“I see. So, how can the school help?”
“Do you mind asking the school counselor to join us? Maybe she’ll know some names of Jason’s or Cullen’s friends. Their information could possibly help us with identifying the third boy.”
“I make a point of knowing every student in this school, in at least some capacity. Jason didn’t have many friends, but I do know his closest friend was Cody Sumner.”
“Really?” That bit of information was worth jotting down. “What else do you know about Cody and Jason?”
“They have a few classes together.” The principal pulled up their class schedules on her computer. “They have Physical Education, Science, and Mathematics together.”
I thought about the mud on Cody’s bedroom floor. Had he been at the cemetery? Maybe he got away, and the killer—or animal, to humor Don Luther’s theory—followed him home. If an animal had, in fact, killed those boys, how had Cody escaped injury? If it was a homicide, and these cases coincided with each other, why follow Cody home, kill his parents, and then leave him alive?
“Detective Sanders?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “Do you know if either Jason or Cody knew Cullen Chandler?”
“I believe they both did. Very well, actually.” She leaned back in her chair and studied me with curious eyes.
“Were they friends?”
“Not at all. Cullen had somewhat of a negative reputation.” The principal shifted her weight, and added, “He’s had quite a few visits to my office for bullying other kids, including Jason and Cody. Most recently, I had to reprimand Cullen and another student for giving them a swirly. That’s when they stick your head in a toilet bowl, and then—”
“Yeah, I know. I had my fair share of swirlies when I was in school.”
“This was not the first time Cody and Cullen had complications with one another.” The principal explained that Cullen had pushed Cody against a locker, hard enough for him to hit his head and temporarily lose consciousness. “I suspended Cullen a week for that incident.”
“So, they didn’t get along.” I made a note of the frequent bullying and entertained the thought of retaliation, but then I considered
Cody’s size and the condition of the bodies. No way. Not a chance.
“And Cullen’s bullying sidekick? What’s his name?”
“Jacob Smith.”
“Smith?” I repeated. “Cullen’s father mentioned that Jason was supposed to be staying with a friend. Said his last name was Smith.”
“I highly doubt that it was the same Smith,” Principal Whitmore stated with confidence.
“I didn’t see him marked on the attendance log. Did Jacob report to school yesterday?”
Principal Whitmore checked her computer. “Yes. He has perfect attendance.”
I didn’t want the boy dead, but if Jacob hadn’t reported to class, then at least I’d have had a chance of identifying my John Doe.
“I’d like to speak with Jacob. Could you pull him out of class for me?”
The principal glanced at her watch. “I can have him summoned at the end of this period. I will, however, need to contact his parents before you can speak with him.”
“I understand. Gotta play by the book.”
The principal sent an instant message to Jacob’s teacher and then pulled up his file. She then called the boy’s father and explained the situation. After a few “uh-huhs,” she thanked the man and hung up the phone.
“His father wants to be here when you question Jacob. He also wanted me to tell you that he and Cullen’s father know each other. He just found out about Cullen’s death. He wants to help out in any way he can.”
We waited twenty minutes for Jacob’s father to arrive. Mr. Smith expressed how shocking it was to him when Kenneth Chandler had shared the news with him about Cullen. I thanked him for letting me speak to his son, and asked if he and his wife were currently taking care of any of Jacob’s friends. “No, sir,” he said. “Why do ask?”
“Jason Dexter’s father is out of the country. I received information that Jason was staying with some friends while his father was away on business. We’re trying to identify another boy, and since Cullen and Jason knew each other, I’m assuming the third victim was a friend of one or both of them.”
“Wouldn’t the parents have reported him missing by now?”
“That’s what has me concerned. We have no reports of missing children in the area.”
Someone knocked on the office door. Principal Whitmore got up and let a boy with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a face full of freckles, inside. When he saw his dad and the badge clipped to my belt, his face grew pale. “Oh, shit.”
“Jacob!” the principal reprimanded. “Language!”
“Have a seat, Jacob.” I pointed to a chair positioned at the edge of the principal’s desk, facing me. Considering the boy’s reaction when he’d walked in, I asked, “Is there something you need to tell us?”
“I didn’t do nuthin’. It was Cullen!” Jacob directed his statement to his dad. “I told him not to do it! But I didn’t do nuthin’!”
“Calm down, Jacob,” I said. “What’re you talking about? What did you tell Cullen not to do?”
“Egg that geek Jason’s house. Cullen wanted me and a buncha other dudes to go over there this weekend. But I told him I wasn’t gonna do it. I’ve been in enough trouble. Told him, one of these days, all this shit’s gonna bite him in the ass.”
“I will not tell you again, Jacob,” Principal Whitmore warned, her words coming out in short, serious clips. “Watch your language.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. Just pissed—I mean ticked off. Every time Cullen does somethin’ stupid, I get busted with him. I ain’t doing it no more. I’m done with that jerk. He don’t treat me any better than them geeks he makes me pick on, anyways.” He shook his head. “Jerk didn’t even show up for school. He owes me ten bucks!”
