Authors: Faye Kellerman
Patricia felt a jolt through her spine. "Mr. Hennick, we thought that Stephen and Alison were with you."
"Well, they were, but…"
Poe stepped into the squad room, cup of coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other. Frantically, Patricia waved him over. Out loud, she said, "Mr. Hennick, Sergeant Poe just walked in."
"Gerald Hennick?" Poe jogged over to her desk, spilling coffee onto his fingers. Irritated, he set the cup down and shook his wrist, wiping his hand on his pants. He took a hit on his smoke, then stubbed it out on his shoe and tossed the butt in the garbage. Patricia gave him the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Hennick. How are you?"
"Well, I'm fine…just fine, thank you." A pause. "I'm not the problem. Y'see, I was just wondering if you'd heard from Stephen or Alison."
"They're not with you, sir?"
"They
were
with me, Sergeant, but not now. Y'see, we all started off going on vacation. To give Alison a little breather. She hasn't been feelin' too good lately."
"I know."
"So Stephen thought that she needed to get away…just Alison and the family. We were going to go campin'. Then Stephen decided that he should spend some time alone with Alison. Just the two of them. So they took off—"
"Did they say where they were going, Mr. Hennick?"
"No…" A pause. "No, they didn't. Stephen said something about makin' it a surprise. I told him I didn't know if a surprise was a good idea. But Stephen seemed so pleased, I didn't want to spoil anything. Y'see, times haven't been so good between them."
"I understand," Poe answered. The old man sounded as courtly as Jimmy Stewart. "Where are you now, sir?"
"Stephen dropped me and the boys off with my brother and his wife. Now, we're okay. We're having a good time—"
"What
city
are you in, sir?"
"Los Angeles."
"And you're fine?"
"Yes, Sergeant, we're all fine. Not to worry about me or the kids. But my daughter…she and Stephen left two days ago. And I haven't heard a peep from them. I'm gettin' a bit concerned."
"But the boys are okay?"
"The boys are fine…just fine. They went to Disneyland with my nephew and his wife and their kids. Everyone's gettin' along fine. But I didn't go in case Alison called. My brother has an answering machine, but people don't always leave messages. I was hoping that maybe you'd heard from Stephen…that he called in to work."
"No, he hasn't called, but that's expected. He's on vacation." Poe drummed the table. "Mr. Hennick, why don't you give me your phone number in Los Angeles. I'll make a couple of calls. If I find out anything, I'll give you a ring. And if you hear from them, please call me as well."
"All right." Hennick recited the number. "Thank you, Sergeant. Hope I didn't bother you too much."
"Not at all."
"Bye now."
Hennick hung up. Poe placed the receiver in its cradle. "Apparently, Steve took Alison on a 'surprise' getaway. Just the two of them. Hennick has no idea where they went and hasn't heard from them in two days. He's worried."
Patricia gave a weak smile. "So he's being spontaneous—"
"C'mon! Taking your mentally ill wife for a
surprise
vacation? He knows the score with her. At best, she tolerates him. At worst, she detests…it's a recipe for suici—" Poe paused. "Maybe that's exactly what Steve wants."
Patricia gave a startled look. "Sir, to me it seems like a harmless and sweet gesture."
Poe grunted. "Steve is
not
harmless, and he certainly isn't sweet." Poe went to his desk and took out his lock picks. "I don't like it. There are children at stake. We need to do something."
"Like what?"
"Like finding out where they are, for starters." He crossed the floor, sitting at Jensen's spot. He examined Steve's desk drawer, tried to shake it open. Patricia looked around the squad room. Just Marine Martin and Herrod at their desks. The rest were out in the field. Marine's eyes darted between Poe and her, giving Patricia a curious
"What's going on?" look. She answered him with a shrug.
She went over to Jensen's desk. Poe was attacking it with his picks. "Sir, what are you doing?"
"I'm breaking into a desk."
Patricia tapped her foot, unsure what to say. "I don't think you should do that…sir."
The lock clicked. Poe pulled out the top desk drawer and began rummaging around in the mess. He found a couple of loose credit card slips and pocketed them.
"Sir, this is an invasion of privacy," Patricia persisted. "If you did this to me, I'd be furious."
"Then it's good I'm not doing it to you." Poe closed the top drawer and opened the side file drawers. Racks of case folders, all of them neatly organized. They appeared in order. "If Steve wants to be furious, fine with me."
