Crimson Lake Road (Desert Plains)

by Victor Methos

  “Astronomical. I want to see the details of his expunged case. If it turns out he has a predilection for fourteen-year-old girls, our suspect list for Harmony’s kidnapping just got really small.”

  “We gotta go down to the PD and get the actual paper files, then.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  On the drive down, Yardley and Baldwin didn’t talk much, but Baldwin glanced at her a few times, and she knew he was about to ask her something. Probably something she didn’t want to be asked.

  “You know who we should talk to about these paintings and what they mean, right?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m just saying. If there was any chance he’d talk to me, I’d go. But I’m right, aren’t I? Eddie Cal would know what these paintings mean.”

  She glanced at him. “I’m not seeing him again, Cason. Honestly, I’m shocked you would even suggest it.”

  “Jess, we got a fourteen-year-old girl missing, and I don’t know how much longer she’s going to be breathing. We should at least be willing to discuss all our options.”

  “Eddie Cal is not an option.”

  He was silent a moment before responding. “If you say so.” He didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.

  The Fruit Heights Police Department consisted of two police officers: the chief and a patrol officer.

  Fruit Heights was built around the trucking industry. Its few restaurants and gas stations were crowded around the two freeway exits, with three motels around them. The single casino boasted about its one-dollar beer during happy hour, and the homes the four thousand residents actually lived in were farther back in the desert. Far enough away not to be noticed.

  The police department was in the city administration building, and Yardley parked in back. As she was exiting the car, she got a text from River that Michael Zachary wanted to meet her. That they should have dinner together tonight at her house to repay her for the other night.

  “Who was that?” Baldwin asked.

  “Why?”

  “Your face lit up.”

  “Jealous?”

  “A little. I doubt your face lights up like that when I text you.”

  “Just a friend.” She hesitated. “Angela River.”

  “Friends with a vic, huh?”

  “Yes, Cason, we can actually be friends with people even if they are victims in a criminal case. They don’t suddenly have the plague.”

  “Whoa, easy. That’s not what I meant. Just be careful is all I’m saying. I dated a girl once who was part of a case, and it screwed me hard. Turned out she was just pumping me for information about the case to pass along to the defendant, who was her ex-boyfriend. I shoulda waited until the case was over first.”

  The police department was off to the right. An older woman with poufy red hair greeted them at reception. Baldwin showed his badge and asked to speak with Chief Wilson. A pudgy man with a thick mustache came out of a back office wearing a police uniform with gold stars on the shoulders.

  “I’m Billy Wilson.”

  “Cason Baldwin, FBI, and this is Jessica Yardley with the US Attorney’s Office. We were hoping to steal a minute of your time, Chief.”

  He looked from one of them to the other. “Yeah, sure. Come on back.”

  The office had seventies shag carpet and no decorations other than a few medals and photos of Wilson with a SWAT team from Las Vegas.

  “So just you and your one officer, huh?” Baldwin said. “I can’t decide if that’d be a good or bad thing.”

  “Oh, definitely a good thing. We got almost no crime here, so two of us just about covers everything. The NHP handles the traffic stops; we take care of everything else.” He paused and looked at both of them again. “So what’s this about? Feds don’t usually pop in here to say hello.”

  “It’s an old case of yours that was expunged. We were hoping to get the original reports on it. Tucker Pharr, DOB June twelfth of sixty-six. He was arrested for—”

  “Kidnapping. Yeah, I know it.”

  “You remember it from eighteen years ago?”

  Wilson leaned back in his seat, his large belly pulling at his uniform. “I was the responding officer, and we don’t get many of those. Fact, I think that’s the only one in the twenty-two years since I been with the city.”

  “Who was the victim?” Yardley asked.

  “Poor gal named Sue Ellen Jones. Fourteen years old. She was waiting for the school bus. Stop wasn’t more than a hundred feet from her house. We, um, we don’t know what happened to her, but we never found a body.”

