“Sheriff Morrison,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Walter Moody, they let me be the principal here. We met once, at a fund raiser for the Volunteer Fire Department. Remember?”
Lester shook his hand and said, “Yes, I do remember you. We talked about that gawd awful blizzard that came through here the year before and how you had to close down the school for a week.”
“Oh, wasn’t that a storm? Hope we never have anything like that again. Say, I overheard the conversation with you and my assistant. Is there a problem? Has something happened to Melissa?”
“Oh, I doubt it. Thought I ought to check on her though, just doin’ my job. I was hopin’ to talk to her friend Becky Wilson, see if she might have any thoughts as to where Melissa could be. Um, somebody headin’ this way now.”
The woman from the desk came down the hallway with a young girl trailing behind her. The girl looked scared. Becky Wilson was blonde and tall, fair skinned, with luminous blue eyes that could melt a young boy’s heart at twenty paces. She wore typical teenage blue jeans with decorated pockets and an orange sweater with the word Bobcats across the front. Walter Moody said, “Let’s talk in my office.”
The principal took a seat at the head of an oval table and indicated to Becky that she should sit across from the Sheriff.
“Becky,” Lester said, “I’m afraid your friend Melissa is missing. Her folks haven’t seen her since late yesterday. Did you happen to see her or talk to her anytime after ten o’clock last night?”
“No Sir, I rode home with her on the school bus in the afternoon, just like we always do. Me and my parents went into town after supper, but we didn’t get home till late, around eleven I think. No, I didn’t see Melissa at all.” One by one, Becky looked at the solemn faces around the table. “You people are scaring me.”
Lester said, “Melissa had an argument at home and apparently left the house and went for a walk to cool off. Did you see anyone along the highway when you came back from town, anyone at all, a car on the side of the road, a hitchhiker maybe?”
Becky gripped the edge of the conference table, her knuckles growing white. “No, but I wasn’t looking either. I was tired, and most of the time I was laying across the back seat with my eyes closed. I’m sorry. Oh my God. I can’t believe she’s missing.”
Lester reached across the table and gently took the girl’s hands in his. “That’s okay, honey. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Maybe she went to another friend’s house. Do you know any other places where she might have spent the night?”
“Not really. Her folks are really, really strict. My house is the only place they allow her to visit and that’s cause we live just down the road. Her daddy is a real…” She stopped speaking and looked around the table.
“I know, Becky,” Lester jumped in, “You don’t have to say it. I know what you’re thinkin’. I met the man this mornin’. He’s a real piece of work isn’t he?”
Becky nodded, her eyes tearing up. She reached for a Kleenex box sitting in the middle of the table.
The sheriff continued. “Becky, let me ask you this. Does Melissa have any boyfriends? Is she dating anyone?”
The teen hesitated and said, “Well, I don’t know if you would call him a boyfriend or not, but she has dated a boy that she likes a lot, Carlos Sanchez. He plays on the football team. We’re both cheerleaders, Melissa and I, that’s how she met him. Actually, you couldn’t really say they had dates. Carlos is what you might call a friendly date, the kind where you just meet up with someone at a restaurant or go for a ride after a game. You know what I mean? Besides, there isn’t a whole lot to do on a date in Boise City.”
“Did Carlos see Melissa at her home very often?”
The girl shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, Carlos would never do that. Her dad, well, her dad hates Mexicans. Melissa said he thinks they should all be thrown in the back of a truck and dumped in the Rio Grande River.”
“Okay, Becky, you can go on back to class now. I’ll contact you or your folks when we know Melissa’s all right. Thanks for talkin’ to me, you’ve been a big help.”
Becky acknowledged Lester and the Principal with a wan smile, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue.
When the young girl had left the room, Sheriff Morrison asked, “Mr. Moody, where would I find young Carlos Sanchez this time of day?
