by Jette Harris
“Wait, what? I didn’t—What?” Benny put his hands up as Faliro approached him.
Slipping his fingers under the collar, Faliro pulled Benny to his knees and pushed his head down against his hip. As soon as Benny felt the collar loosen, he jerked out of Faliro’s grasp.
“I don’t want any trouble!” he called, backing away.
“Oh, I know,” Faliro said, nodding nonchalantly. He shoved the keys back into his pocket, took a long drag, then pulled a hunting knife out from behind his back. Leila whimpered. Even in the dim light, he could see the color drain from Benny’s face.
Faliro grabbed Sandy’s hair and pulled her head back. She screamed as he held the knife at her throat.
“No!” Benny yelled. “No! OK!” He took a few nervous steps forward. “What–whatever you want… Whatever you imagine, I’m–I’ll do it. Jus-Just don’t hurt my wife.”
“S’what I thought,” Faliro muttered, shoving Sandy’s head away.
“Fucking—” She withered when he raised the back of his hand to her.
“No!” Benny took a few more steps forward. “No, I’m… She’s sorry. See? She’s sorry; She was just scared.” Sandy nodded, looking more childish than scared.
Faliro looked Benny up and down. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of the man’s mouth: He had thought that Benny was the typical nice guy, but now he just seemed like a pandering bitch.
Sliding the knife back into the sheath clipped to his belt, Faliro stepped up to him, so close, they were almost bumping chests. Benny turned his face, wincing in anticipation. Faliro reached down and grabbed his crotch.
“Oh, God!” Benny jumped back into the wall.
Faliro accidentally blew smoke in Benny’s face, but repeated for good measure. He unbuttoned Benny’s trousers and snaked his hand down to explore his genitals. Benny squeezed his eyes shut and began to stammer something under his breath. From the snatches Faliro could hear, he guessed it was a prayer for chastity and purity of mind. He was surprisingly aroused by this. He licked his lips and began to massage Benny’s cock.
“No…” Benny whimpered. The others watched in open-mouthed horror. His shoulders shook as he fought the urge to cry. “Please…” He turned his face away from the others. “Please, not in front of my wife.”
Although Faliro was already throbbing, he had no intention of pursuing this further here. He pulled his hand out of Benny’s pants and licked the small amount of fluid he had managed to leech. He wiped his fingers dry on the front of Benny’s shirt and grabbed his tie.
“Let’s go, then.” Faliro nodded toward the door.
Sniffling, Benny cupped his hands over his pants and shuffled toward the door. Sandy’s eyes were wide with shock. Her hands were pressed over her mouth. But as soon as their backs were to her, Faliro could have sworn he heard her snort with derision… or amusement.
30
May, 2006
Atlanta
Rhodes tossed the Red Wing shoebox onto the passenger seat of the Sheriff’s cruiser. He pried Beaumont’s one-size-too-small Bates off his feet and pulled on the Red Wings. Standing, he released a sigh of relief. He leaned back into the cruiser and stacked the Bates neatly into the empty box. He took the GPS chip from where he had tossed it on the dashboard and slipped it in one of the boots. Popping the lid shut, he pushed the box onto the floor and walked around the car a few times before climbing back into the driver’s seat.
Witt had given him Monica’s address, and Rhodes had sat down the street after texting her from Witt’s phone, but he had never seen the houses and daylight, and had never approached them from this direction. The only way he recognized them was from the red 1972 Mustang sitting in Heather’s driveway. Rhodes debated pulling in behind it, but pulling up to the curb felt more coply.
When Heather’s grandfather opened the front door, he shielded his face from the sunlight. He lowered his hand to reveal glassy, blood-shot eyes. “Huh?” he grunted with a gust of alcohol.
Rhodes cleared his throat and donned the accent he picked up from his brief exchange with Kondorf. “Mr. Brewer, I’m with the Sheriff’s Department.”
Tex grunted again and coughed. “How can I help you, deputy?”
“Some of the other parents reported items missing from their chil—their students’ bedrooms. Have you noticed anything missing from Heather’s room?”
