Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (34 page)

Tessa flipped through the roster. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” She worked the console, speaking into her headset.

Gordon stepped to the wall map. “What time did Kennedy first report seeing Megan?”

Tessa scrolled through screens. “Zero-forty-eight.”

Gordon laid a fingertip on the Kretzers’ property, then checked the clock. He’d received Kennedy’s phone message an hour after that. An hour where Angie could have been taken anywhere. And now, yet another hour had passed.

“Any calls about cars speeding, reckless driving, parked in strange places?” he asked Tessa.

“Negative.”

Damn
. Forty minutes to the Interstate, and from there, they could go anywhere. They could
be
anywhere. Tendrils of ice slithered through his body. It was under two hours to the Denver airport.

“Megan, did you tell anyone beside Angie what you were going to do?”

“No.
We
didn’t even know we were going to do it. We were drinking champagne, and talking, and one thing led to another. Totally spontaneous.”

So, someone was either following Megan and Angie, or they’d been watching Rose’s house and grabbed Angie. Had they not known Megan was there, too? Or was Angie the sole target?

And what would someone want with Angie? She had little monetary worth. Was it a crime of passion—he shuddered at the thought of the word
rape
—and if so, did Angie have a stalker? She’d never mentioned anyone giving her unwanted attention.

While the myriad possibilities swirled through his brain, the duty officer came into Dispatch. “Chief. Mayor Alexander is here to see you.”

Gordon’s gut roiled. The mayor? Here? At two in the effing morning? Why? Schooling his features into a passive expression, he thanked the officer. No point in killing the messenger. “Will you show him to my office, please? Give me a minute.”

Gordon collected himself on the short walk to his office. He closed the door behind him, settled behind his desk, and had picked up a report-filled file folder when he realized he was mimicking the reception the mayor had given him.

Before he had time to plan his defense, there was a knock on the door, which immediately opened. Mayor Alexander stood there, his tall, broad form uncharacteristically dressed in worn jeans, dust-covered lightweight hiking boots, and a windbreaker over a navy-blue turtleneck. Stubble darkened his jaw. Definitely not camera-ready.

The mayor stepped into the room. “Gordon. I got a call about Miss Mead and came right over. Terrible news.”

Great. Mayor Alexander and his scanner. What was he trying to prove? That Gordon couldn’t do his job without the mayor’s assistance? The mayor ducked his chin toward the visitor chair.

Right. Manners. “Please, Mayor Alexander. Come in. Sit down.”

“Call me Martin. I’m confident that you and your force are going to find her quickly.”

“We’re doing everything we can, of course. As a matter of fact, I was about to join the search.”

Take the hint, idiot.

“Yes, that’s what I came to talk about. If there’s anything I can do… If you want a search party, I can make some calls.” He leaned forward, resting his fingertips on the edge of Gordon’s desk and nailed him with that steely gaze. “This is
our
town, Gordon. I know we both want to make it a safe place to live.”

Our
town? Since when? Gordon had grown up in Mapleton. The mayor was a transplant. How had they become partners all of a sudden?

Gordon tried to find the subtext in the mayor’s words, but right now, he was too tired. He did know that the mayor’s attempt at a sincere delivery reeked of empty campaign promises. Was he going to campaign on a law and order platform? Gordon half-expected a news crew to appear in the doorway.
Re-elect Martin Alexander. He’ll get out of bed in the middle of the night for you.

If Mayor—
call me Martin
—Alexander wanted to go all touchy-feely, this wasn’t the right time. Gordon stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to give you a call if conditions warrant.”

Damn, as far as he was concerned, conditions
did
warrant an all-out search, but somehow, Gordon had the feeling that if he agreed, it would come back and bite him. Was the mayor looking for more ammunition to use against him? He could see the memo.

Your personal involvement resulted in a premature waste of city resources. Competent adults are not considered missing persons until they’ve been gone at least twenty-four hours. This will most certainly be an agenda item at the next town council meeting.

The mayor accepted Gordon’s hand, clasped his other one around it, and pumped it three times. Then he clapped Gordon on the shoulder. “Anything you need. Just ask.”

