Читать книгу Hard Ride to Dry Gulch - Joanna Wayne - Страница 12
ОглавлениеChapter Three
Faith’s heart pounded against her chest. Her breath caught. She jerked to a sitting position and forced her words through a choking knot at the back of her throat.
“Cornell. Is that you? Is it really you?”
“It’s me.”
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Only...”
“Tell me where you are, Cornell. I’ll come get you. Just tell me where you are?”
“I can’t, Mom.”
“Are you having seizures? Have you been taking your meds?”
“I have a new prescription. No seizures in months.” His voice shook. “I’m so sorry. So sor—”
His voice grew silent. Curses railed in the background. The phone went dead.
“Cornell! Cornell!” She kept calling, but she was yelling his name into a lifeless phone. Her insides rolled sickeningly.
“Please call me back. Please, Cornell, call me back,” she whispered. The phone stayed silent.
There had to be a way to reach him. A hard metal taste filled the back of her throat as she punched in *69. A brief sputter of interference was the only response to her attempt to reach the number Cornell had called from.
Her head felt as if someone had turned on strobe lights inside it. A pulsing at the temples tightened like a Vise-Grip. She buried her head in her hands in an attempt to stop the dizzying sensation.
Was this just another nightmare or had she actually heard her son’s voice?
No, even trapped in the shock, she was certain the call had been real. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes and then escaped to stream down her face.
Cornell was alive. Finally, the truth of that rolled over her in waves. Her son was alive.
But where was he and what could he possibly be sorry for? For taking drugs? For drinking? Was he staying away because he thought she was mad at him? But if that was all there was, who had yelled the curses in the background that had frightened Cornell into breaking off the call midsentence?
He was not alone and whoever was with had him under their control.
Possibilities exploded in her mind, all of them too frightening to bear.
There had to be a way to find out where that call had originated. If she knew where Cornell was, she could rescue him. She could bring him home.
His interrupted call was proof he was being held or at least intimidated by someone. Even the Dallas Police Department couldn’t deny that.
Call me. You can trust me.
Travis’s words echoed in her mind. But was it Travis Dalton she should put her faith in or a man she knew only as Georgio?
* * *
OFFICIALLY, IT WAS Travis’s day off. Unofficially, he strolled into the precinct about 7:00 a.m. No one in the front office seemed surprised to see him. Homicide detectives never kept normal hours.
Neither did crime.
Jewel Sayer raised one eyebrow as he passed her desk. “I thought you were partying in Oak Grove this weekend?”
“Just stayed long enough to get my brother married.”
“What? No hot chicks at the wedding reception?”
“None as hot as you, Jewel.”
“Can’t go comparing the rest of the mere mortals to me, Travis. You’ve got to learn to settle for someone in your league.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Jewel was in her mid-thirties and a far cry from the beauty-pageant types who filled the Dallas hot spots six nights a week. She had a boxlike face hemmed in by dark, straight hair cropped an inch from her scalp. Her breasts were lost beneath boxy, plain cotton shirts. Her trousers bagged. Her face was a makeup-free zone.
Jewel was, however, a wildcat of a homicide detective. She could tear more much meat out of a seemingly useless clue than most of the men who’d had years more experience. And she had great instincts. She also had a husband who adored her.
Her phone rang. She lifted her coffee mug as a sign of dismissal before answering it.
Travis stopped at the coffeepot, filled a mug with the strong brew and took it to his office. He dropped to the seat behind his cluttered desk and typed Faith Ashburn into the DPD search system.
A few sips of coffee later, her name came up as having filed a missing-person report a few days under ten months ago, on June 25. That would have been approximately six months before he ran into her at the Passion Pit.
He pulled up the report she’d filled out. The missing person was her eighteen-year-old son, Cornell Keating Ashburn, a high-school student about to start his senior year.
According to the report, Cornell struggled with academics and received special help with his classes in a mainstream setting. He made friends easily but he was easily influenced by his peers. He was also on medication for seizures and reportedly needed daily meds to prevent them.
According to the report, Faith Ashburn had gone in to work early the day he’d gone missing, leaving before Cornell got out of bed. She’d come home from work to find a note from him saying he was hanging out with some friends from the neighborhood. He might spend the night at his friend Jason’s, but he’d call later and let her know.
He’d never called. He’d never come home. He’d never showed up at Jason’s.
That explained the torment that haunted her mesmerizing eyes.
Now that Travis thought about it, Leif had questioned him a couple months ago about how effective the police were with following up on missing-persons cases. Travis had assured him that they were thorough and professional.
No doubt Joni had told him about Faith’s missing son and that had prompted the questions.