  “Why Tucker?” Baldwin asked.

  “Witness saw him. Sue Ellen’s younger brother, Bobby. He was walking to the bus stop ’cause he was late getting ready.” He shook his head. “Just broke Bobby when Sue Ellen was gone. Couldn’t talk right or act right. Got kicked outta school and didn’t graduate . . . really did a number on him.”

  “Parents?”

  “Just the dad. The mom died of cancer when they were young.”

  “Dad still around?”

  “No, he drank himself to death, the son of a bitch. Died of liver failure just months after Sue Ellen was taken. Bobby was put into foster care. Don’t know what happened to him after that.”

  Yardley asked, “How did he identify Tucker as the one who kidnapped her?”

  “Tucker had a truck at the time with a small bull’s skull mounted on the grille, and Bobby made the truck and saw Tucker through the windshield. He ran home and told his daddy, who was too damn drunk to do anything, so Bobby ran down to the police station. Family didn’t have a phone. By then Tucker was long gone.”

  “Why no conviction?” Yardley asked.

  “Damn defense attorney, that’s why. Piece’a shit named Dan Richards. Public defender out here, or was till the bastard died from a coronary.”

  Baldwin said, “What happened?”

  “We brought Bobby with us to ID Tucker. Dan got the judge to agree we were coercive in the ID, and he tossed everything we found in his house and everything he said to us.”

  “You brought the only witness to ID the suspect in custody without a lineup?” Baldwin said with a tinge of disbelief.

  Wilson’s face flashed anger, and Yardley quickly said, “Did you find anything of Sue Ellen’s in his house?”

  Wilson looked away from Baldwin to her and nodded. “Her backpack. Not in the house, though. It was in a dumpster two blocks from Tucker’s trailer. Found her schoolbooks in the same dumpster and some of her hair in his truck. What we think was her hair. State crime lab couldn’t match it for certain. He said some odd things, too. I don’t remember what they were now, but we just knew he was who took Sue Ellen.” Wilson breathed out and leaned back in the chair. “Anyway, Tucker walked outta court like nothin’ happened. Packed up and moved two weeks later.”

  Baldwin glanced at Yardley, then said, “I’d like to see the police reports and anything else you got.”

  Wilson shrugged. “Sure, why not. No relatives left, but if lightning strikes and you find her body, I wouldn’t mind at least giving her a proper Christian burial.”

  17

  It was evening when they headed back to Las Vegas. Baldwin drove. Wilson had told them he would have to retrieve the archived files from a storage unit uptown and that he would have his secretary scan and email everything they had on Tucker Pharr.

  “It’s too easy,” Yardley said. “Tucker just happens to have two kidnapping charges for girls the same age as Harmony?”

  “He might be trying to stop and is making it easy on us. I’ve seen that before.”

  Baldwin remembered one case from years ago: a young father and junior high school teacher. He’d been kidnapping young boys and strangling them in his basement. He would leave little items or notes near the bodies and then cover them as though ashamed. One of the items, a small toy soldier, had been handmade at his local toy store, and he’d signed the notes with his real initials
. After his arrest, he had said he wanted to stop but couldn’t and hoped they would arrest him.

  Why he didn’t just walk into a police station and turn himself in, he couldn’t say. Just that whatever dark, ugly thing was inside of him wouldn’t allow him to do that. The best he said he could do was leave his initials.

  “If it is Tucker, why the paintings? They have nothing to do with young girls.” She shook her head. “Whoever it is, he’s playing with us, and we don’t have a choice but to play along. He knows we have to follow every lead just in case. He’s distracting us, Cason. I’m nervous he’s going to do something big with this third victim and he needs us chasing shadows to do it.”

  “I get that feeling, too, but you’re right—we have to follow everything up. I’ll see if I can get someone at the PD or sheriff’s to help out with Tucker so we can focus on the vics. He chose them purposely, and if we can figure out that common thread between the two of them, we’ll find him.”

