by J. L. Salter
It was also the difference between Shane sustaining his own shrapnel wound, above the left kidney, or emerging without much more than a scratch. Timing.
Those few seconds probably got another Saudi killed and Shane’s comrade badly wounded on that arid and oppressively hot day outside Kuwait City. “If the strike had been two seconds late…instead of early…maybe nobody gets injured or killed.” Through bars, Shane watched the sweep hand of the station’s battery powered wall clock. “Or... maybe we’re all captured by the Iraqis.” He sighed heavily. Timing.
The wino who edged closer must have thought Shane was addressing him.
Without even looking at his cellmate, Shane waved him back. Shane stood and continued to monitor the station clock. Timing. And now the unbelievably flawed timing of being in jail when he needed to be out looking for Bethany.
Fortunately, they couldn’t check his California record because the storm had killed the power and computers were down. But land line phones were still working. Shane wondered if these local cops would be curious enough to phone Long Beach authorities.
Chapter Forty-One
Shane was never told the reason for the lengthy delay, but finally was allowed his single phone call. He reached Connie at the dealership and asked her to bail him out. Jeff might have been the better bet, but probably didn’t have any money. Everybody knows librarians are underpaid.
On the phone, Connie had only two questions: “How much money?” and “How bad of a flight risk are you?”
The bail amount was actually pretty modest, by California standards anyway. And Shane assured her he was good for the bond.
The fighting high schoolers were already long gone. After several hours cooling off and finally drying out, Shane was surprised to see Connie walk into the police station at 7:15 p.m. She had a full length rain coat, galoshes, and a gigantic golf umbrella which possibly could lift her up into the stormy skies... but she looked terrific. And there was something besides worry in Connie’s face—excitement.
As they left the cashier, Shane stopped her. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I didn’t have many options.”
“She’s my friend. Now, she needs all of us.”
Shane got back his personal belongings, including his phone. But not his bike.
“It can’t be registered here at the police station,” explained the cashier. “That’s a courthouse thing and they’re closed this afternoon ‘cause power’s out.”
Shane may not have known the proper name for his feeling of desperate separation anxiety. But he felt it keenly. A biker should never be kept apart from his bike. And a biker always wants access to his weapons, just in case. Shane had neither.
With power down and several accidents, the storm was keeping the police station busy. So, for their part, the cops seemed happy to let him go. They kept the wino and hooker probably as a favor.
In addition to offices and businesses closing and street lights inoperable, cell phone service reception was spotty. Shane tried Bethany’s number again before they departed the station. Went directly to voicemail.
“These idiots impounded my bike, Connie... I’m gonna need some wheels. Which one’s yours?”
She pointed to the jet black Humvee. “Loaner.”
“Serious? Wow... nice ride!” Shane couldn’t disguise his admiration, but didn’t dwell on it. “You want to come with me or should I drop you off?” He wasn’t exactly asking to borrow the dealership’s vehicle—it was more like an announcement.
Connie did not seem offended, but certainly knew she’d be in major trouble letting someone else drive the loaner. So, she posed an alternative. “I’ll take you over to Beth’s place.” When he didn’t object, she continued. “While you were processing out, I talked to Jeff again. He’s been calling people all afternoon—anybody he figured might know Beth.”
“Any luck?”
Connie shook her head slowly. “Nope... hop in.”
Shane hadn’t been inside a Hummer since Desert Storm and wondered what it would be like without hostile incoming fire. And with a female driver. Ha.
Most intersections and several streets were flooded; some vehicles were stalled in the middle of a lane. Chancy even with excellent visibility, the route was chaos in driving rain. There were also examples of obvious vehicular collisions, but too few police to work the wrecks.
Though the power was completely out at most of the downtown area lights, selected units had backup batteries, so they flashed yellow along the thoroughfare and red toward the side streets. At the busiest intersections police directed traffic in obvious hopes of preventing additional wrecks.
Connie waited while an officer rationed long lines of traffic at the intersection of South Dock Road and Canal Drive, less than a mile from Bethany’s cottage. “Jeff’s going to meet us at Beth’s. He cashed in a favor and got off the desk so he could make those calls.” She watched the wipers slap back and forth. “Jeff told me something else... disturbing.”
Though Shane didn’t ask, he turned and stared intently.
“The granddaughter of Lynette Harte was found dead, somewhere in Los Angeles, a few days ago. Friday, I think.”
“What happened?”
“Police first called it accidental—old lady falls and hits her head. But later the coroner said it looked like murder…blunt force trauma. Nothing near the body to make a wound like that. She was bludgeoned.”
“This couldn’t be Ricks. I’ve been just a few steps behind him this whole week. I’m pretty sure he’s still in Verde-town.”
“Don’t you find it awfully suspicious that we’re poring over the contents of Lynette’s overnighter at the exact same time her granddaughter gets murdered in L.A.?”
Shane mulled it over. “Uh, how did Jeff find out?”
“He was doing additional research on most of the names in Lynette’s diary and saw a brand new obit among his search hits. Since Jeff didn’t mention it at lunch Saturday, I figure he must’ve found it yesterday sometime.” The officer finally waved Connie ahead and the Humvee accelerated. “I think it took Jeff a while to realize it might be connected to what we’ve been working on. You know, to understand anything was actually wrong.”