The principal looked up at a round, dinner-plate sized clock on the wall. “My guess is that’s he’s gone out somewhere for lunch. It’s that time of day. Most of the kids leave the school at noon and head out for a burger somewhere or some snacks at one of the convenience stores. Then we have a home football game tonight. Most of the players get out of school early on Fridays and meet up back at the locker room, somewhere around five if I remember right. That might be your best chance to catch up with him.”
Lester agreed, thanked the man, and walked out, noting the trophy case on the wall. Plaques and gold statues filled the shelves, mostly for football and track. Outside, the lot had all but cleared with only a dozen scattered vehicles left behind. On the front steps, students in pockets of three or four sat talking and laughing, unaware that at that very moment, one of their own was fighting to stay alive.
Chapter 6
Billy Ray looked up at the sound of the office door banging against the stop. Lester stomped across the gray tile floor with quick, hard steps, his boots making a loud clump-clump as he went. The well-worn chair groaned and creaked as the Sheriff leaned back and put his feet up on the paper-strewn desk. A piece of dried mud fell from the front of one heel and broke into several pieces. Lester made no move to brush it off. In contrast, the deputy’s desk was spotless with forms aligned and in their proper tray. Two retractable ballpoint pens sat to the right of a protective mat, exactly parallel with a yellow note pad.
“You look like a horse with a burr in your saddle blanket,” Billy Ray said with a grin. “What happened at the school, one of the teachers scare you with a book?”
Lester ignored the verbal jab. “You find anything in those clothes?
“Nope, no stains of any kind.”
“I didn’t learn much either. Got Becky Wilson out of class and talked with her. Wasn’t any help. She didn’t know anything we don’t know. The news shook her up though. Felt sorry for the poor little thing. Couldn’t find the so called boyfriend. He’s playin’ in the game tonight. I’ll try to catch up with him then.”
Billy Ray pointed at the computer screen. “I started the report. I wrote up the call from dispatch, the time, and the conversations with the Parkers. I’ll add that you talked to Becky Wilson if you want.”
“I want and put it all on paper. I don’t trust those damn computers. I’ve never yet had a piece of paper tell me File Not Found when I want to look at it.”
“C’mon Sheriff, aren’t you going overboard on this? We have no victim, not yet anyway.”
Lester’s feet hit the floor with a thud as he leaned toward the deputy. “I’m gettin’ a little tired of hearing that kind of talk. Ssomething’s happened to that girl, Billy Ray, I know it, I feel it, and I’m not gonna sit around here, wastin’ valuable time waitin’ for her to show up. I’m gonna find out if somebody took her, or hurt her, or if she run off, whatever. One way or the other, I intend to get to the bottom of this real quick like, or hope to. Now you can sit there and twiddle your thumbs the rest of the day if you want or you can come along and help me. How do you want to play it?”
Billy Ray, sensing the Sheriff’s mood, tried to keep it light. “Well, I’m not very good at thumb twiddlin’, not as good as you old farts anyway. Where do you want to start?”
“Back at the farm place. I want to take a good look around. Then, you and I are goin’ for a walk?”
“A walk, what are you talking about?”
Lester declined to answer and fished a well worn phone book from a desk drawer. He found the listing for Parker, Albert, and dialed.
“Hello?” the voice said with a noticeable waver.
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“Sheriff Lester P. Morrison on this end. Have you heard anything from Melissa, Ma’am?”
“Not a word. I called everyone I know including my sister in Tulsa. No one has seen her or talked to her. She’s gone, Sheriff. I’ll never see her again.”
Lester heard the voice break, her words barely audible. He waited a moment and said, “Mrs. Parker, we’re still lookin’ for your girl. I checked with the school and talked with Becky but she hasn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. I’m goin’to talk to more of the kids at school later on today, but in the meantime, I’d like to come back out to your place and look around a little more. If she doesn’t show up soon, I’m gonna call the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation and get those boys in on it, or try to. Thing is, they won’t make much of a move until there’s evidence of a crime but I’m gonna talk to them anyway, try to find somebody over there that’s got some common sense. ”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ve spent all morning praying about this, praying as hard as I know how. I hope the Lord hears me.”
