Читать книгу Car Trouble: A Cassidy Callahan Novel - Kelly Rysten - Страница 9

Chapter 3

One night a few weeks later I was restless. City life was confining and I needed to get out for a while. I went to the gym hoping a workout would still the call of the mountains. If training for search and rescue was in my immediate future then I needed to get into better shape. I was already fit from going to the gym several times a week. I also jogged regularly and would hike whenever I was overpowered by a feeling of wanderlust. I was usually in the gym during the morning and I could see the nighttime crowd was different. I went through my normal routine purposefully, then hopped on a treadmill to jog. I was into my second mile when Rusty wandered out of the weight room. I’d never seen him at the gym before but since he didn’t have time for a morning workout it made sense that we’d never run into each other previously. Like every other woman in the gym I watched him while he wandered from machine to machine. He would sit to begin his work out, but he didn’t change the weight settings on any of the equipment. After several repetitions and never having adjusted any of the settings he’d select another machine and continue his workout. It appeared as if he was killing time and cooling down from the weight training. No matter what tension the machines had been set to, he didn’t seem to have any problem with them. He turned towards the treadmills and noticed me jogging. As he neared I slowed the machine so I could talk easier. Every woman in the gym gave a collective and disappointed sigh when he approached me. I could see their ears pointed in our direction wondering what kind of pickup line he was going to dish out. Should I wait to see what it was or come up with my own and see what happened?

“They should pay you to work out here,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“These women are in better shape than the morning crowd. They come to the gym when you’re here and they stay until you leave. How long have you been working out?”

“Two hours.”

“You can’t do that! The newbies will kill themselves in two hours here.”

He smiled. “So what are you doing here?”

“You mean besides watching you? I usually come in the mornings. But I needed to work something off and I was hoping this would help.”

“Anything I can help you work off?”

I blushed. “It was either the gym or the camp and I thought I better start running if I was going to try that academy. How far do they make you run there?”

“Till you drop.”

“Okay, so I’m training for a marathon here.”

“Want to race?”

“That’s no fair. I’ve put in 3 miles and now you want to race?”

“Okay, we won’t race.”

He selected a treadmill, hopped on and set the speed to a jog then kept at it. I upped my speed to finish my last mile and then I weighed in. I was more worried about losing too much weight than gaining any. I tried to stay above a hundred and fifteen pounds. Once academy started it was going to be a constant battle.

I sat in a chair beside the lobby and waited, suspecting Rusty had more on his mind than simply working out. I also knew that he’d never talk about work at the gym. He finished his work out and then walked towards me.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I glanced around the room and was met with evil stares from twenty women.

“I don’t think we should leave together,” I replied. “I’ll track you down tomorrow.”

“That’s appropriate. Come by early, dress for tracking. Desert.”

I shot him a questioning look. “Okay, I’ll see ya.”

I left the gym wondering what was up. I felt the eyes on my back until I got in the Jeep and drove off. His eyes, making sure I got homeward bound without mishap, and all the women looking on with jealousy.

Uncertain what Rusty’s definition of early was, and considering we’d be tracking in the desert, I thought it best to begin in the cool of the morning. I was also unsure what he wanted me to wear. He said I should wear tracking clothes. He might prefer me to dress the part in the event there were other police officers there. I dressed in camouflage pants, a tan t-shirt, and moccasins. In the garage I dug out my Camel Pack and added my tracking tools. If this was desert tracking I’d need plenty of water. I fed Shadow on my way out the door.

I drove to the police station and checked in at the front counter. Although everyone knew me, it was standard procedure to always check in. I made my way to Rusty’s office and peeked in though his door’s little window to make sure he was alone. I preferred not to barge in on meetings. It was always a peek through the window, two gentle knocks, then I’d crack the door and look in. He was sitting at his desk typing on the computer so I took a seat and waited for him to finish. He wasn’t dressed in his usual slacks and sport coat. He appeared ready for a day out in the hills. His hiking boots poked out from under the far side of the desk and his clothes were meant for hiking.

“Before we go, I want to talk to you, make sure this is something you want to do.”

“Okay, although I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to go out tracking.”

“These cases are not a pretty sight. And it involves carjacking. These people were not as lucky as you were. Do you still want to go?”

My heart sank. Sure, I’d go, but I remembered vividly what it felt like to be carjacked. And this was worse. These were murder scenes.

“Yeah, I still want to go.”

“There’s some things I want you to know before we go. Some of it you might find useful in the tracking. Mostly I want you to be alert when you’re alone. This guy is dangerous and he doesn’t seem to have any problem finding victims.”

