Picture Perfect (29 page)

T
he police station was located behind the city hall, and it was here that Stuart Sanders found a distracted Chief Allen. The ensuing confrontation added further fuel to the fire in Sanders's digestive tract.

“What's this bullshit you're giving me about not having any available men? You have a fifteen-man force here—or is that just for the taxpayers' benefit?”

“I do have fifteen men, but two are out with the flu, one's on vacation, and one has a death in the family. That leaves me eleven—count 'em, eleven!” Allen glowered at Sanders.

“Call in for help if you need it,” Sanders suggested.

“Don't need it. This is our baby and we'll handle it. Eleven men, two murders.”

Sanders remembered the beaten-up prostitute. “When did she die?”

“Who?”

“Who else—the hooker your boys are so fond of.” He restrained his rising temper. Discipline, he told himself. Discipline.

“No, Candy is holding her own. We're not stupid here, Sanders. We found traces of rotting apples on the floor and bedcovers in Candy's cottage. All her shoes were clean, so we knew it had to have been tracked in by whoever beat her up. Turns out we were right. A few of these dirt roads leading out from the orchards are littered with dropped apples that bounce off the trucks.”

“Another little tidbit that didn't appear in the police report. Just like the mothballs,” Sanders slipped in. He was rewarded by the surprised look on Allen's face. “So, what did you find?”

“A pop-up camper. The same one that Balog was pulling, according to the plates. And a woman. Beaten the same way Candy was. Only it's too late for this one.”

Sanders clenched his teeth. “Balog. That man is responsible for beating up two women and killing one, as well as the murder of the body you dug up in the campground. He's involved with the Taylor boy. Wherever Davey is, you'll find Balog close by. Now, are you going to make a move, or do I have to move you myself?”

“Forget it, Sanders. This doesn't involve you. Whatever you do about the kid is fine with me, but stay out of my business. We'll handle the murders.” Allen reached for his hat.

“Where are you going now?”

“Out to the camper. The body hasn't been removed yet and I want to take a look for myself. Another thing—there's a storm brewing, due to hit here in the next hour or so. A good rain will obliterate any leads so we've got to work fast.”

“I'm coming with you,” Sanders said. “I'll follow in my own car.”

 

Bouncing down the track behind Chief Allen, Sanders hit a pothole big enough to swallow the front end of the car. The pop-up was parked less than a mile from the main highway; Allen's men were already crawling all over it.

“He doesn't need a rainstorm to ‘obliterate his leads,'” Sanders swore under his breath, “his men are doing it for him.”

Hopping out of the car, Sanders moved quickly toward the trailer, elbowing through the uniformed men. The pop-up was rocking on its moorings with the extra weight of Allen's men. The interior was dark and filthy, littered with cartons, discarded cupcake wrappers and empty soft-drink cups. The clear vinyl windows were all in place, keeping the air within stale and close.

Sanders noticed an odor he couldn't immediately identify. Whatever it was, it was hours old, and smoking had weakened his sense of smell. He turned to one of the other men. “What's that smell?”

“Smell? Oh, yeah, it must be the mothballs. We found a few of them rolling around in here.”

“No, it's something else. Ammonia?”

The young policeman shrugged his shoulders. “Urine maybe. Now that you mention it, it sort of reminds me of my kid brother's bedroom when he used to wet the bed.”

That was it—dry urine. Poor Davey, trapped in the camper, no way to get out, not even to go to the bathroom. Sanders could imagine the little boy's discomfort.

“There she is, Mr. Sanders.” Allen drew his attention to the form beneath the blanket. “Not a pretty sight, is she?”

“Seen worse,” Sanders told him, meaning it.

The girl was small and scrawny; she could only be seventeen or eighteen. The coroner would know for sure. The side of her face was battered, and one arm was twisted at an unnatural angle. From the way she was lying curled on the floor she had probably been trying to defend herself from being kicked. Sanders's eyes followed the line of her body, coming back again to the girl's hand, relaxed now, and open. Her nails were bitten down to the quick.

The man who had done this was an animal. And every instinct told him that Davey was marked as his next victim. Sanders went back to the campground to call in for additional men.

 

Mac Feeley knew better than to utter a single word when he saw Sanders stride into the camp office. He had that look that said he was at the end of his rope.

Sanders grabbed the phone and punched out the section chief's number. “Buzz, there are some new developments here and I need help.” Quickly, he reviewed the situation.

“Can do, Stu,” his chief responded, “but they won't get there till around five this afternoon. It's the best I can do. Take it easy—we'll get him before it gets dark. If the kid's in the park and moving around under his own power, we're okay. Sounds like your theory was right. I want to meet that kid when this is all over.”

“You and a lot of other people. Talk to you later.”

Sanders turned to Feeley. “A second body's turned up. Have Delaney . . . Forget it, he's being recalled. Where is he?”

“He left just before you arrived. The body you're talking about was found on the other side of the highway in a pop-up camping trailer. According to Delaney, there was no positive identification, but it seems likely that the woman was traveling with Balog. I don't understand where this guy is, or what happened to his pickup. Beats the hell out of me why we haven't come up with something on that rig. From the description I've heard, it should be easy to spot.”

“I need someone to stay here by the phone.” Sanders chewed his lip. “Hey, wait a minute—I'm forgetting Dr. Ryan. Go get her, Feeley, and bring her back here. She can handle the phones. You camp out in Allen's office in case something comes in and he's not generous about passing it on. I'll go to the park myself. It's the best we can do till five, when Buzz's troops arrive. Doesn't this remind you of the time we were in Birmingham and only had three men, working around the clock for four days?”

