On his left pectoral was the double lightning bolt of Hitler’s SS while on his right pectoral was the number
“88.” I saw the swastika that Melissa had noticed on his left forearm in these images.
I clicked on another image. In this one, Cody’s bare back was to the camera. I tried not to think about Megan taking the photo and hoped that one of his friends did. My eyes were drawn to a huge Nazi Third Reich-style eagle tattooed across his upper back. The swastika in the eagle’s claws dangled to his mid-back.
I clicked on the image to enhance it. Grudgingly, I had to admit that the work was very good. The artist had captured minute details on the raptor and the perspective was excellent. Maybe Chris had a line on local artists who might have done the piece. I noticed another tat on Cody’s left bicep that I didn’t recognize. It looked like a pissed-off rat clutching a Nazi iron cross. Above the rat’s head in gothic script were etched the letters ADR.
I went through the rest of the photos. There must have been fifty. The most recent date was June 5th of this year, about six weeks ago. Cody figured in about half. Some of the photos depicted other young men and women. Probably some of Megan’s other friends.
Two guys in a few of the other images looked like they might be friends of Cody’s. I’d have Chris check them out, as well. Megan had included names of everyone in her photos, little control freak that she was.I webbed over to Gmail, which handles my personal e-mail accounts, and zipped three photos of Cody to Chris. I included two others that pictured guys I thought might be part of his group. Maybe Chris would get some hits on them as well. I also asked her if she recognized the tattoos and if she knew of any local artists who did that kind of stuff. If not, I’d have to suck it up and visit local shops myself.
Finishing that up, I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. No wonder I was hungry. I closed all the windows and stood up, stretching. Melissa probably wanted to hear from me. As I reached for my cell phone, it rang and I glanced at the ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hey. I was just going to call you.” Too late, I realized how that sounded. She didn’t say anything right away and I fumbled. “Uh, I finished some stuff up and I wondered if you wanted to come over and have a look. It might upset you, but—”
“I don’t care. I need to know. I’ll come by after work. Five-thirty okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be here. See you then.”
“Thanks.” She hung up.
I closed the phone and stood staring blankly at Megan’s computer screen. Melissa used to rush home like that after work until Megan’s relapse. Then she started coming home later and later. The waves of my past slid over the beach of my present as I thought about the last time I had seen Melissa before she showed up in Texas, when she was standing ten feet from me, saying she loved me and asking me if we could talk. I’d slammed that door shut. Well, why not? She was having an affair, for chrissakes. That’s not something you forget. And it makes everything past that suspect. What was there to talk about? She was doing Hillary. She’d betrayed the relationship she had with me.
What the hell? Why am I trying to excuse her? The image of Melissa in Hillary’s Mercedes was burned into my brain. But as I focused on it and waited for the pain that accompanied it, only sadness came up.
Shoving it out of my head, I decided to walk the four blocks to La Montanita, a local cooperative health food store. I locked up and headed toward Central in the late afternoon heat.
Chapter Five
I LEFT THE outer security door unlocked and the inner door open. When Melissa showed up, she called softly through the wire mesh, announcing her presence before she came in. I had just finished putting my groceries away when I heard the door open.
“Kase?” she said again.
“Yeah.” I emerged from the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I got some Tazo at the Co-op.” I assumed Melissa still drank the stuff. I did.
“No. But thanks.”
“Okay. Hold on.” I returned to the kitchen and retrieved one of the small chairs from the table. I brought it over to the computer and set it down next to the chair that I had been using most of the day. I sat down and opened up Megan’s photograph file.
Melissa took her suit jacket off and tossed it carelessly onto the couch before she sat down next to me. She smelled faintly of citrus. I was careful not to touch her and instead opened Megan’s photo file. We clicked through together. She recognized a couple of Megan’s non-racist friends, but that was all. I clicked on the images of Cody without his shirt on.
“What do his tattoos mean?” Melissa’s voice sounded tight.
I pointed at the double lightning bolts on his left pectoral. “That’s a tribute to Hitler’s secret police, the SS.” I moved my finger to his right pectoral, where the number “88” was etched. “That means ‘ heil, Hitler.’ ‘H’ is the eighth letter of the alphabet. Hence, eighty-eight.”
Melissa looked at me, a hard expression in her eyes. She commandeered the mouse and clicked on the next image.
“That’s the eagle of the Nazi Third Reich,” I explained. “If the artist is local, I’ll see if I can find him.” I kept my tone gentle, since it was obvious that this was hard for her. She didn’t say anything and her jaw muscles remained clenched. I then explained some of the things about the flyers that I had discovered. “So basically, given the tattoos and the other stuff, I think Cody’s probably neo-Nazi. KKK
tats are different. They like the Confederate flag and hangman’s nooses and stuff like that. Or a stylized cross with a blood drop in the middle.”
“Why a blood drop?”
“It represents the oh-so-pure blood of the white race.”
Melissa stared at me. “You’re shitting me.”
“No. For real. They take that ‘blood’ stuff really seriously.” I retrieved a Klan flyer from the couch and pointed out a paragraph that went on about “pure white men” and “fighting for the pure blood” of the white race.
