Syrah and Swingers

by Sandra Woffington

  “Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

  “Hey, you called so often, I pushed the sound to nil. Then you came in with a phone glued to your ear like you expected to see him. What can I get you?”

  “A soda water. Can I see the phone?” Max flashed his credentials.

  “Oh, wow. Sure. Here.” The bartender set the phone on the counter and filled a glass with ice and soda water, which he slid across the bar to Max. “No charge.”

  Max sipped on the water for nearly half an hour before Draven Blackmoor appeared, wearing a black suit over a black T-shirt that made him look far too gentlemanly than Max knew him to be. Blackmoor started to pick up his phone, but Max seized it.

  “Where is she?”

  “Sorry, who?”

  “Joy.”

  Blackmore smirked. “How would I know?”

  “If you don’t mind, I have a friend who loves to tinker with phones.”

  “Actually, I do mind, Max. When you have the legal authority to confiscate my device, I’ll be happy to hand it to you. Not that I’d be stupid enough to put anything on that phone. You know true criminals use burner phones.”

  “You can file a complaint at the station, Blackmoor.”

  “Invitation gladly accepted.”

  A figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

  “Asia? So you’re his latest protégée?”

  Asia grabbed a chair and swung it around so she could sit backwards on it and face Joy. “And you’re his greatest failure. He loves me, Joy. And I will prove I love him by killing you.” Asia untied the blue scarf around her neck and let it float to the ground.

  Joy looked away. She’d seen plenty of death, but cruelty, she could not tolerate. Asia had bruising around her neck. “Why would you let him do that to you?”

  “Because he loves me. He saved me.”

  “Wow. How did he save you if he snuffs you and brings you back whenever he feels the urge.”

  “He taught me to be in control, that’s how. He showed me ways to take back my power.” Asia made a fist. “He’s in control. He doesn’t kill, but I do.”

  Joy raised her head. “Ted? Why?”

  Asia’s eyes flared with a rage she could barely control. She had beautiful eyes, hazel, bright. And her half-Asian, half-black features combined in grace and exotic beauty. Asia’s nostrils flared as she contemplated whether to answer her question or not.

  Joy had to be smart. She had to reach her, get under her skin the same way Draven burrowed into her psyche and used it against her. “You had one hell of a life. Your mother, I mean. Did she pimp you out?”

  Asia stood up and walked away. “He said you’d try that, to talk to me, get personal.” She played with her cell phone, plugged it into a charger. Joy noted that the barn had modern electricity, not that she knew if that fact would be handy or not yet.

  Joy’s brain worked to think like Draven. How had he trained Asia? What did he miss? He would have missed something. He thought like a man. She thought like a woman.

  What could Joy use to either provoke her or, preferably, to disarm her?

  24

  At the station, Max stuck Draven Blackmoor in an interrogation room. He read him his rights, and he let him know he’d be recorded. But he didn’t go right in. He stood in the cloistered observation room, and despite the urgency to find Joy, he observed. He let the man stew. Blackmoor had set this up. He had reeled Max in, most likely for the sole purpose of toying with him and establishing a rock-solid alibi.

  Joy feared him. Feared his mind games that had nearly driven her over the edge.

  Blackmoor checked his watch, as if time had meaning. Why? Did he have a schedule to keep? A schedule that might include life and death? Blackmore dressed impeccably, even in casual Wine Valley. He needed to feel important. He needed attention.

  He would have felt pain in losing Joy, someone he viewed not only as beautiful and equally intelligent, but also someone akin to his nature. But Joy told him he could feel nothing.

  Blackmoor’s entire career had focused on serial killers—their traits, their needs, and, as his current book title suggested: their pleasures.

  Max had to wait. He hoped Joy could hang on a little while longer. He had to know where to attack this guy. Max sucked in a breath. Strangely, an idea came to him in his father’s voice. “Take the starch out o’ him, boy.”

  Max waltzed into the interrogation room carrying a simple manila folder. He sat down across from Blackmoor. “Can I get you anything, doctor?” Max leaned back in the chair and yawned. “We’re going to be here a while.”

  “No.”

