Walk in Darkness - A Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries) (7 page)

17

As Stanton drove back on the interstate, he thought about the last time he
’d visited the Huntington Academy. It had been a homicide case and he’d gone there to inform a twelve year old girl that her mother would not be coming home.

The woman had been killed by an ex-boyfriend that had been stalking her
. Stanton knew from experience that stalking cases, though treated initially as misdemeanors, were some of the most dangerous cases in the entire criminal justice system. The suspects were, as a rule, deeply disturbed, with violent fantasies that never had a correlation to any aspect of reality. They were always the most indignant as well, unable to understand why they were being treated this way when they had done nothing wrong.

They were also the most likely to cross the line between fantasy and reality and harm the subjects they had been obsessing over.

The Huntington Academy was situated on two acres of lush, green property, an oasis in the middle of the city. It was old brick with stained glass windows and massive wooden doors that had been intricately carved with scenes from the Bible. Originally founded as a monastery, it had been converted to a Catholic school over seventy years ago.

Stanton walked inside. There was always something odd about being in a school later in the afternoon, when everyone had left. As a youth he had to be in school late in the afternoons for detention. It wasn’t that he misbehaved;
he simply hadn’t paid attention in school or participated. The teachers were unsure how to deal with him and they assumed it was intentional disobedience. Looking back on it, he knew it stemmed from a deep depression that had followed him through his life. It affected him so intensely he lost track of where he was and what he was doing. His schoolteachers had never recognized it.

He poked his head into the administration office and saw an older woman filing some documents. Framed photos of headmasters of the school were up on the walls and a large painting of the Pope was in the other room off to the right side.

“Hi,” he said, as he pulled out his badge. “I need to see the school police officer.”

“He may have already gone home. Let me check.”

She pressed the button on a phone at the counter and it rang three times before a gruff male voice answered.

“Yeah?”

“Steve, I have another police officer from the . . . ah, where are you from, Officer?”

“Sex Crimes Division of San Diego PD.”

She paused. “Did you get that?”

“Yeah, be right down.”

She hung up the phone and Stanton could see she was struggling, attempting to decide whether it was appropriate to ask what this was all regarding.

“It’s just something routine,” Stanton said. “Tying up some loose ends. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I was wondering,” she said, relieved. “Officer Gage should be down in just a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Stanton waited out in the hallway. A trophy case was up in front of administration and he glanced over the photos of the kids in their uniforms. They ran from first grade through twelfth grade and had depictions of many non-traditional sports like water polo and cricket. But he knew from experience most of the kids were bored, seeking the attention their wealthy parents weren’t giving them at home. Many would become drug addicts, and pornography studios were filled with women who had graduated from exclusive private schools.

“What can I help you with, Officer?”

Stanton turned to see a giant of a police officer. He was easily six four or five and carried a massive belly that hung over his belt. A gray handlebar mustache adorned his face and Stanton could see the tips of tattoos poking down past the man’s sleeves.

The officer stood close to him and Stanton knew instantly he was attempting to establish dominance. Right off the bat he was hiding something.

“Detective,” Stanton said.

The officer folded his arms. “What is it I can do for you?”

Stanton saw the woman staring at them, attempting to listen in. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“I guess. Come back to my office.”

He followed the officer down the hall and they turned right and went up some stairs. The hallways on the second floor were filled with lockers and posters announcing dances and fundraisers. A couple of election signs were up for student body president and vice president.

“I’m Jon
, by the way.”

“Henry.”

They got to a small side room just off from one of the classrooms and next to the drinking fountain. The space was cramped and the desk and chairs barely fit. A photo of a SWAT team was up on the wall, the signatures of all the members going across the bottom. A certificate of excellence from the California Board of Education was posted behind the desk.

Stanton shut the door though he wasn’t asked to do so.

“So what brings you here, Detective?”

“I need to speak to you about one of the students here. Tracey Aviary.”

“What about her?”

“You know her?”

