“What kind of person has an alert beacon on his phone to reach his lawyer? It’s like the bat signal for assholes.”
“Lawyer,” Payton Penn said, returning to his non-cooperative ways.
Keri left the phone on the couch as they headed down the hill. If the lawyer was tracking it, he’d at least be delayed a bit.
*
Keri was frustrated. As she sat in the Twin Peaks substation two hours after arresting Payton Penn, she was no closer to finding Ashley than she’d been when she busted through that cabin door.
She had tried to question him multiple times through the small cell in the corner of the room but he just kept saying “lawyer” and repeating a phone number with a 213 area code. That meant his lawyer was based in downtown Los Angeles and not some local bumpkin. The sheriff, a man named Courson, must have realized that too because he eventually pulled Keri aside and told her he had no choice but to call the number. They didn’t want a civil rights violation lawsuit from some rich LA attorney. They couldn’t afford it.
Then he gave her even worse news. He’d contacted her boss at Pacific Division to read him in, a guy named Hillman, who wanted her to call in immediately. The sheriff told her she could videoconference from his office, where she’d have some privacy. She thanked him and reluctantly made the call from the sheriff’s surprisingly hi-tech video set-up.
Hillman and Ray popped up on the screen. She was at least glad it wasn’t the whole squad.
“Care to explain yourself?” Hillman asked. She launched in.
“Sir, Payton Penn has a motive to abduct Ashley. His own brother suspects that the threatening letter they received came from him. And that note in the van everyone was so sure Ashley wrote could have been forged. Payton stayed with his brother’s family last spring. Mia told me he wasn’t supervised. He could have easily gotten the stationery from Ashley’s room. He could have taken things she’d written and used them to trace a note that credibly looked like her handwriting. If he’s been planning this for a while, then he’d have lots of time to get it right.”
To her surprise, neither man spoke.
“What is it?” she asked.
Hillman looked almost sheepish as he spoke.
“About that—the FBI tells me that they’ve started preliminary analysis on the note from Ashley and they’ve found some…anomalies.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re no longer certain she wrote it.”
Ashley tried not to gloat but couldn’t resist one little dig.
“Do you still want my gun and badge?”
The sheepishness disappeared from Hillman’s face.
“Don’t get cocky, Locke. We both know your phone didn’t cut out earlier. Besides, my understanding is that you didn’t find anything incriminating at the cabin.”
“I only got to do a cursory search. I need to go back and do a more thorough one.”
“And you will, once we get a warrant.”
“Exigent circumstances, sir.”
“When you first busted in, maybe. But that won’t fly anymore. We need to do this by the book from here on out. Give us an hour or two down here and we’ll have the paperwork sorted out. You can wait at the station up there and lead the search once we get approval. I’m sending Sands up to assist. He should be there by the time we get the warrant authorized.”
Ray shifted uncomfortably beside Hillman but said nothing. Sheriff Courson poked his head into the office.
“Penn’s lawyer is here,” he said. Keri nodded.
“I’ve got to go,” she told Hillman.
“Okay. But you’re not to take any further action without authorization. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” she said before hanging up and returning to the station bullpen.
Even before the sheriff introduced him, Keri was put off by the lawyer. On the surface, he was attractive. His jet black hair was slicked back like some 1980s Wall Street warrior. He had a broad smile that vaguely reminded her of the Joker from the Batman movies. His teeth were unnaturally white and his skin was unnaturally tan. His suit probably cost upwards of five thousand dollars. Almost everything about him oozed insincerity. Everything, that is, except his eyes, which were bright and alert and currently focused on her.
“Detective Keri Locke,” said Sheriff Courson, “this is Mr. Penn’s attorney, Jackson Cave.”
Cave stepped toward her and extended his hand. Keri forced herself not to react visibly even though every nerve ending was on edge. This was the man who could potentially lead her to the Collector and maybe even to Evie.
“Nice to meet you, Detective,” he said as he clasped her hand between both of his and gave her that cheesy political handshake that was so common these days. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately.”
“Right back at you, Counselor,” she said, staring at him unblinkingly.
“Oh, that’s intriguing,” he said, seemingly genuinely curious. “Perhaps we could get a drink sometime and swap war stories, somewhere a little less…rustic.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Keri could see that Sheriff Courson appreciated Jackson Cave about as much as she did.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“No, of course not. And I suggest you don’t hold your breath when it comes to keeping my client locked up much longer. He’ll be making bail in the next few hours, just as soon as we return to an LA courtroom and show a judge video footage of Mr. Penn at work all day yesterday, including the exact time of his niece’s alleged abduction. It would seem that you wasted a trip up here on a wild goose chase, Detective.”
“I wouldn’t call it a waste, Mr. Cave. After all, I got to meet you. And I have a feeling we’ll be running into each other again.”
She nodded at Sheriff Courson and he followed her into his office.
