Time of Death

22

Ren clung to the steering wheel on the drive to the airport the next morning. Her eyes had started to close within minutes of leaving the house. She had gone back to the office the previous evening and told everyone about Gavino Val Pando. Then she’d endured another night of worry and anxiety. She had cried for Beau and for her parents, for herself, and for Helen. It was all too much. It had been eight a.m. when she finally made a call to her mom.

‘Hey, Mom, it’s Ren. How are you doing?’

‘I’m a wreck. Have you heard anything?’

‘No,’ said Ren.

‘They won’t tell us anything. What can we do? There must be something-’

‘Mom, I’m afraid that the best thing we can all do is just to wait. I’ve done everything I can. I called the station and Daryl Stroud is obviously not taking my calls. And at this stage, going near the Parrys is not a good idea.’

‘There has to be something you can do.’

‘No, Mom. If I go in pushing my weight around, it will just look like I think I’m better than them because I’m an agent and then, on principle, I won’t be listened to. Daryl sounds like he has a chip on his shoulder. I don’t think I’m better at doing my job than they are. I just think that I’m better at knowing Beau.’

‘They don’t care about us knowing Beau, do they?’

‘No. Every killer has a family somewhere. All the police care about are the facts. And the problem here is that this T-shirt, to them, is a fact.’

‘What are they going to do with it?’

‘They’ll test it for DNA…see if they can find any of Beau’s DNA on it…’

‘From where?’

‘Hair, sweat, skin cells…’ Et cetera.

‘But…I remembered that T-shirt. Louis definitely wore it here to lessons. They could very easily find Beau’s DNA on it.’

‘Even if they did, it wouldn’t prove anything, Mom. That can all clearly be explained. And no matter what they find on it, it’s not the T-shirt Louis was wearing when he disappeared. Obviously.’

Her mother started crying. ‘Why is someone doing this to us?’

‘I don’t know, Mom. Please don’t be upset. It’s terrible, I know. But the facts will come out and then we can put all this behind us.’

‘Do you know what else the police are doing? They’re tracking down all the other kids who Beau taught and asking them did he ever…’

‘Oh, Mom.’ Tears welled in Ren’s eyes.

‘It’s so terrible.’

‘At least none of those kids will have anything bad to say…’ said Ren.

She could hear her mother, sobbing louder now.

‘Mom, please, I know it’s not easy. But you need to relax. You’ll make yourself sick. All we can do is hope that they’ll do the right thing.’

‘Yes.’ Her mother was still sobbing.

‘Is Dad there? Can you put him on to me?’

‘Sure.’ Ren could hear the phone rattle on the table.

‘Ren?’ said her Dad.

‘Hey, Dad. How are you holding up?’

‘The whole thing is a nightmare. Your mother is a wreck.’

‘Is she listening right now?’

‘No. She’s gone into the living room.’

‘Dad, this did not come from me, but you need to go into Catskill PD and rip Daryl Stroud a new asshole…intellectually.’

‘What? How do you intellectually rip an asshole?’

‘Do it, Dad. Go in, start by playing the frail seventy-seven-year-old and-’

‘I just won the Seniors Tennis League last month…’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, go in and be Rocky, then. Whatever…what I’m saying is, just use that sharp brain of yours to let them know that you and Mom are not two old fools who they can just dismiss.’

‘Damn right, we’re not,’ said her father. ‘Your mother and I will go down there-’

‘No, no, no,’ said Ren. ‘Don’t take Mom. She’ll fall apart. Go alone. And only tell her after the fact.’

‘OK. OK.’ He sounded unsure. ‘Do you think it’s really a good idea?’

‘Yes. You won’t be doing any harm as long as you keep it even-tempered and dignified, which I know you will.’

‘All right. I’ll keep it real.’

Keep it real. ‘Do it for all of us,’ said Ren.

He paused. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ren. ‘I’ve got to catch a flight to El Paso-’

‘El Paso?’

