Innocent Eyes

INNOCENT EYES

Enrique Laso

Copyright © 2016 Enrique Laso

English Translation: Georgia Louise Snelgrove

Published by Enrique Laso at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Poets such as Rilke or Baudelaire, rightly stated that childhood is the only home that belongs to man. We all become stuck there, if we are conscious of it or not. As the years pass, the time during those first years of existence stay with us for the rest of our lives.

On certain occasions, that home is an inhospitable place, a putrid land that has not become barren; there are times when that space is a nightmare that could later turn into another disaster. And that is when the horrors from the past return, and only we are capable of stopping it.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter I

I accepted the offer from my boss, Peter Wharton, and took some time to think things through. Maybe handing over my resignation, giving up my job as a special agent in the FBI Behavior Analysis Unit wasn't such a good idea after all; it was just another escape route, another way to get away from myself, my ghosts, my faults and my lack of maturity. I wouldn't solve anything by leaving my professional responsibilities behind. I had to face the problems goading me from another perspective, and it was highly likely that my partner, Liz, my mother and my colleagues would be my best allies in my battle to leave my foolishness behind me once and for all.

On top of the table in my Washington apartment, there was a large report that I had already given the once over. It was terrible. The most horrifying thing I had ever come across in my entire career. Peter wanted me to take this case on. He wanted me to get on the first plane to Arizona and to turn up at the FBI office in Phoenix to lend them a hand.

A vicious beast of a person was kidnapping children, pulling their eyes out with the help of some sort of blunt object—most probably a worn out screwdriver—, murdering them by using a plastic wrap to suffocate them, and then leaving their bodies abandoned in the vast County of Maricopa, one of the largest in the United States.

Looking at the photos of the little kids made your heart miss a beat and one could ask themselves what type of monster was capable of carrying out such brutality. Even for an expert in criminal profiles like myself, there were still things that shocked me, that flew past the line of my comprehension of how brutal and cruel a person could be.

I had had a long chat with Liz before making my decision. Our relationship had improved, my nightmares seemed to have slowed down and we were closer than ever. There was no guarantee that she could go to Arizona with me, despite being a member of the FBI and forming part of what I arrogantly and pompously referred to as my team. I didn't have any staff; what I always tried to do was give my best colleagues the most complicated tasks, the ones that required all of the skills I lacked. I almost always got my way, but I was never really sure if that was going to work or not. Liz, Tom and Mark, my team, had their own jobs and, pulling them out of their offices in Quantico would mean that they would be leaving behind other tasks that could be as or even more relevant than the ones I had.

I held one of the Polaroid's in my right hand. The body of a young boy of scarcely nine years of age was lying on dried and cracked earth. He was wearing blue pants and a red t-shirt with the American flag on his chest. He had messy brown hair with sand mixed in it. He couldn't see his face at all, as it was covered with several layers of plastic wrap; however, I could see two dark, misshapen circles, like those of an eclipse, in the place where his eyes should have been.

Gently, as if I were moving the body of that small boy to a more decent place, I lay the photo on my bed. The sunset created pleasant shadows on the bedspread and the soft orange hue called for me to leave the apartment and go out for a run before the sun hid itself completely beyond the horizon. But instead of looking for my sneakers, I picked up my cell phone and dialed Peter Wharton's number. I was shaking all over.

Ethan, where are you?

I'm at home. I was looking at the files you gave me about the Arizona case, I replied, almost in a whisper.

It took Wharton a moment to reply. I imagine he wanted to give me some time to think, to let the words flow from my mouth and not let anyone or anything stop them.

Have you made a decision?

Yes, I think I have.

In that case, what are you going to do?

I'm going to accept, Peter. Those kids deserve that I give everything I have to catch the beast that has done this to them. I don't have any other choice but to accept.

Chapter II

I had to settle a debt before travelling to Arizona. I had a pending interview with Clarice Brown, the reporter from the CBS who had helped me in my previous case and who had insisted on following me around the entire country to monitor my adventures as a special agent of the FBI. There were times in which I had despised her and others that I admitted that, maybe, without her help, I wouldn't have been able to catch three murderers.

Peter wasn't really that happy with me appearing on TV, but in the end, not only did he approve of it, he also took advantage of the occasion for me to speak highly of the agency, of its great service to the community and how well each dollar of taxpayers' money was spent. He gave me a speech and, subtly, suggested that I follow it to the T.

We recorded the video in a room in the Quantico FBI Headquarters, which had been highly decorated to give the impression that we worked in surroundings like those of NASA or in the sort of buildings that the IT companies in Silicon Valley used. Just like what is seen on TV series and that is the contrary of what we live on a day to day basis.

Clarice was very honest with me; she gave me the questions, negotiated times and told me that I could help them to edit the program before it went on air. She also made sure she was with me while they did my make-up. Just like Peter, she wanted to give a perfect impression, although for different reasons.

I won't deny that I was nervous, but after about two minutes, I felt comfortable answering the questions of somebody who had become a friend, as we had coincided in Kansas on two occasions and in Nebraska on one. It wasn't a ruthless interview, all the contrary. It gave the sense that I was an almost foolproof agent and that the FBI's modern criminal investigation and profile creation methods were giving their best results in history, not only when it came to chasing down murderers, but also in the prevention of violent crimes. An exaggeration that I contributed to fully by consolidating with my answers. I only felt uncomfortable with the last question, just before she thanked me for the exclusive interview with the CBS and congratulating the FBI for their extraordinary work while looking directly at the camera.