Tex covered his mouth with a hand and shook his head. “I… I haven’t been in there.”
“Mind if we take a look?”
Glancing into the kitchen, Tex sniffled. Rhodes was certain if he followed the old man’s gaze, he would find a tumbler and a bottle on the kitchen table.
Tex turned back and shrugged. “Sure, follow me.”
Rhodes followed the sharp, oaky fragrance of Bourbon up the stairs. All the doors on the second-floor landing hung open, except for one at the far end. He fought the urge to pull them shut as he walked past. He expected Tex to lead him to the closed door, but he turned into the room before it.
Rhodes was assaulted by purple. The walls were painted lilac, broken by posters of musicians from every era and genre. The heavy bedspread was violet, spotted with dark ink stains. An acoustic guitar with mother-of-pearl inlay leaned in a stand between the door and a desk. The desktop was scattered with textbooks, binders, and school papers. Three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves occupied the adjoining wall. Books and CD’s filled them top-to-bottom, save one shelf overcrowded with trophies, ribbons, and medals.
Once the purple shock wore off, Rhodes was impressed. If he had been able to decorate his room as a teen, it probably would have looked much like this. (Only a little less purple.)
Heather’s grandfather hesitated at the threshold as Rhodes was drawn to the bookshelves. He pulled on some nitrile gloves and sneered when he realized they matched the purple on the walls.
“You said you haven’t been in here?”
“Not since Ritchie first came over.” Tex looked around the room as if it were haunted. “That was a few days ago.”
“Ritchie?” Rhodes raised a brow. Although he had been in too much of a panic in Detroit to learn much about the investigators, he had developed an unexpected esteem for Agent Steyer. “You two know each other?”
“Oh,” Tex gave a non-committal wave. “We—uh—Once upon a time. We go way back.”
“That’s a story I’d love to hear.”
Tex did not follow through. He either smiled or grimaced, and broke into a coughing fit. He waved again.
“Looking around,” Rhodes continued, “does anything seem different? Anything moved? Missing?”
As Tex searched the room with his eyes, Rhodes browsed the titles on the bookshelves: Roots, Deadly Feasts, Prophets, lots of classical literature, histories, biographies, scientific investigation.
“It’s cold.”
“Excuse me?”
“Heather… hates the cold. Usually her room is about ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house.”
Rhodes turned to hide his smirk. Heather grumbled about the cold often as he sat listening to them. A large picture frame mounted above the desk caught his eye: a B.S.Ed. in Exercise and Sport Science from UGA for one Thi Thuyen Vu Stokes. An acceptance letter to Heather from UGA was tacked to the wall next to it. They were surrounded by Post-its covered in mathematical formulas, chemical symbols, irregular French conjugation, historical dates, and translations of common phrases into Vietnamese.
Tex coughed again. “Do you mind if I…?” He pointed over his shoulder.
“No, of course.” Rhodes waved him off. “I’ll come find you.” He had only expected to poke around in the bathroom, but now his curiosity was piqued.
Tex disappeared. Rhodes heard him heaving on the opposite end of the house. He pushed the door until it stood open only a few inches. Opening the closet, he flipped on the light and stepped inside. He brushed a hand over the clothes hanging inside, all practical and sporty, with a couple of slacks and button-up blouses too larg
e for the scrawny girl he knew. An outdated skirt suit and a garish black dress hung in the back.
Shoved in the back corner, partially-hidden by the hanging clothes, sat two boxes. One was labelled MOM in red, the other DAD in yellow. Rhodes’s mouth twitched. He peered inside Dad’s box, finding a crumpled Pearl Jam t-shirt on top. He sniffed it, most likely the reason Heather kept it on top. It smelled faintly of Speed Stick, even after all these years. Underneath was B.S. in Computer Science from Georgia Institute of Technology for Heath William Stokes. Rhodes folded the shirt and placed it back in the box.
Opening Thi’s box, he found a stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff. He smiled bittersweetly; He had a box just like it pushed into the back corner of his own closet, unmarked. Underneath was a copy of the Collected Poems of e e cummings. He flipped a few pages. Two different hands had scribbled in the margins. One of them he recognized from the Post-its on the wall. The other was far neater. He slipped the book into his shirt and pushed the box back against the wall.
