Blood Wind - Chapter 11
Here's another. Not sure if it was ready to post but, I was feeling guilty about not putting anything in your Christmas stockings. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Will try to get back to those lovely people who sent season's greetings and messages. This has been a somewhat lean year for me, (only financially, mind you; I'm a little too 'fluffy' to use the term any other way). They made Christmas even brighter. Thank you.
To all those who have the patience to read this story - the next chapter is almost ready. It shouldn't be as long a wait but, I've been over-optimistic before. Should be up within three to five more days.
Disclaimer: Guess I'm still on Santa's bad list. Don't own any of them.
*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*
Circle Within a Circle
The Amber-alert would be on every freeway sign in the state within minutes. He exited at the Record Street offramp and drove to a nearby convenience store; parking the car behind behind the small building where it was partially hidden by a dumpster.
Taking the other set of keys from his pocket, he gathered the baby in his arms, re-wrapping the towel around its tiny body and hunched over to shield it from the scouring wind as he walked across the street. The shiny Ford Taurus sat at the curb in front of an upholstery shop. The car was only a couple of years old and was the newest he'd ever owned. He'd used the last of his money to purchase it from the private seller who'd listed it online.
He had to have everything in place. He'd paid cash for the vehicle and, of course, used a fictitious name in his transaction with the middle aged couple. He couldn't afford to fail because of a flaw in details.
The baby had been crying since being taken from his mother. The jaguar warrior chastised himself for forgetting the milk.
...
Every cop in the state was on the lookout for the blue Toyota its driver and the small bundle he carried.
Looking worn and bleary-eyed, Lisbon's team and every available cop on LAPD's roster once again gathered at Parker Center. No one was going to get any sleep until this was over. Not that people slept well during the Santa Anas but, this practically guaranteed at least temporary insomnia for those involved in the search.
Though no one looked happy, Detective Grace VanPelt looked absolutely stricken. She couldn't believe that after all of the extra precaution, a baby had still been abducted. Trying to maintain a professional distance was difficult . . . a little baby . . . a tiny little baby.
A few of the them looked surreptitiously toward the preoccupied looking, frizzy-haired consultant and the grim detective-in-charge beside him.
Lisbon knew Jane would feel personally responsible for this. Once again, he'd failed to protect a child. If we don't get the baby back alive it may well tip him over the edge once-and-for-all, thought his boss and friend.
The man in question showed no emotion whatsoever. Whatever he'd needed to lock down was securely in place but, Lisbon and her team were worried. If Jane fell apart again, could he even be put back together?
Ortega's jaws were working overtime on his wad of chewing gum. He couldn't believe they'd fucked up and let the bastard take the kid. The kidnaper had vanished in minutes, leaving distraught parents and murderously pissed-off law enforcement in the dust.
The baby's mother was the only one who'd seen him face-to-face. She'd been calm enough to pick him out of a hastily assembled photo line-up but, had collapsed into her husband's arms as soon as she'd made the I.D. She'd been sedated and was now resting in a room, still clinging for dear life to her stoic little husband.
They'd learned the young couple had recently emigrated from Central Mexico and were indeed, full-blooded Indians indigenous to that area. Their small stature and coppery skin had probably confirmed it in Apizaco's mind before he approached mother and child in the parking lot.
"Jane", asked Lisbon, "Your thoughts? Have you come up with anything that will help us find the baby?"
The consultant didn't speak for a moment, gathering said thoughts before turning them loose on the assembled.
"According to what I know of the ritual, the final sacrifice must be performed under the full moon. It's to confirm the sun god has power even over Metzli, the god of the night. At sunrise, the blood will be there for all to see. I don't think he'll harm the baby until some time after midnight when the moon is at its zenith. When it's directly overhead . . . well . . . we have to find the baby before then."
The hard expressions on the faces of those gathered before him reflected what they all felt. Lisbon took the moment to address them.
"I know we're all frustrated this isn't going the way it was supposed to. I know we're all worried about the child. I know that some of us are feeling guilty about Apizaco getting away with the baby in spite of our best efforts."
At her last sentence, many eyes cut to Ortega and Jane standing next to one another; Jane with hands in pockets staring off into space, Ortega chomping furiously on his gum, eyes focused on Lisbon.
"Well" continued the senior-agent-in-charge, an edge to her voice. "Don't! It's not going to help. Keep your shit together and concentrate on doing your job. You wanna beat yourself up? Do it when this is over. We don't have time for it right now. We've got work to do."
