by P. J. Zander
#
A sheriff’s deputy escorted him to the lieutenant’s office. The décor was no-frills and Meeks’ activity left it on the messy side. The fresh flowers in a vase on a bookcase belied the toughness it took to work her way up. She stood when he entered and firmly gripped his hand.
“Jesus, you shaved your head, grew facial hair and got scars. Are you trending or just crazy because someone unfriended you?”
“I have no idea what you just said, but it didn’t sound very nice.” He couldn’t help but give her the once over. A little taller than Raylene, she was big boned and solid. Her medium length, curly hair was sandy going gray and pulled back in a ponytail. Her copper eyes with flecks of green could melt you . . . or sear you. She always went light on the makeup and it worked well. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but at forty-one years old, she attracted a lot of looks. “You don’t look crazy. It’s good to see you.”
She smiled quickly, gesturing for him to sit. “Word is McEvoy’s pecker shriveled up after your recent hands-on session with him.”
“Damn, Erin. I don’t need any more notoriety like that.” He saw she was enjoying the moment.
“Honestly, off the record, I think the captain was delighted you dealt with the guy. No one around here can stand McEvoy. And he isn’t a high-performing cop. I mean, he thinks picking his nose and passing gas at the same time is multi-tasking.”
Banyan burst into laughter. “Shakespeare has nothing on you. Thanks for the tip on Ernie.”
Meeks leaned back in her chair. “So, what’re you going to dump on me?”
“I got a name to add to the list.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to tell me our investigators missed someone.” She didn’t mask her skepticism.
“Hey, I’m just an old gumshoe with another set of eyes and ears. I’m offering a possible person of interest who wasn’t in your reports.”
“Hmmm.”
“The name is Kyle Hemphill. Tracked him down at a biker hangout from a couple tips.”
“And why do you think he could be a POI?”
“One of the tipsters said Jolene’s most recent boyfriend is a biker. Got his name from another tip and when I talked to Hemphill, he confirmed it. His story is he was in touch with her regularly by phone before she disappeared. Other than that, he was more of a listener.”
“Why hasn’t he come forward?”
Banyan laughed. “Come on, Erin. Why would anybody want to subject themselves to interrogation if they can slip through the cracks? Plus he does some weed and doesn’t want that to complicate his situation.”
“Well, now that you’ve told me, we’ll have to ask him to give us a statement,” Meeks snickered. “You haven’t said anything about a motive, so I gather you don’t like him as a suspect.”
“Guess I’m on the fence. He’s got this goofy version of transcendental meditation going on. Leans against his bike, shuts his eyes, and faces the sun. Like he’s off in la-la land. Could be some churning underneath it all. He says he left Jolene alone so she could study. But she’d be quite a find for him, so I wouldn’t discount jealousy—she’s off at school meeting people, wrapped up in studies, doing things with long-time friends. And I don’t know that I buy his being able to stay away from her most of the time since school started.” He paused. “One thing I’d bet on is if he did it, he’d have had help. Jo would have been able to fight him tough enough to get away from the bed.”
“That’s not much, Banyan. What about the drugs?”
“My gut says pot is the extent of it, and Jolene wasn’t partaking.”
The lieutenant shook her head. “Again, not a lot to go on. Any more information to save us a little time?”
“He could live in Azusa or Duarte. Not much else. Oh, he may have had a key to her house which he didn’t confirm or deny.” He paused. “How about when you bring him in letting me watch him during questioning?”
“No.” She looked him in the eyes.
“Erin, I’d just like to see if he acts the same as when I talked to him.”
The eyes burned. “This time it’s hell, no. I’ll let you know what shakes out after I hear back from San Dimas or Temple, whichever station makes contact.”
“All right.” He dropped it. “Another thing. I told him that when your guys get around to checking the numbers on Jolene’s cell phone, his number would definitely set off an alarm. Now, I know her cell wasn’t found at the house. But I thought it was worth a try. He didn’t take the bait. Said nothing. Maybe if you bring it up when he’s sitting at the station he might change his tune. Just a thought.”
