Crimson Lake Road (Desert Plains)

by Victor Methos

  Yardley glanced at the gash on her forehead. It glistened with some sort of skin cream. She didn’t seem as confident as last time they’d met, as full of energy. The trauma was likely beginning to take hold.

  “Angela—”

  “Angie. My friends call me Angie.”

  “Angie, I know an excellent trauma therapist. I refer many victims from my office, and she’s been able to help them.”

  “I don’t want to think of myself that way. As a victim. Besides, I got yoga and meditation. I’m not sure headshrinking is going to do much more than I can do on my own.” She sighed and picked up a yoga mat someone had left behind. “So you want a drink? I have kombucha. Really strong with a nice alcohol kick.”

  “I’m okay, thank you. I should get back to my daughter. I really did just want to check up on you.” Yardley glanced at a large framed photograph of a guru in a robe, an Asian man with a warm smile and a yellow sash over his shoulder. “Did the Sheriff’s Office give you a protective detail? You should have a deputy with you for a little while.”

  “No, no one said anything.”

  Yardley nodded. “I’ll give them a call and get someone with you.”

  River’s eyes widened, and Yardley knew she had misspoken. “You think . . . you think he’s going to come after me again?”

  “It’s just a precaution. Everyone in your situation, when they’ve survived an attack and the perpetrator hasn’t been apprehended, gets a protective detail for a time.”

  River folded her arms. “Um, Zachary’s on shift all night. I kinda . . . I don’t feel like being alone right now. Do you wanna maybe go out and get a real drink? Please?”

  The please was so sincere that there was no way Yardley could say no.

  The Black Door, a wine bar, wasn’t far from the yoga studio. River gave the owner a hug and spoke softly in her ear. She sat them at a table by the windows.

  “She was a student of mine,” River said when they were seated. “She lost her husband to a drunk driver, so she’s been through some shit herself.” She dipped some bread into a small bowl of olive oil on the table.

  The owner brought over two glasses of red wine and some cheese with grapes. The wine was smooth with an oak taste, something expensive and rare.

  “So are you married?” River asked.

  “No.”

  “Divorced?”

  Yardley nodded. “Seventeen years now.”

  “That’s a long time. Any plans on getting remarried?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I’ve never been. Zachary’s actually my second serious relationship. Second guy I’ve moved in with, too. Honestly, sometimes it just feels like nothing but work.” She paused and took a drink. “I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on me. I should just leave him, but I don’t want to be alone. How weak is that?”

  “I don’t think it’s weak at all.”

  River fought back tears; her eyes glistened as she glanced away. “I’m sorry, I’m just dumping all this on a stranger.”

  “It’s fine, Angie. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to hear it.”

  She shook her head. “Staying with someone like that because you’re afraid to be alone . . . I don’t know what else to call it but weakness. I just feel so damn stupid.” She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “I’m so embarrassed. You should just go. You don’t need to be around a mess like me.”

  “Angie, it’s—”

  “No, please just go. I’m a disaster.”

  Yardley hesitated a moment. “I was married to a serial killer.”

  River looked at her in silence, the tears still on her cheeks, and then she laughed. Yardley said nothing. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but somehow they had. It was an odd sensation to say it out loud. She never talked about it with anyone.

  River stopped laughing and watched her. The smile slowly fading from her face.

  “You’re serious?”

  Yardley nodded, taking another sip of wine. “If you want to compare whose life is more of a disaster, I think I take the cake.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Eddie Cal. He’s sitting on death row right now.”

  “Wow. I give up, you got me beat.”

  “Oh, if you think that, then I should tell you who I let move in with me after Eddie. I might win first and second place in a ‘whose life is more of a disaster’ contest.” Yardley watched the way the light reflected off her wineglass. “I’ve never been good at picking men.”

  “Join the club. Before Zachary, I was dating a Hells Angel.”

  “What was that like?”

  River shrugged. “Really fun at first. I probably shouldn’t say this to a prosecutor, but he took me to a big drug deal once with some Mexican gang. Like a cartel or something. It was like in the movies. Ten guys with guns standing around in the middle of the desert checking suitcases.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I have to admit, I’ve never been so scared and so excited at the same time.” She glanced around and whispered, “I had sex with him on his bike right there when everyone had left.”

  She chuckled, and Yardley smiled. “On the bike?”

  “Yeah. I fell off and thought I’d ruined the mood, but he jumped right on top of me. He was like an animal that way.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Went to prison, of course,” she said with a sigh. “How else could that story have ended?” She held up her wineglass in a toast. “To dating shitty men. Fun while it lasts.”

  Yardley grinned as they tapped glasses, and River signaled to the owner for more wine.

  10

  “Missing Persons at the Sheriff’s Office got a call from Kathy Pharr’s husband. You’re not going to believe this.”

  Baldwin spoke quickly, and Yardley grabbed a pen and pad from the edge of her desk. She could hear traffic in the background like he was on the freeway.

