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Valley Vista High is a typical Southern California school. Open, sprawling; the buildings buff colored, one-story stucco rectangles with red tile roofs. Like most schools in the district, it’s a closed campus, meaning students are not allowed to leave at lunch. Because of this, there are lots of “green belts” outfitted with benches and tables. Made of concrete, not wood. Prevents hormonally charged teenagers from carving their lascivious desires into the benches and tables. It is not impervious to tagging, however, and no matter how tight the security, a determined kid can sneak spray paint onto campus and mark his territory like a mongrel pup.
A maintenance man is busy scrubbing last night’s artistic endeavors off one of the benches as I pass. He looks up and gives me a nod, then returns to his labors. Here in the back of the school, at least, it’s business as usual.
Not so in the front office. I spy Mom through the door of her office. She’s talking with a couple of uniformed policemen. They are standing behind someone who is seated with his back to me. When she spies me, she crooks a finger, inviting me in.
I’m barely through the door when the person in the chair turns to face me. My heart gives a little jolt. It’s the Chief of Police, Warren Williams, and the last time I saw him, I nearly killed him.
Chapter Six
Warren Williams is a vampire. A really old vampire who has integrated himself so well into human society, he can hold an office like Chief of Police and no one, except other supernaturals, knows the truth. The confrontation he and I had two months ago resulted in his retreating into a coma-like trance called “stasis.” When the object of our conflict, Avery, was eliminated, Williams regained full health. He has tried to contact me, to mend fences, but I wasn’t ready to see him.
I’m still not.
Williams rises from the chair and holds out his hand. He seems to bear no scars from the fight we had. In fact, his gray-green eyes meet mine and I detect no malice simmering in their depths. All the same, I take his hand warily.
He smiles and says, “Miss Strong. Nice to meet you. Your mother tells me you’ve volunteered to help on campus today.”
His thoughts project a different message.A
I drop his hand, smile and ignore the undercurrent. “Nice to meet you, too.” I glance at my mother, then back to him. “I don’t know the particulars of Barbara Franco’s death. I assume you’re here to fill us in.”
His eyes narrow, darken.You can’t ignore this. I want you to meet me tonight. At Avery’s.
No. If that is the reason you are here today, you have made a mistake. You should have sent someone else. I will contact the hospital. I will send them Avery’s final message-his letter of resignation. That should buy us more time.
I move away from him and around the desk to stand beside my mother. “What happened to the girl?”
Williams watches me for an instant. Then the storm passes and his eyes settle once again into pools of calm.Perhaps that will work. For now. But we must talk. About you.
He catches the imperceptible nod with which I acknowledge his remark. I know he’s right. I need to end the nagging once and for all.
He catches that, too.
He gives me a cold smile and motions for Mom and me to sit. There’s another visitor’s chair in the corner and I pull it over so that my mother and I are facing Williams, the desk between us.
“Barbara Franco’s body was discovered early yesterday morning by a jogger in Cuyamaca State Park,” he begins. “She was beaten, sexually assaulted and strangled. At this point, we have no suspects and no motive. She had no male or female lovers. There are no known sexual predators in her family or in their close circle of friends. At least none that we know of. We are, of course, looking into that.”
He pauses a moment and looks at me.
Instantly, I understand.A supernatural death?
There are indications. I have my people working on it. We’ll know after the post mortem.
You will let me know?
I will be in contact.
All this passes between us in the length of a heartbeat. I feel my mother move restlessly beside me. I know she’s battling with the decision we made last night to keep the information about Trish and Frey and the possible link to Barbara’s murder from the police. If Barbara’s death was caused by a supernatural, though, neither Trish nor Frey may have had anything to do with it.
And Trish may be in greater danger than we imagined.
I speak before she can. “Will you have people on campus all day?”
Williams nods. “Detectives will be questioning students and faculty. Your mother has offered us the use of a counselor’s office.”
I put a hand on Mom’s arm. “Let’s let Chief Williams get his men set up. You need to address the faculty, don’t you?”
She draws a deep breath and passes a hand over her face. “Yes. Chief Williams, my secretary will take your detectives to the counseling office. Would you like to say something to the faculty? Or to the students when we meet later this morning?”
We’ve all risen from our chairs. Williams considers the question for a moment. “I’d like to speak to the students, if it’s all right. Maybe one of her friends can shed some light on Barbara’s last day.”
Mom glances at her watch. “The student assembly is at nine. We’ve called a minimum day, so students will only be on campus until noon. That way if they wish to speak to a detective or counselor, they can do so this afternoon.”
She shows the policemen out of her office and closes the door before turning back to me. “I should have told him about Trish and Frey.”
I know the reason for her anxiety. I also know why she didn’t say anything. A decision I agree with. “You didn’t say anything because you don’t want to involve Trish until we know for sure what happened. You’re protecting her. It’s all right, Mom.”
“But what if she’s in danger? God, A
I put an arm around her shoulders. “Carolyn is her mother and she asked us not to say anything. The police are on the case now. They’re trained to investigate this type of crime. If Frey is involved, they’ll find that out, too. In the meantime, let me see what I can do. I’ve got David ru
There’s a discreet knock on the door. Mom’s secretary is back, and she points at her watch. Mom acknowledges the gesture and tugs at the hem of her suit coat.
“Are you coming to the meeting?” she asks.
I nod. “I’ll stand in back. Before we go, though, can you get me that file on Frey?”
Mom shuffles some papers on her desk and retrieves a thick manila folder. “I pulled the file this morning.” Then, like an afterthought, she reaches into a bookcase behind her desk and pulls out the most recent of a string of yearbooks that fills the bottom shelf. She opens to the faculty section and points. “Here’s a picture of Daniel Frey.” She glances up to meet the gaze of her secretary, standing expectantly by the door. “I’d better go.”
Her tension is palpable. I try to make my smile encouraging. She squeezes my arm in an acknowledgment of the effort and leaves me alone to study the photograph open on the desk.
It’s a studio photograph, a head shot of a man in his late forties with short salt and pepper hair and a smile made perfect by generous lips and straight, white teeth. There is inherent strength in the face and a certain studied sensuality. Daniel Frey projects humor, sensitivity, intelligence and sexuality. A combination that would be irresistible to teenage girls.