by Jordan Dane
“My people control the crime scene and evidence. What we say goes. You stick with me. Do we have an understanding?”
“Absolutely. I’m just an observer.”
“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” I asked.
“Because you know me better than I thought?” She smiled.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“Never.”
“What do we know, Detective?” I asked, without taking my eyes off Madero. “Who found the body?”
“A security guard found an opened window into the basement. When he went to investigate the lower level, he ran into the school janitor near the pool. The guy had already called 9-1-1 and reported the dead kid.”
“So we have a potential break in, but the janitor actually discovered the body near the school swimming pool.”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“Show me.”
***
SSA Ryker Townsend had Athena puzzled.
She walked beside him through the high school, stealing glimpses of him. When they hit the stairs down to the basement, they headed toward the swimming pool and gym. She wanted to like Townsend, especially after she’d looked into his background through her Omega Team resources. Her crew in Tampa Florida had done a thorough job. Townsend was a rising star at the Bureau with a laser focus on melding into the minds of vicious killers. Many people referred to him as ‘spooky good.’
As an intelligent profiler, he didn’t let natural biases influence him. He studied killers with an extraordinary, and almost clinical, fascination. He had perfect recall, as if his mind were a computer. Yet victims in his cases spoke of his compassion and empathy, a rare thing in a Fed on the fast track.
She wanted to like him, but he’d been a pit bull on a bone about Selina.
“Your niece seems like a sensitive kid. How’s she doing?” Townsend asked.
His question came from out of the blue and she hadn’t expected it.
“It’s been tough for her, being a new kid, but her mom is helping her cope.” Athena sighed. “Selina gets physically sick when she’s bullied. It builds up. I’ve seen it in other people who are overachievers. They get anxious and have dry heaves. It can lead to ulcers.”
“Is she getting help through a therapist?”
He spoke quietly as if he were a friend and didn’t want anyone else to hear, not even his partner, Special Agent Crowley. The intimacy in his voice and manner broke down Athena’s defenses. She wanted an ally, someone she could trust, but she didn’t know for certain if Townsend was using his skills to pry incriminating statements from her that could be used against her niece later.
Yet if she worked him in the same way—giving him a real glimpse into Selina’s troubled life—it could be worth her effort. Athena made up her mind and gambled on her instincts. Townsend might be worth the risk. She took a deep breath and kept talking.
“My sister tells me they’ve tried everything and nothing has helped. She’s taken her to specialists, even when she can’t afford it. I’m helping where I can. It hasn’t been easy.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Thick humidity off the pool had grown palpable and Athena smelled chlorine as Detective Ramirez shoved through the doors into the athletic facility. Police were questioning a man dressed like a janitor in a corner. Another detective was taking the statement of the security guard who had investigated the break in.
Dressed in white coveralls and blue booties, FBI Evidence Techs worked the crime scene across the other side of the pool. The area had been cordoned off by yellow crime-scene tape. The techs were taking photographs before the ME would intervene to examine and move the corpse.
Athena saw the body for the first time, under the stark flash of a camera.
She hoped Selina would not be connected to this new case. The girl desperately needed a break. Athena loved her sister and her niece, but she couldn’t cover up a crime for the sake of her family. Some lines should not be crossed.
She prayed she would not have to make that choice.
***
Brownsville High School
7:00 am
Ryker Townsend
Justin Lutrell stared wide-eyed toward the ceiling, staring into the next life with his dead body in a puddle of water on this side of the veil, like a discarded husk. Drained of life, his skin looked pale and doughy and his face had been petrified in fear. His hair had been drenched but had begun to dry. He wore only navy trunks and his body was splayed where he’d collapsed on cold tiles. He must’ve come for a swim, the last thing he’d done in his life.
The cocky guy I’d met earlier that day had vanished. Death had a way of humbling anyone, but the bullet hole in his forehead had more to do with it. Only a trickle of blood bled from the wound. With gloved hands, the local Medical Examiner carefully lifted Lutrell’s head and examined the back of his skull.
“Do we have an exit wound?” I asked as I pulled on a pair of latex gloves.
“No. We’re probably looking at a small caliber weapon, like a twenty-two,” the ME said. “I expect to find the bullet still lodged in his head.”
“No one heard a gunshot?” I asked. “Not the security guard or the janitor?”
“No, but that’s consistent with the weapon being a .22 caliber,” Hutch said. “The sound of a gunshot would have a hard time traveling outside the basement walls of the pool area.”
“Have you found any brass?” I shifted my gaze between Hutch, Cam, and Detective Ramirez. All shook their heads.
“No, but the bullet could’ve come from a revolver. No brass ejected,” Cam said.
The autopsy would confirm the caliber. If the recovered round hadn’t been too damaged inside Lutrell’s skull, it could be used to identify the murder weapon, if they found it.
Every weapon had unique rifling that etched a bullet as it traveled through the barrel, forming distinctive striations. These marks tied a bullet to the gun used, similar to how a unique fingerprint linked to one human being. If a suspect were tied to a weapon, and that gun tested identical to the striations found on the bullet in our victim’s brain, we’d be one-step closer to proving who killed Justin Lutrell.
