Blood Angel

by Bernard Schaffer

  “How could they do that?”

  “Let’s see, first was me being outside my jurisdiction when the incident happened, then failing to tell them about the investigation, then it was nearly getting Carrie killed. They had a whole list.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It turned out okay. I sued them and said it was age discrimination and them trying to get out of paying the hospital bills. They let me retire and keep my pension.”

  “It shouldn’t have ended like that for you,” Rein said. “You deserved better.”

  “Yeah, well. Doesn’t seem like it ended for you. Looks like you’re right back in the mix of things.”

  “Linda was a friend of mine.”

  “Friends of yours all seem to pay for it in the end, don’t they?”

  Rein glanced back at the window to see if Carrie was watching. He couldn’t see her through the sun’s reflection. He moved away from the trailer, toward Waylon. “Did you get tired of drowning in self-pity at your house and want to come spread it around down here, Bill? You want me to feel sorry for you? Fine, I feel sorry for you. Now, is there anything else or can I go back to what I was doing?”

  Waylon’s scrawny hands tightened into fists, shaking with rage. “Fuck you and your pity, Rein. I’m not too sick to knock your ass out.”

  “Go home, Bill.”

  “That little son of a bitch Pennington sent me a letter at my home. At my home, Jacob. He threatened Jeri.” Waylon’s voice quivered, “He threatened the girls.”

  “We’re going to stop him.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Waylon shouted. “Abby, my oldest, she’s up at school. You think the security guards there are going to do shit if Pennington goes after her? He could snatch her in the parking lot and do God knows what to her long before we even found out. I’ve got a family, Jacob. I need your help to protect them.”

  A car drove past on the highway, close enough to send wind rippling through their clothes. The stench from the dam was enough to make Rein’s nose curl. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I saved something from when I was chief,” Waylon said. He waved for Rein to follow him toward his car.

  Waylon opened his trunk. There was a red gym bag inside, sitting next to the spare tire. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no cars were coming before he unzipped it. It was stuffed with a T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of socks. Waylon pulled the shorts out and unfolded them to reveal a chrome snub-nose revolver with black rubber grips.

  “I found this in the back of the Coyote evidence room. One of the older cops must have taken it off somebody and stuck it in there. There wasn’t even a case file associated with it.”

  The serial numbers were filed off the gun, leaving nothing but scratches. It was totally untraceable. “Good drop gun,” Rein said.

  “Perfect drop gun. Now listen to me, Jacob. I’m not asking you to do anything. All I’m asking is that you let me know where Pennington is at and when it’s a good time.”

  “It’s a felony for you to even have a gun like that in your possession. You’ll lose your pension just for carrying it around, even if you don’t go to prison.”

  “You think I give a shit about that?” Waylon hissed. “I’d do anything to protect the people I love. Wouldn’t you?”

  Rein glanced back at the trailer, sure Carrie was still trying to watch them. “What about her? You willing to put her in the middle of this?”

  “No, I don’t want her involved in this. Not at all. This is between you and me and that sick little motherfucker. We should have put him in the ground a long time ago. Saved the world a whole lot of heartache.”

  “She’s smart. What if she figures it out?”

  “She won’t. And even if she does, well, I have no doubt she will understand. She loves Jeri and the kids.”

  Rein reached for the gun and Waylon stopped him. “What are you doing?”

  “Have you shot it?”

  “No,” Waylon said. “The thing is clean as a whistle, my friend. I don’t think it’s ever been fired.”

  “Then how do you know it works? Let’s say I lure this guy out, get Carrie good and distracted, you come along to handle business, you take your gun here and pull the trigger and all that happens is a puff of smoke comes out. Then what? Tucker either kills you or we have to kill him some other way. You didn’t think this all the way through, Bill. Nice to know some things never change.” Rein held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  Waylon looked doubtful but reached for the gun anyway. He wrapped it in the gym shorts and handed it to Rein. “Be careful. We have to make sure to get rid of any fingerprints on it. Not even on the bullets. See, I did think this one all the way through, you ass.”

  “I take it back,” Rein said. “Wait here.”

  Rein tucked the gun under his armpit and turned around. He went wide around the back of Carrie’s car, staying out of view of the trailer window.

  “Where are you going?” Waylon whispered.

  “Wait here.”

  As soon as Rein hit the weeds behind the trailer, he started to run.

  “Shit!” Waylon ran after Rein as fast as he could. He only made it a few steps past the trailer before he was coughing and gasping for air.

  “Stop,” Waylon wheezed. He staggered through the weeds enough to see Rein cock his arm back and hurl the gun deep into the Carver Dam’s polluted waters. The splash sent a tree full of birds scattering into the air.

  Rein wiped his hands as he walked back toward the trailer, past Waylon. “Go home, partner.”

  “We’re not partners anymore, you motherfucker,” Waylon hissed. “Whatever happens to my wife and daughters is on your head, you son of a bitch! Your head! And I swear to God, if it does, I’m coming after you.” Waylon bent over, coughing and clutching his throat as Rein disappeared through the weeds.