Gordon saw him out, still trying to come up with a motive for the man’s visit. Aside from the two he’d already thought of—a campaign move or another strike against Gordon’s job, the only thing that came to mind was that the mayor had a personal vested interest in Angie. Which was impossible. Gordon doubted the mayor was protecting Mapleton’s cinnamon roll recipe, and Angie had made it clear she had little love for the man—at least as far as his politics went.

Could there be a connection Angie was unaware of? Damn, wouldn’t it suck if the mayor was some long-lost secret illegitimate relative? He almost laughed out loud. He pictured the mayor, trying to find even the tiniest resemblance. Angie’s petite stature with the mayor’s athletic build. Angie’s blonde hair and peaches-and-cream complexion with the mayor’s dark, swarthy features. Angie’s twinkling blue eyes with the mayor’s unsettling brown-eyed stare? No way.

Something tiptoed around the edge of his brain. He went to his chair, leaned back, and closed his eyes, trying to give room to whatever it was to creep to the surface. But the mayor’s gaze was etched on the inside of his eyelids. He sighed and went back to his plan of attack for finding Angie. He adjusted the volume on the radio so he could hear it without it being intrusive, and stared at the phone. Should he call Angie’s parents, or would that only serve to alarm them unnecessarily? Not until morning, he decided. The real morning. When the sun came up.

A patrol unit’s report crackled over the radio. Gordon’s heart leaped to his throat. He darted down the hall to Dispatch. Tessa pressed her earpiece, nodding, clicking keys. “Affirmative. Fifteen and Alpine.” She swiveled to face Gordon. “You heard that?”

“Not all of it. They found her car?”

Sadness masked Tessa’s usual matter-of-fact expression. “In a ravine. Overturned. Fire, paramedics and a unit are rolling.”

“Add me to the list,” Gordon said. He raced through his office for his SUV, colliding with Colfax on his way out the door. “They found her car. I’m going. If you want to talk, it’ll have to be on the way.”

Colfax did a neat one-eighty and climbed into the SUV’s passenger seat and set the laptop he’d been carrying onto the floor at his feet. “Whose car?”

So why was Colfax here? “You didn’t know? Angie Mead’s gone missing. They found her car, flipped in a ravine.”

“Well crap on that. She all right?”

Gordon clenched his jaw. “Undetermined.”

Colfax leaned forward and flipped on the light bar and sirens. “Drive.”

Gordon sped through dark and deserted streets, screeching through turns. He finally reached the county road, his SUV spewing gravel as he hung a tight left. They bounced down the dirt road, Gordon barely staying within the reach of his brights. His pounding heart threatened to break a rib.

At last he spotted the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles ahead. He almost spun out as he braked to a stop. He didn’t bother turning off the engine. He’d have plunged down the ravine had Colfax not grabbed his elbow.

“Easy Hepler. We’re here. Let the people who know what they’re doing work.”

Gordon jerked out of Colfax’s grip. He scanned the area, searching for a familiar face, for someone, anyone, who would tell him what was going on. Everyone was focused on their job. That was good. But it did nothing to ease his churning gut.

He stepped closer, peered over the edge of the ravine. Angie’s car, crumpled and twisted, lay at the bottom, driver’s side down. Nearby, firefighters were rigging lines, securing them to their truck, in preparation for the descent.

A hand rested on Gordon’s shoulder. He jerked. Davey Gilman’s white teeth shone in the yellow vehicle lights.

“Tommy and I are going down, Chief. Don’t you worry. Airbags and seat belts. Angie wouldn’t leave home without ‘em.”

Gordon stared into Davey’s solemn brown eyes. “You’re the best.”

Neither addressed the likelihood of anyone surviving the crash, with or without airbags and seatbelts.

Gordon paced the edge of the ridgeline, fixated on the headlamps on the firefighters’ hardhats blinking in and out of the shadows like so many fireflies, mentally urging them to move faster. Bringing up the rear, carrying a rescue gurney, were Davey Gilman and Tom Reynolds, two men he’d trust with his life. With Angie’s life.

After an eternity of eternities, the convoy reached the car. From where he stood, Gordon couldn’t hear what they were saying, and there was no radio reception in the ravine. He paced, watched, watched, paced. Tried not to puke.

Yet another eternity later, Gilman and Reynolds hustled up the hill, the gurney bouncing between them in the dark. Gordon ran through the possibilities. Angie was alive, but in critical condition, hence the speed. But wouldn’t they have started an IV? Done emergency stabilization? He strained to see evidence of any medical treatment, but that old
it’s darkest just before dawn
adage held true.