Travis printed the original report and a series of follow-up notes by the investigating detective, Mark Ethridge. Mark headed up the missing-persons division and reportedly had handled Cornell’s disappearance himself. Ethridge was one of the best in the business at tracking missing or runaway teens.
Travis skimmed for the most pertinent details. Faith and Cornell’s father were divorced. He’d died two years ago in a work-related accident, so that eliminated any chance he’d run away to live with him. His maternal grandmother lived in Seattle. His maternal grandfather lived in Waco. Neither had seen Cornell in years. Nor had his paternal grandparents. Ethridge had checked that out thoroughly.
Faith had called everyone Cornell ever hung out with. No one had seen him that day.
His clothes were still in the closet except for the jeans, shirt and sneakers he’d obviously been wearing when he went missing. His iPad and computer were still in his room. Only his phone was missing. She’d called it repeatedly. There had been no answer.
Easy to see why she feared foul play.
Of course, it was also possible the young man had decided to chuck it all and run away from home. At eighteen, he wouldn’t technically be a runaway. In the eyes of the law, he was an adult with the right to live wherever he chose.
Travis finished off his coffee and then moved on to the notes Ethridge had provided. There was no final report, as the investigation was ongoing.
Not good, Travis decided as he delved into the investigation discoveries. Although Faith had insisted that her son had no issues that would cause him to run away, his friends from school painted a different story.
Several of his classmates, including Jason, had said he’d started acting strange in the days before he’d disappeared. They said he’d stopped hanging out with them after school, always said he was busy.
Ethridge had checked out the local drug and prostitute scene. Two strippers from the Passion Pit had recognized him from his picture, said they’d seen him in the club a couple times over the past few weeks, but not since his disappearance. One claimed he was hot for one of the dancers.
Even Georgio admitted to having seen him. Said he’d caught Cornell trying to touch one of his dancers inappropriately, and kicked him out. Claimed he realized then the kid was underage, and had told him to go home before he got into trouble.
After that, the clues ran dry.
Ethridge would have told Faith what he’d discovered. That explained her hanging out in the city’s scummiest dive. She’d been looking for her son or someone who could tell her where to find him.
The only good news was that Cornell’s body had not turned up at the local morgue.
That was the reality Travis lived with every day. He and his partner were the lead detectives in five unsolved murder cases of male victims between the ages of sixteen and eighteen who’d been killed over the past nineteen months. All had been shot twice in the back of the head, gangster-style, their bodies either left in an alley or dumped into the Trinity River.
At first people had paid little attention to the murders, attributing them to gangs or drug deals gone bad. But the last victim had been from a prominent family.
Now the media had jumped on board and were suddenly clamoring for information about the murders and pushing the idea that a serial killer was stalking Dallas. Nothing got the citizens more riled and afraid than the possibility of a serial killer who chose his victims randomly.
Neither Travis nor his partner, Reno Vargas, believed the murders were random. In fact, they were convinced Georgio was behind them. What they didn’t have was proof of his involvement.
Any way you looked at it, Faith Ashburn had plenty of reason to be worried.
Travis was about to go for more coffee when his cell phone vibrated. He yanked it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Faith Ashburn’s name lit up the display.
He glanced at his watch. Only seven thirty-five and on a Sunday morning. He’d hoped he might hear from her, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to call this soon. He doubted it was personal, which meant she was calling about Cornell.
“Detective Travis Dalton,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”
“Travis, this is Faith.”
He liked the way she said his name. He didn’t like the tremor of apprehension in her voice. “Hi, Faith. Nice to hear from you.”
“It’s...” She paused. “I need to talk to you, as a detective. It’s about my son.”
“Cornell?”
“You know about his disappearance?”
“I didn’t until a few minutes ago. I just finished reading the missing-person report.”
“There’s a new development,” she said.
“Since last night?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of development?”
“I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Actually, I suppose I should call Mark Ethridge, but I’m not even sure he’s kept the investigation open, and you did offer to help.”
“Don’t worry about the chain of command. I’ll handle that. I was going to talk to Ethridge about the case, anyway. When do you want to get together?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Right now works for me. How about breakfast?”
“That would be great. I can meet you anywhere you say.”
“I’m almost finished up here, so how about I pick you up at your place?”
“What time?”
He reached for the form she’d filled out, and checked her home address. It was probably a twenty-minute drive in light Sunday-morning traffic. “Is a half hour from now too soon?”
“That would be perfect, but, Travis...” She paused again. Unsure of him or facing new fears? He couldn’t tell which.
“Go on,” he urged.
