by Rick Mofina
Staring at the travelers walking through the Sagebrush, Rogan checked the time. It was about an hour since Riley Jarrett’s family stopped here, plenty of time for anything to happen to a fourteen-year-old girl at a big, busy truck stop. No one knew how this case would play out. As the first responding officer, Rogan was responsible for the preliminary investigation, and there were key steps he needed to take because anything and everything could be evidence.
“I want to see your security footage.”
“Sure, Nate, that’s where we’re headed.”
“Save all the recorded security footage you have. Depending on how this goes, we may need it.”
“Of course,” Aldrich said. “I’ll check with legal, but we’ll cooperate fully.”
“And no trash gets thrown out. And request everyone on shift stay so we can talk to them. This may take some time, but it could be crucial. At worst it’s an inconvenience, but we’re talking about a child here.”
“Certainly,” Aldrich said.
“And you still have people searching—what about all the restrooms?”
“We have a total of one hundred and sixty stalls,” Aldrich said. “We’ve got staff checking each one. We also have people looking inside and outside, checking the parking lots for her. It’s a big area to cover.”
“And that doesn’t include the desert around us,” Rogan said.
“You know fifty thousand people pass through our area along the interstate every day,” Aldrich said. “And of that, we get ten thousand visitors a day here at the Silver Sagebrush. We’re a twenty-four-seven operation.”
Rogan nodded. The figures were sobering, and it was overwhelming to consider the possibilities of what may have happened to Riley Jarrett. Rogan needed to organize a more comprehensive search but couldn’t do it alone. He reached for his phone to request more specialized units to assist and hand it off to detectives with the Missing Persons Detail.
As they continued across the complex, a woman’s voice announced a message through the Sagebrush’s public address system: “Riley Jarrett, please come to the information desk in the main lobby... Riley Jarrett, please...”
Minutes later, down the hall of a far section, they came to a door identified as “Security.” Aldrich opened it to a windowless room with toned-down lighting and the ambient glow of control panels, buttons, switches, keyboards and dozens of video monitors, each rolling different streams of images from inside and outside the Sagebrush.
A man in his twenties, with a shaved head and round glasses, sat at the controls.
“Travis, Officer Nate Rogan. Nate, Travis Quinn, our new surveillance chief.”
They shook hands and Quinn continued working at his keyboard, the banks of video monitors reflecting in his glasses.
Rogan’s focus went to the screens and footage rolling from all the facilities inside the complex, the motel, all the truck pumps, the gas pumps, the expansive parking lots, the continuous stream of traffic coming and going.
“Do you have her on camera, Travis?” Rogan asked.
Quinn took a breath as he scratched the stubble on his chin.
“I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Five
Nevada
Phone pressed to her ear, Grace’s mind raced as the Nevada Highway Patrol’s SUV threaded southbound traffic on Interstate 15 and she reconnected with Brandy at the Silver Sagebrush.
“Yes, ma’am, we’re still paging her and the police are here searching.”
“Please have her call me the moment you find her! We’ll be there soon!”
“I will.”
When Blake saw that the call had ended he said, “I’m sorry I lied about checking on her.”
“Don’t, Blake. Not now.”
Grace ignored the stiffness in her shoulders, her arms and her bandaged hands. She concentrated on the two phones on her lap, keeping an eye on hers, hoping that Riley had found a way to send her a message.
None had come.
She turned on Riley’s phone, desperate to find a clue as to who she might’ve been talking to before she’d confiscated it.
Grace knew Riley’s password because ever since Grace got Riley her first phone she had insisted that she would have access to it to make spot checks. As Riley got older she grew resistant to what she considered an invasion of her privacy and lack of her mother’s trust. Grace had promised not to be intrusive, but there were predators online; Riley was fourteen and those were Grace’s rules.
But right now all she found were a few older exchanges with friends about music and clothes.
Grace sagged.
“Blake, I can’t find any of her messages from this morning.”
Without looking from his phone he said, “That’s because she uses apps with messages that delete themselves after a few minutes, or longer, whatever she sets it to.”
“What?”
“I thought you knew,” Blake said. “You see only what Riley wants you to see on her phone.”
How could I be so naive? Believing all the mundane stuff I saw was everything when for all I know, she could’ve been sexting with Caleb, or anyone.
What else don’t I know about her?
At that moment Riley’s phone pinged with a notification, a text from her friend Dakota: You there? What’s up? You lose service? Get back to me.
Grace caught her breath then began typing.
Dakota, this is Riley’s mom. I have her phone. We’re in Nevada. If you hear from her, please tell her to call me ASAP!
A few seconds passed before Dakota answered.
Good one, Ri. Seriously why’d you stop talking to me? What’s up?
Grace typed: It’s not Riley. And it’s no joke. I’m Riley’s mom and I need her to call me now.
A moment passed then Grace sent another text.
Dakota, please tell all Riley’s friends that if they hear from her, I need her to call me now, please.