  “Two?”

  “I don’t think we officially group Harmony in as an Executioner vic quite yet. Tucker said she didn’t talk about her mother’s death or show that much of a reaction. Seems like a pretty sincere reaction to trauma to me. Something that might cause her to think it’d be better if she just left. I still think she might’ve run away.”

  “We both know that’s not what happened. Not with leaving her phone and her necklace. And not showing much of a reaction could also mean a lack of sympathy. Her mother let her be abused for years. She might have a lot of anger toward her that won’t let her feel for her loss.”

  “Maybe, but we have to work on all assumptions until we know for certain.”

  “Until we find her hanging from a ceiling, you mean.”

  A silence passed between them. Baldwin finally cleared his throat as they stopped at a red light.

  “Angela River is our best source right now. It’d be easier for someone she trusts to get anything out of her we might’ve missed.”

  Yardley nodded. “I’ll talk to her.”

  Baldwin dropped her off and told her he would email her the reports on Tucker’s kidnapping cases so she stayed in the loop.

  “I’ll have to send them to Kyle Jax, too,” Baldwin said.

  “I know. It’s fine.”

  “I’ll call if there’s anything else,” he said.

  Tara was lying on the couch watching television when Yardley came in. She wore shorts and a T-shirt and didn’t look up when she said, “Made dinner. It’s in the oven.”

  “You made dinner?”

  “Just thought I’d be nice.”

  Yardley went over and kissed her head. “I appreciate that, sweetheart. We’re going out tonight, though.”

  “Oh yeah? Where?”

  “To Angie’s house.”

  Tara stretched and turned off the television as Yardley went to the bedroom to change. She put on jeans and a blouse and had sat on the bed to zip up her boots when Tara came in. She joined her, softly tossing the remote between her hands.

  “What is it?” Yardley said.

  “What?”

  “You can read me, but it works both ways, little miss. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried about Angie.”

  “Why?”

  Tara shrugged. “I read the story in the Sun about this case. Just kinda weird that she survived, isn’t it? I mean, why wouldn’t the Executioner check her pulse and make sure she was dead? It just seems convenient.”

  “Seems convenient?” Yardley said with a grin. “I think you’ve been watching too much CSI.”

  Tara tilted her head, as though pondering how to phrase something. “You know that tattoo on her left shoulder? What did she tell you that means?”

  “She said it’s a rune meaning something along the lines of ‘someone who makes their own destiny.’”

  “I recognized it, so I researched it a little. That’s not the literal translation. The literal translation is ‘someone who fights destiny.’ Why would that be so important to her she would get it tattooed?”

  “Maybe Destiny was some girl she hated in high school?”

  “I’m serious, Mom.”

  Yardley zipped up her boots and faced her. “I am so, so grateful that you are always looking out for me, darling, but I can look out for myself, too. I really can. All I want for you is to focus on reaching your full potential. That’s why I went through everything I did, Tara. Working two jobs and going to school full-time on no sleep. Going without meals and wearing secondhand clothes with holes in them. I did all that so you would have the best chance of succeeding in life. If you really want to help me, be happy and achieve everything I know you can.”

  Tara nodded as though she already knew all that. “We’ve never really talked about what happened with Wesley.”

  Yardley watched her daughter. The strong facade that held a burning intelligence but also near-crippling insecurity. She didn’t know who she was yet or what her place in the world was, and she was traveling a hundred miles an hour into adulthood. Forced there by a monster for a father and a mother who’d been tricked into letting his copycat into their lives.

  “We don’t need to talk about it. What’s done is done. There’s no point in rehashing it. But Tara . . . never again. I don’t want you to even know about my cases, so stop reading the media on them. Focus on school and work.”

  Tara tossed the remote on the bed behind her. “I know. But . . . you’re all I got.”

  She said it with a sadness that pierced Yardley. She reached out for her daughter, but Tara had already risen and was heading out of the bedroom.

