by Brenda Novak
Deciding to reassure them, and be judicious with the other details, she stepped out of the lobby of the fast-food restaurant, where Jonah was meeting a cop named Ernie, and answered.
“Hello?”
“Fran?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“What’s going on? Your mother says she’s been trying to reach you at the house for two days. It rings but your voice mail never comes on.”
Because the line had been cut. Francesca contemplated telling the truth, but resolved not to. “Something’s wrong with my service. They’re working on it. Why didn’t she just call my cell?”
“She did. More than once.”
There were all those voice mails she’d received yesterday, the ones she hadn’t taken the time to go through. And this morning she’d turned off her cell so she wouldn’t be interrupted. She hadn’t turned it back on until a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even aware that you guys were trying to get hold of me. I haven’t had a chance to listen to my messages.”
“Why not? What’s up?”
She smiled at the intrigue in his voice, knew his question revealed a professional interest as much as a personal one. “I’ve been working a new missing-persons case.”
“A woman? A child?”
“A woman.”
“Any luck finding her?”
Plugging one ear, she turned away from the street so she could hear. “The hunt is over. Her body was discovered yesterday.”
There was a brief silence. “I can see why you’ve been busy. How old was she?”
“Only a year older than me.”
“What a shame,” he said with a reverence she appreciated. “Do you know what happened?”
Because her father was the type who’d go stir-crazy if he didn’t have something important to do, and he missed his job with the force, he hadn’t entirely stopped working. He took on various cold cases, pro bono. His wheelchair didn’t get in the way of that. “It looks as if she was beaten with a baseball bat.”
“A crime of anger.”
“Anger against her specifically or anger against women in general?” she asked.
“Could be either, I suppose. Do you have any suspects?”
“Only the man who saw her last.”
“He have an alibi?”
“He hasn’t given the police a formal statement yet. They’ll be moving on that soon. They sent me in with a wire first, hoping to get him to talk more freely. Now they want to put some time between the two conversations, give him an opportunity to think about it….”
“Did he tell you anything interesting?”
“Not really. But we’ve got the conversation on tape, so we’ll see if he changes his story. As far as an alibi goes, his wife will most likely cover for him, which means…it’ll be up to us to place him at the scene of the crime. If we can find where the murder was committed, that is. The body was transported and dumped.”
“Sounds precalculated.”
“There’s a possibility this guy is tied to other murders, maybe seven of them.”
“Holy hell.”
A man honked and shouted at her, but she ignored it. “Exactly.”
“Who’s us?” her father wanted to know.
“Us?”
“You said, ‘It’ll be up to us.’ You’re working with the police?”
“I am. The Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office and a consultant from California.” She didn’t mention Jonah by name. She knew her parents wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that the man who’d broken her heart was back in her life, even if only in a professional capacity.
“A consultant, huh?”
“Apparently, he has experience with this type of case.”
“Is anyone using the words serial killer yet?”
“Not publicly. But news is bound to get out soon.”
“This will be a tough one.”
“I know.” It was already tough. She remembered the terror she’d felt the night before last at her house. But she had to see this through. Although Jill had said she’d pay her when Francesca promised not to abandon the investigation, Francesca didn’t have the heart to charge for her services, not after what Jill and Vince had lost. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest business decision she’d ever made but, at this point, it wasn’t about generating income. Francesca wanted to bring April’s killer to justice. The way things were going, the life she saved might be her own.
“Just remember, serial killers like to take their victims somewhere they feel comfortable, safe. Find that place, and you’ll likely find the crime scene.”
Butch would feel most comfortable at the salvage yard. But they didn’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant, not after the search they’d already performed, as cursory as it’d been thanks to Hunsacker’s sense of indebtedness to their primary suspect.
Still…there had to be a way to get a better look at Butch’s home turf. Even with his family at the house, he’d have all the privacy he’d need in one of those sheds or among the gigantic rows of rubbish. Predators had hidden their victims in much smaller yards than his, hadn’t they? Take Jaycee Dugard, for example. She’d been held hostage in a tent behind a fairly regular suburban house for twenty-four years. Or that Austrian woman who’d been kept in the basement dungeon of her own father’s house for sixteen years.
Francesca wished they could somehow lure Butch off the property and take a look around while he was gone….
“Francesca?”
“What?” She’d let her mind wander, missed something her father had said.
“I asked if you’d like me to do a background check on your suspect, see what I can learn from here.”
Walt was very talented on a computer and even better at tracking down pertinent information over the phone. “That’d be great, Dad.” Maybe he’d come across a detail they would’ve missed. “While you’re at it, see if you can find a link between Butch Vaughn and another victim, a woman by the name of Bianca Andersen, okay?”
“Sure. Let me get a pen so I can take down her information.”
Jonah walked out of the Jack in the Box just as her father came back on the line. “What was that name again?”
