“Could have been purchased a long time ago,” said Joe. “May we see the older records that are not on the computer?”
“Sure thing, Detective,” said the blond, opening a wooden gate and leading us down a hall to a back room where huge stacks of historical records were kept in large bound books. “Have a good time, folks. Let me know if you need anything copied.”
It was a long and boring hunt. The bound books had not been dusted recently. We were almost ready to give up when I spotted a name on an old map. “Morgan-Lassiter.”
I showed it to Joe. A hyphenated name might account for why Lassiter alone had not shown up on records. Further searching revealed that an Emily Morgan and Edward Lassiter had owned four separate parcels in the county, all purchased in the early 1900s and inherited by Emily before her marriage to Edward. Two of the smaller parcels were lots in Reno. One was outside of Landry, about a mile from the university campus, and the fourth and largest was east of Landry.
We hurried back to the computerized records up front where, with the help of the disinterested blond man, we learned that Edward Morgan-Lassiter’s son Daniel had sold the Reno parcels to homebuilders in the 1970s.
One parcel outside of Landry was still in his name, but appeared to have been for sale. Another was further away.
Little information was filed on either of the remaining parcels. Tax records indicated both parcels were open land with no buildings or development on either.
But the taxes on the larger of the two parcels were paid every year on time, and—here was another surprise—paid by a bank in San Francisco.
No name was associated. And we both knew banks were notoriously protective of their clients.
Another dead end? Maybe, but as Joe and I headed to a local diner for lunch, we felt somehow we had made progress toward finding Jamie Congers.
“Red, it’s a long shot. We don’t really know if the old man who said our suspect looked like a Lassiter knew what he was talking about. We can’t search those properties without a warrant, and we have no evidence to present to a judge to get a warrant.”
“I know. But if our man in the muddy boots took her, he’d logically take her to some place no one could see or search. We could at least drive by the property nearest the university and see what it looks like.”
“And we will,” said Joe. “And I’ll have my guys look at those Reno properties Lassiter sold to the builders, too. We’ll see if any have structures that might make good hiding places.”
“As soon as we get back to Landry.”
“Right.” Joe took my hand in his. “Thank you for your help this morning. You have very good investigative instincts, and who knows, maybe we are not on a wild goose chase. Maybe you’re on to something.”
“Anything that makes me feel useful. I have been feeling so stonewalled not knowing what happened to Jamie.”
“And by everything else that’s going on.” He took my other hand and held both. I had told him on the drive over about my meeting with the provost and my concerns about the policy committee. “You’re strong, Red. You’ll get through all the crap at the university. And we’ll find this girl. I don’t know where, but we’ll find her.”
We continued lunch, but an impulse got the better of me. “Joe?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever given any thought to staying at my house all the time? You already spend so much time there, and you could save the money you pay for rent on your apartment.”
Joe touched my arm with his fingers. “I’m not sure this is a good time for me to make that kind of a move. I probably shouldn’t have imposed on you by putting up a basketball hoop on your garage.” He resumed eating his lunch.
“I don’t mind the basketball hoop,” I muttered, then pretended to be interested in my salad. Back off, my inner voice said. He’s not ready and you’ll just embarrass him, and yourself.
We drove back to Landry without much conversation. Joe seemed to have a lot on his mind, and I was still thinking about my impulsive request he move in with me. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I wished he would. The events of the past few days had left me wanting the comfort of knowing I would see him every night.
Maybe Joe wasn’t ready. Maybe I was trying to push both of us toward a commitment we were not both ready to make. But, at least I had finally decided what I wanted. And that felt good.
Jamie
The man had gone upstairs after breakfast and left her in the kitchen to wait for the walk he’d promised. She planned to ask him if they could walk toward the water. If it was a lake…People lived near lakes. Maybe she would see someone, or be seen.
“Ready?” The man was standing by the entrance to the hall. He held a length of thick rope in his hand. He approached her. “Don’t be frightened. I’m going to tie us together.”
“Why? It will be uncomfortable.”
“Because you ran the 1600 faster than any high school girl in Nevada.”
“You know everything about me and I don’t even know your name.”
“You will someday.” He looped the rope around her waist and then knotted it and looped it around his waist and tied another knot. No chance she could run away. They walked to the back door, tied together, his arm firmly around her shoulders. “Put your head down and close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“You still want to go outside? Do as I say.”
She obeyed and closed her eyes while he tapped out the code on the padlock. The freshness of the air hit her immediately as they stepped through the back door of the kitchen. It was still warm outside. She calculated it must still be early September. She turned to him, “What’s the date?”
“It doesn’t matter. Which way do you want to walk?” His grip on her shoulder grew firmer and she could feel the tug of the rope around her waist with every step they took.
“I’ve seen water through the trees. I’d like to walk that way,” she said, hoping he would agree. “It looks pretty.”
