No Return

by Brett Battles

  “We shouldn’t have stopped looking for him yesterday,” Alison said as she and Wes headed back to where the rest of the crew was waiting.

  “We wouldn’t have found him,” Wes said. “He was hiking, remember? Maybe he’s lost. Once they find out exactly where he went, they’ll send people to look for him.” As soon as they reached the walkway next to the parking lot, Wes looked around. “Where’s Anna?”

  “Shouldn’t you be the one who knows the answer to that?” Alison couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Tell Dione what’s happening,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  He went over to Anna’s room, but didn’t have her spare keycard on him, so he knocked.

  He could hear something inside, but no one answered. The noise was faint.

  “Anna?” he said, knocking again. The door remained closed.

  He walked quickly back to his room, retrieved the spare keycard, and returned to her door. He knocked one more time, then slipped the card into the lock.

  After he pushed the door open, he froze.

  The room reminded him in nearly every detail of Tony’s.

  Clean.

  Bed not slept in.

  The only difference was the clock radio on the nightstand playing low in the background.

  There was no one there.

  Anna was gone.

  “ANNA!”

  Wes rushed into the bathroom, but it was empty.

  He realized with dread that he’d fallen asleep next door thinking she was just on the other side of the wall, but she hadn’t been.

  That meant the last place she’d been …

  … was his room.

  He ran out the door and nearly crashed into Danny on the sidewalk.

  “Whoa. Slow down,” Danny said.

  Wes threw open the door to his room and raced inside. He scanned the space with new eyes, looking for any clue as to what might have happened to Anna.

  “Hey, you all right?” Danny was standing in the entryway.

  Wes dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the bed. About six inches in, there was a wood-sided pedestal that prevented anything from being pushed all the way under.

  He checked the bathroom. Only his toiletries and Anna’s toothbrush sticking out of a glass.

  “Wes, what’s going on?” Danny asked.

  “Get the police,” Wes said. “They’re over at Tony’s room.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it! Please.”

  Danny nodded and headed quickly out of the room.

  Wes stepped back into the bedroom and took another look around.

  First Tony and now Anna? What in God’s name was happening?

  His gaze stopped at the closet. It had double doors that opened to either side. The door on the left was sticking open a half inch. He knew he hadn’t left it that way. He approached it, fearful of what he might find, but knowing he had to look. He placed a couple of fingers against the edge near the top and pulled.

  For a second he forgot to breathe.

  Someone had taken one of the suit hangers and turned it ninety degrees. Taped on the wooden crossbar was a newspaper clipping. It was folded in half, so he couldn’t see what the article was.

  He removed it from the hanger and opened it up.

  LOCAL STUDENT MISSING

  Under the headline was a picture of Jack Rice.

  Danny reentered the room, Officer Rockwell right behind him.

  “Mr. Stewart,” Rockwell said. “You wanted to see me?”

  Without even thinking, Wes folded the article and slipped it into his pocket, then said, “Someone else is—”

  “What the hell is that?” Danny asked.

  At first Wes thought Danny had seen him hide the paper, but he was pointing at something behind Wes’s shoulder.

  Wes turned. Mounted on the inside of the open closet door was a full-length mirror. On it was a viscous substance that Wes recognized immediately.

  Vaseline. Just like in Anna’s original room.

  There were words on Wes’s mirror, also, only they were harder to distinguish because there was no steam to help make them stand out. Still, Wes could discern the message.

  YOUR FAULT

  WES AND THE OTHERS WERE GATHERED IN A meeting room just off the motel lobby. Monroe was the only one sitting. Everyone else was either leaning against a wall or standing.

  All, that is, except for Wes. He couldn’t stop pacing.

  “That’s really annoying,” Monroe said as he walked past her chair for the third time.

  “Shut up, Monroe,” Alison said.

  Monroe sat up. “What did you say?”

  “I said shut up.”

  “You shut up!” Monroe yelled.

  “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but—”

  “For God’s sakes, Monroe, listen to yourself,” Dione said. “You’re acting like a jackass. There are two people missing, friends of ours. This isn’t about you.”

  That quieted everyone.

  Wes continued, undeterred, his mind going a million miles a second. The only thing he was sure of was that Commander Forman was behind Anna’s disappearance.

  He must have thought he could use her as leverage to keep Wes quiet.

  But what about Tony?

  That was a piece that didn’t fit.

  Unfortunately, Wes was sure telling the police about Forman’s involvement would hamper the search more than help. They were already leaning toward the possibility that Wes had something to do with the other events. So it was doubtful any theory he put forward would be believed, especially a theory that centered on a Navy commander kidnapping citizens in order to cover up the identity of the person who had died in a fighter crash. No, if he wanted the police to believe him, he would have to bring them stronger evidence than he currently had. Irrefutable evidence. Evidence that started with the papers Lars had given him the night before. Unfortunately, those were still in his room. He needed to retrieve them, examine them, then work out what to do from there.

  The door opened, and a uniformed officer ushered Dori inside.