“Hang on.” Francesca covered the phone. “Is that Bianca’s dental file?” she asked, nodding at the cardboard folder he held.
“Yeah.”
Taking it from him, she opened it and recited the patient information, including Bianca’s social security number. “Keep an eye out for the name Dean Wheeler, too,” she said.
“Who’s Dean Wheeler?”
“Butch’s brother-in-law. He’s got some mental health problems. I’m trying to figure out what that means and what medication he’s on.”
“I’ll see what I can find. What’s Butch’s address?”
She gave him the address of the salvage yard, explained Butch’s living arrangements and provided Walt with April Bonner’s name and address, too.
“Who’s helping out?” Jonah wanted to know.
“My father.”
A hint of wariness entered his eyes, but he managed a casual smile. “How’s he doing these days?”
“Good. Fine.”
“Who’s that?” her father asked.
“The consultant from California.”
“What, I don’t have a name anymore?” Jonah said.
“Call me if you come up with anything,” she said into the phone, and disconnected before responding to Jonah. “Did you really want me to tell him your name?”
Jonah watched her drop her phone into her purse. “I thought we’d decided to let bygones be bygones.”
“We decided that. My father never agreed.”
“He’s still holding a grudge?”
“What do you think?”
Frowning, he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You had to tell ’em, huh?”
His comment made her angry. “Wait a second,” she said. “Don’t act as if I was disloyal to you.”
His eyes were troubled when the
y met hers. “God, Fran, haven’t you ever screwed up? Done something you regret?”
She couldn’t take the torture on his face. She wanted to forgive him, knew in that minute that she could forgive him. But if she let go of the past, she’d only fall for him again, and she couldn’t allow that. Why set herself up for more hurt and disappointment?
Scrambling to shore up her crumbling resentment, she threw back her shoulders. “Nothing that resulted in a child.”
He stared at the ground for several seconds before meeting her gaze again. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Pressing her palm to her forehead, she searched for the words to explain. “Look, I told them because…” Because she’d needed them. She’d lost her boyfriend and her best friend at the same time. And once she’d chosen to hang on to her friendship with Adriana, she’d had to tolerate a pregnancy that should never have happened, had to watch Adriana give birth to the child of the man she loved. Her parents were the ones who’d helped her make sense of it all, who’d helped her rebuild the part of her that’d been so damaged. “Because I never thought we’d see each other again. It’s not as if I ever expected…this.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were right to do what you did.”
She was pretty sure he was being sincere. And it was true; if he’d been faithful to her, she would’ve had nothing to tell. So why did it feel as if she was the one who’d wronged him?
Turning away, he hit the button that unlocked the doors of her car. “You driving or am I?”
Grateful for the change of subject, the return to business, she tried to tell herself that whatever residual emotions remained between them didn’t matter. They couldn’t ever be together. So what if she could forgive him? She’d never be able to trust him. The way he attracted women, who was to say the urge to cheat wouldn’t prove too great someday, just like it had with Adriana? “Where are we going?”
“To talk to Bianca’s family and friends, try to figure out how she ended up buried in Dead Mule Canyon and see if anyone remembers her associating with a guy named Butch Vaughn.”
“What if he used an alias?”
“We’ll get as far as we can with a description.”
“Finch and Hunsacker won’t have a problem with us following up on this lead?”
“I just cleared it with Finch. They’re busy at the Rio Grande and they need the help.”
“How far is Bianca’s last known address from here?”
“According to my GPS, about twenty minutes.” That wasn’t really close to the salvage yard, but it wasn’t terribly far, either.
“I’ll drive,” she said. Then maybe she’d be less tempted to stare at him and remember what it’d been like to feel as if her next breath depended on his.
The man who came to the apartment door had a head of curly dark hair, a full beard and an earring in one ear. From the sweat dampening his T-shirt, the weight set in the living room and the clank of iron they’d heard when they first approached the door, it was obvious that they’d interrupted him while he was lifting.
Jonah took the lead. “Terrance Andersen?”
A leery expression slipped over his rather plain features. “Yes?”
“We’re—”
“Detectives,” he broke in without even looking at the card Jonah held out. “I can tell. Is something wrong?”
Jonah didn’t bother correcting him about their professions. For the moment, “detective” was close enough. “Yes. We’re here about your wife.”
He gripped the door frame. “Where is she? Why’d she leave me? Why didn’t she ever call or come back for the rest of her stuff?”
“She couldn’t come back,” Francesca said. “She was murdered over a year ago.”
His jaw dropped. “She…what?”
“Her body was found in Dead Mule Canyon last month,” Jonah said. “It’s taken us all that time to identify her remains.”
Terrance shoved a hand in his hair, holding the long, curly locks back from his face. “No wonder I never heard from her. I thought it was all because of that last big argument. She walked out with a suitcase she’d packed right then and there, and I never saw her again. But…I never dreamed that…that she couldn’t call me.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?” Jonah asked.