“If he doesn’t lawyer up, we might considerate it.”
Banyan let the focus on Kyle fade. “There is something else. I talked to Sean Lowry a few days ago and got nowhere, except to rile him up.”
“You have a tendency to do that to people,” the lieutenant said, “just in case you weren’t aware.”
He nodded. “He just . . . he’s holding a lot back, a lot inside about Jolene. They’d known each other since they were little kids. Could be one of those lonesome boys, stays heart-broken after his girlfriend leaves. Can’t shake it. Maybe he gets a little bitter, a little angry.”
“You’re not telling me anything new, Banyan. Our investigators went through all that with him and he came out clean. And, you know he has an alibi.”
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. How well did your guys vet Nuckles? He’s a go-with-the-flow snow-boarder. Probably do anything Sean told him to. You know Detective Marchessa had that theory there could have been more than one bad guy in there because Jolene couldn’t defend herself enough to get off the bed. If they’re both not at their apartment, and there are no corroborators, one simply vouches for the other.”
“You see. Now, you are beginning to piss me off. Don’t question the competence of our guys.”
He took a breath. “My apologies, Erin. Didn’t mean it to come across like that. Sure don’t want to step on your toes with my big feet.”
“Go ahead and stomp on me, Banyan, but don’t knock our crew.” Her voice was calm. “But,” she added through a smile, “because it’s you and I know you can’t help being a prick, I’ll see if we need to review that report.”
He stood. “Well, I appreciate you hosting this session on such short notice. I always enjoy seeing you, even if I do get reamed now and then. Justifiably so, of course.”
“Oh, you’d know if you got reamed, Banyan,” she chuckled as she walked him to the door. “Just a little hosing is all that was.” They shook hands. “And thanks for Hemphill. I’m sure you’ll get beaucoup points with the captain like you always do.”
#
He parked down a ways on Oakwood and walked up to the SUB parking lot. It was almost as late as when he’d been there two days before. The mechanic was jawing with a couple other bikers while Kyle was off by himself in deep thought.
“A biker of habit, huh?”
After one-eyeing him, the young man went back to his meditation.
“I came to tell you to expect a visit from the L.A. County Sheriff’s best and brightest sometime soon. I gave you up and they’re interested in hearing your story, Kyle.”
Both eyes opened and focused on Banyan’s. Then Kyle dropped his head slightly and closed his eyes, slowly moving his head from side to side.
“After that conversation, we’ll know. Even if they don’t think you were involved, they’re still going to be watching you because of your relationship with Jolene. And because you didn’t go to them first.”
The biker breathed deeply but remained silent.
“Son, the best thing would be for you to go in on your own to talk to them and don’t hold anything back. Then, if you’re in the clear, they’ll leave you alone. But if you don’t answer all their questions, they’ll probably lay obstruction on you, even if you’re not part of it. This is serious.”
Though his eyes were closed again, the tranquil air had disappeared from K
yle’s face.
TWENTY
Sheila Dunne had stopped welding around 6:00 o’clock and was preparing dinner for two in her hillside condo a block east of the high school. She and Bondo had been together about four years. When they’d hooked up, neither set rules, each expected less, and both got much more.
Dancy barked just before Sheila heard Bondo’s car pull up in front of the studio. He’d stopped by Whole Foods on the way home from surfing.
He came through the door with bags of salad ingredients, wine and dessert. As usual, his entrance was upbeat and he was going ninety miles an hour. The dog fed off the energy and spun circles on the hard wood floor, her nails giving it more character.
“Hey, Babe. How’s the scrap iron business? Got any hood ornaments for my auto masterpieces?” He put the bags on the counter and wrapped his arms around her slender body from behind. She smiled and turned her face so she could kiss him on the lips. As he humped into her, she reciprocated.