"Sergeant, what exactly are you looking for?"
Poe showed her a credit card slip. "If I have his card number, I can call up and pretend I'm Steve. Find out when and
where
this card was last used."
"I believe they ask you security questions—like your mother's maiden name and Social Security number."
"I know. And I'm sure all that information is listed in Jensen's employment records."
"What you're doing is illegal."
"Call the cops."
"This isn't right."
"So sue me." Poe slammed the drawers shut, then stomped off to his desk and picked up the phone. Patricia followed on his heels.
She said, "There's no indication of any problems—"
Poe shoved the phone into the receiver. "Look, maybe
Steve
wouldn't call to find out about the kids. But
Alison
would. She may be off her rocker, but she loves those boys."
"Are they in danger?"
"No, the kids are fine. But neither of them knows that."
"I don't understand—"
"Detective, I'm just going to find out where they are.
Once I'm sure that everyone's safe, I'll back off." Again, he picked up the phone. "Molly, can you connect me with the Personnel Department, please?"
Patricia threw up her hands. "So what happened last night?"
"Last night?" Poe was puzzled. "What was supposed to happen last night?"
"Abousayed. You were going to take pictures of his women."
"Oh, that! I sent Y as my proxy, since I didn't want to be spotted. He took a couple of rolls of film. I hope they came out. Chief's not exactly a techno-guy."
"It's pressing a button and waiting for the snapshot to eject."
"Yeah, uh…we decided against the Polaroid. It made too much noise. Instead I gave him Rukmani's Canon."
"So where's my Polaroid?"
"In my car. I owe you a pack of film."
"What happened to the film?"
"I used it up." A grin spread across his face. "Family photos."
Patricia eyed him skeptically, but didn't further the conversation. "That was a good idea, Sergeant. Sending in Y."
"A decent thought does flit through my brain every millennium." He drank his now-tepid coffee. Into the phone, he said, "This is Detective Sergeant Romulus Poe from Homicide. I've got an emergency situation here and I need to see a personnel file on one of my men. He's on vacation and his mother died. His records should have a list of close relatives—No, I'd rather you don't give any information over the phone. I'll come down in per—I know it's an unusual request, but like I said, it's an emergency…. All right. All right. I'll be down in ten minutes."
He hung up the receiver.
"Photographs won't be ready for an hour. Might as well try to get a fix on Steve and Alison."
"I'm sure they're fine, sir."
Poe stood and finished off his coffee. He took out his car keys. "Must be nice to be
sure
, Deluca. But I'm from a dysfunctional family. Ergo, I'm
never
sure of anything!"
Following a trail of credit-card charges Poe found out that the Jensens had last eaten at a chophouse in an outpost called Vista de la Mesa, where they had taken a room at the Dunes Inn Motel. Looking for the name on a map, Poe found the speck—a high-desert hole in the wall about fifty miles from the Nevada/California border. It was also around twenty miles from Highway 15, the main artery linking L.A. to L.V. Maybe the couple were headed home.
When Poe called the motel, a young, dull male voice informed him that the Jensens had checked out about two hours ago. Poe asked the clerk, "Have you cleaned the room yet?"
Silence. When he finally
did
speak, he seemed to be working hard. "I dunno."
"Could you check for me?"
Another protracted pause. "I suppose."
"Could you do it now?"
"Want me to check the room?" A beat. "Or want me to find out if the room was cleaned up?"
Simplicity, Poe. Not everyone understands complex sentences.
"Just check the room, please. See if it has been cleaned up."
"Can you hold on? I gotta find someone to watch the desk while I check the room."
"I can hold."
Poe heard the clunk of a receiver being placed on a hard surface, followed by the sound of receding footsteps. In the background, he heard a voice shout, "Kathy? Kathy, are you around?" The wait seemed interminable. Poe drummed, snapped, rocked on his feet, took out a cigarette he had bummed off Y last night, then put it back in his pocket.
It took ten minutes for Mr. Dull to return. He sounded shaky. "Uh, the room's a real mess."
"A mess?"
"Yeah, a
real
mess. There's blood on the sheets—"
"Oh God!"
"I think I should call the cops."
"Good idea."
"Where you callin' from again?"
"Las Vegas Metro Police Department. What police department services your area?"
