Chapter 34
M itch? Me.”
“Heard from her?”
“No, and it’s worse. Beth and I don’t think she ran away.”
He began explaining about the professor, talking so rapidly his words stumbled over one another. “Later, I’ll fill you in on why we suspect he’s our perp, and if we’re wrong I’ll do penance and beg his forgiveness, but it feels right. Eerily right.”
“I trust your gut.”
“Problem is, we don’t have cause to question him about anything. I’ve got some peeps in the department who are checking security cameras in the area of the restaurant.
“They’ve got Molly leaving it and disappearing around a corner at the end of the block. That’s the last time she was seen. There was a car on the street, but it was drizzling, the video is blurry. They’re trying to get a good angle on the license plate, but so far no luck.
“Meanwhile somebody’s got my girl somewhere, and if it is this professor, it’s doubtful he took her to his residence, because he’s got a wife and son. Until he’s ruled out, I need to keep track of him.”
Mitch said, “You need my stingray.”
“You read my mind. Is it handy?”
“I’m sitting on it. It’s under the false floorboard of my pickup. Do you have his cell number?”
“Yes. Beth will call him. She’s worked out a script that we think will prod him to make a move. If it’s him. If not, then I don’t know.”
“Text me the numbers, his and hers. I’ll set up and text you when I’m ready.” Mitch clicked off.
Beth said, “How does that work?”
“When it’s on, the device acts like a cell tower. Law enforcement use it to obtain a phone’s IMSI. Every phone has one unique to it, and it’s chock-full of information on the user. Once the stingray has the IMSI programmed into it, they can then locate and track the user, run surveillance, see who he connects with, so on.”
“The user is unaware of this?”
“That’s the idea. Its critics have invasion of privacy issues.”
“Is it legal for Mitch to use it unofficially?”
“I don’t dare ask, but I really don’t give a damn.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Come on, Mitch. You said you were sitting on it.”
Beth reached out and squeezed his thigh. “Take a breath. We’ll find her.”
Looking at her with anguish, he covered the back of her hand with his and rubbed it. “I hate like hell that I’ve subjected you to all this. But, God, I’m glad you’re here.”
Just then Mitch’s text came through: Good to go.
“You’re on.” John handed her the phone she had used for prior calls to Professor Wallace.
“Will Mitch be listening in?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you should call.”
He shook his head. “You were the one who last spoke to him. You asked the favor, you’re following up.”
She took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and placed the call. He answered on the third ring. “Professor, hi, it’s Beth Collins. It’s terribly early. Did I wake you up?”
“No worry. I had to get up soon anyway. Forgive me, but you sound on edge. Are you all right?”
“I’m in a time squeeze. I wondered if you’d had a chance to look over that list of social media handles we sent. I apologize for pressuring you about it, but I believe we’re on to something.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. That list, along with another lead, were sent to the detective in Jackson, Mississippi. It turns out that one of those handles is frequently used by a suspect that police had questioned about Anna’s disappearance. He provided an alibi and was dismissed. But because of this new information, he’s now in custody.”
“Do they have evidence of his involvement?”
“They’re working on it. He’s very much into the paranormal, but he’s no dabbler. His interest is obsessive and sinister. He goes to sites on the deep, dark web, the kind where they post photos of bondage and torture, ritualistic bloodletting, and there’s lots of chatter about human sacrifices.”
“Good lord.”
“Yes, it’s gruesome. It seems that poor girl might have fallen victim to someone who took his idol worship of Luna to the extreme. The blood moon is tonight, so there’s a sense of urgency.”
“But if this suspect is in custody, then—”
“That’s the other thing. John Bowie believes that there’s more than one individual who committed those abductions. That Crissy Mellin was taken by someone other than the man in Jackson.”
“How did he arrive at that?”
“He’s conjectured that there are like-minded members of a secret society who connect on the dark web.”
“Who take their idol worship of Luna to the extreme.”
“It’s only a theory, of course,” she said, intentionally making her tone defensive. “But the young women have nothing in common. He believes it’s the men abducting them who do. Which is why that list of handles has become vitally important, and why I felt I should check back with you right away.”
