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“Power, in whatever form he can get it.”
It was possible. How else would someone in a town the size of Sylen get their kicks if their tendencies leaned towards murder. With the lack of criminal records, it was hard to say if he had a pattern of it before upgrading. There were no recorded instances of psychopathy or violence solely because they didn’t report anything. It was hush-hush.
“Do you think the Sheriff is covering for him?”
Teddi peered out the windshield as her lips twisted. “My first instinct is to say no. He seemed furious about Scott Reade’s murder like it was causing more problems than he could fix. And wouldn’t they have felt safe to discuss it in the middle of the forest all by themselves? He didn’t indicate prior knowledge.”
“It’s a mess he doesn’t want to deal with. It’s fucking up his perfectly held control over his town.” Vera finished the thought. She was right. Sheriff Malis had an unidentified problem on his hands, not a rabid dog he had leashed. “We need to look into the mark she mentioned too. I think it’s worth checking out.”
Teddi leaned on the central console, concerned. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? I can go alone.”
“No,” she whispered. “I can do it.” She hated the way she pushed herself to say the words. It was part of her job, her promise to herself and Ximena, and she just wanted to be able to do it. No emotions, no reactions, just due diligence.
“There’s a mile between “can” and “should”.”
“Speaking of.” Grateful for the distraction, she reached inside her pocket for the manila folder. Vera was glad when anger took center stage over the heaviness. Anger was easier to dance with. Sadness was nothing but a pool to choke in.
Teddi’s countenance darkened as she read through the papers. “That fucker. We’ve seen enough of his body to know this is bullshit. He seriously thinks we’re just two dumb little girls playing cops.”
“Yes, yes he does and he’s going to find out that it’s a very bad idea to underestimate us.”
Vera wasn’t sure there was a line anymore to measure how far she'd go to make sure people like Sheriff Malis, criminals like the men she’d seen walk free countless times, were held accountable. She was toeing the edge of a precipice and her heart rate spiked in black vicious joy at the idea of jumping off. The rules felt like barriers. She was ready to plunge head-first into whatever it took to break them.
She clenched her hands into fists. Squeezing, releasing, squeezing. The need to fight, to let out the violence exploding through her body onto someone else was visceral. She imagined it. Clenching Sheriff Malis’ tan uniform collar, slamming her elbow into the thin, unprotected tissue of his trachea. Over and over she’d strike him, slicing into his red jowls. Panting breaths that morphed into near-growls would accompany each strike, every blow against his face as she let out her rage, to balance out the injustice of his arrogance. His face morphed into the sharp planes of criminals she’d known, criminals she’d watched get away with anything they wanted, and then back again to Malis, a shifting shape of men melting together into something anonymous, something known.
The irony of power was that each person seemed to forget how much they had within their grasp. It wasn’t until it was used as a weapon that it felt other-worldly or supernatural and unbeatable. It made victims out of anyone and everyone when another used their power against them. Wives, sons, grandparents, the less fortunate. It was people like Sheriff Malis who took a natural gift and twisted it into something corrupt.
Growing up she saw how hard life could be. From Guadalajara to the prestige of sponsorship to the United States, her family worked hard for what they had. Blood, sweat and tears, year after year. Her father ingrained in her the values his parents had drilled into him. Integrity, tenacity, honesty. When she stole a pack of gum at age six it turned into a life lesson that never left. Aguilars didn’t steal. Aguilars didn’t lie. Aguilars were good citizens who cared for their communities, no matter where their feet landed. But her dad hadn’t prepared her for reality.
Out of that crack deep inside her was a rot seeping in so thick she felt it coat her teeth. She had trusted the institution of her work as much as one trusted their god. It was her religion, her church and it had taken her commitment and made a mockery of it. She spent years on her knees praying to a system that was meant to use the power they had for good. She committed self-flagellation by sacrificing her family, her time and her chance to have a life before it was too late. She had been pious. But when push came to shove they had proved her wrong. There was no balance, no consequence great enough to even out the abuses of power, big or small.
Sheriff Malis was one more in a line so long she couldn’t see where it began anymore.
As if the thoughts were a mountainside, her hands began slipping down the near-vertical ledge, cutting into her as she let herself fall with no ground in sight.
“Ver?” Blinking, she realized her eyes had gone dry. The bones of her hands ached.
“I’m fine." She cleared her throat, forcing herself to open her fists. "I’m good, let’s talk to Maller’s wife like we planned, and then I want to find out what Sam saw.”
“Vera, I think you should--”
“I’m fine.” She bit out the words.
Teddi's gaze burned into the side of her face. She put the SUV into gear and pulled out of the lot.
Chapter 23
Teddi
“Mrs. Maller?” Vera asked the woman pulling weeds out of her garden bed.
The home was a craftsman style, clean but bland, lacking any major personality that distinguished it from its neighbors. Two small squares of grass and a homemade garden made up the front yard. A long clothesline connected from the house to a fence post was full of various blouses and pants.
The woman turned around, her bright pink gardening gloves black with soil, a pile of old weeds and grass next to her where she knelt on the ground.
It was an odd choice to work in denim considering the ground seemed to be perpetually wet in Sylen but Teddi didn’t bother mentioning it.
Running her forearm across her brow, the woman's black pixie cut remained perfectly in place. “Do I know you?” Waiting on the sidewalk instead of encroaching, Vera gave her a polite smile. Her ‘FBI smile’ as Teddi began to call it.