The bedroom had two windows on the far wall, one over the bed and one at the foot of the bed. He had watched as Monica climbed in and out of the one at the foot of the bed. The bottom pane wasn’t seated properly; It wobbled, but did not give under pressure. The lock took a great effort to shift, but once unlocked, the window slid open without a sound. Hot, muggy air gusted in. He slid the window back down and did not re-lock it.
A full-length mirror covered the bathroom door. Rhodes removed Beaumont’s hat, smoothed down his unruly hair, and straightened the hat back on his head. Entering the bathroom, he studied the cleansing products around the sink and bathtub, all cheap, generic brands. His lip curled. He found a cosmetics bag as he poked around the drawers and cabinets, but it had a thick layer of dust over it. He unzipped it and was surprised to find a chain of uncultured pearls tucked into a lace pouch. (This has to be the most precious thing Heather owns.) Although tempted to take it, Rhodes tucked it back into the pouch and slid the bag back under the counter.
Under the opposite end of the vanity sat a half-empty bag of panty liners. Rhodes searched, but could not find a stash of tampons or pads. He furrowed his brow, but shook his curiosity off.
Rhodes left everything but the window as he had found it, although he was now convinced he had no reason to return. He tucked the book more securely in the waist of Beaumont’s trousers and stepped onto the landing. Tex was coughing again across the way. Rhodes side-stepped to the only closed door in the house and found it unlocked.
Pushing it open, he found another teenaged girl’s room, only twenty years in the past. Pat Benatar and Paul McCartney adorned the walls, along with a poster for the original Nightmare on Elm Street. Rhodes almost laughed aloud; the room was so unexpected. A queen-sized bed made with black bedding occupied the near wall. Opposite the foot of the bed stood an upright piano. It had patterns, band names, and occult symbols carved into it—signs of adolescent rebellion—sanded and stained in an attempt to hide the damage.
The piano was crowned with photos in mismatched frames. The finest frame held a wedding photo: A young, tattooed Asian woman, already in the advanced stages of pregnancy, stood next to an awkward-looking long-haired man, slightly older. Tex sat beside them, looking exasperated, but smiling. The next photo had the happy couple cuddling a newborn. Thi’s hair still matted her sweaty face, and Heath’s eyes were wide with wonder. Rhodes’s mouth twitched. The next frame looked like balsa wood, containing a grainy photo of six men in Army BDU’s. Tex’s laughing eyes were immediately recognizable. He wore the insignia of an EOD technician. Rhodes’s jaw dropped as he recognized the lieutenant standing next to Tex, barely old enough to be an officer, with his high forehead, fair features, and cool expression.
The sound of water turning on in the other room made Rhodes jump. He leaned closer for a better look, holding his breath in disbelief, then hurried back onto the landing. He pulled the door shut and leaned on the banister in time for Tex to emerge from his bedroom. His eyes were still watering as he pressed a handkerchief to his mouth.
“You OK?” Rhodes almost dropped a “Sarge” at the end of the question, but he bit it off.
Tex sniffled and cleared his throat, then shook his head. He reeked of vomit. Rhodes preferred the cheap Bourbon. “’S been a rough week.”
“Oh, I bet.” Rhodes put a hand on Tex’s shoulder, still brawny and solid, despite his age. He wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that arm.
“Did you find anything?” Tex asked as they descended the stairs.
“Nothin’ looks amiss. Of course, I wouldn’t notice anything unless it was obvious. I did check to make sure the windows were locked, though. I’ll leave it to you to check the rest of the house.” He touched his hat to bid Tex farewell.
The door was almost closed when Rhodes spoke again: “One more thing.”
Tex poked his head back out. Rhodes was gazing into the yard next door. A small child sat on the front porch with arms crossed over his legs.
“Is that Monica Shatterthwaith’s house?”
Tex nodded. “That there’s Xavier.”
Another boy, a few years younger, flew out of the house and jumped the stairs, landing on the lawn. He spread his arms like wings and rushed around the yard.