And what's next on the agenda for Ethan Bush?, she asked, smiling, as if the nightmares waiting for me in Phoenix were just part of a movie.

I can't comment on that. But just the same as always: catching a monster, I replied drily, in a hidden tribute to the late Robert Ressler.

When we finished filming, I went to Georgetown with the reporter to have a drink and comment the lesser details of the interview. She looked radiant whereas I came off much more sullen. We walked into a bar full of upper class students that tried to look like they led a bohemian lifestyle, quite similar to what had happened at Stanford while I was studying for my Psychology Degree.

I know my last question bothered you, Clarice said as soon as we sat down.

Yeah, I'll admit it did. I've told you a thousand times, I don't like the way you reporters approach crimes. Behind every murder, there is a direct victim, a family, lots of friends and acquaintances who are left marked for life. It's not something to joke about.

That wasn't my intention. We can delete it if you want.

I'd prefer you left it. I want people to hear my reply. In exchange, I want to ask you a favor.

I'm listening.

I'm travelling to Arizona tomorrow. There's no point trying to hide it, you're going to find out in a few hours time, I know you too well.

The reporter laughed elegantly. She was as intelligent and brilliant as she was attractive. She was moving up on the ladder and I knew that she would gain much more responsibility in the future. It was obvious.

Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment. But it's nice that you give me the information in advance.

Don't get the wrong idea. It has to do with the favor I want to ask you.

Clarice brushed a strand of hair away from her face and stared at me. She had some idea about where the conversation was headed. Now it was her who was uncomfortable and her unease was etched onto her face.

Ethan, we have just interviewed you. I've covered all of your cases except for the first one, the one in Detroit.

I looked down at the table and softly stroked the wooden edge. The feeling reminded me of a new baseball bat.

My cases are a lot more than that. You've only been there when I've had to travel. We're not just sitting around with our arms crossed all day in Quantico, you know. Going to the scene of the crime is something exceptional. There are agents in my unit that don't do that in their entire professional career. By norm, we carry out profiles from the office, going over dozens of files, analyzing photos, and going blind by looking through data bases that don't work half as well or half as fast as what we just spoke about on your program.

Okay, I'm sorry. But you know what I mean.

Yeah, and you know what I mean as well. Stay in New York. I don't want to see you and your people around this time. I accepted an exclusive interview, I kept my promise. This time, I need you to stay far away.

Chapter III

It was the special agent in charge of the FBI office in Phoenix, Aiden Harris, who came to pick me up at the Sky Harbor Airport. He was a tall man, with an air of having played basketball during his time at college, but who had let himself go a bit. I couldn't guess his age, as his blond hair and freckled, reddish skin made him look a lot younger than he probably was.

What do you know about the case? he asked me once we were in the car, having gone through the formal presentations. I sensed that he didn't want to waste a single second.

I've had a look at the files that your office sent to Washington. You know what it's like up there, we don't like to let ourselves be influenced by third parties. I replied honestly, as, after all, he was an FBI colleague and understood a lot of the common procedures they taught us in Quantico.

Yeah, I understand. Either way, the first thing we are going to do is have a private meeting in my office, right now, if you're not too tired from the flight, and that way I can get you up to speed as quickly as possible.

I'm not at all tired. I spent almost the entire five hours of the flight dozing, so I don't mind if we are up all night working on the case.

Harris shot me a kind smile as he started the car.

In that case, it's going to be me who won't be able to last as long. I've been awake since six and I would like to have supper with my wife. For the past three days, the only time I've seen my kids is when they are in bed asleep.

Just under 25 minutes later, the agent pulled his car into the parking lot in front of the Phoenix FBI offices. They were located in the northern area of the city, at the end of 7th Street, in an almost deserted area right next to the municipal airport. The building was split into two different parts: one, that was three stories high, painted white; and the other was five stories high, brown and with large windows of a strange turquoise color.

Couldn't they have placed you any further away? I asked jokingly.

They were this close to sending us to the Sonora desert but, in the end, they decided that this place was worse Aiden replied, smiling.

At least there's peace and quiet here.

Have you ever been to Arizona?

Never.

Well, if you think that it's a lovely day today, it's because it's winter. If you had come in summer, this dry plain wouldn't have been as welcoming as it is now. Either way, we'll be visiting the sheriff's office as well. I don't think there's another one like it in the entire country.

Is it filthy?

The agent laughed loudly as he led me inside the building, where I would have to fill out the normal paperwork as soon as I walked through the door.

On the contrary. It's amazing. Norman Foster himself wouldn't have been able to top it. You'll see what I mean.

Harris's office was large and spectacular; as well as being perfectly organized. I didn't know if he always kept it like that or if he had just prepared it for the occasion. We sat down at a round table on which a map of the Maricopa County had already been placed, with different areas marked in red. I pulled a new Moleskine out of my briefcase and the first thing I wrote down was the date, the place and the name of the Phoenix special agent.

How old are you, Ethan?

I've just turned 32. I replied, surprised at the question.

Well you work like an old school agent. Aiden said, patting me on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

I don't really like all of that high tech stuff. I have my own little quirks, just like everybody else.

Harris's expression changed suddenly. The time for jokes and anecdotes had passed.