by Rick Mofina
“I love having Daisy. Drop her off in the morning, Dan. I’ll be up.”
Elsen fed Daisy then made himself a ham and cheese sandwich with some coleslaw. Then with Daisy watching he packed.
Enough for a few days, he figured.
It was late when he took Daisy to the park. They had it to themselves. The peace was nice and Elsen thought of his wife, his memories not as painful with the passing of time.
When he got home, he set the alarm on his clock radio and on his phone, charging on his night table. Then he got into bed.
But he couldn’t sleep. Riley Jarrett haunted him.
Between what his heart wanted and what his gut told him, the case was tearing him up.
* * *
McDowell left headquarters and drove north to Cathy Miller’s house.
Cathy had been Jack’s schoolteacher in the second grade, before she lost her five-year-old daughter to a brain tumor. Then Cathy’s husband, a card dealer at Caesars, divorced her.
McDowell had reached out to her to offer support. Later, Cathy offered a shoulder when McDowell’s marriage ended. In those dark times they’d forged a friendship.
Cathy liked looking after Jack and he liked staying with her. It was never stated, it didn’t have to be, but in some way having Jack in her life filled a void for Cathy.
“I’ll be happy to watch him for you while you’re away. I’m taking an online course at home, so it works out,” she told McDowell when she stopped to check on her son.
It was late. Jack was asleep in Cathy’s daughter’s room. Her picture was on the wall. McDowell looked in on him, kissed his cheek.
Rather than wake him only to bring him back in the morning, they decided he would spend the night.
“I’ll drop a bag of his things at your door on my way to the airport. I can’t thank you enough for this, Cathy,” McDowell said.
That night, at home in her bed, McDowell swiped through her tablet looking at pictures of Jack.
Then she played the video of Riley Jarrett and Rykhirt in the Sagebrush, studying the worry on Riley’s face, how he put his hand on her shoulder before she brushed it away.
McDowell swiped to the evidence photos, Rykhirt’s crude bondage sketch and the photos of Riley’s shoe in the desert.
Then she looked at the texts Watson had extracted from Riley’s phone, then the photos, swiping through those of Riley with Caleb, smiling.
Teen bliss. The love of her life.
Was Riley alive and in San Diego, her mind fogged with hormones and emotion? Was she taken in some sort of kidnap-ransom, possibly involving drugs? Was the family covering up another crime?
Or was she buried in the desert?
McDowell put away her tablet. But she remained awake, staring into the cool darkness for a long time before sleep came for her.
DAY 4
Fifty-Five
Nevada
While the detectives contemplated Riley Jarrett’s death, south of Las Vegas Grace lay awake before sunrise in her motel room at the Silver Sagebrush remembering Riley’s birth.
In the delivery room...the rhythm of her contractions...pacing her breaths... Tim clasping her hand...staring up, the lights so bright...the doctor telling her...deep breaths...push, Grace...you’re doing fine...squeezing Tim’s hand, her knuckles whitening...pushing and pushing...here we are...her baby’s first cry...her tiny, scrunched face... Tim’s laugh...his kiss...love, joy and tears...never knowing she could be this happy...holding her daughter...
Grace ached to hold Riley now.
But as the morning sky began growing light, the dark reality settled upon her with chilling images of Rykhirt and Riley. And her shoe. Like a piece of her in the desert.
Please, God, it can’t be true.
She sat up, taking stock of her life and her new family in the stillness. After searching much of the night, they’d all tried to get a couple of hours of rest. John snored beside her, and through the half-opened door to the adjoining room, Blake.
Both asleep.
With their secrets.
It troubled her how they’d acted after John was questioned alone by the detectives with Blake casting doubt on his explanation. Were they hiding something from her? She didn’t know what to believe because she couldn’t think anymore.
Grace plunged her hands into her hair. Her head throbbed, her stomach was roiling. She got up, showered, dressed then checked her phone again, finding no new messages. Unplugging the charge cord, sliding her phone into her pocket, she left the room.
Starting her fourth day without Riley, Grace walked across the big Sagebrush parking lot, believing nothing was real.
But it’s all real.
She prayed Riley had run away—but remembered Rykhirt and her shoe. Grace knew the statistics for child abductions, knew that with every passing minute the likelihood increased that Riley was dead.
The interstate traffic hummed. The hissing, growl and grind of the big rigs coming and going underscored for her that this was one of the country’s biggest truck stops where anything could happen to a fourteen-year-old girl. Grace had seen the signs posted on the bathroom stall doors in four languages: “If you are a victim of human trafficking, call this number...”
Coming to the police mobile command center, she didn’t see McDowell and Elsen. She went to Lieutenant Shanice Jackson.
“Did you get some rest, Grace?”
“Some. Are we any closer to finding her?”
Jackson’s eyes softened, then she offered her coffee. “I’m sorry, nothing new so far, but we’re not letting up with the search.”