“Careful, don’t get burned.”
“Ooohhh. Burned by you would be pure ecstasy.” Then he launched into a Buddy Holly song about a girl named Sheila. As many times as she’d heard it, it never got old.
He poured them each a glass of wine and began working on the salad.
“I’m thinking about selling and buying a house for the zillionth time. Any thoughts pro or con lately?”
She’d grown up in Laguna, half Irish and half Japanese, a woman of understated elegance and intellect. Her artistic talent was evident during childhood. She dabbled in lead glass and pottery before finding her real niche working with metal. Lagunans began noticing her unique garden art when she was thirty, and over the next ten years, local galleries increasingly had trouble keeping up with additional demand for her work from the wealthy year-round vacationers. Now at forty, she again felt the urge to have a place that didn’t share a wall. The condo was completely remodeled and at 1,350 square feet, comfortable enough, even with her boyfriend and his surfboards. What made it special, though, was the 500 square-foot studio in what had been the garage below. It held all her equipment, supplies and works not yet in the galleries.
“Let’s cut to the chase, m’lady,” he said, looking into her brown eyes. “The positives: you like the condo, you like the location, you like the ocean view, you like the quiet cul de sac, you love your studio, and I love it here with you. The negatives?” He closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows, resting his case.
“All true. I just wonder if now could be the one time for me to own my own separate home, with no attached neighbors. There are several original cottages in the Village at what we Lagunans would call affordable prices—a mil or just over.”
They’d discussed this a bunch of times. Bondo was perfectly happy with the status quo and paying half the mortgage, his deal when moving in with her four years ago, not her stipulation. And if she wanted to move on to something better for her, so be it. He told her as much. Going with the flow worked for him, no matter what.
“You tell me when you’re ready to have a come-to-Jesus meeting.”
“Well, okay. I’ll see if I find a house that speaks to me. Then we’ll make a call.”
After eating, they sat on the front deck over the studio. It was chilly, so they wrapped themselves in a comforter and gazed in the direction of the ocean which was as black as the night. Dancy kept looking for an opening on a lap, but finally resigned herself to the comfort and security of her orthopedic pillow at their feet. They talked, kissed and dozed, and let time go.
“Got to keep my commitments to Mr. Two.” It was around 10:45 and Bondo needed to get over to Banyan’s house and stay at least one night. Sheila was entirely accepting of this. In fact both of them agreed, brief absences did make the hearts and other parts grow fonder. As usual when he was gone for the night, he told Dancy to stay with Sheila. The dog dropped her head and moped back over to her pillow.
She ran her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. “Okay. Call me when you get a break in the morning if you have any dinner ideas. See you tomorrow, love.”
TWENTY-ONE
Bondo pulled the Ford Focus into Banyan’s driveway. He loved this time of night and this time of year in the Village. The Christmas holiday tourist rush was bad, but nothing like summer. There still was a little traffic down on PCH, but other than that, pretty quiet and peaceful. Hefting his backpack and sleeping bag, he unlocked the side door through the garage which had direct access into the house. The rack of boards was impressive, and he never ceased to be amazed at the board lengths. Two is up there in the stratosphere, he noted.
In the house he thought about his good fortune with Sheila while he brushed his teeth in the huge loft bathroom. He really did have an ideal life. His parents might be a little disappointed in him for not going to college, but they were still supportive of his decision to do auto body work. Even more so when they heard that the aging owner wanted to bring him in as a partner, maybe eventually turn over the shop to him. Bondo hadn’t decided yet.
As he was walking from the bathroom toward the bed, he thought he heard a noise downstairs. Not a heater clicking or a pipe knocking. He’d been in the house often enough to know. This was something unfamiliar. He moved to the side of the bed where only a small wall- mounted lamp was on low and got the thirty-five ounce ash Louisville Slugger. Why Two thought he needed this, Bondo didn’t know. Maybe it was for normal-size guys like himself. He knew the big surfer kept a shotgun locked up. But Bondo wouldn’t have known what to do with it, even if he had the key.