Feeley's eyes were dreamy. “There was this waitress that made the best damn goulash I ever ate. She had other talents too, but the goulash was her specialty.” He shook himself back to the present. “I'll call and see if I can get the park opened up. And if it comes down to Allen being the only one with authority, I suggest you storm the gates. Let Buzz take the heat.”

Lorrie burst through the door, out of breath from running. Sanders quickly filled her in, ending by showing her the Reebok he'd found. Lorrie collapsed on to a chair and let her tears flow as she held the muddy shoe. “Is it a positive or a negative sign?” she asked eventually.

“I think it's safe to say it's positive. I'm going back out there now—I'm convinced Davey's somewhere inside the amusement park. I'm taking Duffy with me. I've called in for more men but it'll be a while before they get here. If you could handle the phones—”

Lorrie stood up. “No! I'm going with you.” Sanders shook his head but Lorrie went on. “I mean it, I'm going with you. You forget, I'm a doctor and Davey is a very sick little boy. The sooner I get to him, the better chance he'll have of coming through this.”

Sanders knew she was right, but it was against everything he believed in to take her with him. If Balog was still in the park too, things could get dangerous.

“All right, but there are conditions,” he said finally. “You have to do as I say. No going off on your own. We stay together—you hear me?”

Lorrie smiled. “I hear you.” She started for the door. “Let's go!”

 

Davey was tired of running. He leaned back against the rough bark of a tree in a sheltered grove overlooking the entrance to a giant flume ride. He knew he wasn't safe here, that he should keep going, but his knee hurt and he needed to rest a little while.

He was so tired. He wanted to just curl up somewhere and fall asleep. And he was hungry—hungrier than he'd ever been before. Spaghetti would taste good now. He would suck the long strands through his teeth and not care if little drops of the sauce splattered all over his cheeks and shirt. Mom was always showing him how to roll it on the fork. His mouth started to water. Suddenly, a sound behind him made his heart leap in his chest. He relaxed again when he saw it was only a fat, gray squirrel searching through the trash cans.

He couldn't go much farther. He needed to find a place to hide so he could take a nap, but everything was locked up or out in the open. He needed somewhere enclosed. The sky was getting blacker by the second. A streak of lightning tore across the sky, making Davey's heart pound in his chest. A rumble of thunder echoed around him, frightening him still more.

It was almost dark when he thought of hiding beneath the carousel's platform. He dropped to his belly and crawled underneath the circular structure; there was more room than he'd expected. Torrents of rain beat against the colorful carousel, and the heavy thunder and lightning made a Fourth of July display.

Davey curled into a ball. Embraced by the darkness, he was shielded from the warring elements overhead.

 

The storm was building as Lorrie and Sanders pulled up in the parking lot just outside the gates of Wild Adventure. Duffy sat between them, her nose keen for Davey's scent.

Leaving the car, Lorrie matched Sanders's athletic stride. Both glanced at the ominous gathering of thunderheads, each dreading the rain that would delay their search for Davey.

“We don't have time to wait for someone to open the gates, Lorrie, so the best thing we can do is climb the fence. I'll give you a hand up and you go over first. Find a garbage can and toss it over the fence, and I'll follow you.”

“Okay.” Lorrie placed her foot into Sanders's cupped hands and grasped the fine links of fencing. They cut into her fingers. She was going to feel this tomorrow, she thought, as she dropped to the ground. The first roll of thunder sounded. She tried to ignore it—to acknowledge it was to accept that Davey might be caught in the storm, unsheltered and afraid. Quickly she found a trash can and ran back to the fence with it.

“This storm is worse than I thought. I think you'd better come back to this side for now,” Sanders said. “We can sit in the car until it blows over.”

Seconds after Lorrie got back over the fence a river of rain came down out of the sky. They made a mad dash for the car.

“I guess you know we're stuck here. I can't even see to drive in this. Jesus, I haven't seen rain like this since I left the farm thirty years ago, and then only once. Later on the weather guys said it had been a hurricane.”

Lorrie reluctantly resigned herself to waiting. “You know something, Stuart, I'd give everything I own, everything I hope to own for the rest of my life, if I could see Davey safe and sound right now. I love that little boy more than you can possibly imagine.”

“I'm sort of nuts about him myself,” Sanders admitted. “There's just something about him that makes you want to hold him and love him, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with his medical problem. It's Davey. He's a very special kid.”

“Do you get this involved in all your cases?” Lorrie asked.

Sanders chuckled. “No way.”

A brilliant flash of light ricocheted off the windshield. Sanders swallowed hard as he caught the look on Lorrie's face. “Stuart, tell me that Duffy is in the backseat.”

He would deserve the whiplash he got from the quick swivel he did. “Oh, Jesus. She went under the hole in the fence where I found the sneaker. She must have picked up Davey's scent. When you got the trash can, did you see her?”

“No, but I wasn't looking. I thought she'd stayed with you.”

“If I were a crying man, I would bawl my head off about now,” Sanders said.

“There must be something we can do. We can't just sit here. That dog weighs all of six pounds—the wind will kill her if she doesn't find a safe spot to take shelter. She's not an outside dog, Stuart, she's a house dog. She won't even go outside to pee when it rains. The cook spreads a paper by the back door for her. She's frightened to death of thunder and lightning.”

Sanders hated negatives of any kind. “I know. I also know that you are an intelligent woman. No one with reasonable intelligence would even think about opening this car door. Believe me when I tell you I know what you're going through.”