Room for Doubt

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “We have to be very careful about where we meet. In my line of work, you can’t be too cautious.”

  “I suppose not.”

  I shuffled along beside Sally. Behind which of the doors marked with caged emergency lighting had she hidden her tribunal? She must have suspected my nervousness and kept talking.

  “Ironically, hiding in plain sight works best. It’s why I chose the Medical Center. The campus is busy. No one’s checking for student IDs, there’s a number of entrances—or, in our case, emergency exits—and believe me, if anything doesn’t look or sound right, we’ll use them.”

  Then coming to a stop in front of a large door with a round portal window, she peered inside as she placed her hand on my shoulder.

  “You’ll be fine, Jennifer. Behind this door is a lecture hall. There’s a stage in the front of the room. And a chair in the center of the stage. That’s where you’ll go. Once we’re through these doors, you’ll turn right to the stage, I’ll turn left to the auditorium. The stage lights will be on so you won’t be able to see me or the other women sitting with me, but you will be able to hear us.”

  “I don’t understand. What is it you want me to do?”

  Sally laughed.

  “What, you have stage fright? Don’t worry. This is all for your safety as well as ours. We’ll ask you some questions. They’ll be looking at you very carefully. Studying you and listening to your responses. When you’re finished, I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll see. My guess is, given the circumstances, they’ll approve an operation.”

  “But, they’re not going to hurt him. Just convince him to leave me alone, right?”

  “Jennifer, you don’t need to worry about Jason. Not anymore. All you need to think about is getting on with your life.”

  “But Jason—”

  “He’s a bad man, Jennifer.”

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about protecting Jason. Jennifer had shared nothing with Sally as to his identity, and other than my seeing him with her that one time in the restaurant, I doubted I could describe him. If the tribunal’s questions got too specific, I planned to steer clear of details. All I needed to do was get through the next thirty minutes and convince Sally to walk out the door with me.

  “You look nervous.” Sally patted me on the back.

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  I wasn’t acting. I didn’t need to. I could feel the color draining from my face. The idea of being on stage in front of a group of shadowed assassins was chilling.

  “You’ll be fine. Take a deep breath.” I did as instructed. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  Sally was right. I couldn’t see a thing from the stage. I took a seat on the chair as instructed and tried to shield my eyes from the bright lights. But the lights were aimed directly at me, blinding me to whoever was in the audience. The farthest I could see was the edge of the stage. I could hear them, mumbling, but whatever they were saying I couldn’t make out.

  The first question came from Sally. She asked me to state my name and share briefly who I was and where I had come from.

  I repeated everything Jennifer had told me about herself. That I had grown up in the Bay area. Graduated from UC San Francisco. And met Jason while on spring break in Cancun. I started to perspire. The lights felt hot. I wasn’t sure if it was nerves of the heat, but I could begin to feel myself sweat.

  Then from within the yawning dark space in front of me, came a series of questions.

  “And Jason. How long have you been together?”

  I answered. A second, third, and fourth question followed, like rapid fire from different voices.

  “Can you describe your relationship?”

  “When did the abuse begin?”

  “What have you done to stop it?”

  Before I could answer the final question, a siren, a piercing, wailing alarm, sounded, and a white strobe light began flashing.

  “What’s happening?” I stood up. “Somebody tell me, what’s going on?”

  From the seats, I heard voices screaming. “Run! Get out. Now! Go!”

  In the near blinding white light, I could see the shadows of the women, scurrying like ducklings one behind the other, toward the exit.

  I yelled for Sally. “Where do I go? What do I do?”

  There was no response.

  Without waiting, I ran off the stage, down the stairs, and back to where Sally told me to meet her. But she wasn’t there. The hallway was empty. The only sound was the warble of the fire alarm and pulsating wave-like motion of the emergency lights.

  I felt my way back down the hallway, my heart racing, fearful I might be trapped. What if this was a fire? If I got stuck in this building, nobody would find me. I had to get out. But how? I was lost. How many turns down long empty corridors and sets of double doors had Sally walked me through? It was useless. Even if I could retrace my steps, I couldn’t take the elevator. In a fire, an elevator was the worst of all possible choices. I needed to think clearly. There had to be a staircase somewhere. Something between the floors, not just a bank of elevators. I scanned the hallway for a sign to an emergency exit. There was nothing. Beneath the flashing light, and with my hand on the wall to guide me, I groped my way farther down the hallway. Searching. And then I saw it, at the end of the hall, a steel and concrete stairway.

  I took the steps, two and three at a time. Fast as I could. Bracing myself against the railing and the cool concrete wall. Thankful Sheri had insisted I wear tennis shoes.

  When I came to the first floor, a set of heavy duty steel utility doors faced me. Please don’t be locked. With a heavy shove, I pushed them open.

  Outside, the LA air never felt so good. I took a deep a breath and looked around. Surrounding me were students. They were gathered together in small groups, chatting and waiting for the all-clear. I pushed through the groups.

