The Devil's Playground, page 28
Just like that, the number forty-seven clicked into place in Alyssa’s mind, and when she turned to Cord, she could see in his eyes that he’d come to the same conclusion. DG, Draven Garcia. Which meant… ‘Did you happen to overhear what your brother’s nickname for Chrissy was?’
‘Mary? No, that wasn’t it. Mare. Mara. Again, strange, but aside from telling Elena about it, I didn’t give it much thought.’
And there was the connection to thirteen-thirteen. MM, Mara Madison. She’d have Hal look into the symbolic meaning of those names. Maybe that would be their clue in tracking her down.
After several more minutes and offering their sincerest condolences, Alyssa and Cord walked to the door, turning to thank Ashlee and the Garcias once again.
Ashlee held up her hand. ‘You can thank me by finding Chrissy and bringing her to justice. I’m not going to be naïve enough to claim she’s the root of all my brother’s issues because clearly he had them long before her. But right now, from the bottom of my heart, I hate him as much as I hate her because, aside from doing what they did to London, they murdered Skye and Elena. They robbed the world of a kindhearted soul who would’ve done anything to see her brother happy again. And since he’s no longer alive to take the punishment he deserves, my parents and I will have to settle for watching her pay for it.’
She closed the door before Alyssa or Cord could respond.
On the way to the car, Alyssa said, ‘Well, so much for the theory that middle children are the peacekeepers in the family. Let’s call Hal and see what he can tell us about the names Draven and Mara and see if that’ll help us pinpoint her location.’
Hal answered the phone with a question of his own. ‘Did you find out where Madison might be?’
‘No. We were hoping to put your mad research skills to the test to see if you could tell us the significance of the names Draven and Mara, or see if you’d come across them in your old case. Why?’ Alyssa asked.
‘Don’t know anything about the names. Though I remember a lot of the cult members we arrested back in the day had so-called cult names for anonymity reasons or simply because an alternate alias appealed to them. And I asked because I think I know where you can find Madison.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Monday, April 26
If Hal had announced he was a purple dinosaur masquerading as a human, Alyssa couldn’t have been more stunned. Her pulse took off like a horse at the Kentucky Derby. ‘Well, don’t hold the information hostage, Hal. Spill it.’
‘That’s not really the thanks I expected.’ Hal’s teasing tone deserted him. ‘Well, we discovered Madison’s phone at their place yesterday, but what was noticeably missing was Mateo Garcia’s phone, which we knew he had to have had on him at some point because that’s how we knew they were at the Sandersons’. So it occurred to me to ping Garcia’s phone again in case Madison had taken it. Didn’t seem likely, but thought it was worth a shot. And guess what?’
‘You’ve got a location on Mateo’s phone?’ Even if Madison was already across state lines or halfway across the country, Alyssa knew they were closing in.
‘And unless Mateo’s body is currently being transported south as we speak, his phone is bouncing off the towers leading in the direction of Montemar. Now, Madison could well be heading toward Mexico… or she could be heading back to the church where you found London.’
‘Why would she risk that?’ Cord asked after Alyssa’s phone switched to the Bluetooth in her car. ‘Evidence collected everything they could. I highly doubt she’d risk capture for nostalgia’s sake.’
‘I don’t speak Satanic brain,’ Hal said, ‘but I do understand fluent criminal activity, and my guess is the evidence team didn’t find everything. If she’s going there at all. Like I said, those are the towers the phone’s bouncing off of. Could be she’s just driving through. But isn’t it worth checking out?’
‘It is,’ Alyssa said. ‘But I’ve got to side with Cord on this one because not only does it not make sense that she’d return to the scene of the crime when there’s nothing there for her to gain, but why would she be using her dead boyfriend’s phone at all? I cannot believe she’d be dumb enough to snatch his phone, especially when she left hers at home when they went after the Sandersons and Carter and Abigail. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t realize it’s with her? I don’t know. All I’m doing is giving you the information so you can decide what to do with it. Besides, aren’t you the one who always tells us not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Same advice here.’
Maybe she’d seen too many movies or television shows herself, but Alyssa couldn’t help but be suspicious. By virtue of her career choice and life experiences, it was in her nature. It helped make her a better detective. It took her head just a few seconds to discredit the idea that Chrissy Madison would risk hijacking her freedom by grabbing the phone just so she could toss it into a vehicle heading in the opposite direction she intended to travel for the mere sake of throwing the authorities off her trail. Not only did it not fit her narcissistic personality, but like she’d said to Hal, it also made no sense for her to take Mateo’s phone at all.
But Hal was right; it didn’t matter. They had a possible location, which wasn’t as great as a possible sighting, but it was more than they had five minutes ago. ‘All right. I’ll call Hammond and let him know we’re heading that way.’
‘No need. He’s standing right here.’
Hammond’s voice came on the line. ‘Keep me posted along the way. Hal’s going to reach out to Deputy Lopez to put him on alert. I want you to give him a call when you get closer for some backup. You two be careful out there. I don’t need you being shot at again.’ Though the captain did his best to cover the gruff emotion in his tone, it still came through, and Alyssa and Cord shared a smile. It wasn’t often he wore any part of his heart on his sleeve.