Melissa shook her head. “How the hell do you manage to look at this all day?”
“Not really thinking about it.” I caught her eye and smiled wryly. “Yeah. I’m compartmentalizing. If I don’t, I can’t do it.”
“You know, it’s funny, but I guess I never—I guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your research when we—when you were here.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds before I responded. “Shit was happening. I, um, might have kept a lot to myself.”
She handed the flyer back, expression unreadable.
“So do you know what the group’s name is?”
I relaxed. This I could talk about. “No, but I’ll check in with a colleague at the local chapter of the ADL.”
Melissa waited.
“Judy. You know. I met her in grad school.”
Melissa looked puzzled.
“I know I must have mentioned her when I was dissertating. Didn’t I? Judy at the Anti-Defamation League?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe.” She kept her eyes on the monitor. “I e-mailed over there to see if anyone would help me but somebody—not Judy—
wrote back and said they were basically a non-profit watchdog organization and didn’t have the resources to conduct private investigations. I offered to pay for research, but they said they couldn’t accept the funds.”
I moved to put my hand on her shoulder but stopped. I instead ran my hand through my hair.
“So is he a skinhead?” Melissa was staring at the photo.
“No, though his tats are definitely neo-Nazi leaning. Except for this one.” I reached over and clicked on the one that showed the pissed-off rat.
“This could be skinhead, since skins like to put some Nazi stuff in their body art. And that is the Nazi iron cross. But skins like to have lots of tats signaling their allegiance. So I think Cody’s probably more neo-Nazi.”
“Okay,” Melissa said thoughtfully, “skinheads tend to be neo-Nazi but not all neo-Nazis are skinheads.”
<
br /> “Bingo. I also think that Cody’s part of the recruiting arm of whatever group he’s in, which might be a local chapter of a larger one. Local chapters sometimes name themselves something other than the parent organization.”
“How do they recruit?”
“Lately, the Internet and, especially within the last few years, college campuses. They’ll flyer cars in parking lots there, but some are already students.
They want educated, articulate people for the movement. Think guys like David Duke.”
“Wait. You’re saying that they actually manage to get college kids in these groups?”
“Remember your college days? College is really freaky for some. It’s a time for trying on new identities and new ideas. And if you’re in a vulnerable place at home or with your family or for whatever reasons, these guys make you feel welcome.”
“Guys?”
“Yeah. The movement is mostly male. When women join, it’s generally through a guy. It’s rare to find a woman who goes and signs up all on her own.”
“Jesus, Kase,” Melissa said softly, staring at the photo of Cody on the monitor. “He recruited her.”
“Yes. He did. He’s probably very good at finding weak spots and manipulating them. And Megan’s history...” I allowed my voice to trail off. I didn’t need to go there. Melissa knew what I was talking about. I cleared my throat instead. “I haven’t gone through all of her files yet,” I managed, changing the subject.
“I have her e-mail password.” She didn’t look at me.I didn’t really want to know how Melissa had that information. I assumed it had something to do with Megan’s rehab years. Melissa probably had one of her IT friends figure it out.
“Is it recent?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Do you want to open it now?”
She reached past me to the legal pad I’d been writing notes on. I handed her a pen and Melissa wrote down the log-in information.
“Has she been e-mailing you too, or just calling since she left?” I looked at what Melissa had written and went to the AOL log-in site.
“Just calling.” I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Melissa kept her hands in her lap, palms pressed against her thighs. She was wearing another power suit, this one olive green linen. The color looked good against her skin. I glanced away and quickly typed Megan’s log-in and password into the blanks. Her account opened.
“When was the last time you checked it?” I asked, still not looking at Melissa.
“Last week.”
“Did you see anything that seemed out of the ordinary?”
“No. She’s kept a lot of the e-mails from Cody but I haven’t read them.”
That did make me look at her. “Why not?”
She shook her head and sighed. “Here’s the thing.
I got her password and log-in because I was worried that she might fall in with the wrong crowd after her last rehab. But I promised myself I wouldn’t use it unless I had a reason to. So I actually didn’t use it until she left.” She chose the euphemism carefully, pausing slightly before she said it. “I feel really guilty about it.”
“Don’t,” I said gently. “I mean, you had a good reason to do it. She’s not where she should be and because of her history, well...” I shrugged and turned my attention back to the screen. There were five new e-mails. Three were from Amazon—updates about books she might want to read for her psychology classes. One was spam about paying off your mortgage that had made its way past AOL’s filters and the other was from one of her friends whose name I recognized from the photos. Allison. I clicked on that one. It was barely three sentences long. She was just checking in because she hadn’t heard from Megan in a while and wanted to know how things were going.
“Do you know Allison?” I glanced over at Melissa.
“Yes. She’s local.”
“Do you have her number?”
“No.”
“Then e-mail her back from your account and CC
me. Tell her you need to talk to her about Megan and you’d appreciate it if she’d call you.” I wrote Allison’s account address down on the legal pad.
Together, we scrolled through Megan’s e-mail from the past month. Almost all of it was junk mail.