“There’s only two hundred kids in the whole school. I know everyone.”

“She was a tutor for a young girl that went missing three months back; Sarah
Henroid. She didn’t go to this school.”

“Yeah, I remember. There was a staff meeting about it.”

“Really? Why?”

“Just to talk about it. Tracey told a bunch
a the kids and they was thinking to hold some discussions in the classrooms. Help the kids understand it a little better.”

“Did they?”

“I don’t know, we never had the discussions. None a the kids seemed to care too much. People go missing all the time I guess.”

“Henry, did Tracey ever say anything about Sarah?”

“Say anything like what?”

“Anything at all. This is the first I’ve learned about Sarah having a tutor and I’m just trying to get a handle on their relationship.”

The officer sucked air in through his teeth and nodded. “I get what this is. You think maybe Tracey knows somethin’ about her disappearing. Well, Detective, anything they tell me is confidential. I can’t tell you about the conversations we’ve had.”

He’s been here too long, Stanton thought. He’s forgotten that he’s a police officer and thinks he’s the school security guard now. Stanton had seen
it with numerous school officers that found comfort in the predictability of their positions and requested to stay. There was no confidentiality between officer and student but the conviction with which he said it made Stanton think he actually believed it.

There was a NASCAR cup on the officer’s desk and it had coffee stains around lip. A calendar was up on the wall behind it. Four nights
this week were circled. Stanton thought that he was probably moonlighting at night as security guard or bouncer for extra cash.

“Henry, I went to Tracey’s mom and she slammed the door in my face and told me to talk to her lawyer. That lawyer probably makes more in a month than I do all year. I’m just a worker bee, man, trying to close out this case so I can tell the parents I did everything I could. I understand you got a good setup here and you don’t want to piss anybody off. But if you can give me anything, I would certainly appreciate it.”

From the expression on his face, Stanton could tell Henry Gage was debating something. When his face softened he knew he had reached a decision.

“Her mom’s a real cunt. I busted
Tracey for truancy once and her mom went to the headmaster and tried to get me fired.” He exhaled loudly and leaned back in his seat. “Tracey’s a fucked up girl. I caught her few months back sellin’ dope to the younger kids behind the school.”

“Did you file a report?”

“Hell yes I filed a report. Her big time lawyer got the charges dropped to an infraction with a fine. She was suspended for a week and that was it.”

“By the time they’re selling, kids are usually heavy drug users.”

“Ain’t no different with her. Used to be just pot I think but she’s moved on into the heavier stuff. She talks sometimes and don’t make no sense. I heard from some other people she buys her dope from some
chivato
on Lincoln Street uptown.”

“Did she get Sarah involved in it?”

He bit his upper lip. “What I’m gonna tell ya, you didn’t hear from me.”

“Of course.”

“They got parties, these kids. And they ain’t like the parties you and me had growin’ up. They got these sex parties. All the kids go and get drunk and high and fuck around. One kid I know here that opens up to me says a guy might have sex with five or ten different girls in one party.”

“What’s that got to do with Sarah?”

“She was at them parties with Tracey.”

“She was ten.”

“I know.”

“Are you telling me ten year olds are having sex parties?”

“I don’t know about havin’ ‘em but they definitely goin’ to ‘em.”

Stanton shook his head and looked down to his shoes as he remembered himself at ten. “When I was that age I used to play baseball until nine every night and my parents wanted me home at eight. That was about the most trouble I got into.”

“I used to steal my older brother’s porno mags. But it’s a different world now, Detective. Kids ain’t kids no more.”

“No, I guess not.” He saw that behind the officer’s desk a confederate flag about the size of a dinner plate was hung up. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Henry? Anything that might help me find out if Sarah got involved in some things that were over her head?”

“Tracey’s your best bet. You might be able to convince her mom to let you talk to her.”

“How?”

“She was the one allowing the kids to have them parties at her house.”

