by Chris Culver
Bob started toward his cruiser but paused before getting in.
“You think the kid did it?” he asked.
“I hope not, but I’m following the evidence.”
He shook his head and whistled.
“You are the ice queen, aren’t you?” he asked, smiling as if he had just given me a compliment. I had heard the nickname whispered behind my back, but I had pretended they weren’t talking about me. My lips flattened. Part of me wanted to tell him he shouldn’t mistake professionalism for a lack of feeling, but that wasn’t a conversation to have in public. So I nodded toward his cruiser.
“You’ve got a job to do, Officer Reitz. Get to it.”
The smile slipped off his face.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He got in his car and then parked on the street kitty-corner to the house so he could see if somebody ran out the back. I walked to my truck, where I squeezed my hands into tight balls. Ice queen. That was how my colleagues saw me. Cold, impersonal, unfeeling. They didn’t know me at all, but that didn’t matter. Thad and Trinity were out there, and I needed to find them before they hurt themselves or someone else.
14
After leaving Thad’s house, I called the county prosecutor. He didn’t appreciate a call in the middle of the night, but worse than that, he said we didn’t have enough probable cause to get a search warrant for Thad’s bedroom. He was right, too. We had no physical evidence connecting them to the shooting, and no witnesses had put them anywhere near the scene at the time of the shooting.
My conversation with the prosecutor lasted about ten minutes. Once I learned we wouldn’t get back into Thad’s house soon, I told Officer Reitz to return to his regular assignment. I, meanwhile, spent the next six hours at Trinity Foster’s house. We bagged every piece of evidence we found, we photographed every single footprint half a dozen times or more, and I re-interviewed every neighbor before they went to work.
Despite a thorough search, we found no money, guns, or drug paraphernalia. I wondered whether they had another facility they worked out of.
After the search, I drove to my office, where I researched my victims. Fortunately, that didn’t take long because neither Mark nor Lilly Foster had ever been arrested, and no suspect had ever mentioned them in an interrogation. Drug dealers rarely impressed me, but I had to hand it to these guys: They were good.
That left me in a place I didn’t like being. Thad and Trinity were my only suspects. I hoped it wasn’t them. After striking out at every turn, I spent the next two hours typing up my interview notes, drinking coffee, cataloging photos, and writing reports.
On television and in books, detectives dressed well and sped through town in unmarked cars. They got to solve crimes and go home without spending a single moment in their station. In reality, paperwork was the lifeblood of the criminal justice system. A criminal defense lawyer could read my paperwork and see who collected every piece of evidence we found at a scene, she could learn how and where we had stored it, and she’d learn why we had collected it. Everything was transparent. I knew what I did for a living, and it had nothing to do with justice. I put bad men and women in jail so they wouldn’t hurt other people, and my reports were a vital step in that process.
At a little after eight in the morning, Delgado held the roll-call meeting in the first-floor conference room. I skipped because I didn’t want to answer questions yet, especially if Delgado would leak those answers to the media. Instead, I drove to St. Augustine’s high school. The school had about four hundred students total from St. Augustine County and a few neighboring areas. It was a good school, and it helped attract a lot of wealthy people from St. Louis who didn’t mind a commute.
The high school sprawled across the rural landscape. It wasn’t attractive, but it didn’t need to look pretty to be effective. I parked in the lot and walked to the front entrance. Kids were out for the summer, but the office staff still locked the front doors to keep strangers from wandering around the campus. I hit the button for the intercom and waited for someone in the office to answer.
“Yes?”
The voice came from a speaker beside the door. I held my badge toward the camera suspended from the ceiling and smiled.
“Morning. I’m Detective Joe Court with the Sheriff’s Department,” I said. “Is the principal in?”
“Is your visit personal or business?”
“Business,” I said, looking around. Across the street, a cornfield extended to the horizon, and the air held a whiff of an insecticide or fertilizer. The parking lot held few cars. I turned back around as the door buzzed, allowing me inside.
I had gone to the school three times since becoming a police officer. The first had involved a young woman who killed herself under suspicious circumstances. I wasn’t a detective then, but the detective assigned to the case had taken me because he thought it would be helpful to have a young woman around when he interviewed the students. My second visit had been about Paige and Jude. Now, I came to talk about Trinity and Thad. It didn’t seem fair to have this many tragedies in one place.
The principal, Mr. Berry, stepped out of an office as I walked into the building. He held his hand toward me to shake.
“Morning, Detective,” he said. “What brings you by?”
“Ill tidings,” I said. “A pair of your students are missing. Thaddeus Stevens and Trinity Foster.”
Berry winced and then closed his eyes.
“Why is the Apostate targeting my kids?”
“I don’t think the Apostate is involved.”
He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. “Then what’s going on?”
“I can’t share details yet,” I said, looking down the hallway. “Is your guidance counselor around? I’d like to talk to him, too.”
Berry nodded and then blew out a long breath before leading me down the hallway to a suite of offices separate from those of the school’s administration. There, we walked through the door of a man who wore jeans and a yellow polo shirt. He was in his mid-fifties. His curly black hair clashed with his deeply inset blue eyes. He wasn’t a big man, but he looked fit. When he saw the two of us standing in his doorframe, he stood from his desk.