‘You got it. Thanks, Captain.’
‘Before you go, what are the chances we can get a chopper in the air in case Madison really is dumb enough to head back to the church?’ Alyssa asked.
‘We’re already on it. Here’s Hal back.’
‘All right, like the Captain said, be careful out there. And hey, Cord, try not to catch any more shrapnel in your body. You’re not Superman, my friend.’
Cord chuckled. ‘Are you sure about that? I’m pretty sure that shit bounced right off me.’
The three enjoyed a quick chuckle before Alyssa said, ‘Keep us up to date on Madison’s movements, if she changes directions, or anything else.’
‘You’ll be the first.’
* * *
The closer Alyssa and Cord got to Montemar, the more hopeful she became. Hal had sent one text to update them on Madison’s movements, and from what he could tell, the phone was tracking her straight to the church. Hal said he’d call back only if Mateo’s phone bounced off any towers further south than the turn-off to the abandoned church. And so far, they’d heard nothing.
‘What could she possibly want or have left behind?’ Though she spoke out loud, Alyssa directed the question to herself.
Cord, his hand absently tapping around the bandage covering his neck, answered anyway. ‘I have no clue.’
‘Getting itchy now that the local anesthetic’s finally worn all the way off?’ When Cord shot her a puzzled look, she nodded to the way his fingers were dancing around his stitches.
His cheeks turning pink, he immediately dropped his hand. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. But I’m not in pain, so nothing that’s going to impede my thinking if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Alyssa darted a narrow-eyed, scathing glare his direction. ‘Right, because I can’t just be concerned about you.’
Realizing he’d taken his own embarrassment out on her, Cord joked. ‘Did I just hear your eyes roll at me?’
‘No. You heard my eyes doing a new acrobatic routine at your insulting comment.’
‘Well then, I give it a solid ten, gold medal.’ Cord let a couple of seconds tick by before adding, ‘All joking aside, you’re right, and I apologize. I’m just tense because I was thinking of everything Chrissy Madison – and Mateo Garcia – have put Carter and Abigail through.’
Like a pricked balloon, Alyssa’s irritation deflated. ‘Apology accepted. But speaking of Madison and Garcia, do you know what I can’t make sense of?’
‘Any of it?’
‘Well, yeah, but if Mateo had such an issue with Elena, why attack Skye?’
‘I’ve been giving that some thought, and I think I’ve got an answer. Not to bring up bad memories, especially since it was just two years ago this month, but when Isaac was kidnapped, that was aimed at making you suffer. So, maybe he saw how much fun Elena was having with her friend and decided to take it from her in the worst possible way.’
‘Makes sense, but if the purpose was to make Elena pay, why kill her, too?’
‘Again, been playing this through in my head. According to Dr. Sharp, Elena was rendered defenseless with a blow to the head before her throat was cut. Maybe, like you suggested earlier on, she took Madison and Mateo by surprise, kind of like London did?’
Alyssa let that theory marinate in her mind for a minute. ‘That makes as much sense as anything else in this case. I say let’s track her down, bring her in, and see if we can get some real answers.’
‘Sounds like a fairly solid plan to me,’ Cord said.
Approximately ten miles from the turn-off, Alyssa cut her sirens but not her speed; two miles from the turn-off, Cord contacted Jason Lopez to get ready. A mile out, the tension in the car grew more tangible. Especially after Hal sent one final text fifteen minutes earlier that simply read,
Lost tower location in area consistent with turn-off to church.
Another text chimed through, this time on Cord’s phone. Grabbing it from the center console, he read it and summarized. ‘Lopez has his guys assembled nearby out of sight. If Madison is at the church, we should be able to box her in.’
The moment Alyssa had the turn-off in her sights, she flashed her lights, the predetermined signal alerting the officer partially concealed between some shrubs.
Because of the brief but heavy rainstorm in Montemar earlier this morning, Alyssa could easily see recent tire tracks. The massive butterflies flitting through her stomach took flight and spread outward until her left foot jittered against the floorboard near the brake pedal.
Slowing down, she and Cord exchanged looks. Nostrils flaring, pulse throbbing wildly in his temple, Cord clenched his jaw and made a promise she knew he had every intention of keeping. ‘No matter what, If Chrissy Madison’s here, her reign of terror ends today.’
Alyssa nodded. ‘We’ll make sure of it.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Monday, April 26
Though it had been quite some time since Mara had actually thought of herself as Chrissy, the ‘Christ follower’ name given to her by her deranged father, she now shed it like a snake sheds its skin, reemerging new and fresh. After her father’s death, she’d shed lots of things, including the beliefs forced upon her by his tyrannical fist. By the time she turned ten, she figured she was already going to hell anyway, according to her father’s reasoning, so she’d quit repenting. If no hope for redemption existed, she saw no point in bothering to try.
