by Roger Hayden
“Everyone leaves something behind,” she said to herself.
“What’s that?” O’Leary asked.
“I don’t know,” she responded. “Shall we pay the salvage yard a visit?”
O’Leary nodded in agreement. “Sure thing. But just let me do most of the talking.”
She gave him a mock salute. “You’re the boss, Detective.”
O’Leary held out his hand for his keys. Miriam smiled and tossed them in the air. He snatched them as they approached the car, getting in. The car roared to life, and he drove off, ready to get answers.
The sign for the salvage yard was in view. They took a right down a long, bumpy dirt road that went on for at least half a mile. Palmetto bushes and pine trees pressed in from both sides. An eerie feeling came over Miriam, as though they were in some malevolent place and trespassing too—going where they weren’t wanted.
Closing In
Anderson’s Auto Salvage & Recycling was an old family-run business that operated on the outskirts of Palm Dale. The business covered thirty acres of junk vehicles—mostly stripped but some intact for resale. Cars were often pillaged of their parts and crushed into flat blocks of metal. They also paid for scrap metal and junk of any value. Their main business was in recycling, since they operated the area’s main refuse plant for reusable material, allowing them to claim credit as a beneficial green company.
From the outset, business was good, and it had remained that way for over thirty years. The business was owned and operated by the Andersons, who presented themselves as a tight-knit all-American family. Outsiders were rarely seen within or welcomed within their inner circle. And for that reason alone, O’Leary knew that they would immediately be looked at with suspicion as they drove through the front gate and entered the dirt parking lot.
Several cars and trucks were parked near the front office trailer that had a big Open sign in the window. Heavy-duty equipment, from crushers to forklifts to dump trucks to graders, were firing off in the distance—the entire lot a cacophony of hammering engines and metallic thunder, with a thin cloud of dust and exhaust drifting throughout the premises. There were a few pickup trucks of all types idling at a booth past the front office, waiting their turn to drop off scrap metal raided from some dump or another.
As O’Leary pulled in, he recognized three of the Anderson boys—Greg, Walter, and Jake—at the scrap booth, assisting trucks with their hauls and keeping the line moving. They were big men, tan, bearded, no-nonsense types with cigarettes dangling out of their mouths and tattoos on their arms. They wore lace-up boots and backward mesh hats.
Boone, their father, owned the auto salvage yard with his wife, Judith. Their sons all worked there and had families of their own. They were an all-American family, according to Boone, but O’Leary believed they hid a dark secret. Rumors had long persisted about the family, but now he was ready to put fact to them.
Still in the parking lot, Miriam listened attentively as O’Leary explained more about them. They received suspicious stares wherever they went, he told her, and, always alert, the Anderson family knew an unmarked car when they saw one.
“Phil bought the business a while ago. Boone and Judith still work there to help out. And if you remember, the eldest son, Dustin, was killed in a car crash with his wife and two daughters.”
“Sounds pretty clear to me,” Miriam said. “One of the sons did it. Phillip, probably,” Miriam said.
O’Leary shook his head. “Alibis, all of them. All of them but Gowdy, but he’s not quite family.”
“When did this happen?” Miriam asked.
O’Leary lifted his chin and thought to himself as machines chugged in the background. “About two years ago.” He turned off the ignition as they just sat there observing.
Miriam looked around nervously. Men stared at them as they walked by, coming and going from the main building, their faces smudged with dirt and oil. “What’s the plan here?”
“Just follow my lead,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll do most of the talking.”
“Is Gowdy here do you think?” Miriam asked.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” O’Leary said, stepping out into the dust-bowl parking lot.
The sun was out in full force, revealing a blue sky with thin clouds drifting like trails of silk. There were people everywhere throughout the yard. It was hard to tell who was who—though most employees shared the same gruff demeanor and outfits: blue, pin-striped short-sleeved shirts with patches sewn over the chest.