  “Got here as soon as I could,” she said.

  Danny walked over to her. “It’s okay. They haven’t talked to any of us yet.”

  Dione was looking at them, one brow raised.

  “She was the last one to see Tony,” Danny said. “I thought the police would want to talk to her. So I gave her a call.”

  Dione nodded. “Good thinking.”

  “I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be,” Dori said.

  “Did you see the people he was with?” Alison asked, hopeful.

  “No … I don’t know, maybe. It’s possible they were there, too. But he didn’t introduce me to anyone. And I was at the counter when he left, so I didn’t see who he walked out with.”

  “Maybe there was a security camera,” Alison suggested. “Maybe they have footage of Tony and the others.”

  Dori’s face brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  As Wes walked by Danny and Dori, Dori reached out and touched his arm. “I can tell how important Anna is to you. I’m sure she’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  The door opened again. This time Detectives Stevens and Andrews came in. One by one they began taking people into another room for questioning. They saved Wes for last, but just before they walked him out, Stevens said to the rest of the group, “You can all return to your rooms. But for at least the next couple of days, you’re to remain in town.”

  “Hey,” Monroe said, “I wasn’t even here this weekend. There’s no reason I need to stay.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Banks. There are no exceptions.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Can it, Monroe,” Dione said.

  “Mr. Stewart,” Stevens said, “if you’ll come with us.”

  Dione caught Wes’s
eye. “We’ll be in my room when you’re done.”

  The cops led Wes through the motel lobby and into a staff break room. Inside, there were two small tables with three chairs each. They took the table nearest the door.

  “So here we are again,” Andrews said, sitting across from Wes.

  Stevens flipped through some pages on the legal pad. “According to Officer Rockwell, you didn’t realize that Miss Mendes was gone until the police were already here to investigate Mr. Hall’s disappearance.”

  “Yes.”

  “He also says that you and Miss Mendes are an item.”

  An item. The term sounded ridiculous to Wes. “Yes.”

  “And though you had separate rooms, you’ve stated you often shared the same room.”

  Wes nodded. “Everything I told the officer earlier is accurate.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Stevens said. “We’re just trying to be thorough. You understand.”

  Wes looked around the room, and tried to relax.

  “It says here that you went out for a little bit last night while Miss Mendes remained in your room. But when you got back, she was no longer there.”

  “Again, correct.”

  “Is there a reason you didn’t check her room at that time?”

  “It was late. We had an early start this morning, so I thought I’d let her sleep.”

  “So the first time you realized something was wrong was when she didn’t show up this morning?”

  “Not exactly,” Wes said. “At first I just thought that maybe she’d overslept. I didn’t realize something was wrong until I went into her room.”

  “With the spare key she’d given you.”

  “Yes.”

  Stevens nodded. “And where did you go last night?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “When you left Miss Mendes here at the motel. Where did you go?”

  “I wasn’t tired,” Wes said. He’d prepped for this question. “So I decided to go for a walk.”

  “Do you do that often?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Once a week? Twice a week? Every other night?”

  “Just when I feel like it.”

  Stevens eyed him for a moment. “All right. So you just went for a walk. How long?”

  “Ended up being a few hours,” he said. Alison’s mention of security cameras earlier made him want to keep things close to reality time-wise in case the motel had them, too.

  “That’s some walk. Where did you go?”

  Wes shrugged. “Just around. Looking for places I used to know when I lived here.” He paused. “Ended up at a friend’s house, but he wasn’t there. Waited around for a while, but he didn’t show up.”

  “So no one saw you?”

  “Could have,” Wes said. “But if you’re asking me if I spoke to anyone, then no.”

  “Who was the friend?” Detective Andrews asked. “Lars Andersen. We grew up together.”

  “And his address?”

  “It’s west of here. On Randall. I don’t remember the street number.”

  “It is kind of curious, isn’t it?” Stevens said.

  “What is?”

  Stevens leaned back. “Just one more thing where you’re the common denominator.”

  Wes looked from one detective to the other. “I told you before, the only thing I have to do with any of this is that I’m one of the victims. It’s asinine to be wasting time on this. Anna and Tony are in trouble. They need our help.”

  “We don’t know for sure if they’re in trouble or not,” Andrews said. “If you had nothing to do with it, maybe they ran off together?”

  Wes was momentarily speechless. “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s another possibility, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Mr. Stewart,” Stevens said, “there’s no reason to get upset.”

  Wes almost said something more, but cut himself off. It was clear the police weren’t going to be any help. He needed to get this over with so he could find Anna and Tony himself.

  “I’m sorry,” Wes said, then took a deep breath. “As far as I know, there was absolutely nothing between Anna and Tony. She and I have a very good relationship. She’s not the kind of person who would have been messing around with someone else behind my back. She’s the kind of person who would have just told me.”

  “If that’s the case, then you’re a lucky man,” Stevens said.

  “Yes. I am,” Wes said, not feeling lucky at all.

