by Rick Mofina
“But we know.” Sherry softened her voice. “Tim’s car slid off the road in a storm that night.”
“There’s more.”
Sherry set their cups, milk and sugar on the table. Then she joined Grace, sitting across from her.
“It started a few months before,” Grace said. “I was on the phone with Tim in Chicago when the washer broke, flooding the laundry room. Tim tells me a repair company costs too much. He says to call Miguel over. He’s a contractor and friend. He can fix it. I called Miguel. He was so nice. He fixed it but wouldn’t accept money, so I baked him an apple pie. Jazmin said he liked apple pies.”
“That’s it?”
“Miguel came back again, fixed the dishwasher and a leaky faucet in the bathroom. While he worked, I’d pass him tools and we’d talk. One time he asked if I got lonely with Tim working in Chicago.” She swallowed. “It was very innocent. I said yes, sometimes I get a little lonely.”
“Oh?” Sherry said with a trace of judgment.
“Nothing happened.”
Sherry sipped tea. “Good.”
“But there was something between us, an attraction.”
“He’s a good-looking man.”
“One day Miguel saw me in the garden and we talked. He said Jazmin and Cleo were away. I said Riley was at a sleepover. Joking how we were both single for the night, I invited him over for wine.” Grace stopped, a tear rolled down her face. “We talked, we drank...we kissed.”
“Grace, you don’t have to do this.”
“We ended up in my bedroom.” Grace stared at nothing. “It was the night Tim flew home from Chicago, surprising me...”
“Grace.”
“We were undressed...but we hadn’t started...you know...anything...but that’s when I heard Tim downstairs. I panicked, scrubbed my face with cold water, threw on my robe. I had to get Miguel out. So I went downstairs and pretended I was sick with a cold and headache.”
“He believed you?”
“He seemed puzzled, confused at first. But I’m sure I looked the part, and he must’ve been tired from the flight.” Grace’s chin crumpled. “Because when I sent him back out in the storm to get medicine, he...he...” Grace covered her face. “He smiled. He smiled and went out to his death. I sent my husband to his death after betraying him.”
Sherry’s jaw opened slightly, but before she could say anything Grace’s phone rang.
She looked at it, took a moment, then, brushing tears away, she answered.
“Grace, this is Michelle McDowell. Have you been contacted by the media this morning?”
Puzzled, Grace paused then said: “No, why?”
“Are you alone? Do you have someone with you right now?”
Grace glanced at Sherry. “I’m home with my friend. What’s happening?”
McDowell hesitated, Grace could hear her breathing quicken. “Grace, I apologize. The reason we’re not there in person is because we wanted you to hear it from us first—”
“Oh God—”
“—before the press informed you—”
“Informed me of what? What is it, please?”
“Grace, this morning...” McDowell swallowed. “Grace, this morning a young woman’s body was discovered near Baker, California.”
“No—” Grace began shaking.
“The San Bernardino coroner is working on identification,” McDowell said. “It’s not yet confirmed but you have to brace yourself—There are elements that point to it being Riley.”
“NO!”
“I’m so sorry, Grace.”
“Oh God, no!” Between sobs she said: “I need to see her! I’m going to Baker to see her!”
“You have to stay home. There are procedures. We expect more information.”
“I have to see her! Please!” Her grip weakening on her phone, Grace sobbed, caught her breath. “You said it’s not confirmed, so there’s a chance it’s not Riley.”
“I’m so sorry, Grace, but that’s all I can say right now, it just happened.”
“You tell me when you know—you tell me!”
An aching groan erupted from the pit of Grace’s stomach. She began pounding her fist on the kitchen table—the table where she’d braided Riley’s hair, helped with homework, served birthday cakes and argued with her about Caleb.
Sensing what the call was, Sherry put one arm around Grace, catching her phone when it slipped from her hand, taking it up and speaking briefly with McDowell, sobbing as the news was relayed to her.
After the call, Sherry hugged Grace. “The detectives promised to call back as soon as they know more. They’re going to talk to John and Blake so they can get home soon. Let’s get you upstairs. You need to lie down.”
With Sherry’s help, Grace climbed the stairs, turning to Riley’s room where she threw herself facedown upon her daughter’s bed. Clawing at the sheets, pulling them to her mouth, Grace sobbed.
Eighty-Two
Nevada
Holding the grip of his gun, Rogan eyed the teen. “I’d like you to keep your hands where I can see them and stand up.”
Rogan knew Caleb Clarke was a juvenile sought in connection with the missing California girl; and that the body of a female fitting her description had been found about an hour’s drive from where they stood. But he was uncertain of what he had here, exactly.
“Let’s go. Stand up.”
The teen complied.
“Extend your wrists for me.”
He cooperated, staring at nothing as Rogan handcuffed him then walked him to his police truck and stood him at the hood. He patted him down for any weapons then dug into the teen’s pockets, pulling out his wallet. His California driver’s license showed him to be Caleb Robert Clarke of San Diego, aged seventeen.