Or, she wasn’t alive. Gordon braced himself for that possibility. But wouldn’t they be moving more slowly? He grasped that as his lifeline to hope.

They disappeared beneath the rim as the path took one last twist. When they reappeared, he moved toward them on unsteady legs, waiting, praying.

Davey shook his head. “Sorry.”

Gordon locked his knees. Bees buzzed in his head. Lights flashed in his eyes. “Let me see her.”

“Oh, shit, Chief. That’s not what I meant. I meant, she wasn’t in the car.”

Gordon staggered backward as Davey’s words sank in. “Not there?”

“That’s right. The firefighters are going to see if they can find her—she might have been thrown from the car, but the doors were closed, so that’s not likely. Then again, she might have jumped, or gotten out before the car went over—it’s too dark to see much.”

“I’m calling the dog,” Gordon said. He got on his radio, called Tessa and told her to send Solomon and Buster. Forthwith. After he disconnected, he debated calling his new best friend, Martin, but decided an amateur search party would do more harm than good.

He said another quick prayer that they wouldn’t be needing the services of Lucy.

“All right, Hepler, enough of the pity party. We’ve got cases to solve.” Colfax’s words penetrated Gordon’s fog. And he responded reflexively. With a right cross to Colfax’s jaw.

Colfax swayed, but didn’t go down. He rubbed his jaw. Gordon shook out his fingers.

“Feel better?” Colfax said.

Gordon found the hint of a smile. “Yeah. I do. Let’s talk.” He climbed into his SUV, which someone had turned off. He shut the door, killing the dome light. Right now, he felt better sitting in the dark.

“So what dragged you out of bed at this ungodly hour? I assumed you’d heard about Angie disappearing and wanted to help. But then, you know what they say about making assumptions.”

Colfax rubbed his jaw again. “Actually, I did get an alert.”

“From Kennedy.”

“Kennedy? No. He’s new, green, but he has the chops. Needs to learn when to bend policy. Per procedure, he called it in to Dispatch, not to me. I’d told my dispatcher to let me know if anything went down at the bone site. But Kennedy never reported anything about the missing woman. Only that he’d found someone he thought was violating the scene, claiming a friend was missing. When I heard he had Megan Wyatt, I told him she was kosher, and to bring Mapleton into the loop. Got the ball rolling on the BOLOs.”

“Appreciate it. But again. Why are you here at oh-dark-whatever?”

“Because we need to connect some of these dots, and I figured you’d be up.”

“What dots are you talking about?”

“Two of the missing women,” Colfax said. “Polaski and Dougherty. Not our victims.”

Gordon figured he’d already used up any credit he had with Colfax after he’d punched him, so he refrained from a snarky retort. “So, we’ve eliminated two names. Do you have any to replace them with?”

“Not exactly. We’ve gotten zip looking for Olivia Easterbrook, maiden name Talmadge, either here or in Georgia. On the other hand, given that this happened so long ago, not finding isn’t the same as not existing. A mother running with a young child back then could have switched identities without leaving an Internet trail. But what I want to do is check the bone site again. Kennedy’s report said it looked like someone had been digging out there.”

“You did tell him that a forensics team had been doing that, didn’t you?”

Colfax snorted. “Yes, and he took pictures. I compared them with the forensics pictures. In one, there’s a section that’s been excavated further than when the techs left.”

“Which is why Kennedy came down so hard on Megan.” Gordon held up a hand. He needed to think. “Be right back.” He jumped from the SUV and ran over to the ambulance. Gilman and Reynolds were collapsing the gurney and loading it into the rig.

“Gilman. Quick question.”

Gilman gave the gurney one last shove. “Sure, Chief.”

“Was there anything of Angie’s in the car? You know, like a sweater, or her purse, or anything personal?”

“Yeah. But it’s all down in the car. We’re medics. That falls under potential evidence, which is cop territory.”

“You remember what you saw?”

Gilman thought for a moment. “Denim jacket, black leather handbag. There might have been more stuff—you know, maybe empty drink cups, the usual car litter. We weren’t looking once we determined there was nobody in the vehicle.”