Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Redemption for Avery (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Ryker Townsend FBI Profiler Book 2) (5 page)

Big Bear Lake

North Shore Drive

Morning

Ryker Townsend

“This is it. My baby’s room.”

Sandra Hubbard opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom and walked in before me. Lily’s room looked distinctly feminine with its four-poster queen bed and white, lacy comforter with pale pink linens and pillows. The room smelled of pine and had streaks on the carpet where a vacuum cleaner had been used.

The room appeared too pristine for a seventeen-year-old.

A cushioned window seat looked out onto the grounds and the pool, framed by frilly draperies in a plaid pattern of pastels. Lily had antique white book shelves with a matching desk. Handwritten notes and pictures of friends hung on a corkboard over the desk, faces frozen in time. A guitar had been placed in a corner, but a light covering of dust meant she hadn’t played it in awhile.

“Do you know if Lily kept a diary?” I asked.

“If she did, I didn’t know about it.”

“I don’t see a computer in her room. Did she have a laptop or tablet?”

“Mark wouldn’t allow her to have anything like that. If she needed to work online for school, she had to do it in the living room. Mark thought we could watch her online activity better if she didn’t have any privacy.”

If kids wanted to be online, to do the things that required privacy and anonymity, they would find a way. Sinead could help me search for any trace of Lily online.

“Lily’s room is very…sterile. Nothing looks out of place,” I said. “Most kids her age, their room smells like feet and their clothes look as if there’s been an explosion. Their bathrooms are cluttered with nail polish, cosmetics, and hair products, but not Lily. Is she normally this fastidious?”

“Mark likes a clean and orderly house.”

I pulled open drawers and looked into her closet and bathroom, trying to understand Lily and get a sense of who she’d become. If her father had rules, perhaps she didn’t bother rebelling against him by keeping a messy room or hiding anything personal if she didn’t have privacy. Even though I hadn’t found much in her bedroom to further Lily’s case, I had a better picture of the family dynamics and it concerned me.

“Mr. Hubbard admitted to throwing Lily out of the house last Friday. Do you have any idea where she went? Did she stay with a friend?”

Sandra Hubbard shrugged and shook her head.

“I have no idea. I never heard from her…again.” She sobbed. “I should’ve done something, but I thought she’d call me, that we’d figure something out. I thought we’d have…time.”

I shut my eyes and flashed on images of my father and mother when they were alive. I would’ve given anything for more time with them. Fifteen-year-old Sam Reed and his sweet little sister Avery thought they would always have tomorrow. They found out they were wrong in the cruelest of ways. Mrs. Hubbard would learn the many facets of that harsh lesson with the death of her only child.

Violence ricocheted off victims like an infinite echo. Its path of destruction careened through countless lives—even touching the people whose job it was to investigate. No one was immune.

“I’d like to get a list of phone numbers or addresses for her friends, anyone she might’ve contacted. It’ll help to piece together a timeline of her whereabouts after she left here.”

“You’ll have it before you leave.”

After Friday and the family argument, Lily had crossed the path of the UNSUB. Had she known her killer? Had she trusted him? She must’ve felt lost after getting thrown out of her home, angry and confused and hurting.

“Do you think it’s possible Lily went to find Grayson Barbour?” I asked. “Could he have taken her in?”

“She was scared of him. I can’t imagine he would’ve been her first choice, but he could sweet talk her into anything.”

I pictured a girl with low self-esteem after years of abuse from a father who didn’t think she’d ever be good enough. A boy claiming to love her would’ve been the drug she needed, even if the boy wasn’t good for her.

“I have one more question for you. Please don’t take offense.”

I knew my next question would be difficult for her to hear, but I had to ask it.

“Would your husband have any reason to harm your daughter?”

Sandra Hubbard didn’t look up. She stared at the worn tissue in her hand and remained silent far too long. I had expected resistance, but when I saw her pondering my question, I knew Mark Hubbard couldn’t be eliminated as a suspect.

“He’s struck her before. It’s his temper. The night she left, he slapped her when she talked back to him.” Tears glistened on her cheeks as she sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed. “He’s never been a father, not really. He adopted Lily, but they were never close. He had too many rules for a teenage girl.”

I wondered why Mrs. Hubbard hadn’t left her husband, if for no other reason than for the sake of her daughter, but it wasn’t my place. The woman would carry far too much guilt after today.

“I’ve seen enough here, Mrs. Hubbard.” I reached into my wallet and pulled out my card. “Call me if you think of anything. Nothing is too small.”

She held out her trembling hand and took my card.

“Yes, I will.” She wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“I know words don’t mean much, not when you’re hurting over the loss of your child, but we will find the person who did this to her.”

She nodded.

“I know you care and you’ll do your best, Agent Townsend,” she said. “But nothing will bring her back. She’s gone and I didn’t get to tell her how much I loved her.”

“It’s my fervent belief that your daughter knows, Mrs. Hubbard. She was born into your love and it took root in her.”

Lily’s mother folded into my arms. I suspected she knew we
both
needed a hug.

***

Minutes later

Ryker Townsend

“I need another shower after being in the same room as that demented Barney Fife and Daddy Dearest.” Lucinda faked a shiver as she drove along the shoreline of Big Bear Lake and I smiled.

I had made a choice not to demonize the serial offenders I hunted. It’d been my way of remaining objective, but Crowley had no such predilection. She spoke her mind about people and wore her heart on her sleeve when we were alone and had our privacy. Her penchant for name calling had become endearing.

As I gazed down the list of names and contact information Mrs. Hubbard had given me for Lily’s friends, I noticed one name and address that couldn’t wait.

