Killing Season
Page 2
Ben stood watch, which gave him an excellent chance to look the girl over. She was working like a devil, layers of honey-blond silk covering her face as she scribbled furiously. Within a minute, her hand shot up. He walked over to her, and wordlessly, she handed him her paper. He said, “Uh, you got Z, but you need all three variables.”
“Right.” She snatched the paper from his hands.
A moment later, it was Manny Martinez’s turn. Ben was checking his work just as Lowen came back. “We have a winner.”
“Very good, Mr. Martinez, you’re off to a fine start,” he said. “You can record it, Vicks.”
As he opened the grade book, Ben’s eyes scanned down the list—twenty names with a clean slate where scores would soon be posted. Quickly he looked for Ro’s last name but couldn’t even find her first name. But that was an easy fix because the only name he didn’t recognize was Dorothy Majors.
Then he got it. Dorothy as in Do-ro-thy. Just as Lowen was giving out the homework assignment, Ben felt his phone vibrating. Checking the text, he felt light-headed—his heart thumping as he tried to stave off panic. Catching Lowen’s eye, he pointed to his watch while making a walking motion with his two fingers. The teacher waved him off and he raced out of the classroom.
He made it to his locker as his chest seized up. He debated making a quick call to Shanks, but decided it was a bad idea. This conversation needed a face-to-face. Whatever the results, the day was shit.
Open the locker, get the books out, and get out of here.
“Hi.”
Ben whipped his head around while balancing an armful of books. “Oh, hi.”
“I just thought I’d introduce myself.” She held out her hand. “Ro Majors.”
“Uh . . . Ben Vicksburg.” He shuffled his books so his right hand was free to shake hers.
“Vicksburg? Like in the Civil War battle?”
“Yeah, somewhere in my background is Rebel blood.” More shuffling of books. “Way down there, though. My family’s been here for five generations.”
“Whoa. That’s a long time to be in one place. You must have a lot of relatives around.”
“Uh . . . sure. Not all in northern New Mexico.” He was trying to find his English lit notebook. It seemed to have disappeared. “I’ve got relatives here. I’ve got a lot in Albuquerque, some in Durango, some in Roswell.”
“The Roswell?”
“The Roswell.”
“Have they seen any aliens?”
“Only when they look in the mirror.”
She smiled and said, “Do you have those big family reunions?”
Man, she asked a lot of questions. “Uh, yeah, every year around August twelfth . . . which is Santa Clara feast day.” Voilà, he found the notebook. His mind wasn’t on the conversation, but for once he made an attempt to be polite. Probably because he liked looking at her face. “You were that close to the answer.”
“Yeah, just a little slow.”
“Maybe next time.”
“He gives those five-pointers a lot?”
“Every week.”
“Okay. I’ll have to move quicker. I’m not bad in math, but I am deliberate.”
“Math requires deliberation. Patience is a good thing.” He stacked the books he didn’t need back in the locker. Shanks’s text was still burning in his brain. He had to get out of there.
“. . . you’re done with calc?” She was still talking to him.
“Yeah, a long time ago. I’m kind of a math nerd.”
“So I’ve heard.” He stared at her and she blushed. She said, “Not the nerd part, just that you’re a math brain.”
“Right.” A pause. “JD says hello, by the way.”
“When did you see JD?”
“In the lunchroom.” He closed his locker with a thud. “Just after you left with Shannon and Chelsea . . . who were no doubt giving you the skinny on me as well as everyone else in this little school.”
“Four hundred isn’t small. At least by private school standards.”
“Ah, you’re from private stock?”
“Scarsdale, New York.”
“What brings you here?” Why was he still talking to her?
“Parents. Not my idea, believe me. Who wants to leave high school in their senior year?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”
“Beyond bad. It took me two weeks to talk to them again. This is like the polar opposite of New York. I bet you know, like, everyone in the school.”
“Just about.” Ben shrugged. “JD gleefully told me that you two are an item.”
“That is true.”
“He’s a lucky guy.” Ben forced a smile. “Nice meeting you, Ro.”
“Are you coming to the kickoff game next Friday night?”
“Don’t think so.” Ben made a not-so-subtle glance at his wristwatch.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Kinda.”
“Sorry about all the questions. I’m a little nosy at times.”
“Nothing wrong with being curious. It’s just that I’ve got to meet . . .” A homicide detective. “Someone . . . it’s kinda important.”
“Then I won’t keep you.” She gave a nice smile, and waved.
Ben watched her walk away, her hips sashaying down the hall in a gait that said confidence. She and JD were well matched in that regard. Talking to her had momentarily calmed him down. As soon as she was gone, his heart started racing once again. He slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and jogged to his bike.
He was in too much of a hurry to even feel sorry for himself.
