The Devil's Playground, page 17
‘They tossed her phone.’ When they hadn’t located a third phone, Alyssa had suspected that to be the case, but she still swore.
‘Seems to be what happened,’ Hal agreed.
‘All right. Well, we knew the likelihood of using her GPS tracker to pinpoint her current location was slim, but at least we now have a general direction our suspects were traveling, which is more than we had. So for now, let’s see if we can get a ping warrant for August Holt’s phone. If we could have that by yesterday, that would be grand.’
‘I’ve already got a call into Judge Rosario. She’ll be pissed that I’m calling her on a Saturday, but she loves me, so I’m sure we’ll have that warrant in no time.’
Alyssa shook her head, only half kidding when she said, ‘How the hell do you manage to do things so damn fast? We just now told you about it, and you’ve been on the phone with us for the past fifteen minutes. Do you have Flash Gordon genes?’
‘Flash Gordon doesn’t wear jeans. He wears really tight tank tops or a superhero suit.’
Alyssa groaned even as laughter erupted from the passenger seat. ‘That’s the worst one yet, my friend.’
‘Oh, it was funny, and you know it.’
‘Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.’ Only Cord could see her shake her head in mock disappointment, but it didn’t matter because everyone knew she believed Hal Callum to be a walking – or wheeling – miracle. Plus, his sense of humor frequently managed to defuse tense situations so everyone could clear their minds and stay on track. Current situation case in point.
‘We’re getting close to some answers,’ Cord said. ‘I can feel it. Our dead ends are starting to open up into some alleyways. Before you know it, we’ll have our killers.’
‘And London Brecken,’ Hal added.
‘From your lips to God’s ears,’ Alyssa whispered.
* * *
On the southern outskirts of the city, Alyssa’s Tahoe rumbled and bounced down the washboard dirt road, making her teeth rattle. ‘Who the hell wants to drive all the way out here for church services?’ she grumbled.
‘Maybe they’re not coming for church.’
Off in the distance, Alyssa could just make out a single-wide trailer that had clearly seen better days at least two or three decades before the turn of the century. The part of the roof visible beneath the blue tarp secured with old tires was patchwork style. Barbed-wire fencing surrounded the property full of… stuff. Alyssa couldn’t decide if the place was nothing more than a cluttered piece of land or a purposeful junkyard.
As she drew closer, two grease-covered rottweilers tore around the corner of the home, their muscular bodies vibrating with the threat of latching onto the strangers daring to drive by their padlocked property. A man of indeterminate age and equally covered in grease swaggered around the front to see what had caused the commotion.
‘Well, they look friendly,’ Cord muttered.
Something Hal had told them earlier teased the back of her memory. As the church – if the dilapidated building could be called that – came into view, it clicked. ‘Don’t the conditions of Moore’s parole state he isn’t allowed within one hundred yards of any animals? That property may not belong to him, but his church still places him in dangerous proximity of crossing that line.’
‘Technically, what Hal said, or at least the way I understood it, was that Moore isn’t allowed to be around animals or have them as pets. The one hundred yards was in reference to his victims and his victims’ families. That trailer is outside those bounds, so not breaking any rules that I can see.’
Unsatisfied by her partner’s response, Alyssa didn’t let it deter her. ‘We need to get that clarified because if we need a reason to haul him in for questioning, that’ll be our legal purpose.’ With a cloud of yellow dust from the dirt road raining down on her recently washed vehicle, she came to a stop outside the church. So she wouldn’t inhale a mouthful of dirt, she waited for it to settle before she climbed out and glanced inside the rust bucket of a truck whose side windows were covered with such a heavy film of grime, she couldn’t see anything past the torn vinyl of the seat and the trash strewn along the floorboard.
Torn garbage bags littered the ground around the crumbling structure of the church, their contents spilling out rancid milk cartons, moldy fruit, and God knew what else. ‘So, he’s a neat freak,’ Alyssa deadpanned.
Together, she and Cord climbed the rickety steps, doing their best to avoid the obstacle course of trash. When they reached the door, they were both surprised to see it open. Something she decided to be grateful for because she didn’t relish touching the oily doorknob that probably hadn’t been cleaned in the last half-century.
Stepping inside, she swung her head left and right, mentally noting the condition of the interior wasn’t any better than the exterior. Unlike other churches she’d been in, this centrum felt icky and far from welcoming. Maybe because nearly every visible surface played host to what had to be millions of black mold spores – the floor, the ceiling, the ancient counter holding ancient brochures, everything. The urge to cover her nose and mouth to avoid breathing any of it in hit her hard, but she ignored the impulse. Somehow.
‘Don’t know about you, but I don’t think what I’m feeling is the Holy Spirit,’ Cord mumbled.
‘Do you think it’s because of the cobwebs hanging from the windows, the layers of dirt covering the broken tiled floor, or the I-don’t-even-want-to-know-what-germs-are-swimming-in-it carpet, hmm?’
‘Let’s just go find this guy and try and get some answers so we can get out of here. And take a shower.’ Cord pointed to the only other doorway in the church where, above it, the letters *F**CE were barely still visible through the graffiti.
They didn’t bother knocking.