  EVERYONE BUT MONROE WAS GATHERED IN Dione’s room. According to Danny, the host of Close to Home was in her room on the phone with her agent.

  Dione was just finishing up a call of her own as she let Wes in.

  “Well, that’s official,” she said as soon as she’d hung up. “Production on our ‘High Desert’ episode is suspended.”

  “It wasn’t like we could shoot anything right now anyway,” Danny said.

  There were murmurs of ascent.

  “Did the police tell you anything?” Dione asked Wes.

  Wes shook his head. “Just asked me questions.”

  “So now what?” Alison asked. “We just stay here and wait?”

  “I think as long as we stay within city limits, we’re fine,” Dione said.

  Alison folded her arms across her chest. “Well, that makes a huge difference.”

  “I’m getting hungry,” Danny said. “Anyone interested in getting something to eat? Wes?”

  “I think I’m going to pass,” Wes said. “I’ll check back with you all later.”

  He started for the door, anxious to take a look at Lars’s papers.

  “Where are you going?” Alison asked.

  “I don’t know. Out. I just need some air.”

  Alison started to get up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I kind of want to be alone. Okay?” His words came out sharper than he’d expected, so it wasn’t surprising Alison looked like she’d been slapped. He knew he should tell her he was sorry, but he just needed to get out of there.

  He headed for his room, but when he got there he found it still full of police.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the cop at the door said. “I can’t let you in.”

  “It’s my room.”

  “The crime techs are still looking around. You’ll have to come back later.”

  Dammit. Wes thought for a moment. “Can I at least grab a clean shirt? I hadn’t expected to spend all day in this one.”

  The cop looked back into the room, then said, “Where is it?”

  Wes pointed at the pile of clothes on the dresser. “It’d be easier if I just grabbed it.”

  The cop frowned, then jerked his head toward the pile. “Make it quick.”

  “Thank you.”

  At the dresser, Wes made a show of going through the clothes. As he did, he moved a black T-shirt out so that it completely covered Lars’s papers. Then he bundled it all up and walked back across the room.

  Though his instinct was to race out and find someplace where he could look at the pages undisturbed, he didn’t want to raise any red flags. At the door he asked the cop, “When do you think I can get back in for good?”

  “I’d give it a few hours,” the officer said. “Probably around two.”

  “Great.” Wes lifted the shirt. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Wes walked over to the Triumph and stuck the shirt and the pages into the storage compartment behind the seat, then hopped on. There was every chance Detective Andrews would see him on it, but he didn’t care. Not today.

  As he pulled onto China Lake Boulevard his mind was so focused on his concern about Anna he almost didn’t notice the sedan that pulled out of the Desert Rose parking lot a few seconds after he did. It was dark blue and, except for the color, looked very much like one of the cars that had cornered Lars the night before.

  Wes decreased his speed a little to see if the sedan would pass him, but it also slowed, and ke
pt pace about ten car lengths back.

  Wes could feel his anger growing. Forman again. Watching him. He was sure of it. But as much as he would have liked to confront the driver, he needed to know what was in Lars’s papers more.

  He eyed the road ahead, all the while keeping tabs on the sedan.

  Then, at the last possible second, he took a sharp right, and hit the accelerator. He checked his mirror again and grimaced. The sedan had made the turn behind him.

  If he had any doubts he was being followed, they were gone now.

  But the driver of the sedan had made a mistake. He was hanging too far back.

  Wes took a left, then sped to the end of the block, and turned left again before the sedan had even made the first turn. Two intersections on, he turned right and knew he’d lost his pursuer. Just to be sure, though, he made several more random turns.

  The sedan made no reappearance.

  A couple minutes later he spotted the old Carl’s Jr. where Lars had worked in high school. It was as good a choice as anywhere else, so he turned into the lot and parked. He grabbed the papers out of the storage compartment and headed inside.

  After he got a soda, he took a seat in a booth near the back, set his drink out of the way, and placed the papers on the table.

  The top page was some sort of personnel information sheet. In the upper right corner was a black-and-white photograph of Lieutenant Adair. It was the same photo the newspaper had run. To the left was the kind of information you would expect: name, birth date, height, weight, education. Oddly, the line for current address was blank. Under “Family” was written: “Wife—Stacey. Children—Darla, Rachel.” Each name had a corresponding birth date.

  Below that was a list of military postings. Most were configurations of numbers and letters that Wes didn’t recognize. Fleets designations? Maybe squadrons?

  There were several more sections. “Rank History.” “Commendations.” “Special Training.” Most contained few entries or none at all.

  By the lack of information, Wes would have assumed Lieutenant Adair had been only an average officer at best. But there was no such thing as an average fighter pilot.

  More confused now than he’d been when he’d started reading, he set the sheet to the side and looked at the second page. Printed on it was a description of a weapons system the F-18 had been equipped with during its ill-fated flight, called SCORCH. Wes didn’t understand most of the technical jargon, but what he did understand was that the SCORCH system had been integrated into the operating system of the plane itself.