Dragon Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 5)

by Melissa Bowersock

  “I should have gone with her,” he croaked, barely keeping tears in check. “I shouldn’t have let her go alone.” The camera remained on him for several seconds as he struggled to keep his composure, then finally faded to black.

  “Hmm,” Lacey muttered. Lives with his mother. She noted that in her book.

  Greg Lamb was the first to call police, but only after being notified by Madison’s business partner, Vanessa Medina, that she’d never come to work. The official search began the following morning.

  There was no video of Greg, but several articles called him a “person of interest.” Photos showed a nice-looking man with close-cropped blond hair and startling blue eyes. He had a square jaw, and the muscular line between his neck and his shoulders spoke of working out.

  Strong, Lacey wrote in her notebook.

  Vanessa Medina had little to add. Slightly older than Madison at twenty-eight, she seemed shocked by the disappearance. “She was such a sweetheart,” she said of her friend and partner. “Everyone loved her.”

  Not everyone, Lacey thought. She jotted questions for Vanessa. Business going well? Equal split on outlay and income? Any jealousy?

  The last person of interest was Brad Foley, ex-boyfriend. Lacey quickly saw the reason. He and Madison had broken up just six months before, but she’d called the police several times when he’d come spoiling for a fight and had refused to leave. He was arrested twice for domestic assault, but the charges were later dropped in both instances. Apparently Madison was too sweet for her own good.

  Nothing recent on him, however. The last interaction was three months before the disappearance. Perhaps he’d been convinced to move on; Madison obviously had. Lacey jotted a note to herself to find out when Madison and Greg had hooked up. From photos of Brad, she thought he looked less fit than body-building Greg, so it was possible his decision to leave Madison alone was augmented by self-preservation.

  Lacey sat back and read through her notes. Plenty of possibilities there. She dismissed the surface stuff—“Everyone loved her”—and starred the entries she’d made instinctively. These were the things she needed to check into. The stories beneath the stories. The dark secrets. Every story had them.

  The last people she read up on were Madison’s parents, Esther and Randall McClure, well-to-do and well-respected. They owned an art gallery; obviously Madison’s foray into artistic business enterprises was in keeping with family values. One younger daughter, Skylar, a junior at Stanford. She’d been on campus when her sister disappeared.

  Lacey studied videos of the McClures and attached the voice she knew to the woman on the screen. Fiftyish, dark hair coifed and colored, a little thick through the middle but that flaw mitigated by the flattering design of a sheath dress. Tasteful pearl earrings matched the single strand that circled her firm neck. Randall was taller, leaner, with attractive silver threads in his dark hair. He often let Esther do the talking, but kept a hand at the small of her back, ever supportive.

  All right, then, Lacey thought. We have all the players.