  “Alright, so, let me see.” Max opened the folder, acted like he skimmed the pages inside, and he shut it again. “You know,” Max leaned forward, “I really don’t feel like wasting my time with my partner’s old flame. Seriously. I’ll ask one question, you answer, and I’ll cut you loose.”

  Blackmoor sat up straighter.

  “When did you last see, Dr. Joy Burton?” Max yawned and stretched. He checked his watch. “Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I am ready to call it a night.”

  Blackmoor crossed one knee over the other. “How should I know? She’s your partner, not mine.”

  Max laughed. “Exactly! Thank you!” Max leaned in and whispered, “Just what I told my boss. Hell, I didn’t hire Joy. I just have to put up with her. You saw how she stormed into your massage room. Could I even get a word in edgewise?”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  “She likes control. For all know, she’s off with some lover. I doubt you were the only one. You know how wild she gets.”

  “Did you and her…?”

  “Hell, no! I like girls who understand that I’m in the saddle and I’ve got the reins.”

  “Well,” Blackmoor leaned forward and whispered back, “We were in love. She loved me, but she likes to party, swinging.”

  Max grinned. “Shut up! Seriously? I didn’t know much about that life before this case, but from what the ladies tell me—it’s their game—they call the shots.”

  Blackmoor folded his hands, slowly, precisely. “Not all the time. Joy could be obedient.”

  Max bent over laughing. “Okay. Doubt that. She can’t follow directions if her life depended on it.”

  “Maybe it does?” Blackmoor suggested.

  “Well, my daddy, the former Chief of Police, David King, would call that a taradiddle.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A gussied-up pretentious lie. Dr. Joy Burton—sounds so smart, but a piece of paper don’t make people smart, and a lack of it don’t make people stupid. If you ask me, she’s got a loose tile or two, know what I mean?” Max pushed back from the table, grabbed the file, and stood up. “Have a nice evening, Dr. Blackmoor.”

  “What? Wait. You’re letting me go? Loose tile?”

  “No reason to hold you, is there?”

  “This is a trick. You want to follow me. How pathetic,” said Blackmoor, crossing his arms over his chest and studying Max.

  Max stretched and yawned again. “Sit here if you want. I’m going home to catch some z’s. Asking me to pull you in was getting the wrong pig by the tail. Get out here. Have a nice evening.”

  “You’re a dolt!”

  Max leaned over the table. “Pardon?”

  “I hadn’t considered it. I assumed I’d be facing someone of some merit with a modicum of intelligence. I never considered for a moment I’d be talking to a country dolt.”

  “Dolt? What the hell is a dolt?”

  Draven laughed. “Never mind. I’ve wasted your time and mine.” Blackmoor rose to his feet to leave. He mumbled under his breath. “A pig by the tail?”

  “Pardner, sit yerself back down.” Max punched keys into his phone. “Dolt: a stupid person. Oh, I see. We’re not sophisticated enough for the likes of you in Vinoville. Is that right?” Max took a seat opposite Blackmoor. “You know what, I’m not tired anymore. We’ll just sit here and stare at each othe
r until I decide to let you go, but with me being a dolt and all, that could take some time. I’ve beat more an’ a few country dolts in my time.”

  Blackmoor whipped his head side-to-side. “You’re the top dolt. I get it, and I apologize, officer.”

  “Detective,” said Max.

  “Detective. I’m not going to sit here and stare you down.”

  “Then don’t stare.” Max folded his arms over his chest. He glared at Blackmoor. “I can do this all day. See, my eyes don’t even blink.”

  Blackmoor shifted in his seat. His mouth opened as if about to speak, but he closed it again. Open and closed.

  Max continued to glare. He didn’t move a muscle.

  “Really, this is preposterous. A waste of my time.”

  Max rose to his feet. “I’ll be back in a flash. Nature calls when nature calls.”

  “Oh, good heavens!” Blackmoor rose from his chair and paced around the room.