  “Sally? Sally, where are you?”

  There was no answer, only the sound of my own name coming back at me through the crowd.

  “Carol?”

  Sheri rushed up to me, grabbed me by the arm, and started to pull me away from the building. “Come with me. We need to leave. Quickly.”

  “Why? What’s happened? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain when we get to the car.” Sheri dropped my hand. “Follow me. Hurry. We can’t be seen together. Not out in the open like this.”

  Sheri pushed ahead of me, weaving her way through the crowd, back to the parking structure. When I got to the car, she waited for me to get in before she spoke. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. Why? What’s happening?”

  “Chase. That’s what’s happening.” Sheri put the Range Rover in reverse and backed out of the parking space, her hand on my shoulder, forcing my head below the windows. “Get down, if he’s still here, I don’t want him to see you.”

  “What happened?”

  “I pulled the fire alarm.”

  “You did that?”

  “What else could I do? Chase came into the student café right after you left and when he saw me, he wanted to know why I was there and where you were.”

  I was beginning to feel seasick with the sharp turns Sheri was taking. I braced myself with one hand against the back of the seat and the other on the dashboard.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What could I tell him? I lied and said I was meeting some doctor. That it was a setup, and I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  I laughed. Leave it to Sheri to come up with a good excuse. “And why was he here?”

  “He said he was here for a class. Some forensics pathology thing, but I didn’t think so.”

  “Was following me?”

  “I’m not sure. But when I saw him go into the Wes
t Tower, I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  I couldn’t blame Sheri, but when the alarm went off, I lost Sally and any chance of finding her. She had split, and so had her tribunal. It was as if somebody yelled fire and they all disappeared.

  When we finally stopped at a traffic light blocks from the campus, I breathed a sigh of relief. Whether Chase had been following me or was there for a night class, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Maybe it was just a coincidence,” Sheri said.

  I thought about it. Chase had mentioned he was going to night school.

  “Maybe, but either way—this thing with Sally tonight—it never happened. Chase never needs to know about my failed attempt to kidnap her. Far as he’s concerned, I was home with Charlie and you were out on a date.”

  “With a surgeon,” Sheri said. “If I’m going to lie, let’s at least make it good.”

  I picked my phone and called DJ. I needed to tell her I wouldn’t be delivering Mustang Sally as we planned. Her response was simple.

  “Failure’s not an option, Carol. You need to find her. And fast.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Find her? If only I could. For the rest of the week, I kept Jennifer’s cell on my person or in front of me like a crystal ball, staring at it, hoping Mustang Sally would text back and reschedule her meeting. But there was nothing. I even tried to log onto the Butterflies chat room as Jennifer and send a message equally as urgent as the one Sheri had sent before. But still, there was no reply. And given that Chase hadn’t called to give me an update on his search, I was beginning to think Mustang Sally had vanished.

  The trail had gone cold.

  Sitting at my desk, I went through all my notes concerning the case. My first meeting with Chase. His belief Bruno’s death was connected to two others he was investigating. Sally’s first call to the station. And my last meeting with Detective Riley, who had dismissed any knowledge of Sally before he committed suicide. But if Riley did know Sally, and had taken her secret to his grave, perhaps he wasn’t alone. And if Chase was right, and Riley’s ex-partner was the lead investigator of the other cases Chase was working, then maybe, just maybe, he would be able to tell me more about Sally. Like where she was hiding or how I could reach out to her again.

  I began with a call to Sergeant Browne, who had been helpful when I needed to find the location of Riley’s retirement party.

  “Sergeant Browne? Carol Childs, KNST.”

  “Yeah, I remember. You’re that girl reporter. The one who was with him when he died.”

  Wow. Was that how he remembered me? I hated the thought and scrambled for what to say next.

  “I’m sorry about what happened. Detective Riley was a good man. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve been thinking about him, and I wanted to get in touch with his ex-partner. I suppose it’s just therapy on my part, you know being there with him at the end. I was hoping maybe I could talk to him. Thought it might help me to work through some things.”

  “Detective Rios. Riley and Rios. We called them, the R and R team. Rules and Regulations. Never found one they didn’t try to bend. He’s been taking it pretty hard himself. Might do you both good. He’s around somewhere. Why don’t leave your number, and I’ll have him give you a call.”

  Detective Rios called back before lunch, and by the time I got off the phone, I no longer had an appetite.

  After dispensing with the niceties, I launched into what I wanted most: information about Mustang Sally and what, if anything, he knew.

  “I was hoping, Detective Rios, that you might be able to help me. Before Riley died, I asked him if he had ever heard of anyone named Mustang Sally. I asked because she’s been calling the station, and I’ve reason to believe she was involved in Bruno Sims’ murder and the deaths of several other men. Men the LAPD knew to have been serial abusers.”

  There was a long pause before Rios answered. And then he said, his voice deep and full of authority, “If you’re asking me if I’ve ever heard of anyone named Mustang Sally, I’m going to tell you right now you’re wasting your time.”

