“Oh.”
“Yep,” he drawls out the word, letting the vowel tell a tale far longer than the single word does. “Momma and daddy had plans for a family. Grandbabies. Young lady had other ideas.” Braddock arches his back, sighing. “Her parents shoved her in front of damn near every single male in the four counties area. Nothing ever took. My opinion… I think she got fed up with it. Decided to take matters into her own hands.”
“I see.”
“And Jasmine Turner was a smart young woman. Now, she wasn’t what you’d call a social butterfly. She was strong-willed. Determined. She wasn’t the kinda girl that just laid down and did what anyone told her to do, no matter who they were. She’d fight back, in her own way. Even if it was with her own parents, and she had plans for her life.”
“Let me guess, that comment you made about not getting any response from the people in Dallas, and… College Station?”
Braddock nods. “College Station is Texas A&M, Agent. Home to one of the finest veterinary schools in the country.”
“No doubt with thousands of young women coming through every year.”
“A lot more than that I’d say.”
I huff out a heavy sigh. He’s right. This has nothing to do with Sloane Finley.
“If I was a betting man,” Braddock continues, fingers splayed to brace himself against the edge of the desk he’s leaning on. “I’d say she saved up all that money she was earning them four years after high school. Ain’t like she had any expenses, living with her parents. And as I made mention, she weren’t no social butterfly, so I don’t expect she was spending money on them sorts of things. I’m betting when she saved enough, she took herself down there and got herself set up all on her own. Like I said, she was a damn smart young girl. And them folks in College Station already got enough on their hands trying to keep the peace every weekend, ’specially during football season. They got more important things to do than trying to find one headstrong girl who might have her own reasons for not wanting to be found. And who ain’t broke any laws on top of that.”
I glance over at Carmen, and she shoots me a knowing, sympathetic look. I’ve no doubt she can relate in some fashion.
“I’ve little doubt of that, Sheriff. And you’re right.”
Braddock raises an eyebrow slowly.
“This has nothing to do with Sloane Finley.”
He gives me a slow, approving nod. “When we first got them files from the LA people I will admit my first thought was that this was just another repeat of Jasmine Turner, ’cept from some LA runaway. But more we looked into it, more I think your girl didn’t so much as run away from something, but probably ran into it.”
“My suspicions run along the same lines, Sheriff.”
“Well, we tried, Agent Jones. That’s the best I can offer you. We tried, and though I have been fortunate that circumstances of this nature have been few and far between”—he raps his knuckles against the wood top of the desk he’s leaning against—“it’s not an unheard of thing in these parts. And I don’t think it’ll be the last time I run into it.”
Carmen clears her throat, and Braddock turns from me to look at her.
“Have you had other cases similar to the Finley one recently?”
Braddock shakes his head. “Nope. Not me. Duane Jenner over in Hartley County sent over an ATL a couple of days back on a pipeline company guy that hasn’t reported in, so we’re keeping our eyes out for that. Might be a similar situation to what I think we all suspect happened to your girl, or maybe the guy just got himself into something he couldn’t get himself out of.” He shrugs, and it becomes clear that Braddock has seen enough of these types of cases in his lifetime to be jaded in his own right. “Won’t really know which it is until we find something.” He pauses, pushing out his lower lip with his tongue. “If we find something. And who knows how long that will be.”
The room goes quiet for a moment, the whirring of the air conditioner white noise to our individual thoughts.
“I have a question, Sheriff.” I push back against the edge of the desk, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “The picture that Sloane Finley took. The last one that anyone ever received. Exactly where is that location?”
Braddock stares at me, brow knitting like tumbleweeds crashing together. He glances over at his deputy, and I follow the look. The corners of Deputy Nolan’s mouth have turned downward, eyes narrowing as thoughts race behind them. I turn back to Braddock and now he’s frowning too.
“I’m afraid I’m not exactly sure what you’re referring to, Agent?”
“The last picture Sloane Finley took and posted to her Facebook page before she disappeared.”
