Journey to Murder (An Alex Warren Novel)

by DJ Owen

  ----------

  Alex woke up and looked at the clock. The sun was shining brightly and she hoped it foretold of good things to come. She showered and made herself some breakfast, though she was too worried to eat more than an egg and a slice of toast.

  She had just settled on the couch with her laptop to start researching again when her cell phone rang. The display showed that the number was blocked, and her instinct was to reject the call. She reconsidered, however, thinking perhaps Detective Kang was trying to call her.

  "Alex Warren speaking," she stated, as professionally as she could muster.

  "Alex? It's Monica. I'm with Mark at his house. He wants you to come join us." Her voice sounded strange to Alex, almost mechanical.

  "Monica? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you? I'll come get you!" Alex was desperate for information, all semblance of professionalism gone.

  He wants me to tell you not to tell the police anything. He says everything will be okay if you come here. He just wants to talk with you."

  Maybe she's been drugged, Alex thought. "Where are you? I can't come there if I don't know where you are."

  "Don't know. Will call back. Please don't call the police, or..." The line went dead.

  Alex felt as though her stomach had been ripped out of her. "MONICA!!!"

  The way she saw it, she had three options. She could call Detective Kang, but who knew if he could find Monica in time? She could call Kyle, but he was probably still in Missouri, or maybe Illinois. Most likely, he would contact Detective Kang to report the call. Her third choice was to keep quiet and follow the instructions Monica, or Mark, gave her. She could trust her wits and try to save Monica herself.

  She called Detective Kang, but only to find out if he knew anything more about Mark's true identity. He told her he didn't, so she called Kyle. He had spoken with Kang, and hadn't learned anything more, either. At least Kang isn't holding out on me, Alex thought.

  "I do have other news, though. I don't think I told you that Jolene's husband is in the FBI. He has access to software, equipment and databases we can only dream about. Anyway, he's pulled all the phone records for the cell number Mark had given the law firm, and they also pulled the phone records for the law firm. There were a couple of numbers that had hits on both Mark's cell and his office extension. These were calls to a residence in a little town called Marsden, Mississippi. The house is owned by a Clarence Roache. Seems Clarence and his wife had two sons, Wayne Quincy and Robert Lee. Wayne's around thirty-eight years old now, and Bobby was nineteen when he died."

  "Wayne Roache? Why does that name sound familiar to me?" Alex was befuddled. She racked her brain to figure out why she knew that name.

  "Well, both sons went to college at the University of Southern California. Does that help you place the name?" Kyle was hoping to find a link between the Roaches and Monica, and it appeared he might have.

  "Jeremy and I graduated from USC, but I can't place Wayne Roache there. Did he study architecture, or maybe Fine Arts? That's probably the only way we would run into him."

  "No, he studied law. He worked with Monica at the law firm, remember?"

  "But that was Mark...," Alex started, but by then the pieces started clicking into place. "Wait, this isn't making sense. If this Wayne guy went to USC, why did he go after Monica? She went to school at the University of Cincinnati."

  "I'm thinking that Wayne is actually targeting you, Alex. I think he kidnapped Monica to get to you." Kyle hated to tell her over the phone, but he was concerned that Roache may come after her, or try to contact her.

  Silence was Alex's response.

  "Are you there? Alex?" Could Roache have grabbed Alex while he was talking with her? Kyle didn't realize it, but he picked up speed in the RV. Amy noticed, and pointed it out to him so he slowed back down to the speed limit.

  "I'm here," she finally said. "I was looking up Wayne Roache at USC, and anyplace else I could think of to see his picture. I found him in a picture in the campus paper. He looked a lot different then. Nerdier. I still don't recognize him, though."

  Kyle suggested she continue to think about it until he arrived.

  "Has Jolene figured out where he lives, or might have taken Monica?" Alex was hopeful, but down deep she doubted it would be that easy. At least she had a name, though. Maybe.

