34
Bob walked into Sabre’s office late Tuesday afternoon. “I thought JP was going to be here to hash this out,” Bob said.
“He’s still in Fontana. Or at least he was a couple of hours ago. He’s coming by when he gets back to town. If we finish before then, I’ll call him and let him know.”
“All right, let’s get to it.”
Sabre walked around to the other side of her desk and laid out the spreadsheet with all the alleged satanic ritual abuse cases. She lined up its pages so they could see all the columns and compare them. They both stood over them for several minutes trying to find a pattern.
“So, what do you see?” Sabre asked.
“Nothing glaring,” Bob responded. “The age of the minors is all over the place, from newborns to teenagers. Geographically, there’s nothing special. Now that we’ve added the cases from north and east counties and south bay, they’re everywhere in the county. They’re a little more concentrated in Tierra Santa and downtown, but not enough to tell us anything. The social workers vary. Gillian is on more of the cases than anyone, but then she happens to work primarily in Tierra Santa and downtown, so that’s to be expected.”
Sabre looked up. “But are more cases filed in those areas because she’s the one investigating? Or does she just happen to be filing more cases because she works the area?”
“Good point. Let’s follow up on that.” Bob studied the grid once again.
Sabre ran her finger down the column marked Attorneys. “There don’t seem to be any attorneys receiving an excessive amount of these cases. You and I have as many or more than anyone else.”
“That explains it then.”
“What?” Sabre asked.
“It’s you. You’re involved in some kind of ‘cult’ thing. I’ve been suspicious for a long time. You don’t sleep much, probably because you’re out late at night doing your devil thing. When we have lunch and I order the number 124, sometimes you order the number six.”
“That’s one six. What does that mean?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you order it three times in a row.”
Sabre laughed and smacked him on the arm. “You’re nuts. You know it?”
“It makes about as much sense as some of the reasons these cases were filed. The abuse indicators are all over the place and some of them not very convincing.”
“So you’re saying some of the cases aren’t actually ritual cases?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying—overzealous social work. Like the Johnson case, for instance. I’m completely convinced there was nothing going on there.”
“And you may be right. So let’s make another column. We’ll call it OZ for overzealous. We’ll mark an X in that column where we think it might be exaggerated. Then we can separate out the other cases and see what we have left.”
“Good idea.”
They searched through the grid and marked out only the cases that they could both agree were a stretch. Sabre marked through the ones that remained with a yellow highlighter.
“Not much left,” Bob said as he watched Sabre highlight the four cases they agreed on.
“Nope. And half of those cases weren’t filed because of ritual abuse accusations. The Lecy case came in because Bailey was acting out and not attending school. One case is Wagner’s with a thirteen-year-old girl who had strange graffiti all over her bedroom walls. And the other two belong to Collicott. One of them came in with ritual allegations, and the other was added because she had JP investigate the accusations about the cult thing at the group home for pregnant girls.”
“So there are three cases with teenage girls. Do you think there’s a group of teenage girls out there worshipping Satan?”
“Heck if I know. I’m at a complete loss. I’m just not seeing anything that helps.” Sabre studied the chart again. “I’ll give this to JP and see if he can see anything, but I think we’re just wasting our time.” She started to pick up the sheets, keeping them in order. Suddenly she swatted Bob on the shoulder with the spreadsheet and said, “That’s it. They’re teenage girls. I need to go.”
“Huh?”
“I think I figured something out. I need to go see Bailey’s friend, Shellie. I think she can help me.” Sabre grabbed her briefcase, opened it up, and tossed the spreadsheet inside.
The sun was about to set by the time Sabre reached Shellie’s house. She walked up to the front door and knocked. She saw the curtain move back and someone peek out. She waited a moment and then knocked again. After the third knock, Shellie opened the door and stepped out.
Sabre reached her hand out. “Hi. I’m Sabre Brown. I’m Bailey’s attorney. Do you mind giving me a minute of your time?”
“I’ve already told your investigator everything I know.”
Sabre pointed to the chairs on the porch. “Can we sit for a minute? I really need your help to protect Bailey. I think she’s in a lot of trouble.”
Shellie took a seat and Sabre followed her. “But I don’t know anything. I don’t know where she is,” Shellie continued to object.
“I believe you don’t know where she is, but I also know you’ve been in contact with her. Have you spoken to her recently?”
“No. The last couple of times I tried to call her I got a weird message. I think she’s out of minutes.”
“You two have been friends for a really long time, haven’t you?”
Shellie nodded her head. “We met in fifth grade. I had just moved to a new school. At recess some of the kids teased me about being fat. I just stood there crying and that made them tease me more. I do that. I cry a lot. Bailey came to my rescue. She took my hand and led me away and encouraged me to ignore them. She said they teased her, too, but she wasn’t as big as me.”
“I’m so sorry. Kids can be so cruel.” Sabre touched her hand to comfort her. Shellie didn’t draw back. “And you and Bailey have been best friends ever since?”
“Pretty much.”
“Even after she started seeing Apollo?”
“Yes, but we didn’t see each other as much. She spent a lot of time with him.”
“But you did know she was pregnant.” It was a statement, not a question.
Shellie’s eyes opened wide, and fear and confusion covered her face. She didn’t respond, just nodded once affirmatively.
Sabre picked up the hand she was holding with her right hand and clasped her left hand over it. She looked her straight in the eyes. “Shellie, what happened to Bailey’s baby?”