“Sheriff, I need to ask you a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you drag this thing out as long as possible? Don’t offer to drive Penn back to LA. Demand that LAPD or the County Sheriff come up and take custody. Take your time with the paperwork. In general, drag your heels. I need time to get ahead of this case before that asshole Cave starts mucking everything up. A girl’s life may depend on it.”
“Frankly, Detective, I was inclined to do all that on my own. Payton Penn has been a pain in my rear for years and his lawyer hasn’t endeared himself to me much either.”
“Great. Can I leave here directly from your office? The longer it takes before Cave realizes I’m gone, the more of a head start I can get.”
“The door’s right there,” he said.
Keri didn’t need to be told twice.
*
She called Ray from the car on the way back out to Payton Penn’s place.
“I’m going back up to the cabin,” she told him, skipping the pleasantries entirely.
“Nice to speak with you too, partner,” he said, clearly as annoyed with her as she was with him. “Don’t do something dumb, Keri. I’m on my way up there now. We’ll have the warrant soon. Just wait it out.”
“Ashley could be dead by then.”
“We’re still not even a hundred percent sure she was abducted at all, much less by this guy.”
“Raymond, would you rather be overly aggressive and be wrong or too lax and be wrong? If I’m wrong, the worst that happens is I get fired or sued. But if she was taken and we slow boat this, a girl could end up dead. It’s not a tough call.”
“Okay, but what if he is the guy and you find something without a warrant? It might be inadmissible in court.”
“I’ve got latex gloves and I’ll be careful not to leave any traces. I was already in the place once to arrest him. So finding my DNA won’t be a shock.”
“Is there anything I can say to get you to hold off?” he pleaded.
“You can tell me Ashley Penn was just discovered safe and sound. Short of that, no.”
She heard Ray sigh heavily.
“I�
��ll be up there in about ninety minutes. Please be careful.”
“You got it, Godzilla.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Tuesday
Late Morning
When she came to, the first thing Ashley felt was pain. It was so intense that at first she couldn’t identify where it was coming from. Part of her was too afraid to open her eyes and check. She knew she was lying on her back at least. But other than that everything was hazy. She didn’t have any idea how long she’d been out.
She took a deep breath and forced her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was that she’d landed pretty squarely in the middle of the padded area she’d created using the mattress. The second thing she noticed was that her head was screaming in pain. Her body may have hit the ground first but clearly the back of her head did too. There was blood everywhere.
She glanced at her aching left hand and saw that the wrist was bent unnaturally. It was clearly broken. Her right leg also throbbed. She tilted her head to get a better look. Something was definitely wrong with her shin. The whole lower leg area was swollen up to about the size of a football. She shifted her weight and involuntarily screamed out in pain. Her tail bone felt like it had cracked in half. If that’s what she landed on, it probably did.
Ashley forced herself to crawl toward the door of the silo. Every move sent stabs of pain throughout her body. Through her watery eyes, she saw what looked like a reconfigured examination table in a corner. There were straps on the sides and a head restraint. She decided not to think about what it might be used for.
There was a small desk and chair by the door, which she used to pull herself up. She sat gingerly on the edge of the desk as she caught her breath. It was brutally hot at the base of the silo and her nearly naked body was slick with peanut butter, sweat, and blood. She realized the clothes she’d tossed down the funnel were still over on the clump of padding but there was no way she could make it back to get them.
She reached for the door handle and a terrible thought occurred to her.
What if I’ve gone through all this and the door is locked from the outside?
She started to laugh, aware that she was slightly hysterical but unable to stop. Eventually she calmed back down, grabbed the handle, and pushed.
It opened. Sunlight flooded in, temporarily blinding her. When her eyes adjusted, she took a moment to assess the area. Outside, everything was quiet and normal. A bird flew by as a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. About a hundred yards away stood an old farmhouse. Behind it was a dilapidated barn. Both were surrounded by barren fields that hadn’t had crops in years.
She grabbed the chair and headed in the opposite direction, down a rutted dirt road choked with weeds and foliage. She used the chair as a kind of walker, limping on her left leg as she braced herself with her right hand and left forearm. She turned it around and sat when she needed a break.
She followed the road to the top of a sloping hill. When she got there, what she saw made her want to cry out in joy. There was a paved road about two hundred yards off in the distance. It was a long way but if she could make it, then she could flag down some help.
Suddenly she heard the unmistakable sound of a car. Rounding the corner was a silver convertible sedan. Two young women, probably only a few years older than her, sat in the front.
Without thinking, she called out to them.
“Hey! Over here! Help me! Please!”
She waved her one good arm desperately. They would have been too far away to hear her anyway, but as the car passed by she heard music blasting from the speakers. They never even looked her way.
Silence returned to the farm. Then she heard a loud bang, like a screen door slamming shut. She looked in the direction of the farmhouse. A man stood in front of it. He was using his hand to shield his eyes as he scoured the horizon.
