by Nancy Holder
There’s something not right about priorities, Kate thought, when the students have more disposable income than their teachers. She was a firm believer that teachers and cops did more than just about anyone else to guide and direct the lives of the citizenry, and yet they were near the bottom of the pay scale. She had no patience with police corruption, but she understood, at a fundamental level, how frustrating it was that those who broke the law made more money than those who enforced it. The same principle seemed to hold true here—those who taught were financially disadvantaged compared to those they were teaching. She wondered if wealthy students ever tried to bribe teachers for grades—and if they did, were they successful?
Probably on too many occasions.
As she passed through the school’s front door, Kate willed her thoughts back around to the subject at hand. A student had disappeared, a popular cheerleader, and the school’s administration had called the police, the press, and the parents almost simultaneously. Kate only hoped she had managed to beat the press here so she could contain the story, or at least direct the emphasis of it. Teens had been disappearing all over the city, but the media only seemed interested in the ones from well-to-do families, like Julie Mazullo here at BHH.
The principal, the cheerleading coach, and Julie’s family’s attorney met Kate in the office. A pair of uniformed officers was already on scene, one of them here in the office keeping an eye on things while the other took statements from the girls out on the practice field, where the disappearance had taken place about thirty minutes before. Kate shook hands with Vikki Castle, the principal, Alice Sheldon, the coach, and Henry Martindale, the attorney.
“Are Julie’s parents here?” Kate asked.
“They’re at home, waiting for any word on their daughter,” the attorney replied briskly. He pointedly glanced at his watch. “I’d like to be able to tell them that the LAPD is investigating Julie’s disappearance with all due expediency.”
Kate flared. “If you mean, are we going to move quickly to solve this, Mr. Martindale, the answer is yes. Our officers were here within ten minutes of receiving the call, I believe. It took me a bit longer because I am also investigating a number of other, similar cases. But I’m here now, so let’s get started, shall we?”
Martindale didn’t look chastened in the least.
“Very well,” he said, crossing his arms. “What do you suggest?”
Kate pulled a notepad out of the pocket of her coat. “I want to talk to the other girls on the squad.”
Alice Sheldon spoke up, raising one finger in the air like an old-fashioned school marm chastising a student. “There’s another officer doing that right now. I don’t want these girls disturbed any more than necessary. We have an important game coming up on Friday.”
“I’m not an officer,” Kate pointed out, trying to stay patient. Or at least, to sound patient. “I’m a detective. I will read the statements they’ve given to the officer, but I’m going to need to talk to them myself as well. And I think you can just assume that practice is over for today.”
Coach Sheldon let out an audible sigh. A compact woman with close-cropped red hair, she wore a sweatsuit in the school colors of blue and gold. The coach’s standard whistle hung around her neck on a white cotton string. Principal Castle gave her an aggravated look, as if her sighing was a fairly regular, and annoying, occurrence. Kate could see how that might be the case—she was annoyed with it already.
“Okay,” Sheldon said. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’m certain of it,” Kate replied. “Can you show me where they are?”
Sheldon led the way outside and down a long walkway to a well-kept athletic field. The stadium looked almost as nice as professional stadiums Kate had been in, and probably cleaner. One end of the athletic complex was a practice field for the cheerleading squad, with a small bleacher section for observers. The girls sat on the wooden bleachers, still in their uniforms. One of them stood off to the side, huddled with a uniformed officer who wrote notes on a small spiral-bound pad as they talked. The other girls stayed fairly quiet, for cheerleaders, sitting in stunned disbelief or sobbing outright.
For a moment, Kate thought Coach Sheldon would blow her whistle. But she seemed to catch herself with her hand half-raised, and she held it there.
“Girls,” she announced. “This is officer—”
“Detective,” Kate interrupted.
“—Detective Lockley of the Los Angeles Police Department. I know many of you have already talked to the officer here, but you’ll also need to talk to Detective Lockley. I’m sure she’ll try to keep it brief.”
