by Roger Hayden
The connection was no clearer had she discovered any other book, but it raised several troubling questions. Did Ken Frohman know Dr. Trudeau? If so, why didn’t the doctor tell her so? A rage burned inside Miriam as she stood up and faced the fire. She had been set up, played during the entire investigation. The girls weren’t there, and that could only mean one thing: someone else had them.
Miriam snapped back to reality as Dawson groaned from the ground. “Detective Shelton!” she shouted. “I found Dawson. He’s alive!”
They rushed over in an instant as Miriam backtracked away from the smoke and toward the safe zone. She didn’t want to see more bodies or smell more burnt flesh. It was time to get to the bottom of who had sold them out. She approached Bennett’s cruiser to find the sergeant and Detective Hayes on their cell phones, relaying the current disaster. Whatever minimal control they had of the case had gone up in flames following the explosion. Hayes was right. It was an act of terrorism. But who could be sophisticated enough to pull it off? Their two suspects were dead. There had to be others. Thoughts raced through Miriam’s mind as she desperately tried to conceive a plan of action.
“Are you okay?” Hayes asked her as he held a handkerchief over his mouth.
“Yeah,” she said, almost too eager at first. He had just gotten off the phone, and she could think of no better time to put her plan in motion. Her recently purchased throw-away phone in hand, she motioned toward their vehicle.
“I need to call home. I’ll be right back,” she asked.
Hayes paused for a moment, hesitant. “Good luck getting a signal. If you do, please keep details to a minimum.”
“Of course,” she said, walking away.
She approached one of than Land Cruisers where a boyish-looking deputy paced around, trying to talk on his cell phone. “Deputy Ryan, was it?” she asked.
He lowered the cell from his ear and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned in closer to keep the conversation away from prying ears. “I need to sit. Can go into your car and turn on the A/C?”
Deputy Ryan thought to himself and then looked around. There was no making sense of the current chaos surrounding them. He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of car keys. “Not a problem, ma’am. There’s bottled water in there if you need it.”
“Thanks so much,” she said, squeezing his hand. A moment later, she had keys in one hand and her cell phone in the other. It was all she needed. Hayes and Sergeant Bennett were distracted by the fire and still noticeably in a state of shock. The rest of the team was attending to Dawson and any other survivors. The situation, however, was as grim as it could be.
Miriam opened the driver’s side door and got inside, tossing her head back against the headrest with a sigh. She then closed the door, stuck the key and the ignition, and turned on the engine. From the hill, she could see the darkness below them—a vast desert of secrets before her.
Headlights and flashing sirens appeared on the dirt road leading up the hill—a fire truck, ambulance, and two police cars among the convoy. Help had arrived, though she wondered if they were too late. A sick guilt consumed her when she told herself again and again that she had tried to warn them.
“It’s not your fault,” she said under her breath. “They wouldn’t listen.”
She called Lou with her phone on speaker, holding it above her head for a signal. The dashboard clock indicated that it was 7:38 p.m. After several rings, Lou answered in a cautious tone as though he didn’t recognize the number.
“Lou, it’s me,” she said right away.
“Miriam? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said with conviction. “We’re close, Lou, but I need your help. I don’t have a lot of time, so I need you to listen to me.”
“Miriam…” he said, confused. “What’s this all about? Tell me what’s going on.”
“I will, but for now, I need you back in detective mode.”
There was a pause on the other end, and she knew that it wasn’t going to be easy for him.
“Just know that I’m okay,” she continued. “I just need your help, and then we can close this case, and I’ll be home for good.”
She began to hear the sirens in the distance and knew that she had to hurry before Lou asked more questions than she could handle.
“You’ve always been the best guy I know at finding people. I’m going to give you a name, I need you to find an address. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Well, anyone can find an address—” he began.
“I need a valid one. Completely up to date. Are you ready?”
Lou seemed to snap into action, and she could hear him shuffling around. “Okay. Shoot.”
“His name is Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. He’s a therapist and an author. I know he lives around here, but I’m not sure where.”
“What did he do?” Lou asked.
“Please, not now. Just find me an address.”
Lou sighed. “All right, Miriam. I’ll find something. Just give me five minutes.”
“Call me back,” she said, her heart racing with anticipation.
“Sure thing. I miss you,” he said.
“I miss you too.”
She hung up and lowered the phone just as the emergency responders made it up the hill, sirens blaring. She turned the headlights on so they wouldn’t plow into her and stared ahead into the fire. Her hand then reached into her pocket and pulled out a card she had been given earlier that day, Dr. Trudeau’s card, displaying his office phone number and address. She could always go there and wait for the good doctor, but something told her that he wouldn’t be going there anytime soon.
It all suddenly made sense to her, in a convoluted way. If Trudeau was involved, he might have been keeping tabs on the investigation from the very beginning. Her alleged mastermind always seemed to know what they were doing every step of the way. Was she crazy to consider his involvement? How on earth could she prove it?