  * * *

  Carrie came out of the trailer as Bill Waylon cranked the wheel in his car and punched the gas, tires screeching as they hit the asphalt road. Dust billowed across the lot, and Rein lowered his head and looked away. “What the hell was all that about?”

  “I pissed Bill off again.”

  “What did you do this time?”

  Rein looked back at her. “He wanted to help us. I told him he wasn’t well enough and would just get in the way.”

  “What the hell did you do that for, Jacob? He’s been sitting in his house rotting away. Now he finally comes out to be involved in something and you insult him and tell him to leave?”

  Rein went up the trailer steps behind her. “I thought you were serious about catching the killer?”

  “I am, but Jesus. You ever think life might be easier if you weren’t such an asshole to people who care about you?”

  He held the door open for her. “Am I an asshole to you?”

  “No. But that’s because I don’t care about you.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not at all. There’s no upside to that, Jacob Rein. I learned that the hard way.”

  He sat down on the couch behind her as she went back to her laptop. There was a stack of printouts on the table. He sifted through them, seeing driver’s license printouts for Alexis Dole and Tricia Martin, satellite pictures of their houses, satellite pictures of Tucker’s house, Bill Waylon’s house, and multiple duplicates of a wide-angle shot that showed all of the houses in the same image.

  Carrie had attempted to draw pentagrams using Tucker Pennington’s house as the center, with one of the points connecting to Linda Shelley’s house. She’d twisted and turned the image various ways, trying to get it to connect to the others, but couldn’t make it fit. “It’s hard to think crazy, isn’t it?” Rein said.

  “I’m trying to figure out who he’ll go after next. I think it’s either Bill or Tricia Martin. They’re the two most vulnerable.”

  Rein slid the driver’s license photo of Alexis Dole closer. “Not Miss Dole?”

  “She’s not afraid of him. You sho
uld have seen her in the courtroom. She looked like she could have killed him with one hand. She’s a complete badass.”

  “She sounds much different from the high school cheerleader I met all those years ago,” Rein said.

  “I guess if a maniac disfigures you for the rest of your life, it might have that effect.”

  “Why do you think Bill’s vulnerable? He’s got guns. He’s a career police officer. If he stays in the house all the time, the killer does not likely know his physical condition.”

  “He’s not just vulnerable because of his health. He’s vulnerable because of the people he loves. Luckily for you, no one knows Jacob Junior is your son.”

  “That just leaves you,” Rein said.

  “Me? What do you mean, me?”

  “You were at court today. Obviously you’re involved. What makes you think you’re not on the list?”

  “Please, I wish he would come after me,” Carrie said.

  “Well, then,” Rein said. “I guess it’s good there’s nobody you love.”

  Carrie stopped typing and picked up her cell phone. She dialed the first number and said, “Penny, it’s me. Where’s Nubs?”

  “You mean Natalie?”

  “You know who I mean.”

  “In her room. She just took her bath.”

  “Good. Is the front door locked?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s important. Please check.”

  She could hear Penny walking across the living room floor. She heard Penny jiggle the door handle. “Yes, it’s locked.”

  “Dead bolt too.” She waited, listening for the click to make sure Penny locked that too.

  “There. You’re really getting paranoid, Carrie. I think you need a boyfriend or something to take your mind off your job.”

  “All the windows too. Even the upstairs ones. And the basement. Sometimes you go outside to smoke from the basement and you might forget to lock it on your way back inside. You can’t do that. I need you to go check the entire house and make sure every single thing is locked. Promise me.”

  “Carrie. Stop.”

  “Promise me!”

  “Fine, for Christ’s sake, I promise. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Tell Nubs I love her,” Carrie said, and hung up the phone. She scrolled through the numbers and found her father’s name next. She dialed it and held it to her ear, waiting for him to pick up.

  “He’s not answering,” she said. “He probably had a few drinks and passed out in his chair. He’s fine.”

  “Oh good,” Rein said. “That’s reassuring.” He found the same piece of thread he’d been picking at before and went back to picking at it again.

  Carrie spun around in her chair. “What does that mean?”

  “I guess if there’s one thing a lifetime of dealing with homicidal maniacs has taught me is that when you can’t reach a loved one, everything is probably fine. There’s never anything to really worry about.”

  Carrie groaned and shoved the laptop lid down. “Let’s go. We have to make sure my dad’s not being tortured to death, now.”

  “I think Penny’s right. You’re starting to sound paranoid,” Rein said.

  “I take it back. I care about you, Rein. A lot.” She followed him through the trailer door and cupped her hand to the side of her mouth, “There’s nobody I love more than you in the whole world!”

  He waited for her to lock it, then said, “You think the killer heard you?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Rein let himself into the car on the passenger side. “Joke’s on him. I know you meant it.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Kind of weird, telling me in the middle of trying to make sure your father isn’t tortured and murdered. The heart wants what it wants, though.”

  Carrie laughed as she put the car in drive and said, “You wish.”