She turned to Kate as if for confirmation of her belief.
“Yes, I will do everything I can to make this as easy and painless as it can be,” Kate assured the squad. There were about twenty girls. She figured she’d have to spend at least five minutes with each of them. So an hour and a half here, give or take. On top of however long the girls had already been here. They’ll love this.
As it turned out—as Kate expected, in fact—none of them could tell her anything helpful. Everyone on the squad loved and respected Julie. No one would want anything bad to happen to her, ever. Each girl managed to shed at least one tear for poor Julie as they spoke.
Compacts and eye shadow appeared as if by magic, to touch up makeup after their interviews were complete and the tears dried away.
But none of it meant anything, because no one could explain what had become of Julie. She had been at the front of the squad, leading them in one of the Vegas-style dance numbers that had become more and more important parts of high school cheering sections. This one turned from something resembling a burlesque bump-and-grind into a pyramid, with the stronger girls on the bottom and a tiny waif named Missy Champlain up on top.
Julie had been directing the action, and backing away from the squad at the same time, to get the long view on the pyramid’s shape. She was shouting out her orders, walking backward, and then suddenly she was gone. All eyes had been on her. No one approached, no one saw anything happen to her—she was simply there, and then she wasn’t.
Which, Kate knew, pretty much followed the same pattern that had happened everywhere else. Doesn’t make it easier to explain, just consistent.
What Kate found more interesting than the girls’ stories was what she could overhear them saying among themselves while she listened to yet another cheerleader tell her how much she’d miss Julie.
“. . . always manages to hog the spotlight,” one of the girls said. Kate leaned her head in her hand for a moment, so she could surreptitiously steal a glance up at the bleachers. The girl speaking was Heather Jamison, a voluptuous junior who had, only moments before, burst into a sobbing fit when telling Kate about how much she loved Julie and could barely imagine life without her. Kate found herself wishing she could climb the bleachers and yank the hem of Heather’s skirt down to a more modest length.
“I know,” Dede Micklin replied. “So who do you think Sheldon is going to promote to head cheerleader? You? Or maybe Janice?”
“Janice?” Heather echoed, with audible disbelief. “That cow?”
Dede punched Heather on the thigh. “Cow?” she said. “You’re one to talk.”
“I’m womanly, not bovine,” Heather shot back.
“Sheldon’s going to pick Vonna,” Dede announced firmly. “No question.”
“Yeah, probably,” Heather said. She sounded resigned. “Unless someone breaks Vonna’s knees.”
Kate dragged her attention away from the machinations. She didn’t want to hear any more of this. She had begun to feel like she’d need a long shower when this day was over. The girl she was talking to, Carly Fortschen, rambled on about how weird it was that Julie vanished in the middle of the pyramid formation—as if it would not have been as weird had she waited until the end. Kate cut the interview short as soon as she could, and went back to Coach Sheldon.
“I’ll get the reports from the officers, and cont
act the rest of the girls at their homes,” she said. “Please make sure they don’t talk to anyone from the press about this, if you can. We don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily.”
“Way I hear it,” Coach Sheldon said, “kids are disappearing all over the city. Maybe people should be alarmed.”
“Maybe they should,” Kate answered. “But I find it’s seldom useful to create a generalized panic.”
“I’ll do what I can to keep the ladies reined in,” Coach Sheldon said, fingering her whistle.
“Thanks.” Kate turned away from the squad and left them to do battle over who would replace the recently-departed Julie.
“Cheerleaders?” Willow asked. “I hate to say it, but I’m not terribly surprised.”
“Cordelia was a cheerleader,” Angel said.
“My point exactly,” Kate said. “So this was another nice girl, in a sort of not-really way, but not exactly full of unplumbed depths, if you know what I mean.”
“Point taken,” Angel agreed.