“Yes, I see now, and I hate to disappoint. I did give the list a once-over as soon as I received it.” He chuckled. “On that first pass, one of the handles did leap out at me. It’s one I use.”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, well, you did tell us that you lurk occasionally.”
“I didn’t recognize any of the other names at a glance,” he said. “After dinner, I watched a movie with my wife and son. It got late, and I went to bed. All to say, I haven’t returned to it, but, in light of what you’ve told me, I’ll do so immediately.” He paused, then said, “It might help if I knew the source of this list.”
John gave a stern shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Professor, even I don’t know. John said it was classified.”
“Ah, the intrigue makes it even more enticing. I look forward to studying it in more detail.”
“Thank you so much. If one of those handles strikes you as even slightly familiar or curious in some way, please notify me.”
“Certainly. But before you go, Ms. Collins, you mentioned that you’d sent the police in Jackson another lead. What was that?”
John signaled for her to tell him, but she thought it would be effective to hedge. “That’s an active investigation now. I’m not sure I’m supposed to divulge any information.”
John gave her a thumbs-up.
“Of course, of course,” the professor said. “I was just curious. And possibly, if I knew what it was, I could provide some helpful insight. It is my field, after all.”
“Well…” She paused as though still indecisive, and then said, “Remember we told you about the missing girl in Galveston having a red crescent moon tattoo?”
“Larissa… something?”
“Yes. The suspect they have in custody in Jackson has the same tattoo.” She let that settle, then said quickly, “I apologize for rushing off, but I’ve got other calls to make. If you find something, please let me know immediately. Goodbye for now.”
She disconnected, then slumped with relief.
John said, “You were brilliant. Let’s go.”
They bade Mutt a quick goodbye and started for the camo garage, thrashing through the woods. John’s phone rang. He didn’t stop but answered on speaker.
Mitch said, “She deserves an Oscar. Y’all heading out?”
“Yes,” John said. “Where are we going?”
“From the fishing camp, head northeast. He’s southwest of New Orleans, actually between you and the city proper.”
“That’s where the college is located. He must live near the campus.”
“On Cypress Street. I’ll head that way,” Mitch said. “If he leaves his house, I’ll know it and can track him.”
Beth asked, “Will I have to keep calling him?”
“No. The stingray will ping whether or not his phone is in use. I’ll track you both and let you know if you’re closing in on him or getting farther away.”
John said, “Thanks, Mitch.”
“You bet. And, John, forget doing penance. That’s your guy, and he needs to get got.”
After he disconnected, Beth said, “He sounded so certain.”
“He is. The professor was playing you. From the start, he’s been laughing up his sleeve at us for contacting him and asking his help to catch the bad guy.”
“But he called you about the numerology.”
“A game. Maybe there is something to the double letters in the girls’ names, but he might have fed us that as a red herring. It’s obvious to me now that there’s been a wink-wink behind every word out of his mouth. He’s a trickster, a textbook sociopath.”
“I think so, too. But I shudder to think how this will end if we’re wrong about him.”
“I shudder to think how it will end if we’re right.”
Tom Barker stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He took a swig of vodka from the glass he’d left on the rim of the sink. He was using the guest room bath in order to prevent his wife from waking up and asking questions about the new goose egg on the side of his head and why he kept tenderly cupping his genitals. He hadn’t arrived at any answers that didn’t stretch plausibility to the limit.
He’d silenced his cell phone, but he heard the buzz of its vibration against the tiled countertop. At this hour of the morning, he should sound as though the call had woken him up, shouldn’t he?
“This is Barker,” he snarled, “and whoever this is, it had better be about something important.”
The caller identified himself as Officer Clarkson. He was a rookie, none too bright, Barker’s favorite kind.
“Were you asleep, sir?”
“Was. Not anymore. Why are you calling?”
“It’s about John Bowie.”
Tom plopped down onto the toilet lid, having forgotten the residual pain in his nether region. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth. Even though fresh from the shower, a sheen of sweat broke out on his torso.
With a dismissive inflection, he said, “Bowie? I fired him. He’s out.”
“That’s why I thought you ought to know that something’s up with him.”