Stanton took out his notepad and made a few notes before standing to leave. “Thanks, Henry. We never spoke as far as I’m concerned.”

“Appreciate it.”

Stanton walked to the door and turned before leaving. “Out of curiosity, who was Tracey’s lawyer?”

“Gary Coop.”

18

Calvin Riley parked his Volkswagen Beetle in front of the United Studios of Mixed Martial Arts on Sports Arena Boulevard. He waited a few minutes and let the song playing on the radio finish: Chris Isaac’s
Wicked Game
. When the song ended he grabbed his gym bag from the backseat and went inside.

He walked past the cage and the weight
-room and put his things in a locker he had reserved for a monthly fee. His shirt was tight and his pectoral muscles bulged underneath. He stopped at the full-length mirror in the locker-room and hit a few bodybuilding poses before heading out to the bag area.

Several heavy and speed bags were set up around the space, blue mats down over the floor. He wrapped his hands tight
ly and then slipped on bag gloves before stretching and warming up with some shadow boxing. Then he went to work.

The bag responded to his blows lightly at first as he just tapped it. He worked his simpler combos
: jab, left hook. Left hook, right hook. Left hook, left uppercut. He felt his muscles warming as sweat began to form on his forehead. When he felt he was ready, his speed increased and the combos became more complex. The bag started to move, and soon, bend to his blows.

The combos were coming one after another now and he began working in kicks and knees. Calvin moved seamlessly from one motion to the next and from one stance to the next. He was ambidextrous and was as comfortable in orthodox as southpaw stance. His breathing was slow and purposeful
, in through his nose in long breaths, and out his mouth in quick, short ones, his abdomen flexing, training him to accept body blows when striking.

The minutes turned to two hours and his hands began to ache
, the skin on his knees scraped raw, blood trickling down his legs. He stopped and checked the clock. There was still energy in him and he had to get all of it out if he was going to be able to sleep. He unwrapped his hands and went to the cardio room and hopped on a treadmill. The speed was slow at first until his leg muscles adapted and then he pushed it up to ten miles per hour, his eyes forward as sweat poured out of him, soaking his shirt and shorts.

After another forty minutes of running, he was exhausted. He felt vomit in his throat but he fought it back. Stepping off the treadmill he went to his gym
bag and got out his sports drink with a protein bar and went and sat by the cage as a jujitsu class practiced lion-killer chokes from the back mount. A large man in a tank-top stepped up to him.

“You
hoppin’ in Riley?”

“No, Coach. Just watching today.”

“Well you let me know if you wanna hop up there and crack some skulls. We got a tournament coming up and my boys need some practice.”

“Williams is
gonna win, but Larson’s weak on the ground.”

He nodded. “Don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to fight for us?”

“I’m not interested in attention, sir.”

“Hell, fight under a different name. Call yourself the Wrecker or Fist of Fury or some shit.”

“Maybe one day. But I’ll sit this one out for now.”

The coach sat down next to him. “What’s
goin’ on, Riley? You one tough motherfucker and you don’t do nothin’ with it. You in here every night and I ain’t never seen you hang out with any a the boys. Did you go out to the clubs with Danny and them this weekend?”

“No.”

“We’re a team up in here, Riley. I know we got weekend warriors that come in and train for a few months and take off, but you been with me damn near four years. How old are you now?”

“Twenty three.”

“Ain’t right for someone your age not to be goin’ and gettin’ some pussy with the boys. You gonna grow up like me and get a wife and settle down one day and you gonna miss these times, man. I’m tellin’ ya.”

“I know. I know it’s a team here and I want to take part in it. I’ll make more of an effort.”

He slapped his arm. “All right then.”

“Alright.”

After the coach had left Calvin rose and finished the rest of his drink in a few gulps. He threw the protein bar away, grabbed his gym bag, and left.

Darkness had descended
and the moon was out, a bright glowing orb in a black sky. He took Loma Boulevard down to Ocean Beach Park and found a relatively secluded area. He parked and took his shoes off.

