for the confidence.”

  “There’s one condition.”

  “Speak it.”

  “She drives,” he said, looking over at me. “I shared Driver’s Ed with you last year, remember? I know what kind of destruction you can wreak on a car even during a short outing.”

  “Deal.”

  “Leave Maude parked on the street, and put the keys on the back tire. I’ll pick her up in about a half hour,” said Joe. “You live off of Avery Lane, right?”

  I nodded.

  Joe grabbed a set of keys off a rack mounted on the wall and motioned us out of the shop. “Meet me on the corner of Main Street and Elm. I’ll drive Maude passed Kurtspatrick. She knows me. I’ll just tell her I’m taking the car out for a run.”

  Five minutes later, Joe met us at the curb and lobbed the keys over to me. “Be careful with the old gal.”

  “What do I owe you?” asked Gwen.

  “Consider it on the house.”

  She walked up and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Maude was an old Cavalier that had a white body, mismatched doors, and a red hood. She had certainly been taken around the block more than a few times and had had quite a few run-ins along the way.

  “So how much of this damage are you responsible for?” I asked Gwen as we climbed inside.

  She chuckled. “The hood.”

  “Not surprised.”

  “What can I say? That tree jumped out right in front of the car.”

  “Of course it did,” I said, igniting the engine. “Now, you’ve got me breaking the rules and abandoning my responsibilities, along with committing grand theft auto. So, are you going to tell me what all of this is about?”

  “Glad you asked,” she said, pulling out a folder from her bag. “Okay, I figured that a little sleuthing into Annalisa’s family lineage might prove to be interesting.”

  “How come I already don’t like the sound of where this is going?”

  “Well, obviously given the fact that you two share partial bloodlines, you’d do best to listen.”

  “Don’t tell me Veronica’s related to us?” I uttered dreadfully.

  “... No.”

  “Meyer, you’ve got about twenty seconds to become interesting.”

  “Well, I need about thirty.”

  “Fine, go.”

  Gwen pulled out a family tree graph from her folder and handed it to me. “I ran a search into everybody still alive on that list, and might I say, your mom’s side of the family... bunch of unsavory folks there.”

  “Meyer,” I warned.

  “Right, sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah, one of the names in particular jumped out,” she said, pointing to an individual on the chart. “Sixteen-year-old Kerri Spencer of Arlington, Maine.”

  “And her significance being?”

  “Well, this distant cousin of yours, three times removed, just so happened to attend the local high school, before she went missing last September.”

  My nerves instinctively tightened. “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I am not,” she said proudly. “And it gets better.”

  “Better, or more scandalous?”

  She didn’t bother to reply. We both knew.

  “Guess who was brought in for questioning in regard to her disappearance?” queried Gwen, handing me a folded up newspaper article. “Arlington’s shiny, leading, sophomore-turned-varsity quarterback, Jackson Matthews.”

  Opening up the article, the headline instantly sent my stomach into a freefall.

  “Do I have your attention yet?” Gwen asked, a restrained smirk slipping to the corners of her mouth.

  “Undividedly.”

  “Turns out New Haven’s new Casanova just so happened to be one of the last people to ever see her.”

  “But he wasn’t charged with anything, was he?”

  “No, insufficient evidence. But this was just the second of four girls to go missing over the course of a few weeks. To say trouble follows that boy around would be putting it mildly. I’d say he just might be the trouble.”

  Chapter 18

  A Girl Like You

  We were on the road for about forty minutes or so, and Gwen caught me up on everything to do with each missing person’s case in Arlington. Thankfully, her argument for calling Jack into suspicion still had a few plot holes, and I gladly took the liberty to express my contention.

  “None of the girls in Arlington were found, let alone knowingly murdered, and nothing points to cultish activity,” I said as soon as she took a break.

  “Yeah, well, when four girls disappear without any sign of them resurfacing after a year, it’s safe to say that they’re probably not still alive. This cycle of disappearances could have been like a test run, you know. With an already prominent sense of arrogance and condescension, along with knowing that he got away with the whole thing, maybe he decided to up the ante and start being more public about it. Annalisa had been missing for days before she was killed, proving that her murderer displays some of the classic characteristics of what is called a hedonistic thrill killer.”

  “And for those of us who aren’t criminal pathology buffs, that means what exactly?”

  “It means that this individual gets off by the hunt and the kill of their victims. They find stimulation and excitement by committing the crime.”

  “Like General Zaroff?”

  “Precisely. The pursuit is just as stimulating as the kill itself. And given Jack’s serial seducing ways, it’s a concept a long ways from farfetched.”

  “Let’s not jump the gun here,” I interjected.