Prison hadn’t done Ewan Moore any favors. The man reclined with his filthy boots propped up on the fake, peeling wooden desk. When he heard them enter, his feet dropped to the ground with an echoing thud, and he rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed in suspicion even as he offered a grin that showed two missing teeth and several broken and chipped ones.
As Alyssa flashed her badge, she noticed the man’s teardrop tattoo near his eye twitch. ‘Ewan Moore?’
‘Police.’ The way he said it made it sound like a curse word. ‘What do you want? I haven’t violated any rules of my parole. Those dogs are well outside the boundaries, and I don’t know the man who lives in the trailer, though I’ve left flyers inviting him to services.’
‘We have a few questions for you.’
‘Whatever you want to know, I don’t have the answers.’ Moore crossed his powerful arms over his chest and glared.
‘Not very pastorly of you, is it?’ Alyssa asked.
‘I’ve got a sermon to prepare for, so I’ll ask you again before I insist you leave, what do you want?’
In his own form of intimidation, Cord stepped in closer, not quite crowding the man but definitely invading his space. ‘Where were you Thursday?’
‘Home. Why?’
‘Anybody who can verify that?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess you could ask my daughter or her husband since I live with them. I’d tell you their names, but I’m sure you cops already have that information, along with their dates of birth, their cell phone numbers, the kinds of cars they drive, and the first time they had sex.’
‘Well, what if we told you we found a couple of bodies who, incidentally enough, have the markings of your past crimes?’ Though only Skye had any markings on her or had the number forty-seven carved into her tongue, Alyssa wanted to watch Moore’s reaction. He didn’t blink, didn’t even drop his gaze in her direction as he continued to stare Cord down.
‘And? You want to know if I’m up to my old practices? My parole officer knows I found religion. I’m a changed man.’ Moore thumped on a dusty, tattered copy of the Bible sitting on the edge of his desk.
Some consider Satanic rituals a religion of sorts. Alyssa thought it but kept the words inside.
‘Do you have a cell phone?’ Cord asked.
‘No. See no need for anyone to be able to reach me any time I’m sitting on the toilet, out for a walk, or meditating. My daughter doesn’t own a home phone either. Things changed during my time in prison. Time I’ve done, I’ll remind you.’
Not all of it. Again, Alyssa kept the thought to herself. She nodded to the only clean object in the room, a picture frame with a photo of a young woman, probably in her twenties and a young man of approximately the same age or maybe a little older. Aside from Moore’s life-beaten looks, the female looked remarkably like him. ‘Is that your daughter?’
Without turning around, Moore nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘How does she feel about your past?’
The lines around Moore’s face stretched tight. That question finally earned Alyssa his attention as he sneered at her. ‘She lets me live with her, and she trusts me not to drive a dagger through her heart or carve up her tongue while she’s sleeping. My daughter, Detective, is proud of the man her father has become.’
Both Alyssa and Cord stiffened, and Moore laughed, the sound one of the evilest she’d ever heard.
‘Well, isn’t that what you meant by “my markings”? After all, that is what I was known for. I never got my own media moniker, but the boys in the house liked to call me The Carver.’
‘For a supposedly repentant man, I’ve got to say you don’t particularly seem like you’re sorry or that you regret your crimes,’ Alyssa said.
‘Regret? Sorry? Jesus forgave me, so my sins have been absolved. If He can let it go, who am I not to let the past stay in the past? Now, listen, I don’t know anything about your crime, so I’m going to suggest you go ahead and get your arrest warrant and your search warrants to flip my place. And I’ll go ahead and contact my attorney, so you know, we’re all on the same page. And now I’ll allow you two to see yourselves out while I prepare to bring my congregation to see the light of eternal salvation.’
With that, Moore turned his back and plopped back down in the chair that sent up a plume of old dust.
Without a warrant, they couldn’t legally search the place, but they could check things out that were out in the open, so Alyssa and Cord did just that, finding nothing that raised any red flags. As they climbed back inside the Tahoe, neither spotted the face peering back at them from a window in the corner of the church.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saturday, April 24
Flames licked at London’s face, reawakening the scream that cried to be released but was forced to stay lodged in her throat. If the blistering heat of the high sun blazing in and scorching her skin was trying to prepare her for hell, it needn’t bother. She was already there.
All the ball of fire did now was remind her that her mouth was drier than a desert, made worse by the bloodied cloth still shoved inside it and that now stuck to the cracks in her lips and the multiple sores forming between her teeth and her bottom lip. Wincing from the pain, she tried to push her swollen tongue against the cloth to dislodge it, but even something as minor as wiggling her tender jaw depleted her energy.
Drained from straddling the edges of sanity, London closed her eyes for another moment. When she reopened them, they immediately landed on the familiar, demonic words painted on the wall. In the sunlight, things she hadn’t noticed before now screamed out their existence. The ‘T’ in The was actually an inverted cross, the apostrophe and ‘S’ in Devil’s were actually a vampiric tooth and a lightning bolt such as the band KISS used, the ‘A’ in Playground a symbol of an anarchist, and the ‘O’ a pentagram. And in between all the letters were not merely black dots as she’d first thought but the numbers six-six-six. Acid from her stomach surged up her esophagus, burning her throat. What cosmic folly had occurred that had caused her and her friends to cross paths with these sadistic savages who worshipped all things evil?
