House of V

by Raen Smith

  “Don’t worry,” he quickly replied with a raise of his eyebrows. “Chief Sanchez told me you were going to be there.”

  I shot a glance at Sanchez who flashed a quick shrug of the shoulders then turned his attention back to his own folder of papers.

  “We’re going to keep an eye on you, if that’s all right,” Agent Allen said, putting the paper down. He wasn’t asking for my permission, he was simply letting me know. It was a warning that I was under his observant eye; the watcher had become the watched. I was being hunted from all directions.

  “Officer Hobart, you can go.” Sanchez turned toward Hobart, who was leaned against the counter with his lids half-closed. “I’ll need you tonight. We’ll have details at the department later today. In the meantime, get some sleep so you’re ready later.”

  Hobart nodded his head and walked through the door, leaving Agent Allen and Sanchez to stare at me. They looked at me as if they were expecting me to turn and run out the door. Or to pull a gun from my hip. Or shoot fire from my mouth. To their surprise or maybe disappointment, I did none of these. Instead, I returned the stare, and waited for more information. Agent Allen finally cleared his throat and filled the silence as he pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase.

  “Here’s what we have on Vigilante League and Jeremy George,” he started as he handed Sanchez and me a packet. He stopped at Delaney, hesitating before Sanchez nodded his head. Delaney took the papers and flipped through them as James stood behind her.

  “Jeremy George is a Caucasian male, thirty-two, born and raised in Appleton, Wisconsin. Child of Rebecca and Richard George. He works as an IT Analyst at a manufacturing facility just outside of Appleton in Neenah. Single. Never married. No kids. Lives alone in a house he purchased a little over two years ago.” Agent Allen paused as we looked at the pictures of Jeremy taken from last night. “Graduate of the University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh. Never lived out of state. Hobbies are gaming and the Vigilante League from what we can tell. He is the head of the Holston Parker Chapter of their club. No criminal record other than the typical underage drinking ticket in college. Drives a blue Passat. Listens to hard punk music, whatever that is. And frequents Starbucks.

  “If you turn to the next several pages in the back, you’ll see some print outs from the website of the Vigilante League. We found this website a few months ago and have been monitoring it occasionally. We picked the surveillance back up when Sanchez called about Fred Sullivan three days ago. The club has not violated any laws or committed any crimes that we know of. We are doing background checks of all the members as we speak. It’s come to our attention that there will be a convention tonight, the whereabouts are unknown, unless, Ms. Parker, you have information to share with me.” Agent Allen paused again to eye me.

  “N874 Hwy 54, Amberg. Nine p.m. They’ve asked me to come as a guest of honor,” I replied with a small grin. I was good for something. Agent Allen would come to learn that he needed me more than he thought. “I am happy to fulfill that request.”

  “N874 Hwy 54,” Agent Allen repeated. “The house…”

  “Where I killed Holston,” I finished.

  “In self-defense,” James added quickly from behind Delaney.

  “In self-defense,” I repeated before I added, “I don’t think Jeremy George has Sister Josephine.”

  “We don’t think so, either,” Agent Allen agreed. “And it’s highly unlikely that he killed Fred Sullivan. There are no indicators that he’s a suspect of interest.”

  As Agent Allen finished his words, a ring echoed through the kitchen, each of us looking at each other to locate the cell phone’s owner. Sanchez looked down and pulled his ringing phone to his ear.

  “Sanchez.” He paused, nodding his head slowly as he looked directly at me. I swore I could have seen the lines around his eyes deepen. “Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “There was a note on the front steps of the police station this morning. An officer found it when she came into work about fifteen minutes ago. She didn’t see anyone drop it off,” Sanchez said.

  “What did it say?” I interrupted.

  “Something to the effect that time is running out and that he knows you’re here,” Sanchez answered, looking right at me. I felt everyone’s eyes turn toward me.

  I was the problem. I’ve always been the problem.