There was also the issue of the vehicle reported missing, possibly stolen, out of San Diego, Rogan thought, not wanting to take any chances.
“You have the right to remain silent...” he began, reading Caleb his rights as he placed into an evidence bag all of Caleb’s items, his wallet, keys and phone—the screen saver showed him and Riley Jarrett together, smiling at the beach.
The SUV would need processing. Rogan called dispatch with an update and request for backup and crime scene investigators.
Glancing at Caleb, Rogan wondered if he’d just killed Riley Jarrett and left her in the desert near Baker.
Finishing all he could do before other investigators arrived, Rogan looked at Caleb.
“Want some water?”
Caleb stared off at nothing without speaking.
“Where’s your girlfriend, Caleb? Where’s Riley Jarrett?”
A long moment passed, then with tears in his eyes he turned to Rogan.
“Don’t you know?”
“Don’t I know what?”
“Riley’s dead.”
Eighty-Three
San Diego, California
Sherry rubbed Grace’s shoulders and tried to comfort her. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet. We’ll find her.”
Grace sat up in Riley’s bed, dragging her hands across her tearstained face. “I’m being punished for my mistakes.”
“That’s not true.”
“I’m a horrible mother, a horrible wife.”
“Stop, Grace, you can’t lose hope, not while there’s a chance.”
Grace’s phone rang and she tensed, staring at it. It was McDowell again.
She looked at Sherry, both of them knowing this could be confirmation—the call to tell her Riley was dead.
“Want me to answer?” Sherry offered.
Grace shook her head, gulped air and answered, her voice trembling. “Yes.”
“It’s Michelle.”
“Is Riley dead?”
McDowell paused.
“We’re still waiting
on confirmation,” McDowell said. “You wanted me to keep you up-to-date. Grace, there’s another new development, another new factor.”
“What?”
“A short time ago, Caleb Clarke was discovered near the Sagebrush. That’s about an hour’s drive from Baker.”
“You found Caleb?” Grace said. “Was Riley with him?”
“No.”
“But he must know if—if—or where she is. Can I talk to him?”
“No, I’m sorry, Grace, listen. He’s being held for questioning. I know this is a lot to take in. That’s the latest I can share. I promise I’ll keep you updated.”
After the call, Grace told Sherry what McDowell had told her.
“Caleb?” Sherry bit her bottom lip. “Okay, we have to stay positive. He must know something if he made it all the way to Nevada where the search is.”
At a loss, Grace shook her head, noticing she’d missed a call on her phone from Elliott Downey, the reporter with the Press-Enterprise in Riverside. Thinking he might know more than what McDowell had told her, she was considering calling him back when she looked at Sherry. She was concentrating on Riley’s pillow—or rather, what was under it. The corner of a tattered paperback peeked out.
“What’s that?” Sherry said.
Grace reached for it, showing her. It was a copy of Shakespeare’s tragic play, Romeo and Juliet.
“Riley loves this story.” Grace fanned the pages but she stopped, noticing something unusual.
In the death scene, in every instance, the names Romeo and Juliet had been crossed out in blue ink. They’d been replaced with the names Riley and Caleb.
The book fell from Grace’s hand as she released a banshee wail.
Eighty-Four
Death Valley Road, California
Diane Stalling was meticulous. As the deputy coroner investigator, she controlled the scene where the body had been discovered. She was aware of the missing person case in Nevada and the need for identification. Stalling had been thorough in her work and was nearly finished now. Positive identification had not yet been made.
The deceased was a white female, approximate age range in the midteens. Cause of death yet to be ascertained. There would be an autopsy.
Stalling had taken in the context of the surroundings, the weather, location and clothing. She had examined the body’s position and lividity, searched for nearby objects that may have been involved in the death. She couldn’t conclude any obvious external signs of violence or if death was natural and occurred at this location.
One unusual sign was the fact that the deceased was found without footwear. A search of the area had failed to yield any shoes. There were signs of bites on the legs and arms. That animals may have scattered shoes was a possibility, she thought, making notes and taking photos before waving to a deputy.
“I’ve got to turn her. I need your help.”
“Sure.”
Stalling passed him a set of gloves. While he tugged them on, she set down a plastic tarpaulin then pointed which way to go as she took the shoulders and he took the hips.
Hair laced and matted the face, which was bloated, discolored and crusted with maggots. The deceased was unrecognizable.
Stalling gently examined the head for wounds, finding a gash, which could have been blunt trauma from being struck or falling on a rock. Stalling would examine the corresponding area for signs of tissue, blood and hair.
The deceased was wearing a soiled white T-shirt.
Stalling examined the chest and midsection for wounds, injuries. She’d already searched the rear pockets of the shorts and found nothing. Reaching into the left front, she found nothing. Then she slid her gloved hand into the right front pocket. She felt something.
Slowly she withdrew it, looked at it, then at the deputy.
“Well, this should help identify her,” Stalling said.
Eighty-Five
San Diego, California
Riley is walking away from Rykhirt and heading to the food court just as the picture turns to snow.