Her best bet, she believed, was to find out where he lived and go to him, ask him why he had lied to her about Ken Frohman.
Friends, she thought. That’s what he called them. Then a realization struck her with the impact of a dozen more pressure cooker bombs. They’re his patients. He’s using his patients.
The theory was a stretch, but it was the best she had to go on in the madness taking place before her. Moments later, the cell vibrated. She swiped the screen immediately and held the phone to her ear.
“Tell me you got something.”
“Well, he’s a criminal psychiatrist,” Lou said.
“I know that, Lou. I’ve met him before. I need to know where he lives.”
“Can’t you ask someone at the station there?”
“I don’t want anyone to know that I’m looking for him.”
A long sigh followed. “Miriam, don’t do this again.”
“There have been leaks within the department about this case, and my trust factor isn’t at its highest right now.”
“I understand, but I’d advise you to at least keep the investigators in charge of the case up to speed,” Lou said.
Miriam held the phone against her forehead in frustration and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a deep breath while Lou asked if she was still there. “Yes, I’m here,” she said, lowering the phone to her mouth.
The fire truck parked on the uneven terrain in front of her as the ambulance raced past. What she saw ahead was pure chaos, but she had to stay focused.
“Is there anything you can do?” she asked. “I’m stuck.”
“An old buddy from the force, Bob Mendez, told me that Trudeau has been a criminal psychiatrist with Ector County for many years now. They probably have a file on him at the station. If you can get access to that file, then you’ll find his address.”
“Okay…” she said, feeling the sting of defeat already. She’d never be able to enter the Odessa station without turning some heads. She felt a cut along her forehead and gla
nced into the rearview mirror. There was blood and a fair amount of dirt on her face—nothing some Handi Wipes couldn’t take care of.
“Is there anyone at the station you can talk to? Someone you trust?” Lou asked. There was one person, but she didn’t know if she could trust him either.
“Corporal Taylor,” she said. “He’s a good kid.”
“I’ll keep trying, but I’d suggest you start there.”
“Thanks, Lou,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful, Miriam. Please. We need you back home where you belong.”
“I will,” she said. After a “goodbye,” she ended the call and observed the disarray unfolding.
Fifty feet ahead, there were dead detectives and raging fire. As painful as it was to know that the lives of the detectives’ families would never be the same, she also understood that the tragedy would stop the case dead in its tracks. April Johnson and Tara McKenzie didn’t stand a chance if that was the case.
Miriam set her phone on the center console and then did what she felt was necessary. She shifted the Land Cruiser into reverse, turned around, and drove down the hill as fast as she could.
***
The darkened, empty road ahead remained a constant reminder of the questionable abyss that lay ahead. She passed a road sign stating “Odessa - 5 miles.” Miriam knew that her involvement in the case was over. She’d be put on a plane back to Phoenix tomorrow if they didn’t press grand theft auto charges first. It was hard for her to explain why she did things the way she did, beyond her uncompromising need for results. Surviving the explosion had made things clearer to her. All that really mattered, she believed, was action.
She could picture Hayes and Shelton scratching their heads, infuriated that she would leave the scene of a crime and pursue things on her own. Hayes would tell his partner that “he told him so” and that he also regretted trusting her again. Upon leaving, she knew that she had lost their trust. However, if her journey resulted in finding the two girls, it would be all worth it.
Upon reaching Odessa, she slowed her speed and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. The station wasn’t too much farther ahead. She wouldn’t be there long, just in and out, and then she’d visit Dr. Trudeau and find out what he knew. That was the plan, and the best chance she believed that the girls had.
The roads through town were quiet, with cars passing in the other lane here and there. The Food Mart caught her eye, its bright sign buzzing in the parking lot. If she had time, she’d pay the assistant manager, Mr. Hutton, a visit and asked him more questions about his two star employees.
Maybe he’s the culprit.
She dismissed the thought as to not get distracted. Trudeau may not be involved, but he knew more than he had said. And that was enough for Miriam. A few blocks down, she reached the Odessa Police Station. The lot was still full of police cars and a few news vans still lingered across the street. She turned into the lot and circled around, driving behind the building under the lights affixed to poles that shined down from above.
She passed a green dumpster and then parked in the shadows next to a steel door marked “Unauthorized Entry Prohibited.” Plan A was now in effect. She called the station with Hayes’s phone and was met with the exhausted tone of a police officer who sounded like he had been working three shifts.
“O’Grady. Where can I direct your call?”
“Hi, yes,” she said. “Is Corporal Taylor available? This is his mother.”
A pause followed, and she heard the bustling background noise. Emotions were running high throughout the station. The case had escalated in ways no one could have imagined.
“Um. Corporal Taylor? Yes, ma’am. Let me see if I can find him.” He placed her on hold and Miriam waited, staring at the brick building ahead. A few moments later, the line picked up and Taylor answered with slight confusion.
