“I’ve made a mess of things,” he said.
“The damage is done. You should think about the consequences before you write those stories.”
“You don’t mince words, do you?” He wished he could have been by her side when she confronted her daughter. It must have been awful.
“No. I’ve always found that telling it straight works best,” she said.
“I love her, Rita. I don’t want to lose her.”
“You better stop listening to your reporter’s voice and start listening to her. Respect what she wants,” Rita said.
If it’s not too late, Brian thought, but he didn’t voice those fears to Rita.
Several cop cars were already at the scene when he arrived. Overhead, a plane made its descent into McCarran International Airport. The sun’s afternoon rays peeked through the storm clouds and glinted off the distant black and gold glass of hotel casinos on the Strip. Except for the police presence, all appeared normal, but it wasn’t.
Bolting from Rita’s car, he spotted the crime scene tape several yards from the street. As a former crime reporter in the past, the site of that tape spelled a story that set his adrenaline pumping. However, in the past week he’d come to hate the bright yellow tape bouncing in the breeze.
Several people gathered around what he presumed was the body. Spotting Joe, he swallowed the lump of fear growing in his throat. The man motioned him over. Ducking under the tape, he joined his friend. When Joe lifted the sheet shielding the body, Brian closed his eyes afraid to look. Afraid to see the woman he loved dead, her life snuffed out by a crazed maniac.
“I don’t think its Angie,” Joe said. “But I need you to confirm that it isn’t.”
Stepping closer, he sucked in a breath and said a silent prayer, before forcing himself to look. The breath he’d been holding escaped. It wasn’t her.
“It’s not Angie,” he said, studying the poor woman’s battered body thinking what he would have done if it had been her. Blood and dirt matted the victim’s hair. Bruise marks covered her face, arms, and legs. Her tattered silver cocktail dress did little to shield her body.
Joe gently placed the sheet back over her. “I’m glad it’s not. This victim took a beating. I suspect the killer raped her before bashing her head in. From the looks of it, she put up a hell of a fight.”
Joe glanced up at the threatening sky. “At least we found her before rain washed away any evidence. They’re predicting a gully washer some time tonight.” He grimaced. “It means flooded streets and a traffic nightmare. To make matters worse, a section of downtown will be blocked off because of a scheduled hotel implosion.”
“They’re blowing up another building,” Brian said.
“Yeah, wipe out the old to make room for the new.”
“That’s Vegas for you. Always reinventing itself.” He surveyed the sandy desert lot devoid of vegetation. “Hell of a place to die.”
“We don’t think she was killed here. There’s no evidence of a struggle, and it’s obvious this one struggled. The killer dumped her in this lot after she died. The crime happened somewhere else.”
“Is it my imagination or are there more vacant lots around town than when I worked here?” he asked. Another plane roared by overhead.
“More and more places are going out of business leaving buildings vacant. Rather than having the homeless move into them, the places are torn down.”
“And the empty lots become dumping grounds.”
“Brian, it’s not Angie, is it?” Rita called out. She stood nearby on the other side of the crime tape.
“No,” he replied.
“Thank God,” she said.
No, it wasn’t Angie, he thought, but she could be lying in another empty lot somewhere else in the city.
“Who found the woman’s body?” Brian asked.
Joe nodded in the direction of a man and boy being interviewed by another detective. “The father and son came to watch the planes. That’s when they stumbled across the body.” Joe grimaced. “It’s the boy’s birthday today. What a way to celebrate. I bet he won’t be forgetting this day anytime soon.”
“How come the vacant lot isn’t fenced off?”
“It was at one time,” Joe pointed at a series of posts cemented in the ground. “Someone probably stole the chain-link fencing.”
Brian frowned. “What’s this world coming to? Who steals a fence?”
“The same people who steal copper wiring, plumbing, and electrical outlets from buildings under construction. Everything fetches a price if you know where to sell it.”
Joe ushered him away from the body. “What’s being done about Angie’s abduction?”
“Can you believe I argued with Dunning before he’d admit she’d been abducted? I wish you were involved in her case.”
“Afraid not. My hands are still tied. The Feds claim it’s connected to their nursery rhyme case. We’re to keep our noses out of it.”
“The Feds,” Brian scoffed. “They’ve worked on the case for a whole week and failed to find Polly. By the way, Angie’s disappearance might not be connected to that case.”
“What?”
He told him about Angie’s ex-husband.
“I’ve seen my share of possessive ex-husbands wanting their ex-wives back. It doesn’t always turn out pretty,” Joe said.
“I know. Remember I covered the crime beat and wrote about domestic violence.”
“You did tell Dunning about the guy.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, the ex-husband is one of Dunning’s college frat buddies. He doesn’t think the man is capable of violence.”
“It’s the guys you don’t suspect that can be the worst,” Joe said.
“I can’t sit around and wait for her body to turn up out in the desert like…”
“Like your son’s.” He patted Brian on the back. “An old nightmare has reared its head, my friend. I gather you’re stuck on her.”
“She’s the first woman I’ve cared for since the divorce.”
“Well, let’s see if we can figure out where the ex-husband is. I can do some inquiries without stepping on the Fed’s toes. If we find him and we’re lucky, we might find her.”
Brian’s cell phone buzzed. Reading the text message, he grew excited.
“What is it?” Joe asked, studying him.
“It’s an e-mail from a reader who’s been following my stories. While jogging today, he saw something suspicious and thought he should share it.”
Brian’s heart skipped a beat when he studied the photo that accompanied the message. It was the house she described seeing in her visions. He started to forward the message and photo to her phone then remembered with a horrible clarity that she didn’t have her phone.
He showed the photo to Joe. “I guess my articles paid off.”