She hadn’t actually set out to go in the completely opposite direction of her father’s rantings, but one night she was given a particularly harsh beating for drawing what she later learned was a pentagram onto her hand. At the time, however, she’d had no idea what it was or what it represented. She’d simply seen an illustration of it, thought it was cool, and sketched it onto her hand during class. She’d meant to scrub it off before she arrived home, but she’d forgotten. By the time she’d remembered, it was too late; her father had already seen it.
Very rarely did her mother ever try to stand up for her against her husband, but that night she had intervened when Chrissy’s bottom began bleeding and her back was striped from the belt strap. She remembered her mother screaming for Abel to stop, that Chrissy didn’t understand what the symbol meant. After he backhanded her mother hard enough to send her reeling across the room and practically into the fire burning in the fireplace, he’d sent Chrissy to her room. Suffocating her own cries into her pillow, she’d heard her father’s Old Testament, archaic rantings interspersed with things she definitely didn’t understand. For days, he’d raged about some group of people now in prison for murder and animal mutilations and worshipping the devil and… As usual, she discounted his rants as just another fear tactic he employed.
But she listened in earnest when she heard him mention the supposed power these people thought they gained. Though frightened of what her father would do if he caught her, she snuck out one night so she could carve six-six-six into the tree outside his office. A week later, she tied two branches together to make a cross and planted it upside down on the hood of his car. It was enough to send him off on another of his tangents. He became paranoid that the Devil Worshippers had come for him, even going so far as to blame Chrissy for inviting the darkness into their home by ‘staining her skin’ with the pentagram. Apparently, that had been all it had taken to alert Satan himself as well as his demons.
That was the moment Chrissy learned she had power. In the library she began to research what she could, based on her limited knowledge. And one day, she came across the name Mara, a female wraith in Scandinavian myths that caused nightmares. She liked the sound of it, but when she remembered the story of Naomi from the Bible who became Mara, she loved it. Even if he couldn’t know it, the slap to her father’s face had been too perfect.
After his death, she finally got the courage to approach Josie Douglas, though she’d had a different last name then. And the rest was fate.
Subconsciously, her right hand rubbed the serpent tattoo circling high on her bicep where it was easily hidden. Interwoven in the snake’s skin were the numbers thirteen-thirteen. Draven had a similar tattoo on his back with the number forty-seven.
She’d been the one to relay the story about Josie’s father carving six-six-six onto the tongues of his victims. Draven had wanted to taunt the police, knowing they’d have no idea what the forty-seven meant. The simplicity of the taunt had appealed to her as well.
Thoughts of Draven brought a return of that strange, fluttery feeling of sadness as it crept through her veins and wound around her organs. It took her a second to realize she was actually crying at the loss. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d cried, much less cried over a person.
But Draven was gone, and she had to accept that. She’d allow herself to mourn him her own way when she made it to Mexico. And as much as she hated to take the risk of returning to the church, she had no choice. She’d wanted to come last night, but the graze to her leg had needed tending, and so, not knowing where else to go, she’d hidden out in Ewan Moore’s church until this morning.
From one church to another. For the past three years, long before they’d ever discussed killing a person, they’d planned for the hypothetical need to leave town in a hurry, specifically, if any of their group got busted for the animal killings, like the ones in Montemar. She and Draven weren’t responsible for them, but their organization was.
In a drug-induced rage one night long ago, Clarence Whipple had ranted to the others about the cabin he’d once owned out in a place called Montemar. He’d railed on about how the ranchers had run them off, how he’d wished he could’ve made them pay before he abandoned the place. But having escaped jail time when Ewan Moore and the others had been convicted, he didn’t want to risk doing something so close to his own property, knowing it wouldn’t take much for the authorities to put two and two together.
Since they knew Whipple no longer owned the cabin, the new leaders relished the idea of getting back at the ranchers and took it upon themselves to start mutilating the ranchers’ herds. Mara and Draven had been out casing the ranches with the largest number of cattle when they’d happened upon the church.
Maybe it had been the all-day acid trip talking, but they’d eagerly explored the building before deciding it would be perfect for them. They discussed telling the others but wanted to keep it their own little hideaway, so never did. Not trusting banks or the government, they’d begun squirreling their money away. After rent and their other bills were paid, the remainder of their paychecks went into a giant duffle bag they kept hidden in the rafters of the church. Each week, they added to their stash. After the first six months, they’d stopped counting, trusting that by following Satan, their riches would grow. It was why she refused to ever remove the Italian horn around her neck. However, it also meant that she had no idea how much they’d accumulated over the years.
Tomorrow would’ve been the day she and Draven counted it together. Their plan was to kill the kids yesterday, sacrifice London tomorrow during the supermoon, and then leave town with the money. They didn’t worry about what Mateo’s family would think because they didn’t care. But that damn cop and her curiosity had ruined everything. Except for one thing. Mara knew the likelihood of the police coming across the cash was less than slim to none, simply because of where they’d stashed it. So now, all she had to do was grab it and be on her way.
She wasn’t concerned about the authorities tracking her because she and Draven had purposely left their phones behind when they’d gone after the Sandersons. In preparation, they’d replaced the car’s license plates with ones they’d stolen off another car. She expected her disappearance would become one of those cold cases she and Draven used to watch on television, marveling at the stupidity that got people caught.