  14

  Rosendo Santero lived in a three-bedroom rancher that sat back on a narrow strip of land. It was surrounded by woods. They drove up the gravel driveway and multiple eyes reflected in the high beams from Carrie’s car. Deer stared at the car in confusion, then bolted, leaping into the darkness of the trees.

  Carrie parked around the rear of the house, by the kitchen door. The kitchen was small and cramped but gave way to a living room that took up two-thirds of the house. It was as large as the three bedrooms combined. Of the bedrooms, Rosendo occupied the main one and used the one next to his for storage. The last bedroom he kept for her in case she ever needed it. She never did.

  “I have my own place, Papi,” she’d told him.

  “I keep it just in case. Maybe you are out working late and need someplace close by to sleep if you are too tired to go home.”

  “We only live a few miles away from one another.”

  “It’s good to have just in case. Hopefully soon my grandson can use it.”

  “Oh, I’m giving you a grandson now?”

  “A good, strong boy. That is what I ask God for.”

  “What if it’s a girl?”

  “The first one can be a girl. Healthy. That is all that is important. A girl would be nice. But then you have to keep trying.”

  “And what if I don’t want kids?”

  He’d laughed at that, like she’d said something ridiculous.

  Large windows took up the entire living room wall in the rear of the house. There were shades but Rosendo never lowered them. No one could see into his house and he liked to watch the animals.

  She saw him lying back in his recliner with his eyes closed and his feet up. She could see his chest rise and fall as he snored. The television was on. Its screen was the only light on inside the house.

  Carrie and Jacob got out of her car and headed for the kitchen door. There were two trash cans on the patio. One was nearly empty. The other was overflowing with crushed beer cans and empty liquor bottles.

  She turned the door handle and found it was already open. “That’s unusual,” Carrie whispered.

  Rein leaned back and looked through the living room windows again. “Does he always sit in the dark?”

  “Only if he starts drinking early and falls asleep before the sun goes down.”

  They went into the kitchen and Rein put his hand on Carrie’s arm to stop her. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. When he raised his head again, he said, “Do you hear that?”

  She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the television and her father’s snoring.

  “There’s a window open in the back of the house.”

  “He never opens his windows,” Carrie said. She looked at her father, bathed in the light of the television. The rest of the living room was dark. Carrie drew her weapon. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll go,” Rein said. “You stay with him. Keep him quiet.”

  Carrie crept across the living room floor with her gun at her side. Its tritium sights glowed luminescent green in the darkness. Rosendo was splayed out in his chair. The remote control was cradled in one hand against his chest. His shirt was decorated with pieces of half-eaten hard pretzels and flakes of salt. On the side table next to the chair was his favorite cup, large and green, that he filled every night with bottom-shelf rum and a splash of diet soda. The cup was nearly empty.

  She brushed against Rosendo’s arm and he jerked awake. He cried out in surprise, but Carrie jammed her hand over his mouth to stifle him. “Quiet, Papi,” she whispered.

  She looked over her shoulder at Rein. He was looking at the kitchen counter, searching for something. She could see his form silhouetted by the small windows over the sink. He reached past the microwave oven and coffeepot and there was the sound of something metal being drawn from wood.

  Rein emerged from the kitchen with two large chef’s knives, one in each hand. He moved in a crouch with the blades extended in front of him.

  Carrie felt the smooth warmth of her gun’s frame against her index finger. She’d only move it to the trigger when it was time to shoot. Sh
e heard the floor creak in the small bedroom. The one Rosendo had saved for her. She listened, forcing herself to listen past the television, past the sound of her father’s muffled breathing against her hand, past the sound of the blood rushing through her head. She could hear what Rein heard. A window was open there. Wind rustled through the trees outside. A car splashed through a puddle on the road far away.

  She heard Rein move toward the window and braced herself. If the killer was in there and got past Jacob, he was going to come running out of the room toward her and her father. It would be too hard to see him in time. She’d have no idea where Jacob was if she fired blindly. She would hit the killer, but the bullets could go through him and kill Rein as well.

  Carrie positioned herself between her father’s chair and the bedroom hallway. If the killer did come out running, she was going to launch herself into him and press the barrel against whatever part of his body she could find. She’d jam it under his armpit or against his temple or the small of his back, and then she’d pull the trigger over and over until his body stopped quivering.

  Rosendo climbed out of his chair and crouched next to her with his fists raised.

  “What are you doing? Get behind me,” Carrie whispered.

  “I didn’t back down from the bastard communists and I don’t back down now. If there is a fight, I fight with you.”

  In the bedroom, she saw Rein lower himself to the floor and look under the bed. She heard him open the closet door and close it again. After he checked the room, he moved into the bathroom and checked, flinging open the shower curtain and looking behind the door.

  “Nothing?” Carrie called out.

  Rein didn’t respond. He turned the lights on in the hall and the bedroom used for storage, taking his time to check the windows and look inside the closet there. He moved into the main bedroom and emerged a few minutes later, still holding the kitchen knives. “There’s security locks on all these windows,” Rein said. “They can’t be opened from the outside.”

  “Of course not,” Rosendo sniffed. “I’m always about the safety. Nobody is breaking into mi casa.”