I raised my eyebrows at the boy. “Are you done?”
Frowning, Jacob nodded and then crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m not here about egging somebody’s house. I’d like to know about your relationship with Jason Dexter.”
“Relationship?” Jacob laughed. “I ain’t got no relationship with him. He’s a total geek. Always hanging out with that other dweeb Cody. They’re both a coupla squares. Surprised they have any friends at all. Heck, summa the other geeks won’t even sit with ’em in the cafeteria.”
“Do you know who Cody and Jason hang out with?”
Jacob furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“Just answer his question, Jacob,” the boy’s father said.
“Okay, okay. Geesh! Uh… Peter Stassney, Michael Hernandez, Austin Smith… but Austin’s not really—”
“Austin Smith?” I glanced at the principal, who then retrieved the boy’s record on her computer.
“Yeah, what I said.”
“Any relation to you?”
“No way! He’s a bigger geek than Cody. Can’t believe he’s Jackson’s brother.”
“Jackson?”
“Yeah, Jackson Smith. Plays varsity football. Only a ninth grader, too.”
“Do you know which high school Jackson goes to?”
“Yeah, Crockett. That’s where I’m going next year.”
“Not if you continue failing classes,” Principal Whitmore stressed.
“Pft!”
I stood, and the other adults followed suit. Jacob remained seated and looked around at all of us. “That’s it?”
I extended my hand to the boy. “You’ve been very helpful, Jacob.”
“Cool!” Jacob said, while he shook my hand. “So, I ain’t in trouble?” I formed half a smile and confirmed, “No, Jacob. Not this time. But I suggest you listen to your principal and get those grades up if you want to wear a Cougar jersey.”
“How’d you know I wanna play high school sports?”
“Pretty obvious, kid.” I opened the office door and pointe
d my right thumb towards the lobby. “Back to class.”
“Yes sir.” Jacob smiled while he got up, and then said to his father, “See you after school, Dad.”
Principal Whitmore shut the door and said, “This is the first time I have ever had Jacob in my office without him being in trouble.”
I grinned. “Yeah, well I had my own share of paddle meetings when I was a kid.”
Principal Whitmore confessed to her own disciplinary grade school meetings, and in a polite and respectful tone of voice, Jacob’s father asked if he could help us with anything else.
“No, you’ve already been very helpful.” I handed the man my business card. “Under the circumstances, I’m glad your son wasn’t with Cullen this weekend.”
He breathed out a sigh of relief and thanked me. Then he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to Jacob.”
“Perhaps you should let the school counselor take care of that,” Principal Whitmore suggested.
Mr. Smith nodded in agreement and then exited the office.
“So, what’s that computer say about Austin?” I asked the principal. “Has he reported to school?”
“I show he’s been out sick since Wednesday of last week.”
Principal Whitmore wrote down the parents’ contact information on a memo pad, then tore off the top sheet and handed it to me.
“Thank you, Principal Whitmore.” I slipped the memo into my pocket and handed her my card. “You’ve been extremely helpful. Please call me if you have any further information you think might be useful.”
“Glad I could help, Mr. Sanders. And do not hesitate to call me if you need anything else.”
As I left the building and headed towards the parking lot, I retrieved the principal’s memo from my pocket and entered Robert Smith’s contact information into my phone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Missing Persons
My calls to Robert Smith’s cell phone and work numbers went straight to voicemail. According to the information Principal Whitmore gave me, his wife Dana was a homemaker, so I figured she’d be home taking care of Jackson’s little brother.
Located a few miles south of Austin, the Smiths’ country style home was secluded but still visible from the highway. It was a nice two-story home, with gray vinyl siding and a wraparound covered porch, highlighted with white railings. A well-maintained dark gravel road led up to the house and widened up to a detached two-car garage.
I took in the scenery and considered my own plans for moving out to the country to live in a nice house like that one day. I relished the idea of getting away from the city and enjoying the country life, with acres of land and horses to ride, on the weekends. The Smiths apparently owned two beautiful black horses; one of them trotted up to a rugged wood and barbed wire fence near the driveway.
It snorted, as if calling for my attention. The other horse ignored me and continued grazing. With official business to take care of, I resisted the temptation to pet the animal. Maybe later.
I made my way along the stone pathway and up a few wide white steps to the front porch. Someone had left the front door cracked open. I rang the doorbell and waited a minute before tapping on the door and opening it further.
“Hello? Austin Police. Anyone home?” I felt an eerie sense of anxiety that made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up. I knocked on the door and identified myself again. No answer. As I eased my way into the foyer, I released the clip on the holster carrying my Glock 17. With my hand over the gun, I entered the great room with sloping ceilings, which was off to my right. I called out again.
“Hello? Mrs. Smith? Austin?”
Receiving no response, I moved to the kitchen area. A staircase led up to the second floor from the breakfast nook. There was a stack of dishes in the kitchen sink and a kettle on the gas stove. I detected movement from the corner of my eye, and peered out the French doors that led to a covered porch and, beyond, the back yard. When I approached the door for a better view, I grinned, as a deer stepped up to a feeder to graze.