  "Not yet. Her husband is still trying to figure out where Roache went after he left USC. He didn't find any property records in Ohio for Roache, so he must be renting from an individual somewhere. I'll let you know if we hear anything else." Kyle still had several hours to drive before he arrived at Monica's, and the miles seemed to multiply. He couldn't get there soon enough.

  Alex spoke to Amy for a moment to make sure she was okay. Aside from the fact Monica was possibly in danger, Amy was having the time of her life. This was the first time she could really remember spending two days alone with a male figure. She vaguely recalled spending weekends with her dad, but that was a very long time ago when she was just a kid. Kyle was treating her more like a friend, though he didn't hesitate to give her paternal advice. He kept physical distance, but was happy to listen to Amy's concerns about school and help her see the male perspective. Amy found herself wanting her mother to keep Kyle around.

  Amy handed the phone back to Kyle. After he and Alex said their goodbyes, he called Detective Kang to give him the information Ray had discovered. Kang promised to send officers to keep an eye on Alex.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Alex hung up from talking with Kyle and figured he would ask Kang to send officers to check on her, so she quickly gathered her things and took off in her Mustang. She made sure she had her cell phone, in case her sister called again. She also had her laptop so she could continue trying to locate where Roache would be holding Monica. As she passed through the garage, she had picked up the palm knife kit her father had used when he started making rustic furniture from logs as a hobby. The v-shaped carving ends of the knives were sharp, the blades long, and the wooden handles fit nicely in her hand.

  She looked in her rear-view mirror as she turned the corner and saw a police cruiser approaching the house. Just made it, she thought.

  There was a coffee house a mile or so from Monica's. Alex headed there because she knew they had free wi-fi. She ordered Paso Ancho Estate coffee, a brand out of Panama that had become a favorite of hers. Once she had her cup of steaming comfort to help sharpen her mind, Alex selected a table in the rear of the shop. She had more information this time, so she didn't waste time on property transfers. Instead, she pulled up the local newspaper's archives and began looking at old rental property listings. Most were for apartments and commercial office space.

  Three rental listings were for single family houses. Two were managed by a large property management firm, which Alex knew would do a thorough credit and background check before they allowed anyone to move in.

  The last listing, and the one with the most promise, was a stately house whose owner, Harry Wallace, was transferring out of the country. He was looking for someone willing to sign a year-long lease, and would prefer to rent the place furnished.

  If I were looking to move somewhere for a limited time, this would be perfect. Alex tried dialing the number listed in the classified, and heard the familiar "We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected" message. It was something she had heard a million times before as she researched for her writing.

  Alex was nothing, however, if not resourceful. She called the newspaper offices and asked for the classifieds. The phone was answered by a teenager who sounded as if he would rather be playing video games or trolling the mall instead of sitting in an office.

  She told the clerk that she had rented the advertised house and needed to move before the lease was out, but she had misplaced the cell phone number for Mr. Wallace. By any chance did they have a second contact number for him?

  The clerk wasn't overly enthusiastic about looking up the information in their files, so
Alex tried another tactic.

  "Once I get in touch with Mr. Wallace, I'll call you back to place an ad to sublet. You do get commission for the ads you sell, right?" If that doesn't work, I may have to tell him I'll bring Amy by. Not that she would actually allow her daughter to meet the lazy boy. The promise of an easy sale was enough to get the clerk to punch the few keys it took to locate the record for Wallace. He gave her the number and made her promise again to call him back and ask for "Lonnie".

  Alex tried the number and took a swig of her now-cold coffee while she waited. It rang, and a few moments later was answered by a woman who sounded to be maybe a decade older than Alex.

  "Hello?"

  "Good Afternoon. I'm trying to reach Harry Wallace about the house he had for rent a few months ago. Is he there?" It dawned upon Alex that she didn't know what to say to the man if he came to the phone. Hi, I think my sister is being held hostage in your home wasn't going to cut it.