“What’s his MO?”

“He hangs out in bank parking lots. He waits for someone to use the ATM, in the process of robbing them he forces them into their car and it is later found in some remote location. He has also been known to find unlocked cars and hide in the back seat. Whenever you go anyplace, no matter how short a time, lock your car. I know you’re observant but be extra careful around banks, even if you aren’t at the bank itself. Remember Silva.”

“Yeah, I remember Silva.”

“If he carjacks a large vehicle, like the one we will go look at today, the body is found in the vehicle. If it’s a smaller car there’s no sign of the suspect or the body. Get the picture?”

“So you want me to help you figure out what happens after the murder took place.”

He looked at me seriously. “You still want to do it? I can get guys from the station to go out there with me. I just have better luck with you… um, tracking-wise.”

“Speaking of which, I was lucky to get out of that gym in one piece. You need to do something about your little fan club.”

“My fan club?”

“If you had gone in the dressing room and left me out there waiting for you I would have been interrogated. If you want to race come in the morning, six AM. I’m not competing with that nighttime crowd.”

“Babe, you’re not competing with anybody.”

We left the station in an unmarked car and drove out of town. The country around Joshua Hills is bleak and barren to say the least. Joshua trees are the tallest things around and the view to the horizon is an endless sweep of dry desert. Not even cactus like it out there. It is a hostile land. Rusty drove down one nameless dirt road after another until we reached a place where a white van had veered halfway off the road. Two wheels were buried in the deep mound of dirt left by the last bulldozer and the other two were off the road.

“This is it?”

“Yep, one white van, a couple of footprints, then nothing.”

“Any other car tracks on this road? He couldn’t have gone far out here. He had to have wheels. No normal person could hike more than a mile or two from this spot without roasting. How long ago did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

“Someone was getting killed out here yesterday?” No need of an answer there, Rusty’s look said it all. “How could I have just been having a normal day when someone was out here getting murdered?”

“Now you know a little of what I was thinking when you were with Silva.”

I looked carefully at the tracks exiting the van. A large man’s shoes. I measured the track and sketched it as well as I could. The sand was deep here and shifted a lot so it didn’t leave a lot of details.

“Why would he exit the van from the driver’s seat with all those big doors in the back? Can you open them?”

“You don’t want to see back there. This is a work van. I’ll just say there were tools back there and he made use of them.”

“The man who got out of the van climbed over the front seat facing the door and landed with both feet.” I looked in the van. Bloody smears verified he’d grabbed the steering wheel on his way through, and confirming what Rusty had said, I didn’t want to see the back anymore.

I studied the footprints just outside the van again, then followed them around to the front of the van, where they vanished.

“No wonder your officers had trouble with this trail. This trail has trouble written all over it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This guy is good. The ground is hard here, bad for tracking. But not only that, this guy knows how to hide a trail. This is going to be rough. Are you ready to try it? Did you bring plenty of water?” I dug around in my pack and pulled out a very used and folded hat that I only wore in extremely hot and sunny hiking. I looked ridiculous wearing it but there were times when necessity forced me to look ridiculous.

“What about you? Are you ready for this?” I asked Rusty.

“Yup, just say something before you pass out from heat stroke,” he said.

I looked at the ground where the footprints had faded into nothingness. Boy, this was a puzzle. This would be slow going. Not many hints to start out with either. A man with big feet, work boot tread. That’s it.

It’s bad news when I have to get down in the dirt on my belly right from the start but that’s what I had to do. Studying the ground from a low side view revealed a slight indentation and I traced beside it with my finger. The slight curve was the only visible part of the track. Tracking someone with knowledge of how to hide a trail is rare in tracking. Most people never consider their tracks when they walk. I wasn’t used to someone planning ahead.

Now that I could see the line, I could barely make out the track and it pointed just a few degrees west of north. The next track was discernible now that I found the first one. I was hoping he’d tire of this type of walking because I was going to get tired of this type of tracking. I measured from the heel of the first footprint to the heel of the second one. This would give me an idea of the man’s stride. I followed the direction the footprints pointed and found the next step and the next, sometimes having to do the side view thing and sometimes finding faint scuffs where rocks had turned in his passing. After an hour we could still see the van and the day was heating up.

“Cass, are you sure you want to follow this to the end? It’s okay to back out.”

“I’m not quitting unless we have to. If the sun gets to be too much for us or we run out of water we will have to quit. Other than that I am good to go.

