“What do you mean, found?”
“A farmer discovered a deceased male Caucasian in a cornfield.”
“Go on.”
“His upper body had been mutilated,” Gladstone said, leaving a pause.
“They’re trying to make an I.D. from dental. Someone or something removed the man’s face.”
Halliday recalled what Festus had said this morning, about how they had done terrible things to his dog, Shack. “Any evidence?”
“Fresno PD didn’t specify.”
“We’ll split up tomorrow. You research the Redwood Bluff complaints here then head to Fresno. Check out the deceased MP.”
“Why—”
“Tell them we’ve been investigating missing persons here.”
“You sure you don’t want to run this by the chief first?”
“I’ll talk to him. Meanwhile, I’ll visit Redwood Bluff. I need to learn more about Lamar Festus.”
“Good luck with Sheriff Barnes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sheriff Barnes is not keen on filing reports.”
Halliday didn’t understand. “I’ll deal with him.”
“Have it your way.”
“I believe Festus is hiding out not far from the clearing we were at this morning. He’ll return to Redwood Bluff. My job tomorrow is to find out where he will return to.” Halliday read Gladstone’s face. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
Gladstone rose up after receiving another call. With smiling eyes he spoke into the phone, “Hi Babe.” He nodded at Halliday as he hustled to the door.
Halliday sighed. The young man response to the wife’s demands took precedence over his call to duty.
He pondered the events of the day. Lamar Festus, a well-educated man, not a vagrant, had led him into the forest by fabricating a story of his dead dog. Had the Sierra Contractor or DOD vehicle also been a fabrication? Why did Festus have to run off? Now another MP has been discovered, this one a mutilated corpse.
It could be that he was spinning his wheels. Two unrelated incidents were fueling Halliday’s intuition. They might lead him to where the chief didn’t want him to go.
Chapter Six
Halliday’s downtown apartment suffered the same inferiority complex as the PD. The Santa Reina Palms owner was fond of bragging that the structure had survived six Presidents and the big earthquake of a decade earlier. Halliday’s fourth floor one bedroom unit exhibited long cracks above the entry that didn’t possess the quaintness of exposed adobe walls.
Several framed Thomas Kincaid “Christmas” themes hung along the walls. Halliday had intended to return the pictures until the previous occupant had taken up residence in San Quentin. The crook was helped along after Halliday had discovered a deck of stolen credit cards underneath the bedroom dresser.
One of the sofa springs had sprung a year ago. He had compensated by purchasing large throw pillows. The heater acted erratic in the winter so he bought four thick Korean blankets during one of his trips to the Bay Area. The lavish Asian designs spread warmth and color around the apartment. Made it feel like home, or so he thought.
Halliday poured Glenlivet single malt whiskey over ice then chose an old Sinatra CD. The Bose Lifestyle entertainment system was his one luxury item.
As the title track Fly Me to the Moon played, Sinatra’s smooth voice and the alcohol massaged the tension from his neck.
He walked to the bedroom. Once inside, Halliday took a hefty slug of Glenlivit before he pulled out the squeaky bottom dresser drawer. A spider crawled out, signaling its disapproval by rising up on all eight legs before disappearing into the cabinet.
The large thick envelope resided underneath a faded calendar.
Sinatra sang, “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”
The crooner’s voice partnered with the Glenlivit to ease his tensions. Loneliness had become his partner, never intrusive to the point that it irritated him.
He lifted the manila flap and pulled out several hand worn documents. His discharge papers from Diplomatic Security; accommodations he had received on various protective details; the photo of he and Special Agent Judy Solvano taken during the Niagara Falls detail; the Madam Secretary’s gift of DS cuff links. He lifted the Asia report labeled CONFIDENTIAL out of the bottom.
When his eyes stayed too long on the photograph, he laid Judy’s likeness face down.
“In other words, hold my hand.”
He resisted the urge to read through the Diplomatic Security report again. The politically correct document had neither established blame nor commended. It would only provide an excuse to drink too much, which could sway loneliness against him.