Rykhirt leaves the Sagebrush alone in his Nissan and drives onto the interstate north for Las Vegas.
Elsen and McDowell continued studying the security footage on their screens, while working at San Diego police headquarters.
“What if Rykhirt came back?” Elsen said.
“His window of opportunity’s too tight,” McDowell said. “Let him go, Dan. We can rule out Rykhirt. Our focus shifts to Caleb, his actions, the texts between him and Riley, the breakup, the emotional and psychological stresses, the statements from their friends.”
“Yeah.”
“The breakup was one of the last things Riley argued about with her mother. Maybe it’s Caleb she’s waving to in the footage and they got together and something went wrong?”
“Homicide’s going to talk to him,” Elsen said. “We’ve got to alert John and Blake about the find in Baker. We can’t hold them.”
“What about Blake’s debt and drug-ransom story?”
“There’s no direct evidence tying it to Riley. I talked to Moore and he said San Diego Narcotics and the FBI want to talk to Blake. I’m not sure when they’ll do that, but Moore said they might look at conspiracy to traffic, pull some names from him. But we can’t hold them.”
Elsen’s phone rang. It was Lieutenant Holland.
“Dan, San Bernardino’s got an ID on the body. They found items in her pocket. Her prints were still good. They used a mobile scanner to confirm. I just got it officially from the deputy coroner on the scene. I’m sending it to you now.”
“All right, we’ll notify the family,” Elsen said.
At that moment, McDowell’s phone rang. Lieutenant Jackson was calling.
“I’m with Travis Quinn and Cliff Lawton in the Sagebrush operations center.” Jackson’s voice had an undertone of urgency. “They’ve just recovered more video and they’re getting ready to send it your way.”
“Okay, thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Michelle, I’ve just seen it. This is a significant breakthrough.”
Eighty-Six
San Diego, California
My daughter can’t be dead.
Grace begged heaven, pleaded for Riley’s life while struggling to convince herself that this was a dream, a nightmare and she needed to wake up.
But she wasn’t dreaming. It was real and she had set it all in motion.
Grace stared at Riley’s worn copy of Romeo and Juliet then turned to Sherry.
“What does this mean?” Grace said. “Replacing the names in the death scene. Why did Riley do this?”
Sherry shook her head. “Maybe nothing more than a dramatic teenager thing.”
“It’s more than that, with all that’s happened,” Grace said. “Is it a suicide pact with Caleb?”
“We don’t know, Grace.”
“Did I push things too far, making them break up, taking her away from here, knowing Riley’s life was here and that she was still mourning her father? Did I do this?”
“No, don’t torture yourself.”
Grace’s phone rang again, this time a TV news station in Las Vegas. She didn’t answer.
“Reporters,” she said. “I can’t talk to them now.”
Tears rolled down her face, and as soon as the call ended her phone rang again, another news outlet, this one from San Diego.
“More reporters. Something’s happening,” she said. “The press always finds out.” She stared at it, letting it ring. “I can’t do this now, I can’t.”
“Why don’t we shut it off?” Sherry said.
“No, what if the police call. John’s with them. Why doesn’t he answer me?”
“John and Blake probably don’t have their phones.”
When the second call stopped, a third began. It was McDowell.
; “Want me to talk to her?” Sherry asked, after seeing the caller ID.
Grace swallowed and shook her head.
Sherry took her shoulders. “Okay, be strong. I’m here.”
Grace nodded, answered the call.
“It’s not Riley,” McDowell said.
Grace clenched her eyes, squeezing tears from them. “Please, are you sure?”
“There were items in her pocket. They scanned her fingerprints at the scene. It’s confirmed. It’s not Riley.”
Grace told Sherry and shook as her friend hugged her. She resumed talking with McDowell. “Please tell me. Who is she?”
“Grace, I really—”
“Please, Michelle. I want to know.”
McDowell let out a long breath as if remembering her promise to tell Grace all she could whenever she could. “None of this has been released so I won’t give you her name, but you must keep this confidential. San Bernardino is notifying her family. She just turned twenty. She’s from Barstow but resided at Breezy Mirage Way Estates, a few miles away. She had a record for burglaries. So we had her prints. She was wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. They found sandals a couple of hundred yards away. Animals may have taken them.”
“What happened to her?”
“There’ll be an autopsy to determine the cause of her death. But there was a key with the apartment tag on it and a note in her pocket. She was despondent and walked into the desert.”
Absorbing the tragic details of the girl, who was only a few years older than Riley, Grace’s heart went out to her family and their pain. She whispered a prayer for them before coming back to her own tragedy. Riley was still missing.
“What about Caleb?” she asked McDowell. “He has to know where Riley is.”
“He’s not saying anything. Our detectives will be talking to him. But more new critical leads are emerging today.”
“What leads?”
“We’re recovering new security video from the Sagebrush. It’s helping us with answers.”
“How? Does it show you where she went, where she is?”
“Grace, that’s all I can tell you. We’re working on it now. I know it’s hard, but sit tight. Now, we need to go over a few more things with John and Blake, but they should be home soon.”
