by N. M. Brown
‘Well, this door is locked, too.’
‘Then, let’s have a look around back.’
Leighton walked around to the rear of the property to find nothing more than a fence, a patch of parched grass, and a grey plastic bird feeder. Vicki followed him but said nothing. The retired detective turned his attention to the house. The rear wall of the property had one small window and a glazed sliding door. He walked over to the door and crouched down. After a moment, he walked to the window, and put his face close to the glass, peering at the lower corners.
‘You think someone could’ve broken in through there?’ Vicki asked.
‘No.’ Leighton shook his head. ‘The window’s too small to get through.’
‘So, what are you doing?’
‘I’m just making sure there isn’t a body in here.’
‘Oh.’ Vicki felt a momentary jolt of fear. ‘But, you can’t see inside.’
‘Come over here a second.’ Leighton beckoned to her.
Vicki walked cautiously over to where Leighton stood.
‘Look in through the glass,’ he said, his voice deep and reassuring.
Vicki stood on her tiptoes, and cupped her hands over her eyes to reduce the glare of the sun. Leighton was close enough so that Vicki could smell his faint cologne - musky and sweet.
‘What can you see?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really - the blind is down, and there’s just a tiny space at the side of it.’
‘What if you look down?’
Vicki cast her eyes downward. ‘Just the window ledge.’
‘Anything on it?’
‘Yeah, a small white ashtray, with some nickels and dimes in it?’
‘But, that’s all you can see on there?’
‘Yeah.’ Vicki pulled back from the glass and turned to Leighton. ‘Didn’t tell me much.’
‘If your friend was in there, even just because of an accident - carbon monoxide, a slippery bathtub or faulty electrics say - well, after two or three weeks, that window ledge would be covered in flies. In summer like this, they can fill a house in a fortnight. I also checked the windows at the front and side, they’re clean, too. All of the main access points into the property are secured and undisturbed.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I believe it means you are going to buy me lunch.’
Vicki fixed him with a surprised expression, though not entirely shocked by his comment.
‘It’s okay.’ Leighton smiled. ‘Now we know her home is secure, we can discuss where Laurie is most likely to be, but we do it over some food, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Vicki sighed and smiled. ‘Let’s go, Sherlock.’
They walked back to the car, and climbed inside. It was just as Leighton had started to drive along the road Vicki grabbed his arm to stop him.
‘Oh shit! Hang on,’
The car lurched to a stop.
‘What’s wrong?’ Leighton asked, as he applied the parking brake.
‘I left my bag in the yard, hang on,’ she said, as she unclipped her seat belt, and clambered out of the car.
‘I’ll wait,' Leighton said, 'but the meter is running.’
Sighing, he picked up a bundle of tape cassettes and began choosing his next play list. A few moments later, Vicki climbed back into the passenger seat, clutching her bag to her chest. Leighton noticed she was breathing hard, too, with a mist of spray on her forehead.
‘Bit stressed. Thought you’d lost it, huh?’ Leighton said, as he restarted the engine.
‘Yeah.’ Vicki nodded. ‘My backpack is my life.’
‘Amen to that,’ he said, and the car rolled along the dusty track towards the centre of town.
12
As he lay on the ground, with his hot urine soaking through his shirt, California Highway Patrol Officer Charlie Taylor marvelled at how quickly circumstances could change. Nineteen minutes earlier, he had been cruising along Route 138, where the freeway cut through the San Bernardino National Forest.
Around that time, he had felt the first grumbling of hunger starting to form in his gut, and was thinking about a stopping off at the Lazy Faire Ranch for a burger. The place was only a few miles down the road, and the traffic was light for a weekday, so Charlie was confident he could get there less than in ten minutes. The afternoon was warm and bright, and as he sped through the dappled light of the forest on the BMW, the officer noticed something glinting through the jagged chaos of the trees.