  Let the games begin.

  ~~~

  FOUR

  Friday morning she steered her little car toward Sam’s apartment. During their brief experiment as housemates, they had found, and Lacey had bought, a “new” car to replace Blanche, her poor little white Hyundai that had been shot up in Vegas. She’d switched to a Toyota Rav 4, only a couple years old, and bright red. Time on the Navajo reservation with Sam had convinced her she needed a car with a bit more clearance.

  She pulled up in front of his apartment and wondered what she should do. She no longer felt authorized to walk right in, as she did for those three weeks. Blowing the horn seemed juvenile, and knocking would just feel… weird.

  She was saved from further consternation when Sam came out the door and ambled to the car.

  He climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Good morning,” she said. She wondered how her voice could sound so calm when she was vibrating inside.

  “Morning.” He settled in his seat and pulled on the seatbelt. She noticed he wore his soft knee-high moccasins, his “walking” boots. When the seatbelt buckle clicked, only then did he turn his dark gaze on her. His eyes were at once caring but cautious. “How are you?”

  She gulped a breath of air. “Fine. You?”

  “Yeah, fine,” he said too quickly. He turned and stared out the windshield. “Let’s go.”

  She reversed out of the parking place, then headed for the street. Pulling out into traffic, she handed Sam the map of LA.

  “Where we going?” he asked, unfolding the map. Sam disdained GPS, and Lacey had come to rely more confidently on his navigation than any computer.

  “Toluca Lake,” she said. “The address is in my notebook.”

  He plucked her small notebook from the console and thumbed through the pages.

  “The dog-eared one,” she said.

  He found it, read the address and consulted the map. “Turn right at the next light.”

  Ignoring his curt replies, she brought him up to speed on her research into the major players as they drove.

  “Any impressions?” he asked. Sam worked on a different level than most investigators, a level of gut feeling and spirit. In their time together, Lacey had learned to tap into that, although not with his certainty.

  “Um, no, not really. The ex-boyfriend is a logical suspect, but I don’t see him as a slam dunk. Depending on what we find today, I think I want to talk to the co-owner of the jewelry shop. There might be some clues in the girl talk.”

  Sam nodded and directed her into a neighborhood of large yet understated homes. Most were two-stories, their walls beset with bougainvillea, yet without ostentation. He counted down the numbers to the McClures’. It was a tasteful rose-colored Spanish style with tile roof. A dark gray Grand Cherokee sat in the driveway.

  Lacey parked in front of the house and they exited the car. Sam handed her the notebook as they walked to the front door. For just a moment, her fingers brushed his, and she caught his eyes on her. Thoughtful, but…

  The front door opened. The McClures stepped out. Lacey took the lead.

  “Mrs. McClure? I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick.” She shook hands. “This is my partner, Sam Firecloud.”

  Sam shook the woman’s hand as she introduced her husband. “Hello. Nice to meet you both. Please, call me Esther. This is my husband, Randall.”

  “Please, come in,” Randall said once they’d all met. He motioned toward the open door, but let his wife lead the way.

  She guided Lacey and Sam into a rose-colored living room with a gray sectional and flame-stitched chairs. Lacey took a place on the couch and Sam sat beside her. The McClures positioned themselves in the chairs opposite.

  “Well,” Esther said, clasping her hands in her lap nervously. “I-I’m so glad you could come. I—we”—she glanced at her husband—“we just don’t know what else to do.”

  “We understand,” Lacey said. “I won’t pretend we know what you’ve been going through, but we know our approach is… unorthodox. The idea takes a little getting used to.”

  Randall cleared his throat. “I’m wondering if you can give us some… references?”

  Lacey and Sam traded looks. “Uh, we don’t exactly carry those around with us,” Lacey said. “But you can certainly look us up online. Do you remember the Fairfax Stalker case last year?”

  “I told you about that, Randall,” Esther said. She was smiling, but Lacey caught the edge of reproach in her voice. “That horrible man that kidnapped all those girls?”

  Randall blinked. “Oh, yes, of course. Yes, I remember. Awful. Just awful.”

  “We’ve worked on other cases that didn’t make the papers, and just last month we solved a murder committed by drug dealers in Vegas.” Lacey put that out and left it there. Randall could take it or leave it. She’d grown used to peoples’ skepticism and wasn’t about to waste time trying to convince him.

  “No, that’s fine
,” Esther said. She shot Randall a look. “Captain Shaw said you’d been very helpful to them. And you used to work for him?”

  “Yes,” Lacey said. “I was on the LAPD for eight years, mostly in Homicide.”

  She saw Randall’s eyebrows inch up in surprise. Esther smiled.

  “Well, we can’t ask for more than that, can we?” she said, dismissing the subject. “So, how do we do this? How do we start?”

  Lacey pulled her small digital recorder from her daypack and held it up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to record our discussion. That way I can make sure I get all the details correctly.” The McClures both nodded and she clicked on the device, then set it on the coffee table between them. Then she angled her head at Sam.

  He leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. “Usually,” he said, “we get called in because lingering spirits are causing problems for homeowners. In those cases, we already know there’s a soul that needs release. But in this case… have either of you felt your daughter around you? Seen her, heard her?”

  Esther and Randall exchanged glances. He shrugged.

  “I, uh, don’t think so,” she said. She wrung her hands briefly. “There were times I thought I sensed her, but it could have just been my imagination. I’m not sure.”

  Lacey could see the push-pull of emotions in her, wanting to believe, wanting some connection with her daughter, but also knowing it would mean the worst possible outcome.

  “Where have you felt that?” she asked gently. “What location?”