  "He's over in Japan. I'm his sister, Lou-Anne. Is there something I can do for you?"

  Alex trusted her gut instinct and said, "Lou-Anne, hi. My name is Alex Warren, and I'm in a bit of a pinch. I'm trying to locate my sister, and wondered if you knew how to reach her boyfriend. He was the one who rented your brother's house. I'm really worried about her, and I'm hoping he can put me in touch with her."

  Her story was true, though she didn't provide Lou-Anne with all the information she had.

  "Let me see, Harry left me a file around here somewhere." It took only a few seconds, but to Alex it seemed a month had passed before Lou-Anne came back to the phone.

  "Here it is. Uhmmm....it looks like he rented it out to a Wayne Roache, and the phone number he listed isn't local, so maybe its a cell."

  Lou-Anne gave her the cell number. "Did your sister move in with him? He indicated he was alone. Is there a pet involved, 'cause he isn't paying the pet fee."

  Alex assured her that her sister hadn't moved in, nor had she taken a pet to live there. She thanked the woman and hung up.

  She had confirmed it. She knew Roache had rented the house, where it was located, and now had a new cell phone number for him. She wanted to catch him off-guard and on her terms, not his. Neither he nor Monica had called back yet, so maybe she had time to set something up to her advantage.

  More than once Alex had used a phone's GPS to locate someone. She accessed several different apps on her phone and entered Roache's cell number in each, hoping against hope that the number was still active and that he had the GPS turned on. The fifth app she tried indicated the cell phone was still located at the rental house.

  Alex fought the urge to drive over and barge into the house. She didn't want to put Monica in a worse predicament. She requested a refill on her coffee as she contemplated her next move.

  While she pondered, Alex continued to search for a Wayne Q. Roache. She found a W. Roache who was a doctor in Miami, and retired firefighter D. Wayne Roache, but it was the fifth listing in LinkedIn that caused Alex to drop her coffee cup the last few inches as she was setting it down.

  Wayne Q. Roache, Attorney at Law. As she read his profile, she saw the connection as clear as day. Roache had been legal counsel for Kilson and Farks Architecture in San Francisco. That's why the name had seemed so familiar. A few months before her husband's death, Alex had met Roache at a retirement party for one of Jeremy's co-workers.

  Alex stared at Roache's profile photo, which showed him wearing glasses. He also had blond hair and blue eyes. He must have dyed his hair brown, and used green contacts when he met Monica, Alex mused. He's lost some weight, too. I suppose at least that part of what he told her was true.

  Now that she could place where she had met Wayne, she considered the short interaction they had at the party. She and Jeremy had been mingling primarily with the other architects, since Jeremy worked more closely with them. They were laughing and having a good time teasing the new retiree about how he would end up experimenting with sand castles on the beach, trying to figure out the most unique designs possible using sand as the medium.

  She remembered feeling someone's hand on her right elbow and turned to see who it was. It was Roache, who smiled at her without saying anything. The look he was giving her wasn't quite a leer, but it made her uncomfortable. There was definitely something a little odd about his behavior. She had stepped back and jabbed Jeremy with her left elbow to get his attention. He turned and followed Alex's gaze to see Roache standing there, so he introduced the two. Alex was polite, but didn't say anything that would encourage the odd man to continue the conversation. She asked Jeremy where the restroom was and meandered off in that direction. By the time she returned, there was no sign of the lawyer and the party was starting to break up. Alex suggested they leave, and she had completely forgotten the entire incident by the time she was dropped off at her apartment.

  Alex felt goose-bumps run down her spine as an unexpected thought crossed her mind. She suddenly realized that Monica's life was definitely in danger, if time hadn't already run out.

  If the police got involved, they would want her to leave everything to them. They would have to follow procedure, whereas she didn't. They would likely walk up to the front door of the rental house and knock, planning to ask Roache to come to the station for questioning. In reality, they would likely cause Roache to kill Monica as soon as he realized he wasn't going to get what he wanted. If he didn't kill her, he would certainly use her as a hostage, putting her sister in the middle of harm's way.