  “He hasn’t seen his fourteen-year-old daughter in a day. Harmony Pharr. She’s not answering her cell. She’s never run away and this is definitely not normal for her.”

  Yardley’s heart beat faster. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Don’t think that’s a good idea, Jess. Not right now. What if this guy killed his wife and now his daughter, too? If he thinks I don’t believe his story, things may go sideways.”

  “That’s unlikely given there’s a second victim, and—”

  “Absolutely not. I’m not flexible on this.”

  She sighed. “It’s likely she’s shaken from her mother’s death and is acting out and ran away.”

  “Could be. But better safe than sorry.”

  “Either way, call me as soon as you’re done talking to him.”

  Yardley hung up and had started to open the Pharr file to see what there was about Kathy’s family—to see if her daughter had a history of running away—when her cell phone vibrated. It was River—Yardley had given out her cell number in case she needed anything. Something she did for victims in every case she prosecuted.

  “This is Jessica.”

  “Hey, it’s Angie. Sorry to call your cell. I’m not bugging you at work, am I?”

  “Not at all. What’s going on?”

  “I just remembered something . . . about that day. It was in a dream last night, but when I woke up, I knew it wasn’t a dream.”

  “I’ll get Agent Baldwin to—”

  “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s been perfectly polite, not to mention he’s hot, but I don’t feel comfortable with . . . I mean, I just feel more comfortable with a woman. The men treat me like I’m crazy or something. Too emotional. Which is really just a way for them to ignore what women have to say.”

  “I understand.” Yardley glanced around her office. She’d been packing up her files, preparing to archive some and hand others over to Jax. There was little room to sit, and it would be better to talk in person. “Can you meet me down on the Strip?”

  Midday, the Str
ip wasn’t as packed with tourists, but the streets reflected the intense heat that was barreling down, making Yardley feel like she was being baked in an oven.

  “You look nice,” River said as they waited to cross an intersection. “Wish I had an excuse to wear a suit.”

  “I would much prefer leggings and a tank top like you, trust me.”

  “Yeah, but I bet people just take you more seriously dressed like that. I get obscene comments all the time dressed like this.”

  Yardley smirked and said, “I get them, too. I don’t think the way we dress matters to men like that.”

  They crossed the street, and a man standing in front of a casino tried to convince them to come inside for free booze. They politely declined, and he followed them for a few steps before turning to someone else.

  “I love the sunshine here,” River said. “My parents moved us to a little town in Alaska when I was five. Winter lasted ten months there, so anywhere with sunshine and sand is like heaven to me.”

  “When did you move down here?”

  “Seventeen. I ran away and never looked back. Hitchhiked through Canada and ended up in San Francisco living in this tiny apartment with a poet. I worked two jobs as a waitress to pay our bills, and he sat around and wrote really, really shitty poetry.”

  She chuckled, and it made Yardley smile. Then River said, “I looked up your ex. He was an artist, right?”

  Yardley had to swallow because her mouth suddenly felt dry. She stared down at the pavement.

  “Sorry,” River said. “Me and my big mouth.”

  “No, you’re okay. I’m just not used to talking about him. He was an artist, like your poet, but he was quite successful.” She watched a young couple hurry by holding hands, the smell of alcohol emanating from them. “I was a photographer when I met him, and he always encouraged me. Told me not to work elsewhere because art needed to consume you to be any good. That you have to sacrifice yourself to it if you want it to be something unique.”

  “Wow. He sounds deep.”

  Yardley nodded as they stopped at an intersection near Caesars Palace, the cool mist from the fountains drifting over them. “He had an insight into life I haven’t come across again. He understood people and their motivations in a way that the best psychiatrists I’ve met would be jealous of. That’s why he’s so terrifying. He knows exactly what we are, he could’ve been anything he wanted to because of it, and he still chose to be who he is. No horrific childhood, no abuse, no mental illness. He willingly chose to become a monster.”

  “You really believe that? That he chose it? You don’t think we’re just born the way we are? I mean, maybe the universe just makes us who it wants us to be?”

  Yardley shook her head. “He killed because he enjoyed it, not because his hand was forced by the universe.” She looked at a statue of Augustus and said, “I think I’d like to talk about something else if that’s all right.”

  “Sweetie, I didn’t mean to pry. Really. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. It just . . . some days are worse than others to speak about it.”

  She stopped and quietly groaned as she rubbed her head. “Do you mind if we sit somewhere? I get these headaches that come and go.”

  They sat at a bench near a food court and didn’t speak for a while. Finally River said, “Well, different subject—you said you have kids?”

  “A daughter. She’s seventeen.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s in the doctoral program at UNLV. She’s what they term a savant. A very high-functioning savant.” Yardley grinned. “I think she sees it as her job to take care of me.”

  River was quiet awhile, her eyes down to the pavement. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have kids.” She glanced at a group of young men driving by in a Cadillac, hollering at pedestrians. “Do you wanna know what the dream was?”

