Finding Sarah (30 page)

He found the statement Sarah had
given at the hospital and the medical report. She was bruised, but the rape kit
would go straight to the state lab. Had she been raped? Her bruises said he’d
tried. But no signs of forcible penetration. Had she gone along to keep from
getting hurt? Or had she escaped before he got that far? The doctor’s notes
said something about denial, dissociation. Was she blocking the memories? He
pushed the folder aside.

Someone knocked on the door.
Randy looked up, waiting for it to open, but it remained shut. What was it with
everyone pussyfooting around him? He closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, then
said, “Come in.”

Laughlin opened the door, stepped
inside and closed it behind him. Randy wondered if this would be worse than the
usual summons to the chief’s office. “Sir?”

“She’s all right?”

He nodded. “At home.”

“Good work. I think we mentioned
your vacation surplus. You’re going to use up some of that starting
immediately. I don’t want to see you until Monday. And then, it’ll be in my
office, oh-seven-thirty. Sharp.”

Randy looked up, but at a point
above Laughlin’s head. “Yes, sir.”

The chief gave him a brusque nod
and left.

Randy gathered his belongings.
Chief had said he was on vacation, but he didn’t say where he had to take it.
He went back to the courthouse in time to watch Chris appear before the judge.
When he entered the courtroom, there were few empty seats. Pine Hills didn’t
see this kind of crime often. A cluster of his colleagues already sat on the
spectators’ benches. He started to join them, but he found he couldn’t deal
with the curious expressions he read in their faces. Instead, he gave a polite
nod and found a place to stand at the rear of the room near the door.

Chris, in his orange jumpsuit,
stood beside his attorney, handcuffed, his head bowed. Randy listened with
numbed detachment as the judge read the charges. His fury was gone. The lawyers
were in control now. The District Attorney listed all the ways she would prove
that Chris was guilty. Chris’ attorney opened his mouth in protest.

“Your honor, my client is an
upstanding member of this community with no prior record. I see no reason not
to release him on his own recognizance.”

The judge glanced at the sheets
of paper before him. “I seem to be looking at an awful lot of reasons, Mr.
Gordon.”

“But your honor, there are
explanations for all those misunderstandings.”

“Save them for the trial. I’m
sure you know the procedures.”

The gavel slammed, the judge
said, “Bail set at two million dollars.” Randy watched Chris being led out of
the courtroom in defeat. Instead of elation, Randy felt completely drained. All
he wanted to do was to get out of there.

Avoiding his colleagues, he
worked his way out of the building and drove home.

He went straight for the music
room and lost himself in the complexities of Chopin’s
Fantasie Impromptu
.
His tensions eased, he found himself playing the love songs and ballads people
had requested during his nights playing in lounges during his college years.
Each one reminded him of Sarah. He played “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and he
was sitting in the dark with her again.

He stretched. He’d go for a run,
burn off some of the nerves. But first, he retrieved a dust-covered box from
the top shelf of the closet. Inside, he found the photographs of his
grandmother, hidden away after she died, when the memories were too painful. He
placed his favorites, a black and white picture of her as a young woman and a
more recent portrait taken a few years before her death, beside the rest of the
family pictures on the piano. He ran his fingers over her smile and touched the
image of her brooch. “I missed you, Gram.”

Sarah awoke to bright sunlight
and the smell of coffee. She lay in bed, muddle-headed and tried to get her
bearings. Her own bed. She groaned past a thick tongue and squinted at the
clock. Quarter to eleven. She raised herself to her elbows, and the room spun
for a moment.

Memories of heart-pounding
nightmares, of Maggie making her take a Valium, rushed back. She staggered to
the bathroom and let the hot steam of a shower clear her head and ease her
aching muscles. The bruise on her cheek had faded to a pale yellow and purple,
and the swelling on her lip was barely noticeable. A little makeup and she’d be
presentable.

On the kitchen counter, she found
a basket of fruit and a bag of bagels, along with a note and a set of car keys.

Hope you got enough sleep. Don’t
worry about anything. I’ll be taking care of your shop. I took the bus—you can
use my car if you feel up to going in. Love, Maggie.

Up to going in? Of course she
was. She knew once she was at work, everything would be normal. Still, she
lingered a little longer than she needed to over a bagel and coffee.

She’d hurt Randy yesterday, but
the unfamiliar sensation at his touch had frightened her. Not the revulsion she
had felt with Chris, but not the tingle she expected. Because she couldn’t
express her own feelings—not even to herself, much less to him—she’d sent him
away. She told herself she’d deal with it later, chalked it up to exhaustion
and emotional overload.