“Where are McDowell and Elsen?”
“Working, following every possible lead.”
At a loss, Grace looked to the desert. “It’s so hard. It hurts so much.”
Jackson touched her shoulder. “I know. Don’t lose faith.”
“Thank you.” Grace accepted her encouragement and coffee before walking over to the Silver Sky Search and Rescue command post.
Upward of fifty volunteers had already gathered. Grace threaded through the group thanking each person, receiving hugs and hope.
“We’ll never stop searching,” Warren Taylor told her.
Grace continued, meeting with friends and supporters who’d joined them from California until someone tugged her wrist. She turned to her neighbor Norm Hollister, the retired police officer who’d organized one of the first volunteer groups.
“Oh, Norm.” Grace hugged him. “Thank you.”
“We’re going to find her,” he said.
John and Blake were up now and talking with the searchers. Sherry and Jazmin were there with backpacks loaded, prepared for another day in the desert. Upon seeing Grace they came to her.
“You got some rest?” Jazmin asked.
“A little. Did you guys sleep?”
“A bit,” Jazmin said.
“I didn’t sleep much. I searched as long as I could,” Sherry said.
John and Blake joined them. “Taylor says they’re expanding things today, going out farther,” John said.
“Excuse me,” said a man with a rich, baritone voice.
He had a familiar face, well-coiffed hair, was tanned with bright teeth and was wearing a navy polo shirt and khakis.
“Sorry to interrupt, but you are Grace Jarrett and John Marshall, Riley’s parents?”
“Yes,” Grace said.
“Drake DeKarlow, Top Story News, San Diego.” He extended his free hand while gripping a microphone with his other hand. “Can we get your reaction to information we’ve learned in the search for your daughter?”
“What information?” John asked.
DeKarlow threw a glance to the camera operator behind him, a woman in a faded Bob Dylan T-shirt and cargo shorts, aiming her lens at the family. DeKarlow took a n
otebook from his back pocket then raised his microphone.
“There’s been a possible sighting of Riley in San Diego.”
“What?” Grace looked at DeKarlow, then to family and friends. Jazmin’s and Sherry’s faces registered shocked, teary hope.
“Riley’s in San Diego?” Jazmin said.
“This is fantastic!” Sherry said.
“Is this for real?” Blake asked.
“Is this credible?” John said. “We’ve had false alarms before.”
“Our sources are rock-solid that someone fitting her description was spotted at a gas station,” DeKarlow said. “We understand that Riley’s boyfriend—” DeKarlow looked at his notebook “—Caleb—”
“Caleb Clarke, yes!” Grace was breathing faster.
“Right, that Caleb Clarke was supposed to leave the country but didn’t get on the flight.”
Grace gasped.
“And that a teenage girl fitting Riley’s description was spotted at a gas station near Old Town getting into a vehicle like one reported missing from the Clarke family home in San Diego.”
“Oh my God!” Grace’s voice trembled. “What else do you know?”
DeKarlow glanced at his notes. “Two Las Vegas detectives flew to San Diego this morning.”
Her heart racing, her hands shaking, Grace pulled out her phone and made a call that was answered on the fourth ring.
“McDowell.”
“It’s Grace. Is Riley in San Diego?”
“Grace.”
There was a rush of air, traffic noise. It sounded like McDowell was walking outside.
“Where are you right now?” Grace asked.
“Grace, slow down.”
“Tell me.”
“San Diego but listen—”
“Why didn’t you tell us about the break? Do you have her?”
“No, it’s not like that. Hold on.”
The sound on McDowell’s end was muffled like she was talking to someone. Likely Elsen, Grace thought, running her hand over her face.
DeKarlow nodded to the camera operator to ensure she was getting everything.
McDowell came back. “Grace, we’re here following up on new information. I’m sorry but we can’t discuss it at the moment.”
“I’m her mother! I deserve to know what’s happening—”
“Grace.”
“We’re coming to San Diego!”
“Grace, we suggest you hold tight. We know this is difficult, but what’s going on here could amount to nothing.”
“And it could be everything. We’re coming right now!”
Fifty-Six
Nevada
The road blurred under them as Sherry drove her rented Chrysler well over the speed limit north on Interstate 15 to Las Vegas.
Hope had swelled in Grace’s heart, her skin tingling at the chance—the unconfirmed report—that Riley was alive in San Diego.
It had been less than an hour since they’d learned about the sighting, and from that moment everything had moved in swift, ordered chaos.
The news had spread among the searchers. Other reporters had converged on them. John and Blake brushed them off while searching for flights on their phones. Friends gathered protectively around them as they made their way back to the motel.
“It’s fantastic news, honey, but are you sure rushing back to San Diego is the right thing to do now?” Jazmin asked Grace. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait here until police know for sure?”