“Don’t mention to Joni or Leif that I called you.”
“Joni surely knows your son is missing.”
“Yes. They both do. Leif even offered to hire a private detective to help find him.”
“You turned him down?”
“I’d already hired one.”
That, Travis hadn’t known. “Your decision,” he said. “You don’t have to admit to anyone you called me, if that’s how you want it.”
“It’s just that I don’t want to spoil Joni and Leif’s honeymoon, and there’s nothing either of them can do. Besides, Joni has spent enough time holding my hand and crying with me over the last ten months.”
“Then this is our secret,” he said. “See you in half an hour. I’ll try to offer more than a hand or a shoulder to cry on—though I have both if they’re needed.”
“Just help me find Cornell and bring him home.”
Travis couldn’t promise to bring him home. Cornell would have a say in that. But he would find him. Hopefully, alive.
He left the precinct and headed to her house. She lived in a neighborhood of small brick homes built close together, with well-tended yards. No gated access. Few trees. Driveways sported basketball hoops.
A young man pushed a baby stroller down the narrow sidewalk. An attractive woman in white shorts and a knit shirt walked behind them, keeping a close watch on a toddler who was pedaling furiously on her bright red trike.
It looked to be a good middle-class neighborhood to grow up in. Much nicer than the one Travis had lived in for the first few years after his mother’s death.
Then, most of the houses had been in need of repair and drive-by shootings were as commonplace as his foster father’s drunken binges.
Travis figured if it hadn’t been for his mother’s influence during the early years and Leif’s efforts to rescue him from the ghetto, he might have grown up as troubled and in trouble as the young punks who committed most of the crimes in Dallas.
He turned at the corner and started checking addresses. Faith’s house was in the middle of the block, a redbrick with white trim. The hedges were neatly groomed. Colorful pansies and snapdragons overflowed from pots by her door. In spite of her grief, she was keeping up appearances. Probably wanted home to be welcoming if or when Cornell showed up again.
Travis pulled into the driveway and took the walk to her covered entry. She opened the door seconds after he pushed the bell, handbag in hand, clearly ready to go.
“You’re prompt,” she said, stepping out the door without inviting him in.
“Also loyal, and I floss after every meal.”
A quick smile played on her lips but didn’t penetrate the veil of apprehension that covered her eyes.
She walked in front of him to his car. The white jean shorts she wore were cuffed at mid-thigh. Not too tight, but fitted enough to accentuate the sway of her hips. A teal blouse tied at the waist. The morning sun painted golden highlights in her dark hair.
He had to hurry to reach the door and open it for her before she climbed in on her own. He got a whiff of her flowery perfume as she slid past him. Crazy urges bucked around inside him. Not the time or the place, he reminded himself. Business only—at least until Cornell was found.
“There’s a breakfast spot in a strip center just a few blocks from here,” Faith said. “I hear they have good pancakes.”
“Do you like pancakes?” he asked.
“I used to, when I was a kid. I usually just have toast and coffee for breakfast now. I doubt my stomach will even tolerate that this morning.”
“No appetite, huh? Is that because of the new development you’re going to tell me about?”
She nodded, and he thought again how youthful she looked to be the mother of a teenager. She’d said she was thirty-five, which meant she’d given birth to him at seventeen. There must be a story there, as well.
“Tell me where to go,” he said.
He followed her directions. The restaurant was small, noisy and crowded. Not the best spot for a serious conversation.”
“Any chance we can get a seat on the patio?” he asked the young blonde hostess.
“How many in your party?”
“Two.”
“I think I can manage that.”
She smiled and led them to a table in the middle of the patio.
“How about that table in the back?” he asked.
“Okay with me, but it doesn’t have an umbrella, so you’re going to be in the sun.”
But it would give them a lot more privacy. He looked to Faith.
“The sun is fine with me,” she said.
Once they were seated, the hostess set two menus in front of them and announced that the waitress would be with them shortly.
“I didn’t realize the place would be so noisy,” Faith said. “I just need to talk and this was the closest café I could think of.”
Her apprehension seemed to be growing. He scooted his menu aside. “Let’s hear it. I can’t do anything about solving the problem until I know what it is.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I got a phone call from Cornell just before daybreak this morning.”
Travis hadn’t seen that coming. Even if he had, he would have expected it to be good news. Hearing the kid was alive made him feel a hell of a lot better, and he didn’t even know him.
“What did he say?”
“That he was sorry.”
“That’s a good start. Sorry for what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Where is he?”
“I asked, but he didn’t answer that, either.”
“He must have said something more than ‘I’m sorry’ to have you this upset.”
