Devil's Nightmare (Devil's Nightmare, Book 1)

by Pruneda, Robert

  “Excuse me? Are you going to assist me, or do I need to find your supervisor?”

  The clerk rolled her eyes a little. “I’ll have to call you back.

  There’s someone at the counter… Okay, I’ll talk to you later, hon.” She stood, and then approached me. “Can I help you?”

  It was then that I recognized the voice. I set my badge and identification on the counter. “I’m Detective Aaron Sanders with the Austin Police Department. I believe we spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Her smug tone of voice and overly lax posture gave me the impression that she had little interest in helping me, as if I had somehow inconvenienced her. “I also remember telling you that I couldn’t release any information without proper paperwork.” She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Did you bring a court order?”

  “To verify if a student showed up for school?”

  “The law is the law.” She stated as a matter of fact. “We cannot release any information to a third party without prior consent of the parents and child, or a court order. You should know that, officer.”

  “You should probably double-check your facts, because I actually don’t need a court order for something as simple as verifying a student’s presence in school. I’m not asking you to disclose confidential information. I just need to know if Jackson Smith is in class. It’s important.”

  The lady pursed her lips, huffed, and said, “Fine. Give me a minute.” She returned to her desk and searched for Jackson’s record.

  “He’s listed as absent today. He wasn’t in school yesterday, either.” Damn it, I thought. I had a feeling why.

  “May I speak with the principal?”

  “She’s attending a seminar.”

  “Then I’d like to speak with the vice principal.”

  “He’s in a meeting.”

  I forced myself to sound polite. “Do you mind letting the vice principal know that I would like to speak with him?”

  “Sir, I can set up an appointment for tomorrow, but I’m not going to interrupt his board meeting.”

  “Could you just interrupt the meeting, please? Or at least have him call me afterwards. Or do I need to get a court order for that too?”

  “I don’t care if you are a police officer,” she snipped at me. “If you don’t change your tone, I’ll be forced to report you for verbal abuse. And what’s so urgent that I need to interrupt a board meeting for, anyway?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that information.”

  “Well, then, Detective, you should understand my position regarding school records.”

  The gatekeeper from hell was getting me nowhere fast, so I tried a different angle. “Could you at least verify my credentials and let me see Jackson’s emergency contact information? Please?”

  “No, sir, I may not. All student records are confidential, and I cannot release any information from any student’s file without a subpoena from the court. Get your court order, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  I sighed in frustration. “All right. Fine. I’ll be back with your court order.”

  “Just following policy, Detective.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and said, “I’ll have your subpoena within the hour.”

  †

  It took two hours to get the subpoena. After the failed negotiation with the school secretary, it proved useless anyway. I had hoped to get additional emergency contact information, maybe for another of Jackson’s relatives, but the school only listed his parents. So, I was no closer to finding any of his family members than I had been, before I arrived.

  “Well, that was a total waste of my time,” I mumbled while leaving the building. My phone rang as I stepped into my car. It was Chief Hernandez.

  “Hey, boss. I didn’t get anything useful in those files.”

  “You tried,” he said. “I do have a bit of good news for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The crime lab just finished processing Cody Sumner’s clothing. The blood matched his parents’ blood.”

  “I kind of figured that much.” That was stating the obvious. I closed my eyes and rubbed my index finger and thumb over them.

  “Tell me the good news.”

  “They found traces of blood from three other sources. One of them unknown.”

  I opened my eyes. “And the other two? Do we have names?”

  “Jason Dexter and Cullen Chandler. I think our little orphan niño was at the cemetery when these boys died. Their blood was on his clothing.”

  “So, he must know who our John Doe is.” I fastened my seatbelt and slipped my car key in the ignition. “I need to talk to that kid. Which hospital is he at again?”

  “Brackenridge. I was wondering when you were going to pay him a visit.”

  “Sorry, this case is pulling me in all directions.” The chief laughed.

  “What?”

  “If you’d let me assign you a partner, it’d make your life a bit easier. Pero eres tan terco a veces.”

  “Hey, I may be stubborn at times, but you know my history with partners. It never ends well.”

  “You’re right, and I blame you for that, amigo.”

  “Ha. Ha. So, I’m not the chummy partner type. Anyway, let’s not head down that memory lane. What do you suggest we do about the Smiths? I got a bad vibe while I was there. Something’s not right.”

  “I’ll call the Sheriff’s Department. See about sending a small team over there to check it out.”

  “Ten-four. I’ll head back out there as soon as I can, but right now I need to see if I can get that kid to talk to me.”

  “Está bien. Let me know if he tells you anything useful. Oh, and no flirting with the nurses, Aaron. There’s a reason you’re single.”

  If the chief and I hadn’t already been friends for several years, I probably would have just ignored his comment, or even taken offense at it. I knew better though.

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “You suck at it.”

  There it was. Two failed marriages, and another relationship that I preferred to keep to myself, sometimes resulted in a less than stellar performance in the flirting arena. Or maybe they just didn’t understand me. Yeah, we’ll go with that.

