Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) (5 page)

10

The image of the girl wouldn’t leave him as Dixon drove home. The interstate wasn’t packed, but because it was dusk, all he could see was an ocean of red brake lights. He glanced toward the city center on his left. The tallest building in Cheyenne was only twelve floors, but from the interstate, the city looked larger than it was. Dixon thought of a story he’d read in high school English about some Russian monarch who built a city of cardboard to drive dignitaries through. That was what the city felt like sometimes: cardboard buildings with cardboard people. It was an unnerving image he always had to push out of his mind as quickly as possible.

He took a different exit from the one he needed to get home and looped around a curving ramp. At the stoplight at the bottom, he pulled up next to a car full of teenage girls. They glanced over and then spoke to each other for a second. One of them lifted up her shirt and pressed her breasts against the window, to the uproarious laughter of the others in the car. When the light changed, they sped away.

Dixon pulled in at Lion’s Park and stopped in a parking space near a gazebo. The large pond was empty, with the exception of a couple in a paddleboat. He sat on a bench and watched them. Hillary and he had been that young once, but it seemed like a lifetime ago now. They’d met at the University of Wyoming when he was working as campus police and she was working on her art degree. A showing of hers had drawn him in. Her show,
Homeless of Wyoming,
was all black-and-white close-up photos of the men, women, and children who lived on Wyoming’s streets. In a move that was quite unlike him, he strode right up to her and asked her out on a date there and then, to which she agreed.

Five years later they were married, and two years after that Randy was born.

Dixon had never pictured his life turning out that way. A wife, kid, mortgage, steady paycheck… it was more than his father, an alcoholic construction worker, ever had. His mother ran out on his father and him when Dixon was three years old. After that, his father just had a series of flings that never amounted to much.

Dixon wondered if his parents had ever ridden in a paddleboat like the couple on the water—if they’d ever truly been in love.

He tried to get the image of the girl on the cross out of his mind. He knew it wasn’t good police work to push the victim away—that wasn’t detective’s work—but he couldn’t help it. Thinking about it gave him that familiar knot in his stomach.

Most detectives might complain about their workload, about their cases not making a difference, about all sorts of things, but Dixon didn’t have many complaints. He liked his graffiti cases and check frauds. Seeing what he’d seen that day reminded him that there were cases he didn’t like.

When it was dark, he rose and drove home.

Every time he pulled into his driveway, he was amazed by the kind of house he could afford. Anywhere else in the country, he might be living in the poor area of town, but in Cheyenne he could afford three thousand square feet and a big backyard. He got out of the car and was heading inside when someone said his name. He turned to see a man walking toward him from across the street.

“Kyle? It’s Chris, man. Chris Stuttle.”

“Oh, yeah, Chris. Hey, how are ya? What’re you doin’ out here?”

Chris gave him a big smile. “Just moved in across the street there at the duplex.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Hillary told me about it like a month ago, and I looked into it, and it fit the bill.”

“Well, that’s great. I had no idea you were even interested in moving out here.”

Chris looked back at the duplex. “Yeah, I was sick of where I was. The apartment was too loud, surrounded by people half my age, you know.”

“Yeah. I will say this about my father’s generation: they knew how to shut the hell up at night.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. Well, hey, I just wanted to say hi. Maybe we can grab a beer sometime.”

“Yeah, I’m actually having the WC game on Saturday. Few people over. You should come.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. Two o’clock. See ya then.”

“See ya then.”

Dixon strolled into his house with a grin. He’d always been fond of Chris and was glad this gave him someone in the neighborhood he could relate to. Most of his neighbors were older, and Dixon found their constant complaining irritating.

“Hey,” he said, walking into the kitchen. He kissed Hillary on the cheek as she stirred some meat in a pan, then he took off his shoes, putting them on a shoe rack by the sliding glass doors.

“How was work, babe?”

“Ah, you know. Nothing to write home about. Guess who moved in across the street?” Hillary didn’t answer a moment. “Hillary, guess who moved in across the street?”

“Huh? Sorry, paying attention to the food. Who?”

“Chris Stuttle. From church.”

“Oh, really? That’s interesting.”

Dixon got a juice out of the fridge, popped the top, and took a drink. “Yeah, he said you told him about the duplex. I don’t know how much of a favor you did for him. That place needs a lot of work.”

“Dinner’ll be ready soon.”

He took another drink, kissed her again on the neck, and went to see his son.

His boy was asleep. He’d sleep for about four hours and often wake up in the middle of the night. Dixon always volunteered to feed him. The boy was curled up, sucking on a pacifier. The moonlight streamed through the window and shone across his face. Dixon adjusted the blinds to block the light on him and hit the wall.

He came out as Hillary was setting the table. He kissed her again, and she kept working as though he weren’t even there. With the boy asleep, he was hoping to fool around a little before dinner.

Dixon came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, running kisses along her neck. She pulled away.

“I’m not in the mood right now, babe. I’ve had stomach cramps all day.”

“Uh-oh. Stomach bug?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just kind of a dull pain. I think I ate something weird.”

Dixon sat down as she served the food. She sat down across from him and began eating. Dixon wanted to say grace but felt he shouldn’t bring it up. She looked passively upset, as though she were trying desperately to hide her anger, but it still shone through.

“Any new cases?” she said.

“Yeah, one. Young girl that was killed.”

“Mm,” she said with a mouthful of food, “how?”

He hesitated. “She was crucified.”

She looked up at him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, staring down at his plate and realizing he wasn’t hungry. “Yeah, it’s as bad as it sounds.”

“Who was she?”