Restless, Halliday returned all the items to the envelope. He tucked it back into the bottom of the drawer.
The spotlight from a distant automobile sales lot swept into the bedroom window. It crawled up the wall to the tune of Sinatra’s rendition of Embraceable You.
“Embrace me, you irreplaceable you.”
Loneliness had a lot of relatives, including haunted memories.
# # #
The three months following Special Agent Judy Solvano’s partnership with Halliday in Berlin had run down a slippery slope lined with sharp rocks. They bumped heads on politics, she was a democrat, he an independent. Their investigative methods clashed, she was quick to take action, he methodical. He drank black coffee, she muddied her java with heaps of powdered creamer and sugar. During the subsequent Diplomatic Security details across the globe they had tried to keep their battles close in. Halliday waited for the moment when someone would bring it up with the AIC during a team meeting.
When the odd domestic detail had appeared on the radar screen Halliday voiced his preference for Frontierland. The AIC had assigned them to Fantasyland.
“To be quite frank, Halliday,” Special Agent in Charge Carl Blankenship said in a private meeting in the Disneyland Hotel, “despite your constant bickering, you and Solvano are the best team I have.”
Tell the truth Blankenship. We both know that the Madam Secretary—a women’s rights cheerleader—would love to have Agent Judy Solvano take the lead in a protective detail.
“I want you two to take the lead today,” Blankenship said. “Turns out the Madam Secretary is keen on Disneyland’s ‘It’s a Mad, Mad World’ attraction.”
Blankenship had a weird sense of humor. “You mean, ‘It’s a Small World?’”
“Yeah, that’s it. Listen, Halliday, you’ve done a hell of a job with Agent Solvano. I’m proud of the way you’ve molded her into a member of the DS team.”
The word had gone around the team that Blankenship had been touted by the Deputy Assistant Secretary for Security, for hiring Solvano. Good, maybe the secretary would promote Blankenship right on out of DS.
“Keep up the good work, Halliday. I’ve got my eye on you for advancement.”
Yeah, right.
Halliday and Solvano strolled down Disneyland’s busy Main Street in Southern California. He wondered at how grown men managed to lose their adulthood here. A fellow in a “Kansas is Corny” T-shirt pleaded with Snow White to say hi to his young daughter. Snow White moved away as if he had offered her a poison apple. The man stood there in the middle of Main Street. Halliday swore he saw a tear glistening in his eye. Then “Kansas” caught sight of the arcade across the street. He grabbed his daughter’s hand while digging in his pocket for loose change.
Solvano’s professional attire had customers asking her for directions. She pointed a family in the direction of Cinderella’s castle and said to Halliday, “I heard you had a private meeting with the AIC.”
Halliday looked at his watch. The Madam Secretary wouldn’t arrive at the park for another seventy-five minutes. “Don’t worry, you still have a job.”
Solvano stopped in her tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She had been around him long enough to recognize his wry humor. “Blankenship said you were doing a
great job. That’s why he assigned us to Fantasyland. You should be proud.”
Solvano whirled. “Are you following me?” she said to Mickey Mouse.
The big eared character scurried off in the opposite direction doing his cute waving routine. As the Midwesterner had learned, the Disney icons were not allowed to fraternize or utter a word around customers.
“Listen up, Solvano,” Halliday said. “We pick up the Madam Secretary’s entourage when they enter Fantasyland. She’ll be accompanied by the Madam Chancellor of Germany as well as three aides. Eyes and ears, Agent Solvano.”
Despite their differences, Halliday had recognized Solvano’s talent. On a DS detail to Jakarta he had learned that during Indonesian President Sukarno’s reign that culminated in 1967, the elite palace guards could determine visitors’ intent by gazing into their eyes.
Agent Judy Solvano also had that penultimate ability to read eyes. A single glance could detect the human frailties of guilt, inadequacy, or superiority. Many of their cohorts looked for what were in people’s hands. He and Solvano searched their eyes.
Besides her discerning eyes, Solvano’s reactions were based on sound judgment. She rarely made mistakes.