Bradoock looks at me, one eye narrowed, mouth twisted in confusion. It’s clear from his demeanor he has no idea what I am talking about. “Her Facebook?”
“Yes. The Facebook page she created for her trip.”
As Braddock continues staring at me as if I’m speaking gibberish, I glance over at Nolan, and he’s watching the two of us, mouth half open in surprise.
“Where is the file I sent you?” I’m suddenly tense. Something isn’t right here. Why are they both acting like they have no idea what I’m talking about? I shoot a look to Carmen, and now her face has gone serious too, and she’s moving to where Deputy Nolan has sidled behind what must be his desk.
“Is that everything?” shes asks the question softly, and both Braddock and I move toward the desk.
“That’s everything I have.” The deputy glances up as I approach, and I come around and look at his screen. There is a folder with files, including the images I’ve been looking at for weeks now.
Except these aren’t my files. These are the original ones from the LAPD.
“Those aren’t all the files I sent you.”
The deputy looks up, catching Braddock’s eye. The man’s frown has become a grim line as his eyes dart from the screen to Nolan to me. “I thought they were the same as what the other detectives already sent.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, they should be. But you’re both acting like you haven’t seen the files from Facebook.”
Nolan speaks up. “They sent us a link, but when I tried to go there it was dead, so it didn’t seem important.”
“Goddammit,” I whisper the epitaph under my breath. Fucking LAPD…
“So, you never saw any of the images or videos she’d posted?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have the files…” Before I can finish the sentence, Braddock is moving across the room to his office.
“I’m sending them to you in a second, Clint,” he calls back over his shoulder.
I turn back to Nolan’s computer screen, looking at the file names to see what he does have. At first glance it looks like everything is there, except that there are none of the screenshots and images from the Facebook page Sloane Finley created for her cross-country roadtrip. The ones the LAPD amassed before Sloane’s family had her account shut down.
Shit. Those fucking idiots.
A notification pops up on Nolan’s screen, and he opens the email Braddock just sent him. There’s a link to a location, and then he’s moving the folder to his desktop as the sheriff returns to us from his office.
“I got it. Gimme a sec,” Nolan says to everyone, and we watch the cursor spin as everything transfers over. Once it’s done, the deputy opens it and looks expectantly at me. “Which one?”
He steps slightly back, and I take over the mouse, clicking through the nested folders until I find the one I’m looking for. The one that the idiot detectives from the LAPD sent to me, but not to them.
“Here. This one.” I double-click on the last image Sloane Finley posted on Facebook, the last thing that anyone ever heard from her that day or since. It’s the image that Trish Tucker and I discussed in our meeting. The one where she’s lying in the grass, looking over her shoulder at the far-off buildings. “I take it neither of you has seen this image? Or any of the others from h
er site?”
There is silence from both men as they stare at Nolan’s computer screen.
Braddock looks at his deputy, who’s engrossed with the images on the screen, his face hard. He’s scrolling through the thumbnails behind the picture of Sloane, and his look makes it clear that these are all new to him.
“Clint? You seen these before?”
“No,” he snaps, voice tense. “I ain’t seen none of these until just now.”
I glance over at Braddock. Nolan’s response is laced with a lot more than just annoyance at being questioned about these pictures. There’s a decidedly intense undercurrent to his words, and certainly not anything expected. Braddock gives me a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, and I know there’s a conversation for later waiting there.
“Okay, my friends at the LAPD’s fuck-up aside, do you recognize where this is?” They both stare for a moment at the screen, Nolan drawing in his lower lip and chewing on it.
“Dammit… I know…” His voice dips. “I swear I’ve seen it before, but I just can’t—”
Braddock clears his throat. “Clint here's our resident expert on this case. Ever since we got the files from the LAPD, Clint’s taken an… interest in staying on top of it.” Braddock shoots me another glance, and the tone speaks volumes. Conversation for another time. “He’s been doing some investigating here and there to see if he might be able to dig up anything on your girl. Checking spots around the county.”
“Do either of you recognize where this is?” Carmen asks, pushing them.
