Pursuit (24 page)

Charles dug into his well-worn briefcase and pretended to busy himself with paperwork. They had moved to a conference room, Julie and Todd comparing notes.

“Of the whole lot, I didn't sense much dissembling, did you?”

“No, on the contrary, they seemed like a bunch of average Joes.” Todd ran his pen back and forth between his fingers. “No one seemed defensive. It's a dead end.”

“Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.” Charles spoke up from the other end of the conference table. “I would have to say that's right; these are hardworking people.”

Julie eased back in her chair. “Before I forget it, Mr. Clegg, thank you for organizing this little get-together.”

“How, may I ask, did you come to resurrect this ancient case?”

“We're not at liberty to give any details at this point. Suffice it to say there have been recent events that seem to indicate a resumption of earlier”—Julie hesitated—“let's just say peculiar happenings.”

He delighted in her choice of words, describing the abductions as “happenings,” just as he liked to refer to them.

“By the way, Mr. Clegg, do you own a Ford Bronco?” Julie phrased the inquiry as if it were a joke, laughing a bit at the end to take some of the sting out of the question.

Todd joined in. “Yeah, right, I can just see the headlines now. Top executive at Drew Inc. involved in abductions.”

“Oh, but I'm not a top exec. Simply a lowly manager of sorts who has been around for a long time, and no, I don't own a Bronco.” It was true, he didn't own the Bronco. He had stolen it.

Todd and Charles laughed while Julie smiled, having come to the realization that the employee interrogations were a waste of time. She looked at Clegg.

“By the way, you were here when Trudy was abducted. Can you tell us anything about other employees who may have left soon after her disappearance?”

“Such a shame, really,” Charles replied. “I saw her several times touring the factory with her school friends. A cute, shy kid.” He cleared his throat. “As far as employees, I wasn't in management yet, just a meager slug in production, trudging along. Don't recall anyone being in a panic or leaving suspiciously. Nope, can't say I recall anything like that.” Charles stood relaxed before the two troopers, eager to answer any inquiries.

“Right. Okay, Mr. Clegg, thank you.”

Julie had enough from the factory front. She didn't feel well. A malaise dominated her since she'd stepped into the building. The interviews of the factory workers, the atmosphere, the here-there whiff of overcooked food made her want to pack up and leave.

The attitudes of the men at the plant seemed consistent—a polite but bored demeanor. Clegg seemed typical of what you might call a worker bee, his constant grin annoying and phony, but probably a decent sort. Most of the interviewed seemed willing to help, their tics and furtive glances reflections of being in an unusual circumstance. One's behavior didn't always identify the accuracy of a statement, but sometimes it could be a tell.

Clegg was a good example of what she generally referred to as a cipher. Well meaning, tough to read, but, generally speaking, a nonstarter.

Julie called headquarters, reaching Captain Walker.

“How'd it go, Worth?”

“Not well. We're just wrapping, heading back. Anything new? Any word?”

“No, nothing. Why don't you stop off and interview that trailer park gal you told me about. What's her name?”

“Miss Riley. Right, I've got her info in my book. Maybe a surprise visit might produce something. Good idea. See you later.”

They said good-bye to Clegg, who called out, “Hope things turn out well for you, Detective.”

T
en minutes passed
on the highway when Julie turned to Todd. “Didn't you think it unusual what he said to me at the end?”

“No, what? Who are you talking about? What did he say?”

“Clegg said, ‘I hope things turn out well for you, Detective.' Isn't that odd?”

Todd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I know what you're going through, but he didn't say ‘Detective.' He said ‘Detectives,' plural.”

“I don't think so. He distinctly said ‘Detective,' as in one of us, and since he was looking right at me, how would he know about my situation? We didn't mention it.”

Todd pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Excuse me, Sarge. As I said before, I know what you're going through. But you're reaching. That guy couldn't abduct a pussycat. He meant nothing by that remark other than what he said. He wished us good luck.”

Julie's hands were on both sides of her face. “Okay. You're probably right.” She seemed to collapse into her
own lap. “Ah shit, why can't we get any further on this fucking thing? Damn.”

Todd eased the cruiser back onto the highway. “Something will break. I feel it. So, we head in?”

She dug through her portfolio. “Walker wants us to go talk to that trailer park bitch, Venus Riley. I spoke to her on the phone.” She handed him the address.

They had little trouble finding the place. Julie remembered having spoken to the woman at the beginning of her cold case hunt. She checked her notes while Todd went into a beat-up trailer where a handwritten Manager's Quarters sign hung from the canopied porch.

Todd tried to convince someone inside to give him Venus Riley's stall number.

“Ask if they have a license and proof of rabies shot for that mutt they got chained up in the side yard!” Julie shouted through the ratty screen door.