  “Remind me again why we’ve been friends for so long?”

  He laughed. “You know you love me, hermano. Now get back to work.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  I twisted the ignition key and the ‘Vette’s 350 cubic inch, eight cylinder engine roared to life. Before putting the car into gear, I contacted a friend of mine.

  “Hey, Gene. It’s Aaron. I know it’s a bit out of my comfort zone, but I need your help with something.”

  †

  Gene and I approached the nurse’s station on the sixth floor of Brackenridge Hospital a quarter after six in the evening. I didn’t like visiting hospitals, on a professional or personal level. They tended to bring back old memories that I preferred to keep buried. Hospital visits made me think of my own near-death experiences, after getting shot in the line of duty. But what bothered me most was how they reminded me of my parents… and my former partner.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” A black heavyset nurse greeted us, her warm smile easing me back from my negative thoughts of the environment.

  I showed the nurse my badge and identification. “I’m with APD. Could you direct me to Cody Sumner’s room?”

  “You must be Detective Sanders. I’ve been expecting you.” She stepped around the counter. “I’m Pamela Houston, head nurse on this wing.” She placed her hand on my back and gently guided me down the first hallway to the left. “Poor thing hasn’t spoken a word since he’s been here. Mm-Mm-Mm. Can’t imagine what’s going through that little boy’s head. Just awful.”

  “Yeah… it is.”

  The nurse pointed to the last door on the left, outside of which a police officer sat in a metal folding chair reading a magazine. “That’s his room
right there. What’s that police officer doing there, anyway?”

  “It’s for the boy’s protection,” I explained.

  “Protection? We have our own security, you know. And Lord knows, that cop ain’t been doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ on his blessed assurance reading huntin’ magazines. Waste of tax dollars, if you ask me.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Houston,” I said, smiling.

  “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  Mrs. Houston’s face twisted into a grimace. “Mmm-hmm.” She scanned me up and down, and then flipped around on the heel of her shoes and went back to the nurse’s station.

  “Has he spoken to anyone?” I asked the officer.

  “One of the boys from the crime lab tried talking to him. Kid just clammed up.” The officer nodded towards the room. “He’s watching cartoons right now.”

  A ghost chased Scooby-Doo and The Mystery, Inc. gang on the television screen mounted on the wall across from Cody’s bed. I couldn’t help grinning. My mom and I used to watch the cartoon together every afternoon when I got home from school. I’d even had one of those metal Scooby-Doo lunch boxes and a matching backpack.

  “That’s a great cartoon,” I said, thinking about how much I missed my mother. “One of my favorites.”

  Cody continued watching the cartoon without acknowledging my presence.

  “Anyway, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Detective Sanders. And this is my friend Gene Bukowski.” I motioned for Gene to step inside. “He’s a psychologist. You know, in case… um… you want to talk to someone.” Gene glanced away and rubbed his earlobe. “I’ve been working around the clock trying to catch the person that hurt your parents… and your friend Jason Dexter.”

  Cody breathed a heavy sigh and shifted his eyes towards me, but then he focused his attention back on the television screen. I pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Gene observed from the door.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Cody.” I scratched the side of my neck, struggling to say something encouraging. “You and… um… you and Jason were pretty good friends, huh? And your friend Cullen Chandler—”

  Cody raised the volume on the television and glanced at me with disdain in his eyes.

  “He wasn’t your friend? What about the other boy that was with you?”

  Cody frowned, his lips quivering.

  “What was his name? Jared? Justin?” I pretended to struggle to remember Jackson’s name.

  A tear rolled down Cody’s cheek.

  “Cody, I know you were at the cemetery when—”

  “Aaron, may I speak with you for a moment outside?” Gene interrupted.

  I shot the psychologist a look of confusion and mouthed, “What?”

  “Just for a moment, please?”

  Cody glanced at Dr. Bukowski and then back at me. I breathed out through my nostrils and followed Gene out into the hall. As I shut the door behind me I said, “He was finally responding to me. I asked you to observe and—”

  “Aaron, this boy has been through hell and back. He just recently witnessed the brutal death of his parents, and if he also saw his friends slaughtered, I think it would be in your best interest—and in the interest of that kid’s psychological welfare—that you go a little easier on him. It started to sound like an interrogation.”

  “I’m doing my best, Gene. I’ve been hitting one roadblock after another. DNA is getting us nowhere on our John Doe and I know that kid in there can identify him. I’m almost positive that it’s Jackson Smith, but with his family MIA, I’m concerned that we haven’t seen the last of this sick bastard’s victims.”

  “Aaron, I understand the urgency. I’m just telling you that you’re going about this the wrong way. You’ll do more harm than good by using this type of questioning. You have to take it slow. He needs time to open up.”

  “In other words, stop being a cop.” I leaned back against the door and breathed out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m just not that good with kids. Maybe you can talk to him, and I’m not talking about psychotherapy. Just ease your way into a confirmation that Jackson Smith was at the cemetery. I have a lot more questions for him, but I guess that’ll have to wait.”