Miriam and O’Leary walked with purposeful strides toward the front-office trailer, which had an odd, homey look. It was outfitted with antiques, set out all along the front porch—everything from an old vending machine and jukebox to a vintage gas pump and wagon wheel. There was no denying a hint of charm to the place. It seemed a world of its own—a place far removed from the hustle of the downtown business district.
Here, the work was real: oil-covered hands. Black-streaked faces. Cuts, bruises. Cigarette smoke and empty Gatorade bottles tossed aside in every conceivable location. Miriam and O’Leary stood out like two tourists in a foreign land, which was their intention. O’Leary wanted their presence known.
They walked up the steps, and O’Leary opened the screen door and held it open for Miriam, who walked in first. Once inside, she stood in a carpeted lobby area next to a bookcase with antique model cars displayed on every shelf. A front counter divided the room. Two men in flannel shirts and billed hats were leaning on the counter, waiting their turn, as a woman, sixtyish, worked the cash register. Behind the counter on a desk were three black-and-white security-camera monitors displaying different grainy images of the vast salvage yard.
O’Leary came in, closed the screen door. The two men at the counter turned around, their wrinkled faces indifferent. They looked Miriam up and down and then turned around as the woman at the counter handed them a receipt.
“Y’all have a good day, now,” she said. She was short and frumpy, with gray curly hair, and thick glasses dangling from a cord around her neck. The two men tipped their hats and excused themselves as they passed.
The woman at the counter looked up and eyed O’Leary and Miriam with suspicion.
“Can I help you?” she asked, mouth hanging open, waiting for a response.
Miriam was about to step forward when O’Leary cut in front of her. “Yes, Mrs. Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary.” He stopped and turned to Miriam, introducing her. “And this is my partner, Sergeant Castillo.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and walked out of the room without saying a word. O’Leary looked at Miriam and shrugged. They could hear the floorboards of the trailer creaking as Mrs. Anderson approached someone on the other side of the wall, a few feet away, and spoke loudly, as if to someone hard of hearing.
“You got visitors, hun.”
“What’s that?” a gruff voice said.
“Visitors. The poh-lease.”
They heard the man groan as he stood. His knees seemed to crack with the strain. His heavy footsteps clomped into the front office from the adjacent room. He was big, at least six feet, dressed in overalls that seemed to cradle his bowling-ball gut. He had a thin gray beard along his chin and jaw line. His bushy eyebrows arched downward as he made eye contact with the two visitors.
“Can I… help ya?” he asked, approaching the counter. He adjusted his camouflaged hat and folded his arms, displaying neither contempt nor courtesy.
“Yes, Mr. Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary. We’ve met a few times. I’m sure you remember.”
Mr. Anderson nodded. “Yeah, I remember ya, O’Leary. What do you want this time?” His eyes shifted, studying Miriam.
“I was hoping to have a word or two with Mr. Gowdy.”
Anderson took his hat off and scratched his head, looking around. “He’s not here yet.”
Miriam and O’Leary exchanged glances.
“He’s not?” O’Leary said.
“Nope. He don
’t come around as much. Busy with land deals and all. I’ll tell ya, if you guys would get off his back for a bit, you’d see what a go-getter he’s become.”
“I’m sure of it,” O’Leary said with a hint of sarcasm.
Anderson examined Miriam, raising his finger. “Hey, I know you. I remember seein’ you on the news all that time ago.”
She didn’t like where the conversation was going and felt a tight constriction in her stomach. O’Leary stepped in to take the reins. “We’re not here on official business. We just came to talk.”
Anderson’s eyes narrowed in the same way his wife’s had moments ago. “’Bout what?”
O’Leary drew closer and placed his hands on the counter. “Just some loose ends to tie up. You know when to expect him?”
“Nope.” Anderson adjusted his tinted glasses, looking as if he considered the matter closed.