“It’s what he didn’t say that has me so afraid, Travis. The call was a cry for help. I have to find out where he was when he made that call. That’s why I came to you.”
The waitress appeared at their elbow. “Are you ready to order?”
“Just coffee for now,” Travis said. “Black.”
“Same for me,” Faith said, “except I’ll need cream and an artificial sweetener.”
“Something got lost in translation,” Travis said as the waitress walked away. “The dots between ‘I’m sorry’ and the call being a cry for help don’t connect for me. Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what was said.”
The waitress returned with their coffee. Faith stirred in the cream and sweetener slowly, as if she was trying to get her thoughts together. Finally, she looked up and locked her gaze with his.
“‘Mom,’” she murmured. “I answered the phone and heard ‘Mom.’” She picked up her napkin and used it to dab a tear from the corner of her right eye. More moisture gathered. “At that point I think I went into momentary shock.”
In Travis’s mind she wasn’t far from shock now, just having to relive the moment.
“After ten months of silence, I can see why that jolted you,” Travis said.
“So much so that I asked if it was really him.”
“You weren’t sure from the sound of his voice?”
“Only for a few seconds. My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t think. I thought I might be dreaming. But it was Cornell. I know it was. I’d know his voice anywhere.”
“And after he said ‘Mom’?”
“I asked him about his seizure meds. He said he’d gotten a prescription and that he was taking them. Then he just said he was sorry.”
“For leaving home?”
“He didn’t leave home.” Frustration laced her voice. “At least not of his own accord. He would never do that. I told Detective Ethridge and the private detective I hired that he had no reason to leave home. I don’t think either of them ever believed me, but a mother knows her son. At least I know Cornell.”
Travis reached across the table and laid his hands on top of hers. “I believe you, Faith. I’m just trying to see the whole picture here so I can get a handle on the situation. It would help if he’d said what he was sorry for.”
“He never got the chance to tell me. Someone started yelling curses in the background. Before he could say more, the connection was broken, either by Cornell or by the person who was yelling at him.”
“Was the voice in the background male or female?”
“Male. I pushed *69 and tried to redial the number, but it wouldn’t come up. I called the phone company. They were no help, either. But you’re a homicide detective. You must have ways to get that number.”
“Did he call your cell phone or landline?”
“The house phone. I can give you my number.”
“I’ll need that for starters, but I’d like to take a look around Cornell’s room and also check out his computer.”
“Arsenio checked the computer thoroughly.”
“Arsenio?”
“Arsenio Gomez, the P.I. I hired. He said there was nothing there to lead him to Cornell.”
“I’d like to look for myself.”
“Of course. Do anything that you think might help us find my son. Please, just do it quickly, before the lead grows cold again.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help you find Cornell, Faith. But first we need to set a few ground rules.”
Faith met his gaze head-on, suspicion arching her brows. “What kind of ground rules?”
“I expect the truth from you, the total truth.”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“No, but sometimes it’s difficult for parents to face up to the truth about their child. If there’s any indication that Cornell was on drugs or mixed up with a gang, I need to know that up front. Not to judge him. But it might change the way I go about the investigation.”
Faith yanked her hands away from his. Her lips grew taut, her eyes fiery. “I know what you read in his missing-person file, Travis. I know what his friends said about him and that he was seen at the Passion Pit, but Cornell was only eighteen. He may have made some bad decisions. But he wasn’t a thug or an addict. He didn’t leave home by choice, and wherever he is, he’s being held against his will. I’m as sure of that as I am that my name is Faith Ashburn or that today is Sunday.”
Travis wasn’t convinced, but he did understand her desperation. It was a dangerous world out there. No one knew that better than him.
Which brought up another issue. “There’s one other ground rule,” Travis said.
“Do you always have so many rules?”
“All depends on the game I find myself in.”
“So what’s the rule?”
“You leave the investigating to me. No more trips to the Passion Pit or any other questionable location.”
“I’m smart enough to know how to avoid trouble.”
“I’m questioning your judgment, not your intelligence. I saw you in action, remember? Besides, I have a lot more experience and muscle than you, and I wouldn’t go near that dive if I wasn’t carrying a weapon.”
“If it’s that dangerous, why don’t the police shut the club down and put Georgio out of business?”
Georgio. Merely hearing his name from her lips made Travis sick. “What do you know about Georgio?”
“Just that he’s the owner of the Passion Pit.”
“And an offspring of the devil. Stay away from him, Faith. That’s an order.”
The waitress returned with refills. This time Travis ordered two eggs, over easy, with sausage, grits, biscuits and gravy, without bothering to look at the menu. Faith ordered a slice of wheat toast.