Another moment passed.
This for real? You’re her mom?
Yes.
What’s wrong? She all right? Is everything OK?
Grace glanced at her bandages. No need to go into everything, she thought before typing: Yes. I just need her to call me, please.
This for sure is real?
YES IT’S REAL DAKOTA!!!
Sorry OK I’ll pass the message round.
Grace let out a breath. She may have embarrassed Riley, but she didn’t care. She turned to Blake, who was seated beside her in the back of the SUV, pushing back her anger at him for the lie because she needed his help.
“Can you reach any of her friends? Maybe she borrowed a phone at the truck stop and contacted them to complain about us leaving her? Maybe you could get a message to her?”
“I’m on it, and I’m checking her social media accounts in case she got online and posted something for friends there.”
Grace looked at Blake’s bandages, grappling with her emotions, facing the fact they’d survived a crash.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, Grace.” He glanced from his phone, offering her a little smile. “I’m okay.”
Blake had messed up but he was a good kid. Like his dad, she thought. The two of them had endured so much and now this. Grace was thankful no one had been hurt badly. She looked to the front. Trooper Gwen Sanchez was at the wheel and talking softy into her radio. John was beside her, on his phone, preliminary police accident report in his hand, sorting crash and insurance matters with the RV rental company.
Grace looked to the desert, silent and beautiful moments ago; now she saw its yawning emptiness as she grappled with Riley’s absence.
Is she so angry with me for Caleb and the move that she’s punishing me? No, she wouldn’t deliberately do something like this. Would she? Riley’s not perfect but she’s not
like that.
It’s my fault. Why didn’t I wake her? I was angry, too. But I’m her mother. I’m the adult. I didn’t handle things well. I was hard on her, not giving enough consideration to her state of mind about all the changes in her life. She screamed them at me: breaking up with Caleb, moving across the country, leaving her friends, leaving Sherry. And those changes had compounded the earlier ones, my marriage to John, becoming a new family, even going back to the most horrible change: her dad’s death.
The circumstances over how Tim died began to rise, forcing Grace to grapple with her guilt. It was always there, in an unhealed, guarded corner of her heart. Blinking back tears, she fought against letting it overwhelm her now as the Sagebrush came into view.
Sanchez guided the SUV to the main entrance where two highway patrol and two Las Vegas Metro Ford pickups were parked, giving Grace a sense of relief and unease because the police presence underscored the seriousness of Riley’s case.
“Ten-four,” Sanchez said into her radio. “They want us to go to the security room.”
“Did they find her?” Grace asked.
“No,” Sanchez said.
Grace’s stomach knotted as they walked quickly through the complex, amid the bustle of hundreds of travelers. John took her hand and they cut through the crowds, searching faces, praying for this to be over.
Nate Rogan and Carl Aldrich were with a group of police and staff waiting in the hall outside the room as the family approached. Grace tried to read their faces while the officers and staff made notice of the family’s bandages and torn clothes.
There were quick greetings and introductions.
“I don’t see her,” Grace said. “Did you find her?”
“Not yet,” Rogan said. “We’ve got people doing a sweep of the complex and detectives from our Missing Persons Detail are on their way.”
“Oh God.” Grace struggled to hold herself together.
“But she has to be here. Right?” John said.
“Come inside,” Rogan said.
Six
Nevada
Grace, John and Blake were taken into the dimly lit control room.
Working at the control panels, Travis Quinn greeted them then indicated the banks of monitors.
“Please look at number nineteen.”
In slow motion, amid crisp clear images of people shopping in the convenience store, they saw a girl in a white T-shirt. At one point she faced the camera, revealing the stylized Friends graphic on her shirt. Then the girl’s face was clear as she stared in the direction of the camera before walking out of the frame.
Grace’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God, that’s her! That’s Riley!”
“We can confirm she was here and the time,” Rogan said.
“So where is she now?” Grace asked. “Where’d she go?”
“We don’t know,” Quinn said.
“But you must know!” John indicated the banks of monitors covering every corner of the truck stop. “You got dozens of cameras here. Track her through the building.”
“We can’t,” Quinn said.
“Why not?”
“There’s a glitch,” Aldrich said.
“We have cameras everywhere,” Quinn said, “inside and outside, for liability and security. Two days ago while updating our software, we experienced problems.”
“What problems?” John asked.
“We’re not sure why yet, but we discovered most of our surveillance points were not storing recordings. They’re all live streaming,” Quinn said, “but most of them are not recording. So we don’t know where Riley went after the store.”
John swore, then added: “I don’t believe this!”
“We’re working on fixing it, but that won’t help us right now.” Rogan thought a moment, then turned to Aldrich. “What about your motel?”
“We don’t have cameras inside the motel,” Aldrich said.
“I’m talking about the exterior. Are they recording?”
“Yes, they’re on a different network,” Quinn said. “We already checked the motel footage for the time period from when the family arrived.”