  “Do you think she’s still alive?” Delaney asked. “She could be dead, and we wouldn’t even know it.”

  “The note had Sister Josephine’s signature on it, or what they believe to be her signature on it. And dated,” Sanchez answered before adding slowly, “And there was a video with the note.”

  “A video of Sister Josephine alive?” I asked. “He could have had her sign and date that note days ago. The video could have been shot at the same time.”

  “We won’t know the details until we watch that video,” Sanchez said as he lifted his phone. “I don’t want the department to send the video over the unsecured connection, so we’ll have to go to the station to see it. All I know is that there is a verified date and that she seems to be doing fine, given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” I demanded. “They watched it already?”

  “We’ll find out when we get there,” Agent Allen replied. “Let’s go over the details that I have here first before we head back to the department.”

  “Do you have someone else that you’re targeting?” I asked as I scanned through the papers Agent Allen had given me. I stopped on the last sheet of paper; it was a picture of me from the website.

  “Nothing solid yet, but we’re running through the names, as I said, on the league roster, but there’s about forty of them. And we’re re-checking the names on the list that Holston Parker had. We ran a check earlier in the year. Out of the seven on the list, three are now deceased. Two died of natural causes. The third is Fred Sullivan. That leaves us with four individuals. And if we discount you,” Agent Allen said carefully, “that leaves us with three targeted individuals.”

  “David Cross, Jeff Harris and Larry Griffin,” Sanchez said. “But there is a Larry Griffin incarcerated in Wyoming and he has been for the last decade. So we’re left with Cross and Harris.”

  “The last names don’t ring a bell to me,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you have pictures of them?”

  “Not exactly,” Sanchez started

  “Because you can’t narrow down which Cross and Harris he was looking for,” I finished.

  “You got it,” Sanchez said. “But we’re still searching criminal records for both names and pulling as much information as we can.”

  “The problem is that both Cross and Harris might have never been arrested,” Agent Allen added. “Additionally, although we first started searching in this geographic area, they also might not be in Wisconsin. From what we know now, not all of Holston Parker’s victims were from this area. He killed several drifters as well. The list doesn’t exactly tell us enough information to actually find the targets.”

  “The TBK list,” I whispered. I was on that list. My heart beat underneath the fabric of Delaney’s borrowed dress that hung on me like a little girl’s dress-up outfit.

  “Excuse me?” Agent Allen asked.

  “The to-be-killed list,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m on that list. And there are only three of us left. And if the killer is on that list, it only makes two of us left.”

  “Only more motivation to find the perpetrator before he finds you,” Agent Allen replied.

  As much as I hated his little glasses and his freshly pressed khakis and perfectly buttoned shirt and his scathing revelation, I knew Agent Allen was on to something. Dead on.

  15

  June 20, 8:30 a.m.

  Appleton, Wisconsin

  I walked into the station flanked by Agent Allen and Sanchez amid the stares of the uniformed police officers and staff at the building. Despite Sanchez’s wish to keep me out of the station, he didn’t have a choice in bringing me here
to view the video of Sister Josephine. The decision to use me as an informant had not been a unanimous one across the department, however I was lucky - I think anyway - that Sanchez had the final say in the decision. Delaney and James had followed the recommendation of Sanchez to stay back on this visit.

  We entered a room where a flat screen was hooked up to a laptop. Three officers surrounded the TV while a fourth was bent over the laptop. They argued and pointed as a woman’s face remained frozen on the screen. The pang in my stomach radiated as I immediately recognized the face as Sister Josephine’s. All four officers stopped and turned to us as we entered the room. The stares had become all too familiar in the past twenty-four hours. I wasn’t sure if it was because I had a warrant out for my arrest or because I had killed Holston Parker. I somehow doubted the head-turning was about the arrest. I longed for the anonymity of Norway.

  “Peterson, let’s play it from the beginning,” Sanchez shot an order to the man bent over the laptop. He nodded his head and fumbled his fingers along the keyboard. The other three officers didn’t move.