  Max returned to the observation room and peered through the one-way glass. Blackmoor paced and paced and checked his watch. He had expected a shrewd, sharp fight, not a half-wit. He had wanted to intellectually spar, to needle Max and get a rise out of him, to make him suffer—but stupid—he hadn’t planned for. Most likely, he never planned for it. He fed off of outwitting others, even getting people to outwit themselves and do as he wanted. Blackmoor didn’t know how to deal with a dolt.

  Max let him simmer. He figured a good half hour of pacing the room and worrying about time just might keep Joy safe a little longer.

  Max liked the idea that Blackmoor would pace back and forth and his mind would fill with an image of Max on a toilet somewhere in the building. Talk about torture! Still, Max had no clues. He used the time to step over to his desk.

  Steele came up to him. “Any word?”

  “Nope. Any leads?”

  “Nope. Can you crack him?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got him off balance. But I’m stalling.”

  Max dropped his eyes to the pile of papers on Joy’s desk. He stepped around his desk and picked them up. “Is this the stuff Joy printed this morning?”

  Steele’s eyes locked onto Max’s. “Yep.”

  Max handed him half of the stack of paper. They sat at the desks opposite one another, flipping from page to page.

  Joy had to think like Draven. He would have prepared Asia to handle her. “After all this time, I can’t believe I still love Draven. You’re right, when he had his hands around my neck and squeezed, I’ve never known such pleasure. Why was I so scared before?”

  Asia sat across from her. “You’re weak-minded.”

  “I am!” Joy blubbered. “I’m so weak. But how…how did you get so strong?”

  “Draven helped me see that I had control. But I had to give him control too. You would never do that. It takes trust. I trust him. He trusts me. He left you alone with me, because he trusts me to kill you when it’s time.”

  Joy wanted to ask for the time, but she had to keep Asia off guard. Keep her talking. “No, Draven picked you because you were already strong. You killed before, didn’t you? Teach me. Please. I’m going to die anyway.”

  Asia beamed a smile wider than Joy had ever seen. Pavlov’s dog. Draven had trained her to feed off of praise for being smart and for her murderous tendencies. “We killed my mother. Me and my brother.”

  As Asia spoke, Joy tried to wrench her hands free. The rope abraded her wrists.

  “Our mother was an addict. She brought men home. They hurt my brother, Bo. They hurt me too. One day, I saw my mother take a packet of drugs when the guy left—she pimped us out for drugs. I was thirteen. I always thought she didn’t know. I’d tell her what happened, and she said it would be all right and not to tell anybody. Bo and I slept together, so they couldn’t get to us. That didn’t always work. Bo tried to stop them, and they’d hit him. One night, while we were lying there, I said, ‘I wish Mama would overdose.’”

  Joy loosened the ropes ever so slightly, but she couldn’t pull her hands free. “You spiked her drugs?”

  “Dealers sell heroin mixed with fentanyl. I stole Mama’s money. Said we needed food. We mixed the drugs Bo bought with Mama’s stuff.”

  “You watched her die, didn’t you? What was it like? I do like death.”

  Asia’s lips formed a smile. She sat in the chair facing Joy. Her eyes lit up.

  Joy had to stop struggling or Asia would see her.

  “I was afraid we’d be caught or that Mama would live and be mad.” Asia leaned in and whispered. “She smiled at first, like always when the drugs hit her system and made her forget. And then she started breathing funny, taking shallow breaths. She gasped. She told Bo to call 9-1-1. I got so close, I could see her eyes. Her pupils were like tiny dots. Her lips started to turn blue, and she just kept staring at me and making noises like she was sipping the air. Sip. Sip. Sip. And then she stopped sipping, and she stared at me. And I stared back. I felt nothing but relief. Bo said he was eighteen, and he could fend for himself, but they’d put me in a good foster home.”

  “And then Ted’s family protected you?”

  Asia jumped to her feet and spun around. Her eyes flared in rage. She grabbed the pitchfork and thrust it at Joy’s chest.

  Joy’s eyes flew open. Her mouth hung agape as she saw the prongs of the pitchfork stop millimeters from her chest.

