‘That needn’t necessarily be a bad thing,’ I said, attempting to offer a grain of comfort, though it was the very opposite of what I believed. ‘I forgot to ask Donna, but does Vern have a girlfriend?’
‘He did have a while back. Nice kid. She hadn’t heard from him in a month or so. Certainly several weeks before he left LA. Theirs was always a vague relationship, so I wasn’t surprised by that.’
‘How about a previous girl? Any issues there for us to look into?’
Drew drained his glass and poured another. ‘No. Elle headed out to the East Coast. University. Neither thought a long-distance relationship would work out. It was an entirely amicable split.’
‘And nothing has popped up on social media?’ Terry asked.
Donna had slipped back out onto the deck, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. ‘I’ve checked everything I can think of,’ she said. ‘I even joined Instagram. Vern is not really one for posting aimless photos of himself, and one of the reasons he went camping was to get away from that sort of thing.’
‘So no posts or updates since when..? Leaving home?’ Terry leaned forward as he spoke. I could tell this bothered him.
‘No. Not a thing.’
I looked at Donna properly for the first time since LAX. Her previously long, wavy auburn hair had given way to a sharp, stylish cut that feathered back and tapered into the neck. A jagged fringe hung down almost over one eye. Curved in all the right places, she looked a lot healthier these days, a decent tan replacing her previous pale skin. Expensive-looking clothes completed the picture of a modern middle-aged woman in her absolute prime. I wouldn’t say there was yearning in my gaze, but there certainly was a whole lot of regret.
After one more round of drinks we ate indoors as a chill settled into the wind that blew down the canyon. The background noise to our discussion had come from children’s laughter as they played in a pool somewhere close by. The palms and pink oleanders created a decent buffer on the boundary of the property, leaving us with a view down into the heart of LA. As the night settled in, the city lights danced and twinkled like stars in the sky, while ribbons of white and red revealed the passage of traffic on the freeways.
We chatted aimlessly over dinner. From the dining room we moved into the lavish living area, two sides of which were bordered by glass. We started to relax in seats that swallowed us up, but I was drained, and Terry also seemed to be flagging. We both cut the night short, looking for an early start the following morning. Having no further news about Vern to consider didn’t seem like a bad thing, but we hoped that would change soon.
By morning it had.
But not in a good way.
3
Donna woke me before dawn. It felt almost surreal, me lying there beneath a thin cotton sheet wearing only my boxers, my ex-wife standing bare-legged beside the bed with a short robe wrapped around her and tied in a bow at the waist. Nothing but that same old distance between us. Despite the hour, Donna looked beautiful, her bed-head and puffy eyes only adding to the cuteness factor. I sat up slowly, still feeling the previous night’s beers in my blood, trying to blink some sense back into my life.
In a voice both urgent and distraught, Donna told me that Drew had minutes earlier been contacted by a police department in New Mexico, who informed him that his nephew’s vehicle had been located in the middle of nowhere somewhere on the road to Amarillo. I resisted saying anything lame about somebody having finally found directions to that place, and instead focussed on the look of fear and concern on the face of the first and only love of my life. It was not a time for joking. It was a time for getting serious.
I wiped a hand across my mouth. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ I said. ‘I’ll join you both in the kitchen.’
I was better than my word, making it downstairs in half that time.
‘He’s more than 750 miles and two whole states away from where he should be,’ Drew said, after taking a tall padded stool at the breakfast bar next to Donna and putting away half a mug of fresh black coffee in a couple of gulps. ‘That simply makes no sense to me.’
I drank the coffee that had been placed in front of me. Black, no sugar. It was unbelievably tasty. I ignored the toasted English muffins on the plate in the centre of the long and wide bar. Having to look on in mute agony as the woman I still loved comforted another man, disturbed me more than I cared to think about. I had no business feeling that way anymore, but in my head you are what you are, and you have to deal with that in your own way. I dealt with it by pumping them both for answers.