“I don’t know. We should have an ID from the dental records tomorrow.”

She shook her head, putting her fork down and leaning back. “Poor girl. I hope you find who did it.”

“I don’t think we will. See, if a homicide isn’t solved in the first two days, its chances of being solved don’t just drop a little. They drop to, like, almost zero. There’s few cases you can solve if there’s no witnesses to tell you who did it.” He looked down at his plate. “I don’t really want to talk about this now, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“I wanna talk about what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Hil. Something’s bothering you.”

She began eating again. “Nothing at all.”

11

Baudin finished work around nine and took a folder with him when he left. His cousin should’ve been at his house watching Heather, but when he called, there was no answer. He headed out of the precinct and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the moon and enjoying the warm night air on his skin. Winters were rough here, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. But his worst enemy was monotony. The year-round warmth and sunshine of Los Angeles had worn him down until he was begging for a change.

He lit a cigarette and leaned against a streetlight. A few cars drove by, and he watched them. He opened the folder tucked under his arm and glared at the photos he’d printed off: close-ups of their Jane Doe.

When his cigarette was done, he flipped it into the gutter and drove up to the Motel 6 with his windows down. The wind whipped his face and hair. The more it whipped him, the faster he went until he was going almost ninety in a forty. He slowed down and rolled the windows up.

Several women were already on the corners. He came to a stop in front of a group and rolled down his window.

“Ladies,” he said.

“Whatchoo need, honey?”

“I’m looking for Candi Carlson. She out here?”

“You a friend of hers?”

“I am,” he said, flashing his badge.

“Oh, well, we ain’t seen her.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I don’t know where she is. We just out here chillin’, ain’t breakin’ no laws, Officer.”

Baudin put the car in park. He stepped out and leaned against it, watching the girls as he lit another cigarette. “So I guess if I search you girls I won’t find anything. No H or crystal, no weed. ’Cause you’re just chilling, right?”

She folded her arms. “What you want with Candi?”

“Just to talk. I swear it.”

She nodded. “She up in room 210.”

“Thanks.”

He got back into his car and drove through the parking lot. Room 210 was right above him, overlooking a small pool. He got out, watching the way the lighted water reflected off the walls, and took the stairs up to the second level. He slipped the folder into the back of his waistband.

The room had the blinds drawn but the lights on. He pressed his ear to the door and could hear a woman’s groans. He leaned his back against the wall and smoked, watching the pool below him.

When the groans reached a fever pitch, he heard a male voice, too, swearing. Then the voices calmed, and a minute later a man stepped out. He was wearing tight jeans and a trucker’s hat.

“She good to go, brother,” he said to Baudin.

Baudin waited until the man was gone and then peeked into the room. Candi was lying on the bed in see-through lingerie, a sheen of sweat covering her face. Her eyes drifted over to him, and she smiled.

“Officer, are you here for a freebie?”

He stepped into the room, the reek of sex hitting his nostrils, and sat down in a recliner.

“Could I have one of those?” she asked. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. Her fingers caressed his hand a moment before she slid them up and took the cigarette, setting it gently between her lips. “So what exactly can I do for you?” she asked.

Baudin sat back down in the recliner. “How many johns you get in a night?”

“Good night? Twenty. Maybe twenty-five. Bad night, nobody.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

“I don’t think anybody enjoys what they do. That’s the curse of modern days, I guess. Nobody’s happy… Are you happy?”

He blew out a puff of smoke through his nose. “Do I look happy?”

“No. But you don’t look sad, neither. You look… angry. Like the world’s done you wrong and you got a score to settle.”

He raised an eyebrow, watching the red tip of her cigarette. “You out here without protection?”

“I got protection.”

“The woman in the car I saw the other night?”

She nodded, inhaling gently and blowing out in a whisper. “She’s got some gorillas on her payroll. Big beefy guys that just got outta the WSP. They look out for me.”

“How much do they take?”

“Fifty percent.”

“That’s a hefty tag for some protection.”

She shrugged. “I don’t wanna be alone out here. A lotta sick bastards.”

“I bet.” They smoked in silence for a second before Baudin said, “I need a favor. I’m going to give you some pictures, and I want you to ask around with the girls and see if anybody knows anything.”

“What kinda pictures?”

He took the folder out and leaned forward, tossed it on the bed, and watched her face. She picked up the photos, took a drag, and then put them down again. Almost no reaction, except that she swallowed when she looked at the first one.

“What happened to her?”

“She was crucified and disemboweled. Her breasts and genitals were cut off. I need to know if she was a working girl around here or not. And johns talk to their ladies. Maybe someone mentioned something about this.”

She smirked. “I’m anything but a lady. You can call me what I am.”

“What are you?”

“I’m a whore, Officer. Just a plain old whore tryin’ to get by in the world.”

He rose. “You are whatever you think you are. Everything is energy, Candi. You want something different, just attune your thoughts to the energy of what you want, and the universe will respond in kind.”

She chuckled. “You some sorta priest?”

“I’m not talking about God. I’m talking about energy. Thoughts are energy, matter is energy, even your soul is energy. You just gotta align all three to what you want, and you’ll get it.”

“If there was truth to that, I don’t think your energy would have you in this room with me chasing down perverts.”

He took a last puff of the cigarette and put it out in an ashtray on the nightstand. “No, I think this is exactly where my energy would bring me.” He took out a fifty and put it on the nightstand under the ashtray. “You have yourself a good night.”

As he was going out the door, she said, “Officer?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your name again?”

He watched her. “Ethan Baudin.”

She nodded. “I’ll remember that next time. I promise.”

He grinned, turned, and left.