by Jordan Dane
“We have more people to interview, but we’re not done here,” I said. “Your niece made what appears to be a death threat to Allison Barstow, minutes before she died. She was there at the scene.”
“So you say.”
“I know she’s family, but don’t interfere with our investigation.” I stood on the porch and stared at Athena Madero. “In the interest of professional courtesy, I’ll tell you this much. I’m keeping an open mind about your niece, but you know how it is. She’s got motive and she had the opportunity. We’re not done here until we can rule her out with verifiable proof.”
Athena nodded and didn’t say another word. She glared at me with arms crossed until I turned my back and followed Lucinda to the SUV.
“That went well,” Crowley mumbled. “Allison Barstow is no angel, but did she push Selina into doing something horrible? I don’t know.”
“I had Hutch analyze the scene on the ridge. If Selina was there and left DNA trace or prints behind, we’ll have proof and be one step closer to the truth, even if it’s ugly.”
The dark presence I sensed in my nightmare the other night had been present in that house. I didn’t say anything to Lucinda. My instincts were always hard to explain. They had no basis in truth until they did.
But Selina and her mother were hiding something darker than their tears could hide from me.
***
Cameron Country Medical Examiner & Coroner
Harlingen, Texas
Noon
“Trace analysis is back on the substance you found at the fire pit,” Cam entered the Coroner’s lab and read from the folder she had in her hands. Chemical elements rolled off her tongue with ease.
Hutch looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Harlingen was only a short drive from Brownsville, where their team was staying in a local motel. For both their sakes, Hutch played it safe in case Ryker or Lucinda popped in, but some things were worth the risk.
“Do you have any idea how sexy it is to hear you say methylbenzene?” Hutch grinned.
He felt the heat of blood rushing to his cheeks. He’d never been comfortable flirting with someone he thought of as ‘trading up’ like Cam. A classy, intelligent woman—years older than he was—she’d picked him but he never understood why.
Cam fought a smile and kept reading.
“Mass Spec has the substance as Toluene. It’s a mono-substitute benzene derivative.”
Hutch growled under his breath.
“Save your enthusiasm, studly.” She winked. “You’re gonna need it for later.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek.
“Tell me more.” He let her go and gave her his best poker face. “When I was a kid, I was into model airplanes. It’s used in hobby glue, isn’t it?”
“Yep, and people have it as paint thinner but it also can be an intoxicating inhalant. Do you think the kids at that party were into a cheap high?”
“Definitely.” Hutch had a hard time understanding how anyone would pickle their brain for a toxic vapor high like huffing.
“The taxidermy process uses it for tanning hides,” she said. “Bottom line, it’s unique enough that we might have something worth chasing, either as a local or online purchase that’s shipped here.”
“Good job. Let’s see if we can make this turn into a lead for Ryker.”
“I’m on it.”
***
Brownsville Memorial High School
Brownsville, Texas
Hours later
Ryker Townsend
As I walked down the main corridor of the high school, heading for the principal’s administrative offices, I thought of a cow—a black and white spotted Hereford to be exact. That image always made me crave ice cream, a very non-sequitur adjunct indeed, but in my mind it made perfect sense.
The first and last time I graced my high school reunion as an adult, I indulged in a jaunt down memory lane and drove to my old haunts when I was younger. One ice cream establishment loomed significantly in my mind, largely due to a bovine placed precariously on a shelf over the cash register—a mammoth beast, to be sure. As a young half-baked man, I recalled being unable to take my eyes off the colossal cow as I paid my hard-earned lawn mowing wages, and took my first licks of my favorite ice cream.
My trip home for my reunion brought new meaning to Thomas Wolfe’s novel, You Can’t Go Home Again, after I stepped into that ice cream parlor and nearly missed what I had come to see. The cow had shrunk to a diminutive 1-foot tall. Over the years, it had become legend in my mind, but in reality it had always been disappointedly average. I walked out without my double scoop rocky road waffle cone—the memory of that cow defeated me. Rewarding my taste buds seemed pointless.
“You’re quiet,” Crowley said as she walked beside me. “What are you thinking about?”
“A cow.”
“Not my first guess.”
Crowley shot me a questioning side-eye, but said nothing more as we stepped into the school’s administrative offices. We were greeted by a gray-haired woman in a navy pantsuit, sensible shoes, and a name badge on her lapel – Principal Quintanilla.
“You must be the FBI.” The woman held out her hand to greet us. “I’m Anna Marie Quintanilla, Principal.”
Lucinda introduced us.
“Let’s go to my office.” The woman escorted us down a hall.
Plaques and framed photos hung on the walls, pictures of employees, volunteers, and certifications. One photo caught my eye with the smiling face of Selina’s mother, Elisa Madero. Her picture had been framed and engraved with the honor of outstanding volunteer. I had my suspicions Elisa had volunteered to keep an eye on Selina, a worried mother hoping her shy daughter would transition into her new school without incident.
That hadn’t happened and I needed to understand why.
After we reached the principal’s office, she shut the door to give us privacy.
“Please sit. Can I get you coffee?”
