Blood Angel

by Bernard Schaffer

  “That sounds perfect,” the young man said. He stood in front of Tucker, who did not look up at him, and did not stop rocking. “Come on, Tucker. Show me your room. I have a lot to tell you about all our old friends.”

  “Go on, Tucker,” Grace urged. “Go with—what was your name again?”

  “I’m Gregory, ma’am.”

  She told Tucker to go, and when he didn’t move, she insisted he go, and he did.

  * * *

  Tucker sat on the edge of his bed as Gregory Moon roamed his bedroom, picking Tucker’s things up and inspecting them. “You have undercover police detectives surrounding your house on all sides,” Moon said. He picked up a model airplane that had been put together years ago and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. “You won’t be able to leave without them seeing you. They didn’t mind me coming in, though. It seems they only have eyes for you, Tucker.”

  Tucker’s mother had decorated his room for his return home. When he’d left, all the windows had been covered with black trash bags he’d pinned to the wooden corners of the window frame and taped down along the sides. Every inch of the walls and ceiling was covered in posters of death metal bands and women and drawings he’d made of the things he saw. The things that came to him that no one else was blessed enough to see.

  In Tucker’s time away, the room had been stripped to the rafters and redone. Nothing he owned past the age of twelve remained. Everything in the room now was a reminder of that time. A time that, now that he was home, they were all going to revisit together.

  The only new additions were ornate crucifixes mounted above the bedroom door and windows. Every entrance to the outside world was now protected by the power of Christ. There was a painting of Mary holding baby Jesus that hung on the wall above his bed. Another of Jesus in the garden, his face upturned toward the sky and glowing, finding resolve in his one moment of weakness.

  Gregory Moon set the model airplane down and wiped his hands on his blazer. “Are you happy to see me, Tucker?”

  Tucker didn’t respond.

  “You should be. I’ve brought you good news. All your old friends. Brenda Drake. Dr. Shelley. That whining bitch Patricia Martin and her parents.” Moon smiled thinly. “They’re all mine now.”

  Tucker began rocking back and forth.

  “Technology is wonderful. Did you know you can walk into any library and use their computer to look up anything you want? Within five minutes, I had satellite photographs of your house and property. I know every single way into this place and every way out. I learned all about your case. The people involved. Photographs of your parents. I found everything. All thanks to this modern world. It feels good to be part of it and not locked up in that loony bin, doesn’t it?”

  Moon took a deep breath and scowled at the air. “I’m not sure you understand the kind of freedom I’m talking about, Tucker. Seems you went from one prison to another.”

  “Boys?” Grace Pennington called up the steps. “I’m coming up.”

  Tucker rocked back and forth so violently the bed frame shook against the wall.

  “I’m going to finish all of the work you never could, while you sit in your bedroom,” Moon said. “I just wanted you to know.”

  The tray of cookies and milk glasses rattled in her hands as Grace came down the hall.

  “You were always weaker than me, Tucker,” Moon said. “Now I’ll prove it to the world. I am the master. The true master. You were always just a pretender.”

  The door opened and Grace swept into the room with her tray. “Here we are. Are you boys having fun?”

  “Oh, we’re having the best time just getting caught up,” Moon said. He picked a handful of cookies up from the tray and stuffed them in his mouth. Crumbs spilled down his shirt as he told her how good they were. Moon picked up one of the glasses of milk and drank it all the way, tilting the glass until milk spilled down the sides of his mouth. He set the empty glass back on the tray and did not wipe his mouth.

  Grace Pennington did her best to keep smiling, even as cookie crumbs and drips of milk landed on the clean carpet in her son’s room. “Tucker, it’s time for your medicine,” she said. She held a rectangular pill box out toward him and he didn’t stop rocking or reach for it. “Tucker,” she said. “It’s time for your medicine. You have to stay on schedule.”

  “Stay on that schedule, Tucker,” Moon said. He reached for the tray in Mrs. Pennington’s hands and gathered the rest of the cookies. “It really is important.” He stuffed the cookies into his pockets and picked up the second glass of milk. He locked eyes with Grace as he raised the glass and drank Tucker’s milk all the way down, gulping and swallowing and spilling and not looking away from her. Moon set the empty glass down and said, “Delicious. You see that, Tucker? I’ve eaten all your food. You should have been faster.”

  Tucker reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the length of his rosary beads. He wrapped them around his fingers. “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth.”

  Moon waved to Grace and said, “I’ll be back to see you all in a little while.”

  Grace stood in the center of the room, holding the tray, as Moon went down the hall to go downstairs. “That boy, he is a friend of yours. Right, Tucker?”

  “I believe in Jesus Christ, his only son, our lord, who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.”

  Grace sighed and said, “I’ll go get you some water then, to take your medicine with. Or would your rather have juice?”

  Tucker rocked back and forth, holding the beads between his hands as he muttered another prayer.

  “I’ll bring juice,” she said.

  Tucker watched her leave. “Did the boys have a nice visit?” he heard Father Ihan ask.