  “And stop trying to turn a blind eye to the obvious here,” she warned. “Wake up! Jack’s a seducer who, as you very well know, lives for the hunt of the game when it comes to matters of the heart. He’s arrogant and clearly displays narcissistic characteristics associated with thrill seekers. He thinks he’s untouchable. Hello, Murder By Numbers. Tell me this isn’t ringing a bell.”

  “If that is the case, then don’t thrill killers generally try to pick victims at random?”

  “Normally, yes, but that’s not a definite M.O.”

  “I’m sorry, but Jack? Really? Why would he do something like this? Sexual frustration? I highly doubt it. Since when do guys who look like him resort to murder for gratification?”

  “American Psycho.”

  “Firstly, not the same thing. Secondly, I’m talking about reality.”

  “Maybe he got bored.”

  I actually laughed. “Gwen, I get bored all the time. You know what I do? Pick up a book. Not give in to homicidal tendencies.”

  “That’s what you, a normal, functioning member of society, would do. But think about it. Jack’s lived his whole life with the opportunity to have any girl he’s ever wanted
. You’re telling me that when something comes that easy for you that it wouldn’t eventually become a bit tedious?”

  “I still can’t see it.”

  “Do you know how long he’s been in town for?”

  “Including the time he spent moving, probably a couple weeks.”

  “And not long after his arrival, this crime wave just so happened to strike the area. Coincidence? I’d say not. And let’s not forget that you didn’t meet him until the morning that Annalisa’s body was found. And not a single other crime matching hers or Veronica’s has occurred since your promising introduction. Think maybe he’s set his sights on a new target?”

  “Gwen, this is ridiculous. I’ve been alone with him on numerous occasions. If he wanted to do something to me, he’s had more than his fair share of opportunities.”

  “Then maybe you’re like his sparkling new muse that’s convinced him to turn over a new leaf.”

  “All hearsay aside, what are you hoping to prove?” I queried. “As you said, the cops up in Arlington didn’t find anything to link anyone to the crimes.”

  “Not necessarily true, but we are looking at what could be the broader scope of things, possibly providing us with a bit more insight.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘not necessarily true’? They found someone?”

  She winced.

  “Gwen!”

  “Okay, before you blow a gasket, just hear me out!”

  “You made me ditch school to investigate a closed case?!”

  “Hardly!” she declared. “The police charged Justin Tither for the third disappearance and Brian Hanover for the fourth, but the evidence on both is shoddy at best.”

  “Convictions?”

  “Yet to happen. Both are still under psychological evaluation.”

  “For?”

  “Not remembering anything about what happened on the night each of their girlfriends disappeared.”

  “And the evidence against them?”

  “All of Justin’s friends and co-workers reported that Justin told them he was going to see his girlfriend, Becca, after he got off work. A friend of hers found him in her apartment unconscious the next morning when she came to pick Becca up for school. He had to be taken to the hospital, because he had overdosed on a deadly cocktail of drugs. Barely pulled through. Cops found Becca’s DNA under his fingernails, despite the fact that he said he never remembered even seeing her that night. Funny thing, asides from his memory loss, is that he had no history of drug use. And the doctors even admitted that they were skeptical of Tither’s mobility considering what and how much drugs were in his system.”

  “Frame job?”

  “Well, here’s the kicker. Brian Hanover, the one arrested for the fourth disappearance, has an eerily similar story in spite of the fact that police had yet to release the details of Justin’s case to the public. Hanover had gotten into a fight with his girlfriend, Jenna Keener, and had taken his issues with him to the local dive. The bartender there confirmed that Brian had drank so much that the guy had to cut him off, but saw that some of his other buddies there were still buying drinks for him. Hanover had at least five regular beers and more than four shots of whiskey. Everyone there said the guy could barely walk. Yet, 3 a.m. rolls around, and cops get a call about a drunkard who had passed out in the middle of the intersection a few blocks away from Jenna’s place. They hauled him in and Brian was booked, but the suspicion of how someone ended up across town taking his own vehicle despite that he was completely intoxicated was not the issue. It’s the fact that when they pulled him from his truck, his hands were covered in blood, later identified as Jenna’s.”

  “That sounds like pretty damning evidence, Gwen.”

  “But the rest of it doesn’t make any sense.”

  I rolled the car to a stop as we approached a red light. “This still doesn’t explain why we’re going to the high school. The police couldn’t find anything to pin this on Jack, so what makes you think you can do better?”

  “Because they had to consider all possible options. I’m not trying to find a needle in a haystack. I’m examining an ant under a magnify glass. And if I’m lucky and right, then I will happily watch him fry.”

  “Less than a week ago, you had him pegged as my future husband. Now, you want him to become someone’s prison bitch? Your temperament is giving me whiplash here.”