Slowing down the bike, he turned his head to get a better look, and realised something large and silver was sitting partially concealed by the fringe of trees bordering the highway. Charlie pulled into a lay-by and, after waiting for a stream of cars to pass, turned his bike around and crossed over on to the north bound side.
As he cruised along the highway running parallel to the treeline, Charlie could clearly see shiny metal panels. As an officer with six years’ experience, he knew there was no designated parking this far north in the park. It therefore seemed likely the vehicle was possibly stolen, then abandoned. He slowed the bike to a stop on the verge of the road. Kicking down the stand, he climbed off his bike, and unclipped his helmet in a single practised move.
As he walked towards the trees, the officer glimpsed more metal from the object set back into the woods. Initially, he had thought it might be a food van, or even an old style polished RV, but stepping through the shadowy trees, he could see the actual size of the vehicle, which appeared large enough to be an HC trailer. He stumbled on a gnarled root and had to grab on to a tree for support. Although he was only moving twenty or so metres away from the freeway, Charlie noticed how eerily quiet the area was – as if someone had turned down the volume on the cosmic remote.
By the time he had walked several more metres towards the vehicle, Charlie realised there was no bird sounds either, just the regular sound of his own breathing. For some reason, he found himself thinking of the “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” song - it slipped into his head, and occupied the void left by the departing sounds of the world.
Leaving the treeline, Charlie stepped into a rough clearing, and paused in confusion before a large GMC style bus. This was not something which belonged in the middle of the woods. The bulk of the body of the vehicle was a dull silver colour, and the windows were dark and grimy. The officer figured it had been the sun glinting off the metal panels which had initially snared his attention. Still, it was strange to find something like this in the middle of nowhere. There was no actual road here; it looked like the bus had simply dropped from the heavens, or been pushed up from below.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he peered beneath the bus. The weeds sticking out of the dry earth appeared to be green and healthy, suggesting the bus had only arrived there recently. He stood up and gazed around at the ground and bushes. The immediate vicinity looked as if a cluster of vehicles had recently been parked nearby. Moving cautiously closer to the bus, the officer’s right hand instinctively found the solid comfort of his Smith and Wesson. He slid along the side of the bus, and reached the open door. Darting his head around to glance through the opening, he found the drivers’ seat was empty. Most likely whoever had dumped the bus here was long gone.
‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Police. Is anyone aboard the vehicle?’
There was no reply.
Holding his gun before him like torch, Charlie Taylor boarded the bus.
Stepping up into the silence of the vehicle, the officer noticed an unusual smell that reminded him not of public transport, but a hospital or dental surgery - clean and antiseptic. He moved slowly along the central aisle, suppressing the urge to run his hands along the headrests. A sweep of the bus revealed it was not only empty, but utterly spotless. This fact struck Charlie as seriously weird. He had been on numerous buses in his life, but none of them looked like you could eat your dinner off the floor.
As he stepped off the bus and into the bright sunlight, Charlie decided the best way to deal with the situation was to radio it in, an
d get a team out here to investigate the scene. The technicians could use their tape and tubes, and Charlie could sit down for lunch. Turning his head to one side, he brought his hand up to the chest-mounted radio and paused. There was something wrong beneath his feet. It was the combination of sound and texture that drew his attention. Staring down at his feet, he realised he was standing on a wide square of clear plastic sheeting. This was something that had definitely not been there before he boarded the bus.
Before he had time to process the terrible implication of this shift in his environment, Charlie Taylor felt a sharp wasp-like sting on the left side of his neck. His hand shot up to the site of the pain, where his fingers found the small source of his discomfort. Pulling the foreign body from his flesh, he stared at it, and momentarily thought it was some type of insect. But, as he brought his hand closer to his face, Charlie found himself staring at a steel dart, with an orange furry tail. Before he had time to process this development, his right leg suddenly buckled beneath him, and Charlie felt himself collapse on to the slick plastic sheeting.