“And David,” the old man added.
“Thank you,” Rhodes said, tipping his hat in good-bye. His muscles were tight, as if Tex were watching as he walked down the driveway and across the Shatterthwaith’s lawn. David almost crashed into his legs, but pulled himself short. Broad, pale scars ran up his neck and marred his face, indicative of a dog attack.
“Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m just wearing the uniform.”
David laughed, revealing crooked teeth. Remembering himself, he squirmed, turning the scarred side of his face away.
Xavier bounded over. “Did you find my sister?”
Rhodes couldn’t think of a funny comeback for that one.
31
Deputy Moore was a large, bald black man with an impressive mustache. As he approached the front doors with Dr. Magee—slightly younger, slightly lighter-of-skin, and much shorter—he did not look like someone anyone would want to tangle with. But once they let the agents in and shook hands, Moore cracked a warm, welcoming smile that changed his entire demeanor. He was the ideal high school campus officer.
After their introductions, Dr. Magee checked his watch and clapped his hands. “You gentlemen have about forty-five minutes before after-school activities wrap up, which means these halls will be crawling with students for a good ten minutes before Deputy Moore and I herd them out, then we’re locking up.”
Steyer nodded. He and Remington exchanged a glance and came to a silent agreement.
Remington gestured to Moore. “Would you mind showing me the classroom the students all had in common?” He glanced at his notepad to double-check the names. “Dr. Creighton’s AP… A and P?” He pursed his lips as if the joke had not been intentional, but Moore’s smile broadened.
“This way.” Moore gestured through a hallway leading to a cafeteria.
Steyer turned to Dr. Magee and slipped his hands into his pockets. “You said you believed you had something that might be of interest to us?”
“Yes, Agent Steyer.” Unlike Deputy Moore, Dr. Magee’s manner was all-business. “The main office is just through here.”
****
“People don’t just walk into our school, Special Agent,” Dr. Magee said as he guided Steyer to his office door. “Dr. Creighton was sick. He texted me the night before he had gone to the ER with Salmonella. The man that showed up that morning wasn’t a familiar face, but that isn’t odd. We have a revolving door with substitutes. He had a district ID, the name in our system matched the name on his badge.” He passed Steyer a gallon-sized Ziploc bag containing a piece of paper with SUBSTITUTE SIGN-IN across the top and a pen. Dr. Creighton’s substitute signed in at 6:52 a.m. He signed in again at 7:50 a.m. the next morning. He s
igned his name both times in neat cursive: Avery Rhodes.
Although they had a few other aliases, Steyer’s pulse quickened. They had never had a name until after it was too late. Having one now felt like progress.
“Your website states school starts at 8:10. Is seven early for a sub?”
Dr. Magee shook his head. “It’s not unheard of, especially not for a nervous rookie.”
Steyer leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and twisted his wedding band. Why would he come in at 7 one morning, then 7:50 the next? He rubbed his brow and shook his head.
“Do you have cameras inside the school?”
“We have several cameras in strategic locations, but not in the classrooms, and not all of them work.” Dr. Magee leaned on his desk and laced his fingers together. “I’ll have Deputy Moore make you copies of those days and send them your way.”
****
Dr. Creighton’s classroom was through the cafeteria, down a hall, through an outdoor corridor, and in an entirely separate building from the rest of the school. The acrid smell of chemicals and smoke indicated that building was strictly used for the science classes.
The classroom they were looking for was near the center of the building. Moore leaned into the open door and beckoned toward the front. Remington leaned in behind him. Two female students sat on opposite ends of the front row, heads down, pencils moving furiously.
Dr. Creighton was a tall, sturdy man with a mane of silver hair and a bushy sable beard. He checked the clock on the wall at the front of the room as he crossed to the door.
“Two more minutes, ladies!”
One of the girls growled in frustration and scribbled more furiously.
“I take it you are one of the FBI agents I heard about on the news last night?”
Both girls twisted around in their chairs. Their eyes roved over Remington with interest. He groaned internally; If there was anything he hated more than small children, it was teen-aged girls, for that exact reason.