Pursuit (37 page)

A
fter a long
discussion with Captain Walker about Cheryl's condition, Julie and her superior agreed that it would be best for her daughter to take some time before continuing to recall her ordeal. The troopers and support personnel extended gracious consideration.

Having agreed to temporarily put aside the restraining order, Julie allowed Bart to visit Cheryl. He arrived at her home driving a polished late-model Jaguar. “I thought we'd go to lunch, okay?”

“Of course, if it's all right with Cheryl.”

“Care to join us?”

Julie stood on her front steps, looking at the man who, the last time she'd seen him, had slapped her. “Why would I do that? You're still under a restraining order for domestic violence. I've agreed to let you take Cheryl for the afternoon, but don't get any ideas about you and I being friendly. It's not going to happen.”

He nodded and said something under his breath.

“Whatever that was, keep it to yourself.”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll have to cuff you, read you your rights, and
drag you down to the station. Keep it to yourself.” Julie opened the front door. “Cher, baby, your father's here.” Cheryl came down the stairs. “Do not question her about what she's been through. Understand?”

Julie's ex agreed with a grunt. Cheryl came out of the house and gave her father a hug.

“I'll be here, hon, have fun,” Julie said.

Bart looked back, and Julie mouthed the word “Prick.”

Cheryl waved as she slid into the Jag. Julie watched as Bart made a U-turn in front of the house. He stopped to blip the throttle on the English roadster and sped off.

Cheryl went back to school, and, though still withdrawn, she seemed to be making progress. Julie hired a private security company that made the rounds to a variety of businesses and had them include Cheryl's school. She checked every hour and a half to two hours on her daughter's whereabouts and condition.

Though free of her restricted duty, Julie asked and received permission to continue her investigation of the long-ago abducted girls from her basement digs. She still felt a responsibility to the various aspects of her cold cases. After one of her days in her basement hideaway, Julie prepared to leave when property clerk Maddy stopped her.

“Sergeant, could I have a word with you, please?”

“Yes, of course. What is it?” Julie took the woman in. She was not unattractive, and today she appeared resplendent, with a “Forgive me, please” grin on her high-cheekboned face. In a good mood, Julie didn't want to spoil it.

“First and foremost, I'm delighted your daughter was rescued and is safe.”

Rescued, my ass. She saved herself.
“Thank you, Maddy, that's very kind.”

“Secondly, I wish to apologize for any transgressions, arrogance, you name it—I want to apologize for it.” Maddy laughed, showing her embarrassment.

“Listen, we're both professionals and have jobs to do.” Julie wanted the woman to get on with it. “I appreciate your thoughts, and, once again, thank you.” Julie walked away.

“Ah, oh, dammit. I forgot, one of the reasons I stopped you was Gina in dispatch gave me this BOLO to give to you. Something about a stolen car.”

Julie reviewed the bulletin. “Okay. Thanks again and see you.” She started to walk away and then turned. “When did this come in?”

“Geez, I don't know; it was just handed to me.”

“Okeydoke, when?”

“As I said, Gina gave it to me. I don't know when it came in.”

“When did she give it to you?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday morn—ah, well, fuck it. I can't win with you, can I?”

Maddy raised her arms and shrugged.

The bulletin listed a number of recovered stolen vehicles in the surrounding area. One of them, a Ford Bronco located in Oklahoma and listed as having Missouri plates, also came in as stolen two days prior.

Julie called Todd, who answered after the first ring.

“Listen, I'm at the station. A BOLO came through that lists what looks like our Bronco being picked up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Interesting, yes?”

“Yeah. Someone might have dumped it after a certain turn of events.”

“Exactly. Where are you?”

“On my way back to the station. See you in ten.”

Julie contacted Walker's assistant and asked for a meeting. Once all three of them were together, Julie walked through the situation.

Walker folded his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “You want permission to go to Tulsa, right?”

“Yes, sir. We want to see it ourselves.”

“I already called Tyler at FBI. He has an evidence response team doing a full workup on the car. He says they will most likely be on it all night.”

“I still want to see it myself.”

Walker gave Julie permission, but excluded Todd on account of “shortage of manpower.” The captain talked to the authorities in Tulsa and made clearance for Julie.

“Captain, I have some vacation days unused. I'd like to go with Sergeant Worth; see if I can't help out.”

“This is police work, Trooper. You mean you're willing to donate your time on this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ahh, hell with it. Go on, get out of here, both of you. I'll fight the budget on my own. You're on duty, Devlin. Be careful, troops.”

It took the partners only an hour to get themselves ready for the trip to Tulsa. Coincidentally, Bart had called the previous night to ask permission to take Cheryl to Branson for a music festival. After reciting a long list of dos and don'ts to the ex, Julie agreed.

