When she finally got out, dried off, and got dressed, she saw that Mags was still asleep in her bed. Fighting the urge to wake her, Keri returned to the living room, where she saw there was now breaking news on the TV.
It was the Weatherford story. Video of him being marched out of his Hollywood Hills mansion in handcuffs was interspersed with file footage of him giving now-ironic speeches about law and order. The screen cut back to the anchor, who mentioned his ties to Jackson Cave and then made the obligatory reference to Cave’s confrontation with Keri and his subsequent death.
Keri had seen enough at that point and turned it off. It was time to wake Evelyn for school anyway. She walked into her room. It was empty. She checked the bathroom but it was empty too. She poked her head into her own bedroom again. Mags was starting to stir but Evelyn was nowhere in sight.
She returned to her daughter’s bedroom and looked around. Something was off. That’s when she noticed her phone on the dresser. Evelyn wouldn’t have gone anywhere without it.
Feeling panic start to rise in her chest, Keri looked around and saw that Ev’s favorite shoes were gone, as was her school backpack. She rushed to the front closet and found her best jacket gone too. She glanced at the front door. It was unlocked. She was sure that despite her exhaustion, she’d locked it the previous night.
Mags poked her head out of the bedroom door and looked at her groggily.
“How’s it going?”
“Have you seen Ev this morning?” Keri asked.
“No. I only just woke up. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find her. She was in her room twenty minutes ago when I went to shower. Now she’s gone, but her phone isn’t and the front door is unlocked.”
“Are you sure…?” Mags started to ask but stopped herself when she saw the look in Keri’s eyes.
“Something’s wrong, Mags. I can feel it.”
She looked around the living room, desperately hunting for any clue as to what might have happened. Her eyes fell on her own phone, resting on the coffee table. She hurried over and checked it. There was a text from Evelyn. It said simply, “I’m so sorry.”
“What the hell?” Mags said, when Keri showed her the message.
She darted over to her purse and checked the wallet. All her cash was gone. She didn’t remember exactly how much she’d had in there but it was around sixty dollars.
“Why would she have left?” Mags demanded. “What happened from the time you got in the shower until you got out that would set her off like this?”
Keri stopped mid-stride and stared at the television set.
“I think I know.”
“Care to share?” Mags asked.
“No time right now,” Keri answered as she threw on some shoes and grabbed her coat. “I have to find her before she leaves town.”
“What makes you think she’s going to do that?” Mags asked.
“She’s scared and she just wants to get away.”
“From what?”
“Her own demons, Mags. She thinks she can outrun them if she leaves this place. But I’ve got to find her before it’s too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean?”
“I’m worried that when she finally realizes she can’t outrun them, she might try to get rid of them the way she did last time.”
“Jesus,” Mags said. “What can I do, darling?”
“Please stay here in case she comes back,” Keri said as she snatched her phone and purse and headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Without even a goodbye, Keri stepped outside into the cold morning air to find her daughter.
*
Keri Locke was a police detective with the LAPD and that’s how she decided to start her search. So often in the past, she’d put herself in the mind of a missing, abducted, or runaway child, trying to determine how the kid might think in order to ascertain what might have happened to them. Just because this situation involved her daughter didn’t mean the technique was any different.
She moved quickly, allowing her brain to ride the wave of instinct she imagined Evelyn would have followed. Her daughter had left the phone in the apartment, knowing it could be tracked. But she had taken the cash, likely in the hope of getting a ride somewhere. Unable to use a ride-sharing app without the phone and not wanting to risk hitching, she would have likely called for cab.
The closest, safest, currently open place to do that at this hour was Tanner’s, the coffee shop at the corner of Culver and Vista del Mar Lane. Keri half-jogged there and pushed past the customers in line to get to the clerk.
“Did a teenage girl come in here in the last twenty minutes asking to use your phone?” she demanded.
“Hey, lady, there’s a line,” the guy behind her said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
Keri turned and stared him down.
“There’s going to be a straight line from my fist to your nose if you don’t back up right now.”
He removed his hand from her shoulder.
She retuned her attention to the woman behind the counter, who fearfully pointed at the back office. Keri hurried past her and redialed the last number called. Sure enough, it was a local cab company. After identifying herself, she was given the destination of the service call from that location: the Greyhound bus station downtown.
After sprinting back to the apartment to get her car and speeding down surface streets to avoid the traffic-choked morning rush hour freeways, Keri got to the bus station in less than an hour. As she walked into the station, she got a text from Mags that said, “Looks like I’m missing $75 from my wallet too.”
Keri called the cab company to find out how much the trip from the coffeehouse to the bus station had been and when it had arrived. They said drop-off had been at 7:14 a.m. and the trip cost $41 without tip. She looked at her watch. It was 7:47 a.m. now. She moved to the front of the ticket line and rapped on the window.
“I need to speak to a supervisor,” she said, holding up her badge.
The agent buzzed her in and pointed to a haggard-looking older man in the back corner of the room. Keri walked over and explained the situation without preamble.
