by Terry Odell
“Pine Hills? Sarah. Oh my God, has something happened to Sarah?”
“Ma’am, this isn’t easy to say, but she’s missing, and we think she might be with a Christopher Westmoreland.”
“Missing? For how long? What happened? Oh my God. Nathan!” Away from the mouthpiece, he heard her call, “Sarah’s missing.”
Randy leaned back and rubbed his eyes. This part of his job was difficult enough when he was dealing with strangers. What he had to do now was ten times harder. “She was fine last night,” he said, his voice still rough with emotion. “She didn’t show up for work today. We’ve been trying to locate her.”
“And you think Chris has something to do with it?”
“I can’t say for sure, but he seems to be our best lead.” He left out the part about the photos at Westmoreland’s house.
“I missed her call yesterday. She always calls on Sunday.” Her voice shook. “How do you know she was fine last night?”
“I saw her at eight-thirty.”
There was a moment of silence. Her voice came back, quieter and more controlled. “What can I do to help, Detective?”
“I need to know everything I can about Christopher Westmoreland. Anything you can tell me could prove to be helpful.” He heard a man’s voice in the distance before she spoke again.
“How do I know you’re really with the Pine Hills police?” Now there was a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“Other than my word, you don’t. But why don’t you call the department and ask to speak with me? You can get the number from information.”
“I hope you don’t think me rude, but I’m going to do that.” The line went dead.
Randy’s anxiety turned to a genuine pain in his belly. He sat with one hand poised over the phone. She had to call back. Sarah was her daughter. An eternity later, although by his watch it was less than a minute, the phone jangled.
“All right, Detective,” Sarah’s mother said. “I can be there tomorrow. Do I hire a detective, or someone with bloodhounds, or what?” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but he heard the urgency behind it. Still, she was doing a lot better than he was. He tried to take strength from that.
“I don’t know that there’s anything you can do here. We’re doing everything we can. Speaking from experience, it’s easier if you stay busy. You might do better following your normal routine.”
“I’m not sure I can do that. She’s my only child, you know. What are you doing to find her? I need to be doing something.”
“What do you know about Christopher Westmoreland?” Randy found his voice had evened out now that he was back in familiar waters, gathering evidence.
“Chris? He and Sarah dated through high school. He was polite enough, from a wealthy family, but … unctuous. Like that character on Leave it to Beaver. The one who was always pretending to be so worldly.”
“Eddie Haskell,” Randy said.
“Yes. That’s the one. But Sarah said Chris was always a perfect gentleman and I believed her. We’d had our mother-daughter talks, and she assured me he had never demanded anything more physical than a goodnight kiss. As a mother, I was delighted.”
Randy’s chest loosened. Maybe Chris wouldn’t hurt her. Sarah had insisted he wasn’t violent. “Do you have any idea of where he might have taken her? Did you know his family?”
“I’m sorry, no. It was so many years ago and I was preoccupied with my own problems. My marriage was reaching a turning point at that time. Frankly, I never thought that Sarah would continue the relationship after graduation, so I didn’t go out of my way to meet his parents.”
“I understand,” Randy said. “Thank you for your help.”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t much. Are you sure you don’t want me to come there? How can I stay here doing nothing?”
Randy heard the edge creeping back into her voice. “At this time, I don’t think you can do anything from here,” he said. “Sarah’s been missing less than a day. We’re doing everything we can to find her and as soon as we know anything, I promise to call you.”
“Let me give you a cell phone number. I teach at the university and they don’t like to interrupt classes for telephone calls, but I’ll keep my cell on.” Randy heard her take a deep breath. “May I ask one more question?”
“Of course.”
“You said she was with you last night. Excuse me if I’m out of line, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not a detached police officer.”
Randy closed his eyes. “No, you’re not out of line. Sarah and I haven’t known each other long, but the truth is, I’m quite attached to your daughter.”
“So am I, Detective. So am I.”
“I swear we’re going to find her.”
