by Terry Odell
* * * * *
On his way out, Randy stopped by the first aid cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Tums. With fumbling fingers, he worked his way through the safety seals as he hustled to the parking lot. Why had he dismissed Scofield so quickly? He ran through motives as he drove. Would Scofield hurt Sarah to get back at Diana? Her share of That Special Something was out of Owen’s hands. Didn’t make a lot of sense, since the man seemed to have more money than God, but greed had to rank in the top three motives for wrongdoing.
How did the cats play in? Revenge for what Owen had considered public humiliation when Randy had questioned him in his gallery in front of employees? Filing a complaint wasn’t enough? But why Othello? Or did Owen have something against Sarah? Had Diana whined that Sarah was turning her brother against her?
The questions twisted through Randy’s mind like a summer tornado. He finally realized his cell phone was ringing and checked the display. Kovak. Randy opened the connection. “What do you have?” he snapped.
“Hello to you, too.”
Randy eased his pickup onto the shoulder and activated his flashers. Took a deep breath. “Talk to me.”
“The phone records you didn’t want to wait for—over the last two months, there were over fifty calls from Christopher Westmoreland, all during the day, all under a minute. I went to the judge and convinced him to let me take a look at his place.”
“What did you find?”
“The guy’s an amateur photographer. His den is a gallery of prints by the photographers on your alias list. Books, too.”
A vat of acid spilled into Randy’s stomach. Chris, not Scofield? “You have anything more? Now I’ve got two suspects hooked to photography.” But Randy knew he’d moved without thinking. Kovak’s evidence made more sense.
“Have you talked to Owen Scofield yet?”
“I’m about fifteen minutes away.”
“I think you need to come back here, big guy. I’m willing to bet Scofield’s not your man.”
“Give me more.”
“This Sarah Tucker. She brunette? Blue eyes? Freckles across her nose?”
Randy’s stomach clenched. “Oh, God. Is … is she … did you find—?”
“No, no. Not like that. He’s got a darkroom behind his office. I thought you could confirm that the woman in his pictures—and he has a lot of pictures—is the one you’re missing.”
Randy activated his siren and hung a U-turn across the median. “I’m on my way. Send a uniform with one of those pictures to Maggie Cooper for ID. Get on the phone to a judge and get a warrant for every damn thing you can think of, and start working the house as a crime scene.”
“I’m going to assume that lack of sleep and stress has made you forget I’ve had a couple years of experience, big guy. It’s covered. I’ll call if I need you.”
“You call me with every damn thing you find.” And Randy did everything he could to convince himself that this time it would be different. Not like with Gram.
What seemed like hours later, Randy screeched to a halt in front of Chris’ house. Kovak’s unit was there, as well as Connor’s van. He raced up the steps. “Kovak!”
“Bedroom, to your left. Give us a minute. We’re almost done.”
“Where’s this darkroom hideaway you talked about?”
“Through the den, door’s at the rear of his office.”
Randy marched through the office, into the darkroom and pushed aside a blackout curtain. Covered with cork, the walls displayed a gallery of photos of Sarah. Color, black-and-white, large, small, new, old. On top of the chest Randy saw a silver frame which he’d bet was the one Harriett stole. Sarah’s face smiled from the photograph.
“It’s her, right?” Kovak said from behind him.
Randy nodded. “Bag that picture,” he told Kovak. “The frame was stolen.”
“Got it,” Kovak said. “I need you in the bedroom. But I need you to be a cop.”
“Show me.” Randy followed Kovak out of the room and down a hallway beyond the living room.
“How well do you know Sarah Tucker?” Kovak asked.
Randy spun Kovak around by the shoulder so his face was inches from his partner. “Why? You found something. Dammit, tell me.”
Connor came out of the bedroom, carrying an evidence bag. “I’ll check the panties for semen,” he said.