Sarah parked in the alley and
entered the shop through the back door. The customers she’d had after the
robbery were nothing compared to the bustling business she saw now. Maggie was
in three places at once, smiling and bubbling. Aside from wisps of red hair
that clung to her forehead, she seemed perfectly in control. Sidling her way
through the milling customers, Sarah worked her coat off and put her things in
her office, excited to get back to her life.

* * * * *

The next two days passed in a
blur. Sarah was where she belonged, and despite Maggie’s not-so-subtle hints
about support groups at the Women’s Center, she didn’t need anyone, or any
drugs, to help her. A little time, that’s all she needed. During lulls in shop
traffic, Sarah paced the floor, fighting to control unbidden tears and
trembling fingers. She had to relax. It was over. She was in her shop. Nothing
had happened.

At closing time, she’d stare at
the register receipts and have no recollection of the sales. Another look
confirmed that the merchandise had indeed been sold. She’d hyperventilate,
afraid she was losing her mind.

Home was little better. Countless
hours of Mahjongg did little to quell the nightmares. Chris and Randy kept
swirling until she couldn’t tell who was who. She’d reach for Randy, but he
would dissolve into Chris—or disappear—before she got close.

On Friday, after locking the shop
door, she went through her closing routine on autopilot, unable to ignore the
tears that fell from her cheeks onto the counter. She picked up the phone. “Maggie?
Tell me about that support group again.”

Half an hour later, Maggie
delivered Sarah to a cream-colored room at the back of the Women’s Center.
Orange and blue plastic chairs were set in a circle, filled with women from a
somber young girl barely into her teens, to a gray-haired woman with a
crinkle-eyed smile. A tall redhead stood up when Sarah entered the room.

“Linda, this is Sarah. I know she’s
in the right place.” Maggie squeezed Sarah’s hands. “I’ll be back for you at
seven-thirty.”

“Welcome, Sarah,” Linda said. “Let
me introduce you to the group.”

* * * * *

Randy spent the next few days
wallowing in his own misery. Feeling like a first-class idiot, he’d even gone
to Thriftway and bought a quart of Peach Blossom shampoo, only to pour it down
the drain after using it once. Countless hours at the piano, endless miles of
running, and still, he found no peace. Some inane sitcom blared from the
television. Starsky and Hutch mewed from the floor.

“You feel like shit, too, guys? I’m
sorry. I can’t seem to get it right, can I?” He picked them up and sat on the
couch with them, their quiet purring resonating though his lap. “If I hadn’t
been watching the damn game that night, you’d be able to jump up here on your
own. Hang in there. Doc says you’ll be as good as new in a week or so.”

Would Sarah? She needed time,
needed space, and he vowed to give them to her, although vowing and doing were
at odds. Since Laughlin had banished him from the station until Monday, Randy
picked up the single tie to Sarah he had—the report from Dobs. What the hell.
He was on his own time and the case was closed.

After settling the cats in their
bed, Randy grabbed his keys and headed to the Polk County Highway Patrol
office.

It took him nearly an hour to
match all the evidence in the boxes against the inventory list. Remembering
what Dobs had told him about the road and weather conditions at the time of the
accident, he wondered how much more would have been collected if it had been an
easy scene. Photos showed the car balanced precariously on a tree before it
slid the rest of the way down into the ravine. He whistled in appreciation of
the investigators who’d braved the elements and danger to pick up bits of
broken glass, candy and gum wrappers, fast food drink cups and a collection of
hairs and fibers. According to the report, they’d collected about fifty
fingerprints, none of which showed up in AFIS. When Arbaugh had decreed it a
suicide, nothing else had been processed.

He stared at the evidence, stared
at the photos, and stared at the reports until his eyes burned, but nothing
popped. Nothing he could take to Oregon Trust to reverse the verdict. But something
grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. He went to find the property room officer.

After following protocol, which
seemed to stop short of a pint of blood and a promise to relinquish his
firstborn, Randy hefted the box to his truck. Maybe it would make more sense in
the morning.

It didn’t.

By Monday, Randy was more than
relieved to be back at work. He signed the box back into evidence and verified
that the chain of custody hadn’t been broken. “Hang onto this. I keep getting
the feeling I’m missing something.”

Of course he was. Sarah.

Laughlin had been understanding,
but Randy knew the chief would be watching. He tried to lose himself in his
job. Why, when he needed to work, had the citizens of Pine Hills become so
law-abiding? He dug through cold case files, even closed a couple.

After two weeks, he stopped
eating at Sadie’s for most of his meal breaks. After three, his heart no longer
raced in anticipation when the phone rang. That Special Something seemed to be
filled with customers whenever he passed by, and he felt glad for Sarah.