Pray for your enemies, London, that they may be forgiven and brought to the light. Of all the voices she continued to hear, her grandmother’s daily wisdom was the one that lingered. Knowing her grandparents had to be frantic with worry, despite the fact that they were, in all likelihood, part of a growing prayer chain pleading with God to bring her safely home, London endured yet another round of emotional tug-of-war with a twisted rope made up of hope and crushing despair.
It took no effort at all for her to picture her grandfather’s strong countenance and her grandmother’s steely resolve as they rallied their pastor and all their friends together. As a teenager, she’d often rolled her eyes, albeit never in front of them, whenever someone initiated one of the small-town prayer chains, wondering why they bothered.
One day, right after a friend of hers had succumbed to injuries caused by a drunk driver who’d broadsided her car, London had cried on her grandma’s shoulders. Inconsolable, she’d demanded to know why God had allowed it to happen, despite all of their urgent prayers to see her friend through, screaming that it wasn’t fair, especially since the drunk driver had walked away with little more than a gash across his cheek. Grandma had wept with her and explained it was all part of God’s plan.
Instead of bolstering her courage, the memory managed to suffocate any inkling of faith she may’ve been trying to cling to. What if all this, Skye’s and Elena’s murders, as well as everything happening to her, was also part of the ‘plan’? A plan she hadn’t understood then and didn’t understand now. How could an all-loving omniscient being be okay with any of this – or even allow it to happen at all? A rush of anger sent a different kind of heat radiating throughout her body. For a few precious moments, London welcomed an emotion not filled with terror and pain.
For long moments, she held onto that rage, letting it fuel her. Until movement caught her eye, and she jerked her head to the side in time to watch the black rat snake slithering across the windowsill where the same wolf or dog she’d seen before unconsciousness stole her away sat on the ground staring inside at her. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the snake inching its way closer to the animal. Begging her muscles to cooperate, she lifted her bound hands and tried to warn the wolfdog away with a shooing motion, but it remained where it stood, its beautiful, knowing eyes observing her.
Just as her arms collapsed from the effort of holding them up, she heard the rattle of an engine. The animal glanced once over its shoulders in the direction of the approaching vehicle before rising from its haunches. Then, with one final look at London, it turned and trotted away, leaving her to face her tormentors on her own.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday, April 24
Later that afternoon, and five minutes after Cord walked into the incident room laden down with a Styrofoam container holding a green-chile smothered enchilada and calabacitas for Alyssa, three bags of handheld burritos, sopapillas, chips, salsa, two two-liter bottles of soda and chai tea for himself, Alyssa ended her call. The way Joe and Tony attacked the bags made it seem like they hadn’t eaten for days. Which, come to think of it, they might not have.
Seconds after setting her phone to the side, she received a text notification. She peeked down to see Isaac’s name. Again. He’d already sent her four texts earlier to beat Holly’s three.
Whtevr Holly did to Dad, she needs to fix stat. He’s grumpy n snarly. Also r u com’g home? Don’t tell her, but don’t really want G-ma’s lasagna.
Alyssa shook her head and shot back a message followed by a monkey covering both eyes.
Here’s a thought: if you don’t want what Grandma is kind enough to come over and cook for you, brat, try cooking for her and Dad for a change.
Almost immediately, her phone dinged again.
Sorry. Wrong number. Pls go about yer evening. Peace out.
P.S. U shouldn’t call yer kid names. It’ll scar me.
Alyssa laughed.
Good thing I didn’t call my kid a brat, just the person who texted me by mistake.
Isaac sent a bunch of cry-laughing emojis followed by a:
luv u. Seriously, come home soon, k?
Even if it was only because she provided the groceries he bulldozed through, it was nice to know her teenage son still liked having her home once in a while.
Pushing food, napkins, and a coffee cup now filled with soda in her direction, Cord nodded to the phone still in her hand. ‘Who were you talking to when I walked in? Sounded important.’
‘Olivia Cordova, Roman’s sister. One of her friends caught a bug or ate something bad, so they decided to end their camping trip early. As soon as she got her mother’s message, she called.’
Cord popped a chip dipped in salsa into his mouth. ‘What’d she have to say?’
Alyssa eyed the chip and gave a derisive snort. ‘Why bother putting salsa on it at all? How can you not understand that the chip is merely the vessel used to get the salsa to your mouth? You embarrass me with your lack of respect for the chips and salsa dining etiquette. But to answer your question, she mostly corroborated what her mother already told us. That just before Christmas two years ago, she walked in on Roman choking their mother, pulled her gun and threatened to shoot him. What she added was that a couple of weeks later, he blew up her phone with apology texts and messages. She said she finally called him up and told him he needed help, and until he got it, she had no desire to speak to him or listen to his pleas about trying to mend things. She told him the ball was in his court, and whatever choice he made was fine with her.’ Alyssa paused to take a bite out of her enchilada and wash it down with her drink.
‘I take it he didn’t really follow through with getting help?’