“What are you talking about? Let me see that!” Randy reached for the bag. Connor held fast.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Stained black lace panties. Looks like Mr. Westmoreland got his rocks off using women’s underwear.”
Randy didn’t miss the glare Kovak shot Connor.
“Why don’t you take everything back to the lab,” Kovak said.
Once Connor left the room, Kovak captured Randy’s gaze. “Did the two of them have anything going on?” His voice was gentle, and Randy stepped back.
“Sarah and Chris? No way. She dated him in high school, she said. Friends now. She said he wanted to give her money, but she refused it. Why?”
Kovak nodded toward the closet. “Try to be a cop. What would you think if this was anyone else?”
“It’s not anyone else. I know Sarah.” Randy pushed him aside and strode into the huge walk-in closet, the scent of cedar assaulting his nostrils. The right side of the closet contained uniformly spaced men’s suits, dress shirts, slacks and sport coats, but the left held a section of skirts and dresses. Garments that looked like ones he’d seen Sarah wear. He yanked open a drawer, freezing at the display of women’s lingerie. The steel belt in his gut tightened two more notches. He clenched his teeth.
“It’s not like that,” Randy said. “Look.” He slammed the drawer shut, turned and yanked a skirt off the rod. “Most of the clothes in here are brand-new. Price tags still on them. She wasn’t living here. I know it. You saw the rest of the house. Nothing female. He’s going to bring her back. I was just at her place. Her stuff is all there.”
“If he’s planning to come back with her, he’s not going to hurt her, right? You said he wasn’t violent.”
“That’s what Sarah kept saying.” Randy turned. “Let me look around a little more.” Trying to find some level of detachment, he opened a bathroom drawer. An unwrapped toothbrush and a new lady’s razor turned his stomach. He peered into cabinets, checked the tub and shower. Two shampoo bottles sat side by side on a niche in the shower wall. One was half empty. He picked up the second. Full. He opened the bottle and took a sniff. Peach. His hand shook as he recapped the bottle and set it back where he’d found it.
Chris had planned to bring Sarah here. But when? Was the kidnapping always part of his scheme, or had he started improvising? He was breathing was too fast. Too loud.
He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Stepping back, he leaned against the bathroom wall, waited for the room to stop spinning. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of the tub, Kovak’s hand shoving on his head, keeping it between his knees.
Mortified, Randy didn’t budge.
“Jesus, Randy. You look like crap.”
Randy lifted his head. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Go back to the station. Start working the desk end. You know your job. Pull it together and do it. Or go home, get some sleep and don’t come back until you’ve got your head on your shoulders.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sarah gave a quick search of the glove box and found Chris’ cell phone. Her heart soared as she turned it on, then plummeted when she discovered there was no signal. The car was empty, save for the blanket she remembered being covered with on the drive out. She seized it. The night was cold and she had raced out without thinking, without taking anything warmer to wear. She definitely heard her name being shouted. Was it from inside the cabin, or had Chris escaped?
Should she lock herself in the car? She tried weighing the options, but lucid thought had deserted her for panic. To reach the road, she’d have to go right past Chris. She heard the sound of a slamming door
from the cabin and raced blindly along a path into the woods.
Propelled by fear, she clutched the phone, wrapped the blanket around herself, and ran along the wooded trail as fast as the darkness and terrain permitted. All she had to do was hide until daylight. Keep away from Chris until she could see where she was. Maybe reach a place where the cell phone would work. Once she could make her way to a road, she would find a way to get help. She plunged on.
Branches whipped at her face. Roots snagged her shoes. Clouds passed in front of the moon, obscuring her light source. She ignored them all and kept running. She had no idea how long she’d been running, or how much ground she’d covered when the sharp pain in her side became impossible to ignore.