“I’m sure He will, Mrs. Parker. You keep praying’ and I’ll see you later on, okay?”
If the woman replied, Lester didn’t hear it, and he ended the call.
“Anything?” Billy Ray asked.
“Not a word. Let’s grab a quick bite to eat. I want to go back out to the Parker’s and check the property for any sign. Want to stop at that bar too.”
“You buying lunch?”
“What are you talkin’ about young man?”
“It was your dispatcher made me miss breakfast this morning.”
“My dispatcher? Humph. If you could haul your young ass out of bed a little earlier, you would’ve had plenty of time for breakfast.”
“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk. If I recall, you were still in your skivvies when I got to your house this morning.”
Lester shot him a look. “Hey, you young whipper-snapper, I’m older than you. I need my rest. You should show more respect for us seniors.”
“I would if you’d buy my lunch.”
“Get in the truck, Billy Ray.
*****
The Merry Mart convenience store had one gas pump and no customers until Lester pulled in, unscrewed the cap on the fuel tank, and began to fill up.
“You thought I’d forget to gas up didn’t you?” Lester said, leaning in the window.
“Like that’s never happened?” Billy Ray answered without looking up from the latest Guns & Ammo magazine.
“Maybe once.”
“Maybe more than once. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the number of times we had to call the local police to bring us some gas.”
“Hell, they probably didn’t have anything better to do.”
“It was embarrassing, Sheriff.”
“Little embarrassment never hurt anybody, builds character.”
“Uh huh.”
The pump performed the automatic shut off with a clunk. Lester replaced the hose and checked the meter.
“By Gawd, that’s un-American, to charge a man that much for a gallon of gas.”
“The county’s paying for it, Sheriff, not you.”
“What, you don’t think I ever put gas in my personal pickup?”
“You never drive your personal pickup. You stick it to the county even if you’re going to church.”
“That’s because I’m always on the job, ready to rid the county of evil doers, face em’ down in the street at high noon if need be. I’ll throw their sorry asses in jail too, yes I will.”
“Get in the truck, Sheriff.”
At the turnoff toward the Parker home, Lester pulled to the shoulder and shut the engine down.
“What are we doing now?” Billy Ray asked, unable to conceal the impatience in his voice.
The Sheriff didn’t answer, but got out of the truck and stood at the intersection, looking first northeast and then southwest, the brim of his cowboy hat casting hard shadows across his face. A lone pickup of indistinguishable color, the only other vehicle on the road, passed and faded from view.
Finally, “The way I see it is this. First, Melissa walked south toward her friend Becky’s house, but seeing that no one was home, she wasn’t sure what to do next. She had no cell phone and nowhere else to go. She probably waited around in the yard awhile, still mad, too mad to go home yet. Eventually, and givin’ up on Becky, she walks back down the road to here, this intersection. She may or may not have seen her father on his way to or coming back from the Dumpster. I’m sure she didn’t want to have another confrontation. Could have stepped off the road and hid in the brush when she saw his headlights, but who knows?
Left is the bar, the Pirates Den, she could probably see the neon sign from here. It’s what, only a quarter mile, maybe less? Remember, Melissa didn’t have a cell. There’s a chance that she walked to the bar to use their phone, probably wanted to call Becky and see where she was and when she’d be home. The only other possibility is northeast, but why? The nearest thing in that direction is that one old ramshackle house that looks like a junkyard. You’ve seen it Billy Ray, the one with the half dozen rusty cars out front and a yard full of trash?”
Billy Ray nodded. “I know the place but I’ve yet to see the owner. Not real sure if anyone’s living there.” The deputy spent a little time of his own emulating the Sheriff, saying nothing, hands on hips, staring up and down the road. “I’m guessing about now is when the walking starts.”
Lester grinned, “Damn boy, you’re gonna make a lawmen yet. C’mon, I’ll take the right side of the road, you take the left.”