“If you’ll give me your home phone number now, I’ll make a call and get the ball rolling,” Travis said.
She took a pen from her purse and scribbled the number down on a paper napkin. “How long will it take to track the call?”
“Depends on where the call was made from. If luck’s on our side, we could have the phone number by the time we finish breakfast.”
“In minutes.” She sounded almost breathless. “Cornell could be home in time for dinner.”
Damn. He should never have gotten her hopes up like that. “Don’t count on instant gratification,” he cautioned. “Have to take things one step at a time, but if we discover where that call was made from, we’ll be one huge leap ahead of where you were when you went to bed last night.”
“I’ll take that,” she said. “But if we find out where he called from, we should be able to find him.”
They would have to play this smart. No rushing in without knowing for certain what they were up against. If Cornell was really being held against his will, making a foolish mistake could get him killed.
At this point, the best they could hope for was that Cornell Ashburn had just developed a sudden taste for independence, women and drugs, and taken a leave of absence from home to satisfy his cravings.
He definitely wouldn’t be the first eighteen-year-old to sow his wild oats. Travis knew that firsthand.
He put the search for the phone number in motion and then his focus returned to Faith Ashburn. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive and natural. Her smile, her eyes, her intensity—it all got to him.
And it was meshing with an overwhelming need to protect her and get to know her better. Maybe it was the wedding thing. Seeing Leif so happy to settle down with one woman could be addling Travis’s brain.
If he was smart, he’d turn this back over to Mark Ethridge and run for the hills. But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t do that. Not with the possibility that her son’s disappearance could in any way be connected to the four others who had gone missing over the past nineteen months and turned up dead. The pressure was on to solve the case before another young man lost his life.
A young man like Cornell.
In spite of his concerns, when the waitress arrived with the food, Travis dived in like a starving man. If he let worry or even murder interfere with his eating, he’d have to go on life support.
He didn’t hear back about the origins of Faith’s early-morning call during breakfast or on the drive back to her house. Once there, he went straight to Cornell’s room and began searching with the same intensity he’d use for a fresh crime scene.
Travis pulled several boxes from the back of the closet. One held a half-dozen pairs of tennis shoes, two jackets that were too heavy for Dallas winters and a pair of hiking boots.
“Cornell loved outdoor activities,” Faith said by way of explanation. “Skiing, hiking, white-water rafting, horseback riding. His dad’s brother used to own a condo in the Colorado Rockies, and Cornell visited him with his dad several times. He loved it out there, even talked about moving there one day.”
“Have you checked with his uncle to see if he was with him?”
“His uncle died in a snowmobile accident three years ago, just a year before Cornell’s father was killed while working on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. My son has never fully gotten over those deaths.”
“That would be hard on anyone.” And it definitely gave Cornell a reason to be troubled. “How old was Cornell when you got divorced?”
“Ten. That’s when I met Joni. I needed some job skills, so I went back for an associate degree.”
Faith’s house phone rang. She gasped and grabbed her chest as she ran to answer it. Travis followed, listening in on the conversation until he was certain Cornell wasn’t the caller.
He went back to the boy’s room alone to continue the search. All he found was typical teenage stuff. A worn baseball glove. Video games. Old comic books. Some swimming trophies from when he was in grade school.
Nothing that provided even a hint or a clue of where Cornell might have gone or why. Travis had started to put them back in place when he noticed a smaller box pushed to the back of the shelf. He took it down, opened it and peered inside.
A porn magazine stared back at him. He lifted it to find eight more, all with pictures of naked women, nothing sadistic or particularly kinky.
All well hidden from his mother.
No surprise. Guys of eighteen seldom confided those kinds of thoughts and activities to their mothers. But if Travis and Faith were going to find Cornell, they would have to go into this with their eyes wide open.
He stuck his head out the bedroom door. “Faith, want to come in here a minute?”
She arrived a few seconds later, breathless from racing up the stairs. The look on her face was expectant, downright hopeful.
He hated that what he had to show her would replace it with a kick in the gut. He tried to think of something to make this easier on her, but he’d never been great at dancing around the truth.
He set the box on the table. “This might explain why Cornell was spotted at the Passion Pit.”
Faith pushed back the cover of the top magazine with one finger, as if was too disgusting to touch. Tough on a mother to find out her baby wasn’t one.
Travis’s cell phone vibrated. Caller ID indicated it was from the precinct. “I need to take this,” he said.
Faith nodded.
His focus quickly switched to the call and the information relayed to him by one of the younger officers recently appointed to serve under him in the homicide division.
The news was not good.