  Asia threw the pitchfork aside. She knelt down and cocked her head, getting in Joy’s face. “Ted’s father visited me at night when he’d had too much to drink. The first time, I called Ted for help. Ted cracked the door open, looked right at me, and then he closed the door again, and went back to sleep. In the morning, I told Mrs. Hook. She slapped me and said that if I spread lies, she’d make sure social services placed me in a home for troubled kids. I used to meet Bo in the park. I told him, and he confronted Ted’s father, but the family put a restraining order on him.”

  Asia walked away. She mumbled to herself. “Smart. Be smart. Don’t talk to her. Don’t talk to her. One more hour. Prove you love me.”

  “You killed Ted, didn’t you? Asia, you killed Ted to get back at him?” Asia didn’t answer. One more hour. At least she knew how much time she had left. The sounds of nocturnal creatures and insects filled the space: chirps and rustling hay, probably a rodent somewhere. An owl screeched, ripping the fabric of what might be her last night.

  25

  Max stared at a piece of paper in his hands, read it, and set it aside. The room had cleared out except for the scant night crew and officers on patrol. The artificial lights gave the room an eerie, empty feel, like a nest after the birds had flown away or been killed by predators.

  Sitting at Joy’s desk, Steele moved from page to page. “What are we looking for, Max?”

  “Connections. These are the files of the seventy-three youths the judges sent to Blackmoor’s institute.”

  “Wasn’t he trying to help them turn their lives around?” asked Steele.

  “That’s the story, but Joy said he was discredited by a Dr. Hoffman, who was later killed. Evan Owens confessed to the crime.” Max didn’t care how long Blackmoor stewed. Luckily, he’d let Joy do all of the talking at the spa, so the man had nothing to go on to ascertain his intellectual prowess.

  “Bo Williams.” Max stood on his feet and read from the page in his hand. “Assigned to Dr. Draven Blackmoor’s institute. Their mother overdosed. His sister, Asia Williams, was placed in foster care with the Hook family. Bo was remanded to Blackmoor’s institute after threatening to kill the Hook family. He suggested that Mr. Hook had sexually abused Asia. At first, Asia said it was true, but she recanted after the social worker in charge told the judge that she’d been abused by the mother’s boyfriends, so she was probably making up the story.”

  “Crack him, Max. And I’ll give Riggs Asia Williams’ phone number.”

  “He likes trying to outsmart us—but he’s so damn arrogant, he can’t resist handing us clues. He thinks we’re too dumb see them.”
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  Max rushed back the interview room. He calmed himself down before heading in. Slow and dumb drove this guy nuts. Max whistled as he stepped into the room.

  Blackmoor had folded his arms on the table and his head rested on his hands, but he glanced up when he heard the whistle.

  “I don’t know about you,” said Max. “But that was worth the wait. No what I mean?”

  “Dear God, I do. How does Joy tolerate you as her partner? She’s got a Ph.D. Did you finish high school? You must have, but how?”

  “Like a greased pig, that’s how. Ever try to catch a greased…never mind. Squeaking through is still getting’ through. So let’s talk about some of these people you’ve worked with.”

  “I thought you said I could go?”

  “Nah, that was before you called me a dolt. I thought about that while I was busy, and that just twern’t nice—as my daddy would say.” Max ramped up the dialect, knowing it would fry Blackmoor’s nerves. “We like country hospitality around here. So, get cozy, doc, ‘cause Max King is extending his hospitality.”

  Draven Blackmoor rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’m recording a movie to watch for later. I won’t miss it no matter how long you keep me here.”

  “One of those documentaries?”

  “No, this one is a murder mystery.”

  Joy knew time was running out because Asia kept glancing at her watch. Asia set up her phone and a tablet on a card table. Those items didn’t fit in a barn, so she and Draven had brought them here. Why?

  It struck her with sudden horror. The hair on her arms stood up. Asia was going to record the murder and somehow stream it to Draven on the dark net.

  Joy struggled against the ropes, but they simply wouldn’t loosen any more. It was close, but she still could not wrench her wrists free. She watched the sack. At times it moved, at times it didn’t, but she knew Monty could breathe. The sack would probably keep her calm, as she had shelters in her enclosure where she could hide, and the sack acted as one.

  Asia stepped over to Joy. “It’s almost time. You’re going to be a star.”