I-44 seemed busier than usual but moving well, the
sergeant and the trooper sharing the driving. Todd, in the passenger seat, stretched his long frame. “I want this psycho prosecuted and hung out for the rest of his life,” he said. “Maybe examined and studied by the feds; you know all that profiling bullshit they do. Usually I want these guys convicted and strung up. But this is different.”

“You think ‘strung up' is a little Wild West?”

“Maybe cart-before-the-horse cliche, since we haven't put our hands on him yet. But I want to know about this jackass's MO.”

Julie motored along, keeping her own solutions of sexual offenders' transgressions to herself. If it came to a decision about justice being served either in the civilized concept accepted by most normal souls or a less orthodox method practiced by her pioneer forefathers, it would come down to a “so be it.” By the book or by the Bible. “An eye for an eye sayeth the Lord.” Julie thought it would be more than just an eye if she had her way.

I
t was close
to six in the morning when Julie and Todd walked into the large one-bay garage at the FBI office in Tulsa. The inspection of the vehicle was wrapping up, the car was lifted by four floor jacks. A dozen tired-looking FBI agents were dressed in white Tyvek suits, and most were under the car taking samples. The only one not in Tyvek was a very tall, grey-haired man in jeans and a black polo shirt with an FBI logo.

Julie extended her hand as the man approached. “Hi, I'm—”

The man smiled and cut her off. “Sergeant Julie Worth. Yes, they called and said you were here. I'm team leader, Mike Spencer.”

They shook hands as Devlin introduced himself.

“Looks like you guys have had a long night,” Todd said.

Everyone who heard nodded in agreement.

“But not terribly productive, I'm afraid,” said Spencer. “The car was clean.”

“How clean?” asked Julie, not clear what Spencer meant.

“I mean freakishly clean.” He shook his head. “I've been doing this a long time, and this guy is a pro. No prints. No hair or fibers. We'll need the lab to check our filters to be sure. We superglued the interior, dusted the exterior, ran an alternate light source over the fabric, sprayed luminal for blood spatter. Nothing. I've never seen anything like it. We checked mirrors, handles, every viable surface.”

Julie and Todd exchanged a look of mutual disappointment. “So we have the right Bronco, but it doesn't do us any good?”

“We did find one piece of scrap.”

Julie and Todd both raised their eyebrows expectantly.

“Stuffed up under the rear passenger seat. No wonder this guy missed it. Even if he was being thorough.” He held up a Bounty paper towel wrapper in a clear plastic evidence sleeve. “We'll send it to the lab for prints and enhancement first thing this morning.” He handed a piece of paper to Julie. “We made a copy. Agent Ross said to make sure you got copied on everything.”

“Thanks.” Julie placed the paper in her portfolio.

“It's weird he would clean it like that and then leave it like he did.”

“What do you mean, ‘leave it'?” Julie asked.

“He left it with the lights on and the engine running.”

Julie and Todd exchanged glances.

“Where was this?”

“Out in Broken Arrow, a suburb east of town.”

“How far is that from here?”

“About eight miles from the Civic Center.” Spencer filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and offered some to Julie and Todd. They all sat down, thinking it through.

“So, our sophisticated suspect leaves the lights on and
the engine running.” Julie paused. “What the hell does that mean?”

“The guy was waiting for a buddy to pick him up, the friend pulls up, honks, the dude jumps out, and off they go?” mused Todd.

“Maybe. But that means his friend had to follow him from Missouri, doesn't it?”

The group discussed the possibilities, and after a minute, Spencer checked his watch. “Hey, it's tomorrow already. I was told the owners are coming in. They seemed pretty shocked to hear from us a decade later. Want to meet them?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Are we releasing the Bronco?”

Spencer laughed. “Not yet. We just wanted a statement. Besides, with everything we did to that poor baby, they may never want it back. Especially after they see we've cut chunks of the upholstery out to send to the lab for DNA. Plus, the insurance company probably owns it by now.”

“If they have my insurance company, they probably just got the check,” Todd said.

Spencer confirmed the arrival of the owners, and he, Todd, and Julie greeted them in the reception area and guided them back to an interview room.

“Thank you for coming in at this early hour,” Julie said. “We wanted a brief word with you, if you don't mind.”

“Is this about the license plates?” Mrs. Everett spoke up. “Understand the car has Missouri plates on it.”

“Yes and no. As I said, I'm from Missouri, and we're investigating a string of offenses that may be linked to this vehicle.”

“Here in Oklahoma?”

“No, we think in Missouri. When and how did you lose the Bronco?”

“Fred and I had been out drinking, carrying on, came home, and had an argument as we pulled into the driveway. It got out of hand. I ran into the house, and a few minutes later when we looked, the Ford was gone.”