“No, thank you. Not for me,” I said. After Crowley waved a hand to decline her offer, I continued. “As you know, we’re investigating the death of one of your students, Allison Barstow.”
Principal Anna Marie Quintanilla grew quiet and stared at the top of her desk.
“Allison.” The woman heaved a sigh. “We’re all still in shock. She was a lovely girl and a good student. Allison had many friends.”
“Did she get along with everyone? No enemies?” Lucinda pressed.
The school administrator avoided eye contact and she hesitated long enough to pique my interest.
“Like I said, she had plenty of friends. Very popular.”
“Would the kids she bullied agree with you?” I asked.
Silence. Principal Quintanilla fidgeted in her chair and leaned her elbows onto the desk.
“Who told you that?”
“We’re talking to anyone she knew. Things come up,” I said. “We need your cooperation and your candor.”
“I thought this was an accident. Are you insinuating—”
“We haven’t made a determination yet. We’re covering all the bases,” Lucinda said. “Who are some of Allison’s closest friends? We’d like a list of names.”
“Sure.”
The principal took a notebook from her desk and wrote down names. She pulled information off her computer to add. When she was done, she handed me the list. I recognized a couple of names from the witnesses at the party.
“Mia Hanover and Becca Slade,” I said. “They were with her, at the party.”
“Allison’s good friends. They’d know her best,” the woman said. “They’re not at school. You’ll have to make arrangements to see them at home, through their parents. I put their contact information on the list.”
I nodded and handed the list to Crowley.
“Did you notice anyone Allison might have picked on?” Crowley asked. “Have you received any reports on her bullying? We’ll want to investigate anyone who may have wan
ted to hurt her, for any reason.”
The woman chewed her lower lip and didn’t answer as she clutched her hands together.
“No one has officially reported anything, but I’ve heard things.” She sighed. “Allison picked on a few girls, but she had a favorite. Selina Madero. I never caught Allison or her friends in the act, but I had my suspicions. Selina’s mother volunteers at the school—a dear soul grounded in her Christian faith—but when I asked if she wanted to tell me anything about her daughter, she always declined. She’s very private.”
Principal Quintanilla went to a file cabinet and retrieved a folder. When she placed it on her desk, I saw the name ‘Madero, Selina’ typed on the tab.
“Selina is a quiet girl. Very sweet,” she said. “Her thick eyeglasses make her a target. She can be a bit clumsy and she’s easily rattled. Whenever she’s stressed, she gets the shakes, poor kid. That could be something from her past, but her mother has never shared that with me and I haven’t asked.”
“Her stress behavior probably doesn’t go over well with other kids,” I said.
The woman shook her head.
“As you can imagine, kids can be very cruel, especially after a girl as influential as Allison targets a new girl.”
“Does Selina have any friends in school? Anyone we can talk to?”
“I wish I could say yes, for her sake, but I’ve never seen her sit with anyone at lunch. I do know she volunteers at a teen shelter not far from here. Truthfully, I think she volunteers to have somewhere to go whenever Allison got too tough on her.”
She gave us the name and address of the shelter noted in Selina’s file—Care House on 6th Street.
“Do you have any idea what she does at the shelter?”
“No, but I heard she borrowed a video camera from our audio visual department, something she’s doing for the shelter. That’s all I know.”
The administrator shared what she could, but my mind churned with more questions and the heartbreaking face of Selina Madero haunted me. I didn’t sense malice in the girl, not like I did in my dream when a faceless evil had leached under my skin. Yet a pervasive sadness gripped me and wouldn’t let go. Whatever had happened under a blood moon in that stone grotto, Selina Madero knew more than she let on.
“We’ll be in touch, but here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.” Crowley handed the woman her card.
I opened the office door and followed Crowley down the hall toward the front entrance and the main parking lot. Neither of us said anything until we were outside.
“We’re not done with the Madero girl. Not by a long shot.” Crowley said the words aloud as if she’d read my mind.
It had bothered me from the start that Selina had pursued Allison Barstow onto private property, uninvited, and took a chance on being discovered. If she’d been found there, Allison and her crew would’ve been merciless. Selina would’ve been outnumbered and isolated in a remote area. What would make the girl risk the painful retribution? I had more questions than I had answers, but one thing was certain.
Selina Madero hadn’t told the whole truth.
Chapter 5
Outside Brownsville
An hour later
Ryker Townsend
Mia Hanover and Becca Slade lived in the same upscale subdivision as our dead victim, Allison Barstow—Rancho Viejo Resort and Country Club, located north of Brownsville off Interstate 69. Lucinda had called the Slade and Hanover families and both mothers agreed to have their daughters at the country club.
“A far cry from the Madero neighborhood,” Crowley said.
She didn’t say anything more about the disparity, but I understood what she meant. If Allison Barstow were indeed a bully, she would have more ammunition to target Selina and isolate her.
“The guard will have our names,” she said.
The entrance to the posh residential grounds had a massive fountain, bordered by a heavy limestone wall and impressive iron gate. Crowley pulled up to the guard station where a man in uniform looked at our credentials and waved us through. We were on the approved visitor list, as promised. Lucinda followed the signs for the country club, driving the SUV through a curved drive, lush with landscaping.