  The home was in the center of the city, not far from the Las Vegas Strip. Two stories, a large lawn, and a horseshoe driveway with a Mercedes parked in front.

  “Nice,” Tara said as they headed to the front door. “If you’re gonna make friends, make sure they’re rich, right?”

  They got to the front porch, and Yardley said, “Best behavior, little miss.”

  “What, do you think I’m gonna get drunk and punch someone out?”

  “Sometimes you amuse yourself by playing with other people. The universe didn’t give you that intelligence to toy with others. So please, not here.”

  “The universe? Wow, you really have been spending a lot of time with her, haven’t you?”

  “Just best behavior. Please.”

  Yardley rang the doorbell. A man in a white shirt answered. Slim and with curly brown hair, he somehow looked like a conservative politician. Not at all who Yardley would have pictured River dating.

  “You must be Jessica,” he said, holding out his hand. Yardley shook it. “And Tara, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, with her best fake smile.

  “Michael Zachary. So nice to meet you both. Come in.”

  The interior was as exquisite as the exterior. A large atrium, a winding staircase leading up to the second floor, and South Asian art on the walls. A bust of the Buddha sat next to the door on a white pillar, and across the room was another Buddha made of copper.

  River came out of the kitchen and said, “Hey!”

  She gave Yardley a hug and then hugged Tara.

  “I’m so excited you guys came.”

  Yardley said, “Your house is beautiful, Angie.”

  “It’s technically Zachary’s house, but who’s keeping track, right?”

  “This place kicks ass,” Tara said. She looked to her mother, who gave her a disapproving glare. “I mean, you have a lovely home. And car. And I love these paintings, too. Actually, I love this whole place, it’s awesome.”

  “Aren’t you sweet. Well, let me show you around.”

  River led them through the home while Zachary excused himself to catch up on some paperwork in his study. They went to the bedroom, which was massive and taken up by a bed that could easily fit eight people and was bolted to the wall, making it appear like it was hovering in the air. The walk-in closet was the size of a small apartment, and the bathroom was just as lar
ge. The toilet was light-blue marble, as was the bidet.

  “Two toilets?” Tara said.

  “It’s a bidet. You’ve never seen one?”

  “Never even heard of it.”

  River pushed down the handle, and water bubbled up in a stream.

  “Oh,” Tara said. “Genius.”

  They made their way to the pool in the backyard. A large white rectangle with deep-blue tile and lights on each wall. The water moved in small waves, reflecting the light beautifully at all angles. Two statues stood by the stairs that led down into the pool from the shallow end.

  “I love this pool,” Tara said.

  “Hey, we barely use it. I only uncover it to cool it down. Come over anytime.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. Bring your friends, too.”

  Yardley said, “You don’t have to do that, Angie.”

  “No, I want to. It’d be nice to hear some kids running around.” She cleared her throat and looked back at the house. “Dinner’s almost done. Hope you guys are hungry.”

  Dinner was pleasant, filled with stories of River’s travels around the world—interactions with native tribes in the Amazon, surfing at a shoreline infested with great white sharks in South Africa, smoking pot in Amsterdam with police officers at a park. All things Yardley thought sounded . . . magical.

  She also learned that River and Zachary had been talking about marriage and agreed that they would take Angela’s last name, not the name Zachary. Because, as River said, she’d be damned if she let the patriarchy tell her what to name herself.

  Yardley said good night around ten, and River hugged her and said she would text her tomorrow. She gave Tara a hug, too, and repeated that she was free to come over with her friends anytime to use the pool.

  Zachary shook hands and then disappeared into the house again. During dinner, he had seemed uncomfortable. Yardley had noticed several obsessive behaviors. His food was arranged symmetrically on his plate, his napkin folded precisely at right angles, fork always on the left, knife on the right. She wondered if it had anything to do with what River had mentioned about Zachary’s discomfort with what had happened to her.