“Morning,” he said. The nameplate on his desk said he was Mr. Saunders. I leaned forward to shake his hand.
“Mr. Saunders, I’m Detective Joe Court from the St. Augustine County Sheriff’s Department. I’m here to talk to you and Mr. Berry about two of your students.”
Saunders smiled.
“It’s nice to see you, Detective, although I’m sorry for the circumstances,” he said. “We’ve met before. You came after Bethany McGuire killed herself.”
“I remember,” I said, nodding and forcing a smile to my lips. “Bethany’s death was a tragedy. Unfortunately, I’m here for another one.”
“Then have a seat,” said Saunders. “If you’d like, I can make coffee.”
“I would love coffee,” I said. “I’ve been up all night.”
Saunders nodded and got to work on a drip-style coffee maker in the corner of his office. A few minutes later, I held a Styrofoam cup of steaming, black coffee. It tasted unpleasantly astringent, but the caffeine woke me up. That was all I needed. I thanked him before putting my cup on his desk and reaching for my notepad. Saunders sat behind his desk, while Berry and I sat on upholstered chairs in front.
“Okay, so I’m here because someone murdered Trinity Foster’s mother and stepfather last night. Trinity and Thad Stevens might be involved. I’m hoping you two can shed light on the kids that would explain this.”
Both men sat straighter.
“Oh, my,” said Mr. Berry. “When you said they were missing, I assumed someone had abducted them.”
“That’s still a possibility, but we’re exploring alternatives,” I said. “I got off on the wrong foot with Thad’s family, so I don’t have a clear picture of either kid yet. Did they ever have disciplinary problems or problems with drugs?”
; Mr. Berry looked at Mr. Saunders. Both men looked perplexed.
“No,” said Mr. Saunders. He leaned forward and then typed at his computer. Then he read something and nodded. “Neither even received a demerit in their time here.”
“They were smart, too,” said Mr. Berry. “Both took honors classes. Thad was a good baseball player. These kids weren’t saints, but they wouldn’t kill Trinity’s parents.”
I wrote notes and then looked up.
“Nothing would please me more than to learn these two are hiding in some love shack,” I said, nodding. “Until we find them, though, I need you to bear with me. Did Trinity ever flash a lot of cash around?”
Berry looked to Saunders. The counselor leaned forward and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Teenagers are professionals at hiding things, though.”
I nodded and locked my eyes on him. “Did you know her well?”
He shook his head. “She was one of four hundred students. I talked to her about applying for financial aid for college, but beyond that, she’s a name in a computer. There are only so many hours in the day, and I’m the only counselor on staff. I have to prioritize those students who are struggling.”
I nodded and wrote a couple of notes and glanced up to find Mr. Saunders’s eyes on me. Mr. Berry was looking at me, too, but not like Mr. Saunders. The counselor appraised me the way a wolf might have studied a rabbit. It wasn’t sexual; it was something else, and it made chills travel down my spine.
I brought my elbows into my sides and adjusted my position, allowing me to close my jacket over my chest. Saunders cleared his throat and leaned back.
“Okay,” I said, looking to the counselor. “Even though you try to focus on those students with problems, do you know who Trinity and Thad hung out with?”
“I can put together a list of boys on the baseball team and a list of the boys and girls in the art club. Trinity was an active member, if I recall. Those kids will be able to point you to Trinity and Thad’s friends.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said, closing my notepad and putting my pen back in my purse. I stood to leave when Saunders cleared his throat.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked Mr. Saunders.
I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t go to school here,” he said. “That’s what I meant. I would have remembered you.”
I forced a smile to my face and shook my head. “No. I went to high school in St. Louis.”
“Oh, which high school?”
I pretended I hadn’t heard him. He may have been trying to be polite, but he was giving me the creeps. Thankfully, he took the hint and shut up.
“Are you sure the Apostate didn’t kill Lilly and Mark before abducting the kids?” asked Mr. Berry.
I paused and raised my eyebrows.
“It’s possible, but the facts of the case have led me to look elsewhere. Either way, every uniformed officer in the state has seen their pictures by now. We want to bring them in unharmed.”
That placated the two educators, so I started toward the door, but Mr. Berry cleared his throat, calling for my attention. I turned and raised my eyebrows.
“Something else?”
“You probably don’t know yet, Detective, but has anybody said anything about funeral arrangements? I went to high school with Lilly, and I’ve known Mark for a lot of years.”
I looked at him up and down. “How well did you know them?”
“Pretty well,” he said. “They were friends.”
“I see,” I said, nodding. “Just FYI, we found well over half a kilo of cocaine in their master bedroom toilet tank. In your position, you should be careful when you make friends.”
Mr. Saunders opened his eyes wide, shocked. Mr. Berry shook his head.
“I don’t believe that. I’ve known Mark for too long.”
“Believe whatever you want. I’m being honest,” I said. “They were dealing.”
