by Bill Moody
Ardis pulls in to the next parking space and we all get out and go inside. It’s brightly lit with red leatherette booths and Formica tables. A waitress takes our order for coffee and Ardis studies the big menu. “I’ve never seen so many kinds of pancakes,” he says. When the waitress brings our coffee, he smiles at her. “I want some of these chocolate chip pancakes. A full stack.” Andie and I pass.
“How did you find Sims?” Andie asks.
I recount my journey to pharmacies and drug stores. “I got lucky. Sims came in as I was standing in line. I followed him home and waited. He left but stopped for something at a convenience store and I got a look at his shirt with the Mirage logo. I figured he was on the way to work.”
“My, aren’t we clever,” Andie says.
“You did talk to him, I assume,” Ardis says.
“Yeah, I did. She’s here but not staying with him. She’s supposed to pick up the prescription he got for her sometime tonight while he’s at work.”
“What’s the prescription for?” Ardis wants to know.
“He says inhalers. She has asthma.”
Andie and Ardis look at each other. “Okay,” Andie says. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to show us the house, then you will go back to your pal Ace’s and wait.”
I start to say something but Andie cuts me off. “That’s not negotiable.”
The waitress comes back with Ardis’ order. Three huge pancakes, riddled with chocolate chips and topped with whipped cream fill a large plate. Andie and I watch him dig in.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Wait her out. What time is Sims’ shift over?”
“Midnight.”
Ardis is halfway through his pancakes. “Yummy.” He pauses and leans back. “Should we talk to Sims first?”
“No,” Andie says. “I don’t want to spook him, and we need time to organize some backup. We’ll have to get Las Vegas Metro in on this.”
Ardis nods and looks at me. “That was pretty slick, jumping on that airport shuttle.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“You didn’t. Wendell told me to give you some leeway. We’re just glad you didn’t steal a car. We’d have had to arrest you for that.”
The check comes and Ardis pays at the cashier desk. Andie and I walk outside to the cars. I light a cigarette as Andie digs in her purse and hands me my cell phone. “You might want this back. It’s fully charged.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay, you lead the way. I’ll ride with Ron. I’ve got some calls to make.”
At Sims’ house I park along the road where I was earlier. We get out of the cars and Andie and Ardis look things over. I point out the house up the dirt track. We can see one light on. “This is not good,” Andie says, scanning the area around the house. “It’s so exposed.”
“There’s a dog, too.”
“Great,” Ardis says.
Andie paces around, thinking, looking at the house. Finally, she stops. “I’ve got an idea.”
She turns to me. “Okay, you’re done here. Go on back to Ace’s. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“What if she doesn’t show?”
“Then we go to plan B.”
“Andie, be very careful. Greg is still scared of her and he told me she won’t go back to prison.”
“We’ll see about that.” She pushes me toward my car and gives me a brief kiss. “Go.”
Driving back to Ace’s, I start to have second thoughts. At one long traffic light, the urge to make a U-turn and go back to Greg Sims’ house is strong, but I manage to stifle the feeling. I’d just be in the way, and Andie would never forgive me if something went wrong. I pound the steering wheel in frustration.
I find Ace sprawled on the couch, an open book on his chest, his glasses halfway down his nose. I give him a shake. “Hey, Professor.”
He blinks and sits up, the book slipping to the floor. “Evan. When did you get back?”
“Just now.” I sit down and stretch my legs out, feeling the tension start to drain out. There’s nothing more I can do now but wait to hear from Andie.
“How did it go with the pharmacies?”
“I got lucky.” I catch Ace up on things. He nods and listens and shakes his head.
“Sounds like they have it under control, providing she comes back for the prescription.”
“Yeah, that’s the key.”
“Want something to eat?” He gets up and heads for the kitchen. “A sandwich, or I’ve got a frozen pizza I can nuke.”
“Pizza sounds good.”
“Coming up.”
I turn on the TV to CNN. Ace comes back with a couple of beers we start on while we wait for the pizza. Ace and I catch up on music, the movie deal, my move to Monte Rio, and Andie as we eat.
We both lose track of time then Ace flips through the channels to a local station for the Eleven O’clock News. A wave of dramatic music and a red banner fills the screen proclaiming BREAKING NEWS!
“I’m Keith Harris and this is happening now,” the anchor says as the screen becomes a remote report. A young Asian woman holding a microphone stands about where my car was parked earlier near Greg Sims’ house.
“As you can see behind me, Keith, this remote house in the northwest Las Vegas is surrounded by Metro police, and we’re told also, agents of the FBI. Police suspect escaped serial killer Gillian Payne may be in the house.”
Greg’s house and the surrounding area is lit up like a football stadium for a night game. There are a dozen or more Metro police cruisers, lights flashing, and police in SWAT gear around the perimeter. A helicopter circles overhead. The reporter turns her head toward the house. The camera follows and zooms in closer.
“Do we know whose house that is, Kimberly?”
“Not yet, Keith, but we’ll keep you abreast of developments. Kimberly Fong, Action News. Back to you, Keith.”
“Thanks, Kimberly. You be careful out there.” The anchor smiles. “In other news…”
“She’s not there,” I say to Ace. “Or maybe she’s already gone.”