‘Oh, it’s work. A woman down there came across our Fifty Most Wanted on line…has some information on one of them.’

‘Well, I hope she’s all right.’

Aww. ‘Love you, Dad.’

‘Love you, sweetheart.’

Ren spent the two-hour flight reading through the file on the Sarvas murder/disappearances. Detectives had gone to the Sarvas boys’ high school at the time and interviewed all their classmates. Including the boys Ren was flying in to talk to: Luke’s friends, John Reiff, Ben Racono, and Mark Bayne. No, they had said, there was nothing unusual in the months leading up to Luke’s disappearance. No, there was nothing unusual that day. No, there was no sense that he had family problems. No, he did not do drugs. No, he did not express concerns about anyone following him.

Oh, but there were a few more questions you should have been asked. Or if you had been asked them, they were questions you should have answered truthfully.

The three boys had been placed in separate rooms in El Paso police HQ. They were already rattled that detectives had brought them in to meet with an FBI agent from Denver. And each time Ren opened the door to one of the rooms, each boy looked rattled to see a woman walk in. Ren’s script didn’t vary and after the question none of them was expecting to hear, the first two boys responded: ‘I want a lawyer.’

Ren’s last hope was John Reiff. When she walked into the interview room, she was more surprised by him than he was by her. Unlike his dude friends, Reiff was pale-skinned with mousey, shoulder-length hair. A Twi-hard’s dream. He was dressed in beige linen trousers and wore a light sports coat over a pale pink shirt. His legs were crossed and Ren could see one foot — in green-and-purple retro Nikes — stretching out from under the table. Like the others, he was tall and loose-limbed, making the same effort to appear relaxed.

‘John Reiff? My name is Special Agent Ren Bryce.’ She threw a small plastic evidence bag on to the table in front of him. He looked up at her, not sure whether he could touch it.

‘Go ahead,’ said Ren.

Reiff picked it up, but quickly dropped it on the table.

Inside were broken fragments of ceramic. There were two pieces that stood out. One was no bigger than a quarter — a white skull with a black hood. The other piece was a tiny gold crown. They were both spattered with blood.

Ren stared John Reiff down. ‘So,’ said Ren. ‘What happened over spring break?’

Reiff’s pallor dropped a few shades on the color chart. He frowned. ‘I…’ He stared down at the table.

‘Do you know where I found this?’

‘No,’ said Reiff. ‘But…that’s blood.’

‘Yes, it is blood,’ said Ren. ‘It was found in the SUV. Michael Sarvas…’ Ren paused. ‘Did you meet Michael when you used to stay over in the Sarvas house? He was fifteen. Do you remember him?’ Ren held his photo in front of Reiff’s face until he turned away. ‘Michael liked skulls. He had skull T-shirts, a skull keychain…’

Reiff’s eyes returned to the bag. He looked ill.

‘But this is not Michael’s,’ said Ren. ‘This is something a little more sinister, isn’t it?’

She studied Reiff. ‘You have to suppress your intelligence too much in this new, dumbed-down teenage world, don’t you, John? Well, now is your chance to be smart. Tell me what you know. Take the opportunity.’

Reiff nodded. He stared at the bag. ‘It looks like…Santa Muerte.’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘Santa Muerte. Saint Death. Patron Saint of drug traffickers and prostitutes and murderers…Patron Saint of the dark side…’

Reiff held the back of his hand to his mouth. He swallowed hard.

‘This tiny figure was found on the floor of the Sarvas’ SUV,’ said Ren. ‘That’s Gregory Sarvas’ blood, by the way. Do you remember him from when you used to stay over in the Sarvas’ house?’

Tears welled in Reiff’s eyes.

‘Michael was not a drug user,’ said Ren. ‘I would venture that he was too busy focusing on his studies, had never even traveled anywhere without his parents. I’m guessing that Gregory Sarvas, lawyer, and father of three, was not heavily into blow or meth. So, the question remains: what happened on spring break?’