  The restlessness took over Esther’s hands again. “In my studio, when I’m painting. Ever since she was little, Madison loved to sit underneath my easel as I painted.”

  “Can we see it?” Sam asked.

  Esther nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  They all rose and Esther led the way down a hall to a back room. Lacey guessed it had been a patio or sunroom at some point, but was now banked by large windows on three sides. The gray tile floor was scattered with area rugs of turquoise and rose. The walls held several large paintings in an impressionistic style. The left side of the room was dominated by a heavy wooden easel and a tall stool. Sitting on the easel was a mostly bare canvas, a few dramatic strokes of dark brown across its surface.

  Esther immediately reached for the canvas. “Let me put this aside.”

  “No.” Sam touched her arm lightly and leveled a compassionate look at her. “Leave it. It may help.”

  Lacey felt her throat tighten. In those few desperate strokes, she could imagine the pain, the anguish, the clinging hope and the ultimate despair.

  “All right.” Esther resettled the canvas and stepped aside.

  Lacey pulled her phone from her pocket and set the camera to video. “Let’s give Sam some room,” she suggested, motioning the McClures back a few steps. “And please don’t say anything.”

  Sam moved in. His soft leather moccasins made no sound on the hard floor. He walked slowly, arms held slightly away from his body, eyes unfocused, and circled the easel. At one point he stopped and held a hand up just inches from the wooden support. His nostrils flared.

  He walked on. He made a full circuit of the easel, then turned toward the windows. Almost immediately, he turned back.

  “What’s here is… old,” he said, piecing it out. “A child’s imagination. Like the easel is a cave she climbs in, hides in. It’s a secret place, only in her imagination. A place where she could dream. Where she could imagine her future.”

  Esther gasped, her hand at her throat.

  Sam did not acknowledge her response. His eyes roved the room one more time, then he exhaled slowly, settling into his body.

  “That’s all,” he said.

  Lacey turned off her camera and corralled the McClures. “Let’s go back and sit down,” she suggested. Wordlessly, they all retraced their steps to the living room.

  “So there’s nothing new there?” Lacey asked Sam. “Nothing current?”

  “No. Just the childhood feelings.” He raised his eyes to Esther. “There’s nothing else of her here at all.”

  Esther cleared her throat. “This is not where Madison grew up. We moved into the house about six years ago. She’s never lived here.”

  That explained it, thought Lacey. “But the easel?” She directed her question to both Sam and Esther.

  “Like I said,” Esther began, “Madison used to sit underneath my easel as I painted. Sometimes…” Her voice broke. “Sometimes I’d drape a blanket around it, almost like a teepee or a blanket fort. She called it her cave.” She lifted her eyes to Sam. “She told me when she was older that that’s where she imagined herself owning a jewelry store, creating designs in gold and silver.”

  Sam nodded, his expression thoughtful. When Lacey glanced at Esther and Randall, she saw the wonder in their eyes, the shock, the new belief. They now knew all they needed about Sam.

  Lacey thrummed with pride for her partner.

  “So,” she said gently to Sam, “we need to go somewhere where she’s been lately, right?”

  “Yes. Preferably,” he said, “the last place she was known to be.”

  Esther nodded, swallowing. “She liked to take the Brush Canyon Trail. It starts out level and then goes up into the mountains, so she could build into her run. There are a couple of parking areas just off Canyon Drive. Corey said he met her at the second one, nearest the trail.”

  “That’s Corey Erickson?” Lacey asked. She pulled her notebook from her pack and paged through, then got a pen and jotted some notes.

  “Yes,” Esther said.

  “He had planned to run with her but bowed out because his mother was ill?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Esther looked surprised.

  “Research,” Lacey said, smiling. “You wouldn’t happen to have a map of the park, would you?”

  Esther shook her head but Randall suddenly came to life. “I think I do.” Esther eyed him with uncertainty as he stood up. “Remember a couple years ago when I thought I’d run a marathon with her?” He smiled grimly at Lacey and Sam. “I didn’t make it. Trained with her for about a month and couldn’t hack it. Hang on.” He left the room for a few minutes, then returned with a battered, much-used map. “Here.”

  Lacey took the map and opened it up. Randall leaned over and pinpointed the spot. “Right here’s the parking area.”

  Lacey raised her pen. “Do you mind if I write on this?”

  “No, go ahead,” Randall said. He took his seat again. “You can keep that.”

  “Great, thanks.” Lacey starred the parking spot. She glanced quickly at the surrounding area, orienting herself. It’d been years since she’d been to Griffith Park.

  She turned her gaze to Sam. “So? This our next stop?”

  He nodded. “I would say so.”

  Lacey turned back to the McClures. “All right. I think we’re done here, unless you have other questions.”

  Esther and Randall exchanged looks. He shrugged.

  “I guess not,” she said. “Oh, what about… your fee?”

  Sam dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “There’s no set fee. It’ll depend on how successful we are, and how much value you place on our work.” He stared at Esther, his eyes direct but kind. “We’ll figure it out… after. Okay?”

  She swallowed again. “Okay. I… Thank you.”

  They left the house and stopped on the front porch. Lacey pulled out one of her cards and gave it to Esther.

  “Call me if you have any questions or think of anything you think might be useful.”

  “I will.”

  “And we’ll keep you updated,” Lacey said. “Maybe not every day; depends on what we find.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Randall stuck out his hand. “Thank you both. We appreciate you doing this.”

  “Our pleasure,” Lacey said. They shook hands and headed for the car. Lacey glanced back to see the McClures going inside, Randall’s hand at the small of Esther’s back.

  Sh
e fired up the Toyota and handed Sam the map. “Next stop…?”

  “Griffith Park,” he said.

