Flight

by Laura Griffin

  Joel rubbed his jaw as he gazed down at the photographs.

  “I brought you his contact info, in case you or Nicole want to give him a call. He’s done some consulting work with the FBI’s gang unit in San Antonio.” She pulled a slip of paper from her purse. “He teaches classes today at eleven and one, so you should be able to catch him at his office. That is, if you’re interested.”

  Joel took the slip of paper and read the name. “I’m definitely interested, but I’d rather talk to him in person.”

  She looked startled. “You want to drive to San Antonio? Wouldn’t it be easier just to call him?”

  “Easier, yeah. But I always get more out of a face-to-face interview. Henry Lind is a case in point. If I hadn’t gone to his house, I never would have gotten a firsthand look at that case file.”

  “Don’t you have work to do here?” she asked.

  “Technically, I’m off today because I’ve got to be on call this weekend. But you know how that goes. I was planning to work from home.” He folded his arms. “What do you have going on? You up for a road trip?”

  She looked surprised again. “You want me to come with you?”

  “Sure. You can introduce me.”

  She checked her watch and seemed to consider it. As the silence stretched out, he realized how much he wanted her to say yes. Since the day he’d met her, he couldn’t stop drumming up reasons to spend time with her.

  “If you can’t get away, no problem,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I can track him down myself and show him your research.”

  “No, I’ll go.” She slid from the table. “I was up half the night on this. I’d like to get some answers.”

  * * *

  * * *

  St. John’s College was a twenty-five-acre oasis in the middle of bustling San Antonio, just ten minutes from the Alamo and five minutes from the apartment where Miranda had lived before she’d put her stuff in storage and moved to the coast. The architecture on campus consisted of white stucco buildings with red-tile roofs, with the glaring exception of the newest dorm, a glass high-rise that towered over the south lawn. Huge oak trees dotted the campus, offering shade to students who wanted to eat, nap, or otherwise slack off between classes.

  Miranda pulled into a lot and whipped into a front-row space beside the visitors’ center, a mission-style building with a bell tower at one end. She’d insisted on driving because she had a faculty parking sticker, even though that meant they had to stop by her house and put the top on the Jeep.

  “Nice campus,” Joel said. “Looks bigger than I thought.”

  “Four thousand students.”

  “When do they get out for summer?”

  “Ten days.” Miranda smiled as she gathered her file and tote bag from the back seat. “Can you tell I’m counting?”

  She locked the Jeep and stepped onto the sidewalk. Joel stretched his arms over his head and shook out his stiff legs, and she admired his athletic build for the millionth time. He was in street clothes today—a black T-shirt and jeans, along with a scarred leather bomber jacket, which he wore to conceal his gun.

  “Conner’s office is a bit of a hike,” she told him. “You’re going to be hot in that jacket.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “I’ll survive.”

  They took the sidewalk that led past the dining hall, which was crowded with students eating lunch around outdoor tables. They crossed a grassy quadrangle where people seemed evenly divided between reading and sunbathing.

  “Oh, to be a student again,” she said wistfully.

  Joel made a face.

  “No?”

  “College wasn’t my thing,” he said. “The whole time I was there, I wanted to get out and work.”

  Interesting. And she could totally picture that.

  “Where’d you go to school?” she asked.

  “University of Houston. Then straight to the police academy.”

  “So, you got your start with HPD?” She had been wondering about his background since the very first day.

  “Spent six years as a uniform, then two as a detective before I moved back.”

  “What made you want to move back?”

  He glanced at her. “My dad died.”

  Guilt needled her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He looked up at the trees. “I liked Houston, but I wanted to reconnect with my family, help out my mom. I’d been thinking of moving back anyway, and the timing seemed right.”

  Miranda could relate. The photography project had come up at just the right time, the exact moment when she desperately needed a change. It had felt like fate. Or necessity. Maybe a combination of both.

  “How long have you worked here?” Joel asked.

  “Three semesters. One of my former professors told me about the opening, and I decided to apply.”

  “You like teaching?” He glanced over at her, and his eyes were a startling shade of blue-green because of the leafy tree cover.

  “Love it,” she said. “I didn’t think I would but . . . I don’t know. I like working with students. Showing them how to do things for the first time. Forces me to keep up with innovations in my field, too, so that’s a plus.”

  “It’s good that you want to.”

  “What? Keep up?”

  “Yeah. So many people get into a rut. I see it all the time in law enforcement.”

  “You ever thought about training cops? I bet you’d be great at it.”

  He slid her a sideways look. “Why?”

  “You’re a natural leader.”

  He didn’t bother to deny that. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him. When he showed up at a crime scene—or anywhere, really—he assessed the situation and took charge. And people looked to him for direction, as though they expected it.

  “I’ve trained a number of our recruits,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “And I’m Nicole’s TO right now. She’s working her way up to detective.”

  “I thought she was one.”

  “That’s by design. We treat her that way so she grows into the role.”