“Maybe her brother tipped her off.”
“I don’t think so. He’s too scared of her.”
“I hope she doesn’t know where I live.”
“No reason she would—”
We both stop then as the doorbell rings. Ace starts for the door then stops, looks back at me. I shake my head. We wait for another long moment.
“Mr. Buffington? FBI Special Agent Andrea Lawrence.”
I let out a breath and nod at Ace. He opens the door. Andie flips open her credentials. She looks past Ace, sees me, and steps inside. Ron Ardis is right behind her. Ardis nods to Ace and follows Andie in.
Andie meets my gaze and shakes her head. “She got away. We found an abandoned car on the freeway up behind the house we think was hers, but no prescription. We searched the house. There was nothing.”
Ace seems a little dazed. He shakes hands with Andie and Ron Ardis. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A drink?”
“Coffee sounds good,” Andie says.
We all sit around the dining table while Ace busies himself in the kitchen and gets coffee going.
“So what now?”
Andie shrugs. “We’ve got roadblocks set up. We’ll get her, Evan.” She puts a hand on mine and squeezes.
“Sure,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment.
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes until Ace brings the coffee and four mugs. Ace pours, then Andie’s cell phone breaks the quiet. She digs in her purse for her phone.
“Lawrence.” I watch her nod then stand up and walk away to take the call. We all watch her as she listens. “She’s where?” She listens again, longer this time. “I’ll be right there. Make sure that room is under guard.” She closes her phone and looks at us.
“Gillian is at Sunrise Hospital.
I’m already on my fee
t. “I’m going too.” Andie doesn’t even try to stop me. She just looks at Ace.
“It’s on Maryland Parkway, near Sahara,” he says.
We leave Ace bewildered, standing in the doorway, holding the coffee pot and the three of us pile into Ardis’ car and take off. I give Ardis directions to Sahara where he turns east toward Maryland Parkway.
“So what happened?” I sit in back, leaning forward toward Andie.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “A motorist found her walking along the freeway and picked her up. She was almost passed out with one of the inhalers in her hand. He called 911, and paramedics rushed her the hospital.”
Ardis makes the turn at Maryland and a couple of minutes later, he parks near the emergency entrance. There are cops on the door. Andie and Ardis flash their I.D.’s.
“Third floor,” the uniform says.
“He’s with us,” Andie says, indicating me.
We get in the elevator and punch the button for three. The corridor is swarming with Metro cops as we get off, three of them huddled around a room. Andie pushes through as a young doctor comes out. Before the door closes, I catch a quick glimpse of Gillian lying inert, attached to a monitor.
We walk away from the room with the doctor. “She’s stable,” he says. “I’m not sure what happened, but the inhaler she had was empty.” He looks at the three of us. “You say she’s an escaped prisoner?”
“Yes,” Andie says. “I don’t want anybody in there but you. We’ll have a police guard on the room. When can she travel?”
“We’ll keep her overnight at least,” the doctor says.
Andie nods. “Fine. We’ll have some Marshals here to transport her in the morning. Thank you, doctor.”
“I think it was Greg,” I say, once the doctor is out of earshot.
“What do you mean?”
“I think Greg switched the inhalers and put the empty ones back in the bag.
Andie smiles. “Bless his heart.”
The following morning, I awake feeling more rested and relaxed than I have in days. With Gillian back in custody, my mind starts to drift back toward Ryan Stiles and the movie project. Andie and I share coffee in Ace’s kitchen. Ace had left earlier, pleading an early class and papers to correct.
“I hope it’s not so long till next time,” he’d said.
“It won’t be, Ace,” I promised, but not sure he believed me. It was something I’d have to work on.
Andie has already been on the phone with Wendell Cook, reporting the previous night’s activities. All that remains is for word that the U.S. Marshals have arrived to transport Gillian back to prison. Andie and Ron Ardis are to oversee that transfer.
“You okay?” Andie asks. She studies my face and squeezes my hand. “It’s all over now.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just going to take awhile for all this to sink in.”
Andie’s phone rings. “Lawrence.” She listens, nods, and says, “I’ll be right there.” She looks at me. “Marshals are here. You want to come watch?”
We drive to the hospital. Again there are several uniformed Metro cops and two men in blue windbreakers with U.S. Marshals stenciled in yellow letters on the back. I watch out the window as Andie and Ron Ardis shake hands with the marshals.
Minutes later, Gillian is wheeled through the glass doors outside. With the marshals and Andie and Ron Ardis looking on, two Metro cops help her out of the wheelchair. She keeps her eyes down as the marshals handcuff and shackle her, then walk her the few brief steps to a dark station wagon where she’s placed in the back seat.
I get one brief look at her face as she turns toward the hospital. Was she looking for me? She’s pale and drawn and doesn’t look scary at all now. Across the street in his car, I catch sight of Greg Sims. My eyes return to the marshal’s Car. When I look back, Sims is gone.
Andie signs some forms, hands them back to one of the Marshals and the car pulls away. Only then do I step outside.
Andie turns to me. “See? I told you.”
“Yes you did.”