I’m hoping he gets tired of hiding his tracks. I think after he decides he’s gotten a safe distance from the van he will quit trying to hide his trail. He is either testing us or hiding, but eventually I expect him to relax and his tracks will become more readable. All we have to do is stay on this faint trail till he changes modes.”

It was hot. It was arduous, but we picked along examining the ground minutely until I finally noticed his attention to detail was slipping. I took a break sitting in the little bit of shade offered by a scraggly mesquite tree and drank some water. I also brought out my ever present Ziploc bag of trail mix. I dusted off my blistered hands, offered some to Rusty and we both dug in.

When we hit the trail again it was much easier. I could see faint tracks now and the man we followed was walking normally, just being careful. The ground was still hard but there were clues. I started a mental profile of the guy. He had survival training. He’d spent a lot of time in the desert. He was shorter than Rusty, taller than me. I could get a better feel for his size if I could find some tracks with good impressions to them. I was also hoping for enough tracks so I could get a feel for the way the guy walked. That would tell me a lot about his stature and his attitude. That break didn’t come, though, until we tracked him to a hill. As we came down the other side there was a shack standing in the middle of nowhere. As the suspect came into view of the shack his pace had quickened. As he closed in on the structure with determination I was able to read more from the tracks and form a mental picture of his gait.

Finding the shack was good news. A road led up to the shack and the tread from a vehicle was clearly visible in the deep dust. It was a larger vehicle with oversized tires. We examined the shack first because the suspect had made a point of leading us here. It was made of rock with a simple wooden roof added. No ceiling. No glass in the single window. No door. Just rock walls and a dilapidated roof. The shack had phrases spray painted all over it. One said, the hills have eyes. Another said, you won’t catch me. Rusty quickly checked inside the shack, his gun in hand. Then, when we knew there was no one lurking, he started casting around, picking up evidence with a gloved hand and photographing the painted walls.

I walked around avoiding the tracks, trying to get a feel for the way this guy was thinking. I wandered into the shack and an angry, whirring rattle instantly caught my attention! It was dark inside and I couldn’t see a thing! Where was the damn snake? I started for the door but it was too late. I couldn’t get past and this was one angry rattler. I kept my eyes focused on the dark floor, willing my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Rusty!” I yelled. No response. “Rusty! I’ve got a Level Six Situation in here!” The snake lunged. “Level Eight!” I shrieked. I heard footsteps. “Don’t come in! Don’t come in! Just shoot the damn snake!” The snake lunged at my leg and I leaped to the side, my heart pounding. The snake had me cornered. Its head bobbed and weaved while its tail kept up the incessant warning rattle. I was heeding the warning but it would be easier to back off if I had some place to go.

“I can’t shoot it! You’re standing behind it! Even if I hit it I’ll hit you too.”

Okay, Cass, think, think. I looked around. What could I use to get out of the way? The snake lunged again but I jumped aside. I looked up into the rafters of the shack. I believed they were low enough to jump up and grab them.

I told Rusty the plan. “I’m going to jump and grab the rafters and haul myself up there and while I am up there you shoot the snake.”

He looked at me like I was nuts. Would the shack hold up? Would the aged wood hold me? Hell, I didn’t know but it was all I could think of.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” he said grimly removing his sidearm from its holster. He aimed his gun at the snake’s head. The tip of the weapon moved as he tried to follow the snake’s head. It was a very small target in very poor lighting.

I leaped up, grabbed the rafter then hauled for all I was worth. My feet rose up. The snake lunged and its fang hooked on the seam of my moccasin. I pulled the rattler up into the rafters with me. Shit! Now what? I shook my foot and the snake just dangled. I shook it harder, no luck. I took a moment to think, the snake thrashing around, dangling from my foot.

“Okay,” I said nervously, “Clear out. I need a clean shot at the door.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You don’t want to know, just give me a clear path. Any more snakes down there?”

“Nope.” Rusty said, looking around. He backed up.

I brought my foot carefully to my hand. Rusty’s eyes got big.

“Cass, no, don’t do this,” he said nervously. I grasped the rattler firmly, directly behind the head so it couldn’t reach me with its fangs. I pulled up and felt a snap as the fang jerked loose. I dropped from the rafters and dashed out of the shack dragging the hapless serpent with me. Rusty stared at me, astonishment clearly written on his face.

“Now I’m scared to let it go!”

