by Rick Mofina
The sirens grew louder, and Bonnar glanced around wondering where Sike was.
“Let her go.”
“I’m not going back to prison,” Rykhirt said.
“Let her go and we can talk.”
Bonnar glimpsed Sike ahead of them, crouching behind a van as Rykhirt backed closer and closer to it.
“Frayer—” Bonnar softened her voice, keeping her palms out “—we can talk. Let this lady go.”
“I can’t. I can’t go back.”
Rykhirt continued moving backward with the poodle yipping at his ankles, distracting him, when Sike lunged at him with rocket force, taking him—and the woman—down, slamming him hard to the ground and sending the knife flying, rolling him to his stomach and handcuffing him.
Bonnar comforted the woman, who was bleeding, crying and holding her poodle as it licked her face. Paramedics were called and two patrol cars arrived, sirens wailing, lights wigwagging. Motel guests were watching the scene from the ground and the upper deck.
When Sike read Rykhirt his rights, he began mumbling.
“It’s so messed up. I just wanted to be her friend.”
Thirty-One
Nevada
Grace Jarrett struggled to pay attention.
Silver Sky Search and Rescue’s incident commander, Warren Taylor, was briefing the volunteers at the group’s command post in the Sagebrush parking lot. Upward of sixty women and men of all ages, wearing fluorescent orange vests, T-shirts, hats and backpacks with radios clipped to the straps had stopped their lives, left their jobs, to rush down here and help in the search for Riley.
Grace stood among them with John and Blake. She was dressed in donated sweatpants, and a T-shirt with “Nevada” arched across it and fighting to concentrate on what Taylor was saying, but all she could think of was the detectives showing them photos of a strange man who may know something about Riley and then that poor girl murdered nearby last year. It was all too much.
Am I losing my hold on reality? Wandering and collapsing in the desert last night and now I can’t stop fearing Riley was taken by a stranger.
Grace struggled to focus on the search, but she’d lost track of time. Was it twenty minutes or over an hour since McDowell and Elsen had asked her about the strange man, saying they had no evidence Riley had been hurt? How could they be sure? Seeing those photos of the man had shaken her, and she was still reeling. Now, Grace battled to grasp what Taylor was telling the group about the next stage of the search as he pointed to a large map affixed to the side of the command vehicle.
“We’re liaising with Metro Missing Persons. We’ll deploy teams to scout prime areas,” he said. “We’ll assign others to work with Silver Sagebrush security to again comb the facility and search surrounding areas.”
He moved onto technical aspects, making a 360-degree circle with his hand over the map, taking into account Riley’s height, weight, her condition, estimating a pace of three to five miles an hour in any direction.
“We’ve calculated these search parameters, which should put us in close proximity of where Riley could be.” He paused as a police helicopter passed overhead then said: “As the sun climbs, we’re looking at desert temps of up to one-ten, one-fifteen. She could be dehydrated. There are snakes, coyotes, mountain lions; a lot of factors.” He pointed to the distant west side of the interstate, noting some searchers would be transported to search areas there.
“We’ll never quit searching until we find her,” Taylor, a retired US Marine major, told the group, concluding by directing people to line up to receive assignments and form teams. Grace looked at John. His face, still bearing abrasions from the crash, was taut, barely masking his stress, having endured tragedy in the past, and now this with Riley.
And there was Blake beside her. His stoicism had given way to worry, evident in his sober expression. He was her son. She knew she had to get past her anger at him for lying to her about checking on Riley.
“How are you holding up?” she asked him.
He looked at her, his eyes glistening, heavy with concern and something else behind them, as if he were wrestling with a force buried deep inside, something Grace couldn’t identify.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.
Blake looked to the desert and said: “I’m scared.”
“I’m scared, too.”
“We’ve got to find her.” He looked back to her, tears standing in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose her. I know what that’s like. We can’t lose her.”
Grace brushed his hair. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
Blake swallowed then looked at his phone. “Look, some friends have started an online fundraiser for a reward for information that leads to us finding Riley.”
Grace looked at the site on his phone.
“See, donations are up to four thousand with more coming.”
Nodding, she almost smiled, then she heard her name spoken by a familiar voice, turned and saw her friend from the hospital in San Diego.
“Jazmin!”
Jazmin Reyna took Grace into a long, crushing hug. Jazmin’s beaming eyes and warm, strong smile lifted Grace.
“Oh, thank you!” Grace said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“You couldn’t keep us away.”
Jazmin gestured to more than a dozen people nearby, Grace’s friends and coworkers from the University of California, San Diego Medical Center. Like Jazmin they were wearing T-shirts, shorts, backpacks and holding walking sticks and bottled water.
“A caravan of us left San Diego super early this morning,” Jazmin said. “More people are coming. You’re not alone, Grace. We’re going to find Riley.”
Grace moved to give each of them her heartfelt thanks. Not long after, a man approached John.
“Norm Hollister, John.”
“Yes, Norm. You made it.”