Neither of them says anything. Nolan’s eyes are burning holes into the screen, and again I take note that he’s far more intense about this than I’d expected.
“Wait,” Nolan says it softly. He leans toward the screen, pointing at the two buildings in the background. “I think I remember these…” He pauses, squinting, and then he taps the screen with a finger. “It’s out off County Road 143, ’bout four or five miles, I’m pretty sure.”
“That’s Harold Christiansen’s property, ain’t it?”
Deputy Nolan blinks, then stares at the screen even harder. “I think it is. Honestly, I ain’t been out by that place in a long time…”
“Since the old man passed away?”
“Maybe even before that,” Nolan murmurs. “But I know I’ve seen this place.” His finger tinks against the screen once more.
“So… you recognize it?” Carmen’s voice cuts through their discussion.
They both turn away from the screen, looking at her. Deputy Nolan is the first to speak. “Them buildings are kinda far off in her picture, but I’m pretty certain it was taken near an old abandoned house on…” He glances over to Braddock. “Harold Christiansen’s property?”
Braddock nods in confirmation.
“I could be wrong…” Nolan’s voice pauses for a moment before he continues. “There’s a ton of these old places scattered around Dallam County.” Both he and Braddock turn back to the screen.
“Okay.” I stare back, waiting for either of them to speak. When they don’t, I press on. “This Harold Christiansen… could we call him? Maybe ask if we could come out and show him the pictures? See if any of it rings any bells?”
Braddock shoots a quick glance at Nolan, and then turns back to me.
“Well, there’s two problems with that.” He pauses for a moment, thinking something through. “You need to understand people can be a little different out here, Agent Jones. Folks around here tend to be very… private.”
I fix him with a stare, making it clear I’m not seeing how this is going to prevent us from doing what I’ve asked.
“Harold Christiansen was a God-fearing man. And he didn’t have much use for technology and things of that nature. So… he didn’t have a phone out at his place. They ran the line, but he cut it at the pole.”
“Great.” Wonderful. A Luddite. A freaking Godly Texan Luddite. Perfect. “So we’ll drive out, look at this place”—I point to the computer screen—“and then we’ll go to his place and talk to him.”
Braddock’s eyes snap to Nolan, and then back at me. “Well, that’s issue number two.” He looks down, scratching the side of his nose. A half second goes by before he looks back up. “Harold Christiansen’s been dead for over three years.”
I grunt. “Of course he is.” I take a deep breath, let the air slide out on a ‘wouldn’t-you-fucking-know-it’ sigh. “Wife?”
Braddock shakes his head slowly. “Maureen died maybe half a year before he did.”
Well fuck.
I guess I’m not hiding my thoughts well. Braddock gives me a grim smile. “Harold Christiansen was a big man. A strong man. But his heart wasn’t that strong.”
I nod. Wonderful, heartwarming story it may be, but it doesn’t mean shit to me because now any chance that the Christiansens might have held for providing a clue about the last known location of Sloane Finley has just gone up in the Hallmark movie moment Braddock’s laid out.
“So this place”—I point again to the picture Sloane took—“and the Christiansen place have been empty for years. Is there any chance that squatters have set up out there? Or, who knows, maybe a meth lab?” I’m being overly sarcastic, but I’m irritated at this point. So much of this shit could have been avoided if only the LAPD had done their fucking job!
“Christiansen place ain’t been empty.” Nolan’s voice is quiet, but it cuts off my thoughts and has both Braddock and I turning towards him. “I’m pretty sure Daniel still lives out there.”
My head flicks back and forth between Nolan and Braddock.
“That’s right. Daniel does still live out there, don’t he?” Braddock looks over at his deputy, nodding in recognition.
“Who’s Daniel?” Carmen asks, the corners of her mouth pulling down.
Braddock’s gaze shifts to her. “Daniel Christiansen. Harold and Maureen’s son. Boy made quite a name for himself playing ball couple a years back. Think everybody thought he might play college, maybe even go pro. But I don’t think his parents had much thought for that.” His voice trails off, and he’s thinking.