“I believe you. Please. Call any time. I doubt that I’ll be doing much sleeping.”
“Neither will I,” Randy said quietly. “Goodbye.”
He sat at his desk, staring at the telephone. Kovak burst into the office and dumped a stack of folders on his desk. Randy snapped to attention. “You get anything from the neighbors?”
“Westmoreland keeps to himself. Oh, and he uses a cleaning service. We can call them in the morning. If he’s gone, maybe they can confirm it.”
Randy nodded. Hadn’t dared expect more.
“What have you found?” Kovak asked.
Before Randy finished relaying his meager findings, the phone rang. Woodford PD confirmed the Eclipse was in the shop in Woodford. “Guess we can cancel the BOLO on the Eclipse. It’s in the shop. Since Wednesday.”
Kovak placed his hands on Randy’s desk and leaned down until his eyes were level with his partner’s. “We’re going to find him. But you’ve got to be clear-headed. I’m lead on this one—you run everything by me before you go off half-cocked.”
Randy massaged his temples. “Yes, sir.”
“I mean it, big guy. You shouldn’t even be working this case. You’re too close. But I know if it was Janie, I’d be doing exactly what you’re doing. So, let’s get to work. I’ll take the financials, you look at that photo album and see if anything rings a bell.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sarah drifted, floated, whirled through the air. Did she have wings? Was she an angel? Maybe she could fly. She tried to spread her wings, but they were trapped. The sky was too thick, like molasses. She needed to get free so she could soar above the forest.
Warm air blew on her neck, tickled her ear. “Don’t struggle, my darling. We’re almost there. You’re too cold. Moving around is bad. Hold still.” She smelled something familiar. Not the sweet, sick smell anymore. If only she could remember.
“There you go, darling. I’ll take care of you. Nothing can hurt you.”
She spun down, down, down, until she was back on Earth. Cold. So cold. It was warm somewhere. Nearby, there was warmth. Warmth, touching, and the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon. She sank into a dark, soft void. Let the warmth envelop her.
A clicking noise woke her and Sarah realized it was her teeth chattering. A hand lifted her head. Something warm was at her lips.
“Drink this, my darling. Just a sip. You need to get warm.”
Warm. Yes. She let the liquid flow into her mouth. Warm and salty. Chicken broth. She raised her hands to the cup, felt warm fingers over hers.
“Don’t move too much. Can’t let the cold blood get to your heart. Lie still.”
She finished the broth, then watched from afar as someone cut her white angel gown off. Her eyes closed. “You found me.”
“That’s right. Sleep. I’ll be right next to you. I’ll keep you warm.”
* * * * *
Randy worked his way through the album’s plastic-covered pages. All black-and-white. Chris’ first projects? Lots of trees, a lake. A blurred picture of what might have been a deer. Some out of focus birds. People standing at attention under trees, sitting with forced smiles at a picnic table. Nothing that resembled the quality work Randy had seen when he’d called on Chris. Maybe his first a
ttempts at photography? A photographic primer. As Randy moved through the pages, even his untrained eye could see the growth.
“Need some help?” Randy rubbed his eyes. Colleen hovered in the doorway.
“Some detective I am,” Randy said. “I can’t solve a simple robbery, and I manage to lose the victim.”
“Stop that.” She crossed to the front of his desk. “Kovak says you think Westmoreland took her. Tell me what you’ve got.”
“A terrible case of heartburn and an overwhelming urge to scream.”
“What else?” Colleen asked.
“Not much. According to everything public, he’s a model citizen.”
“You want me to check with my brother? He might have known the guy in high school.”
“Please. Anything’s better than what I have now.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Randy turned back to the album. Halfway through, the pictures were grouped by subject, not date. Pictures were crisper, the people looked more natural. He must have gotten some better equipment—the shots of wildlife were more frequent and no longer were the subjects hidden. Shots of a simple mountain cabin taken under varied lighting conditions, in all kinds of weather. Uncle Wes’ cabin at the lake, according to the heading of that section. Well, assuming it was a lake in Oregon, that narrowed it down to—what? A couple thousand possibilities?