Joe’s cell phone rang. When he disconnected his expression held both concern and a tinge of hope. “It seems your reader contacted the Feds, too. Maybe this is the break needed to crack the case.”
He studied Brian for a minute. “You don’t seem too happy.”
“There’s no mention of seeing Angie, only a child.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Did he give you an address?”
“Yeah.” Looking at his phone he read the address to Joe.
“That street is not far from Red Rock Canyon. Good luck!”
“Thanks.” He thought of her one vision and its possible connection to Red Rock Canyon. He ran back to Rita.
“I’m driving,” she announced, pointing him toward the passenger seat.
Once in, he ordered her to step on it.
“Are you always in a hurry?” she said, stomping on the accelerator.
All he could think of was the jogger. Had he seen anything that could help in the case?
The walled house with its tile roof stood at the edge of the desert. It wasn’t a figment of her imagination, he thought. However, the numbers she’d seen wasn’t the house address.
It was only lightly sprinkling, but Rita decided to remain in the car mumbling something about her hairdo. He hurried to where Dunning questioned a tall man with a runner’s lean body and a shock of red hair.
“What did you see that made you suspicious?” Dunning asked, glaring at Brian. “The house appears deserted.”
“It usually is. No one’s lived there in a long time. I jog past the house every day.”
“Go on,” Dunning said, his impatience obvious.
Brian could sympathize with him. Interviewing people took patience and time to draw the right information out. Time the man didn’t have right now.
“As I said, the place was uninhabited, but this week I noticed a white van parked in the driveway.”
He remembered the white van spotted exiting Angie’s carport earlier. Was there a connection?
“I thought the house might be rented out. I live down the road so I considered dropping by to introduce myself, be neighborly. However, every time I passed it, the gate was closed and locked.”
“So what did you see today that was different?”
“The gate was open and a guy was loading a blanket covered bundle into the van. I saw strands of blonde hair peeping out from the edge of the blanket. That’s what caught my attention. Why wrap a kid up like that on a hot day?”
“Good point,” Dunning said, continuing to jot things down in his notebook.
“Last night I’d read an article about an abducted little girl and saw a photograph of her. She had blonde hair like the hair I saw peeping from the blanket.”
“The article is what made you report what you saw?” Brian asked, trying to suppress his “I told you so” look when Dunning once more glared at him.
“Yes. The story touched me. I wondered if it could be the same person. That’s when I decided to contact both the Feds and the reporter.
“Thanks for doing that,” Brian said. “I’m glad someone is reading what I write.”
“You’re the writer?”
“What did the guy look like?” Dunning asked effectively cutting Brian off.
“Average. Short cropped brown hair, muscular build. When he stepped out of the house, he surveyed the area as if to make sure no one watched him. He then hurried to the van and put the blanket-wrapped bundle inside before taking another look around.”
“Did you see anyone else in the van?” Brian asked.
“No,” the jogger replied.
Shit, he thought. Where was Angie?
“Did he see you?” Dunning asked.
“I’m not sure. When I spotted him coming out of the house, I ducked behind the wall.”
“So, today, you decided not to be neighborly even though the gate was open.”
“Yeah. I already told you I thought things didn’t look right. I didn’t want to get involved, but maybe I should have?”
“No,” Dunning said. “The man might be armed. You did the right thing calling us.”
“As soon as he put the youngster in the van, he tore out of the driveway in a cloud of dust, not bothering to stop and close the gate behind him. I thought that strange since he’d kept the gate shut and locked all week.”
“Did you get the van’s license number?”
“He flew out of here so fast I only got a partial number—343. It was a California plate.”
If only Dunning had listened to Angie, he thought. Her house description was right on as were the numbers the jogger provided.
****
Angie opened her eyes to hot, suffocating darkness. Where was she? She attempted to move but couldn’t. Her hands and feet were bound. She tried to concentrate, but the mere effort sent a wave of nausea through her drugged body.
The air smelled dank. Somewhere in the darkness she thought she heard a whimper. She listened intently but heard nothing more. Was she imagining it? A child’s cries had haunted her since the day she’d given her own baby away. Before losing consciousness again, she heard muffled sounds in the distance. At the edge of darkness, a feeling of betrayal emerged. Why did he do this to her?
Chapter Nineteen
Friday night
Glancing in his side mirror, he smiled. The lights of Las Vegas faded into the distance. He hated the town. Always had. However, it was the perfect place to carry out his revenge. People in Vegas loved a good show and soon they’d get what they desired and so would he.
He’d been right about the heavy rain showers being a perfect cover for his operation. However, when he’d arrived at his destination, he’d been forced to wait to carry out his plan. A damn security guard hovered around the building entrance for some time bullshitting on his cell phone.
When the man finally left, the forecasted rain cooperated. It came down in a deluge just as he wheeled his cargo into the building in two separate wheelbarrow loads. The few remaining workers were too busy dodging raindrops to question him. To them, he looked like every other worker on the site.
He knew that much of the work had already been completed. The gelatin-based dynamite was placed in strategic locations throughout the defunct hotel. In a short while, the detonation sequence would start causing the building to collapse in on itself leaving a debris pile of masonry at least 30 feet high. Angie and Polly would be buried beneath it finally making his long-awaited revenge a reality.
He’d wanted to stay, watch the crowd gather, and see all he’d done through to completion, but he couldn’t risk it. The fact that he’d been spotted when he’d left the house gnawed at him. It wasn’t until he’d placed his cargo inside the van that he’d noticed the kid’s blonde hair protruding from the blanket.
What if the jogger saw it? Would he suspect something and call the authorities? That damn reporter’s articles were smeared across the newspaper’s pages all week. Every one of the stories featured a photo of the blonde-haired child.