“Which way?”
“Think about it.”
“Toward the bar, a public place.”
“That would be my choice. Let’s move out.”
The ditch on both sides of the highway wasn’t all that deep but there were a lot of weeds. It was the same story with many of Oklahoma’s roadways. Due to the economy, state revenues had suffered a serious decline. The counties had to make cuts. One of the first to feel the axe was the highway maintenance department, fewer employees, less men to run the mowers. The result was high weeds and unsightly trash.
Halfway to the bar, Lester called out from across the road, “See anything?”
“Lots of things; beer cans mostly, a few grocery sacks, Styrofoam cups, and what looked to be the remains of an old condom. No bodies though.”
“Keep lookin’. How’s the bad foot holdin’ up?”
“You don’t hear me complainin’ do ya?”
Lester smiled.
As the pair reached the bar, an older model Chevy Impala with a massive dent in the left rear fender sat alone in the Pirate’s Den parking area. A sticker on the rear bumper displayed an image of an eagle with upraised wings, the words, Join the NRA beneath it. The Coors sign in the solitary window of the bar glowed a dull yellow. Despite the pleasant afternoon weather, there were no drinkers on the patio.
“Shouldn’t we go in and talk to the owner?” Billy Ray asked.
“Yeah, but not now. It’ll be dark soon. Let’s go ahead and walk the highway in the other direction, toward that junker place, just for a ways, while we still got some light.”
“Seems like we’re doing a hell of a lot of walking, Sheriff. Why didn’t you take one direction back there at the intersection while I took the other? We’d be done walking by now.”
“If you had any kind of experience behind you instead of bein’ the rookie that you are, you would know that you should always search an area from both directions. Too many things could be hidden in the weeds to be seen on one pass.”
“You mean I might find another condom on the way back?”
“Don’t make me have to walk over there and bitch slap you, Billy Ray.”
No other words were spoken until the men had walked back past the Sheriff’s pickup. They were almost to the junkyard house when the deputy asked, “See the field here on my side of the road? What’s up with that string of pipes on wheels?”
&
nbsp; Lester stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his brow with a big blue handkerchief from his back pocket. “That would be for irrigation, son. If you were to take a ride in an airplane and look down on this part of the country, you would see dozens of circles like that, big circles, most a quarter-mile in diameter, crop circles is what they are.”
“You mean like from the UFO’s?”
“No, no, no. Lord, give me strength. Look, we don’t get a lot of rain here in this end of the state. Ever heard of the Dust Bowl? Back in the 30’s it was. The Panhandle, right here where you’re standing, was caught in the worst of it. These days, the farmers have learned about better methods to hold the ground down, but they still don’t know how to make it rain, least not consistently. That contraption you’re looking at waters the crops. It’s called center-pivot irrigation. The nozzles, those tubes you see all along the length of the pipe, is where the water comes out. The holes in the nozzles—the sprinklers—vary in size so that the water is distributed evenly all along the path. There’s an electric motor at the center to keep the thing moving. I think it makes a complete revolution about once every three days or so, something like that.”
By now the deputy was staring at the man across the road. “My, my, Sheriff, sometimes you do amaze me.”
“I’ve a wealth of hidden talents and vast knowledge on a plethora of subjects yet to be revealed my boy. Keep walkin’.”
Billy Ray had no reply to such a line of obvious bull shit and asked instead, “How ‘bout the house—the junky one—check it out now?”
Lester turned to look at the sun and thought about it. “No, we’ll do that tomorrow, that is if the girl hasn’t shown up by then. Let’s get on back to the Parker’s.”
Chapter 7
Mrs. Albert Parker came to the door looking even more gaunt and haggard than Lester remembered from earlier in the day. Her eyes were hollow, dark, and lifeless; the lines in her face like ruts in a muddy road. It was as if she had aged ten years in only a few short hours. A pocket on the side of her dress bulged with used tissues.
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 4