“Yes, this is Corporal Taylor.”
Miriam leaned forward and spoke soft and urgently. There was no going back now. “Corporal, this is Lieutenant Sandoval. I’m sorry, I didn’t want anyone to know I called. I need you to listen to me. Can you help me? Tell me yes or no.”
After a brief pause, the corporal spoke as though he understood. “Yes. What can I help you with?”
“I’m sorry for the secrecy, and I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I’m asking you to trust me in the same manner I’m trusting you.”
“I… think I can do that,” he said.
“I need access to the Records office. I’ll be in and out in five minutes. Just need you to let me in the back and cover for me.”
Another pause followed, and she could sense his heavy conflict.
“You won’t get in any trouble. I promise.”
“Ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat and speaking lower. “Is everything okay?”
“The case has been compromised. There have been leaks coming out of the department, and I don’t know who I can talk to.”
“But, Sergeant Bennett—”
“He has his hands full right now. This is all me. I need to do this. Can you help?”
“I’d like to, but I need to know what happened.”
“Do you trust me, Corporal? Do you believe that I would do anything to get those girls back?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Then let me in. I’m out back now. Tell no one.”
“Okay,” he said after another pause. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Miriam hung up and opened the door, stepping onto the cracked pavement. Everything seemed peaceful behind the busy station and in the shadows. She wished she could just set up camp there. She approached the back door and stood against the wall, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. Everything was riding on Corporal Taylor. It was a gamble, but she’d soon find out if she could trust him or not.
She shifted as the door handle turned, followed by an unlocking sound. The door creaked open and she heard Taylor whisper for her. Miriam crept around to find him peeking out.
“You’re alone?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m alone,” she said. “Can you get me to the Records office without anyone seeing me?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It’s just right down this hall.”
“Is Captain Vasquez here?”
“You know it,” he said. “What happened out there tonight? We’re hearing all kinds of crazy things.”
She glanced at his worried eyes and wanted to tell him everything, but she was short on time, and Vasquez would be searching for her soon enough. “I can’t go into it right now. It’s not good. Sergeant Bennett and the others are okay. Others weren’t so lucky.”
Predictably, his eyes widened in shock. “What? You have to tell me!”
“Keep your voice down,” she said. “I’ll explain everything later. You’ve got to get me in.”
Taylor’s eyes shifted down as he went quiet. He signaled her inside the dark storage room and led her into an adjacent hall where she could see the busy station floor from several tiny windows. Ector County detectives filled the desks, sleeves rolled up and many of them on the phone. She caught a glimpse of Vasquez, looking as livid as ever, and kept moving.
“This way, Ma’am,” Taylor said as they reached a closed door marked “Records.” He unlocked the door with a key ring on the belt of his uniform and opened the door for her.
“You might need a flashlight,” he said.
Miriam smiled and held hers up. “Way ahead of you.”
“I’ll stand outside and wait. Please hurry.”
“Sure will,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. His politeness and loyalty reminded her of herself at his age. “Thank you, Corporal Taylor. I won’t forget this.”
He smiled and nodded as she crept inside and closed the door. Once in, she was met with a sight of a large oak desk with chairs and over ten filing cabinets on the other side, each drawer alphabetized. It was a start. She went to the cabinet
marked “T” and pulled it open, thumbing through each file folder with care. She could sense his file without even seeing it. He had to be here.
Coincidentally, she saw it right after Corporal Taylor’s file, the label affixed to a brown manila folder saying “Trudeau, Nicholas S.” At that moment, she couldn’t have been happier. She pulled the folder out and set it on the desk behind her, opening it to reveal a few documents fastened inside. There was a resume and some other credentials, but what interested her the most was the personnel information form fastened on the other side of the folder. She shined her flashlight onto the paper and examined it. Typed clearly across the document was his name, phone number, place of residence, and emergency contact information.
In the residence column, there were two addresses: a home in Midland and another house off in Pleasant Farms, on the outskirts of Odessa—the same area they had discovered the van. The discovery was uncanny.
She jotted down both addresses in her pocket notebook and took a picture with Hayes’s phone. A light knock came upon the door, signaling her to hurry. She closed the file and placed it back into the top cabinet drawer in the same spot. In a dash, she searched through the drawer marked “F” and found Ken Frohman’s file without issue.
A quick glance of his record showed a misdemeanor and fine for reckless driving. Most interesting of all was a single-page psychiatric evaluation signed by none other than Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. She had everything she needed.
Miriam closed the drawer and moved swiftly toward the door with a light knock of her own. The door opened, and Corporal Taylor stood there, relived.
“They’re calling for me. I have to go.”
“No problem. I got what I needed. I’ll explain everything soon. Thanks so much.”
“I just hope it helps,” he said with somberness. “I don’t like what I’ve been hearing so far. Something about an explosion.”