“It’s sure no coincidence that Lynette’s granddaughter is killed Friday and Bethany just disappears like this today.”
“I don’t think so either. Neither does Jeff.”
“When’s he going to meet us?”
Connie checked her watch. “I think he works ‘til nine, but he acted like he might could get somebody to close up for him.”
Shane checked the vehicle’s dash clock: 1935 hours. “We can’t wait an hour and a half for him, but drive through someplace and let’s get some chow on the way to Bethany’s place.”
“You’re hungry?”
“Not particularly... but I know I need to eat. In Airborne training we learned to keep blood sugar up... ‘cause I think I’m gonna need the energy before this night’s over.”
The drive-thru added less than ten minutes to their trip and Shane ate on the way. When they arrived on Netterville Street, he saw a lime green Beetle in Bethany’s driveway. “Who’s that?” Shane pointed through the downpour.
“It’s Jeff. Guess he got off early after all.”
Shane jumped from the vehicle and hustled toward the scant covering of the tiny front porch.
Jeff arrived from Tanya’s car at about the same time. “You’re the ex-Airborne biker...”
“And you’re the black librarian.”
Jeff smiled. “Okay, we’re even... both outsiders.”
They were shaking rainy hands as Connie, still in her long rain coat, scurried into the huddle. “I guess no introductions are necessary.” Her gigantic golf umbrella provided more cover than the porch roof.
Jeff wore one of those thin disposable ponchos which was folded so many times that it was initially about the size of a large wallet.
Shane remained in his duster. “Either of you two have a key?”
When Jeff shook his head, he splattered both of them.
“Me neither,” replied Connie, “but maybe she keeps a spare hidden.”
Shane checked his watch. “Probably so, but I’m not digging around in the rain to look for it.” It was 7:50 already. “Connie, go next door and tell that nosy neighbor not to call the cops again. Tell her enough to know that we think Bethany’s in danger and we’ve got to get in.”
“Which neighbor?”
Shane pointed to the house where the curtain had moved previously. “But might as well brief the one on the other side, too. And directly across the street. I can’t get locked up again.”
Connie dashed away in the rain and stepped in puddles with nearly every stride. Her enormous umbrella got in the way more than it shielded her from above.
Shivering slightly under his thin poncho, Jeff looked like he wished he’d remained on duty in the Reference Department.
“I’m going around back,” Shane pointed, “and break through the kitchen door.”
“No offense, but after you get inside you’ll have to let me in through the front. A black man sneaking in through a busted rear door... would probably be lynched.”
Shane shrugged and disappeared into the dark narrow space between the detached garage and the cottage’s rear door. The garage’s side door was not locked, so he quickly checked inside again. Still no car. To get inside the cottage, he preferred not to use his elbow like many movie characters did. A border brick from the small flower bed easily shattered a single pane.
Shane hurried to the front to let in Jeff, who was soaked from the knees down. Shortly Connie reappeared, similarly drenched.
No sign of Bethany, but each of them checked every room. Shane had not expected to find her body because any murders would only occur after the players got what they wanted. Whatever it was. “Jeff, check that store room out back.” Shane pointed.
Jeff grabbed Connie’s monster umbrella and hurried out the back.
Apparently about to cry, Connie stood quite near Shane but didn’t speak.
“I need you to think, Connie... anything that might help us figure out where she is.”
Jeff hustled back inside and got soaked trying to retract the umbrella. “Nothing out there but wet spiders.” He struggled to insert a penlight into his pocket.
Each of them shed their raingear and began earnestly searching for clues.
“Nothing’s been tossed,” observed Connie. “It’s not at all like the night that guy broke in.”
“Did she still have my overnighter out in the garage?” Shane’s eyes looked that direction.
“As far as I know. She didn’t want that smell inside.” Connie wrinkled her nose.
“I just eyeballed the garage but wasn’t thinking about the suitcase. You check.” Shane pointed to Connie.
She disappeared and was back in less than two minutes. “No sign of the suitcase.”
“So whoever took Bethany, finally got the overnighter.”
It wasn’t long before Jeff found the note on the kitchen table. He read it out loud while the other two broke off their own searches and headed his direction.
Shane slumped onto the couch. “She’s not helping a sick relative this time.”
Connie re-entered the kitchen and spotted Beth’s purse on the counter. “No woman would go anywhere without that.” She checked the contents quickly. “But her cell phone’s gone.”
Shane called Bethany’s number to see if it was still anywhere in the cottage. Nope. He placed his own phone on the kitchen table.
Connie leaned against the bathroom doorframe and rubbed a large towel over her ankles and calves. Her shoes were ruined. “Jeff, can we locate Beth’s phone with GPS?”
“Hmm. I don’t know for positive, but yeah... theoretically. Does Beth have a 4G phone?”
“I think so.” Connie was probably guessing.
Jeff’s eyes closed for an instant. “Well, I’ve never done it before... but I have a buddy who can maybe walk me through it.”
Shane gripped his shoulder. “Just get the friend to do the trace. I need your attention here.”