The sand was still warm from the sun and he stood still a long time and buried his toes underneath. Then he walked over to the edge of the water and sat down, just far enough away that the waves crackled and broke in front of him and tickled the tips of his toes before being drug back to sea.

He loved the ocean at night, the way the moon lit up the surface. He would go out surfing late, at two or three in the morning when everyone else had gone home, and jump into the white surface, lay flat on his back, and stare at the moon.

An odd sense of nostalgia went through him;
the moon had been full the night he had killed his grandparents. He wondered if the moon had anything to do with that. He was only eleven at the time when he’d shot them both in the head while they were sleeping. Afterward he’d went and sat on the porch and waited for his mother to get home. He remembered the sense of calm clearly. The porch had been cold; they had been living in Minnesota at the time, but he didn’t wear a coat and regretted it. It took his mother nearly three years and thousands of dollars to seal his juvenile record. His mother was always fighting for him to have a normal life. They had moved out here to get a fresh start.

His mother.

He checked his watch: 11 P.M. Calvin jumped to his feet and ran back to his car, starting the engine before he even had his seatbelt on. He peeled out in reverse and then shot forward, taking Loma back to the San Diego Freeway. The streets were clear except for the occasional drunk weaving in and out of the lanes in front of him. He would shoot past them and then cut them off, seeing if they were drunk enough to crash, but none of them were. The true drunks were passed out by this hour.

He got off the freeway at Laredo Drive and it only took him another ten minutes to get home. The house was large, far larger than someone on his parents’ income should have had.
It had been inherited by his grandfather and after his death went to his mother.

He parked and sat in the car, the night quiet around him. He saw his mother peeking through the curtains in the window and his two little brothers were sitting at the dining room table.
She had done this before; keeping the whole family up when he stayed out too late. His father was the only one that wouldn’t stay up. Calvin took a deep breath and opened the door.

The night was cool and the freeway and main road were far enough away that he couldn’t hear the traffic. All he could hear was the buzz of an airplane
flying overhead and then disappearing. His heart was beating fast in his chest and he wanted to stall but this was something that grew worse the more he put it off.

He walked to the front door and went inside. The kitchen light was on and he stood just outside the linoleum. His mother
was standing over the stove cooking soup.

“Where were you so late?” she said
, not looking up from her pot.

“At the gym.”

“That gym closes at ten.”

“I went to the beach and lost track of time. I’m sorry, mama.”

“You’re sorry?” she said, her voice a pitch higher. “You’re sorry? Your poor brothers have been here without food for hours and you’re sorry?”

“I never said not to eat when I wasn’t here, mama.”

She stood silently a moment before turning back to her pot. Calvin relaxed and thought it was over.

He turned to leave and then felt the scalding heat of the soup over his head. It burned his eyes and the soft skin on his neck and he screamed and fell to the floor. His mother lifted the pot and slammed it down over his head, shouting to his brothers not to turn away from it. One blow caught him in the back of the head and he saw flashes of light in his vision.

“No, mama,” he said, crying now, “mama stop. Please, mama stop.”

Calvin heard the kitchen table being pushed across the bare linoleum and the latch leading down to the cellar.

“Get your ass in there, boy.”

He got to his knees, wiping at the hot liquid drizzling down over his face. The opening in the floor was three foot by three foot and had wooden stairs leading down almost a dozen feet. It was where he had spent most of his childhood
, or places like it. He used to fear the dark and quiet, but not anymore. Not since he was six years old was he scared of the dark anymore.

He crawled down the stairs and his mother kicked his feet in, causing him to slide down a few steps. He looked up at her, his face red and swelling and she slammed the door shut. He heard the table pushed back over the latch and then the house went quiet.

Calvin made his way down to the cement floor. Cold but welcoming. He knew every crack, every fracture, every bump and chip. He followed one crack to the right that led to the wall and curled up against it. He took off his shirt and pressed it to his face and neck, and wept quietly in the dark.