“We can wait,” O’Leary said. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Anderson shook his head. “Why don’t you leave the man alone? He ain’t perfect, I know that, but you police done him wrong. Accusing him of kidnapping and murder like that.” Anderson huffed as his face turned red with anger. “Just shameful.” He pointed an accusatory finger at them both. “You ruined his reputation. Practically destroyed his life.”
O’Leary said nothing as Anderson started breathing heavily through his nose, almost like a horse snorting. “You know his wife left, right? After you and the damn news accused him of being a child-diddling cop killer. You have any idea what that does to a man? To destroy him like that! I told him to sue the shit out of you bastards again, but he said no. He was just gonna let it go. Y’all should be kissing his feet!”
Suddenly, Mrs. Anderson stepped into the room. “Boone! Stop all that yellin’. You know you got a heart condition.” She ran to his side, placing an arm around him. “Now come take a seat in the other room.” She led him out of the front office as O’Leary and Miriam waited.
“I don’t see how this helps our case,” Miriam said.
“Trust me on this,” he answered.
“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Miriam replied.
O’Leary shot her a blank look, lost in his own thoughts. Miriam felt irritated, trying to see where his head was. If there was some kind of conspiracy involving Anderson Auto Salvage and the kidnappings, it was far too fragmented for her to put anything together.
O’Leary leaned closer over the counter, examining the security monitors, and Miriam decided to look too. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared on the display. A forklift operator was picking up a stack of flattened cars to be transported. The line of scrap turn-ins was moving without a hitch. There was no activity on the third screen—just a line of junk cars—and no sign of Gowdy. O’Leary looked up just as Mrs. Anderson stomped into the room, her face creased with wrinkles upon wrinkles.
“Haven’t you done enough damage ’round here, Detective?” she snapped. “My husband and I are fixin’ to retire, and we don’t need no more of your harassment. Got it?”
“Mrs. Anderson…” O’Leary began.
“No. Ray ain’t here, so get on now. Leave!”
O’Leary looked at Miriam and then nodded to Mrs. Anderson. “Very well,” he said, placing his card on the table. “Here’s my card. We’ll be in touch.”
She crossed her arms, nothing but disdain on her face. O’Leary motioned Miriam toward the door. She nodded at Mrs. Anderson and wished her a good day. They exited the trailer, not waiting for a response. Once outside, Miriam looked around, seeing employees and customers alike glancing at them and then looking away.
Miriam bit her tongue until they both got into the car. Once O’Leary cranked the ignition, her ponytail whipped around as she turned to him.
“What was that about?”
O’Leary’s eyes widened with confusion. “What?”
“You sure have an interesting approach to your investigations. Why don’t you just let the whole town know?”
O’Leary paused, trying to choose his words wisely. “Everything is going exactly to plan,” he said calmly. The police radio buzzed with chatter. Nothing significant.
“Oh really?” she said in disbelief. “Nice plan. They know we’re watching them.”
“Exactly,” O’Leary said. “And that’s what I want. Why do you think I left my card? Gowdy is on edge. He’s going to make a mistake, I know it.” He put the car in reverse and backed out.
All eyes watched them as the car coasted out of the yard, leaving a cloud of thin dust in its wake. Mrs. Anderson watched them from the window, offering a cold, unfriendly stare. The Crown Victoria jetted off past the gate and down the dirt road leading back onto the deserted double-lane state road. Miriam felt her nervous chills fade away the farther they got from Anderson’s Salvage.
“We need to wrap this thing up and find Emily,” Miriam said.
O’Leary nodded, gripping the wheel. “Trust me. We’re going in the right direction. I can feel it.”
He grabbed her hand unexpectedly. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.
“Detective!” she said. His hand was oddly cold.
“You feel that?” he asked, accelerating faster. “We’re on the right path.”
He loosened his grip, and she jerked her hand away, dumbfounded.
“I think you’re losing it,” she said, stroking her hand.
O’Leary took a deep breath and pointed ahead. “Look.”
She turned to see a vintage ’65 Dodge Charger up the road in the opposite lane, heading toward them. O’Leary knew the car all too well.