“It is.”
They walked in silence across the lawn toward a narrow path. She noticed the lawn needed mowing. “I like mowing grass. I’d be happy to mow this lawn,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.
“I’ll bet you would. But being outdoors on your own is a privilege you have yet to earn.” Even his speech was stilted and old-fashioned.
The path led through a stand of trees and into a small meadow. She could see water glistening beyond through another stand of trees. His arm around her shoulders grew heavier as he pulled her closer. Past the second stand of trees, they came to the shore of a lake that lay gleaming in the sun, large and wide, more than a mile long.
“It’s beautiful. How large is it?” She tried to keep her voice light, although the excitement she felt at being outdoors and the possibility of seeing other people made her heart pound.
“It’s actually two lakes,” he said quietly as both of them looked out over the water. “The two lakes are connected by a swampy marsh off to the right.”
Yes, she could see the marsh.
“The lake’s only about twelve feet deep at the deepest part.”
Her heart rate increased. She could practically walk across some of this lake, and the rest would be an easy swim.
“This is a eutrophic lake. Do you know what eutrophic means?”
“No. Tell me, please.” She wanted to keep him talking and he seemed to want to inform her.
“It means it is a lake that has an abundance of aquatic plants so it’s very productive. Biologically speaking, that is.” He seemed engaged in informing her about the lake. “And because it’s so shallow, the high Nevada winds make it very turbid.”
“What’s turbid?’
“Clouded, not clear, because the winds stir up the sediment. It’s unusually calm and bright today.”
But she hardly heard his an
swer because she was watching an object far across the lake. It appeared to be a rowboat with two people in it. Her breath quickened and her pulse raced. She opened her mouth to shout.
But he saw it too. “Damn trespassers,” he said.
He quickly covered her mouth and turned her around so they faced back toward the stand of trees.
“Back to the house.” His voice was urgent and unfriendly. He pulled at her as she strained to turn her head and look at the faraway rowboat.
People. Oh God, there were people out on the lake.
This would have to be her escape route if she ever got out of the house. But he hustled her through the trees and over the meadow, back across the lawn and into the kitchen door. He locked the door and untied the rope. Then he moved to the parlor, pulling what appeared to be a large cell phone out of his pocket. He slammed the door but she pressed against it so she could hear.
“There are trespassers in a rowboat on the lake. Two of them. Get down there fast and get them off the property. Call me when they’re gone. And make sure they know that lake is on private land, my land, and not to come back.”
Who had he called? Private land? His land? Her head was full of questions, but when he came back into the kitchen she remained silent.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Make some lunch.”
She worked swiftly. “I need a knife to cut the sandwiches.”
He got up and went into the parlor, returning with the eight-inch knife he had taken from her the first time she cooked. That’s where he kept it.
Good to know.
“The lake is beautiful,” she said when they had finished eating. “Eutrophic, right?”
He looked up from his plate. “Right. You’re smart, aren’t you? That’s good. You learn quickly. And that’s good too.”
For the first time, she heard the ring of a telephone. The man removed the large phone from his pocket and then she knew what it was: a satellite phone, the kind of phone that uses signals from orbiting satellites, instead of signals from nearby cell towers. The man listened without comment. “Good. Talk later,” he said, and with a click of a button, put the sat phone back in his pocket.
So they were as isolated as she suspected. No cell phone reception because there weren’t enough nearby towers. Her regular cell would be useless even if she could find it. She decided to continue the conversation, to learn more about him. She briefly considered asking him what he wanted her to learn, but instead said, “Is the lake part of your property?”
His eyes blazed for a moment. “Eavesdropping, eh? Yes, the lake is part of my property, as is all the land surrounding it.”
“How much land do you own?”
“Many acres.”
“Who did you talk to just now?”
“Not your business. Not yet.” He left the kitchen and went upstairs.
Not yet.
Chapter 22
When Joe and I got back to my house, we spread the copies of the land maps out on my dining room table. Two messages from Wynan were on my answering machine.
Wynan showed up about ten minutes later.
“We don’t know if there are any leads in this land ownership,” said Joe. “But I’m thinking I could check and see if there are any buildings on the parcels near here.”
“I can do better than that,” Wynan said. “I can get over there now and start looking around.”
“Remember, we don’t have any search warrants, Wynan.”
“I got all kinds of ways to check out a piece of property without a warrant,” said the former deputy chief of the Las Vegas PD, with a shrug and a squaring of his jaw. He left and closed the kitchen door behind him.
Two new emails were on my cell phone. The first announced another special meeting of the policy committee meeting at five p.m. “Late dinner again,” I said, groaning.