Chapter 2
Though small in population, River Remez was spread out, bleeding into hundreds of miles of flat earth, mountains, and riverbank. Streets were stuck in between the natural features, which made the town beautiful but not terribly efficient. Roads stopped and started, and housing developments meant three homes on one street and ten on another. Some had river views, some were perched atop the ridges, and some were right outside the plaza, which wasn’t much more than a square block of green space surrounded by tourist shops and the Hyatt Hotel. The real town shopping was on Sierra Road, an ugly strip of asphalt that had whatever people needed: Walmart, Lowe’s, Albertsons, Gap, Starbucks, Trader Joe’s, strip malls, and movie theaters.
Like Santa Fe, River Remez’s saving grace was the architecture. Almost everything was low rise and adobe style, which gave the town a uniform appearance. Even the police station was fashioned from the same brown stucco. It sat alone, a one-story office building across the street from a Rite Aid drugstore.
The parking lot of RRPD was half empty and so was the bike rack. Ben was so frazzled when he arrived that he hopped off his bike and just laid it on the sidewalk. Then he went back and locked the wheel to the rack.
Even small towns have theft problems.
As usual, Maria was behind the desk. In her midthirties, she was short and stocky with bobbed dark hair and brown eyes. Her uniform was always perfectly pressed. “Hey, Vicks.”
“Detective Shanks is expecting me.” Ben took off his backpack and handed it to her for inspection. “He just sent me a text.”
Maria gave the insides of the rucksack a nominal glance and handed it back. “Go ahead.”
Inside the door, Ben was in the sprawl of the River Remez PD. It was a small police station in a small town that was an offshoot of a slightly larger town. Since there was only one building, uniforms and plainclothes detectives shared a common space. Shanks was the senior detective and had his own office in the back.
As Ben passed desk after desk, he was greeted by name.
“Hi, Vicks.”
“Hey, Vicks.”
“What’s cooking, Vicks?”
“Hey, Vicks.”
Everyone avoided eye contact. Not good.
Ben knocked on Shanks’s door and then went in. Sam was on the phone but he motioned to take a seat. He also refused to make eye contact.
Shit. Really not good.
He got off the phone and spun his chair. When he didn’t talk right away, Ben said, “It’s not the Demon.”
“Vicks—”
“It is the Demon?” When Shanks paused, Ben said, “It’s not him. I know it’s not him. Just tell me, for God’s sake.”
“It’s not the Demon aka Billy Ray Barnes.” Shanks could barely contain his emotions—a mixture of disappointment, sadness, and fury. “I’m sorry.” Ben didn’t speak. “His DNA didn’t match . . .” An awkward pause. “What we found on your sister. Now it could be that he was working with someone else with your sister—”
“Her name is Ellen, and that’s ridiculous.”
“Sorry. Of course her name is Ellen. And don’t dismiss it so out of hand. We haven’t even begun to scratch the surface with Billy Ray Barnes. It’s still a possibility.”
“He didn’t kill Ellen,” Ben told him. “What about Katie Doogan?”
Shanks groaned out loud. “What about her?”
“Did her name come up with the Albuquerque PD?”
“Of course her name came up.”
“So, Albuquerque thinks that Billy Ray shithead murdered Katie Doogan?”
“Possibly, but without a body, we can’t make any assumptions.”
“I’ll make an assumption. He didn’t kill her either.”
“Ben—”
“He didn’t kill Katie and he didn’t kill Ellen. But the same person who murdered Ellen also murdered Katie. I’m going on record, telling you this right now, right here, and I don’t care what the Albuquerque PD or the FBI or the CIA or VICON or any other initialed suit has to say.”
Shanks said, “I know that you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m just mad that I got sucked into believing what I knew wasn’t true.”
“There are differences,” Shanks said. “Maybe I should have seen it coming. Ellen’s case happened way farther north of where Barnes worked. So it makes sense that he didn’t murd—”
“That’s not what you said at the time, Sam.”
“Ben—”
“You sat right there and I sat right here, where we are right now. And when the whole Demon/Billy Ray Barnes story broke, you told me that you and everyone else were ninety-nine percent sure that the Demon murdered Ellen, and I said to you, ‘No, you’re wrong,’ and then you said to me, ‘Ben, it looks like it’s over.’ And I said to you, ‘I hope it’s over, but I don’t think it’s over.’ And then you said to me, ‘Ben, there’s no sense in prolonging this whole thing if it’s over,’ a statement that I found very offensive—”
“I apologize—”
“And then I told you I have no stake in being right or wrong. Just that I know what makes sense and what doesn’t make sense. And this didn’t make sense!”
“You know, Ben, I almost didn’t tell you because I knew this was going to happen.”
“What was going to happen?”
“That you would say ‘I told you so,’ and frankly I didn’t want to hear it because now I still have a three-year-old open murder case that I’m absolutely sick about. So I apologize to you if I don’t have time for your gloating.”
“I’m not gloating! I wish to God I was wrong. But I knew I wasn’t.”
“Fine, Vicks. Go to the academy and I’ll be the first one to recommend you for homicide detail. You’re plainly smarter than anyone else on the force or in the state police.”
“I’m gonna go home now.”