  No, she would have to handle this herself. She needed a back-up plan, though, in case something went wrong.

  When this is over, I'm going to have to sit Monica down and have a serious discussion about her choice in men, Alex thought.

  The drive to the rental house took almost twenty minutes. Located on probably ten acres outside of town, the two-story house sat on a small hill, surrounded by lush gardens and mature oak, maple and willow trees. Alex parked a distance from the home. She tried to figure out the best path to take up to the house so she wouldn't be seen, and looked for any other buildings where Monica might be held.

  She pulled out her cell phone and changed the ringer to vibrate. Setting it aside, she opened the kit of palm knives and hefted each one in her hand, finally deciding on a smaller, slimmer model.

  Alex searched her car and found a pen and a used envelope. On the front of the envelope, she wrote a note to Amy, telling her how proud she was of her daughter, and telling her not to let anything keep her from making the most of her life. Below that, she listed instructions as to whom she would want to keep Amy, should anything happen to her. She named Monica at the top of her list, then added Jeremy's parents in Sedona, Arizona. She added Kyle's name to the list, then the parents of Amy's close friend, Meghan.

  She flipped over the envelope and wrote the following:

  Kyle, I don't know you that well, but you seem to care for Amy and me and I don't have too many people I can count on. First of all, I figured out when and where I met Roache/Bauer. He was the lawyer where Jeremy worked, and I met him briefly at a party. I think he might have killed Jeremy, so I have to do what I can to save Monica. You'll be mad at me, I know, for not letting Detective Kang handle it. I'm afraid, though, that Roache will kill Monica as soon as they knock on the door. I'm going to see if I can find a way in to help Monica, or maybe catch him off-guard outside the house. No matter what happens, thank you for everything. I really enjoyed our time together, and I'm so sorry it ended too soon.

  She left the envelope plainly visible on her car seat and reached for her cell. She typed in the address of the rental house and Wayne's true cell number in a text to Amy. As soon as she hit "Send", she tucked her cell into her jeans pocket and quickly left the Mustang, quietly closing the door behind her. She pulled her shirt loose from her jeans and hid the palm knife in the small of her back under her waistband.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was late afternoon as Alex made her way from tree to tree towar
d the house. She headed toward the side wall to use the attached garage to shield her from view. There were no other buildings on the property, but she noticed the sloped doors of a storm shelter in the rear of the home.

  There were no windows on the side of the garage, so Alex sprinted from the tree line to the garage wall and inched toward the back of the house. She edged around the corner, ducking down to keep her head below the line of sight of anyone looking outside. The first opportunity she had to observe inside was through a smaller window in what proved to be a mud room. It was barren except for an antique hall tree with a padded storage bench. There were no coats, hats or boots to be seen.

  Alex could see a sliver of the kitchen through the doorway, which also looked as though it had been staged for sale. All it was missing was a decorative basket of fruit or vase of flowers.

  It was as if even the birds knew someone evil lived in the house, and they gave it wide berth. Alex didn't hear any noises around the home as she strained to hear something that would tell her where Monica or her captor could be found.

  She inched along the wall until she came to a bay window that looked into a dining room. No evidence of occupancy was located there, either. She continued on, and found herself facing a dilemma. She was nearing a large wooden deck, which was accessed by glass French doors from what was likely the living room or great room. However, she would have to either climb over the storm shelter doors, or move farther out into the yard, which would allow anyone inside to easily spot her.

  The decision was made for her as she crouched beside the storm shelter considering her options. She heard heavy footsteps approaching the French doors, so Alex turned and ran back to the garage as if her life depended on it, which it likely did. She rounded the corner as she heard the plaintive metallic squeal of a door hinge badly in need of a little WD-40. Alex couldn't stop the thought: I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he isn’t handy around the house.