Captions gave dates, not much more. An occasional flower or bird identified. “The lake after it rained.” No help. He turned to the last page. The same cabin, a young boy posed in front of a woman and two men. According to the label, it had been taken on Chris’ sixteenth birthday. “Me, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Wes.”
So, who the hell was Uncle Wes? Randy rubbed gritty eyes and stared at the picture. Was there some kind of a placard on the cabin? He grabbed the album and took it to the lab. Connor would have a magnifying glass in there somewhere.
He found a glass in a drawer and went back through all the cabin shots trying to read the sign. Definitely a six and a three, but there was a porch post that blocked a clear look at the writing. Then a K and an E and Rd. Something Road. Six-three-something-something road. Maybe Lake Road. Or Something Lake Road?
He took the album back to his desk, feeling for the first time since he’d found Sarah’s purse in her apartment, that he might find her. He popped another Tums and started calling up databases of property tax rolls, glancing at Kovak’s now empty desk. Having something resembling a lead quashed any curiosity about what Kovak was doing. He trusted his partner’s skills.
An eternity later, Randy had been through twelve counties and found nothing but the property Chris owned in Pine Hills. Raking his fingers through his hair, he tried to rebuild the wall of detachment that made him a good cop, able to help others get through times of stress. He took deep breaths, closed his eyes, and envisioned his fortress rising, brick by brick. But now, every brick had Sarah’s face etched in it. He sighed and looked at his watch. Again. Maybe he should get solitaire installed on his computer. He’d be about as useful playing games, for all he could get out of the damn machine. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw a rainbow of lights, then tried to refocus. Four a.m. He started another search and watched the hourglass on the monitor. A quick break, just to rest his eyes.
He opened his eyes to the beginnings of daylight and the smell of coffee. Colleen stood in front of him. She held out the cup.
“You look like you need this more than I do. I heard from my brother.”
Randy flew awake. “What did he say?”
Colleen looked at him. Randy braced himself. “Not a whole lot. The football team had a seniors party every year and he remembered Chris inviting everyone to a mountain cabin, but since Greg wasn’t a senior, he doesn’t remember where it might have been.”
“But in Oregon, right? They wouldn’t go too far for a weekend retreat.”
“That makes sense.” She took the coffee cup from his quaking hands and took a sip, set it down on the desk. Randy glanced at the computer monitor for the time. Not even six. “You’re in early,” he said.
“Hey, I figured you wanted to know what I’d found out. Greg’s on the Appalachian Trail with a bunch of Boy Scouts. It took a while to catch him in a place where he got cell reception.”
“I owe you.”
“What can I do? I’m not on for an hour.”
Randy showed her the album. “Can you tell where this might be? I’ve got a couple of numbers and a street name that has Lake Road in it.”
Colleen flipped through the pages. “Dunno. Mountains. A lake. Looks like half of Oregon.”
“Don’t suppose you could at least narrow it down to which half?”
“Morning, campers.” Randy looked up at his partner’s voice. Kovak strode into the room and dropped a file folder on Randy’s desk. “The financials gave me diddly, so I had the newspaper check the archives.” He gave Randy an even stare. “I knew there was nothing more I could do and that you’d call if the album gave you a lead. I went home and caught a couple hours of shuteye. You can’t do the job on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline.”
Randy ignored Kovak’s words and reached for the folder. Glad his hands had stopped shaking, he leafed through some articles until he came to one with a photograph. From the obituary section. Taken at the funeral. Three people. Chris, for certain. Another man and a woman.
Randy laid the paper on his desk, staring at the words. They danced around the page and he leaned on his elbows, palms to temples, as if holding his head steady would stop the motion.
The widow, Elizabeth Westmoreland, plans to return to her native Colorado Springs with her brother, Wesley Christopher.