When Todd came out thirty seconds later, he waved a slip of paper at Julie as if it were a winning lottery ticket. “Funny how cooperative some people can be: one minute unmovable, and then, for no reason, they change. Ha. She's right down here at the end of the street.”

Julie went to the door while Todd checked the registration on the rusted Cadillac sitting in the driveway.

To the left of the screen door, a brass-plated “If you see this trailer rockin' don't bother knockin' ” inscription. Julie pushed the doorbell button, the buzzer giving off a tired response.

“Yeah, what?” A woman in a thin housecoat and faded red paisley pajamas came to the door. She held a can of Bud.

“Miss Riley? Venus Riley?”

“Who wants to know?”

Julie eased her badge out from her jacket breast pocket. “Miss Riley, I spoke to you on the phone not too long ago about your daughter, Marylou. I'm Sergeant Worth, Missouri State Patrol, Criminal Investigation. Can we have a few minutes with you?”

“We?”

“My partner, Detective Devlin, will be here in a minute.”

“You people have a way of checking in at the darndest times.” The woman glanced at her watch. “Come on in. What's up?”

“Nothing new, I'm afraid.” Julie took the offered seat at the dinette. “I just wanted to clear up a few things about Marylou. You said she left without even taking her toiletries. Is that correct, Miss Riley?”

“Christ in a hatbox! You folks did nothing for years, now here you are pestering me about Lulu after I told you everything I knew when you called. What in hell's name is going on?”

“I'd like my partner to join us, please.”

Todd came up on the wood platform that served as a porch.

Miss Riley waved him in.

Once Todd sat down on a kitchen stool, Julie again glanced at her notes, for no reason other than to give the visit an official feeling. “You said on the phone your daughter might have been pregnant. Did she have a steady boyfriend?”

The woman smoothed her fingers across the Formica tabletop. “How long is this gonna take? I got company coming.”

Julie looked into the woman's bloodshot eyes.

“Ah, well, you folks don't give a shit about Lulu being
gone, do you? You just want to pester a hardworking woman.”

“What sort of work do you do, Venus?”

“I read fortunes and such.”

“What's the ‘and such' part?”

They stared at each other.

“I'm a working girl. Okay? You satisfied? You gonna run me in?”

Julie was close to the end of her patience. She would have liked to run her in for using the word “girl” instead of “drained old woman.” “I asked you a question, Miss Riley. Please answer.”

“Yeah, she had a boyfriend. The cops at the time cleared him. He was nothing, a midget looking for a circus. A squirt. I met him once and told my daughter she could do better. He kept glancing at my tits. What a weasel. Trust me, a
no
-body.”

“What was his name, Miss Riley?”

“Don't remember. Must be in the report. He was at work the day my daughter disappeared; the cops looked into it.”

Julie glanced at Todd with a look that said they were finished there.

The woman brushed up against Todd as she opened the screen door, her breasts barely concealed by the flimsy housecoat.

As they started to drive away, Julie saw the woman wave at her as if she had something to say. “Hold it, Todd. Biggy Boobs has something on her tiny mind.”

The woman pulled her clothing tight around her body as she leaned out of her trailer. “I believe his name was Rink or Tink—something like that.”

C
harles took extra
caution driving back to Bait Shack. The idea of taking Cheryl as a lure to get to her mother had not been thought out; a plan did not exist as to how he would get the sergeant to walk into his world.

The wayward truck episode had been fun but, in the end, not worthwhile. The cop wasn't seriously injured, and worst of all, he had taken a big chance. Charles, in his review of adventures with the Worth family, would have to admit that he was stuck. His original plan to lure Julie Worth to his cabin at the lake now seemed far-fetched and juvenile. He needed, in his defense, a way of neutralizing Worth and her investigation of William Drew's niece. After learning of her interest in the case, he saw her as a threat. Not unlike most of the women who came into his life. Clingy, whiney, and smelling of artificial products. Womanly, peculiar smells.

The closer he got to Bait Shack, the more determined he was to get rid of his teenybopper houseguest, maybe in a new and exciting way.

He came onto the property and sped up the car. Halfway
down the long, extended drive, he put the car in neutral and cut the engine. It felt special, gliding along. It became a different quiet, a rumbling tire sound as the vehicle traveled the rutted dirt, and the creaky metal-on-metal grinding, which normally one couldn't hear. Charles noticed for the first time the driver's seat squeaking in tempo with the swaying.

Human noises, or lack thereof, became a part of his life. He asked himself,
How can I change?
Not in the conventional manner, like giving up something to be a better person, or vowing to be more gracious and clean cut. He wanted a real change, to be a different person—six-foot-tall handsome in a rugged-individual way. Bright, aware, worldly. All the things that had been denied him. On a conscious level, he knew that growth to six feet would not happen. Likewise, intellect, charm, and people skills were not in his future.

So that left him with just the things he was good at: abduction and systematic mayhem.