Doubled over, sucking in huge gasps of air, she tried to get her bearings. The forest whirled around her, animated by her fear, exhaustion, and emptiness. For all she knew, she’d been running in circles. Trails had converged, branched off. What had she been thinking when she ran off like that? She got turned around in the mall, for God’s sake. The wind blew cold, chilling her now that she was no longer moving. A strange sound, almost like someone crying, came from above. She held her breath and listened. Tree limbs rubbing together. She exhaled. Something rustled in the undergrowth. She had never considered what else lived out here. What other dangers lurked behind these trees? She shivered.
Stop. Think.
She looked down. In the moonlight, in this white dress, she’d be an easy target for Chris. She left the open trail in favor of a narrower footpath through the trees, searching for denser cover. Stay hidden from Chris until she could see. She heard the satin fabric of the dress tear, felt the lace sleeves fall away in shreds. Her shoes kept slipping off, and she wrenched her knee. She limped forward, shivering with cold and fear. Somewhere, the blanket had disappeared, probably snagged by a protruding branch. The car keys were gone. Here, where trees sheltered the ground from the daytime sunshine, snow covered large patches of the trail. A coat. She would have had time to grab a coat. But fear had taken over, and her brain had ceased to function when she’d realized Chris was nuts. As she wrapped her arms around herself, her new wedding band glowed with reflected moonlight. She twisted it off her finger and hurled it as far as she could into the trees.
The shivering grew worse. Her teeth chattered. She needed to keep moving, or find shelter. She plodded on, one arm in front of her face to fend off branches, one hand lifting her dress so she could walk, favoring her sore knee.
Eventually, she couldn’t pick out any semblance of a trail, even when the moon gave forth its maximum light. She could go no farther in this direction. Leaning against a pine tree, she took a shaky breath. The scrapes on her arms and face stung, and she didn’t want to think about the crawling sensations on her limbs. Could she hide here until daylight? How long would it be? Why wasn’t Randy here? He was so big, so strong. He’d carry her out of the forest, he’d kiss her and the pain would all go away. She sniffed back tears.
Stop it.
There was no point believing in fairy tales. Had Randy even realized she was missing? If she was going to get out, she’d have to do it herself. Shivering uncontrollably, she began picking her way through the trees. She stumbled, then got up and pushed forward again. It couldn’t be the champagne—she’d hardly had any. She tripped again. Stupid tree roots. She didn’t feel the crawling things on her legs anymore. Come to think of it, she barely felt her legs at all. Or her hands. She looked at her hands. There was something missing. She struggled through the cotton batting in her skull. The phone. She’d had a phone. So tired. She needed to sit down. Just for a minute. She found a large fallen tree among some undergrowth and huddled behind it, trying to still the chattering of her teeth. Just for a minute. With any luck, the tree would provide enough cover so Chris couldn’t see her. The moon hung lower in the sky now. Morning would come. She’d rest. Just for a minute.
* * * * *
It was after eight by the time Randy got back to the station. He grabbed a cup of coffee, some crackers and settled in. Tried to regroup. One step at a time. When he was halfway down the hall to Dispatch to put a lookout order out on Chris’ Eclipse, he realized how badly he’d lost it. Punched Kovak’s number into his cell phone.
“Did you check the garage? Is the Eclipse there? If not, I’ll put out a BOLO.”
“No Eclipse,” Kovak said. “A green Lexus.”
“Plates?”
Kovak read off the number. “I’m going to knock on doors after I finish here. I know my job.”
“Sorry.”
“Would you quit apologizing? I’ve requested Westmoreland’s phone records. They’ll fax them over. Some day they’ll computerize them for us like the big city folks do. Hope your eyes can take it.”
While Kovak talked, Randy called up the DMV database. The Lexus was registered to Metro Rentals in Woodford. Why the hell would Chris have a rental car in his garage? He reported his findings to Kovak. “I’ll follow up. Keep me posted.”
Randy popped another Tums and dialed the number for Metro.