“What kind of something?”
“The unit is full of his followers. You know, the people who still admire him and say he got a rotten deal.”
“Who says that?”
“A lot of people. Anyway, it’s like they’ve been mobilized, and they’re all in a flurry. On phones, on their computers, huddled and talking among themselves.”
The glass of vodka clinked against Tom’s teeth as he took a quick hit from it. Had the son of a bitch rallied his followers after the scene at his house? Trying to sound blasé, but actually holding his breath, he said, “You don’t know what all the excitement is about?”
“I overheard the name Molly.”
Hmm. She actually had skipped . “His daughter. She’s run off before. She must have again. He’s probably called in some people to help him look for her. Has an official missing person been filed?”
“Not yet.”
“Then the faithful followers had better be flurrying on their own time and not on the PD’s nickel.”
“I think they are. Off duty, I mean. I’m sorry to have woken you up. I just thought you’d like to know, you and Bowie having a history over that Crissy Mellin case, and all.”
“One for the history books.”
“Um-huh. Which is why it’s funny that they’re whispering about that, too.”
“The Mellin case? What about it? The upcoming TV show?”
“Uh, not exactly, sir. I overheard one of them saying that Bowie was right all along.”
Professor Wallace carefully set his phone on his desk and absently tapped his fingers on the polished wood as he mentally replayed his conversation with Beth Collins, a wonderfully charming young woman. It really was unfortunate that her mission was on a collision course with his.
Hers was doomed to failure.
Yet one had to admire her perseverance and dedication to her quest. She had other calls to make? To whom? he wondered. Why the rush? Why were those calls so important that she had to cut short her conversation with him?
He picked up his phone again, accessed his text messages, and looked at the list of social media user names she and Bowie had sent him. As he scrolled down the list, he saw that it included several of his handles, not just one. How long would it take them to discover that?
No matter. He’d been open with them about visiting some of the darker websites. Visiting them occasionally did not a kidnapper make.
Indeed, most of the people who frequented those sites were oddballs and outcasts who’d resorted to an online community because they didn’t fit in anywhere else. Oh, they talked the talk in order to cultivate and impress virtual friends, but they wouldn’t have the courage to actually offer up a human sacrifice.
Which was why the inner circle was so elite.
How clever of John Bowie to have hypothesized that such an exclusive coterie existed.
Again, no matter. None who had achieved membership into Luna’s inner circle had been caught, except for the man in Jackson. Victor wondered what his circumstance was, what his real name was, which handle belonged to him, and what mistake the fool had made to get himself caught all these years after he’d sacrificed the girl named Anna.
Thank goodness he’d been more careful. Crissy Mellin’s disappearance remained a mystery to all and sundry. She didn’t quite count, though, because she hadn’t been purified. Therefore, he had been denied entrance through that sacred portal into the inner sanctum.
One ho-hum evening, while doing some research in preparation for a lecture on astrology, he’d done some exploration on the dark web. He was immediately attracted to one of the websites. So much so, he returned the following night, and the night after.
It was like entering a realm rich in fantasy, engorged with possibilities for success, power, sexual pleasure. It was a world apart from the stuffy life of a professor at a university of meager renown. At the heart of this wonderland, the source of all its suggested blessings, was the moon goddess Luna.
Almost nightly, he would linger on the site. He skimmed the milder posts, but he absorbed the edgier, more graphic ones: writings, photographs, sketches, paintings. Whether excellent or terrible, they were enflaming. They enticed him with their promises of deeper and darker material. Of more .
But soon he discerned that getting “more” was by invitation only.
He began posting, mostly complimenting another’s contribution, then adding something elaborative. He must have impressed, because after three months, he received a private invitation to join another group and was sent a link. He then had to undergo a stringent application process. It was a joyous day when he received a notice that he’d been approved. He was given access and was elated to be welcomed by members whose real names he would never know.
He knew nothing about the higher level, the inner sanctum, until about a year later when he received another private invitation. He was told such invitations were extended twice every third year to coincide with blood moons.