They talked in an empty anteroom past Kate’s office. She had returned to the precinct to find a phone message from Angel, who’d had an idea while talking to Cordelia about Willow. Following his suggestion, Willow had tried to hack into the LAPD’s internal system from Angel’s computer, but she’d run into a firewall. She had suggested they go to a computer more directly linked to the object of their search. It turned out that the FBI had recently helped the LAPD install a bank of computers for Internet and other searches apart from the officers’ desk computers.
That was awesome news for Willow, who had recently figured out how to use those kind of computers without leaving “footprints.”
Now Kate stood behind Willow as she bent over the keyboard.
“You’re scary,” Kate said. “You’re not supposed to be able to do this.”
Willow beamed. “Thanks.” said, loosening up her shoulders and cracking her knuckles. “I’m just grooving on doing it. It’s been too long since I played hacker. Especially without worrying about getting caught.”
“Getting caught would still be a bad thing,” Kate reminded her. She still had second thoughts about this whole idea—second thoughts about anything to do with Angel, really. She didn’t trust him for a second. Well, that wasn’t really true—she trusted him, she just didn’t like him. Or she didn’t like herself for trusting him. Something like that. Everything got confusing when he was around. “Especially since that’s my computer you’re using.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Willow said, typing fast and furious. “I never get caught. I just worry about getting caught. Big difference.”
“Well, that’s a load off my mind,” Kate said sarcastically. “Angel, maybe this isn’t such a—”
“Ooh—I’m in!” Willow exclaimed. “What are we looking for again?”
Kate checked a list she had written down on a memo pad. “This time, we’re looking for Peterson. Bo Peterson. With an ‘o.’ ”
“ Bo with an ‘o’ or Peterson with an ‘o’?”
“Both,” Kate said.
“Okay, coming right up.” Willow tapped a few more keys, then sat back and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. “There you go.”
She scooted back, and both Kate and Angel bent forward to look at the monitor. Willow had hacked through the security firewall of the Los Angeles County First Bank & Trust, and then into the personal checking account of Officer Bo Peterson. Peterson’s deposits and withdrawals were displayed on the screen of Kate’s PC for the world to view.
“Man,” Kate said, shaking her head. “He gets direct deposit. I keep meaning to switch over to that.”
“Kate . . .” Angel said, hoping to bring her back on track.
“Right, I know,” Kate said. “Letting myself get distracted—”
“Kate,” Angel said again. He tapped the screen.
Kate craned forward. “Move your finger.”
Angel moved it.
“Wow,” Kate said. “That’s a big one.”
“What is?” Willow asked. She had shoved the chair back so far that now Angel and Kate completely blocked her view of the screen. She angled for a better look. Kate stepped to one side to let the girl see. After all, she couldn’t have done this without Willow’s expertise.
“Deposit,” Angel told her. “Fifty thousand dollars. Two months ago.”
“Publisher’s Clearing House?”
“Somebody named Vishnikoff,” Kate answered. “Mean anything to either one of you?”
“Only that it’s a Russian name,” Angel said. “Which ties in. Maybe he’s a member of the Russian Mafiya, paying Peterson off for looking the other way, or doing a job for him.”
Kate took the mouse, used it to scroll down farther, watching for big deposits, Russian names, or both. “Here’s another Vishnikoff,” she said. “Four months earlier. Another fifty thousand.”
“But look at his balance,” Willow pointed out. “This Peterson person has some big bills to pay.”
“Or expensive tastes,” Kate suggested. “But you’re right, he doesn’t seem to keep much of what he makes.”
“Those are the only ones that seem out of the ordinary,” Angel said. “A few big Vishnikoff deposits. You’d think if they were payoffs, he’d get cash.”
“You’d think a cop wouldn’t be stupid enough to be crooked,” Kate replied. “They always go down. Always. So anyone dumb enough to try to buck the odds would also be dumb enough to take a check for a payoff, I guess.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. She’d been right earlier, she knew. Between ambitious cheerleaders and dirty cops, there probably wasn’t enough water in L.A. for her to scrub the stench of this day off her. She stood back and watched, as if through a rain-streaked window, as Willow and Angel checked the other names on her list.