  ~~~

  FIVE

  Lacey pulled off Canyon Drive onto the dirt parking area and surveyed the scene. How many years had it been since she’d been to the park? Her parents had held her twelfth birthday party here, an outdoor picnic and then an afternoon at the zoo. She’d been up to the observatory a handful of times in her teens, sometimes to tour the facility, sometimes to find a necking spot with a boyfriend. She’d never gotten familiar with all of it.

  “It’s gonna get warm,” she noted as they bailed out of the car. “We’d better take water with us.” She’d learned the value of having water bottles handy last month when they were in Vegas.

  “Hang on just a minute,” Sam said. He stood and looked around. Lacey could see he already had his feelers out. “Let me walk this area first.”

  “Sure.” She left the water in the car and leaned up against the door, her phone in hand. “Anytime you’re ready.”

  Without answering, Sam began to walk. His moccasins crunched on the gravel as he made a slow circle all around the lot. Lacey filmed as he stepped slowly, halted, then continued on.

  He stopped at the head of the trail, the dirt path leading down a shallow canyon toward the mountains beyond. He stared down at the ground.

  “She’s feeling good; looking forward to her run. And the half marathon. Running lets her forget the small stuff, the hassles at work, hassles with the boyfriend.” He took a few steps out on the trail and stopped again. “No warning. No fear.”

  After a moment, he turned and walked back to Lacey. “That’s all that’s here.”

  She turned off the video. “No warning. So she never saw it coming?”

  He shook his head. “No. There was nothing to be afraid of here. This was like home to her.”

  Lacey digested that. “So would you say the attack did not happen here?”

  “Absolutely not. She left here feeling good. Alive. Free.”

  Lacey could tell Sam was stitching the bits together in his mind. Finding the path, finding the pattern.