“I need a list of all the one-way buses that left in the last half hour or leave in the next hour and cost less than a hundred bucks.”
The supervisor casually punched in a few keystrokes as if he got asked this kind of question every day.
“Three options,” he said in a bland voice. “The seven seventeen to Sacramento cost fifty-two dollars. The seven fifty-four to El Paso is seventy-nine dollars. And the eight twenty-two to Vegas is eighty.”
“How late do drivers pull out? Is there a grace period?”
“Door closes and bus pulls out at the appointed time. All bags and passengers have to be on board five minutes prior to departure or their seats can be given away.”
Keri thought for a moment. There was no way Evelyn could have arrived at the station at 7:14 and made it onto a 7:17 bus. She could ask them to hold the other two but she was pretty confident which route her daughter had taken.
“Thanks,” she said. “Which lane does the El Paso bus leave from?”
“Seven,” he answered without looking up.
Keri walked there quickly. She felt certain there was no way Evelyn would head to Las Vegas—another city known for its affiliation with the sex trade. Besides, she sensed her daughter was frantically trying to get as far from LA as she could, no matter where that was. El Paso met the requirement.
As she approached the bus, she looked at her watch again: 7:53. The driver, a heavyset guy in his fifties, was just reaching over to close the doors when she put her foot on the first step and flashed her badge. She seemed to be doing a lot of that.
“I need to check something. Won’t take but a moment.”
He nodded and she stepped on board, taking in the sea of people in front of her.
“You sold out?” she asked him.
“Uh-huh. Every seat,” he said.
<
br /> Keri looked up the left side of the bus and back down the right. Midway up on the right, in the window seat, she saw what she was looking for—an empty space. She walked back slowly until she reached the row.
Sure enough, crouched down low in the seat, hugging her backpack to her chest, was Evelyn. Her eyes were closed, as if willing herself not to be seen. Keri glanced at the older woman in the seat next to her.
“Can you let this one out please? Her passport’s been revoked.”
Evelyn opened her eyes and looked up at Keri.
“How did you find me?” she asked meekly.
“I’m a detective, sweetie. It’s kind of what I do. Now come out of there and let’s go get some breakfast.”
*
They sat in the diner, neither saying much beyond ordering. Keri texted Mags to let her know everything was okay before calling the school to inform them that Evelyn would be in a few hours late today. Only when it became clear that her daughter wasn’t going to initiate anything did she broach the subject.
“It was the guy on the news, wasn’t it?” she said. “The Supervisor they arrested. That’s the man who wore the mask and showed you the videos of me while he assaulted you, right?”
Evelyn nodded and sighed heavily before speaking.
“I heard his voice from the bedroom and I got so scared. When I came out, I saw that it was just the TV and that he was under arrest. But it didn’t help. It just brought everything back. And after yesterday at Dad’s, it was all just too much, Mom. I had to get away.”
“I get it, sweetie. Really, I do. I still get nightmares when they flash that lawyer, Cave, on the screen, and I didn’t go through anything close to what you did. But running away isn’t the answer. That’s when you come to me. And I make them pay.”
“But what if you aren’t there? I called you yesterday from Dad’s and it just went to voicemail. I had to call Mags and she called Ray. It was a whole thing.”
“I heard. And I’m so sorry, Ev. I was in Malibu up in the hills on a case and there was no cell service. I know that doesn’t help you. But it really was a fluke.”
“I know that,” Evelyn said. “And I saw that you saved that girl. Just like I knew you would. I don’t want you to feel bad about that. But Dad’s not going to stop. And I can’t handle it anymore. It’s like he doesn’t care what I want. He just wants to win. And getting custody of me is a win.”
Keri sat quietly, sipping her coffee, uncertain how to proceed. Finally she decided to just lay it all on the line. Her daughter deserved that.
“Listen, Ev. I can’t promise everything is going to turn out perfectly. But what I can promise you is that I will always fight for you. I will fight to make sure this Supervisor Weatherford pays for what he did. He’d be going to prison for a very long time even before anyone knows what he did to you. And I guarantee that you weren’t the only girl he hurt. That part of his life is going to come out too. And one thing I know for sure, guys who hurt little kids, especially rich, corrupt politicians, don’t fare too well behind bars. He’s going to have a very ugly next thirty years or so.”
Evelyn failed miserably at stifling a smile. Then something occurred to her and her face clouded.
“Will I have to testify?” she asked.
“I have a feeling there will be more than few other girls willing to come forward. Don’t you worry about that too much. But there is another situation in which you might have to testify, one I was hoping to avoid until now.”
“What’s that?” Evelyn asked, her brow still horribly furrowed.
“It’s not a hard and fast rule. But in California, once a child turns fourteen, family courts give their preference a lot of weight in custody decisions. And as you may recall, you recently turned fourteen.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this until now?” Evelyn asked excitedly, her face brightening.
“Because it’s not the route I wanted to go. I was hoping your dad and I could find a way to make this work. But it sounds increasingly like he’s not willing to do that. And after yesterday, on top of what happened in January, I’m not sure you should have to.”