"Police department?"
Poe enunciated each word clearly. "I want to call up your local police. Who do I call?"
"Who?"
"Yes, who. What is the name of
your
Police department?"
"Vista de la Mesa Sheriff's Department."
"Thank you. That's good. Now. Do you have a phone number?"
"Uh…sure." Another wait. Finally, Dull came back and slowly spit out the number. He said, "If
you
call 'em, then the line'll be busy when I call."
"Give me a minute to call first. Then you go, ahead and call. Please make sure the room isn't touched."
"I already touched the doorknob."
"That's fine. But
don't
touch anything else. I'll make that call real quick."
"That's good. Because it's a real mess there. Spooky."
"Bye now." Poe cut the line, called the Vista de la Mesa Sheriff's Department. An upbeat, elderly female voice answered the phone.
"This is Detective Sergeant Romulus Poe from the Las Vegas Metro Police Department. I need to speak to someone in Homicide immediately."
"We don't have a homicide department," she answered. "Don't need it."
That's what you think
. "Anyone in charge who I could talk to?"
"How about Sheriff Bruckner?"
"Sheriff Bruckner would be fine."
A short wait. Then a deep male voice. "Bruckner. Who's this?"
Poe introduced himself, explained the situation as succinctly as he could.
Bruckner said, "Thanks for calling. I'll get right over there."
"Could you call me as soon as you get there? If it's as bad as the kid says, I'll want to come up."
"That's nice of you to be concerned, but it's not necessary. Our guys know this town pretty well. Think we can handle it locally."
Marking his territory. Poe kept his patience. "Of course. But Jensen is one of our men. There's a personal interest here. Hell, if it was one of yours, you'd do the same, right?"
A long pause. Then Bruckner said, "Sure, come on up. Just don't bring a big-city posse with you. We're low-key here, do things differently than in places like L.A. or Las Vegas."
"I wouldn't even bother you except Jensen is a colleague." Poe thought a moment. "You know, if I leave now, I can be there in two hours. Maybe you could hold off—"
"Not for two hours."
"Okay. I understand. The investigation will probably take time. The clerk described the room as a real mess…lots of blood. Sounds like you're going to need your techs."
The line went quiet. Then Bruckner said, "If it's real bad, I'll wait. Do you the courtesy, since it's one of yours."
Cold feet at the sight of blood, Bruckner? Or just no techs?
Poe said, "Thank you, sir. I'll see you later." He hung up and grabbed his car keys. As soon as he pulled out of the parking lot, he paged Weinberg. The lieutenant called back a minute later and Poe recapped the situation.
Weinberg said, "I'm at Myra's. Pick me up. I'll get me a couple of sandwiches to go."
"I'd like to bring Rukmani Kalil along."
"Good idea. What kind of sandwich does she like?"
"She's a vegetarian."
"Does she eat eggs? I could get her an egg salad sandwich."
"She eats eggs as long as they aren't fertilized."
"No fertilized eggs here, Poe. They aren't kosher."
"Sir, what about Alison and Steve? Should we put out an APB for them?"
The loo said, "This is the plan. First, we hit the road. As we ride, we call up the motel—What's the name of the place?"
"Dunes Inn Motel."
"In what town?"
"Vista de la Mesa."
"Never heard of it."
"Me either. Sure doesn't sound like an ideal spot for a second honeymoon."
Weinberg hesitated. "Let's not jump to any conclusions. We'll talk to Bruckner directly. See what he has to say. If it's really bad, I'll issue an APB. You say this town is near Highway 15?"
"About twenty miles away."
"And they left the kids in L.A."
"Yes."
"So they're driving southeast. Could be they're coming back here."
"I thought about that."
"Maybe we'll pass them as we drive up."
"Wouldn't that be nice."
"You bet," Weinberg answered. "Save us all a lot of speculation."
THIRTY-FIVE
T
HEY CONGREGATED
in the motel's parking lot—Poe, Weinberg, and Rukmani, along with Bruckner and Byron, the dull desk clerk. Heat sizzled off the blacktop, the sun relentless in the open terrain. The sheriff wasn't what Poe expected. About fifty, he was tall and thin—his khaki uniform hung on his stick frame—with a pencil mustache and clipped hair which had silvered at the temples. A beanpole with a radio announcer's mellifluous voice.