I couldn’t just set it down. The rattler was mad and was thrashing all around. It was all I could do to keep a firm hold on it. I tightened my grip behind its head. If I just let go, it would attack me instantly. I needed more leverage than my arms offered to throw the dumb thing. I started spinning around and around, building up enough momentum to launch the snake away from me. I made sure my release point was well away from Rusty then released it, watching the snake sail up and away into the desert. It landed with a whump in the dirt. Backing away from the area, I sat down in the dirt, in shock, waiting for my heart rate to slow down. I studied my hands, examining them for any tiny scratches I might have received when throwing the snake. Rusty came over and took my hands, turning them palm upward. I didn’t see any scratches, but he saw the blisters.

“How’d you mess up your hands like this?” he asked.

“The sand was hot. It’ll be okay. It’ll heal fast. It’s just part of the job.”

“Not when the job is for me.” Then, remembering the snake, he said, “You are totally nuts. I don’t know of anybody who would grab a rattlesnake by the head with their bare hands and throw it into the desert. Nobody.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to ask you to do it! And the snake was stuck. It couldn’t have bit me.”

“I still think it was a crazy thing to do.”

“Well, it worked. Let’s finish up here so we can go home. If Thez asks me about the scariest thing that’s happened to me I think I’ll add that to the list.”

On the way back to the car we hiked and talked. No need to track on the way back. The suspect had carefully led us on, obviously testing us. I didn’t like the messages spray painted on the walls. They made me think we were being watched.

“I hope that was helpful to your investigation.” I said as we walked along.

“It was and I’m not through with you yet. I know how you track. I want to know your impressions from this, too. You’ve got an idea what kind of a person we are dealing with here.”

“This guy is used to the desert. He’s had survival training. He has an attitude. He’s too proud. You’ll catch him. I know that just because his attitude is too flaunting. He’s leading you on and trying to show off and it’s just that attitude that will eventually be his big mistake.”

“Do you want to try another site?”

“Another one? How many are there?”

“There’s three in all, confirmed. There are others we are not sure of. This is the most recent. I brought you here because I knew the body had been found. But there are two others.”

“How often does this guy hit?”

“So far, every couple of weeks.”

“So the next site is two weeks old? There’s almost no use even looking if the trail is two weeks old and he is as careful hiding his tracks. But it might be worthwhile to look the area over more carefully. Examine the area from the air to see if there are any shacks within a couple of miles of the site. Then, if you find one, we can hike in to it and see if he has done the same thing before. You know I’ll try anything but I don’t hold out much hope of following this guy’s two week old trail.”

“I know you tend to profile as you go along. Tell me the impression you got from this trail.”

“He’s taller than me, shorter than you. He’s a little on the heavy side but I don’t think he’s fat. He is just heavily built. He walks with an odd rolling gait. I picture a guy walking, leaning into his walk, shoulders hunched. I’m willing to bet when you search this guy’s house he has guns, ammo, a stockpile, outdoor magazines and catalogs stacked around. His place is going to look more like a bunker than a home. If I had to pinpoint his size, I’d guess five-ten, a hundred and ninety pounds. But, like I said, not fat.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions to make off a trail of footprints.”

“Yeah, but I got a different impression when I tracked Silva, Peccati, and Kelly. Peccati always walked like he was strolling from one building to another in the city. Uphill or down it was the same strolling gait. I knew Peccati didn’t live in a bunker. He was too used to the finer things in life. Off this trail, I’m getting the opposite. This is a killer from the other side of the tracks.”

A few days later around lunchtime there was a knock on my door. I looked out the peep hole and Rusty was there, a cheerful but worn look on his face.

“Hey,” I said opening the door wide, “what are you doing here? I thought you’d be hard at work.”

He came in giving me a quick hug. “I was, unfortunately. That’s what brings me to your house. I’ve got something you need to see.” He held out a sheet of paper. “This isn’t the original. The one we received at the station is being held as evidence. It wasn’t addressed to any specific person but we kind of assume it was meant for you.”

I motioned for him to have a seat and Shadow danced around his feet, barking, while I took the paper to the couch and sat down to read it. Rusty sat down in a chair and petted Shadow so he’d calm down and lie at our feet. The message was short. I read it twice.

“LITTLE GIRL, YOU’RE TRACKING DANGEROUS GROUND. I’D STAY HOME SAFE AND SOUND IF I WAS YOU. CONSIDER THIS A WARNING.”

I noted the scratchy block letters and handed the paper back to Rusty. “Okay, I’ve been warned,” I said.

“Cass, please be careful. This guy is not someone you want to mess with.”

“I know. I’m always careful. Do you want to stay for lunch?”

“I wish I could, but I need to get going. I don’t like the way this case is heading.”

I walked him to his Explorer and watched as he drove away. As Rusty drove from the neighborhood, I noticed a large white pickup truck slowly cruise down the cross street.