Devil's Playground by D. P. Lyle Page A

into the chair facing his desk. "I just haven't thought about Joey in a while. I try not to. But..." She shook her head. "How does Garrett know about him?"
    "Probably heard it from someone. You know he was around here for a few months before he killed the kids."
    "I suppose."
    Charlie walked around his desk and placed a fatherly hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know you and Joey were close, but he had his share of problems."
    "Problems? Not Joey. He smoked a little grass. Most of the kids did."
    "You didn't. Lisa McFarland didn't." Charlie settled one hip on the corner of his desk.
    "No. But, Joey was kind and sweet."
    "But, he changed during that week before he died."
    "I knew him better than anyone," Sam said. "I didn't see anything."
    ""Why would you? It was summer. No school. You didn't see him every day. Besides, you were young." He scratched the back of his neck. "I can tell you, his parents were very concerned. They couldn't decide whether he was using drugs or going crazy. Planned to have him evaluated by a neurologist and a psychiatrist in Los Angeles."
    Sam couldn't believe it. She knew Charlie wasn't lying. It wasn't in his nature. But, she also knew Joey, and the person Charlie described wasn't the Joey she grew up with.
    Charlie's words continued their assault. "He became moody and angry. Fought with his parents. Slapped his mother once. Threatened to run away from home. Had nightmares and headaches."
    "Why hasn't anyone ever told me about this?"
    "Why would they? It was a family problem. And after his death, what purpose would it serve?"
    Sam leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and massaged her temples. "All those stories about Devil's Playground. Any truth to them?"
    Charlie smiled. "Garrett's really got you going today. No. There weren't any witches or goblins or devil worshipers hacking up people in the desert."
    "I didn't think so."
    "Twenty, maybe 25 years ago, when you were just a kid, we ran across some old fire pits with animal skeletons nearby. Rabbits mostly. Probably some camper's dinner. That's the only thing unusual we ever found."
    Sam stood. "I'll be glad when Garrett's out of here."
    "Me, too."
    "I'm going to meet Lisa for breakfast. Want to go?"
    "I'd better finish up this paper work or Thelma will kill me."
    *
    Sam sat across from Lisa McFarland in a booth at Millie's. While they ate, she told Lisa about the Hargrove crime scene and her visit with Garrett. She finished the stack of pancakes, pushed her plate aside, and dove into a third cup of Millie’s coffee. Lisa nibbled dry toast.
    "Then, Garrett had the audacity to bring up Joey."
    Lisa dropped the half eaten piece of toast on to her plate. "What?"
    Sam told her of Garrett's take on Joey's death and what Charlie had said. "Those weeks before...before that night...did you notice anything unusual?"
    "With Joey? No. That's why it was such a shock."
    Sam stared into her coffee. Neither spoke for several minutes. Yes, Joey's death had been a shock. She and Lisa and Joey had been best friends since the third grade. Joey had been a star on the track team, a good student, and a devoted friend. His death had shaken the entire community and had knocked Sam and Lisa completely off balance. And now this. Joey drugged or sick. Or possessed. Get a grip, Sam.
    "Any useful evidence from this morning?" Lisa asked, pulling Sam from her reverie.
    “We lifted half a dozen good prints,” Sam said. “I transmitted them to Sacramento. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky. I can tell you, they aren’t Garrett’s. I’ve seen enough of his prints in the past eight weeks that I know them by heart. Hell, I dream about them.”
    “Any idea who might’ve done this?” Lisa asked.
    “Not a clue.” Sam lifted her cup as Millie added a dollop of fresh coffee. “Do you think this will affect Westbrooke’s sentencing?”
    “Don’t know,” Lisa said. She dabbed a smudge of peach jam from the corner of her mouth. “I have a meeting with him in half an hour. Want to sit in,