Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) (7 page)

14

Baudin raced down to the middle school, parked out front, and rushed inside. Anger billowed out of him like clouds of frosty mist from dry ice. He didn’t know how he would react when he actually saw his daughter, but anger wasn’t the emotion he wanted to show.

He stopped halfway down the hall and leaned back against the lockers, staring into a classroom down the hall. Some of the children were paying attention, but most were doodling, daydreaming, or—an option he hadn’t had in middle school—playing on their cell phones.

Fury was like a drug and, like a drug, it dissipated over time. The body expelled it forcefully from the systems that saw it as poison. Within a minute, he was calm, and he continued down the hall to the principal’s office.

Inside the school’s office, past the reception desk, he saw Heather sitting on a bench. He walked over to her and knelt down.

“What happened?” he said.

“It wasn’t my fault, Daddy.”

“Heather, what happened?”

The principal, a heavyset black man with a sweater vest, rose from the desk and came over. He held out his hand, and Baudin shook it.

“You must be Detective Baudin. I’m Martin. I’m the principal here at Moss.”

“I appreciate the call. I just asked Heather what happened.”

“Why don’t you two step into my office?”

The principal’s own office was covered in photos of him with people Baudin didn’t recognize, except for one with George W. Bush at some black-tie function. The chairs were uncomfortable, and Baudin was taken back to the hours he’d spent in principals’ offices, probably for offenses no different from Heather’s.

“Detective, we take drug use very seriously. Normally, we would call the police and deal with it that way. But I knew who you were and thought I would do you the courtesy of giving you a call.”

“I appreciate that.”

“She was caught behind the school with a few other students, two boys and another girl, sharing a joint. I’ve spoken with all four, and Heather doesn’t seem to be the one who supplied the marijuana.”

Baudin looked at her. He remembered her as the little girl who would throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheeks, who would hug him every morning and say, “I love you, Daddy.” The one he would watch while she slept and hope he could spare her all the pain that life was waiting to thrust upon her. It was difficult for him to see she was turning into her own person, with her own value system that was different from his.

“Is that true?” he said.

“It wasn’t… Yes,” she said quietly.

Baudin looked back at the principal. “I appreciate you contacting me, Martin. I also appreciate your discretion. I promise you that this will be dealt with.”

He nodded. “I understand. And I hope you understand that some punishment must be imposed. I’m going to suspend her for two days. Monday and Tuesday. She can come back on Wednesday, and she’ll be spending her lunch hour eating in detention for a month.”

Heather was about to object before the principal cut her off.

“That,” he said, looking directly at her, “is the price instead of calling the police.”

“It’s fair,” Baudin said. “And it won’t happen again.”

Baudin shook his hand, thanked him again, and left with Heather in tow. They didn’t speak until they were outside and heading for his car.

“How could you do that?” he said. “I’m a cop, Heather.”

She was quiet until they were in the car and the doors were shut. “I just wanted to try it.”

“How many times have you done it?”

“Never.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

She shook her head vigorously—the actions of someone desperate to be believed, Baudin thought.

“I promise. I’ve never done it. Becky just had some, and we went out to try it. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

He exhaled and looked forward, debating what to do. “In addition to what the principal’s doing, I’m taking away your cell phone for a month.”

“Daddy! You can’t do that. I have assignments due, and I need to talk to my partners. We work in groups. And I have to look stuff up, my notes are on my phone, there’s no way I can do my assignments without it.”

“Well… a week, then.”

“I have a history paper due, and my partner’s totally slacking, and we need to—”

“Okay, the weekend. You can survive the weekend without it.” He reached into her breast pocket and pulled out her phone. “One weekend.”

She folded her arms. “Fine.”

Baudin started the car and pulled away, wishing her mother was here. She had always been the one who punished and disciplined. He had no tolerance for it, no knowledge about what was too much and what was too little. When he looked at her, she was just his little girl.

“I’m gonna drop you at Molly’s.”

“Now? Why?”