  “If you’re ready to talk about it.”

  She nodded. “It was terrifying. When I woke up, my shirt was sticking to me. Just completely drenched with sweat. I’ve never had that happen before.”

  “What was the dream?”

  “When I was coming out of the mall to the parking lot, I mean, it was, like, ten at night, right? So it was really dark, but I’d parked near one of the light posts in the lot. So I walked up to the car, got to the door, and unlocked it with my key fob, and then I felt, like, this crazy pain on the back of my head, and everything just kinda spun outta control. And then I woke up on a table with bandages around my face. But I’ve been thinking about that second right before I felt that pain, and I saw it in my dream really clearly.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I looked at my window when I was about to get into my car . . . and I saw a reflection behind me.”

  Yardley’s stomach lurched, but she remained passive and calm on the outside. “Did you see a face?”

  She shook her head. “No. It was too fast. Just a flash of a face. When I woke up, I thought it was just a nightmare and I’d dreamed it all, but it’s too real. I know it was him.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “I don’t know. I think something black, but I could only see from, like, the chest up.”

  “Did you catch a glimpse of his hair color? Or his race?”

  “No. I saw his arm move, that was it. I didn’t see anything that would help me describe him.” She thought a moment. “There were other people in the parking lot. He came up to me without even looking at them. He chose me specifically.”

  Her hands started trembling.

  “Shit,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “It’s all right, Angie.”

  She shook her head. “I teach my students about peace and harmony and using the universe’s energy to heal yourself, and I can’t even talk about this without shaking.”

  “It’s not up to you. Our brains react how they react. Your brain is still processing the trauma, and whatever you’re going through is perfectly normal.”

  “Sure doesn’t feel normal.” She exhaled loudly. “What if he was watching me before that? That means he knows who I am, probably knows where I live and work. He’s going to come after me again, isn’t he?”

  Yardley was silent a moment. “I don’t know. But I spoke with the Sheriff’s Office and a protective detail is being assigned to you today. They were shorthanded and couldn’t get someone until now. So you’ll have a deputy with you twenty-four hours a day.”

  “But what do you think? Is he going to try to come after me again?”

  Yardley licked her lower lip, which felt dry. “In many cases like this that I’ve worked . . . no. The unsub, unknown subject, hasn’t come back. It’s too much of a risk. But there is a type of offender that’s . . . I guess you could say detached from reality. They sometimes don’t know what they’re doing, don’t even realize they’re doing it. Those types of offenders do occasionally come back for”—Yardley was going to say victims but changed her mind—“for witnesses who survived their attacks.”

  “Is this man that type of person?”

  “I don’t know. He seems methodical to me one minute and completely disorganized and out of control the next. I just don’t know, Angie.”

  She nodded. “What are you going to do if you find him?”

  “I’m only peripherally involved in the investigation. My main job is to make sure it goes smoothly so that he can be prosecuted when we find him. I guess you could say my job doesn’t even really start until the arrest.”

  River smiled. “There’s no way your job starts with the arrest. It started the second you cared about what happened to me.” She looked out into traffic. “What do I do if he comes back for me? How do I protect myself from someone like this?”

  Yardley could have said to get a gun and a dog, an alarm system, or that she would have the protective detail for a while and it would be fine—but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that if someone really wanted to hurt someone else and didn’t care about the con
sequences, there was little that could be done to stop them.

  “You can’t,” Yardley said. “The only way to stop him is to catch him or kill him.”

  11

  Baldwin parked in front of the Pharrs’ mobile home. Each house in the park was stacked tightly against the next to cram in as many as possible.

  He got out of the car. Several potted plants lined either side of the front door, one of them with cigarette butts sticking out of the soil. He knocked and waited a beat before knocking again.

  A man in a sleeveless shirt answered. His face was weathered. Prison tattoos dominated his forearms and biceps.

  “You back already?”

  “Just some follow-up questions, Mr. Pharr. You got time?”

  “You here about Harmony?”

  “Yes.”

  “You find her?”

  “I haven’t. I only just checked with Detective Reece at the Las Vegas police and read the missing persons report you filed. I was hoping to get some of your time to go over a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the first thing we have to do is make sure that she’s actually missing. That this isn’t something else.”

  “Something else? You know my wife was just killed, don’t ya?”

  “Yes, and as you know, I’m working closely with Detective Garrett, who’s the lead investigator into your wife’s death. I just wonder if it’s possible Harmony could be with a friend or at a relative’s house?”

  “No, no way. She always answers her texts. Always. Especially if I tell her it’s an emergency and text me back right now.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Two days ago. She said she was going to Oscar’s to get some clothes and she didn’t come back. I been calling her phone for two days. I called Garrett and told him ain’t no way she would just run off somewhere. He thought ’cause’a where we live she must be runnin’ with a rough crowd and gettin’ high, and I said Harmony’s fourteen and she ain’t never touched drugs. Coming from where we come, that’s something big. She hasn’t ever even smoked a joint.”