Both vehicles slowed, and Miriam could see a silver-haired, stocky man. Their eyes locked as though they were moving in slow motion. As they passed each other, Gowdy’s expression was at first one of curiosity, changing quickly to one of deep suspicion as Miriam eyed him closely. For a split second she saw something in his face that indicated O’Leary might be on to something.
Dark World
“Turn around,” Miriam said as he passed.
O’Leary looked at her, surprised. “Huh?”
“We need to follow him. He’s planning to run.”
“Miriam, we have to play this thing out carefully. Stake out the salvage yard and see where he goes.”
She slammed her fist on the dashboard, startling him. “We’re not going to have that chance. You want to talk about instinct? That’s what my gut’s telling me.”
O’Leary slowed down, struggling with the decision. “This isn’t part of the plan.”
“Just do it. Please,” she said.
For Miriam, it was time to make a move. She refused to let him slip through her fingers again. O’Leary braked the car to a stop, pulling over, and asked her what she saw that made her so sure.
“I caught a glimpse of his face,” she answered. “He looked guilty.”
“That’s not exactly a bombshell, Miriam.”
“It’s something. You want to talk about the eyes not lying? His eyes told me everything we need to know.”
O’Leary wasn’t entirely convinced, but he trusted her judgment. He had, after all, brought her along for a reason.
He reversed, did a three-point turn, and headed back in the opposite direction until he had Gowdy’s vintage Dodge Charger in sight.
“I hope you’re right about this,” he said with noticeable frustration.
“I’m sure of it.”
He gunned it forward and turned on the flashing police lights directly above the windshield. They were closing in on Gowdy’s car fast. Miriam imagined his surprise when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw them rushing toward him like a shark at its prey. She hoped he was nervous and scared to death.
“Don’t let him get away,” Miriam said, clutching the armrest of her door. “He might try to make a run for it.”
O’Leary sped up, and within seconds he was inches from Gowdy’s bumper. The engine hummed and snarled. Gowdy’s brake lights flashed as he pulled over to the side. A clo
ud of dust trailed him as he slowed down onto the shoulder, coming to a halt. O’Leary stayed on him and stopped, his lights still flashing. Now that they had him, O’Leary seemed more open to Miriam’s idea.
“Might as well talk to him now and see how he reacts.” He began typing into his Toughbook laptop on the center console, running the plates.
Miriam examined Gowdy as he remained quiet in the driver’s seat, watching them through his rearview mirror. For a moment, everything seemed oddly familiar to Miriam. She was re-living it on the very same road with the man she felt responsible within her grasp.
“License plate checks out,” O’Leary said. “Raymond Earl Gowdy. Five thirty-one Woodshire Lane.” He paused while scrolling down the screen. Multiple priors but no warrants currently out on him.” He looked up with a careful eye still on the car. Gowdy was waiting. O’Leary then looked at Miriam. “What next?”
She grabbed her purse off the floor and pulled out a 9mm Beretta.
O’Leary’s eyes widened. He extended his arm, blocking her from getting out. “Whoa! What are you doing?”
She held the pistol down with both hands. “Nothing. I’m not taking any chances this time, that’s all. Call him out of his car and let’s talk to him.”
“Again, I think we’re going too fast here.”
“Too fast? A girl is missing! And based off the evidence you’ve shown me, he’s the most viable suspect we have. Like you said, I’ve taken the fall before. If I’m wrong, I’ll do it again.”
O’Leary felt for his pistol in the side holster at his waist. He looked in his mirror. No one was behind them. No cars were coming in either direction. The air was still and quiet. For all they knew, Gowdy was calling his crew at that very moment. O’Leary opened his door and stepped out, leaning behind the open window pane. He pulled his gun and aimed it at Gowdy’s car. Miriam followed suit and took cover.
“Raymond Gowdy, step out of your car!” O’Leary shouted. There was no movement within the Dodge. Gowdy just sat there. “Get out of your car with your hands up!”
