James Swain - Bad News Travels

“Why do you think they did that?”

“To scare people. They had a scam going on, and it blew up in their faces. So they got Katya to steal the mummified hands, and dropped them on people’s doorsteps. Everyone knows about the curse, so people naturally freaked out.”

“Can you prove any of this?”

“I have a video of the party on my phone. Want to see it?”

“Please.”

Soon a video of Katya’s wild party was playing on Sierra’s cell phone. Within the swirl of pot smoke and human bodies was a twirling, topless girl. She was young and curvy, and covered in blue-black tattoos. Using both hands, she clutched a shriveled human hand embedded with glittering stones like it was a magician’s wand.

Her partners appeared holding a stoned-out girl. Dancing around them, the topless girl slapped the mummified hand against the stoned-out girl’s face. The stoned-out girl did not approve and voiced her displeasure. Unfazed, the topless girl continued the bizarre ritual.

“Please pause this,” Daniels said.

Sierra paused the video. The topless girl’s back was to the camera. Between her shoulder blades was a tattoo of a five-pointed crown with an inscription that read, WE DON’T DIE, WE MULTIPLY. It was the logo of the Latin Kings, one of the most violent gangs in the country. Outsiders were the enemy, which explained the bad vibe Sierra had felt. The gang didn’t accept non-Latino members, and she wondered how Katya fit in.

“I need a copy of this video,” Daniels said.

Sierra sent the party video to her, via text message.

“You went to a party at Katya’s house,” Daniels said. “I need the address.”

“Only if you promise to leave me out of this,” Sierra said.

“Your name won’t come up.”

Sierra recited the address, and Daniels copied it in her notepad. She was finished, and glanced at Jon to see if he was done. He was breathing hard, the faint whistle impossible to miss.

“I have one more question,” he said. “Who was Katya’s sugar daddy?”

“I have no idea,” Sierra said.

“Come on, you must have wondered. Didn’t you?”

“I thought about it,” Sierra admitted. “I figured it was probably some rich geezer who’d lost his wife, and was looking for a good time. Katya was the kind of girl that would grab a guy, and take him for a ride.”

Daniels thought she just might get sick.

“I’m done,” he said.

Sierra’s cell phone vibrated. She stared at the incoming number on the screen.

“I need to take this,” she said. “My mom’s in the hospital. It might be her doctor.”

“Go ahead,” Daniels said.

Sierra slipped out of the booth and walked into the hotel lobby to take the call.

“I think she’s lying,” Jon said.

“She made up the story about the three Mexican girls?” Daniels asked.

“I think that part is true. She’s lying about her mother being sick in the hospital. If that were true, she would have told us before she sat down.”

“Is she going to bolt?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Should we stop her?”

“On what grounds? She told us everything she knows.”

Sierra glanced nervously at them. Her call ended, and she dropped her cell phone into her purse, then bolted for the exit. Daniels realized that she hadn’t gotten Sierra’s address in case she needed to follow up.

“Wait a minute,” Daniels said.

She was too late. By the time she made it outside, Sierra was gone.

Beth’s rental was still parked at the fort, which was a good ten-minute hike. She asked the hotel valet how long it would take to summon a cab.

“Hard to say. They’re not very reliable,” the valet said.

They decided to hoof it. The cobblestone streets were choking with tourists, their milky skin and garish clothes making them easy to peg. By the time they reached the car it was nearly dark, and Beth was winded, and had to catch her breath. Lancaster could tell that she was emotionally spent, her body running on fumes. Each time they turned over a rock, another creep slithered out. Her father had been involved with some reprehensible people, yet they still didn’t know why.

Lancaster typed Katya’s address into a traffic app on his cell phone called Waze. Katya lived in an area called College Park. Waze said traffic was heavy, and the drive would take between ten and fifteen minutes.

“Think we should pay her a visit?” he asked.

“Only if we want to solve this,” Beth said.

Soon they were stuck in traffic. Beth threw the vehicle into park, and turned in her seat to face him. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

“Who said I was thinking anything?” he asked.

“I did. You’re onto something. Spit it out.”

Beth had gotten good at reading his thoughts. Once this investigation was over, he planned to ask her how she did it. “There was a great deal of money missing from your father’s bank account. My gut tells me Katya was the recipient.”

“You think my father was her sugar daddy.”

“I think he was in a relationship with her, and she started to blackmail him.”

“Blackmail for what? Sleeping with a girl fifty years younger than him? If my father told me that, I probably would have applauded, and so would Melanie. We wanted him to date women, and enjoy himself. You can’t be a hermit forever.”

The revelation surprised him. Was Beth just saying that, or did she mean it?

“You wouldn’t have been upset if he dated a woman younger than you?” he asked.

“I might have, but it’s really none of my business,” Beth said. “My father was a free spirit. If a pretty-young-thing tickled his fancy, so be it.”

“I still think it was blackmail,” he said. “Your father was living in a beautiful house with plenty of space. Katya could have moved in, and had a whole floor to herself. Instead, she blackmailed him into giving her loads of cash.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but blackmail for what ? What leverage would this woman have had over my father?”

“Your father told Nicki he was sorry. Your father did something regrettable, and he knew it would upset Nicki, and you and Melanie as well.”

Beth rested her head on the wheel, and shut her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Traffic started to move, and they crossed the bridge. Soon, her headlights caught a sign that said COLLEGE PARK, and Beth turned down a street into a heavily forested area with houses far back off the road. After a long search, they found the address on a rusted mailbox, the house invisible from the street. Heavy metal music blared from behind the trees.

“Sounds like they’re having a party,” he said.

Beth blocked the driveway with her rental, and they got out. He removed a handgun from his pants pocket, slipped it behind his belt, and covered it with his shirt, which he wore untucked. They headed up the gravel driveway.

“Did you hear that?” he said under his breath.

“Hear what?” she whispered.

“Sounded like a woman crying.”

“Your ears are better than mine.”

There were certain sounds that if you heard once, you never forgot. He drew his handgun and held it loosely at his side, like a gunslinger. Beth removed her gun from her purse and clasped it with both hands, the way she’d been taught at the academy.

As they passed a hedge, the house came into view. It had two stories and stained shingles, and a wraparound front porch with a pair of identical rockers. It wasn’t new, but it was well maintained, and it looked expensive. Katya had done well for herself.

The music was loud enough to wake the dead, and was pouring out of a curtained side window, which was cracked open. He had never understood the attraction to heavy metal, which was as soothing as listening to a jet take off.