The material felt strange against his sweating face, and smelled faintly chemical. As he tried to move his limbs, the police officer felt his energy drain away, leaving him face down in an unnatural position. In the dreamy haze of the paralytic agent, Charlie was vaguely aware of a figure walking towards him. He tried to turn his face around to get a clearer view, perhaps see a face, but by then, the paralysis was complete. All that he could see was a pair of work pants, the bottom half of a Hawaiian shirt, and the dull grey metal of a tranquilliser gun.
‘Hey there, Snoopy,’ a voice said quietly. ‘I think you were sniffing around ‘cause you wanted a ride on my bus. Well, okay, let's get on, and see where it’s heading.’
13
The inside of the car felt sweltering to Vicki as she closed the door. The car turned out of the dusty track and onto a real road. It had taken a moment for the groaning air conditioning to kick in. During this time, Vicki’s eyes had remained fastened on the reflection of the ramshackle house fading away in the wing mirror. However, once they had turned off, it was lost from sight … much like the owner.
‘So, where do you want to eat?’ Leighton asked, as he pulled on his seat belt.
‘Huh?’ Vicki shifted from being lost in the past.
‘I asked, where you wanted to go for lunch.’
‘Well,’ Vicki pretended she was thinking, ‘how about we visit The Palm Café?’
‘Is that where Laurie worked?’
‘Ah.’ Vicki smiled. ‘Now somebody’s back in detective mode. Yeah, it’s where she worked. It’s just off the main drag, back in Barstow.’
Following Vicki’s directions, Leighton drove the car along a business loop of Route 15, and pulled into a small parking lot covered with a patchwork of tarmac. The midday heat was heavy and unrelenting, as the young woman and older man left the coolness of the car to cross the hot grey expanse. Vicki struggled to shake of the strange numbness of the sense of loss she felt.
Inside The Palm Café, Vicki and Leighton found a seat next to the window, but thankfully out of the scorching sunlight. They ordered a couple of burritos – vegetable for Vicki; chicken for Leighton - and two iced teas. The two members of staff, who were mopping the red tiled floor and serving the food respectively, were cheerful, and the place was bright and airy, but the view from their table was of little more than the Nu-Way car wash and, beyond that, Soutar’s Ford Dealership.
‘So.’ Vicki smiled. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’
‘Yeah.’ Leighton glanced around. ‘We could write a travel guide to the fast food joints of North America.’
‘Somebody would buy it.’ Vicki shrugged then added, ‘Possibly.’
‘Is the town what you expected?’ Leighton asked, as he undid the cuff buttons of his pale blue shirt.
‘I suppose it is … kind of. A bit hotter and dustier.’
‘Well, once you head inland from the coast, this is what you get. Have you only ever lived by the water down in Oceanside?’
‘Yeah, but not always at the beach. We used to live in a house over on the west side, in Parkland Heights.’
Vicki saw by the slight arching of one of Leighton’s eyebrows he knew of the exclusive area and the ridiculous price of the homes located there.
‘Yeah, I know. My father is a cosmetic dentist, and my mother is a maxillofacial surgeon, so they pulled in the dollars.’
‘How come you moved from there?’ Leighton asked.
‘After the divorce, my father moved into the beach house for a time, and I spent most of my time down there. That suited me; I always preferred that place to my mother’s palace. Anyway, eventually, when my father moved down to San Francisco, my mother sold the big house.’
‘It must have been hard, leaving your home, and coping with divorce.’
‘I guess. To be honest, I never really thought of the place in Parkland Heights as home. It was too clinical and so large it felt almost empty. Even the gardens up there all have high walls, like prisons. You never see or hear any of the neighbours. Living there was like being a prisoner in a big empty palace. It probably sounds really messed up, but when I was looking at Laurie’s little place back there, I was thinking how more like a real home it seemed.’
‘Well,’ Leighton smiled, ‘the other side of the tracks always looks more appealing than the one you’re on.’