  They reached another quadrangle. A scooter zoomed up behind them, and Joel caught Miranda’s arm and tugged her out of the path.

  Miranda noticed women’s reactions as she crossed the campus with Joel. He definitely turned heads, and it wasn’t just because of the leather jacket in eighty-degree weather.

  It felt strange to be around him in a completely new setting, one where she’d spent so many days as her former self. CSI Miranda. Forensic Photography Miranda. Living on the island, she’d grown used to being the quirky nature photographer who was always traipsing around the marshes or stalking birds in her kayak. Which version of herself was the real one? She didn’t know anymore. She felt caught between worlds.

  She looked at Joel. He had a certain intensity that permeated everything he did. He seemed to believe solving this case was his personal responsibility, and he had no intention of delegating the task. When it came to his job, he was driven. Focused. Impatient with anything that got in his way. His need for answers festered inside him and wouldn’t leave him alone. Miranda knew because she had the same need festering inside her, too.

  That relentless drive was a trait shared by the best investigators Miranda had ever known—people she considered mentors. It was a trait she hadn’t expected to find in a small-town police force.

  Maybe she was being a snob. She’d let her stereotypes influence her opinion of an entire police department, Joel included. She’d underestimated him.

  He cut a glance at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She nodded at a three-story building behind a tile fountain. “That’s it.”

  “The library?”

  “There are offices in the back.”

&nbs
p; They stepped through double glass doors into a two-story foyer with a huge wall of glass. Behind the glass were rows and rows of tall bookshelves. Joel peeled off his sunglasses and glanced around as Miranda approached the information desk, where a student with earbuds sat in front of a laptop computer.

  “I’m looking for Professor Conner’s office?”

  The student plucked a bud out. “Through that hallway, all the way past the rare-book room. It’s the third door on the left.”

  “This floor?”

  “Yeah.”

  They followed the instructions down a long glass corridor that looked out on a grassy courtyard filled with students either reading or using their books as pillows. The corridor opened into a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling. Bookshelves lined the walls. A spiral staircase in the corner led to a second-floor balcony also lined with books.

  Miranda stopped and tipped her head back, admiring the grand architecture. On the ceiling was a religious fresco depicting St. John.

  “There’s a gatekeeper,” Joel said.

  Through the doorway, Miranda spotted a gray-haired woman at a desk in a waiting room. Behind her was a long hallway, where professors had offices, presumably. Miranda was glad she’d called ahead from the road.

  She approached the receptionist with a smile. “Hi, I’m here to see Professor Conner.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Yes, for twelve thirty. I’m Miranda Rhoads.”

  The woman looked from Miranda to Joel and then turned to her computer. “Looks like he has you down, but he’s not back from class just yet.” She nodded at the chairs on the other side of the room. “You’re free to have a seat until he’s available.”

  “Thank you.”

  Miranda turned around. Joel had wandered back into the rare-book room and was checking out a glass display case. Miranda joined him. The volume was an illuminated Bible opened to the book of John. The yellowed pages were filled with Latin writing. Intricate drawings decorated the margins. Miranda turned to check out another display, this one showing an antique hymnal.

  Boots thudded on metal, and she turned to see Joel going up the spiral staircase. She followed him.

  The balcony level was warmer and mustier. Tall shelves made accessible by sliding ladders held hundreds and hundreds of leather-bound tomes. One of the four walls was devoted to a glass case containing a collection of stuffed birds. The taxidermy reminded her of childhood field trips to the science museum.

  Joel approached a placard. “What’s with all the birds of prey?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because the mascot here is an eagle?”

  She stepped closer and surveyed the selection. “Some of these are endangered, too. The Andean condor, for example.”

  “The bird theme continues. We can’t escape it.”

  She surveyed a golden eagle clutching a stuffed rabbit in its fierce three-inch talons.

  “Ms. Rhoads?”

  They glanced over the balcony to see a bald man looking up at them. He wore black-framed glasses and had a stack of books under his arm, and Miranda barely recognized him from this vantage point.

  “Dr. Conner, hi,” she said.

  “Call me Mike. And sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Miranda picked her way down the spiral staircase, followed by Joel. The professor was thinner than she remembered, and he’d shaved off his beard since the last time she’d seen him, at the faculty picnic in September. She didn’t know his age, but she guessed late thirties.

  He switched his stack of books to the other arm and offered Miranda a handshake. “Good to see you again.”

  “You, too. This is Detective Joel Breda, with the Lost Beach Police Department.”

  The two men shook hands and seemed to be sizing each other up. Joel was bigger and taller, but the professor didn’t seem intimidated at all. If anything, he looked keenly interested in his badge-wearing visitor.

  “Thanks for making time for us,” Miranda said.

  “Absolutely. Come tell me about your case.”

  They followed him back to a small office. The professor dropped his books on his desk and moved a stack of binders from a side chair onto the floor.