“Bashful, Dopey,” the AIC’s voice buzzed through their earphones. “Be advised Snow White has departed the cottage enroute to the Enchanted Castle.”
“Roger, Doc,” both Agents Halliday and Solvano replied.
“She’s early for once in her life,” Halliday said. “They’ll arrive in less than an hour.”
“I’m Bashful,” Solvano said with raised eyebrows. “You know what your problem is Halliday?”
He planted his feet in anticipation. “I’m Dopey?”
Solvano surveyed her surroundings, gathering support from the anonymous throng. “It’s ironic, you know? You exude this façade of professionalism but honestly… with your child-like imagination and lack of maturity you belong in Fantasyland with Goofy and all his friends.”
Although his Cheshire cat grin might have humored Alice, not Agent Solvano.
“Naming me Dopey wasn’t my idea,” she said.
“You think I would have chosen Bashful for me?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Dufus would have fit you.”
“There is no Dufus,” Halliday replied as he stepped up the pace. “Double time, Bashful. We’ve got to get to Fantasyland before Snow White arrives and takes a bite out of the poison apple.”
He looked over his shoulder. Agent Solvano walked in a straight deliberate line. Her eagle eyes warned him that she could swoop down for his jugular at any instant.
They met the Disney official at the gate. A sign had already been posted, closing the attraction from 10:00 a.m. to noon. The customers complained. The AIC’s words had been prophetic when he had labeled the attraction, “It’s a Mad, Mad World.”
Before Halliday could speak Solvano jumped on the Disney official, barking instructions that he should cordon off the crowd in a timely manner.
“Solvano,” Halliday said. “Let the man do his job. He’s been at this for a dozen years.” He whispered in her ear, “The Madam Secretary is not the first dignitary to visit the Magic Kingdom.”
“My job is to protect Snow White,” Solvano blurted out loud, without thinking.
“No way, lady,” a voice in the crowd called out. “I’m Prince Charming. That’s my job.”
Halliday couldn’t hold back a grin. Agent Judy Solvano’s face grew a darker shade of crimson as Mickey, Goofy, and all the other kids chortled.
Chapter Seven
After a night of Sinatra laced with Glenlivet, morning came too soon. Redwood Bluff, nestled in the sierra foothills, was an hour drive. Fortified with coffee, Halliday caught the county road west, to Highway 99 North, to another county road headed east. The last two miles snaked up to the bluff.
Halliday cursed another pothole. He pondered trading in his old Saab for a Jeep.
A grassy meadow led into the town nestled in what had once been a grove of Douglas fir. Rustic downtown structures had been constructed of wood from the local conifers. Pinecones dotted boardwalks constructed of wood. Squirrels raced up building gutters and across telephone lines.
Although Redwood Bluff held more charm than Santa Reina, the town suffered in the details. Rusted vehicles without wheels dominated the landscape beyond the short downtown block. Most houses yearned for a fresh coat of paint. Yards needed mowing. The recession or depression had become an excuse for neglect. Halliday had read somewhere that the loss of tourism had resulted in thirty percent unemployment in the town of eight thousand.
In a civic mood he fed a parking meter that was as out of place in the rustic town as Halliday. It swallowed four quarters.
The fifty yard long wooden boardwalk groaned.
The Black Bear Diner occupied one of several lacquered wooden buildings that had been taken better care of. A trio of retirees sat at a booth near the large front window discussing the latest cuts to Medicare and MediCal. Two young phone company employees occupied stools at the counter, one reading the Wall Street Journal.
Halliday found a booth in the corner.
A young waitress said, “Can I help you?”
He introduced himself then looked at her name tag. “Carrie, can you tell me where I can find Sheriff Barnes?”
She forced a smile. “You just missed him. He’s headed to his office. The police department is a block down on the right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. You live here long?”
“Born here twenty-two years ago. I graduated from Redwood Bluff High School. If this economy ever improves, I’m going back to school at College of the Sequoias, down in Visalia.”