After we parked in front of the main building, Crowley checked her phone before she left the privacy of the SUV.
“Hutch called and left a message,” Crowley said. “He and Cam had trace analysis done on evidence from the fire pit. They found Toluene, a highly flammable vaporous liquid, a benzene derivative. A few local places either sell it or use it. They’re tracking leads now. Hobby stores are top of the list and it’s used by the taxidermy industry.”
I recalled reading about the many uses of Toluene and thought of another reason it might’ve been brought to a party of teens.
“The vapors are a cheap high. I wonder if someone brought the Toluene to huff?” I asked.
“That could be a good question for Mia and Becca, but I doubt they’ll tell us the truth with their mothers within earshot. This interview will be tough enough as it is. What kids want their folks to know why they broke a gate and trespassed to have a party?”
“Or why their friends brought chickens to slaughter as a Santería sacrifice? They set up an altar.”
I reached into my FBI jacket and retrieved a bottle of aspirins to thwart a burgeoning headache. I didn’t know how forthcoming these girls would be at a country club with their parents listening, but something bothered me about Allison Barstow and her circle of friends.
Why would someone like Allison have a connection to Santería, a religion originating in the Caribbean?
***
Lucinda Crowley followed Ryker into the country club lobby. Her eyes searched for the girls they came to meet. She expected to see two parents, but only the girls were sitting on an atrium sofa, next to each other.
“This must be them.” She pointed to the girls.
“I expected—”
“Yeah, their parents. Me too.” Lucinda flashed her ID badge to the two girls and said, “I’m Special Agent Crowley and this is my boss, SSA Townsend. Are you Mia and Becca?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison and stood.
Becca had dark hair she wore in a French braid, faded jeans, and a navy sweatshirt with hoodie. Mia wore a skirt with a floral blouse and Keds. She looked like a natural redhead with freckles across her nose. Both carried tissues in their hands. They’d been crying.
“I expected your mothers to be with you.” Crowley smiled.
“Both our parents are divorced. Our moms were too busy at work. Or they’re out of town or at a charity gala. It’s what our moms do, so pick whatever works for you.” Becca shrugged. “We faked being our moms to come here without them.”
“Why?” Ryker asked.
“We figure it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Becca crossed her arms. “Our moms think we were at the movies that night. We know they’ll hear what happened eventually, but we couldn’t face it right now. Not this soon after Allison died. It’s been really hard.”
Becca choked on her words, visibly shaken.
“We’re not in trouble, are we?” With watery eyes, Mia chewed a thumbnail.
“We just have a few questions about what happened,” Ryker said. “Whatever you can share about Allison would be helpful to our investigation.”
“Anywhere we can have some privacy?” Lucinda asked.
“Well, yeah, I guess so.” Becca headed for the front desk and spoke to someone. She waved when she secured a place to go. “They have a small meeting room we can use.”
Down a corridor on the left was an open door. Becca flipped on the lights as she walked in and took a seat at a small conference room table. Mia stayed close to Becca.
“We’re sorry for the loss of your friend. I know this is hard, but thanks for coming.” Lucinda sat next to the girls at the table. Ryker chose to slowly pace the room with his hands in his pockets, as if he were invisible. Bot
h girls kept their eyes on him.
Lucinda started with safe questions, things to put the girls at ease. Eventually she drifted into what the girls remembered from the night of the party. Mia broke down and Becca put her arm around her friend.
“I still can’t sleep. I see her on fire. It was terrible.” Mia gasped. “The smell. I’ll never forget it.”
Becca reached into her pocket and pulled out a fresh tissue for Mia.
“I didn’t see as much as Mia, but it was bad.” A tear drained down Becca’s cheek. “No one should die like that.”
Lucinda shifted topics to ease up on the girls.
“Did Allison have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Mia said and wiped her nose with a tissue. “Justin Lutrell. He’s senior class President. Head of the chess club. You know, the guy who knows everything.”
“Yeah, I know the type.” Crowley gave me another side-eye and I grimaced. “What do you mean that you ‘guess’ she had a boyfriend?”
“It was hard to keep up with them. They were always breaking up and getting back together.” Mia grabbed another tissue.
“How did Justin treat her, as his girlfriend? Any problems?” Lucinda asked.
Neither girl answered. They glanced at each other before Becca spoke up.
“He cheated on her and she knew it. I swear, I don’t know why she took him back, but she always did. His family has money. Real money.”
Mia interrupted.
“Ally was smart. Not Justin smart, but she got good grades. You’d never know it by the way he treated her.”
“He treated everyone like that, Mia. Even teachers.”
Lucinda raised an eyebrow.
“Did he ever physically hurt her?” Ryker asked.
Wide-eyed, they both stared at him. Mia started to cry again.
“When did he hurt her last and why?” Ryker took a seat next to Becca.
“He never hit her, not in the face anyway. He never left a bruise anyone could see, but she showed us sometimes.” Becca’s cheeks turned vivid red. “The bastard.”