I watched the animal feed for a moment, and reflected on the fact that I had never had the pleasure of experiencing the tranquil sight of a deer wandering onto my yard like that. Yes, moving out to the county was a fine idea.
As I continued to search the house, I returned to the front foyer and moved down a hallway that led to two bedrooms, with a bathroom in between them. “Hello? Austin Police Department. Is there anybody home?”
Still no response. I checked each bedroom, beginning with the one at the front of the house. Posters of sport cars and football players lined the walls. The bed was unmade, but the room was relatively neat. I figured it must be Jackson’s room.
I moved down the hall towards the other bedroom, glancing in the bathroom as I passed it. The slightly smaller bedroom had a neatly made bed, with a periodic table of elements on the wall above the headboard. Classic books, ranging from Hemingway to Shakespeare, Mark Twain and Charles Dickens, filled two rows of shelves next to a wooden desk. A small entertainment system, along the wall across from the bed, housed a thirty-two-inch flat screen television, a DVD player, and an Xbox 360. An open, light green, plastic game case lay open on top of the video game console. I read the title on the instruction manual tucked inside: Bully. Interesting title for a game, I thought.
After scanning the bedroom, I went up the stairs that led to an office with another doorway leading to the master bedroom. The office had everything you’d expect in the room: bookshelves, filing cabinets, computer desk, printer, scanner and a wall-mounted high definition television.
I knocked on the door to the master bedroom and identified myself again. No answer. I found just another neatly organized bedroom. Where was everybody?
After checking the master bathroom and walk-in closet, I headed back downstairs. Two more deer joined the feeding in the backyard, as I made my way back to the great room. I rechecked the other bedrooms and the closets, just to confirm that the house was empty, before exiting the home. I heaved a sigh and nibbled my lower lip, a habit of mine that occurred when something puzzled me. I locked the front door before returning to my car.
As I opened the driver’s side door, I realized I hadn’t checked the garage. There were no windows, but there was a gap underneath the door. When I tugged on the door, it rolled up without resistance. Inside, I found a white Toyota Camry and a silver BMW sedan. I clicked on my portable flashlight and checked around the garage and inside each of the vehicles. Nothing unusual, aside from finding the family vehicles parked inside of the garage, with nobody home.
I had Dispatch run the plates on the vehicles for me and confirmed that Robert Edward Smith owned both of them. Neither he nor his wife had any other vehicles registered to them. I closed the garage door, and leaned against a fence post, while I called Robert Smith’s place of employment. One of the horses rubbed its snout against my shoulder. I petted the animal while waiting for someone to answer my call.
“Zeller Advertising Group. This is Elise. How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, Elise. I’m trying to reach Robert Smith. Is he in?”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Smith is out of the office today,” Elise informed me. “May I take a message?”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll transfer you to his voicemail.”
“Wait, don’t trans—”
“Please hold.”
Music played in my ear for a brief moment, and then the phone rang a couple of times, before Mr. Smith’s recorded voice informed me that he was away from his desk or on another call. I disconnected the call during his request for me to leave a message after the beep.
I tapped the phone against my palm while thinking about my next move. I opened up the web application on my phone and pulled up the number for Crockett High School.
“David Crockett High School. How may I assist you?”
“Good morning. This is Detective Aaron Sanders with the Austi
n Police Department. I was wondering if you could tell me if a student by the name of Jackson Davis Smith reported to school today.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m unable to release any information regarding students over the phone.”
“I understand, but I’m with the Austin Police Department.”
“You can fax us the proper request form with the Austin Police Department letterhead.”
“Ma’am, it’s very important that—”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it wouldn’t matter if you were the President of the United States,” the receptionist said. Her smile was betrayed by the tone of her voice. “We do not release information about our students over the phone.”
“I just need to confirm if he was at school today. That’s it.”
“And how am I supposed to know you’re not just some child molester fishing for information?” the receptionist said. “If you’re really a cop, you’d follow the correct procedures and fax in the correct forms.”
“All right, fine. You don’t have to be so damned rude about it.” I pinched the ridge of my nose. So much for shortcuts. “I’ll just go over there in person. You can make your confirmation then.”
“You do that, officer,” the receptionist said. She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Until then, I’ll wait for that fax.”
†
A lady, wearing too much makeup and her hair pulled tightly back, barely acknowledged my presence at the front counter of the high school office. Even after clearing my throat, she continued staring at her computer screen and tapping away on her keyboard.
I finally lost patience. “Excuse me. Can I get some help, please?”
“I’ll be with you in a minute, sir,” the woman addressed me, without the courtesy of eye contact.
There wasn’t anyone else in the office except a man repairing a copier at the back of the room. The lady continued working on her computer, and then answered an incoming phone call. She carried on with the conversation, which clearly had nothing to do with business. When she started talking about last week’s episode of Survivor, I cleared my throat again. Loudly.
Devil's Nightmare (Devil's Nightmare, Book 1) Page 3