“Run through it again,” Rogan said.
Quinn operated the controls for the cameras covering the exterior front, rear and walkways of the Sagebrush motel, cueing up the images. He ran the footage. They studied the sprinkling of people, couples, families and individuals coming and going, moved in fast motion. But no one in the series fit Riley Jarrett’s description.
“We have to keep searching for her!” Grace said. “She has to be here!”
“We’re doing all we can. Carl’s got people searching the complex,” Rogan said. “Right now we’re going to need individual, preliminary statements. To expedite this, my colleagues will take you into separate offices here. Grace, you’ll go with Officer Kilroy and Blake, you go with Officer Jenkins. John, we’ll go to the table in the corner here.”
“But we’re wasting time,” John said. “We should all be out there looking for her.”
“Sir,” Rogan said, “I assure you we have people doing that and more people coming. Your statements will help us.”
Once separated, Grace, John and Blake each related their account of events surrounding Riley’s disappearance. When they finished, Grace and Blake returned to the control room where John had grown impatient.
“It’s now nearly two hours since we stopped here,” John said. “You should’ve set up roadblocks.”
Rogan said: “We’d do that if it was clear she had been abducted—”
“Abducted?” Grace’s eyes widened.
“—and so far it’s unclear what’s happened,” Rogan continued.
“Can you put out an Amber Alert, or something?” Grace asked.
“Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—this case doesn’t meet the criteria at this time. We’ll consider it but we have no confirmation of an abduction, or a suspect, or a vehicle. Maybe she wandered off, or is lost?” Rogan said. “But we’ve alerted all of our people and the NHP, and we’ll expand our search.”
At that moment John saw that Blake, who’d been scrutinizing the monitors, stepped closer to one.
“Dad. There.” Blake pointed. “Number twenty-six.”
All eyes went to the monitor at one of the gas pump lines.
Aldrich told Quinn: “Pull in tighter.”
The camera closed in on a white SUV, bringing the passenger side into focus.
“I see her!” Grace turned to John.
But John wasn’t there.
He’d flown out of the control room.
Seven
Nevada
John ran outside to the gas pumps toward the white SUV he’d seen in the security monitor.
A person was in the rear passenger seat wrapped in a blanket, head leaning against the closed window.
“Riley!” John shouted.
The bearded man fueling the SUV had on a tank top, his arms sleeved with tattoos. He didn’t distinguish John’s voice above the noise of cars and trucks arriving and leaving. He didn’t turn from watching the digits blur on the display of the self-serve pump.
As John got to the SUV, the blanket shifted below the window frame but not before he saw flashes of a white shirt and brown hair—Riley’s hair—spilling from it.
John slapped his palms on the glass.
The head lifted weakly, long hair curtained in front of the face of a young girl who appeared groggy.
“Riley!”
John tried the door handle. It was locked. Over his shoulder he glimpsed Grace and the others approaching. Some of the officers were reaching for radios just as the man at the pump grasped that John was attempting to open the door of his SUV.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The man replaced the nozzle. “What the hell! Back off!�
��
John tried the front passenger door handle.
The man moved around his vehicle drawing his holstered handgun, extending his muscled arms to point it at John.
“Hey! Asshole! I said back off now!”
“That’s my daughter!” John pointed to the girl. Witnessing the drama unfolding, other customers moved away, some crouched for cover, others reached for phones. A woman screamed: “He’s going to shoot!” One man went into his car for his handgun.
Rogan and other officers, their weapons drawn, radios crackling, had taken positions around the gun holder. “Put your weapon on the ground, sir! Get on your knees, twine your fingers behind your head! Now!”
The gunman didn’t move. “Tell the asshole to back off!”
“Back away, John!” Rogan shouted. Then to the gunman: “Put your weapon down, now!” Rogan repeated. “John! Raise your hands, step back and sit on the ground now!”
NHP units roared to the pumps, blocking the SUV. John backed away. Seeing few options, the man slowly placed his gun on the ground and officers moved quickly to place him and John in handcuffs and recover his gun, defusing the situation and ordering others to stay away.
Rogan went to the rear passenger door and peered at the girl.
“Open the door for me,” Rogan told her, holding up his badge.
A few seconds passed, locks clicked and Rogan opened the door. The girl appeared to be in her midteens. She brushed her hair aside, blinking as if not fully awake. Rogan turned and indicated for Grace to approach.
Hands covering her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, Grace moved closer shaking her head slowly.
“It’s not her. It’s not Riley.”
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Rogan asked.
“Olivia Vaughan,” she slurred.
“How old are you?”
“Sizzzteen.”
“She’s my niece,” the handcuffed man said. “She’s sedated because she just had her wisdom teeth taken out in Vegas. I’m taking her home to her mom, my sister, in Primm. I’m with the Guard. I got a permit for my gun and paperwork from the dentist for Olivia.”