Ortega's estimate of this small package of green-eyed dynamite kicked up another notch. She was as tough as she appeared and that was saying something. The steely expression and aggressive stance was convincing enough . . . never mind the words.
Through her short speech, Jane stood quietly, eyes on some distant point, fingers moving, seeming to tally something invisible to the rest.
Still staring into the distance, he spoke "Apizaco will have to sacrifice the child tonight. That's not even a question. What he's going to need is the full moon, of course, and a location that lets its light shine directly down on the place of sacrifice . . . the altar, so to speak. It can't be shaded by a roof or trees; nothing that will block the moonlight. It must be a place that has at least two-hundred and sixty steps; one for each day of the Aztec calender cycle.
How does he keep all this shit in his head? wondered Rigsby as he stared admiringly at the blonde man in the ugly windbreaker.
The consultant looked directly at the people before him, "Where can we find such a place?" There was a murmuring from those assembled as they discussed and debated possible sites.
"Jane" asked Cho, "Why within the city limits? He's killed a couple of people in the suburbs already."
"As I'd mentioned before, those killed outside of the city were only collateral damage. The actual sacrifices took place within its limits. This is the City of the Queen of the Angels . . . La Ciudad de la Reina de Los Angeles. The Aztecs believed that the one who would save the fifth world, would do so in a place named after the mother of the spirits. It would be a place of many people, many different tribes would be together in this city. The city itself has a destiny to fulfill. The ritual can only be done within its boundaries."
He could hear snorts of disbelief from the crowd.
"Whether we believe the legend or not, the killer believes it." spoke up Lisbon, backing Jane's explanation.
"What makes you so certain about this?" asked Ortega's man Lowry.
Jane looked back unblinkingly at the tall detective, "I have some inside information on this." was all he said; grey-green eyes unreadable.
"We're supposed to rely on your word then? Commit all of our people to this based on some fairy tail? Where did you get this information? Is this one of your 'psychic visions'?" Lowry made air quotes around the term; not bothering to hide his obvious disbelief.
"There are no such thing as psychics, detective. You're apparently laboring under questionable beliefs of your own." was Jane's comeback in a low, even tone. There was snickering from somewhere near the back of the room.
Ortega stepped forward. "Mr. Jane has given us solid information before. It was just our . . . scratch that . . . my fault that we didn't make good on it. I'm not going to let that happen again, I promise you." the mustachioed man had a look that left no doubt in the minds of those assembled. "How he comes to his conclusions isn't my concern. I expect you all to do your jobs. If you have any better ideas, I promise I'll listen to you and consider them . . . Anyone?"
Ortega waited expectantly for someone to speak up. There was only silence. Lowry dropped his eyes to the floor. The leader of his pack had spoken, he wouldn't challenge him.
After the moment had passed, Ortega said, "OK, let's get out the map."
Someone unrolled a large, vinyl-coated map and tacked it to the cork board over the photos of the victims and crime scenes. The latest, high-tech, imaging devices that one saw on practically every cop show on t.v. weren't in this year's budget. For now, they'd have to make-do in the old fashioned way.
"Circle all of the previous murder sites." instructed Jane, eyes focused on the map before him.
Lowry took a wipe-off marker and circled the locations as requested. The blue highlighted points formed a rough circle.
"Now," said Jane, "What's left within the circle that fits the requirements?"
There was, once again, the buzz of several voices suggesting and eliminating various possibilities. They were lucky to have several patrol officers within the group who were familiar with the area who came up with some possible locations others may have missed. Lowry now took a yellow marker and circled the suggested locations.
"Not enough steps, cross that one out."
"Shaded by trees." A slash was drawn over the yellow circle.
One-by-one, they narrowed it down.
"Too visible from the freeway." Another slash bisected a yellow circle on the map.
It was, finally, winnowed down to three possible locations.
Jane stood in front of the map, tapping his lip, concentrating intently on the remaining, un-crossed-out, sites.
"That one!" he said, pointing toward one of the yellow circles.
...
The drive to Whittier took only twenty-five minutes. They traveled east which is the 'good' direction at this hour. It was a long shot but, they needed to interview Apizaco's wife to see if she had any information that could lead them to her estranged husband. If they could locate the baby before he was actually taken to the site of sacrifice, chances of getting him back unharmed were much better.
Lisbon had elected Cho and herself to go question their suspect's estranged wife who was currently staying with her parents in this suburb southeast of Los Angeles proper.