“Wait…” Carmen’s voice is lilted with surprise. “Are you talking about that boy they called ‘The Wall?’”
Both Braddock and Nolan’s faces show astonishment.
“How ’n the hell do you know about ‘The Wall?’”
“I know my football, Sheriff Braddock.” Carmen’s voice takes on a defensive tone.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
For a moment he stares at her, and then he gives a short nod. “Well, you’re right. That’s Daniel. One ’n the same.”
“Didn’t he just kinda disappear after high school? I remember lots of talk about him being scouted,” Nolan says.
“There was. Nothing came of it, though.”
“People in Dallam County don’t believe in higher education?” I ask, remembering that other girl whose parents hadn’t wanted her to go off to become a vet, but to stay here in Stockdale and family up.
“Like I said before...” Braddock frowns, his voice taking on a slightly defensive tone. “People here have their own ways. And they can be set in them. I ain’t one to tell people how to live their lives, nor how they deal with their children. ’Less it becomes a matter for the law to step in.”
“Okay, I get it.” I hold up my hand, hoping to stave off any further reaction. “So, this son of theirs, Daniel… he still lives out there?”
“Yep.” Nolan speaks up once again. “I remember seeing him in town maybe… three or four days ago?” He looks over at Braddock. “I saw his truck outside of Mattie’s Café, but I think he was over at Bower’s Pharmacy. I saw Laurie Ann out front of Mattie’s. I bet she seen him too.”
“Yeah, well Laurie Ann got hawk eyes for every man that comes into town any given day, so I don’t doubt it.” Braddock’s voice is bemused, and there’s obviously an inside joke here where I can connect my own dots.
Deputy Nola
n chuckles at the comment.
“Yeah, don’t laugh, son. She’s got her eyes on you too.”
“I ain’t interested in Laurie Ann Maddock!” Nolan’s voice rises, and he catches Carmen as she grins. His cheeks flush, and then he looks away from all of us back to his computer screen. This time when I look at Braddock, I catch as his eyes slide deliberately from Nolan to the computer screen and then back to me. Once he’s locked onto me, he raises one eyebrow that indicates there’s something here I should understand. I trace back along the path his eyes have just come from. Nolan to the computer screen where he’s once again staring at the picture of Sloane Finley looking up the hill to...
Wait. No. No way. I watch for a second.
Seriously?
“Well,” I say, giving Braddock a slight rise of my own eyebrows. “I don’t suppose this Daniel had the phone repaired out to his parents’ old place.”
Braddock saws his head back and forth. “Doubt it. I remember now a conversation I had with the Hernandez brothers a couple of months ago. They’ve gone out there a couple of times to help him with his cattle, and they say the place don’t look like anything’s been touched or changed since Harold passed. Daniel just lives out there by himself, all alone with the horses and cows.”
“Seem strange to you?”
“Like I said, Agent Jones.” Braddock’s tone is chiding. “People ’round here tend to be… private. And we respect their privacy.” He gives me a pointed smile. “Harold was a big man, but his boy Daniel is even bigger. And he ain’t done nothing I have any reason to be suspicious of.” Braddock moves and leans against the edge of one of the empty desks. “I’m betting he’s taking care of himself just fine out there.”
“Did anyone talk to him back when the Finley case first came through?”
Braddock glances over at Nolan, who looks up and gives a slight shake of his head.
“Wasn’t no need to,” Braddock answers, knowing the reasoning even without his deputy’s confirmation. I know it too, even before he tells me. “Them fellas from the LAPD didn’t send us those pictures, so we had no way of knowing she’d been out that direction.” Braddock leans back, stares up at the ceiling. “The last ping from her cellphone was up there damn near to Rita Blanca. From there, there weren’t no way to tell which way she went. She coulda headed to Hartley, Moore, or even Sherman county. Let me tell you, Agent Jones. That’s a lot of territory to cover. No one’s ever picked up a trace of that little blue car of hers. And we had no reason to look specifically out by that abandoned ranch, the Christiansen place, or anywhere in that direction.”
Jasmine Page 16