Halliday grew weary of hearing of people’s lives left waiting on the economy as if it was a derailed train and they were stranded on the platform holding a ticket. “Do you happen to know Lamar Festus?”
The girl weighed less than a hundred pounds. She kept shifting as if her feet hurt.
“That’s funny.”
“How so?”
“You’re sitting in Lamar’s booth. Up until a few days ago he was in this booth every morning except Sunday. His dog, Shack, would wait for him outside. When they took Shack it broke Lamar’s heart. Poor thing.”
“Who took Shack?”
“Nobody knows. Sheriff Barnes is the person to ask.”
She was holding back. Maybe he shouldn’t have introduced himself as a cop. That never seemed to work with kids her age.
She pulled out her order pad. “Can I get you anything, sir?”
He pointed at the breakfast menu. “I’ll have the Tri-tip scramble with wheat toast, and a cup of black coffee.”
“Good choice.”
After she left Halliday called Gladstone. For once the call didn’t go to voicemail.
“Tell me what you’ve found regarding the complaints.”
“Nothing. I talked to the dispatcher. I went through the logs. There is no record of any complaints coming from Redwood Bluff citizens.”
Halliday nodded as Carrie sat a cup of coffee in front of him.
“No complaints? I’ll talk to Sheriff Barnes.”
“Okay. I’m heading to Fresno, per your directive.”
“Roger that, keep me advised,” he said and hung up.
Halliday wolfed down his breakfast wondering how there had been no complaints reported at the PD from Redwood Bluff. Carrie had said it right. The scrambled eggs accompanied by chunks of Tri-tip were an excellent combination.
When he finished he waved her over. “Great breakfast, Carrie. Did Lamar have any family or close friends in town?”
She stared at the floor, counting tiles. “He’s not… dead, is he?”
“No, he’s alive. I need to talk to him.”
She faced him now. “He doesn’t have any family. You could say that just about everyone in town is Lamar’s friend. Chuck Bibby is his closest friend.”
Why had Gladstone not been familiar with Lama
r Festus? “Do you have a phone number or address where I could find Chuck?”
She hesitated.
Halliday said, “I don’t know Lamar Festus. All indications are that he was a good citizen who has given a lot to this town. I’m committed to help Sheriff Barnes find him.”
A few minutes later when Halliday paid the bill, Carrie handed him a card with an address. “You can’t miss Bibby’s place.”
She said it as if maybe he could miss it. In a lowered voice she added, “I heard Lamar tell Chuck that Genevive security was breaking the law. Lamar said that some men had been following him. Ask Chuck, not the sheriff.”
“Thank you, Carrie,” Halliday said. The waitress wilted under the pressure of his light pat on her shoulder.
On the way to the sheriff’s office Halliday passed the Old Sequoia Saloon. The western style bar eclipsed the surrounding structures. The faux gabled entry invited pedestrians for “spirits guaranteed to soothe hard times,” according to the sign.
Halliday felt it odd that, after all this time, he had never met Sheriff Barnes. The day Halliday had arrived in Santa Reina Leo Bergman told him that there was no love lost between Barnes and Chief Brayden so he had steered clear. Leo said that rumors were circulating that Chief Brayden was in bed with Genevive Labs. Sheriff Barnes, on the other hand, sat out on the porch at night with a shotgun awaiting their arrival.
The sheriff’s office looked as welcoming as a wasp at a picnic. The rundown converted two-bedroom cottage could have used a paint job. As Halliday opened the door, he was hit with a blast of warm, stuffy air that smelled like stale bologna sandwiches.
A thin balding man at a large desk shot him a distrustful glare. One of the desk legs was supported by several aged volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica. It looked about as sturdy as the man slouched in the swivel chair who didn’t bother to get up.
“Sheriff Barnes?”
The man’s expression didn’t consider a response.
Halliday decided against extending his hand. “I’m Detective John Halliday from Santa Reina PD.”
“I heard you used to work for the government. Came to Santa Reina to hideout, huh?”
Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold Page 4