“I have to go meet with someone.”

“I can come, too.”

“No, not with this person.”

15

Baudin was already back at the precinct when Dixon came in after lunch. He walked up to their desks and sat down. Baudin had several windows open on his computer, and he began going through them, closing the unnecessary ones.

“Your kid okay?” Dixon said.

“She’s fine.”

He nodded. “Fight or something?”

“Or something.”

Dixon leaned back in his seat and put his feet up on the desk. “Jane Doe’s going on the news. I know the chief said to keep it quiet, but I ain’t revealing any details. Hopefully he don’t chew our asses for it.”

Baudin looked at him. “I have a feeling it’s not going to matter what we do. I don’t think he’ll be happy with any outcome.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Well, what’d your hunches say about Brett McCabe?”

“I was gonna head up there now, actually. He declined to come down here yesterday.”

“He seems really frail to me.”

Baudin stretched his back from side to side. “Frail or no, he didn’t look too pleased we were up there.”

“Well, you drive.”

Dixon pulled his feet from the desk and headed out, Baudin following. The air outside smelled like factory exhaust. Not entirely unpleasant, but that could’ve been because Dixon was used to it now. He wondered if Baudin found it repellent.

Once they had pulled out of the parking lot, Dixon rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the edge of the door. He’d spent most of his life in Cheyenne and wondered if that was why most people stayed. He couldn’t think of many people he knew growing up who had left. Almost his entire high school graduating class was right here, as was everyone he’d gone to church with as a child. His daddy used to say Cheyenne was the crib and grave of people born there.

“Who’s your contact with the news?” Baudin asked.

“Girl I used to date. We’re on good terms. She wants first release of anything going public, and if we get a collar she wants an interview in the holding cells with him.”

“Did you agree to that?”

“I would’ve agreed to a whole helluva lot more. Where else am I gonna go to get her face out?”

“Did you post on any websites or blogs?”

“Wouldn’t help. This isn’t LA, not yet. People out here still get their news from the TV. Few folks got Netflix or DVRs. They just watch whatever’s on.” He looked at Baudin. “How you likin’ it out here?”

“It’s… different. Slower. But people are the same everywhere. That doesn’t change.”

Dixon hesitated. “I’m havin’ some folks over for the game tomorrow. Two o’clock. You should come. My wife needs to meet you anyway.”

“Your wife?”

“Just… something she does. She needs to meet you.”

“I’m not really good with the social stuff.”

“Don’t matter. You gotta be there and be met. Otherwise I’ll catch an earful every day until you do. Bring your daughter, too.”

“If you insist, I guess I can’t be rude.”

They rode in silence until they were back out on the border of Laramie County and surrounded by desert and brush. The air was dryer out here and had a different smell. Dixon slipped on his sunglasses.

“You don’t have any?” Dixon said.

“Sunglasses? No, man. I like to see things as they really are, not filtered with that shit.”

“Don’t hurt your eyes? All the sun?”

He shook his head. “Sun’s natural. Sunglasses are not natural. You tell me which one poses the risk to my eyes.”

The winding road up to McCabe’s property was empty, and they got there without seeing another soul. Baudin parked and got out. He went over to the intercom, glancing around the whole time, and pushed the call button.

“Yes?” a voice came through from the other end.

“Detective Ethan Baudin. I need access to your property again, Mr. McCabe.”

A string of profanities came through the intercom before he said, “Can’t it wait?”

“Afraid not, sir.”

A few more F-bombs and then the gate clicked open.

When they were riding up the dirt path, Dixon watched the way the trees moved with the wind. He’d never seen a painting really capture the bending and twisting to avoid being broken. He’d always thought it was like a beautiful dance. Hillary had wanted to move to bigger cities several times in their marriage, but he couldn’t imagine a day going by where he didn’t get to look at trees.

“How you think it is people can live in the big cities?” he asked. “Didn’t you miss bein’ outside in LA?”

“I got outside. There were palm trees and the ocean. Don’t really miss nature.”