The receptionist left him listening to Hank Williams for five minutes before the manager picked up. Yes, Mr. Westmoreland had rented a car. Always happy to cooperate with the police. A green Lexus. He’d rented it on Wednesday, no return date specified. Said his car was in the shop. Metro had an agreement with the Mitsubishi dealership. Of course he’d be happy to give Randy the number.
The Mitsubishi dealership was closed. Opened at seven the next morning. Randy called Woodford PD and asked them to dig up the service manager. He put out the BOLO for the Eclipse anyway. Sweat trickled down his neck. His shirt stuck to his back. He yanked off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.
Who else would know where Chris might be? Randy reached for the phone again. The night security guard at Consolidated checked the logs. No, Mr. Westmoreland hadn’t been in today, but he was noted as being on vacation until the following Monday. No emergency contact numbers, no itinerary, but maybe his secretary would know, if Randy wanted to call back in the morning.
Randy grabbed his Consolidated directory. Found a secretary for Development. Clicked through phone directory databases and found her home number. No, she didn’t have a way to reach Mr. Westmoreland. He was adamant about his privacy. If he checked in, she’d be sure to tell him Detective Detweiler wanted to speak with him.
Shit. Like the man would call him back. The pencil Randy had been clenching snapped.
“No. Please don’t tell him I called.” Nothing like lighting up a neon sign saying, I’m on to you.
He started calling the airlines and bus depot. Cab companies. His ear throbbed. His head pounded. His stomach churned.
Three cups of coffee and twice that many trips to the men’s room later, Randy found that Chris Westmoreland’s cell phone had indeed called Oregon Trust, Tony Mazzaro, Rose Tanaka and Harriett Pickett. Any gratification at having all this evidence was negated by the earthquake in his gut. He leaned his elbows on his desk and lowered his head into his hands.
For now, Chris was a dead end. Try it from the other direction. God, he’d have to call Sarah’s mother.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sarah’s head jerked up. She must have drifted off. In the distance, carried on the wind, she heard her name. Her heart fluttered. Randy had found her after all. She tried to get up, but her legs were missing. No, they had to be there. Concentrate. She pulled herself up to her hands and knees and listened again. Not Randy. Chris. Her heart plunged to her gut. She braved one quick peek and saw a beam of light moving back and forth through the trees. She crouched into as tiny a ball as she could. Her name seemed to come from all directions as Chris shouted. How could he possibly think she’d come when he called?
The wind picked up and she could no longer hear anything but the rustling of the trees and the eerie creaking of tree branches. Maybe Chris had moved on. She wondered why she was out in the cold. She should go someplace warm. Rest. Clear her brain. She sank back down,
pulled her knees tighter into her chest and lowered her head onto her arms. Hot tears began to flow, their salt intensifying the stinging of her scrapes.
Something was pulling on her arm, dragging her to her feet.
“There you are, my darling. Come with me.”
Nothing made sense. She squinted into the darkness. She knew that voice. Chris. No, she didn’t want to go with Chris. She tried to pull away, but her legs wouldn’t obey. “Leggome.” She felt something on her shoulders. “No!” She was supposed to escape. How could she escape if he kept pulling on her?
“I’ve got you. Don’t fight me. It’s hypothermia. You’re not thinking straight.”
She let herself be tugged along. There was something wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She needed to hide, to stay away from Chris. Randy would find her. That was it. She needed Randy. Chris was bad. She flung off the jacket that had appeared on her shoulders.
“Sarah. Don’t. Leave the jacket on.” He was trying to get her arms into the sleeves.
She struck out at him, flailing at his face, beating at his chest. “No. No.”
“I’m sorry, my darling.” Something covered her mouth, and then the now familiar smell, and then, nothing.
* * * * *
Randy paced his office, trying to gather the objectivity he’d need to talk to Sarah’s mother. He punched the numbers into the phone. A woman’s voice answered. Almost Sarah’s voice. Randy had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. My name is Randy Detweiler. I’m a detective with the Pine Hills Police Department.”