  “Oh, it was fantastic,” Grace said. “They used to be in Little League together and have stayed in touch all this time. When I walked in they were talking about going camping. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Tucker slid his rosary beads back into his robe and opened the pill container. There were four slots. Three of them were filled with the same assortment of colorful capsules. He scooped the ones from the second slot. The first one he’d taken when his mother woke him up that morning. He would have to take another two doses before he went to sleep. He set the container aside and looked at the pills in the palm of his hand. Pale pastel colors, or chalk white. He closed his hand and squeezed them, making a fist so hard, his hand shook. He slid down from his bed and crept across the floor toward the central air duct next to his closet. He listened for his mother, then dropped the pills, one at a time, inside the vent.

  When he stood up, the doctor was sitting on his bed. Her long legs were crossed, revealing her pale white thighs. She leaned back so that her long black hair spilled across her shoulder.

  It is time, Tucker, she said.

  “It is time,” he said.

  The doctor’s eyes turned black.

  IV

  FAMILY

  19

  Rein flipped through the stack of Gregory Moon’s documents as Carrie drove. He stopped at a file with Linda Shelley’s handwriting on it and read through it. “This is Linda’s last filing before she left the facility. Moon had come up for reevaluation to see if he was fit to leave. Listen to this. ‘Moon is a true sadist. He does not appear to suffer any auditory or visual hallucinations consistent with schizophrenia. He is, in my opinion, too dangerous to ever be released back into society. ’ Signed, Dr. Linda Shelley.”

  “If only,” Carrie said.

  Rein found another document, containing Moon’s biography. “Here we go. Moon’s mom was a drug addict and lost custody of him when he was ten. His body was covered in cigarette burns and dying of dehydration when they brought him to the hospital.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Placed in foster care,” Rein said, still reading. “Multiple foster care placements followed due to what they
said was an inability to adjust. Allegations of sexual abuse at one of the last houses where he lived.”

  “Was he the victim or the suspect?”

  “Both. He was found molesting one of the other boys and when they interviewed him, it became clear he was being molested by both of the parents.”

  “What the fuck,” Carrie gasped. “No wonder he’s a goddamn monster.”

  “After that, they put him in a residential facility, where he killed a nurse.” Rein kept reading and his eyes widened.

  “What?”

  Rein closed the file. “Don’t ask.”

  “Tell me. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Apparently they couldn’t find the nurse for a few days. She went missing from her post. Moon had killed her in his room and kept the body under his bed. He was doing what he later called experiments on it.”

  Carrie came to a stop at the next intersection and waited for the light to change. “Moon wasn’t that much older than Nubs is when he got taken away from his mom. I can’t fathom someone hurting her like that. Or her being bounced around from foster home to foster home. I’m not saying it’s an excuse for what he’s done. I’m just saying, “

  “If you’re feeling pity for him, take it and throw it out the window,” Rein said. “Bury it far down deep inside yourself. When the time comes, he won’t show you any pity. He won’t show it to any of us.” Rein kept searching the documents. “The state makes you obtain a place to live before you’re released. Otherwise they’d be liable if you left their care and froze to death because you had nowhere to go. The hospital must have a record of it.”

  Rein stopped and flicked one of the pages. “Here it is. The Bridge Motel, Room thirty-seven.”

  She picked up her phone to activate her GPS and saw two missed calls from Harv Bender. “Shit,” she muttered. She called him back and pressed the phone to her ear. He answered on the first ring.

  “Where in the hell are you? I’ve had the same guys sitting on Pennington’s house for hours and they need to be rotated out. Get over there and relieve the guys at the driveway.”

  “All right,” Carrie said. “If that’s really what you want me to do.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because I’m following a lead. A good one,” she said, stalling. “Maybe a great one.”

  Rein pointed at the file in his lap and shook his head. He pointed at her phone and circled his finger in the air, letting her know it was time to wind Bender up.

  “If this works, we’ll have Pennington dead to rights. You had the right idea containing him. We’re closing in on him and he doesn’t even know it.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Did you want me to break off and come help your guys sit on the house?” Carrie asked.

  “What, are you crazy?” Bender said. “They can sit there for the next two days as far as I care. Go nail this little bastard to the wall.”

  “Nailing him now, boss,” Carrie said. She hung up the phone and stepped on the gas. “Is it normal to have to manipulate the people in charge just to get anything done?”

  Rein set the packet of papers on the floor behind Carrie’s seat. “To be a detective means knowing what people want and using it to your advantage. If you read a person correctly, you learn how to exploit them. It’s only natural.”

  Rein leaned back and closed his eyes, resting while he could. “The only people better at it than us are the maniacs we chase after.”

  * * *

  They drove around the Bridge Motel parking lot looking for Room 37. A pick-up truck sat in front of Room 36. Its rear was filled with Mexicans in white T-shirts holding their lunch buckets sitting bunched together. A white man sitting alone in front beeped the truck’s horn several times, loud and long. He stuck his head out through the window and said, “Anybody else? Four hours cutting grass, ten bucks cash!”

  Two more Mexicans came out of the hotel room and walked around the back of the truck. “There’s room in there,” the driver said. “Find a spot.”

  Their friends offered them hands to help them up. There was no room to sit, so both men squatted in the center of the truck’s bed. The truck backed up and turned to pull out of the parking lot, rattling the men in the back as they held the sides to avoid being hurled out.