“You grew up there?”

He nodded. “Born and raised. You?”

“Cheyenne. My mom took off when I was young, and my dad worked at a factory making engine parts. Made twenty-five thousand a year, and we had a home, a car, and went on good vacations every year. Not to mention a full-time nanny. Can’t do shit on twenty-five grand now.”

“People always degrade the present and elevate the past, man. It’s bullshit. World’s always been the same as it always is.”

Dixon saw the home up ahead, and McCabe was standing there with his dog and a cane. The grimace on his face was that of a person about to do something extremely unpleasant but with no choice.

They parked near him on the horseshoe driveway in front of the house, and McCabe had to limp over.

“Thought you was goin’ to where that girl was killed,” he said, standing a good ten feet back as the two detectives got out.

“We will,” Baudin said. “Just needed to speak with you first.”

“’Bout what?”

“Got someplace we can sit?”

He pointed with his chin to a stone slab surrounded by several chairs. Dixon sat first and leaned back, watching Baudin. There was something different in the detective’s eyes. He had a challenge in front of him, Dixon guessed. Baudin was a man who thrived on challenge. He wondered what Baudin was like when there was no challenge.

Baudin stood but leaned against the stone table. “This is a lot of property, Mr. McCabe. How many acres you got?”

“Fifteen hundred all told. Used to be closer to three thousand, but I gave some of it away to save on the damn taxes.”

“I bet.” He looked down at his shoes before pushing away from the table and strolling around as though studying the house. “You walk the property much?”

“Yeah, with my dog.”

“How often?”

“Every day.”

“You ever see that girl up there?”

“No, of course not. I would’ve called the police.”

Baudin stepped to within a couple of feet of the man. “You telling me you walk this property all the time, and a dead girl was hanging on a cross not a mile from here and you never saw her? Not in the entire month she’d been up there?”

“Just what the hell are you saying?” he spit, his face flushing red.

Baudin shook his head, turning back to the house. “Nothing. Just talking. What did you do for a living, Mr. McCabe?”

“Real estate. I was a developer. I built Cheyenne from a desert into a city. Me and my father and his father before him, when there was nothin’ out here but dirt.”

Dixon asked, “Anybody else live on the property? Squatters, maybe?”

“No, no one else here. I see to that.”

Baudin said, “You have any idea who could’ve done something like that?”

“No, Detective, I don’t make a habit of spending time with psychopaths. I have no idea who did that to the girl.”

“Did you know her?”

“No,” he said loudly. “I told you I would’ve called the police.”

Dixon said, “What about the hiker? The guy who called it in? He come down here and see you?”

“No. I didn’t know anything about this until that first cop from the sheriff’s office showed up and made me let him in.”

Baudin turned suddenly, so fast that Dixon was afraid he’d drawn his weapon. But instead he marched up to McCabe and stared into his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

McCabe was flustered, his mouth agape with no words coming out. “I don’t give a shit what you believe,” he finally snapped. “And I’d like you to leave my property now.”

“I’ll be back with a warrant to search your house. And I won’t take it easy, either. Or you can let me search it now, and I promise I won’t disturb anything.”

McCabe stepped close to him, so close their noses almost touched. “Get the hell off my property.”

Baudin grinned and turned away. Dixon rose, nodded to McCabe, and followed Baudin back to the car.

“Well, he was pissed,” Dixon said.

“Don’t think it was him. He can barely walk. Did you see his feet?”

“No.”

“He was wearing sandals. Both his feet were nearly black and swollen. He couldn’t put much pressure on them, much less haul a body onto a cross and then pull it up.”

“Unless he had help.”

“True. But he’d have to be a fool to put the body up on his own property, even if there’s nobody else out here. He didn’t strike me as a fool. I still would like to search his house, though. You know any judges that would give us a warrant?”

“McCabe’s well known in this town. You’re gonna need somethin’ good for a judge to let you look through his home.”

He grinned. “I think I got just the thing.”