Chapter 8
Sunnydale
BUFFY, RILEY KNEW, WAS USED TO NOT GETTING MUCH sleep. As the Slayer, she patrolled most nights, then went to school most days. Her stamina was without compare, though, thanks to the powers that came with the title, so she coped. When she did sleep, she slept hard. So Riley dressed quietly, letting her slumber on Giles’s couch, and slipped from the room. She hadn’t so much as stirred.
He met Giles and Xander in the cramped kitchen. “You guys ready?” he asked, his voice low. They nodded.
“As rain,” Xander said. “No, that’s right. Right as rain. I don’t know what we’re ready as.”
“We’re ready,” Giles put in helpfully.
They moved through the place quietly. Giles’s home was not a big place, and there were people sleeping everywhere, the theory being that they were safer, during the assault on Sunnydale, all together rather than being scattered all over town.
Giles, Xander, and Riley had agreed to spend some time looking for Spike’s missing girlfriend Cheryce, in exchange for Spike’s help fighting the monsters. For Riley’s part, he was willing to help find the vampire—as long as he got to stake her once she was found. Spike wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain anyway, and, unlike Spike and Angel, Cheryce still fed on humans. She needed to be taken out.
Meanwhile, monsters.
Or not.
The three men walked quietly down Sunnydale’s strangely silent sidewalks. The townspeople were pretty much staying inside whenever they could these days, the mass self-delusion—that let them continue to live here when the only sensible thing would be to move far away— slipping a little in the face of constant attacks. But the sun was out now, and in spite of a few daytime sightings, most of the monsters still preferred the cover of darkness.
Cheryce, being a vampire, would be holed up somewhere, waiting for darkness to fall. While there were plenty of places in town a vampire could hide, it would still be easier to find her while she slept than when she was up and in motion.
Xander seemed to read Riley’s thoughts. “Do any of us have any, I don’t know, idea where to look for Spike’s squeeze?”
“There are some usual, ahh, haunts,” Giles offered. “The cemeteries. Various vampire hangouts.”
“Which we can rule out, because those are the places Spike would have already looked.” Riley said.
“So all we have to do is figure out the least likely place a vampire might be, and look there?” Xander asked, smiling politely.
“That’d be our best bet,” Riley agreed.
Xander half-raised a hand. “Anyone else have the words ‘lost cause’ floating through their heads?”
“We told Spike we’d look for her,” Giles said softly. “We never promised to find her. At any rate, it doesn’t hurt for us to be out and about, in case of any other demonic activity.”
“Or nondemonic, monstrous activity,” Riley added.
“Here’s an idea,” Xander said. “If you were in a city and you didn’t have a place to sleep, where would you go?”
“Umm, a hotel?” Giles suggested.
“Right. You put up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, and they don’t care if you sleep all day.”
“That’s not bad,” Riley said. “Maybe we should check the motels. What do you think, Giles?”
Giles didn’t answer. Riley noticed that, while he and Xander were still walking, Giles had fallen behind. He turned.
Giles was a few steps behind them, looking off to his left.
Where, from a postage-stamp sized park, something that vaguely resembled a small tree walked toward them on root-like legs, waving dozens of branches at them threateningly. Its limbs were tree-bark brown, tipped with springtime green, jagged-edged leaves.
“Man,” Xander said. “Where’s George Washington when you need him?”
Riley gave him a questioning look.
“You know, the cherry tree, the hatchet, and all? Never mind.”
“Do you think it’s malevolent, Giles?” Riley asked.
“I think it’s unnatural,” Giles replied. “It doesn’t belong here. I don’t know that it’s genuinely evil or—”
He stopped because Riley slammed into him, knocking him to the side just before one of the tree thing’s leaves, fired from the end of a branch like a missile, sliced into the air where he’d been standing. The leaf wedged into the ground behind them, stiff and quivering like a knife blade.