  “Let me grab another chair from next door,” he said and walked out.

  Joel nodded at the chair. “Sit down.”

  Miranda took a seat and glanced around the room. What it lacked in size it made up for with a scenic view of a giant oak tree. The sidewalk outside was filled with students shuttling between classes. As a part-time teacher, Miranda hadn’t achieved windowed-office status. Instead, she had a PO box and a classroom in the art building that she shared with four other teachers.

  A shelf beneath the window was filled with books, and Miranda tilted her head and read some of the titles. The subjects ranged from medieval symbolism to digital encryption.

  The professor reappeared with a chair for Joel.

  “I read about your case online. Sounds horrible.” He looked at Miranda. “I have to say, I’m at a loss as to how I might help. I’ve consulted with the FBI on occasion, but the news article I read didn’t make it sound like a gang-related crime.”

  “We’re still determining that,” Joel said.

  “We’ve been going through the victims’ social media posts,” Miranda said, tugging a file out of her tote bag. “We’ve come across a number of references that we aren’t sure about. In particular, a symbol that comes up over and over again.”

  She opened the file and pulled out the three best photographs she had. Two of the pictures were nature scenes with the infinity symbol on the lower right-hand corner. The third picture was a close-up of Will Stovak’s forearm.

  Mike leaned forward, immediately zeroing in on the tattoo picture. “This is an autopsy photo.” He looked up.

  “Both of our murder victims had the same tattoo,” Joel told him. “And a number of their followers on social media have it, too.”

  “The ouroboros, or infinity serpent,” Mike said.

  Miranda felt a flood of relief. This trip wasn’t a waste of time. “It has a name?”

  “Yes.” He pivoted to his computer and tapped the mouse. “The image is based on the infinity symbol, obviously, which has roots in ancient Egypt.” He tapped a few keys, and a photo appeared on the screen. It was a row of hieroglyphics carved into a stone. He tapped the screen with a pencil. “See?”

  Miranda scooted closer.

  “Now, the serpent imagery here adds another layer of meaning. The snake is eating its tail, you see. Instead of ‘everlasting life,’ it takes on a more sinister meaning. The destruction of the afterlife. Or self-destruction, however you want to view it, depending on your biases.”

  “Biases?” Joel asked.

  “Well, in modern times, yes.” Mike shrugged. “The image is associated with a number of current-day causes. The climate crisis. Deforestation. The destruction of nature at the hands of technology, just to name a few. The symbol has been appropriated by a particular group, if I’m not mistaken.” He leaned closer to his computer and typed some words into a search engine. “Yes, that’s it. Alpha Omega Now.”

  Miranda and Joel both leaned closer.

  “This is their symbol?” Miranda asked.

  “There may be other groups that use it, too, but this is the one that comes to mind. They had a demonstration recently, didn’t they?” He looked at Joel. “I thought I read something—”

  “Last Friday. They demonstrated at the construction site at the south end of the island.” He glanced at Miranda. “Three days before the murders.”

  “You guys made some arrests, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Minor property damage,” he said. “Nothing violent.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin.

  “Is that their website?” Miranda asked.

 
“No, this is a site that simply lists various organizations, like an online glossary. I’d be surprised if Alpha Omega has a website per se.” He turned back to his computer and scrolled through some search results. “I’m not seeing one. Groups like this often try to stay under the radar, so to speak.”

  “Groups like what?” Miranda asked.

  “Groups that are potentially monitored by law enforcement,” Mike said. “It’s the same with gangs. As you can probably guess by the name, Alpha Omega Now is on the extreme end of the spectrum. They’re all about the end of the world. They’ve been known to use illegal or even violent tactics to get their message across.”

  “Such as?” Miranda looked at Joel.

  “They took credit for an explosion at a logging company up in East Texas several years ago,” Joel said. “That’s one reason we responded so quickly when we heard they were on the island. But their protest turned out to be kind of a dud. Just about fifty people with handmade signs and some cans of spray paint. Looked to me like they were looking for media attention more than anything else, and they got it, too. There was a front-page news article in Corpus.”

  Miranda frowned down at the papers in front of her. So, now they had a lead on the symbol, but the posts still didn’t make sense to her. And if their two victims were part of this group, why would they be targeted by it?

  “What is it?” Joel asked her.

  “I still don’t get what all these posts mean.”

  “Maybe they’re messages to followers of the group Alpha Omega Now.” The professor pulled the pages closer.

  Miranda took out a few more pictures and arranged them in front of him. Each photo showed the infinity serpent in the lower right-hand corner.

  “But these shots aren’t exactly a call to action,” Miranda said. “We’ve got beaches, sunrises, sunsets, latte art.” She pulled out a picture of a coffee cup with a heart drawn in foam.

  Mike tugged out a picture. “And the ubiquitous kitten photo,” he said with a smirk.

  “Right. These shots aren’t at all controversial.”

  “Maybe that’s the point,” Joel said.