“I don’t want to see him anymore, Mom. He’s not the same person he was. And I don’t think he’s even interested in trying to understand who I am now. Being there is depressing. I can feel the ulcer start to come back every time I think about it.”
“Okay, well, Mags gave me the name of her lawyer and I’m going to talk to him today. Apparently, he’s the worst—in the best possible way. But it could get kind of rough. You need to be prepared for that.”
“You don’t think I can handle rough?” Evelyn asked skeptically.
“I know you can. I just wanted to warn you. But here’s the thing. I can handle rough too. That’s my job. To handle the really bad stuff so you don’t have to. And I won’t ever bail on you or let you down. But you have to trust me. You have to come to me when you’re having problems, okay? Because the only way we’re going to get through this mess is if we stick together. We’re a team, you and I. Sound good?”
“It sounds good, Mom. Even though that’s really cheesy, it sounds good.”
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
ONE MONTH LATER
Keri pulled into the police station parking lot and gulped hard, surprised at how nervous she felt. It was late afternoon and the spring sun was still high in the sky. Forcing herself to stop procrastinating, she got out of the car and walked into the lobby, where the desk sergeant gave her a goofy half-smile. She returned it.
It seemed like everyone was friendlier to her these days. Well, maybe not everyone; certainly not Stephen. After she’d hired Mags’s lawyer, Porter K. Frendlehaus, Esq., as her family law attorney, he’d actually gotten very nasty.
But Keri let Porter handle all that, including prepping Evelyn for her testimony stating her strong preference to live with her mother, as well as establishing that her suicide attempt had come immediately after, and likely in part due to, her time in her father’s company.
The judge had granted Keri temporary sole custody with zero visitation for Stephen. And even though the final determination wouldn’t come down for another five months, he seemed to have lost interest in the fight once it became clear he would likely lose.
Former County Supervisor Carl Weatherford wasn’t all that friendly either, especially after learning Keri had tracked down over a dozen underage girls he’d assaulted in the last year alone, all while wearing his mask. They each identified him by his voice and distinctive markings on his body. Evelyn wouldn’t have to testify or even come forward as a victim if she didn’t want to.
Prosecutors estimated that with those charges, along with the public corruption, embezzlement, and racketeering ones, even with good behavior, he would spend somewhere between forty and sixty years behind bars. Since he was currently sixty-six, it was likely he would die in prison. And because of the sexually violent nature of some of the allegations, he would be placed in a maximum security facility, which Keri especially liked. He would have lots of touchy-feely friends there.
Garrett Patterson—he’d been informally stripped of the affectionate nickname “Grunt Work”—had fared better. By pleading guilty and turning state’s evidence against Weatherford, he was expected to be sentenced to between six and eight years. He’d probably get out in less than three. But he was persona non grata for life in law enforcement.
And apart from Frank Brody, who had just retired and seemed to have developed a soft spot for the kid immediately thereafter, no one in the Missing Persons Unit would even speak to him. Ray had been warned by Hillman on more than one occasion that attempting to mete out any form of personal justice could complicate Patterson’s sentencing and put his own freedom at risk. Brody had given Keri a letter Patterson wrote her. And while she hadn’t burned it or thrown it out, she couldn’t bring herself to read it.
Maybe one day…in a decade or so.
The good news was that after his good work helping with the Vista b
ust, former mall security officer and current police trainee Keith Fogerty, who was in high demand, had been promised to West LA Division as a replacement for Patterson upon his graduation next month. He wasn’t a detective. But he’d already proven he had the skill set to do the grunt work.
Far more friendly these days were the folks at Internal Affairs, who had formally dropped their investigation into Keri a few weeks ago. No one was really pushing the case after Weatherford’s arrest anyway. But it had truly become moot after California Governor Gregg Macklin, at a campaign event announcing his reelection bid, pardoned her for any offenses related to her work investigating the disappearance of her daughter.
Nothing formal was ever said. But Keri couldn’t help noticing that Roan Jonas, along with his wife, son, and daughter, Tara, were all standing near the governor onstage when he made the announcement.
Keri knew Hillman was glad to have the weight of the investigation off his shoulders. With her name no longer under a cloud, Brody now retired, and Jamie Castillo recently promoted to detective to join Ray, Manny Suarez, and Kevin Edgerton in the Missing Persons Unit, he seemed to have a little extra spring in his step.
That was, until Keri told him she was stepping down. Maybe that’s why she was getting all the goofy half-smiles. Everyone in the division had to know this was her last day and that she was really only stopping by to pick up her box of personal effects. Goodbyes were awkward, so she was getting those half-smiles instead.
It had been a tough decision. Part of her still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. Even in this last month she and Ray had solved seven of the nine cases they’d been assigned and returned two kids to their homes. Victories like that made her think she should stick around.
Of course, they’d also found two other children dead, as well as three adults, one of whom had been chopped up by her own husband. Those were the cases that tore her up. And with a vulnerable, recovering teenage girl in the house, she couldn’t afford to be any more torn up than necessary.
Keri Locke 05-A Trace of Hope Page 25