  “Yeah? Well, I know there’s something going on here that everyone’s refusing to talk about.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “Social media sites.”

  “You mean the origin of the Rumor Weed? Yeah, good sleuthing there, Meyer.”

  “It is, actually. I’ve looked through the sites to see what other people’s opinions are on the topic, and a lot of the locals have been talking.”

  “And what have they been saying that’s so damning?”

  “It’s about what they’re not saying,” said Gwen. “Everyone who’s been in connection with the case has been under unbearable scrutiny since, and social media has been buzzing about what others think these individuals had to do with the disappearances. Everyone but Jack. For some bizarre reason, mentioning him seems to be taboo or something around here.”

  “Did they say what evidence the police had against Jack?”

  “He was hanging out with a group of people after a game, and one of them happened to be the soon-to-be-missing Tatiana Ranker. The group went to a party at a friend’s house, and witnesses there said that Jack and Tatiana were getting really cozy in the kitchen. Then they both seemed to disappear from the scene. Everyone assumed they hooked up, but the next day, her parents called the police when they realized that she wasn’t with any of her girlfriends after never having come home. Jack didn’t have an alibi, but still insisted he was innocent,” said Gwen. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t any evidence to pin on him, so no official charges were made.”

  “‘Unfortunately’?”

  “Okay, it’s time,” said Gwen, pulling out a black business blazer and a pair of shades as we rolled past Arlington’s greeting sign.

  “What are you doing?” I said, looking over at her as she threw them on.

  “What does it look like? I’m getting into character. It’s my Men In Black look.”

  “More like Ray Charles. Gwen, it’s raining outside, and we’re gonna be indoors. Take off the glasses. The point of this is to get information. Nothing more. We don’t want to make more of an impression than we already will.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t taken that into consideration,” she said, taking out a pair of badges from a side compartment to her bag. “Here’s your new identity.”

  “Minnie Grasper?” I said, reading the laminated label. “And... Trish? Gwen, what are you doing with their school news IDs?”

  “They weren’t using them, and this way no trace of our inquiries will come back to us.”

  “And it’ll fall onto them,” I added.

  “Please, anyone with the most basic comprehension of the internet could pull them up online and see for themselves that we’re not them. They’ll be fine.”

  “What have you gotten me into?” I groaned.

  Arlington High was a fairly new school, its architecture very modern given its simplicity and lack of ornate features that New Haven was famous for. I pulled into the visitor’s parking lot, and we headed through the front entrance. Even before we got so much as two yards into the building, the secretary in the main office flagged us down.

  “What’s your business here?” the woman asked as Gwen and I came to the front counter. She peered over reading glasses and examined us over. “I know every face that comes through those doors, and neither of you are logged into my memory.”

  Gwen and I each cast the other a nervous smile before the secretary noticed the badges we had pinned to the outside of our jackets.

  “Ah, reporters,” she groaned. “Haven’t seen any of you here in a while.”

&n
bsp; We both breathed a sigh of relief.

  “We’re just with our high school,” I confirmed.

  “Yeah, we just received a transfer, who happens to be from here actually,” replied Gwen. “For a woman with such a remarkable skill of memorization, I’d suspect you’d remember Jackson Matthews?” She hadn’t quite landed the tone in the friendliest of manner. It sounded more like she was about to call the woman out if she lied and denied it. But I wasn’t about to scorn Gwen, because the very mention of his name seemed to make the secretary’s face lose color.

  “I can recall the name,” the woman simply replied.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about him?”

  She became more uneasy. “Nothing that the papers haven’t already covered.”

  I decided to take a risk and play dumb on the matter. “Meaning what exactly?”

  She pulled the reading spectacles from her face, looking at me in uncertainty as she tried to navigate to her next move. “I think his classmates would be of better assistance.” She pushed a clipboard with the visitors log sheet attached to it towards the front of the counter and handed Gwen a pen. “Sign yourselves in, and you can go on ahead.”

  Gwen autographed the page, and I stepped forward, instinctively starting to write a C before I realized my mistake. I wound up turning it into a misshapen M as I scribbled Minnie’s name into the log.

  “Tell Stevie Wonder over there that the junior halls are to your left,” said the secretary, pointing out into the hallway at Gwen who was now blindly heading down the wrong corridor.

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  I caught up to Gwen and whispered, “Hey, Clouseau, this way.”

  She turned around confusedly, reaching her arms out to feel her surroundings. I waved my hand directly in front of her face, and she didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Will you take the shades off?” I barked.

  “Fine,” she said in surrender, prying the frames off. “You were right. I can’t see squat in here. Now, where to?”

  “This is your gig. Lead the way,” I said, bringing her back to the left corridor.

  “You saw the look on her face back there, right?” asked Gwen once we were far enough down the hall.