Ashley, realizing she was at the top of a hill, immediately dropped to the ground and lay flat. She grabbed at a leg of the chair, trying to pull it onto its side, but the effort required was massive and it took a good ten seconds before it toppled over.
She waited, panting quietly, hoping against hope.
Then, in the distance, she heard a car door close and an engine turn over. It revved as the vehicle picked up speed. It was getting closer. She rolled down the other side of the hill as best she could, ignoring the pain, trying to get as far as possible from the dirt road.
The vehicle stopped. It idled as a door opened and then closed. She heard footsteps getting closer. A figure appeared at the top of the hill but the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t make it out. He stepped forward, blocking out the rays.
“Howdy there,” he said amiably.
Memories she’d blocked out flooded into Ashley’s brain quicker than she could process them. She recognized the man. He was the guy she’d seen two nights ago at the convenience store near school. She remembered him flirting with her and how she was flattered because he was cute and probably in his early thirties. His name was Alan. She’d even have given him her number if not for Walker. And he was the same guy who’d pulled up next to her in a black van after school yesterday afternoon. She’d only had a second to register that it was him before everything went dark. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the silo.
And now he was standing over her, the man who’d kidnapped her, greeting her warmly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You don’t look so great,” he said as he approached her. “You’re all bloody. Your wrist and leg look pretty bad. And my goodness, you’re half naked. We should really get you back inside and take a look at you. Then we can resume the experiments.”
As he moved closer, even though she knew no one could hear her, Ashley began to scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Tuesday
Noon
Keri put on her latex gloves and stepped into Payton Penn’s cabin for the second time today. She walked the surrounding property before coming in, on the off chance that Ashley was being held in some belowground alternate location. She found nothing.
That didn’t surprise her. With his airtight alibi, there was no way Penn could have taken Ashley himself, which meant he had to have help. And if he didn’t want to personally get his hands dirty, it made no sense to have her brought back to his own home. She was being held somewhere else.
That’s why the first thing she did upon entering the cabin was open the outdated laptop sitting on the coffee table. The dust that had accumulated on it made her nervous. That meant it hadn’t been used in a while. One would have expected him to keep in touch with his partner regularly.
A quick search showed that the internet history had been cleared. Not suspicious on its own. But in context it added to her misgivings.
Why does a guy who lives alone in an isolated cabin clear his history? It’s not like he has to hide porn from anyone. So what is he hiding?
She went to his bookmarks and pulled up his Yahoo email account. For a guy who was so cautious about his search history, he was pretty sloppy with this. He hadn’t logged out the last time he’d been online so the page loaded directly to his inbox rather than requiring a password. Keri did a few quick searches—“abduct,” “niece,” “Penn”—no luck. She thought for a moment, then tried “van.” An email popped up with the username bambamrider22487. She searched for any others with that name and hit the jackpot.
The first one was from bambamrider22487 a month ago and read:
Re: The Big Game:
Per our mutual friend, I have agreed to sell you my ticket. It will cost you $20. It will be waiting for you under seat 21, top deck section 13 at Dodger Stadium this Thursday night. If you take it, I will assume you want to attend and that the price is right.
Payton, under the username PPHeeHee, replied:
Will be there.
The next correspondence was two weeks later, from Payton Penn to bambamrider22487. It read:
Per your request, I have a van for the
game. It is in the recommended lot. Keys taped to driver side front inner tire.
The next correspondence was a week ago, from bambamrider22487 to Payton Penn:
The game is a week from today. 1500-West. Please confirm. This will be last chance to skip attending.
Payton replied an hour later:
Confirmed.
Some of it was easy to figure out. The big game was obviously the abduction. She suspected that the $20 price meant $20,000 to take Ashley. The van was self-explanatory. 1500-West was almost certainly military time for 3 PM at West Venice High.
But if Payton was at the Dodgers game, he already had a ticket. So what was the “ticket” left under the seat? Then it hit her. There was something in one of the emails saying “Per your request, I have a van for the game.”
But there hadn’t been any email correspondence requesting a van. It must have come verbally. The “ticket” was a phone, most likely a burner. Keri glanced at Payton’s cell phone lying on the couch where she’d tossed it earlier. It was a fancy Android—definitely not a burner. That meant the other one was somewhere else in the house, probably well hidden considering its sensitive nature.
Keri closed the laptop and looked around the room. She tried to put herself in Payton Penn’s shoes. Where would he hide the phone?
He’s careful enough to know it needs to be hidden. He cleared his search history. But he also left his e-mail accessible. He was smart enough to put some kind of emergency call beacon on his phone to reach his lawyer. But he also admitted that to me. This man is a combination of paranoid, sloppy, lazy, and cocky. Where would a guy like that leave his phone?
It occurred to her that he’d want it easily accessible wherever he was in the small cabin but not personally on him. It was probably in this room. As her eyes scanned her surroundings, Keri imagined Payton rushing over to grab the ringing phone, hoping to get to it before it went to voicemail.
A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1) Page 17