Shellie just sat there shaking her head as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
35
The Monroe school library was quiet as JP sat thumbing through old annuals looking for the quarterback with jersey number six. He started with the year 1976 since that’s when Rob and Ric graduated. The football photos took up seven pages. There were several shots of number six, but no name was attached. One page had individual photos of each varsity member wearing their jerseys and posing in football positions. Most of the players were bent over so the jersey numbers were not legible. Next to the photo was the player’s name and position. Two quarterbacks were listed, Thomas Anthony Martin and Craig G. McGill. JP studied the photos and looked back at the pictures that showed number six in action shots. It wasn’t enough to tell which one was the friend of the Cavitt brothers. JP turned to the senior photo page and looked for the quarterbacks. Both participated actively in sports, but Martin only played football the last two years, which left McGill as the more likely candidate.
Starting at the beginning of the annual, JP searched for any reference to valedictorian, but none was listed. He approached the information desk and questioned a woman behind the desk about why valedictorians weren’t listed.
“Because they aren’t determined yet when the annuals are released. The valedictorian and the salutatorian are chosen late in the school year, shortly before graduation.”
“Of course. That makes sense.” JP smiled. “Is there any record kept of the valedictorians? Say, from the seventies?”
“Everything used to be stored on microfiche and kept in bins. But I can see if it has been converted to the computer yet. Someone has been working on that for the past few years, but with budget cuts recently I think the process has slowed down if not stopped completely. But let me check.” The librarian started typing on her computer. She looked up. “This may take a minute. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Thanks. I’m looking particularly for the year 1976 and perhaps a couple of years before and after.” JP walked back to the table where he was previously sitting and thumbed through the senior photo pages. He didn’t find anyone named Billy or Barney. He couldn’t find anyone named Bernard, or anything similar for which Barney might be a nickname. He found one boy named William who could have been the Billy that the Bucher High teacher had referenced. There was no football affiliation next to his name where school activities were listed. The only thing stated there was his participation in Future Farmers of America for his four years at Monroe and his FFA presidency in his senior year. JP found the group photo of the FFA members as well as the photo of the club’s officers. They stood side-by-side with the class president in front. He couldn’t have been more than five-foot-five and not what JP would call thin. Mr. Williams had described him as tall and thin. This was definitely not the right Billy.
JP turned back to the first page of the senior photos searching for any more names that started with the letter B.
“Mr. Torn,” the librarian called him. He walked over to her desk. “I’m sorry, but I can’t find the valedictorians. Apparently they haven’t been inputted yet. You could try the microfiche but I’m afraid you couldn’t do that today because we’re closing in about fifteen minutes. But you’re certainly welcome to come back.”
“Thank you.”
JP returned to his desk and continued his search. He found five “Bobs” listed and one Robert, which seemed like an inordinate amount for such a small class. He looked for last names that might be twisted into Barney or Billy, again with little success. He continued his search through the class of 1975 and 1977 since he wasn’t certain when the boy actually graduated. It was a long laborious hunt and in the end JP didn’t feel like he had accomplished much. Before he left, JP copied all the photos of the entire 1976 graduating class, as well as anyone in the other classes that might come close to what he was looking for. Then he searched quickly through the annuals from the eighties looking for Scott Jamison. He struck out.
On his way back to San Diego, JP plugged in his new hands-free device that he had finally succumbed to and called Sabre. He gave her a quick run down on the information he had gathered.
“I tried tracking Maryanne Miconi but so far I’ve had no luck with that, either. I expect she’s married and has a different last name now, but I’ll check it out when I get home. At the same time I’ll try to find Thomas Anthony Martin and Craig G. McGill, the quarterbacks from Monroe High.”
“Great.”
“Any word on Cole?” JP asked, but he already knew the answer. If Sabre knew anything she would’ve blurted it out.
“Actually, I’m headed over to the park right now to take another look around.”
“Sabre, it’s getting dark. You can’t go to that park alone after dark.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take a quick trip around.”
JP raised his voice. “Sometimes you’re about as dumb as a soup sandwich.”
Sabre tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. “Fine. I’ll just circle around. I won’t leave my car.”
“Look, if you want to go when I get back to the city, I’ll be glad to go with you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be home in my cozy condo way before you reach the city limits.”
The sun had set and the sky had darkened by the time Sabre reached the park. She drove slowly alongside the sidewalk looking for Cole. She didn’t really expect to see him and she knew with every passing day the likelihood that he was still alive diminished. There had been no reports that he had returned to Hayden’s school, and Hayden claimed he had hadn’t seen or heard from him.
The sidewalk was empty except for a lone woman in her sixties walking towards her. She wore a pink waitress uniform and tennis shoes and carried a purse in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. Her steps were placed gingerly on the ground as if she had very sore feet. There were a few lights in the park but it was still difficult to see. She spotted three gentlemen at a distance inside the park near the gazebo, but there was no little boy. A large magnolia tree stood about twenty feet in front of her to the right of the sidewalk with a shopping cart sticking out from behind. The woman in the waitress uniform was almost even with her car. Just then a man whooshed past her on a bicycle and snatched the woman’s purse from her hand, knocking her into Sabre’s car. The plastic bag flew up, splattering spaghetti in marinara sauce down the windshield. Sabre slammed on her brakes, and the woman fell to the ground. Just as the man on the bicycle reached the magnolia tree, the shopping cart flew forward. The bicyclist whipped to the right and smacked right into Mama T. She flew back with her legs in the air, and her head slammed against the tree. Before Sabre could get out of the car, the thief mounted his bicycle again and rode off into the dark.
She jumped out of her car and ran around the front of it as the waitress tried to stand up. “Are you okay?”