I turned to leave when I heard Mr. Saunders say something.
“I’m glad they’re dead,” he said. “Drugs have no place in modern society, especially around children.”
I stopped and considered him. The guidance counselor’s face was red, and his eyes looked angry.
“This is an open murder investigation. I understand the sentiment, but you should be careful about your word choice.”
“Of course,” he said. “And I’ll get a list of Trinity and Thad’s classmates.”
He smiled once more, but the anger didn’t leave his eyes. I didn’t know what to make of him, but I didn’t like him. I gave them both my business card with my contact information and left the building within half an hour of arriving. As I got in my car, I called the front desk at my station.
“Trisha, it’s Joe,” I said. “Is Special Agent Lawson in?”
“He’s upstairs,” she said. “Something wrong?”
“No, but there’s more to Trinity and Thad than we know. Let Lawson know I’ll be in to talk to him. I’ve got a bad feeling about my case.”
15
Glenn Saunders watched the detective sashay out of his office. He had known Mary Joe was special, but after seeing her in person again, he realized she was so much more than he expected. Everyone in St. Augustine knew her story. She grew up in the foster care system, but instead of protecting her, that foster care system failed her. Her foster father drugged and raped her. When she grew up, her foster father left prison and came after her once more. She shot him and proved herself stronger than anyone could have imagined. It was hard not to admire her.
If anyone could understand his mission, it would be her. That she was beautiful proved God wanted them to be together.
After she left, Glenn took the rest of the day off. Excitement and energy coursed through him in equal measures. Detective Mary Joe Court. Detective Mary Joe Saunders. He whispered her name, enjoying the way it rolled off his tongue. She may not have understood their connection, but she’d be his soon.
He locked his door and drove home, where he found his sister in the living room eating ice cream. How she ate ice cream and junk food all day and maintained her figure, he didn’t know, but somehow Helen managed it. She smiled at him when he came in.
“You look happy.”
“I am,” he said. “Detective Court came to my office. I’m going to take her soon.”
Helen smiled.
“I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.”
“She does,” said Glenn. “But first, we need to clear out a cell. We’ll take care of Paige and Jude today. I’m too excited to stay home.”
“I’m glad, sweetie,” said Helen, picking up her container of ice cream and taking it into the kitchen. She came out a moment later after stepping into a pair of strappy black flats. “Let’s go get them.”
Before leaving, Glenn made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and put it in a Ziploc bag. Inside the car, Glenn checked his cattle prod’s charge. Then, he and Helen drove out to his car lot, where he picked up another vehicle before driving to the dungeon. He thought about visiting Thad and Trinity first, but they needed more time in the dark before he could do anything with them. Paige and Jude would be ripe and ready.
Several days had passed since he had last visited, but little had changed from the dungeon’s exterior. The big progress would come inside. Glenn opened the padlock that secured the door and pulled the heavy piece of steel aside. The interior was dark, and a damp odor wafted outside.
“Hello?” he called.
No one responded, so he looked back at Helen.
“Think they’re still alive?”
She shrugged. “We’d smell them if they were dead.”
She was right, so he slipped on his doctor’s mask and reached into his pocket for his cell phone, which he used as a torch to light his way until he reached the bottom of the steps. There, he flicked on the overhead light. Paige and Jude were on the bed, holding one another. Both were bre
athing, but they looked emaciated and sick.
The actual act of starving was painless, but the secondary effects ravaged the body. Paige and Jude had entered his dungeon strong and healthy. Now, their muscles had atrophied and weakened so they no longer even sensed their own thirst. That led to dehydration that robbed their skin of moisture, leaving it dry and cracked. Every movement would have hurt.
“Jude,” said Glenn, approaching the gate that separated him from his prisoners.
Jude raised his head. His eyes were almost glassy.
“I’ve got something for you,” said Glenn, reaching into his pocket for his Ziploc bag. He took out a quarter of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The last time he had done this, Jude had been gallant and offered his girlfriend half a sandwich. He suspected this time would be different.
Jude swung his legs off the bed and approached the chain-link fence with his hand outstretched. He swayed almost drunkenly on his feet. Paige looked up and watched but didn’t move.
“Go ahead,” said Glenn, passing the quarter of a sandwich through the chain-link fence. Jude’s hands trembled as his fingers touched the white bread. Jude stared at the sandwich as if he didn’t know what it was. Then, he shoved it in his mouth without even looking at Paige. Glenn’s shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled a relieved sigh.
“He’s ready,” said Helen. Glenn looked over his shoulder to see his sister. She forced a pained smile to her lips. Then she nodded. With Glenn’s gentle push, Jude would soon give in to his nature and become an animal. He and Helen both hated this part, but it was necessary.
Glenn turned his attention to the young man.
“Are you still hungry?”
“I hurt,” said Jude.
“I’ll get you some medicine,” said Glenn. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Please help us,” he said.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” said Glenn, reciting a favorite piece of scripture. “I can give you everything you need, but you have to earn it.”
After eating even a quarter of a sandwich, Jude looked stronger and fitter than he had a moment earlier. He’d need that strength now.