“Sit.” Shanks put his hand on the kid’s arm. His eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry I can’t do better. And I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I meant it when I said you’re smarter than me and everyone else. That’s just a plain fact. No disrespect meant.”
Ben looked away. “He didn’t do Katie Doogan either.”
“Let’s look at it logically,” Shanks said. “Unlike Ellen, Katie lived in Albuquerque. That was Barnes territory. APD has him on four murders down south.”
“I don’t care what other murders he did. He didn’t kill Katie Doogan. And when they find the body, you’ll see that I’m right.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Barnes’s other victims were older women—”
“One was nineteen.”
“My sister and Katie were sixteen. Besides, the nineteen-year-old was hooking. The Demon’s victims were prostitutes or transients or women who were skunk-drunk and made terrible decisions. That wasn’t my sister, that wasn’t Katie.”
“Psychos can be opportunistic—”
“Barnes worked at night, both Ellen and Katie were abducted during the day.”
“Vicks—”
“And the way the other bodies were positioned . . . that wasn’t my sister.”
“Your sister wasn’t staged.”
“That’s exactly it, Shanks. She wasn’t staged. She was dumped in a grave, and a deep grave. Someone planned it out. It took a while to dig a hole that deep. It was not like the Demon, who really was opportunistic. None of the Demon girls were buried. They were dumped but not buried.”
Ben stood and started pacing in the small office.
“I know not all killings by the same murderer are identical. Sometimes killers change depending on the situation. But Ellen’s was clearly planned. Stalked. I just know it. I’m a math head, Shanks. I see patterns, and Ellen’s didn’t fit the Demon. Not to mention that physical resemblance between my sister and Katie—same age, same height, dark hair, dark complexion for Caucasians: Katie’s Black Irish and Ellen had more Indian in her than either Haley or myself. And when you find Katie’s body, you’ll see I’m right.”
“Sit down, Vicks, you’re making me nervous.” Ben stopped pacing and finally sat. Shanks said, “I’m listening very carefully to what you’re saying. And like always, if you have any ideas, I’m open.”
Ben threw back his head and exhaled. “God, I’m tired.”
“I know you are.”
Then he sat up. “Did you tell my parents yet?”
“My next phone call.”
“It’s going to be horrible at home. Reliving it all over.”
Shanks softened his voice. “What can I do for you now, Vicks? Want to go out for coffee?”
“No.” Ben looked up. “No, thanks . . . but if you want to do something for me, let me see the file.”
“No.”
“Why not? Because you’re not feeling kindly toward me?”
“Vicks, c’mon. I see you more than I do my own daughters.”
“Much to your chagrin.”
“If I didn’t like you, I’d tune you out. But I do like you. I’d adopt you if you didn’t have two wonderful parents. I care about your welfare. Why do you keep torturing yourself?”
“It’s what I need to do.”
“What you need to do is be a teenager, Ben. Chase girls, drink vodka, smoke a little weed . . . God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“I want to look at the file.”
“Just sit back and close your eyes. I’m sure you know it by heart.”
“I like to read it. I like to see the print because every time I see it, I see something different—not necessarily new but different. That’s what I do. I’m relentless so you don’t have to be.”
“Now who’s insulting who? You know Ellen has been my priority one since that day.”
“You said I was gloating.”
“You’re right. That was terrible. I’m very sorry.”
“And I’m sorry for maligning your diligence. But I still want t
o see the file.”
The usual pause before Shanks would cave. He was, above all, a good guy. He said, “I’ll pull it, but first you need to get me some coffee.”
“Done.”
Shanks handed him two mugs. “Get yourself some coffee too. As long as you’re going to hang around, we might as well make it official. Happy birthday.”
Ben’s birthday had been almost a month ago on July 31—same as Harry Potter. He had turned that nothing age of seventeen. Shanks had taken the time to remember. “Thank you.” He managed a small smile. “Thanks a lot.”
“Stop staring and get me coffee. I’m losing my caffeine high and you’re making it worse. And make a fresh pot.”
After being the errand boy, Ben was finally rewarded with his sister’s files: boxes of them, well worn and dog-eared, his sister’s homicide recorded in notes, pictures, and futility. There were some words that were always the hardest to digest: manually strangled and sexually assaulted.
His sister—his flesh and blood—broken down into organs, flesh, and bones by the autopsy report, the pictures taken postmortem. Snapshots were also taken at the grave although the body was unrecognizable as Ellen. In any big city, there would have been no way Ben could have gotten access to privileged material. But this was River Remez—a small town.
He read until his eyes gave out and it was clear that Shanks was waiting to go home. Slowly, he returned the files he had read back to the boxes. Shanks stowed them away and got up. “You need a lift?”
“I have my bike.”
“I have a bike rack. It’s getting dark.”
“There’s enough sunlight to get me home. But thanks.” Ben paused. “Did you tell my parents?”
“I called your mom. You were too busy reading to notice that I left the room.”
“That sounds like me.” The two of them walked outside. The sun was still above the horizon, but not by much. Ben sighed. “Okay, then.”