“Do you have TOD, Doc?” I asked.
I had noticed the stiffness of the head and neck when the ME tried to move Lutrell. For time of death, the face, neck, arms and shoulders were the first affected by rigor. That meant Lutrell hadn’t been dead long. The ME had already probed for liver temp.
“He’s been dead at least two hours. We have lividity along his back. He hasn’t been moved from what I can see.”
After I saw something curious, I knelt closer to the body.
“This looks like—” I leaned in. “A small puncture wound on his neck.”
“Let me see.”
I stood to let the ME get a better look.
“You’re right. That’s odd, indeed.” He glanced up at me. “I’ll let you know what I find at autopsy.”
A puncture wound on his neck would not generally be self-inflicted. Had it happened post-mortem, or before he died? Lab work on his blood and organs would determine if he’d been injected with something. I feared with Dia de los Muertos barely underway, the killer might have more sacrifices to make before the day ended. I couldn’t wait for an autopsy and lab work to be done.
I pulled my evidence tech aside.
“Stay with the ME and see if you can expedite the lab work. Our killer may not be done for today.”
“You got it,” Hutch said.
“What are you thinking?” Athena asked. “Is this the work of a serial killer?”
I didn’t know how much to share with Madero or how much Ramirez had told her. I hadn’t found a direct link between the victims. After seeing the puncture in Lutrell’s neck, I wanted to examine the autopsy files for the others.
“I haven’t decided yet. Lutrell dated Allison Barstow at one point. With their deaths back to back, it would appear they have a connection.”
“Rami
rez told me about three other deaths, but only one kid went to Brownsville High.”
“I have a copy of those murder books. If the others have a similar puncture to the neck, we could have our link.”
“What now?” she asked.
“Let’s check out how Lutrell got in the building. Maybe the security guard or the janitor can tell us if he came alone.” To Crowley, I said, “Stay with this scene. I’m taking Madero to check out how Lutrell got into the building.”
“Will do.”
The stocky security guard wore a brown uniform and looked ex-military with a burr haircut and the word ‘Airborne’ tattooed on his forearm, blended into a more elaborate design. His name badge had Sanders etched into it.
“Mr. Sanders, how long have you worked as security for the school?”
“Nearly four years, sir. But I’ve never come across a dead body before.”
“Show me where you found the open window,” I said. “Is that how our victim gained entrance into the building?”
Before the guard answered, the janitor came forward with raised hand and a shaky voice. The last name of ‘Burgess’ had been stitched onto his uniform.
“I may know more about that. The Lutrell kid swam here in the mornings, a few times a week. I know how he gets into the building.”
“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it, Burgess?” The security guard glared at the man. “You should have notified me.”
The janitor’s face flushed red. I had the feeling this scene had played out before.
“I’m not proud of what I done, but I didn’t want to lose my job.” The older man’s voice echoed across the pool. “That Lutrell boy threatened to tell the school lies about me if I told. I seen no harm in it, except in his attitude.”
“Show me where he got into the building,” I asked the janitor.
“Yeah, sure.” He nodded. “We’ll need a flashlight and I have a few stashed. We got burned out bulbs over there. Been meaning to fix those.”
The man turned and expected us to follow.
“Shall we?” I waved a hand, inviting Athena Madero to join me.
At our first stop, Burgess grabbed three flashlights from a shelf located down a dark corridor, leading away from the pool where Lutrell’s body had been found. He handed over two of them.
“You’ll need these. Stay close.”
Steps away, he opened a creaky metal door and stepped inside. I narrowed my eyes to get accustomed to the shadows. This section of the basement hadn’t seen foot traffic. It smelled of stale air and the janitor had been right about it being dark—a perfect spot for Justin Lutrell to gain entrance. I followed the maintenance man deeper into a dark maze of archive boxes, old shelves and school decorations in boxes dated decades ago.
When we turned a corner, the janitor hit something that made him yelp.
“Oh, mother of—” He cursed.
The squeal from a wounded animal broke the silence and the patter of feet stopped me, dead still.
“What was that?” I dared to ask.
“A rat, I think.” He heaved a deep sigh. “I really don’t want to know.”
“How far is that window?” Athena asked in a shaky voice.
“Not far now. You’ll see.”
The storage area we had navigated had a dim glow ahead, not far from where we stood.
“This way,” he said.
A bank of windows cut across a cinderblock wall and the pale light of dawn filtered through the glass. A rectangular half window had been left ajar. With gloved hands, I raised it high enough to see the outside.
“There are pry marks on the outer window. It’s been jimmied.” I lowered the window and stood back. “Looks like someone moved these wooden crates under the opening to make it easier to climb down and reach the floor.”
Athena used her flashlight to cast light onto the crates. She leaned over to get a closer look.
“I can see faint scuff marks. Different foot sizes. See?” She pointed to an outline of a shoeprint with sneaker treads. “This isn’t the first time this window has been accessed.”
“Good catch.”