We drop Ron Ardis at the airport. We all get out of the car. Ardis and I shake hands. “I probably won’t see you again,” he says.
“I hope not. Nothing personal.”
Ardis grins. “I know. Hey, maybe I’ll come hear you play sometime.”
“Do that.” And just like that, it’s over.
Andie and I get back in the car. She drives up Tropicana and crosses the Strip after a long wait at a traffic light. I watch the hundreds of people out already and wonder what they’d think if they knew a serial killer had been recaptured and carted off back to prison.
We pick up I-15 headed for Los Angeles. I lean back in the seat and feel the morning sun on my face. I close my eyes and doze off. When I wake up, we’re cruising up the Baker grade, the Las Vegas valley disappearing in the side mirror. I glance over at Andie. I can’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses. She feels my eyes on her, lifts up the glasses for a moment, looks over, and smiles.
“Go back to your nap. We’ll stop in Barstow and have breakfast.”
When I wake up again, she’s pumping gas at a busy truck stop. Cars and big rig trucks are everywhere. I’m suddenly famished. We pull over and park at the adjacent coffee shop. We find a booth and order coffee. Andie opts for orange juice, scrambled eggs, and toast. I go for the trucker’s breakfast— eggs, sausage, hash browns, and a side order of pancakes.
Andie watches me wolf it all down as she pushes aside her still-half-full plate.
“Not worried about your figure, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“I don’t think so. I caught Ron Ardis looking at your ass a few times.”
“And?”
“I can hardly blame him.” She smiles big, but her expression changes quickly. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just glad we’re driving back. We have to talk.”
“Oh, those are the four words men don’t like to hear.” I study her for a moment.
“It’s about Ryan Stiles.”
Back on the road, Andie is quiet at first. I crack the window open a few inches and light a cigarette. “So, what about Ryan Stiles?”
“What you told me about the meeting with his mother, the story she told you about the night Darryl McElroy died. It got me thinking, made me curious about why she would confide in you.”
“You said you thought she was just being a protective mother with a guilty conscience. She needed to tell someone.”
“I still think that’s true, but I think there’s more.” Just after Victorville, Andie signals and exits the freeway, taking the Pearblossom Highway. It’s a two-lane strip, full of dips and curves, but less traveled, a shortcut to the north end of the San Fernando Valley.
“I got a look at the police report. I wanted to see if there was something more, you know, reading between the lines.”
“And?”
“It’s just too perfect, like it was sanitized and all in Ryan’s favor.”
I run that over in my mind for a few moments. “You think Ryan, Manny’s Car Wash, the Malibu police are all involved in keeping Ryan clean.”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just not satisfied, no matter what he told his mother. It’s just too pat.”
I look out at the desert whirling by as Andie negotiates the curves and dips of the highway. “What is it you want me to do, Andie? I’m committed to scoring the movie. I signed a contract. They paid me part of the fee already, remember?”
“I know,” she says. “My preference would be you pay back the fee and walk away from the whole thing, but I know you won’t do that.” She lifts up her glasses and looks over at me. “Will you?”
“No. I want to see it through to the end. I want to do this, Andie.”
She nods. “I know, and I want you to do it too, but…”
“What?”
“Just promise me you’ll be very careful wor
king with Ryan.”
“And?” I know there’s more.
“And keep your ears open. Ryan trusts you. He might feel in a confessional mode himself. If he’s totally clean, if what he told his mother is the real story, it will never come up.”
“And if not?”
“He might slip up.”
“How?”
“I think his mother told him she talked to you.”
At the end of the Pearblossom Highway, Andie merges onto 14 and eventually the Ventura Freeway. Despite my protests to Andie, I have my own reservations about Ryan Stiles and his mother, and Andie has fueled my curiosity.
As we head into the valley, I’m surprised when she exits and stops in front of the hotel I’d escaped from. I look at her in surprise.
“The room is still good. I have to go into the office, catch Wendell up on everything, and write up my report. I’ll meet you back here later.” She leans across and kisses me. “Go,” she says. “Don’t be mad, okay?”
I get out of the car and watch her drive away.
Chapter Nineteen
In the days following Gillian Payne’s capture, I go back to Monte Rio for some welcome downtime. It takes Andie a few days to finish up her report before she resumes her regular assignment back at the Bureau’s San Francisco office. I relish the solitude, immersing myself in long walks along the river with Milton—who I’d bailed out of the kennel—listening to music, and getting back to the piano.
I contacted Grant Robbins and told him I needed a little time. “I understand,” he’d said. “I can imagine.” Then he completely changed the subject, and brought me up to date on the movie project. “We have a new script. I think you’ll find it much improved. Ryan is excited about it and we both look forward to seeing you again.”
“That’s good. I look forward to seeing the script.” He made no mention of my abrupt exit and absence since our last meeting. I don’t know how much Wendell Cook told Robbins or for that matter, if he even talked to him, but I detect a decidedly different tone to Grant’s voice.
“We’ll be ready to start shooting very soon. We’d like to have another meeting with you before principal photography begins, if it’s convenient.”
Principal photography. The magic words. “No problem. I’ll make it.”