  The rest of the parking lot was empty on that side. They could see Moon’s room from there. The blinds were old plastic and cracked. They didn’t lay evenly, allowing gaps even when closed. Someone could see out if they stood in the right place. Someone could also see in.

  “I guess he’s not home,” Carrie said. “Unless he parks somewhere else.”

  “Wait here,” Rein said. He let himself out of the car and crept along the sidewalk, past the first motel room. He stopped at Moon’s room and quick-peeked, snapping his head into view of the window to see past the blinds, then back out of the way just as fast. He bent lower and did the same thing from a different spot, a quick-peek, and then back. It was an old police tactic for clearing buildings. You were in and out of danger so fast, you didn’t have time to register what you saw at first. It took a second. Rein stood with his back against the hotel wall letting what he’d seen form up in his mind. No one was in there. The bed was made. The bathroom door was open.

  Rein found a gap in the blinds in the center of the window and covered both sides of his face to shield them from light and see in. He saw clothing. A blazer and floral shirt, draped over the chair in the corner of the room. A pair of dress shoes set in front of the closet.

  “Anything?” Carrie asked as she came to his side. Her gun was at her side, down behind her thigh.

  “He’s not home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Unless he’s hiding behind the bed.”

  “Well?”

  Rein raised his face from the glass. “Well, what?”

  “Are we going in?”

  Rein walked over to the doorknob and turned it to test it. It was locked. He glanced over his shoulders to see if any motel staff was in the area. He checked the frame. It was an old motel, with old style doors. The door opened inward. There was no way to secure the room’s dead bolt from outside. There wasn’t even a strike plate built into the door frame. “Give me your credit card.”

  She reached into her pocket for her wallet. “Which one?”

  “Whichever one you aren’t afraid to ruin.”

  She passed him her wallet and said, “Use my county one.”

  Rein pulled out the Vieira County District Attorney’s Office credit card and wedged it into the slot alongside the doorknob. He pushed the card in as he gently turned. The card bent and creased but did not crack and the doorknob twisted all the way open. He stepped back as Carrie slid past him, her weapon drawn.

  “Police,” she called out. “You home, Gregory?”

  She turned and checked under the window, then dropped down to look behind the bed. She darted toward the closet, then the bathroom, then stuck her head behind the door and shower curtain. “Clear!”

  Rein looked inside the dresser drawers and found several sets of clothes, including socks and underwear. The only other items in the room sat on top of the desk. A row of letters with yellow sticky notes attached, and a calendar set beneath them, open to the week. Rein scanned through the calendar’s pages and read the writing scattered across the upcoming days and weeks. Must check in by noon on Sunday. Doctor’s appointment. Pay rent for motel—Do Not Be Late. Expect visit from Social Services.

  Carrie holstered her weapon. “Well, he’s got a toothbrush and half a tube of toothpaste,” she said. “There’s a used shampoo bottle in the trash can and a receipt from the Dollar Store. He’s definitely living here.” She leaned next to him to read the envelopes on the desk. “What’s that?”

  “A smokescreen,” Rein said. “All of this. It’s just enough to pass inspection if anyone comes to check on him. Including us.”

  Carrie looked around the room. “He�
�d need a work space. Somewhere to plan and do research and store whatever he needs. Maybe he’s doing it out of his car?”

  “Too risky,” Rein said. “He knows if he gets pulled over and they search the car, he’s finished. It has to be somewhere else.”

  Carrie pulled out her phone.

  * * *

  Sal Vigoda was asleep when his phone rang. He jolted awake so hard, his legs flew off the table and sent a stack of papers flying throughout the trailer. He cleared his throat before he answered. “Hello?”

  “Sal, it’s Carrie. Are you at Tucker Pennington’s house?”

  “No. The chief wanted me to help the coroner’s office with that Shelley lady’s body and I told him I refused to go back in there. He dismissed me and told me to report to his office at sixteen hundred. I’m either getting suspended or fired.”

  “Jesus, Sal.”

  “It’s probably for the best.”

  “Okay, well, since you’re still there, though, I need your help. I need you to look up a suspect named Gregory Moon for me. He’s the real killer.”

  “Moon? Not Pennington?”

  “That’s right,” Carrie said. “I need everything you can find on him. Driving record. Criminal history. Relatives. Whatever we have on him in our system. We have to find him.”

  Sal looked at the computer on the desk. “I don’t know, Carrie. Can’t you find someone else who knows how to use this thing better than me? I’m no good with it.”

  “No,” Carrie said. “I need you, Sal. There is nobody else.”

  “I really don’t think so.”

  “Listen, Sal. I need you, buddy. I don’t have time to run all the way back there.”

  “I’m telling you, I can’t do this, Carrie. I was never meant to be a detective. I’m just an old road dog. Seeing the way that lady was butchered, and all the Satanic stuff, and then that family. Forget it. I’m done. I’m sorry, but that’s it for me. Even if Bender doesn’t fire me, I’m turning in my badge. I made up my mind.”

  “You serious? You’ve got what, almost fifty years on the job, right?”