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The idea wove through his mind like a venomous snake, fangs dripping.
Throughout history, some humans had always had a sick fascination with blood sport. Maybe it wasn’t as ancient as it seemed.
For a moment he stared, unseeing, out the side window of his car. If that was the case, then the most important question remained: Who was in the “stands,” watching and cheering? Hungry for the sight of blood and gore. Greedy to view others’ pain and suffering. Humiliation.
And willing to pay to see it. Because he knew money had to be involved. Where there was evil, there was always money.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Evan let out a frustrated breath, sitting back in his chair. There was no one named Hanh missing currently in the United States of America. And no one reported missing with that name in the last ten years. Not that that necessarily meant anything. Lars had said he was pretty sure he was an undocumented immigrant. Which made things exceedingly tricky. So it could be that he had come from a different country and his family didn’t even know he’d gone missing. Or it could be that no one had reported his absence for fear of the authorities.
But damn. To have two more people telling a similar story to his and Noelle’s ... it might help put just enough pressure on the police and the Feds that they would start actively investigating again.
Even if the FBI had found nil eight years before, technically the case was still open. They’d just run out of leads. But Evan couldn’t let it lie. Not only because he craved justice but because if this was ongoing, as his interview with Lars led him to believe, people were being horrifically victimized, perhaps even right that minute.
God, it made his hair stand on end.
He stood, his chair screeching backward on the wood floor, and he paced for a moment before grabbing his phone off his desk and dialing. “Officer Dixon,” she answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Aria. It’s Evan.”
“How was Texas?”
“Hot.”
She gave a soft chuckle. “I hear that.”
“Good thing we’re used to it,” he said on a smile. Reno, Nevada, was not known for its cool summers. He gave her a quick rundown on his meeting with Lars Knauer, and when he was done, she let out a harsh gust of air. “Wow. The police didn’t believe him.”
“No. Which was why his statement was bare bones. They didn’t want to hear what they thought were the ramblings of a drunk with mental health problems.”
“Well. I can’t say I blame them. We get a lot of that, and usually, it’s exactly what it seems.”
“I bet.” Plus, it was in a different state entirely and a long damn time after what he and Noelle had experienced, despite that theirs was a high-profile case at the time. “It was a great find on your part, Aria. I’m really appreciative. Seriously. If I can just find a thread between our cases to follow ... I might be able to break this open. Even after all this time.”
“I’m rooting for you, Evan. Always.”
“I know.” He cleared his throat. “So, ah, the reason I’m calling is that I have another request, and it’s a little gory.”
“Oh. Intriguing.”
He chuckled softly. He’d been considering different ways of coming at this case—his own—and if he couldn’t find any victims that were alive, maybe he could find a few who were dead.
“I’m looking for bodies found with missing parts.”
“Missing parts?”
“Yeah. You know, fingers, or ears, or limbs. Anything, really.”
She paused for a moment. “I see why you’re taking this angle, but remember, gangs have an affinity for that level of fucked up too. We have an informant who used to be part of the Diablos who’s missing hispinkie finger and an eye. Some sick initiation gone wrong. Or maybe gone right, according to some people. It’s hard to say. Anyway, my point is, there might be more bodies—alive and dead—in the system than you want to hear about.”
“Point taken. Still, if you come upon something that raises your hackles, give me a call?”
“My hackles are all yours,” she said with a soft laugh.
There was a slightly awkward pause. He could feel her waiting for him to walk through the door she’d opened, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do that.
Not a good idea.