Uncle Wesley. In Colorado Springs. Randy jerked up and grabbed the computer mouse, found the search engine he needed. He picked up the phone.
“It’s not even six a.m.,” Colleen said.
“The beauty of being a cop,” Kovak replied. “We’ve got it all over the telemarketers when it comes to disruptive phone calls.” Colleen retreated to the far wall.
Randy waited out the rings. Three. Four. Five. A voice, thick with sleep, answered.
“Is this Wesley Christopher?” Randy asked and identified himself.
“Pine Hills?” A moment of silence, as if he were processing the information through a sleep-filled brain. “Chris? Has something happened to him?”
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, sir. We’ve been trying to locate him.”
“Isn’t he at the cabin? He told me he’d be there all week.”
Randy clenched the phone. He felt Kovak leaning over him and clicked the speaker button. Colleen took a step toward the desk.
“I guess he didn’t mention it. His office was unaware that’s where he’d be. Can you confirm the address for us, please?” He held his breath, hoping the man was still groggy enough with sleep not to require proof of who he was. At least Sarah’s mom didn’t give information to strangers on the phone. “Yeah, it’s six thirty-nine Falcon Lake Road. Over in Deschutes County. Chris has had the run of the place since I moved back to Colorado. My car, too. He called me Saturday—or was it Sunday? Anyway, he said he was taking someone special there. I was happy he’d found someone. You sure nothing’s wrong?”
Ice ran through Randy’s veins. What would Chris be doing to Sarah? He regrouped. “No—I guess he forgot to cancel his paper.” Randy felt Kovak nudge his shoulder and he shrugged. “The neighbors were worried.”
He glanced up and saw Colleen mouth car. Shit, he was off. “What kind of car, if you don’t mind? License?”
“It’s a 2000 Blazer, dark green. Colorado plates.”
“And the license?”
“Give me a minute,” the man said. “It’s not exactly on the tip of my tongue at this hour.”
Randy clenched his jaw and waited out the silence. After what seemed hours, the voice came back.
“747 GPY.”
“Thanks.” He repeated the information.
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Colleen was out the door, and Randy knew she’d be putting the lookout order out for the Blazer. “Thanks, Mr. Christopher. Sorry to bother you so early.”
“No problem. I’ll remind my nephew to leave better contact information next time he goes on vacation.”
Kovak spoke first. “I’ll have the Deschutes sheriffs roll and see if I can get a warrant for Westmoreland.”
“I’m going,” Randy said. “I don’t need a fucking warrant. Give me a map and I’ll drag that bastard back here by his dick.”
“Which seems to be what you’re thinking with,” Kovak said. “Mac, don’t let him leave yet. Cuff him to the chair if you have to, but let me talk to Deschutes first.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Warm hands stroked Sarah’s forehead, lips touched her temples. She relaxed into the soothing touches, turned her body to stretch against his, absorbed his heat. In the darkness, his hands moved over her back, gentle caresses that sent warmth through her insides.
The lips moved down to her neck, stopping to nibble at an earlobe before planting kisses at her throat. The hands moved lower, caressed her buttocks, then stroked her thighs.
Her limbs felt heavy, her head fuzzy. She sensed something was wrong, but she couldn’t maintain a grasp on a conscious thought. She allowed herself to drift, to enjoy the sensations coursing through her.
Pleasure built and she floated through layers of sensation. Those hands rolled her onto her back, pried her legs apart. A throbbing in her knee brought her closer to the surface. Memories came back. Her heart pounded and she rose from the depths of her dream.
Chris, not Randy, was lying beside her. His hands, not Randy’s, were all over her. Panic cleared the last clouds from her brain and she pulled away.
“Ah, so you’re awake, my darling. I’m so glad. Your wedding night should be something memorable. For both of us.”
She felt his penis, limp on her thigh. Good Lord, had he already taken her? While she was unconscious? She struggled to get away. His fingers clamped down on her wrists.
