Shelby stopped the Jeep and climbed down. Without saying anything to us he strode toward the shed and lifted a large two-by-four that was across the door.
The door swung open.
Inside were bales of dry hay and a rusted wheelbarrow with a shovel and scythe in it. The shed measured about ten by eight feet, hardly large enough for two people to enter, much less for a large man to keep a girl captive.
“If she was in here, she’d have escaped easily by now,” Wynan said. “Unless she was tied up good.”
Shelby looked startled. “You think someone was in my shed?”
“No,” said Joe, who had entered the shed and was inspecting it with his flashlight. “There’s no sign anyone has been in here recently.” He emerged and brushed the dust off his pants and stamped his feet.
Shelby put one foot up on the running board of his Jeep and twirled the keys in his hand. “Anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on, and why we all had to get up at the crack of dawn to get over here?”
“We’re investigating a problem with one of Red’s students, Dr. Vane. That’s about all I can tell you right now.” Joe brushed off more dust and turned to get back in the Jeep.
Shelby’s neck turned red and the color crept up to his cheeks. “Sorry, Detective, that’s not good enough. You’re talking to a man whose brother was railroaded by false accusation. Tim did time in state prison for a crime he never committed. So I need to know more. Why is my land, my shed, even of interest to you guys?”
Joe looked steadily at Shelby and made a decision. “Because we believe that a man who may be a member of the Lassiter family has had something to do with a student’s disappearance. And this was once Lassiter land.”
Shelby inhaled deeply. “Okay. But this is just one of the smaller parcels of Lassiter land. There’s a much bigger one about twenty miles from here. Why don’t you look there?”
“I tried,” said Wynan. “But it’s protected with high steel fencing and I couldn’t see much when I walked a couple of miles of the perimeter.”
“Yeah, that was old man Lassiter,” said Shelby. “He never wanted anyone to get into there. His house was way back in the woods and he had no trespassing signs posted on all sides of the land around.”
Wynan frowned. “I didn’t see a house.”
“You won’t see it, either,” said Shelby. “The house is only accessible by a dirt and gravel road that leads in from the north side of the property. And that road has an eight-foot gate and an electric fence and warning signs.”
Joe, Wynan, and I must all have looked incredibly dispirited, because Shelby stopped twirling the keys and said something unexpected. “I know a way into that property on the south side.”
“That’s great, Dr. Vane. Can you show us?” asked Wynan.
Joe raised his hand. “Wynan, we don’t have a warrant to enter that land.”
Shelby shook his head. “Well, it’s risky going in anyway. The only safe time to sneak in is late afternoon, when the watchman goes home.”
“There’s a watchman?” Wynan looked surprised. “Hell, the property must cover fifty acres. Who can watch over a spread that large?”
“He drives a Jeep full-speed over that land. I’ve also seen him on a dirt bike. Most of the property is scrub pine and sagebrush. The only trees and grass grow alongside a lake in the middle of the property. I think the watchman probably pays his closest attention to the south side. Some kids cut an opening in the south fence last year and got in. The lake is a little wider on that side, and when the wind’s up, it’s good for windsurfing.”
Joe moved closer to Shelby. “Have you ever gotten into that property?’
Shelby looked sheepish. “If you promise not to arrest me for trespassing.”
“I promise.”
“I was on that lake last week, and it’s a eutrophic lake, if you know what that means.”
“Shallow, cloudy, full of plants.”
“You remember your biology, Detective. Well, my friend, Skip Kramer from Biology, wanted to go up there and gather some specimen plants for his lab. We know how to get in and out of there, even with two of us portaging a small boat through a meadow and squeezing through a small opening in the fence. A good thing, since the other day we saw that watchman’s Jeep barreling down on us like a bat out of hell. We barely made it back to our truck.”
“Did you use the opening the kids made?”
“Nope. Skip and I made another opening earlier this summer and then concealed it with tree branches so the watchman couldn’t spot it easily.”
“Can you take us there?”
“I can, but not today. I take my mother into Reno for dialysis today and I can’t skip that. There’s no one else except my boy, who isn’t old enough to drive on the roads. I can take you there tomorrow, but if we want to avoid that watchman, we should go late in the day. Sorry, that’s the best I can do.”
“A student’s life may be at stake,” I said.
“I understand, but you’re not even sure your student is up there at Lassiter’s place. It’s pretty far away. And one thing I am sure of is my mother’s poor health. Tomorrow’s the best I can do.”
“We’ve waited this long, we can wait until tomorrow,” said Wynan. “Besides,” he said, “I want to try for a warrant so that if we find the house, we can get into it for sure.”
Joe turned to him. “You really okay with delaying, Wynan? Getting a warrant’s a long shot with no compelling evidence.”
“I know a judge who might help me out, and just might also accept my word for probable cause.” Wynan dug his hands in his pockets and paced back and forth in front of the shack. “But I’ll have to fly down to Vegas to see him and talk him into it, so I need the extra day to do that. I want to be absolutely sure we can get into any building on that property.”