‘Do either of you know anybody down that way?’ I asked.
They both shook their heads.
‘How about business, Drew?’
‘No, nothing in New Mexico at all. Phoenix, Arizona would be the closest, but that’s still six hundred miles give or take.’ It was obvious to me that the news he had learned that morning had crushed his resolve, and he was now distracted.
I looked between him and Donna. ‘So neither of you can think of a single reason why Vern would head to New Mexico?’
‘Not one,’ Drew insisted. ‘Especially not when he told us he was headed into northern Nevada, and we know he made it as far as Vegas.’
‘Do you?’ Terry asked at that point.
‘What do you mean?’ Donna asked, turning from her husband. Her hand remained folded around his.
Terry was already at the breakfast bar by the time I got there, spreading boysenberry jelly on two halves of muffin. He seemed rested and in good spirits, recovering better than I had from all the travelling. He cleared his throat before speaking.
‘You know that his hotel room was used. You know that his credit card was used, both to check in and for meals. Do you know for certain that it was Vern who did the using?’
Now both appeared uncertain. Drew leaned forward, taking another hit from his soup bowl of a mug. ‘I think I see what you mean. I suppose we never thought to question it.’
‘So the police have not reviewed security footage in order to confirm that it was your nephew who used his credit card in Las Vegas?’
‘Not that I am aware of, no.’
‘Me neither,’ Donna said, shaking her head. ‘I’m pretty sure they would not have gone that far.’
I gave that some thought. We had no verification that it was Vern who checked into his hotel in Vegas, and all we knew now was that his vehicle had turned up in New Mexico. I could not decide what I thought it all meant, only that I didn’t think it could be anything positive.
‘Will you head over there for us?’ Drew asked.
‘To New Mexico?’ I glanced across at Terry. He shrugged. That told me everything.
I nodded at Drew and Donna. ‘I had anticipated us needing to drive up to Vegas, but in the absence of anything of substance perhaps we’ll get lucky following the vehicle. In which case, Drew, you get your investigators to obtain whatever relevant security camera footage might be out there. Looks like Terry and I are on the move again.’
I made light of it, but the finding of Vern’s vehicle was a major break. When searching for someone or something you needed markers, almost like milestones. You had to know you were getting somewhere, and where it would lead. We did not have Vern or even any sight of him to go on, so his SUV was the next best thing. It was both a starting point and an end zone for us, and I felt sure that it would be crucial in discovering Vern’s whereabouts. Whether that would turn out to be in Nevada or New Mexico I could not be certain.
Having expected the hassle of finding two seats on a flight out of LAX, I was thrilled when Drew arranged for us to use his company jet instead. I’m easily pleased by shiny objects, but riding in luxury is way better than the alternative no matter who you are or what you are used to. The Lear jet was hangered at nearby Van Nuys airport in the San Fernando Valley, and we were assured that it would be made available to us as and when we needed it for the duration of our search. Buoyed by the news, Terry and I started making plans of our own. I went about it with a sm
ile on my face, but remained thoughtful. Amidst all the excitement a brand new day had delivered us, I could not stop myself from thinking of the night before.
Before turning in, we had discussed Vern’s disappearance in a little more depth, obtaining as much information as we could in preparation for what was to follow. After dinner when we spread out around the vast living area abutting the open-plan kitchen, Wendy and I sat together on a wide and soft sofa. I let her do most of the talking, which she did with enthusiasm and admirable candour. It was clear that she loved her life, and was growing into it more as the months rolled by. She enjoyed surfing, and was getting a feel for track sports. Her studies were going well, and she had a private tutor for chemistry. It hurt to hear, but I wanted only the best for her, so I nodded and smiled in all the right places and as the time passed and the city lights became more abundant, I grew close to my daughter once again.
A sharp, intelligent mind lay behind her natural good looks, and my little girl was developing into a fine young lady. Inevitably we drifted back to the events of the previous summer. I realised she was concerned that I had come so close to being killed, but with my safety ensured, Wendy had clearly then been hurt by my apparent unwillingness to fly across the Atlantic to see her.