  Gene rested both of his hands on my shoulders. “You’re exhausted. Get some rest. I’ll talk to him and let you know what I find out.”

  “I’ll rest later. I have to head back to the Smith home. I got a very bad feeling when I walked in that house. Something just wasn’t right.” I squeezed the doc’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help. I owe you one.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Call me as soon as the kid talks… about anything.”

  “I will, my friend. Be careful.”

  “I’m not afraid of the dark, doc,” I jested while placing a hand on the handle of my Glock 17. “I’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hunting Season

  I arrived at the Smith home a few minutes after eight in the evening. There were a small team of detectives, crime scene investigators, and two deputies at the house, but they didn’t appear to be doing anything but standing around, conversing with one another. I parked my car next to a white Travis County Sheriff’s Department sport utility vehicle. One of the deputies complimented my Corvette as I got out of it. I smiled and nodded my appreciation before searching for Chief Hernandez.

  I approached one of the investigators, a guy I recognized. A brown-nosing idiot by the name of Roy Paxton. That asshole belonged behind a desk, not in the field, but if you kissed enough ass and rubbed shoulders with the right politicians, you’d get your promotion and higher pay grade.

  “Detective Aaron Sanders,” Paxton said, extending his hand, which I took out of mere professional courtesy. “I see Austin PD is enlisting the County’s help… again.”

  “County jurisdiction is the only reason you’re here, Roy. We’re perfectly capable of handling this on our own. And, from the looks of it, your team hasn’t done a damn thing. Why is that?”

  “A little thing called a search warrant, Aaron. We’re waiting for approval.”

  “Approval for what? You’re supposed to be searching around the property, not in it.”

  “I thought we were supposed to do a search inside the house.”

  I shook my head and rubbed the back of my neck. “I already did that, and I didn’t find any—”

  Paxton raised his eyebrows. “You searched the house without a warrant?”

  “I had probable cause, Roy. And the door was open. So, yeah, I searched the house without a warrant. It’s not like I rummaged through drawers or anything.”

  “I would’ve waited for a warrant,” the detective suggested.

  “Yeah, well, while you’re sitting on your ass waiting for a judge to sign paperwork, I’m actually finding ways to get the job done. In fact, I think one of the boys that lives here may be our John Doe from Memorial Heights Cemetery.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I have my reasons. My main concern right now is finding out where the owners of this house disappeared to.”

  The detective’s phone chimed. He checked the screen and showed it to me. “We have our warrant.”

  “All right, fine. If you’ll take one of the CSIs inside, I’ll—”

  “Hey, buddy, remember whose jurisdiction you’re in.”

  Thank God I didn’t have to work with that guy on a regular basis. “Drop the pissing match bullshit, will ya, Roy? We’ve got work to do.”

  “Whatever. You can take Deputies Carlson and Stefanik over there.” He nodded towards two deputies leaning against a Sheriff’s deputy cruiser. “You know, this would be a lot easier if we waited until daylight.”

  “We don’t have time to wait until morning.”

  Paxton grabbed a kit out of the trunk of his car and carried it to the front door. He knelt down, retrieved some small tools, and attempted to pick the lock.

  “Hey, genius!” I yelled out.
“Have you tried checking the back door first?”

  Detective Paxton shot me an annoyed glare and then went around the house. Moments later, the front door opened. I shook my head again and smirked. Idiot.

  The two deputies helped me search the field behind the house. The grass was about waist high, so we took it slow. We canvassed the field for half an hour, roaming across the field with our flashlights until we approached the tree line. Horses whinnied. Something had spooked them. I aimed my flashlight near the house. There wasn’t anything other than a light from the kitchen and more flashlight beams moving around in the living room area.

  Something rustled in the nearby grass. The two deputies and I spun around, with our flashlights held underneath our drawn weapons. The light reflected off the eyes of an animal. I lowered my gun and relaxed. It was just a deer.

  “Man, would you look at the rack on that buck?” I said while holstering my pistol.

  Deputy Carlson responded, “If I wasn’t on duty right now and had my rifle, that deer would be mine.”

  “It’s not hunting season, so…” I looked at the deer and then agreed. “That would make one hell of a trophy, though, wouldn’t it?”

  The deer continued to observe us, frozen in place, as if listening to our conversation.

  “I could pull the trigger right now,” Carlson said while pretending to fire his weapon, giving it a jerk upwards. “Bang. One bullet, right between the—”

  Something large jumped out of the tall grass and pounced onto the back of the deer. The buck cried out in a hair-raising bellow as it tried to escape, but its attacker quickly took it to the ground.

  “Holy mother of Jesus,” Deputy Carlson yelled. “What the heck was that?”

  I drew my weapon again, the deputies already aiming theirs.

  “I don’t know, but it was big,” Deputy Stefanik answered.

  We stepped backwards in unison, keeping the beams of our flashlights pointed where we had last seen the deer. The grass swayed, and a black-spotted tail appeared for a split second just above the grass. More roars and bellows followed. Then the deer was silent. A low growl rose from the grass, which had begun twitching slowly towards us.