  “How long is it?” Agent Allen asked.

  “Two minutes,” the officer behind the laptop answered.

  “Were you able to pull any prints off the disc?” Sanchez asked.

  “It was crystal clean. I found it on the front steps of the main entrance to the building,” a female officer standing next to the TV answered. Her last name was Horton, according to the nametag on her chest.

  “Did you check the surveillance cameras?” Sanchez asked. “They should have something.”

  “They do have something, but that something didn’t show our suspect,” she replied. “He paid some kid fifty bucks to drop the disc on the steps.”

  “Where’s the kid?” Sanchez asked, staring at all the officers.

  “In the room next door with his mom. He’s only twelve,” Horton replied. “He’s pretty shaken up. The man was wearing a ski mask.”

  “And no one saw him wearing a ski mask in the dead of summer?” Sanchez put his hands on his hips.

  The four officers shook their heads.

  “Shit,” Sanchez cursed as he turned his attention to the TV still not playing the video. “Well, he has to have Sister Josephine somewhere close to Appleton if he dropped off the video himself. Where’s the note?”

  “Over here.” Horton pointed to a plastic bag taped on the wall next to the TV.

  All three of us moved forward, reading the note.

  The time is ticking, I know she’s there. Give her up before Sister Josephine has to get hurt. Evie Parker will get what she deserves. I’ll solve the problem for you.

  Me. I was the problem that needed solving. If I was dead, no one had to worry about me anymore.

  “Why the video and the note?” I asked. “Why not one or the other?”

  “Seems like the note might be an after-thought,” Officer Horton replied. “He just threw it in there to add to the intensity.”

  “Or he’s shaken. Angry that we’re not finding him,” Sanchez said. “What is he going to do if we don’t find him? Maybe he’s not willing to carry out his plan. He isn’t exactly giving us many clues to help us find him. Any prints on the note?”

  “Nothing we could find,” Horton replied. “But there was some residue on the paper that the lab is running right now.”

  “Can I see it?” I asked as I looked closer at the note inside the bag.

  “Anybody have gloves?” Sanchez asked.

  “Here.” Horton handed me a pair of plastic gloves from the back of her pocket.

  I slipped them on and pulled the plastic seal apart gingerly. I retrieved the note and studied the handwriting. The top of the paper was torn just like the other notes. I ran my finger along the edge before I turned it around carefully. I held it up into the light when I noticed a small mark on the upper right hand corner that had been meticulously erased.

  “What is this?” I asked pointing to the paper. I felt Sanchez looking over my shoulder.

  “It looks like the letter C,” Sanchez replied.

  “Definitely a C,” Agent Allen confirmed on the other side of me.

  “That’s what I thought. It looks like it is purposeful. That it was meant to be there,” I said. My voice was just a whisper now, “The letter C.”

  “Get the lab to zoom in on this. And get the other notes to check the backs of those as well,” Sanchez ordered, pointing to the note. “We’ll have to determine the significance of that C.”

  I placed the note back in the bag and handed it to one of the officers who left the room with it. The letter C. It had no significance in my mind.

  As my mind wandered, I looked to the massive whiteboard next to the TV that had a picture of Sister Josephine and Father Haskens posted on it. Red lines and notes were plastered around the board. I spotted another picture, this one was of Holston. It took all of my strength not to pull the picture down and tear it into a million little pieces. There was a picture of Fred Sullivan’s lifeless body and picture of the TBK list with his name circled in red. The other names on the list, not including my own, were written in red marker on the side of the board with the words “find and warn”. Next to it was the word suspects with a question mark.

  I followed an arrow down to the edge of the board that contained another picture. I squinted, looking closer to see that it was a headshot of me. The word “wanted” was next to my face. Being wanted was really starting to cramp my style. I had never been wanted before and now that I was, there’d been nothing except trouble. I decided that I didn’t want to be wanted anymore.

  “Tactical information,” Sanchez said as he caught me staring at my picture. “Whoever captured Sister Josephine wants you instead. We’re just trying to put the pieces together.”