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, UNM student events and news. I clicked on the Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Just innocuous updates. Three others from Allison, two from another friend named Bill who was home in California for the summer. Melissa vaguely recalled him. Fifteen from other friends who were just saying they’d see her in the fall. I hoped fervently that they would. I printed out all the personal e-mails.
“Does Megan have a MySpace page or anything on Facebook?”
Melissa thought for a bit. “She did say she was going to set up a MySpace page and she was working on some of the graphics for it. She said she’d let me know. I don’t know if she ever finished it.”
“When did she start?”
“Toward the end of May, I think.”
“I’ll check her files and see if I find anything like that. Ask Allison about it. She’d probably know if Megan has a page.”
Melissa seemed to relax. She looked at me and managed a tired smile. “You should have been a cop.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one.” She stood then. “I already feel better knowing that you’re here.” She said it quietly, without looking at me.
I logged out of AOL and shut down the various applications. My heart was beating a bit faster than it should have. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what Chris finds out. I’m going to try to see Judy at the ADL, see if she’s heard anything. Let me know what Allison says.” I stood up and ran my fingers through my hair. I tend to do that when I’m nervous and Melissa obviously recognized the gesture.
“Do you think—that is—”
I interrupted her. “Yeah. I think maybe we should talk. Just not right now, okay? I don’t think I’m quite ready.”
She nodded and managed a tight smile. “Are you all right for dinner?” She made it sound like she was just checking on my welfare, like she would do with an acquaintance or a coworker.
“Fine. Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I forced an answering smile and watched her leave. As an afterthought, I moved to the door and watched her as she walked to her car, which was just visible from my vantage point. She got in and pulled away from the curb. I felt strangely empty.
“YOU OKAY, CHICA?” Chris was worried about me. I switched the phone to my right ear and checked my watch. Nearly nine. Melissa had left around seven-thirty and I had gone for a run at eight, appreciating the evening cool, and then did my requisite push-ups and sit-ups. I was just opening Megan’s door when Chris called.
“Yeah. This thing with Megan has me kinda worried.”
“And?” Chris’s tone was patient.
“And yeah, it’s weird being around Melissa.”
“I thought it might be. You wanna come and stay here?” There was only concern in her voice.
“No, being at Megan’s isn’t the problem. It’s the—
”
“Past,” Chris said wryly. “So why don’t you talk to her? Get shit out in the open?”
“What do you mean?” I said cautiously.
“Come on, Kase. When things ended with her, you pretty much slammed the door.”
“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do? I busted her going at it with Hillary.”
“Hey, I’m not saying what Melissa did wasn’t shitty. But leaving the way you did—I’m saying that maybe you need some closure. For your own sanity if nothing else. Put those ghosts to rest.”
I didn’t respond. Chris was right, but I didn’t really want to talk about Melissa.
“Think about it. It’s not healthy to hold on to things like that.” She paused, then continued. “Okay, next topic. About your Mister Sorrell. Turns out he does have a record. Basic stupid juvie shit. He’s from Denver origi
nally and got into trouble there while he was in high school. Vandalism of school property—
I’m waiting on the incident reports—petty theft.
Sounds like your garden-variety candy bars and beer from the convenience store stuff. Comes from a broken home and grew up with his dad. No word on where his mom went. He moved here in 2003 after completing his GED and enrolled in a few classes through UNM continuing ed. He does have an aunt here in town, whose address is the same as what’s listed for his. You might want to have a chat with her.”
Chris provided the aunt’s address, which was on Albuquerque’s east side. I had an image of what the neighborhood looked like. Run-down suburbia, filled with bored teenagers who sat on front stoops at night smoking and drinking cheap beer, talking about who was doing whom, who was pregnant, and who might be running with gangs.
“Thanks, Chris. That’s a huge help.”
“No hay problema. I’m working on the others and should have some more info about Cody in the next couple of days. I can also get you in with our gang division. They’ve got files on tattoos and for the past few years at least, they’ve been tracking racist groups, too. They might have a line on the artist who worked on Cody’s back.”
“Jesus, Chris. You are a total godsend.”
“That’s a lot of spiritual talk for one sentence, esa,” she said teasingly. “Let me call somebody down there to see if they’ll let you have a look. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“I so owe you.”
“And I will so collect.” She laughed. “You’re a good friend and it’s the least I can do. You okay tonight?”
“Yeah. I’m tired. I’ll crash here and check in with you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Buenas noches.”
“ ’Night.” I hung up and used the remote to turn the TV on. With some inane reality show on in the background, I made a list of all the angles I wanted to pursue. Tomorrow, I’d finish going through Megan’s files and if I had time, I’d cruise over to Cody’s aunt’s place and see what I could scare up over there. I’d also call Judy. I put the tablet down and closed the inner front door and opened a window in the bedroom a crack. The place stayed fairly cool, but I still flipped the switches for the swamp cooler to drive the rest of the heat out of the house. I turned the TV off and put on a pair of boxers and a clean tee, then went to the bathroom, where I washed up and spent some time flossing and brushing my teeth.
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