“Well, there are no-service pockets along I-40, plus other parts of Greene County.” Jeff waved his hand in three directions. “The satellite fix might not work if she’s in a dead zone.”
“She’s not.” Shane felt heavily-laden. “She’s alive in a live zone. Call the friend.”
He did. “I gave him the number. It might take a few minutes. He’ll call me back.”
Shane continued to stare at Bethany’s note.
After a while, Connie started toward the door. “If it is a kidnapping, they may try to reach Beth’s parents, so one of us ought to be with them.”
“Good idea.” Shane nodded. “You.”
Jeff stopped her. “What will you tell them if nobody calls about Beth?”
“I’ll fall back on the car warranty bit. It seemed to work before.” She glanced at her watch. “You know, I’ve got a date later—”
Shane’s eyes bored into hers. “This is liable to be a long night... and we might need you again.”
“I’ll cancel.” She gulped.
“Connie...” Shane approached and stood very near. Quietly: “If you hear something... anything at all, call me.”
“Same.” Connie pointed to both of them.
Shane started to turn away and head back to the kitchen. It was 8:10 p.m.
“Shane... I know you lost your motorcycle and gun and stuff.” She handed him a canister. “This was on a handout list at the self defense class.”
To Shane, it looked like chemical spray. Without his reading glasses, he just squinted and shoved it into his pocket.
“When you find these guys, kick their butts.”
Shane nodded. Though he might kill them instead.
Chapter Forty-Two
About 8:30 p.m.
Shane shook the note as if additional words might fall loose.
After Connie had left in the driving rain for the home of Mr. and Mrs. Muse, Shane and Jeff remained in Bethany’s cottage. There was no point in going anywhere until they had at least a likely direction. And the only thing they had to work with was the note she’d left.
Shane,
Called hurriedly out-of-town to care for my ailing Aunt Lynette’s rubbishitis. Won’t be home for a while.
Bethany
Shane placed the note in front of Jeff and tapped it. “What do you make of this?”
“I’m actually surprised to find a note from the victim for what’s obviously a kidnapping. The kidnapper most likely told Beth to write it. But I can’t figure what he hoped it would accomplish.”
“Any idea what she means by rubbishitis?”
Jeff peered closely. “It’s not a real word. But it if was, it would mean a disease or condition caused by contact with rubbish.”
“What’s that at the bottom corner?” Shane pointed.
“Huh? Oh, just ear-marked.” Jeff folded back the ear. “Hold on! Some letters!”
“Let me see.” Shane squinted. With tiny print, in Bethany’s own hand, it read, Rks.
“Royal Knight Society... Rudyard Kipling Scones... Red Knickers Sorority...”
Shane waved him off. “You’re distracting me. Focus on something Bethany would’ve actually left us as a clue. Maybe somebody’s initials.”
“Robert K. Smith...”
“Maybe not initials. Maybe a name.”
“Or part of a name...” Jeff squirmed in his chair.
“R-K-S. Sound it out.”
Jeff started: “Racks. Rooks. Rocks. Rucks...”
“Ricks!” Shane slapped the table. “She’s letting us know who has her.”
“I thought that was a given.”
“Well, it is, actually. But maybe Bethany wasn’t certain we’d know.” Shane slumped to a kitchen chair. “I told her I had a new strategy that might get Ricks out of hiding to look for us, but I thought he’d come after me. I neve
r thought...”
“You couldn’t know what he’d do.”
Shane held his head with damp hands.
“Uh, how bright is this dumpster diver guy?”
Shane showed him the folded snapshot he’d been carrying. “Dumb as a donkey and his brain’s been stir fried on meth for years.” Shane felt a lot of nervous energy and wanted to be out doing something, not sitting and thinking.
“Okay, then let’s assume he was told to make Beth write a note... but our boy Ricks screwed up and the note didn’t turn out like he was instructed.”
“So we just ignore the note?”
Jeff’s brain seemed to be computing a range of possibilities. “Well, one scenario is that Ricks takes Beth to wherever he was told... and the boss asks what they left in the note. What might happen if Ricks didn’t get it right?”
“Hopefully, the boss kills Ricks.”
“Somehow, I don’t think so.” Jeff clearly strained to piece something together, but it obviously wasn’t fully cooked.
Shane jumped back up from the chair. “Okay, I definitely agree Ricks isn’t calling the shots on any of this and you’re probably right that he screwed up at least part of it. But we don’t know which part he bobbled... and still don’t have any idea who hired him.”
“I bet it’s whoever was in L.A. on Friday murdering Miss Lynette’s granddaughter.”
Shane felt like smashing something. “Whoever it is... he sure went to a lot of trouble to get the little overnight case. Or at least what’s inside it.”
“Well, if Ricks’s cognitive abilities are... let me say, impaired... then there’s a good chance he won’t travel too far.”
Shane nodded agreement. “So they’re probably still in town... or not far out.”
“At least still in this county... somewhere.”
“Good, because I plan to bury him alive in the Verde-town quarry after I beat him to a pulp for a few hours.”
Jeff’s mouth fell open. “You have a vivid way of expressing yourself. Can I assume you meant that figuratively?”