The emptiness inside wasn’t gone,
but it didn’t ache so much anymore. He gave in to the urge to review the
evidence from Sarah’s kidnapping. And as he reread the reports and examined
what had been collected, his pulse quickened. Once again, he signed out the
evidence from David’s accident. How had he missed it? Nothing conclusive, but a
place to start.

Slowing down enough to follow
procedure, he secured everything and went to find Connor. “How fast can you get
a DNA analysis on this?” he asked almost before he was inside the lab.

Connor looked up, wary and
defensive. “On what? Why?”

“Chill. I’m together.” He handed
Connor an evidence envelope. “It’s a piece of chewed gum. Found in David Tucker’s
car the day he died.”

“And you need DNA because—?”

“Because I think the gum might
have belonged to Christopher Westmoreland. They found the same kind of wrappers
at the cabin.”

Connor looked like he was going
to protest, but he backed off. “I’ll see what I can do. State lab usually takes
two to three weeks. But even if you’ve got Westmoreland’s DNA, how will that
help you? It won’t show when he was in the car, only that he was.”

Randy stopped. “Lord, I don’t
know for sure, but I’ve got to do something. Please? Anything to convince
Oregon Trust to reverse the suicide.”

“Kovak know you want this? It was
his case.”

“Do it, dammit. I’ll get Kovak to
sign.” He went back to his office, unable to concentrate on anything for the
rest of the day.

Now that he had something to wait
for, the waiting became unbearable. If his interrogation techniques had become
more brusque, nobody questioned him, and he was closing cases. He immersed
himself in paperwork, grabbed more than his share of the calls, and had
everyone giving him a wide berth. Even Kovak.

Five days later, Connor poked his
head through Randy’s office doorway.

“Got a sec?” Connor waved a file
folder. “I think you might be interested in this.”

Randy set aside the report he was
writing. “Sure. Come in. You get results on the Horton TA already?”

“Yes on the traffic accident. No
on the Horton.”

Randy looked more closely. The
glint in Connor’s eyes said he’d found something good.

“Remember Holly?” Connor said.

“Holly, as in ‘legs to her neck
and hooters like cantaloupes’ if I recall your description correctly?”

Connor grinned. “That’s Holly.
She’s also married and six months pregnant now, but I suppose that enhances her
hooters. Anyway, she works at the state lab and she called me with some DNA
test results.”

Randy’s pulse tripped. “Are you
talking about my request? I thought you said two to three weeks.”

“Holly moved it to the front of
the line and babysat it through the process. I guess she still has fond
memories of a certain weekend in Seattle.” Connor reversed the chair beside
Randy’s desk and straddled it. His expression shifted to pure scientist.

“The DNA from the gum matched
Westmoreland’s. That puts him in the car. Trouble is, that won’t put a date on
it. But I took the liberty of including a hair for testing, too. They’d found a
couple on the body that didn’t come from Tucker and I didn’t think you’d mind.
They matched the hair to the gum.”

Things clicked into place. “So he
must have been in the car or at least with David the day he died. Not likely a
hair would be there the next day, or the next week, assuming the guy showered
and changed his shirt.”

“That’s how I read it. I don’t
know if it’s enough to reverse the suicide, but I thought you might be able to
convince the insurance company. Or get the Highway Patrol to look again. You’ve
been very—convincing—lately.”

“You’re damn right.” Randy
reached for the file folder. “Report’s in here?”

“Yes, but there’s one more thing.
When they ran Westmoreland’s DNA through CODIS, it matched an unsolved case
from eight years ago in New Jersey, near Rutgers.”

Randy leaned across the desk. “Tell
me more.”

“A hooker, beaten. Dead. Nothing
to go on, nobody talking, but the DNA from under her fingernails went into
CODIS and that’s what hit when Westmoreland’s came through the system.”

Too stunned to speak, Randy sat
back in his chair and tried to absorb everything.

“Umm, I guess I’ll leave you the
report and get back to the Horton investigation,” Connor said.

“Yeah, right. Wait.” Randy got up
and reached for Connor’s shoulder.

“Hey, you’re not going to kiss me
or anything, are you?”

Randy burst into uncontrolled
laughter. “Not on your life. But if you want, we can go to the Wagon Wheel, and
you can have the biggest steak on the menu.”

“You’re just saying that because
you know I’m a vegetarian, right?”

“Go. Thanks. Really. Let me get
going on this and we’ll all celebrate. My treat.”

Connor retreated, and Randy tried
to keep from running on his way to Laughlin’s office.