Shelby took his foot off the running board and put his keys into the ignition. “So we’ll go tomorrow then. How about we meet at my house at four tomorrow afternoon? I think the watchman may leave the property about four thirty, so we can dodge him.”
Shelby looked at Joe and Wynan, then made a sucking sound with his lips over his teeth. “I know you men are both cops, but that watchman is as tough and mean as a rattlesnake. Rumor has it he was in Special Forces. He caught Skip and me one day last summer. We managed to persuade him to let us get on our way and not to come back. But he carries a Bushmaster semi-automatic rifle and, if we see him again, I’d rather not be party to a gunfight.”
“Did he spot your opening in the steel fence?”
Shelby’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. He seemed to be satisfied when we practically ran with the boat. We left him by the lake. And as of last week he doesn’t seem to have inspected that section of the fence. But you never know. We may have to create another opening. Bring wire cutters.”
Jamie
The house did not have a vacuum cleaner so Jamie used a stiff whiskbroom to clean the upholstered furniture in the parlor. She pulled the seat cushions off the sofa and carefully brushed the base of the sofa. The broom caught on the crevice that separated the base from the back. Freeing the whiskbroom required her to poke her fingers into the crevice. Something hard and sharp was in there. She poked again and flipped out a small plastic card. It was a Nevada driver’s license.
She took the driver’s license to the window to examine it. She stared at the image in disbelief. It had been issued to Alice Lassiter. The face in the photo on the license could have been Jamie’s. So could the height and weight. The birth date was April 7, 1957. The date the license should have been renewed was April 7, 1987, when Alice was thirty years old. But according to the man, Alice had left the house when she was still in her late twenties. A chill ran through Jamie’s body. Who packs up her clothes and books and leaves without her driver’s license?
Jamie tucked the license into he
r pants pocket. She replaced the sofa cushions and went back into the kitchen. An hour later found her still standing by the sink, staring out the window at the meadow and the steel fence, still rehearsing the questions she wanted to ask without arousing his suspicions. She was certain she needed to find out much more about the time Alice had spent in the house.
But that evening was not to be her opportunity. The man came home late, slamming the car door and then the front door and calling out from the hallway. “I’ve eaten. Feed yourself and go to bed.” His voice sounded angry, very angry. He did not appear in the kitchen but she heard his footsteps loud and hard on the wooden stairs as he went up to his room.
Chapter 30
It had not been a good day. Even though Joe and I were excited about the possibility of finding Jamie on the Lassiter property, we were still concerned by Wynan’s willingness to wait for another day to hone in on his granddaughter’s whereabouts.
“I think Wynan’s scared,” said Joe, after we dropped Wynan off at the Reno airport and were headed back to Landry.
“Of course he’s scared. So am I. But why not insist on getting into that land? Why not go to Shelby’s friend in Biology and ask him to help us get through that fence today?”
“All I can figure is Wynan wants to do this by the book,” said Joe, turning onto the highway that led to Landry. “He told me last week when we were having a beer together that he’d once bungled a kidnapping case by rushing in without a warrant. The kidnapper’s attorney cited all the illegal search and seizure stuff and the case never even went to trial.”
“And the kidnap victim?”
“Her body was found years later buried in the basement of the house, but by that time the kidnapper had relocated to some Latin American country that doesn’t extradite.”
“So Wynan wants to be careful this time. But what will he use for probable cause to get this judge in Las Vegas to issue a warrant?”
“God knows. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Nell was agitated when I arrived at the office. “Sorry I’m so late,” I said to her. “We spent more time than I had expected at the Vane ranch.” I told her about the plans for tomorrow.
“That’s hopeful,” she said, “but meanwhile the provost’s office called and McCready wants to see you in the president’s office at eleven and it’s already five minutes to.”
I hurried to the ladies room on the third floor, splashed some water on my face, combed my hair and pulled it back into a bun. I was still wearing the sweater and slacks I had worn to the Vane ranch. I preferred to wear a suit to President Lewis’s office, especially if Ezra McCready would be there. But it was too late to change, so I decided to hope for the best and set off across campus.
The day had turned warm and I regretted the sweater as I walked quickly across the quad to the administration building. The bell tower tolled eleven just as I crossed the wide lawn, still green and punctuated with beds of white vinca and alyssum. A breeze had come up and the leaves stirred in tall oaks that lined the edges of the lawn. This was where the summer commencement had been held last June and I wished I could turn the calendar back to that day. I was happier then. The former provost had just told me my faculty wanted me to apply for the permanent dean’s job. My best senior student had graduated magna cum laude and I had hugged her so hard when she came off the podium, I nearly lifted her out of her shoes.
But that was then, and now it was early fall. The oak leaves would soon turn dark red. The fabled Nevada winds would blow them to the ground and snow would follow. And I had been summoned to the president’s office. I was half-convinced I was about to be fired, or told that one of my rivals was getting the job and I would go back into the faculty.