  “I don’t think so. And I’m pretty sure you’d rather not have your name come out in any investigation that ties you with a group of rogue cops who looked the other way when it came to seeing justice doled out to abusers. But let me assure you, that’s not the story I’m after. And for reasons I won’t go into, I’m as anxious as you are that Sally stops calling the station. So for the moment, let’s pretend we’re after the same thing and stop playing games. Do you know where Sally is?”

  Rios sighed. “I’m going to assume this is off the record? ‘Cause if it’s not—”

  “Relax. I’m not quoting anyone here. This is just between you and me.”

  There was another long pause, then in the background, I heard what sounded like a door close.

  “It’s been a long time, Ms. Childs. And I can’t say I’d undo any of the things we did. Far as I’m concerned, it was like putting a mad dog down. Our hands weren’t dirty, we simply did as you said—looked the other way. But as for knowing where Sally is today, I haven’t a clue. But I will say this, if she were to suddenly show up—let’s say walk in the door and start telling tales—believe me, you or anyone even close to her would never know. You understand?”

  “You mean she’d disappear.”

  “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you. I’m not about to see good cops go down for doing what needed to be done.”

  I glanced back at my notes. I wasn’t the only one searching for Sally. And if the cops who had once been protecting her found her before I did, I didn’t even want to think about what might happen. I had to find another way to flush her out.

  CHAPTER 31

  It wasn’t until I was driving home from work and caught a station promo for my upcoming Sunday night Soap Box that I had another idea about Sally. If Chase was right and Sally was a fan, maybe I could prompt her to call my show again.

  It was a long shot, but with Misty’s help, it just might work.

  After meeting Sally in person, it was apparent, despite the fact Sally was much heartier than Misty, that they were roughly the same age. Which meant it was likely that Sally had also been a fan of Misty’s at some point. After all, Misty had been a big name in Hollywood. Years ago, her name had appeared in the newspaper almost daily. Some of it for her work with the police and the FBI concerning missing persons. But most notably because of her notoriety as Hollywood’s Psychic to the Stars. As a celeb, she had appeared on numerous television and radio talk shows and even had a popular advice column in the newspaper. In a sense, Misty, in her own last century kind of way, was the equivalent of an online chat room. Counseling the broken-hearted had always been a big part of her practice.

  The closer I got to home, the more the idea of using Misty to get to Sally appealed to me. If I could convince Misty to join me on the air, not only might I be able to flush Sally out and learn her whereabouts, but I also might be able to do something to address Misty’s overall health issues.

  Misty’s state of confusion was becoming an issue. On more than one occasion, she appeared to have forgotten Charlie’s name altogether and simply referred to him as the boy. She had started mixing words, referring to an apple as asparagus. Then last week, she had left the keys to her van in the refrigerator. My initial response had been to kid her about her absentmindedness, but now I was seriously thinking of taking the keys away.

  In my frustration, I had consulted with Dr. Sam, the station’s resident GP who specialized in geriatrics. He told me he was involved in a new short-term memory study at UCLA and offered to use his powers to grant her admittance should she be interested. But I knew Misty’s reservations concerning traditional medical practices would make that next to impossible. But, if I were to convince Misty to come to the station to help me on the show, maybe I might get lucky and the two just might meet. It was worth a try.


  When I got home, I found Misty sitting at the kitchen table with a hot pot of tea in front of her. Without hesitation, I told her about my idea to have her co-host on the Soap Box.

  “We could do some promo spots. You know, something like ‘the great Misty Dawn returns to the airwaves Sunday night.’ How’s that sound?” I danced my hands above my head. “If Sally’s listening and hears you’re going to be on the air, who knows, maybe she’ll call in again.”

  Misty put her teacup down and smacked her lips. “I’ll need some zinc.”

  “Pardon me?” Did she not understand?

  “And a small amount of milk thistle and maybe some cilantro too. Mixed with my tea, it’ll help me focus.”

  “Misty, did you hear me? I want you on the air with me Sunday night.”

  “I heard you, Carol. But for this, I’m going to need to sharpen my meditation skills. See if I can connect with Sally on a different plane. One can never be too sure about things like this. I’ll have to mix up a batch tomorrow.”

  I reached for a glass above the bar and filled it with red wine. “Thing is, Misty, we need to chat with Tyler first to get his approval. Which I’m sure will be fine. But my time frame’s a little tight. You free tomorrow?”

  “If you’ll agree to have Charlie drive me to the station after school, I see no reason why it shouldn’t be.”

  “Perfect. I’ll meet you in the lobby at three forty-five. But don’t be late. You know Tyler, he’s a stickler for schedules.”

  I knew Tyler would be on board with my decision. He had used Misty several years before to fill in for the station’s entertainment reporter and liked her. And if all went according to my ulterior motive, Dr. Sam would be exiting the studio just as I waltzed Misty down the hall to meet with Tyler.