Victim Six Read Free

wagon was parked on the side of the road as close to the edge as possible without going into the ditch. They poured from their vehicle, talking and laughing, as if what they were about to do was some kind of fun adventure.
    He sized up the women.
    Most were small.
    Good.
    Most were thin, reasonably pretty, and young.
    Also good.
    Some didn’t know English—at least not enough to speak it with any real fluency.
    He took it to mean that they were likely illegals.
    Excellent. Who would care if one of those went missing?
    A few days later, he returned to the place where he knew more of them would come. From across the road, he watched the pretty dark-haired girl get out of the van, flanked by three young men.
    A challenge.
    He liked that too.
    Later, when he felt her body go limp in his arms, he smiled.
    Good girl, he thought. Give yourself to me.
     
    A half hour or more passed, and Tulio wondered why Celesta hadn’t returned. The air had warmed up considerably, and he’d stripped down to a sleeveless T-shirt. He called out for his brothers, and the three of them gathered up their impressive haul of cuttings.
    “She must be waiting back at the van,” he said.
    An hour had elapsed by the time they made it to the clearing.
    “Celesta?”
    No answer.
    Tulio put his bag down and unlocked the Astro van.
    “Where are you?”
    Leon, the youngest, hurried over to the vehicle, waving a pair of gloves and a cutter that were obviously Celesta’s because she’d used pink nail polish to apply her initials and a tiny rendering of a daisy.
    “Look, I found these. She left them there,” he said, indicating an area of gravel near the path into the woods.
    Tulio took the gloves and stared into his brother’s worried eyes. “What happened? This doesn’t make sense. Something’s wrong. Something has happened to Celesta.”

Chapter Two
    March 30, 10 a.m.
South Colby, Washington
    “Now, that’s attractive,” she thought.
    Kendall Stark sat in her white Ford SUV in the school parking lot and fumbled in her purse for a toothpick. Nothing . She checked the glove box. Again nada . A sesame seed from a morning bagel had lodged between her front teeth. Coming up empty-handed, she used the corner of one of her Kitsap County sheriff’s detective business cards. Tacky as she knew it was, mission accomplished . She reset her rearview mirror and got out of her car, proceeding toward the front office of South Colby Elementary School. She said hello to Mattie Jonas, the school secretary, who in turn handed her a clipboard with a signup sheet.
    Son’s spring conference , she wrote for the reason of her visit.
    Mattie nodded. “You know the drill. Gun-free zone. No exceptions, even for Kitsap County’s finest.”
    With her mind on the meeting, Kendall had forgotten to remove and store her Glock in her car’s gun safe, something procedure called her to do. While the school secretary looked on, she removed the magazine, set the safety, and put the gun into a metal lockbox that the secretary had provided for that purpose.
    “We don’t worry about you,” Mattie said, locking the box with a key she kept on a chain around her slender wrists. “I mean, you and the other cops are on the side of right, but a rule’s a rule.”
    “Of course,” Kendall said.
    “How’s your mom?”
    Kendall sighed. “Good days and bad days. More bad days lately, I’m afraid.”
    Mattie didn’t press for details. It was clear Kendall didn’t want to go into it. It was a question that came at least once a day. Most people in town knew her mother. Port Orchard was small enough that on any given day, paths would cross with those who shared histories. Mattie had been an assistant in Kendall’s mother’s fifth-grade classroom many years ago. Mrs. Maguire—never Ms.—was a favorite of anyone who had her. Bettina Maguire was a marmalade-colored redhead who taught her pupils with the fervor of a preacher and the kind of self-deprecating humor that made other