‘It was never that,’ I assured her, holding Wendy close and enjoying the feel of her soft, warm hair against my cheek. ‘Never about you. Kiddo, you have to understand that your old man was a wreck back then. You remember how on the night it all began I told you I was having a shit day in a week of shit days in a month of shit weeks?’
Wendy giggled. ‘Yeah, but you say that a lot, Dad.’
‘Well, this time I wasn’t exaggerating. I was desperately trying to remain sober when all I could see was my whole life falling apart. What I went through in those few days was horrendous, and I was also responsible for the loss of my closest friend. If I had come to you in the aftermath of that, you would have seen a broken man devoid of any redeeming features.’
Wendy’s eyes filled and her lips began to tremble. I smiled and wiped a tear away from her cheek, touched my finger to her mouth, shaking my head.
‘Sweetheart, the least of it was the recovery from my own wounds, but I had to factor that in as well. I’ve been on the battlefield, so I know what PTSD is. I have to admit that there was some of that going on in my head as well. The truth is, Wend, I didn’t want you to see me like that. But I also had nothing to offer you emotionally. I was an empty vessel. And I’m sorry. Sorrier than you will ever know. But that was the old me. I promise you I’m stronger now. Closer to the man I always wanted to be. And you and me, well, we have no secrets anymore. And an awful lot of catching up to do. Always keep in mind that I love you, and that there hasn’t been a moment since you were born when I didn’t.’
We had both gone to bed feeling better at having aired our views, and I guess we both understood each other a little better for it. As we stood in the kitchen the following morning, my mind was drawn back to that conversation irrespective of what might be happening out in New Mexico. Eventually I would separate that aspect of my life from the one I was about to encounter, setting it aside in a compartment all of its own. But not quite yet. I was not ready to immerse myself, and felt I did not need to until we were on the road.
After our early morning coffee and update from Drew, and with dawn still a pale light bleeding in over the mountain tops, I borrowed Donna’s SUV and drove myself and Terry out to Pasadena where we met up with an old combat friend of his. An army ranger in his day, Steve Henderson now ran a shooting range and sold weapons to those who firmly believed in their constitutional right to bear arms. Those we took from him were not off the shelf, they bore no registration marks, and were provided at cost price from a stash he kept locked away in an outbuilding alongside the range. We hoped they would not be needed, but out here we had to be prepared for any eventuality and could no longer rely on Terry’s multiple caches of arms in the UK.
‘You two starting a war on your own?’ Henderson enquired as we carefully packed everything into deep, black holdalls.
‘I certainly hope not,’ Terry replied with an easy grin.
‘We probably won’t even get off a round,’ I said. ‘But better to have them and not need them, than need them and not have them.’
‘Amen to that,’ Henderson said as we slammed closed the tailgate on the vehicle. ‘But good luck to you both if your need becomes deed.’
By the time we got back to the house, Wendy had left for school and Drew had gone to work. Donna drove us out to Van Nuys and dropped us off a short distance from the Lear, cool in the shadow of its own separate hangar. The place reeked of fuel and warm oil, and the sound was deafening as the plane’s massive Pratt & Whitney engines went through a series of pre-flight tests.
Donna was quiet and a little teary-eyed as we said goodbye. Those little vulnerabilities amidst all the strength she showed, was one of her most endearing qualities. I had always loved that about her; the fact that once you were on the inside of her circle she allowed you to see both dimensions of her nature. Donna was neither complex nor enigmatic. She wore her concern like a shawl – something to ward off the chill, but equally something to shrug off when the time was right. I think the whole experience had got to her, and she was as confused as I was at the pair of us being in the same time zone again. That was about to change once more, so I held both her hands and told her what she wanted to hear.