He stepped slowly down the stairs, two fists clenched around the handle, ready to swing from the left side. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness on the main floor. He scanned the living room, seeing nothing out of order. Looking toward the kitchen, he saw the LED clock on the stainless microwave. Nothing—wait. Because of the angle of the wall, the microwave glass reflected the side of the refrigerator hidden from his view. Something dark and uneven was blocking part of the sheen of the stainless side eight feet from him, as if someone had painted the back half of the refrigerator in black. Bondo’s heart was pounding. Sweat was flowing and his feet were cold on the hardwood floor. He reached in his pocket for his cell phone, his right hand still holding the heavy bat at the ready.
As he started to dial 911, the black shape moved with amazing speed and in a less than a second, Bondo was facing a charging, bigger man. He dropped the phone and was able to grab the bat handle with his left hand and take a half swing. The man tried to fend off the blow and took it on his right hand, barely flinched and was on him. A hand from out of nowhere hit him on the side of the neck, sending a tingling numbness down his left side. The bat fell as he tried to stay upright. From the other side, the outside edge of a hand hit the bridge of his nose, crushing the septum against his face. His legs turned to mush, then were swept from under him and a kick jolted the side of his head as he went down. He tried to assume the fetal position as dizziness and nausea swept over him.
The attacker ran for the front door. Blood flooded the surfer’s face and eyes from the pulpy mass that had been his nose. Bondo frantically swung his arm around, found his phone and held it in the general direction of the fleeing man. As the door swung open, he took a photo and then blacked out.
TWENTY-TWO
Raylene was up early enough in the morning to go for a cautious run on the slick roads around Wrightwood. After cleaning up the kitchen and doing laundry, she drove over to the lodge and worked with her two young assistants on the inventory of skis, poles and bindings. Around eleven-thirty, she went home for lunch and her landline rang as she came in the front door.
“Raylene?”
She hesitated at the familiar voice. “Yes.”
“Raylene, it’s me. Rick. Just wanted to check in with you and see how your life has been going.”
“I told you never to call me again. We have nothing to talk about.” She reached her finger to hang up, but wasn’t quick enough.
“But we do
have something to talk about. Something in common.”
“Anything we had in common you left behind years ago. Don’t fool yourself into thinking we share—”
“Oh, I’m not talking about Jolene, Ray.”
She caught her breath at the remark and was wary of the smug tone. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“Why, I had a visitor a couple days ago. Someone you know quite well.”
Her mind raced. “What are you telling me?”
“Your man, of course, Raylene. Rusty was here. . . .”
If he kept speaking, she didn’t hear the words. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, they both were silent. “Why would . . . how would . . .?”
“Rusty is very resourceful as I’m sure you’re aware. Imagine my surprise when I found him on my doorstep. He was here on business and we had an interesting chat.” Moss paused. “Of course, you know his business, don’t you, Raylene.”
She couldn’t respond.
“Well, I assured him I had nothing to do with what happened to our Jolene. I am sorry that she went missing. If there’s anything I can do, you know I’m just a phone call—”
She pressed the button. Then she pushed the speed dial for Rusty, but hit the button again. She concentrated on breathing slowly, gradually bringing down her pulse. She retched, ran to the bathroom and knelt over the toilet, but nothing came up. With a cold washcloth on the back of her neck, she sat on the edge of the tub, leaning forward with her hands covering her face.
#
She jerked at the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the kitchen counter. Raising her body to a seated position on the sofa, Raylene opened her eyes wide and filled her lungs. After the forty-five minute nap, she still was a little light-headed and a lot hungry. The incoming call was showing “Unknown”. She hesitated, wondering. Finally, she answered and when he said her name, she heaved a sigh of relief. “Rusty. It’s not your number.” Her voice quavered. “Seems like we haven’t talked in weeks.”