Whittier was, at one time, lauded as the birthplace of a U.S. president. After said president's resignation in disgrace, the bedroom community had, with much relief, ceded the title to a neighboring city. Most of its 'historical' buildings had bitten the dust during a 7.0 several years earlier. Now, it was just another featureless dot on the map.
They pulled up to the front of a large, neatly maintained single story house. An elaborate brickwork pathway curved up to the front door. Maples and poplars rustled and swayed overhead as their fallen leaves, herded by the wind, moved in crackly drifts over the rectangles of red clay.
Lisbon rang the doorbell as Cho waited patiently beside her. They could hear the approach of someone with a heavy step. The white painted door opened to reveal a tall, solid looking, middle-aged man in paint stained clothing.
"May I help you?" he asked, the inflection of his voice not reflected on the strong blunt face.
Lisbon flashed her I.D. at him and announced "We're from the C.B.I. Does Aricele Apizaco live here?"
"May I look more closely at your identification?" asked the man politely; brown eyes cautiously evaluating the small woman and the muscular Asian man beside her.
Lisbon looked a little startled but handed him the leather case that held her badge and I.D.
He studied it for a moment then handed it back to her. "Can't be too careful." he explained without apology as he stepped back and gestured for them to enter; hastening to shut the door before the wind pushed any dried foliage inside.
They stepped into a neatly arranged living room that was the picture of a middle-class household. A large flat-screen television hung on one wall. Over the fireplace was hung a large ornately framed mirror. On the mantle below it were several family photos, many of them looking to be older graduation photos, soccer team photos and etcetera. A dog barked somewhere from a room beyond.
"Hush, Annie!." admonished the man in a stern voice and the dog immediately became silent.
"Aricele! There are people here who need to speak with you. Come into the living room."
"Be right there, Dad." came a woman's voice. After a moment, an attractive, dark-haired woman appeared, wiping beige paint from her hands onto the already paint stained rag she held.
Immediately, her posture became rigid and her mouth became a thin line as she spied the two agents standing in the middle of the living room. Her footsteps were hesitant as she approached them.
"Aricele Apizaco?" asked Lisbon. She didn't even have to announce they were police. It was pretty obvious who they were and, probably to Aricele, why they were here.
"Yes?" said the woman, apprehension on her face and in her voice as she nodded her head then blurted out, "Is this about Andres? Is he OK?"
"Ma'am, we're from the California Bureau of Investigation; do you have any idea where your husband may be?" asked Cho
"No. He should be at home or at work. What's wrong? Please . . . tell me."
Lisbon spoke this time, "Mrs. Apizaco, your husband is a person of interest regarding several killings here in Los Angeles County."
"Oh, my god!" said Aricele, both paint-stained hands flying upward to cover her mouth; tears immediately forming in her eyes.
She paled and began to tremble. Her father quickly grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her down on the sofa.
"Andres . . . Andres was under a lot of strain lately." she stammered. "Please, if he's done anything he needs help! He's not an evil man. Please don't hurt him. He just . . . he just needs help. He has problems."
Yeah, thought Cho, His problem right now is how not to wind up in the gas chamber.
"You sure you're looking for the right guy?" interjected Aricele's father. From the information given them before they left for the bedroom community, they knew his name was David Romero.
"Yes Mr. Romero." answered the female half of the duo, "The information we've gathered so far points to Dr. Apizaco as a strong suspect."
Romero's broad impassive face studied them for another long moment before saying, "The guy's had a screw loose for some time now."
He awkwardly hugged his now weeping daughter closer to him. Her small shoulders shook from stifled sobs. Turning his head toward a doorway to what was probably a kitchen, he shouted, "Gloria! Get in here! Aricele needs you!"
Comforting a crying woman, even if that woman was his daughter, wasn't something he was good at. He could build her a house from the ground up with his own hands but, he couldn't comfort her. This just wasn't part of his skill-set. This was her mother's job.
A small, stocky woman with pale skin and sharp dark eyes, like those of a small wild animal appeared from the doorway. She wore a frilly apron over her jeans and sweatshirt. Lisbon wondered where one could even find such an apron these days. It looked like it belonged back in 1952. The woman sat next to her daughter and gathered her in her arms. Aricele no longer tried to hold back. Her loud sobs were muffled by her mother's ample bosom.
"He was a nice guy but, he never was wrapped too tight to begin with." said David Romero. Gloria looked at her husband and sadly nodded in agreement as her daughter continued to blubber wetly against her chest.