Even with assurances that the shooting of George Weinstein had not been an event I could have prevented, I felt sure it was going to block my career. Perhaps for a long time.
I climbed the steps to the administration building slowly. Even though it would make me late, I wanted to enjoy the warmth of the day and the beauty of the campus for a few more seconds.
The clock on the wall of the president’s office read five minutes past eleven. His secretary, a cheerful brunette named Margie, stood up and smiled. Margie probably weighed two hundred pounds, but she moved swiftly from behind her desk to give me a hug. “So sorry about the shooting,” she said into my ear.
“Thanks, Margie.”
Margie gave me a rueful smile. “Go on in,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”
The president’s office at Mountain West is impressive. Spacious and paneled in mahogany, furnished with heavy leather couches at the far end and a large round beautifully polished conference table in the middle of the room. Tall windows overlooked the quad, and Philip’s desk was a small eighteenth-century table set to the side near the windows so the light fell on its surface.
Nearby was a small circle of four leather chairs, two of which were occupied by Philip Lewis and Ezra McCready. Both rose and indicated a third chair for me.
“I apologize for being late,” I said, “but I’ve been occupied at a location we thought might lead us to our missing student.”
“Ah yes,” said Philip Lewis. “Ezra showed me your memo about her. Beautiful girl. I saw the posters as I walked onto campus this morning.”
“Another problem for the school of journalism,” said McCready. He was wearing a lightweight wool suit and shoes as highly polished as the conference table. His hands were folded in his lap and his long legs stretched casually out from the chair. Cool and calm, with a smugness in his expression that infuriated me.
Philip Lewis leaned forward in his chair and put his thin pale hand on the armrest of mine. “Red, we called you here this morning to discuss the plans for the rest of this fall semester in the school of journalism—plans for dealing with the Weinstein shooting and a missing student, as well as the governance of the school and the preparation for the last of the reaccrediting meetings in October.”
I could hardly bear to look at either of them. We had slaved over the written requirements of the accrediting team all summer long, and now I hated the thought of going through the final meeting with the accrediting team when we were in crisis mode.
Ours was one of the select group of accredited journalism schools in the country and had been for decades. But to keep our status, every seven years we were examined by a team of distinguished academics from other schools. They looked at everything: graduation rates, faculty research, teaching evaluations, every dimension that could be seen to describe our success or failure. They would insist on interviewing the entire faculty and getting at all the dirt. How was I going to pull us together in time?
“The accrediting team is bound to be concerned about the leadership of the school,” said McCready.
Oh shit, here it comes.
“And for that reason we are not going to name a new dean at this time,” said Lewis. “In the interests of stability, it seems best for you to stay as interim dean until after the team has left. The faculty is very supportive of you and we want to present a cohesive unit to the accrediting team.”
Except for Lewis’ shallow breathing, the room was very quiet. McCready sat up in his chair and crossed his legs.
“I see.” My head was starting to pound. The air felt much too warm.
Philip Lewis rose unsteadily from his chair and called for his secretary. “I am going back home now for a nap. You and the provost can continue this discussion here if you like. Margie can bring you some coffee or some lunch.”
After Lewis had left, the provost sat back in his chair and stretched his legs out again. “I’m wondering, with all your responsibilities at the school, if it’s wise for you to also continue serving on the sexual assault policy committee.”
“I’m not sure how one thing has to do with the other.”
The provost turned his head and l
ooked at me, dark eyes flashing. “I’m thinking of your time. You will have a great deal on your plate in the next few weeks, what with the publicity the shooting will bring, not to mention preparing for the accrediting team.”
“Much of the data preparation for the team has been done over the summer, Dr. McCready. And I think the publicity will die down for a while until we know more about George Weinstein’s future health problems, and until Larry’s trial date comes up.” I was dying to know about his meeting with Virginia Delacroix. “May I ask a question?”
“Ask.”
“Did Senator Delacroix see you?”
“She did.” He gave me a stern glance. “I fear there again we have another example of your awkwardness at handling people.”
“I couldn’t do what she requested of me.”
“No, you couldn’t. But you could have handled her better.”
“How?”
“She’s a United States Senator. I think she felt she had been treated somewhat dismissively when she left your office.” He got up and walked to the window. “Don’t worry about her. I took care of her concerns and you can put the matter out of your mind.”
What in hell did that mean?
McCready turned back to me. His hands were clasped behind his back and he looked very much the stern headmaster about to discipline an errant school child. “Now I have a question,” he said. “How about the missing student?”
I swallowed hard. “The police think they have some good leads on where she might be. I’ll know more tomorrow.”
He turned his head and looked again toward the windows. “Anything you can share?”
“Nothing firm. But I’ll let the administration know when I do.”
“Well.” He walked away from me, hands still clasped behind his back. “I still think your time should be spent on the issues of the school instead of university assault policy.”
Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 41