“Let’s find Grayson Barbour. Maybe he’ll be home this time of morning.” I gave Lucinda his address to plug into our GPS. “He’s first up. We have to establish a timeline of what Lily did after her father kicked her out. Surely one of her friends would know. A teenage girl without a roof over her head, she would’ve reached out to someone.”

“I’ll make some calls to the kids on your list and talk to their parents,” Lucinda said. “If anyone deserves face time, I’ll set something up.”

“Good.”

I placed a call to Sinead in DC. When she answered, I summed up my visit to Lily’s room and told her want I needed.

“See if Lily Hubbard kept an online diary. If her father smothered her with rules and she lived a stifled life in her home, she may have found a way to express her feelings online.”

“I’m on it. I’ll hit you back when I have something,” Sinead said before she ended the call.

“I can’t imagine living under the thumb of Mark Hubbard.” Lucinda made a turn off the highway into a residential area, following GPS commands. “Sandra Hubbard looked like a prisoner of war, only with nicer clothes.”

“Lily could’ve had a low self-esteem or been submissive to a strong man,” I said. “Hubbard would have set the stage for anyone wanting to dominate her. A jealous, obsessive boyfriend would’ve been more of the same.”

“It’s hard enough for kids to handle zits, boobs, and prom dresses. What Lily had to deal with, it makes me ache for her.”

On the surface, Lily had a life of privilege. Her family had money and she probably didn’t want for much—except for things other less-fortunate kids took for granted, like privacy, a mother and father’s unconditional love, acceptance and tolerance.

“This is it.”

Grayson Barbour lived with his family off North Shore Drive on prime real estate, not far from Lily’s home. Lucinda parked the Chevy Tahoe on the front curb and, as we walked up the driveway of the beautifully landscaped grounds, I noticed someone in the open garage. He looked young enough to be Barbour.

He had the hood up on a sweet 1967 vintage Mustang, fully restored with a cherry-red paint job. It looked as if he was giving the car an oil change.

“FBI. Are you Grayson Barbour?” Crowley called out and showed him her credentials.

The guy came out from under the hood and wiped his hands on a red rag, glancing at her badge.

He wore his dark hair long and had on a pair of red sweat pants and a navy tank. I could see where he would entice young girls with his muscular body and handsome face, but his pale eyes were cold. I would sooner believe he carried a mean streak than empathy, but maybe Lucinda would have a different take.

“Yeah, I’m Grayson,” Barbour said. After Crowley made the introductions, he asked, “Why would someone from the FBI be looking for me? Is this about Lily being missing? I had nothing to do with that. Her dad kicked her out, the tight-assed bastard, but she never came to me. She wouldn’t even return my phone calls. Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not. Her body was found on a trail in the park. She was murdered.” Crowley broke the news.

Barbour didn’t ask the usual questions. His eyes darted left and right as if he were thinking and it took effort.

“We’re contacting people who knew Lily, to see if anyone heard from her after she left home,” I said. “Did you hear from her? You have any idea where she might’ve gone?”

“No. She should’ve come to me, but she didn’t.” He leaned against his vehicle. “I can’t believe this.”

“We heard you two dated. For how long?” Crowley asked.

“Off and on for the last year. Lately, it’s been off.”

“We heard you were more than a little obsessed with her,” Lucinda said. “You called her all the time and texted her. Did you have reason to be jealous of other guys?”

Barbour glared at Crowley. I wasn’t sure he would answer.

“She gave me reason to be jealous. Plenty of reason. She drove me crazy.” Barbour returned to working on his car. “She acted like she wanted it. You know, letting me do stuff to her, but then she’d push me off.”

“So you never—?”

“No, but that was gonna change. I told her to put out or I was done.”

“With that kind of charm, how could she resist?” I said.

“Exactly.” Barbour wiped his hands again. “But I found out the hard way, literally, that I never had a chance to get into those panties. That girl had critical mass daddy issues, man.”

“What are you saying?”

“She had it bad for one of her teachers and it wasn’t about letting some old dude cop a feel to get a better grade. Lily had a real thing for older guys.”

“Did she ever mention this teacher’s name?” Crowley asked.

“She didn’t have to mention it, lady. I have eyes and ears. His name is Dennis Whitehall. She had him for English and he coached her volleyball team.”

“But you don’t know for sure if she had a relationship with her teacher, since she didn’t admit to it or give you a name, right?” Lucinda pressed.

“She never said his name, but Whitehall has a reputation with the girls at school. Math isn’t my thing, but even I can add two and two. Maybe Lily went to him after her father kicked her out.”

Crowley gave me the side eye and I didn’t need a translation.

Grayson Barbour could’ve name dropped to deflect attention from any part he might’ve played in Lily’s disappearance and murder, but I couldn’t dismiss what he said about Lily’s teacher. Although our list of suspects with motive had grown in Lily’s case, the overkill brutality of her death made the MO specific. I wasn’t sure it fit anyone yet, and in Avery Reed’s case, I had a profile for a serial killer that spanned decades with the potential for a larger conspiracy.

As Crowley and I left Barbour to his red vintage Mustang, we headed toward the crime scene in the San Bernardino National Forest. Cadaver dogs and search crews with ground penetrating radar equipment were staging for an all-out blitz of the terrain—the grim task of hunting for decayed bodies. It would be a long day.

Even though our stop had been fruitful, the side trip to interview Barbour had made us late. While I still had cell service, I called Sinead.

“Get me anything you have on Dennis Whitehall.” I told her what I knew of Lily’s teacher.

“You got it, Ryker.”

As I ended it with Sinead, my cell pinged with an incoming call from my evidence recovery techs.

“It’s Hutch.” I put Devon Hutchison on speaker.

“Meet us at the crime scene, boss,” he said with urgency. “You have to see this.”