"Andres was never the same after he came back from his last tour of duty. He's been in the reserves for several years." explained .
"By 'not the same', what do you mean?" asked Lisbon
Romero pondered the question so long they thought he wasn't going to answer or he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open.
"He made a decent living but, spent it all on those stupid digs in Mexico and Central America. It had gotten even worse in the last few months. He was never home and Aricele had to come to us for grocery money to feed the kids. I tried to talk some sense into him but it was like talking to that stupid dog. At least the dog has enough sense to come in out of the rain. Can't say the same for my daughter's husband."
"Daddy!" said Aricele in anguish.
"Mrs. Apizaco, do you have any idea where he could be staying?" asked Lisbon, ignoring the family dynamics at play. "We've already searched your house." She neglected to mention what they'd found on the makeshift alter.
"He doesn't have anywhere to go that I know of." she sniffed as she raised her head and wiped at her eyes with the stained paint rag she still held; her nose now a bright red.
"His parents died several years ago and he didn't have any close friends, just the people who went on the digs with him but, even they weren't that close. We'd maybe have them over for a barbecue every once-in-a-while."
Romero spoke up in his deliberate way, "After Aricele made him get rid of that crap that was taking over their house, a few months ago I helped him move some crates to an old quonset hut in the valley. It's in an industrial park in Sunland, near the corner of Pico and Railroad Avenue."
Lisbon immediately stood and took the phone from her pocket, dialing VanPelt and relaying the information as she walked away from the family toward the doorway to the kitchen.
"Do you know James and Rebecca Villareal?" asked Cho
"Oh, no, no, no! Please don't tell me something has happened to them!" cried Aricele as another wave of anguish crashed over her.
Said Cho bluntly, "They're dead."
"I knew about Maria, it was on tonight's news but, I didn't know about James and Rebecca." she sobbed, tears now streaming down her face; eyes beginning to puff up to go with the red nose.
"The news people haven't released the information about the Villareal's yet." said Lisbon as she rejoined them; feeling sorry for the woman who had to face the fact her husband was likely a crazed serial killer.
"Their daughter, Isabel . . . is she OK?" asked the wife of Andres Apizaco, her voice small and apprehensive.
"I'm sorry." was all Lisbon said gently.
The distraught woman pitched forward off the sofa in a dead faint. Her father caught her before she hit the floor.
...
He tried to shush the infant in his arms. He softly explained to the boy what an honor it was to be the chosen one. No matter what he said, of course, the baby continued to cry loudly.
It would be several more hours until the moon rose and would be even longer before it was directly overhead. He'd have to find him some milk to see if that would sooth, (and silence) him. The wind was, no doubt, not helping matters. It blew off the edge of the towel he'd draped over the baby's head and ruffled the thick, straight black hair. It seemed to distress the baby even more and it upped the volume of its cries.
"It's OK mijo, it's just the wind. It won't hurt you." soothed Andres as he re-draped the end of the towel over the baby's head and tried to tuck it more securely. Damn wind.
He still felt conflicted at having to sacrifice a baby. He'd almost stopped himself from killing the little girl but, Tonatiuh wouldn't let him quit. The sun god had whispered incessantly into his ear that he must complete his task. He must save the people. He couldn't stop until the blood flowed down the steps. If he couldn't steel himself to do what must be done - all would be lost. The people of the sun would be no more; the world itself would be no more.
He'd tried to explain that to James and Rebecca, the lovely couple he'd taken on several digs across the border. They couldn't be persuaded to give their daughter to the sun god. He'd had to kill them to get her. After they lay dead, he took the child by the hand. She put up no resistance; she only stared blankly at her parents lying on the bloody floor. Perhaps his words of explanation had gotten through to her. Perhaps she knew it was a tremendous honor to be chosen.
All during the drive from her home, she'd said not a word. The only thing she seemed to react to was the small jade disk that dangled from a red cord tied to the rear-view mirror. Aricele had put it there, saying that any extra protection was welcome in the old-blue rattletrap. It took its place along with the St. Christopher medal, the Egyptian scarab and the laminated four-leaf-clover attached to the dash.
Isabel stared at it as it swayed back and forth with the movement of the car, she seemed mesmerized by it. As he waited for the light to change on Cahuenga Boulevard, he grabbed the silk cord and pulled it from its place to hand to her. He smiled and explained it was the symbol for luck. She looked back at him with eyes nearly the same color as the jade. She was a beautiful, obedient child. Tonatiuh would be pleased.
*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*
TBC - Please review if you're of a mind to.