Grace took Jazmin’s concern to heart. Leaving now—if it turned out to be the wrong decision—would be like abandoning Riley again. But not going home to find her if she was there would be more than she could bear.
“I have to go,” Grace said without breaking her stride. “I have to believe she’s alive.”
“Okay,” Jazmin said, keeping pace, shifting her backpack on her shoulders. “But you need people who are close to you to stay. I’ll stay and keep looking.”
“Our team will stay too and keep searching with the others,” Norm Hollister said. “So you’ll have everything covered in both places because we don’t know until we know.”
“There are flights every couple of hours,” Blake said, his face in his phone.
“I’ll get tickets for the flight that gets us home in the shortest time,” John said.
“We can get an Uber or Lyft to the airport,” Blake said.
“No, I’ll drive you in my rental,” Sherry said. “It’ll be the fastest way to get you there.”
At the motel, they’d packed their few items into tote bags while Carl Aldrich, operations manager for the Sagebrush, offered to hold their rooms for them in case they returned.
“But I’m hoping you won’t need them again,” he said, wishing them well.
Now, as the miles rolled by, they passed the spot where they’d crashed the RV.
It seemed like a lifetime ago for Grace.
Nothing was there to mark it. Like it never happened.
They shot by it in silence, the air in the car tightening with anxiety as everyone retreated into their thoughts. John and Blake punctuated the quiet, typing on their phones, responding to concerned friends while from time to time Sherry patted Grace’s knee.
“It’s going to be okay,” Sherry said. “Trust me.”
Grace gave her a weak smile, gripping her phone in her shaky hands, staring at pictures of Riley, hoping against hope for a message from her. Or news from McDowell or Elsen. Soon huge casino signs promoting famous acts greeted them at the city’s edge, then the beginnings of the skyline rose in the haze as they neared the exit for McCarran.
“What’s your flight and terminal?” Sherry asked.
John read the details from his phone then said: “Terminal One.”
Sherry followed the airport signs, bringing them to the departure curb for their airline. She helped them unload before exchanging hugs.
“I’m praying with my fingers crossed,” Sherry said.
“I don’t know what to say except thank you,” Grace said.
Blinking back tears, Sherry looked hard into Grace’s eyes then started to say: “I was just thinking—”
“What?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“Just have a safe flight.”
Sherry got into her rental, waved then drove away.
* * *
They got in line for security screening and Blake, careful that no one noticed, reached into his pocket as his lane approached a trash bin.
While some people got rid of bottled waters, he took a take-out food wrapper he’d picked up and surreptitiously used it to drop his burner phone into the garbage.
They moved smoothly through security, arriving at the preboarding area for their gate with time to spare, using it to study their phones, send messages and make calls.
“The reward fund is over twenty thousand now,” Blake said.
Grace reached Jocelyn Robertson, the real estate agent selling their San Diego home.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of what’s happened to our family, Jocelyn.”
“Yes, everyone here’s praying for you.”
“We’re coming home. We need our house.”
Grace asked that Robertson not have any more showings and requested that she take the house off the market until further notice.
“Yes, we can do that. All your furniture and material we used for staging’s in place. Whatever you need. I’ll send you the code for the lockbox.”
* * *
Ever since she’d first called, John had been exchanging voice messages with Cynthia Litchfield in Pittsburgh. This time when he called her she answered.
“Thank you for calling me back, John. How’re you and your family holding up? Is there anything we can do to help?�
��
John looked back to Grace and Blake after stepping away for the call.
“Thank you. We’re doing the best we can. I take it you’ve seen the news reports about our situation, Ms. Litchfield?”
“Cynthia, please. I’ve seen the news. If there’s anything we can do...”
“Given the circumstances, our arrival might be delayed.”
“Don’t worry about that for now. Is there anything else?”
Unsure what kind of news reports she may have seen, he hesitated while determining the best way to frame his next request.
“I just want you to know that not all of the reporting is accurate.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?”
“The accusations about us.”
“Oh?”
“The RV was a rental and whatever the media may be reporting is not true. I want to be clear, and police have acknowledged this, many other people rented the vehicle before us.”
“You’re referring to the question of transporting drugs?”
“Yes.” John cleared his throat. “It’s a matter of geography really, with San Diego being on the border. Police have to be thorough. But we’re not involved in any way, and I hope that has no bearing on your impression—this is a difficult time—you understand, Cynthia?”
A second passed. Then two more.
“Absolutely. It must be devastating for you. Again, John, if there’s anything we can do to help. As a matter of fact, the company made a contribution just this morning to the online reward fund.”
John swallowed as flight information echoed over the public address.
“Thank you.”
“Are you at an airport?”
“Yes, we’ve learned Riley may be in San Diego. Police received a tip.”
“That’s positive, John,” she said as another airport announcement echoed. “I better not keep you. Please know that you’re in our thoughts, and we look forward to you being reunited with Riley and settling here. You’re going to love our company and Pittsburgh.”