Lutrell must’ve forced the window open and crawled inside on more than one occasion. Once he had access to the basement, the swimming pool was a direct shot. He could come and go whenever he wanted. I backed away from the window to get a bird’s eye view, but something in a murky corner caught my eye.
“What’s that?” I turned my flashlight into a dark corner. “Doesn’t take a genius to imagine what went on here.”
I saw an old bare mattress on the cement floor with enough DNA stains to keep a CSI team busy for a week. The pungent aroma of marijuana hung in the air and an old Pepsi can had been used for an ashtray. When I glanced over my shoulder at Burgess, the janitor lowered his head and cleared his throat.
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
“That kid brought girls down here sometimes. He smoked a little weed, but he never left his stash down here. No, sir.”
“Did he ever bring Allison Barstow? Do you know the name?”
“I know the name, but I didn’t exactly watch or nothing.” After he realized what he’d said, he raised both hands. “It wasn’t like that, I swear. I only heard him one time, by accident. That’s how I knew about him doing it down here.”
I didn’t want to speculate on whether or not the maintenance man told the truth on his voyeurism. The idea sickened me. When Athena rolled her eyes, I knew she hadn’t bought it either. She wandered behind a storage unit and left me alone with Mr. Integrity.
Something prickled my skin—the flash of a memory from my last nightmare. A dark presence that I’d sensed in my dream lurked in the darkness. Had I brought it with me? My gift punched me with unexpected glimpses into a world beyond my own. The puzzle pieces of those glimmers were mine to solve and I didn’t always feel up to the task.
“How often did Lutrell come here?” I asked.
“I can’t be sure, but maybe a few times a week. If he came here afterhours, I wouldn’t know about that.”
After an awkward silence, I heard the muffled voice of Athena Madero.
“What the hell? You better come see this.”
I followed the sound of her voice and peered through the dark, searching for the beam off her flashlight. She stood by a massive wall and had found something ominous in a dark corner rife with shadows.
“Holy shit.” Burgess stopped. “I swear I didn’t know this was here.”
“Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer. This could be a crime scene,” I said. “Go find my partner and have her come down here.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure thing.”
After the maintenance man left, I pointed my beam toward the spot where Athena stood and narrowed my eyes in shock. I’d been right about the presence of evil.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I whispered.
Chapter 8
Brownsville High School
7:45 am
Ryker Townsend
In the shadows of a dank, unused basement of a local high school, my eyes feasted on something primitive I hadn’t expected to see.
“I come from a long line of Cubans. I’ve seen some of these things before.” Athena kept her voice low—respectful—as if she were walking through a church.
“Black magick. Palo Mayombe,” I said.
“Yes.”
I trailed my beam of light across a massive altar. Dead center was a human skull with oozing black candle wax dripping down from its cranium. Wooden sticks and razor blades were strewn across it, marred with dried blood. Under my boots on the cement floor, I saw more blood spattered in the middle of a large series of symbols, in a circle chalked in white.
“Careful where you step,” I said. “If that’s human blood, this could be a crime scene.”
Next to the altar were enormous wooden shelves. The sheer size of them, I had little doubt the structure had to have been built in place. Animal bones, bleached with age and ex
posure, were shoved between jars of colored powders and herbs and dead insects. Primitive drums were placed near the altar.
Snakes slithered in a high-glass terrarium, alongside jars of live spiders. One of the jars had broken. Whatever had been inside had escaped. My skin crawled with the prospects and I kept my eyes alert. As shadows undulated, cowering away from the light, my eyes played tricks on me. Everything on the shelves came alive and appeared to move.
“Muneca de brujería,” Athena said in a raspy whisper. Doll witchcraft. She flashed a light on the shelves above her.
A collection of ghastly dolls stared down with dead vacant eyes. Plastic babies looked hauntingly real as they sat slumped on the shelves as if they were bodies heaved into a mass grave. Heads had been popped off some. Others had no eyes and blood seeped from the empty sockets.
Amidst the disturbing carnage, one stuffed doll caught my eye.
“Selina.”
A human-shaped doll made of burlap had wooden pins stabbed into its body and head. The small cut out face of Selina Madero had been pinned to the head, speared through its eyeballs.
“It had to be dolls.” Athena’s body visibly shook. “They give me the creeps, like clowns.”
“What are the odds this altar belongs to Allison Barstow?”
“That’s rhetorical, right?”
“Yeah.”
I reached for my phone and called Crowley. Before I opened my mouth, she laughed.
“What the hell did you do to Mr. Clean? Burgess is hysterical, something about Voodoo and the chupacabra.”
“No goat suckers, but I have another potential crime scene for Hutch and Cam. You’re not going to believe it.”
***
Hours later
Late afternoon
Ryker Townsend
I watched my evidence recovery techs, Hutch and Cam, finish their analysis of the large altar Athena Madero had found. I thought of how much effort Allison Barstow had expended to create the horror she had used to wreak havoc on Selina Madero and others like her. Her visit to Mexico, two years ago, had sparked something evil in her and it grew—nurtured by the bully she’d always been.