He came to learn that only those who received the invitation even knew there was a higher level reserved for the elite. Anonymity was absolute. Membership to the inner sanctum was extended only to those who the established members believed were devout enough to carry out the initiation ritual. If one was invited, and balked at what was required of him to prove his loyalty, the website was shut down, then reopened under a different name.
He had not balked. Quite the contrary. He’d received his instructions with delight, with zealous enthusiasm. He would be doing this for Luna, who would reward him with recognition and respect from the academic community.
Those dreams of global acknowledgment had been dashed when he’d failed with Crissy. But Luna had been benevolent. He’d been granted another chance.
He wouldn’t fail this time.
Molly was perfect. Not because of her name, although the double letter gambit had been an amusement. No, it was because he had a tangential acquaintance with her. To reduce the chances of getting caught, he’d been advised by those who’d gone before to choose a sacrifice at random, someone with whom he had no connection whatsoever.
But taking John Bowie’s daughter had been a tantalizing temptation he couldn’t resist. When he’d heard her name coming from Bowie’s own lips, he’d wasted no time in gleaning all the information on the detective that was available on the internet.
Divorced from wife Roslyn in 2023. One daughter, Molly. His ex-wife still lived in the home they’d shared. Easy-peasy.
Yesterday, he’d canceled his last class and had been at that address in Auclair in time to see Molly when she’d arrived home… in an Uber car. That was curious. She’d had a backpack as though coming from school, but he supposed there were dozens of logical explanations for that mode of transportation. Perhaps she’d simply missed the school bus.
At seven P.M. a man had arrived at the home, walked jauntily to the front door, and let himself in. Shortly before eight o’clock, he and a woman, presumably ex-wife Roslyn, had left together in his car.
Molly was home alone. What could be more ideal?
But before he could formulate a plan, another Uber car had picked up Molly, dressed for dinner out as the couple had been. She’d been dropped at Auclair’s finest restaurant, where he felt it safe to assume she was meeting her mother and the man. He’d had better sense than to go inside and check. Instead, he’d parked at the end of the block and waited. Would Molly come out alone, or with the pair?
That latter would complicate things and probably would force him to wait until tomorrow to take her. He’d thought that perhaps that was a sign he should heed. Was he intended to be patient and wait until it was actually the thirteenth of the month?
The wait for Molly to emerge had seemed interminable. But then, shortly after eleven o’clock, she had exited the restaurant alone and on foot.
In his mind, he’d flipped a coin. Heads, follow her but wait until after midnight. Tails, take her now .
It wouldn’t be official until the clock struck twelve.
Jumping the gun could jinx him.
But could he pass up such a golden opportunity?
Wait! Couldn’t this, too, be a sign sent directly by Luna?
Was this a special favor he’d been granted for having waited over three years for a second chance?
He’d acted on it, and it had been the right decision. Under Luna’s guidance, he’d driven around the block onto the dark street out of sight of the restaurant, where Molly was walking down the sidewalk, appearing saucy and defiant, unaware of her fate.
It had gone flawlessly.
Now he got up from his desk and went over to the window. It was still dark out, but he could tell that there was cloud cover. However, clear skies were predicted for tonight. Forecasters were saying that for those who stayed up late to see the blood moon in totality, the view of it would be glorious.
His gaze returned to his phone lying on his desk. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so cute with Ms. Collins by admitting that one of those names on that infernal list belonged to him. Classified had an ominous ring to it.
It was far too soon for him to panic and act rashly. But if he missed this second opportunity to be initiated, he might never be accepted. That would be untenable.
He’d planned not to return to Molly until after delivering his son to school. But perhaps he should reconsider his timetable. Maybe he should accelerate the process with Molly and consummate the ritual as soon as possible. What would be lost by getting on with it?
He didn’t see a disadvantage. In fact, it would be even better. He could celebrate his grand achievement when the moon was full and red without the distraction of having to clean up. It would already be done.
His mind made up, and now in a hurry, he left his study and went into the bedroom. He shook his wife awake to tell her that something had come up and that she would have to be his son’s chauffeur that morning. She mumbled compliance. He thanked her and kissed her cheek.
Then he jogged down the stairs and grabbed his jacket off the hall tree. In a flash, he was out the door.