‘I know, and I like the beach house best of all – that’s where I got to be a regular kid. But, it’s still on loan from my mother.’
‘She charges you?’ Leighton’s eyes widened.
‘Not exactly. Despite spending most of her time in New York, she wanted to keep the beach house for her retirement. She couldn’t stand the idea of renting it out to strangers who would – and I quote “contaminate the place”. So, she told me I could live there rent free and maintain the place, but only on the basis I change none of the décor, and use the alarm system on a daily basis.’
‘Seems very practical.’ Leighton smiled sympathetically.
‘That’s my mother for you.’
The conversation was halted by the arrival of a waitress, carrying a tray to their table.
When the food had been placed before them, Vicki and Leighton ate in comfortable silence. To any onlooker, they might have appeared to be a father and daughter, who had not seen each other for a while, and were breaking the ice with some fast food.
When they finished their meal, Leighton excused himself to use the bathroom, but stopped on the way to speak to a senior waitress, who was setting up a table for a kid’s party. As he moved away from the table, Vicki reached into her bag, and removed a neat tablet computer, which she switched on, and began typing furiously.
When Leighton returned, he found Vicki frowning intently at the small screen.
‘You brought a computer?’
‘No.’ Vicki carried on, typing intensely.
‘You found a computer?’
‘No, it’s not mine; it belongs to Laurie.'
‘Where did it come from?’ Leighton frowned.
‘Her bedside table.’
‘You broke into her house?’ Leighton shook his head in disbelief but remained standing.
‘Not exactly, she always keeps a key under her door mat. I didn’t break anything.’
‘But, you entered the property, and removed that item?’
‘Yep,’ Vicki said, as she typed.
‘You realise you’ve committed a crime, and if your friend is in any kind of trouble, you’ve contaminated a crime scene?’
‘You told me there was no crime, therefore it couldn’t be a crime scene.’
Leighton ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘This was what you wanted all along?’ he asked.
‘Yep.’ Vicki continued typing.
‘So, why involve me at all? Why drag me ninety miles away from home, when you could have shown up, broken in, and stole the laptop yourself?’
‘I needed
you as a witness to prove I’m not a thief. Plus, you said that you’d help.’
Sitting down, Leighton pinched the bridge of nose and sighed. ‘Look Vicki, regardless of your intentions, I don’t think you can claim innocence on this one. I can’t vouch for you.’
‘Well, I had no other way of finding this.’
She turned the computer around, so Leighton could see the screen. The display featured a booking confirmation for a bus company called Route Kings. Details for a passenger called Miss L. Taylor had been entered, and a flashing line of text at the bottom of the screen stated, “transaction complete.”
Leighton tugged a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his jacket pocket, and peered at the computer.
‘Leighton, these are the last pages Laurie accessed before she disappeared, so that proves she made a booking.’
‘That’s true, but, as I said,’ Leighton sat back removing his glasses, ‘Laurie may have never boarded the bus.’
‘That’s also true.’ Vicki allowed this concession. ‘But, the other thing that keeps me awake is the fact this bus company may not actually exist.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They don’t exist - not in yellow pages, not online, and not according to any of the bus depots I checked.’
‘You checked?’
‘I’ve searched; they don’t exist anywhere on any record.’
‘Look, this is madness,’ Leighton sighed, as he raised a hand to request a cheque from a waitress. ‘I think I’ll head back to Oceanside. We’re done here.’
‘Madness?’ Vicki’s eyes widened in frustration. ‘How can you not see this?’
‘Listen, so far, what we have is a girl whose friend didn’t show up to meet her. How many times do you think that happens every day?’ Leighton checked himself for raising his voice and dropped his volume. ‘Then, that same friend feels embarrassed, and decides rather than deal with the fallout, they’ll just slip off the radar for a few weeks.’
As Vicki stared at the floor in defeated silence, a waitress lifted the plates and a couple of twenties from the table.