  “Sure.” I nodded my head and focused my attention back on the TV.

  As Sister Josephine’s face appeared in the dim light, the sharp intake of oxygen caught in my throat. The vulnerability of Sister Josephine so clearly displayed on the screen settled into the pit of my stomach. She squinted and ducked her head as a light was shone directly into her eyes. The light settled down, now being aimed on her body, and she was able to pull up her face.

  The camera shook before it regained focus and steadied on Sister Josephine. She was seated on a log, her arms and legs bound together with heavy chains. Surrounding her were heavy tree trunks and foliage. I examined the leaves and ground beneath Sister Josephine’s feet to see dampness all around her. They were in the woods somewhere, but that didn’t help us at all. Wisconsin was packed with acres upon acres of uninhabited forestry.

  Her face was sullen and dirty while her hair hung in small wisps across her face. As the camera zoomed in closer to her face, I spotted a red streak of blood that ran down the side of her cheek. He had hurt an innocent woman because of me. I dug my fingernails into my palms as I moved closer to the screen, staring at Sister Josephine’s amber eyes which were void of the joy and life that I remembered. They were dull and glazed over, as if she hadn’t slept in days. She was on day four of being missing.

  The room was silent as we all watched the scene unfold before us. Sister Josephine flinched as a man appeared next to her wearing a black ski mask and holding a newspaper. He moved the paper close up to the camera, the Appleton Post Crescent printed clearly across the front, and pointed to the date on the paper. June 20. Today’s date.

  “You have one more day to find me,” he said in a clear and steady voice as he held up one finger. “I want Evie Parker in one day. Otherwise...” He paused, stepping back away from the camera, and dropped the paper to the ground. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out the beads dangling from his neck. It was a rosary, one that I remembered so well. It was Sister Josephine’s rosary.

  “…Sister Josephine over here will be meeting the God she has been praying to for so many years.” He walked over to Sister Josephine and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She screamed out in pain, unable to defend herself as she sat
bound on the log.

  I stepped closer to the screen. Sanchez’s arm shot out, pressing me lightly against the shoulders, to prevent me from moving any closer. I wanted to rip the man out of the screen and pummel him. I needed to meet the man who was responsible for hurting Sister Josephine - the man who wanted to get revenge on me.

  “I want Evie Parker. Alive. I know she’s back,” he continued. “I’ll give you one more day to find me, Evie. One more day until Sister Josephine’s blood is on your hands. You have until noon on June 21 to show your face to me. You’ll come to me alone.”

  He held one finger out again.

  “Evie, don’t,” Sister Josephine cried out from behind him. “Don’t you come looking for me. Don’t you dare put yourself at risk-”

  But Sister Josephine was cut short as the man stepped toward her and struck her face with the back of his hand. The smacking sound stung in my head as the room around me began to spin. Sister Josephine cried out again, this time in pain as she hung her head in silence.

  “There’s plenty more where that came from unless you find me, Evie. Show me how smart you really are. I’ll be waiting for you.” His hand reached out to shut off the camera and the screen went black.

  The room was silent.

  The rage overcame me and I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’ll find you, you sick bastard!” I yelled and pointed at the empty screen as Sanchez held me back.

  Before I knew it, Sanchez shoved me in a chair that suddenly appeared behind me. He motioned to the officers and Agent Allen standing around me. “Give us a couple minutes.”

  Sanchez grabbed another chair and sat it directly across from me, just a few feet away. He slid into the chair and leaned toward me, his elbows against his knees.

  “Evie,” he started.

  But I knew where he was going, what he was going to say to try to cool me down. He was going to tell me that we were in a good position. That we had one more day to find her and that she was alive and well. That we would find her no matter what. That he couldn’t have me blowing up every time something happened. It wasn’t going to work, though. I couldn’t sit by and watch Sister Josephine get tortured because this guy that I had no clue or inkling about wanted me.