The second was longer and harder to read on a small screen. I went to my computer. “Red, I really need to see you ASAP,” wrote Larry Coleman. This was followed by a long paragraph detailing the latest sins of George Weinstein. It seemed George had succeeded at getting Larry’s paper eliminated from the presentation schedule of the conference in December.
I called Larry and told him to be in my office in half an hour. But when I arrived at my office, Nell told me Larry had left the school and said he was headed to George Weinstein’s house to “settle matters.” An alarm bell went off in my mind. I called George’s house. After four rings, I got the answering machine with George’s rapid-fire diction telling me to leave a message and suggesting I might get a call back if time permitted. Might.
What a day.
The sexual assault policy meeting started promptly at five with chairman Bud Chekovski asking Karen what she would recommend based on her understanding of the federal mandate.
Karen stood. “I think our best course would be to follow the California policy and require,” she read from her notes, “‘affirmative, conscious and voluntary agreement to engage in sexual activity that is ongoing throughout the sexual activity and can be revoked at any time.’”
“I thought we agreed that’s confusing,” said the university attorney. “Mr. Chairman, I’d like to make a few observations.”
Karen said, “I wasn’t really finished.”
But Bud Chekovski nodded at the attorney despite Karen’s anger.
The university attorney seemed equally belligerent. The fight was on.
“I think we have to avoid any policy that disregards due process. Some of the policies we are seeing from major universities are significantly stacked against the accused.”
“Yeah, what about the girl who changes her mind?” said the coach.
Karen interrupted, breathing hard. “Hold on. I was getting to that.”
A secretary entered the room and whispered in Bud’s ear. He excused himself and called a brief recess.
I sat staring at Karen.
Both of us remembered a student two years ago who had been unwilling to file charges.
The girl’s best friend was a fellow student she had known since childhood. She confided in him, but never dated him. One night, after studying for exams together, she had fallen asleep in his room. She awoke to find him on top of her.
I could still remember the girl trembling in my office. “I trusted him. I trusted him,” she kept repeating. The next day the girl had left campus for three weeks. When she returned, she refused to speak to either Karen or me about the incident. A year later she committed suicide.
Karen’s eyes were glued to me.
A chill ran through me. Jamie was never far from my mind. Stay alive, girl. No matter what happens to you, stay alive.
After five minutes, Bud returned and the attorney resumed his attack on Karen. “As I was saying, I am appalled your recommended procedures offer little guarantee of representation to the accused. When is there a chance to see evidence? Do your recommendations even allow the accused to bring an attorney to any hearing?”
Karen paled. “Yes, they do. But we still have to realize how difficult it is for a young woman, or a young man, to face someone who has hurt them badly, especially someone they may have trusted.”
From the other end of the table, Shelby Vane coughed and raised his hand. “And who decides who is telling the truth?”
“We investigate,” said Karen. “We interview others who may have been around when the two people were together. We gather the information available.”
Shelby again: “And how do you decide the truth?”
Karen took a deep breath. “We consider the preponderance of the evidence, Dr. Vane, and then we make our best call.”
“Then what?”
“After a hearing, if we think someone should be expelled or put on probation, we recommend that to the provost’s office.”
That surprised me. “So the provost d
ecides the punishment?” All the faces turned to me.
“Yes, Red, unless the victim files charges with the police, it’s still a civil matter and the provost makes the decision.”
“But if a man is accused, it goes on his academic record, right?” Shelby Vane was leaning forward, his face pink with anger. “It ruins his chances for grad school.”
“Not necessarily,” said Karen. “We view each case on its own merits. There’s no rule…”
“I’ll bet,” said Shelby, pushing back his chair. “Excuse me, folks, I need some air.” He grabbed a large denim jacket he had folded over the back of his chair and headed for the door. He hitched his jeans and scuffed one of his boots on the doorsill. “Fairness, folks. That’s what our mission has to be.” Then he turned and was gone.
Big man. Boots. I made a note to suggest to Joe that he check out Shelby Vane.
“I just want to make one final point,” Karen said. “Most of the young men who attack women, especially the freshmen women, do it over and over again. Some of these guys become serial criminals.”
Bridget flipped her hand in the air. Karen’s soft gray eyes pleaded for support, but I took a different path.
I had been silent too long. “Sorry, folks, but this is bullshit. We’re not the right people to figure this out. We’re hopelessly divided. We’re caught up in rape myths and legal pieties. And we’re too old.”
Jaws dropped around the table.
“This is not just about law or process, and it sure as hell is not just about us. It’s about the students. It’s about their culture and their behavior. And they’re not even here. They should be.”
No one spoke.
A thoroughly befuddled Bud Chekovski ended the meeting.
Jamie
Jamie sat by herself in the kitchen for a long time watching the afternoon sun slowly dip toward the horizon. She could still recall the pressure of his arm around her shoulder and the grip of his hands as he turned her away from the lake. Again too close, much too close.
Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 36