“It’s been fourteen months. She never showed up for work after that, but…I thought it was because she’d left the area.”
“You mentioned an argument,” Francesca said. “What was it about?”
Drawing a deep breath, he allowed his hair to fall naturally. “She wanted us to quit our jobs and take off, see the world. We used to talk about it while we were dating, but…I thought it was a pipe dream, you know? I didn’t see how we’d ever make enough money to travel like that. But she said we’d pick up odd jobs until we could save enough to move on to the next place. She said if we didn’t leave now we’d become resigned to a life of drudgery like everyone else. She was scared to stay and I was scared to go. But I wish now that—” words failed him as tears gathered in his eyes “—that I’d had the guts to go for it the way she did. Maybe she’d still be alive.”
To give him a modicum of privacy in which to deal with his emotions, Francesca studied the floor.
“Here I’ve been kicking myself for what I said that night,” he went on. “Over and over, ever since. And praying she’d come back. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve checked my answering machine, hoping to hear her voice. I thought she might contact me when she had her fill of adventure, if only to tell me how great it was. But I finally decided a little while ago that I had to let go of the past and move on, that she must’ve found someone else.”
When Terrance dropped his head in his hands, Jonah motioned to the couch inside. “Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes.”
Leaving the door open, Terrance crossed to the living room, where he fell onto the sofa and stared off into space.
Jonah nudged Francesca into the apartment. Other than the sofa, a chair and the weight set they’d been able to spot from the door, there wasn’t much furniture, but large amateurish paintings covered the walls.
“She did all these,” he said, following Francesca’s gaze from a large sunflower with thick globs of yellow paint on each petal to a windmill towering over blowing grass to a portrait of Terrance himself. Although Bianca hadn’t been a very good artist, each painting revealed a love of nature and an exuberance that made Francesca sad to think this life had been extinguished.
Jonah sat on the weight bench while she took the chair. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked Terrance.
“I don’t know. Her being dead feels so…unreal.” He pulled strands of his beard through his fingers. “I guess it helps to know she might’ve come back to me if she’d been capable of it, that she might’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed her. But to think she was hurt and I wasn’t there…that, in a way, I caused her death because of that stupid fight…”
“You didn’t cause it,” Francesca insisted.
“She wouldn’t have been out there alone if we hadn’t argued.” His eyes suddenly filled with anger. “Who did it? And why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Jonah said.
The hand fingering his beard grew idle. “You don’t know?”
“No.” Francesca’s iPhone rang with a few strains of “I’ll Stand by You.” Adriana was trying to reach her. Unwilling to step outside, she silenced it instead of taking the call. “We’re hoping you can help us find the person who’s responsible.”
He spread his hands. “How? Just tell me how.”
“Have you ever heard the name Butch Vaughn?”
“Never.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Butch isn’t a very common name. It would’ve stood out.”
Jonah described Butch, too, but this also drew a blank, so he moved on. “What about Dean Wheeler?”
Terrance started to shake his head, but doubt cr
ept into his expression and he stopped. “Wait a second…that one sounds sort of familiar.”
Francesca scooted forward. “Do you have any idea where you might’ve heard it before?”
“No, but…I suppose Dean could’ve been one of her patients.”
“She was a doctor?”
“A nurse. At Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital on the other side of town. She was always coming home with stories about the crazies she met there. She didn’t call them that, of course. She was pretty PC, defended them whenever I said anything about the nut house. She got to know some of the patients quite well. Felt sorry for most. Loved a few. Was afraid of others.”
Had Dean ever been a patient at Laurel Oaks? If so, was he one of those Bianca had feared? “Maybe we’ve found the link,” Francesca whispered to Jonah. It could be Dean and not Butch who’d committed the murders. But it couldn’t have been Dean who’d cut her phone line, not unless she’d seen only what she’d expected to see when she looked out at the pool. Had her mind been playing tricks on her?
“It should be easy enough to check,” Jonah said.
Terrance blinked several times. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a man with behavioral problems who’s also been associated with another death,” Jonah explained. “We need to find out if he was a patient at Laurel Oaks.”
“After everything she tried to do for those people that would be ironic, wouldn’t it?” Terrence muttered.
“What was she driving when she left?” Jonah asked.
“A gray Toyota Prius. Sort of charcoal-colored. She insisted on owning an electric car, wanted to go green and save the environment. I’ve never seen such a recycling buff. She was so…unusual. So…special,” he added. “I’ve never gotten over her. Maybe I never will.”
Francesca caught sight of a photograph sitting on the counter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, slightly over-weight and wearing a witch’s costume, smiled out at the room. “Is that Bianca?”
Terrence nodded. “On our last Halloween together.”