“Our team just got here. Left when it was still dark, made good time. One of the churches donated a bus. A couple folks flew. They should be here.”
“I don’t know what to say,” John said.
“No need to say anything. In times like this, we pull together.”
Blake then recognized some of Riley’s friends—Dakota, Claire and Ashley, who’d arrived with their parents to join the search. They went to Blake to offer support.
Awed by the small army of Californians who had come to help them, John, Blake and Grace moved among the people, embracing their consolation. Grace felt their love, for here they were, in the process of moving away from San Diego, yet their friends and neighbors had traveled hundreds of miles across the state to come to their aid. It meant so much to her. She went from person to person, thanking them when suddenly she stopped and cupped her hands to her face.
Sherry Penmark had just arrived and was talking with one of the search officials.
A sob was rising in Grace’s throat, emotion swirling in her heart.
Sherry.
Grace could never repay her for all that she’d done for her and Riley over the years; for helping them cope with Tim’s death; for helping Riley deal with losing her dad; for becoming a member of their family. Sherry, who had worked with Tim and was also devastated by his death, had stepped up, helped them heal, helped Grace find the courage to keep going, becoming a friend, a nanny, a housekeeper, you name it, encouraging her to date again, helping her meet John and start over. And when they’d decided to move to Pittsburgh, Grace was convinced that despite all the promises they’d made to keep in touch, they would inevitably fade from each other’s lives.
But here she is. I’m so blessed to still have her in my life.
Grace went to her with open arms. “Sherry, you really came.”
The two women hugged. Holding Sherry was balm for Grace.
Like the others, Sherry was prepared, wearing jeans, T-shirt, a backpack and h
iking boots. “I got an early flight from Salt Lake, grabbed the stuff I needed.”
“But your aunt, shouldn’t you be with her?”
“I talked it over with her doctor and my uncle. My aunt’s fairly stable, for now. I told them I needed to be here to do whatever I can. They’ll keep me updated but they said it would be good for me to be here.”
Grace blinked back tears of gratitude.
“How’re John and Blake doing?” Sherry asked.
“They’re pretty shaken, but they’re doing the best they can.”
Sherry studied her face, the scrapes, her bandages, her anguish, then took her aside. “I want you to tell me how this happened.” She nodded to Hollister. “Norm got the word out last night to your network of friends. They say that the security video here failed. One of the lawyers said you guys could sue.”
Grace shook her head and through her tears detailed how events had unfolded, described the breakup with Caleb, the argument, driving off, the crash, the drugs, being arrested, the unsolved murder, photos of the strange man. While listening, Sherry nodded, passed her a tissue and asked a few gentle questions.
When Grace finished Sherry took her hands. “Listen to me, Grace. You’re going to survive this because we’re going to find her. Okay?”
“I hope that’s true.”
“You’ve survived bad things before.”
“But...”
“But what?”
Grace pulled away, searched around for nothing.
“What is it?” Sherry asked.
“Don’t you see? This is my fault.”
“No, stop.”
“I left her! I didn’t check on her myself! What kind of a mother does that?”
Grace began sobbing and Sherry pulled her close, holding her, calming her, soothing her and assuring her that they would find Riley.
“This isn’t your fault,” Sherry said. “Stop blaming yourself. You’re going to get through this. Do you hear me? You’re going to find her.”
Eventually Grace regained much of her composure. Brushing away tears, she thanked Sherry for restoring hope and giving her strength. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Sherry smiled.
Grace’s phone rang and she answered.
“Grace, this is Detective McDow—” Static filled the connection.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“...development...... Ry... Las Veg...”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear—”
The call ended and Grace clutched at her phone. What if there had been a development?
“What was that?” Sherry asked.
“One of the detectives was trying to tell me something.”
Sherry looked over Grace’s shoulder, and Grace turned to follow her focus. A man with a TV news camera and a woman holding a microphone were talking with Lieutenant Jackson at the mobile command center. Another news crew was arriving. The operator pointed the camera skyward as the police search helicopter made a loud pass. Nearby, a man with a camera around his neck was focusing for still shots of volunteer searchers.
“Excuse me.”
Another man approached, holding a microphone. He was tanned, wearing sunglasses, had well-coiffed hair, brilliant white teeth. With him was another man in a Las Vegas Golden Knights T-shirt, camera on his shoulder, lens aimed at Grace.
“Are you Grace Jarrett, Riley’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“Kirk Keating with KLKZ. Can you give us a sec? We’d like to get your reaction.”
“Reaction? To the search?”
“The arrest.”
“What arrest?”
“Metro just arrested a man in Las Vegas in connection with the case, a convicted sex offender from California.”
His words hung in the air as if Grace had witnessed an explosion. Her chest tightened; she fought to breathe.
Thirty-Two
Nevada
A sex offender had taken Riley?
The TV reporter’s revelation was a gut punch, staggering Grace.
“This can’t be,” she said to him.