4
Sheriff Dwight Crozier stiffened as the Native American approached the black-and-white SUV. He knew Joe Kane well, and he was an impressive human being in so many ways, his physicality being only one of them. Crozier had known the man for the better part of ten years, and while they had never crossed swords as such, he was acutely aware of Kane’s reputation as a man who never made a threat he could not carry through on.
Corona was little more than a scuff mark in the New Mexican desert dust. Around 150 people lived in the little town, and whilst it was by no means a wealthy burg, neither was it desperately poor. Its inhabitants mainly worked either construction or in the local school system, and were by and large decent people who enjoyed a lively social community. Unemployment was low, which helped a lot with the overall crime rate, and Crozier generally looked forward to his irregular visits to what was usually a pretty friendly place.
Today was different.
Today he sensed trouble brewing in much the same way he always seemed to know when a twister might be blowing through on a late spring evening, and he feared some of that trouble was coming his way right now.
Crozier swallowed, then used his tongue to remove a chunk of leftover breakfast burrito from between his back teeth. Every working day he started with a hearty breakfast from the same diner on I-54 just after the Ancho turnoff. To make himself feel better about being stuck in his ways, the sheriff skipped around the menu a lot. Today had been a choice between huevos rancheros and the rice and refried bean burrito. With towns spread so far apart he was taking a chance either way on a stomach that had served him well for almost fifty years.
He picked up his white Stetson hat from its travelling position on the passenger seat beside him, and exited his vehicle. After placing the hat upon his head, Crozier adjusted his gunbelt, whose worn leather creaked and groaned. If things were about to get confrontational and go south on him, he wanted to be upright and able to reach his weapon quickly and comfortably. The department issue Smith & Wesson was his only deterrent, visible or otherwise. A few years back the Albuquerque police department had been ordered not to carry personal weapons while on the job, and it had been fine by Crozier when that same instruction passed through sheriffs’ offices in neighbouring counties. One handgun was more enough for him, and he was proud to have had nineteen years of service without firing his. Sure, he’d had to pull it on a few occasions, especially when dealing with rowdy drunks for whom a boot up the ass wasn’t enough. There was also one occasion when a felon passing through San Patricio
had held up a 7-Eleven store, but he had never been involved in a firefight and he hoped to retire with that record intact.
There was no cement sidewalk to step up onto, only a wide expanse of flattened dirt – pretty standard for Corona and other blink-you’ll-miss-’em towns of a similar size and no account. Crozier could therefore not bar the way as he would have done on a narrow strip of paving supplemented by buildings to one side, but he had a bit of bulk about him and he made sure that Joe Kane would have to deviate from his current path to avoid him.
‘You waiting on me, Sheriff Crozier?’ Kane said as he approached with a long, loping stride. Despite his stature, he had an almost graceful lupine gait about him. His arms swung freely, loose and powerful, fingers curled but not clenched into fists. The tone of voice he used did not indicate that the man was angry or troubled in any way. He always spoke in the same relaxed manner, even when beating a man down – according to scuttlebutt at least.
‘That I am, Joe.’
Kane came to a halt less than a yard away from Crozier. Close enough to be intimidating.
‘You’re a long way from home, sheriff.’
‘But not out of my jurisdiction. Not quite.’
‘This about last night?’ Kane asked. His voice was deep, booming on the bass notes.
‘It is. You want to tell me your side of the story?’
The way Crozier heard it, Joe had entered the Main Street saloon in a highly agitated and charged state, hunting for someone as if that someone had trouble coming his way. An argument had subsequently broken out, during which a variety of threats had been made. Chiefly, that Kane would be back to slice and dice the Barrow twins at noon the following day.
This much had found its way to the sheriff via the saloon owner, Amber West, and that last detail had tickled Crozier. He could never understand why so much trouble was prearranged to kick off at either noon or midnight; not when there were so many other hours available to saints and sinners alike. Knowing the principal characters involved here, he regarded both the allegation and threat with the same small pinch of salt.
Cold Winter Sun Page 3