“He was arrested a short time ago at the Dreamy Breeze Motor Inn near the Strip.” Kirk Keating produced his phone and showed her. “Our desk got this video from a guest.”
Grace and Sherry viewed shaky footage of a chaotic, dramatic scene taken from a balcony of two officers confronting a man holding a woman at knifepoint, tackling him to the pavement, handcuffing him.
“Oh my God! Where’s Riley?” Grace demanded.
“She was not with him, according to our sources.” Keating glanced at the camera operator. Eagerly taking advantage, they both stepped closer to her. Keating inched his microphone nearer as Grace called out for John and Blake.
Within seconds other news people crowded around the family and began firing off questions.
“Can you explain how your daughter went missing?” a reporter asked.
Grace provided basic facts about driving off thinking Riley was asleep in the RV. “It was all a mistake—it was—then there was an accident.”
Another reporter asked: “Does your daughter know Frayer Ront Rykhirt?”
“Who?” Grace asked.
“The man police just arrested?”
“No, she wouldn’t know him—”
“Did you know he’s a registered sex offender in California?”
“We don’t know anything about him.” Grace shook her head.
“Does your family have any connection to Rykhirt?” another reporter asked.
“Please.” John held his hand up. “We really don’t know—”
“Did your daughter know Eva Marie Garcia, the Riverside teen who was murdered in the area last year?”
“No,” John said.
“We understand police found evidence of illegal drugs in your RV?”
“No,” John said. “That’s got nothing to do with us—”
“Is there a drug connection to the case?”
“What?” John said. “No! The RV’s not ours. We rented it.”
“Have you been questioned by police?” Keating asked.
“We’ve been helping them,” John said, “but we really don’t have—”
“Sir, what’s your line of work in San Diego?” Keating asked.
“I’m in corporate communications and Grace is a nurse.”
“Where were you heading and why?”
“We’re preparing to move to Pittsburgh because of a new opportunity,” John said. “What’s this got to do with...”
“Who’re you?” A reporter nodded to Blake.
“He’s our son,” Grace said.
“Can we get the spelling of your names and your ages?”
“But why?” Grace asked.
“News stories may help locate your daughter. The more people know, the more they care,” a female reporter said. The sympathy in her blue eyes seemed sincere to Grace, and she gave them the information.
“And can we get your phone numbers, so we can update you if we learn anything?”
Grace and John provided their numbers.
“Thank you.” The woman smiled. “One important question, as a mother myself, Grace, could you tell me, if there’s one thing you could say to Frayer Rykhirt right now, what would that be?” She extended her microphone. The station flag on it read KV 99 FirstFront News.
“I just—I just—I just want my daughter back.” Tears flowed as Grace broke down, her world spinning with John and Blake steadying her as Sherry returned, the family unaware that she’d left to bring back two Metro officers with her.
“Okay, people,” Lieutenant Jackson said to the press as she and Officer Rogan collected the family, moving them toward the police command center. “We’ll issue an updated statement for you very soon. So le
t’s give these folks some space. We’ll let you know whatever we can when we can. Meantime our search operations are ongoing.”
* * *
Once they were all inside the center John said, “We’ve got to go to Las Vegas, to talk to this man you arrested.”
“I understand,” Jackson said. “That’s all being taken care of. This is a police matter. I know it’s not easy, but the best thing you can do is stay here and hold tight.”
Grace sat down and sobbed. John moved to comfort her as Blake looked out the open door to the desert, the search activity, biting back his tears, saying nothing.
Glancing around the small center, John noticed something.
“Where’re Elsen and McDowell?”
Jackson didn’t answer.
“Lieutenant, earlier when they showed us photos of a man, they said he may know something about Riley. McDowell tried to call Grace. Please tell us. We deserve to know. Why are we now being updated by reporters?”
“The detectives have gone to Las Vegas to talk to Frayer Rykhirt, the man in the photos. Things are moving very fast. I know it’s upsetting, I’m sorry. That’s all I can tell you right now.”
Thirty-Three
Las Vegas, Nevada
In the minutes after Frayer Ront Rykhirt’s arrest, more Metro Police converged on the Dreamy Breeze Motor Inn.
Marked patrol units took up points at every entrance and exit, sealing the entire facility.
A command post was established; Elsen and McDowell conferred with ranking officers determining actions to be taken as more investigative and support details and vehicles arrived.
Taking quick, coordinated steps, police ordered all housekeeping to be halted. All laundry and trash pickup was stopped, dumpsters searched for potential evidence linked to Riley. Elsen and McDowell questioned the clerks at the reception desk to learn whether Rykhirt was alone when he had checked in, his demeanor, if he made calls from his room phone, any requests, or received any deliveries.
Records were checked, security camera footage reviewed.
At the same time, K-9 teams went through every zone in an effort to track Rykhirt’s travels as other officers went door-to-door searching rooms, questioning guests, showing them Rykhirt’s and Riley Jarrett’s photos. Still other officers canvassed surrounding businesses.
