Crimson Lake Road (Desert Plains)

by Victor Methos

  “Who the hell knows? Been a long time, and that’s a part of my life I wanna forget.”

  Gail Rhodes’s home was a light-blue house with red shutters and brown shingles on the roof, making the entire structure look like a patchwork thrown together randomly. The chain-link fence was rusted, and the gate hung by only one hinge.

  A light rain had started. The speed with which desert storms came and went was something Yardley thought she could never get used to. They would sweep in, occasionally cause deaths with flooding or mudslides, and then disappear just as quickly.

  Nature sometimes likes to show us who’s in charge.

  Eddie Cal had once said that to her.

  She knocked, and it took a long time for someone to answer. The woman wore a muumuu with a flower-print pattern and had an oxygen tank on wheels behind her. Transparent tubes led from the tank to two inserts in her nostrils. Her eyes were deeply bloodshot.

  “Gail?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Jessica Yardley. I’m an attorney for the District Attorney’s Office. I’m, um, well, this is going to sound a bit strange, but I’m looking for information about Sue Ellen Jones and her disappearance. Do you remember her and her brother, Bobby?”

  Gail watched her a second and then said, “Come inside.”

  The home was cluttered to the point that Yardley had to step over stacks of old magazines and overflowing cardboard boxes; plates had been piled high on the floor rather than taken to the kitchen. The home smelled of muscle balm and cigarette smoke.

  Gail muted the television, which was turned to some old variety show, and slowly sat down on the couch. Yardley could see the multiple elongated scars on both knees from surgery. She sat at the other end of the couch.

  “Why you looking into that now?”

  “I’m trying to find Bobby.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m looking for someone who’s been committing crimes up north in a place called Crimson Lake Road. I think Bobby might have information about it.”

  “You talked to Tucker?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Hmm,” she said, giving a dismissive shake of her head. “Never liked that man. He had a cold feeling to him. Just seemed off.”

  “You knew him well?”

  “Not well, but I knew him. He lived but across the street.”

  “Across the street?”

  “Uh-huh. And the Joneses lived on the corner down there. We all knew each other.”

  “I was told by Chief Wilson that they thought Sue Ellen was taken while waiting for the school bus. It was on this street?”

  “Yeah, but the stop’s long gone. School’s gone, too.”

  “Did you know Bobby and Sue Ellen well?”

  She nodded. “I was their babysitter during the day. Good kids. Especially her. Bobby was a bully, but weren’t his fault. Their daddy was a real bad drunk and Bobby got the worst of it.”

  Yardley placed her arm on the back of the couch. “Gail, I’d really like to speak with Bobby. Do you have any idea how I could find him? Child Services lists the last foster couple he stayed with as deceased, so there’s no one else I can talk to.”

  “What’s going on exactly?”

  “There’s a young girl missing, Tucker’s daughter. She’s fourteen. Sue Ellen’s age when she disappeared. Tucker’s wife was killed in April. Some other people were hurt who have some sort of connection to Tucker that’s unknown. I need to speak with Bobby about it.”

  Gail took a deep breath. It was a raspy inhalation, like there was fluid in her lungs. “I wish I could help. But Bobby went into the care of the state, and I don’t know what happened after that.” She inhaled a few more times. “Last time I even thought ’bout ’em was years and years ago when a reporter came by asking ’bout ’em.”

  Yardley’s stomach dropped as if she were on a roller coaster. She pulled up a photo of Jude Chance on her phone. “Was this the reporter?”

  Gail lifted some eyeglasses off the coffee table and looked at the photo. “Maybe. My memory ain’t what it used to be.”

  Yardley felt the sting of frustration. She was so close but just kept missing. “Well, I won’t waste any more of your time, then. I appreciate you talking to me.”

  “Of course.”

  Yardley rose and helped Gail off the couch; she insisted on walking Yardley out. At the door, Yardley said, “Do you happen to have a photograph of Bobby? The chief didn’t have one.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got one of them both at Halloween. Hang on and I’ll get it.”

  She disappeared for a moment. Behind Yardley the rain pattered softly against the pavement.

  “Here it is,” Gail said, returning.

  Yardley took the photograph. Two children in Halloween costumes, arm in arm. A boy and girl. They were smiling widely, but the boy had deep bruises on his neck and arms.

  She had looked at it for only a second before she heard nothing but the pounding of her pulse, and the picture nearly slipped out of her fingers. Her knees felt like they would buckle if she didn’t consciously brace herself.

  “Can I keep this?” she nearly whispered.

  “I suppose so.”

  Yardley ran through the rain to her car, her phone glued to her ear as she called Baldwin.

  She was opening the door when an immense pain popped on the back of her skull, and then something wrapped around her mouth and nose so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

  Yardley fought, trying to reach into her purse for her Mace with one hand while clawing over her head to reach her attacker’s eyes or face with the other.

  Her attacker brutally slammed her into the car, and her purse dropped to the ground.

  The chemicals burned her nostrils and throat, and then the world went dark.

  70

  Baldwin arrived in Fruit Heights a little before one in the afternoon. He parked at a convenience store and waited in his car for the appointed time he and Yardley were supposed to meet. He rubbed his eyes and suddenly felt fatigue in his muscles he hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t slept much last night. He’d woken up at two and then sat on his porch and drunk coffee until the sun came up, something he hadn’t done in years.

  He called the police station in Fruit Heights, and a receptionist answered and told him Chief Wilson was out on a call. Baldwin left his name and number and said he’d like a return call. Then he leaned his seat back and closed his eyes and fell asleep to the patter of rain against his windshield.

  The vibration of his phone woke Baldwin. It startled him at first, and when he looked around, he didn’t recognize where he was. Then, when everything came back to him, he answered and opened his window to get some air.

  “This is Cason.”

  “Agent Baldwin? This is Billy Wilson.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the call back, Chief.”

  “It’s all right. I’m glad you reached out, actually. We got a call from a Gail Rhodes. She said an attorney came and visited her earlier today and asked about Bobby Jones. When she came out a bit ago, no one was in the car and her purse was on the ground. I gave Gail’s address to Ms. Yardley earlier today to visit with. It’s her car and her purse.”

  Baldwin felt his heart in his throat. “What’s the address?”

  The home appeared odd, the coloring not like the surrounding homes. Chief Wilson was talking on the phone when Baldwin parked and got out. It was definitely Yardley’s SUV. He went to open the door and then stopped. The chief had a box of latex gloves on the trunk of his police cruiser, and Baldwin took out a pair and snapped them on. He opened the driver’s side door and began searching.

  When Wilson was done on the phone, he said, “It’s been here at least three hours. Doesn’t look like anything is missing from her purse. The wallet, cash, and two credit cards are there.”

  “Did Gail see anything?”

  “No. She said goodbye at the door and then came out a little later to get her mail. That’s when she saw the car and the pu
rse. She said she showed Ms. Yardley an old photo of Bobby Jones, and she asked if she could keep it and then left in a hurry.”

  Baldwin ran his hands underneath the seats. “We need to get some men out here to canvass the neighborhood and see if anyone saw anything.”

  “It’s only me and my officer.”

  “I’ll call the LVPD and ask for some officers. Can you make a call to the Sheriff’s Office?”

  “Sure thing.” Wilson wiped some rainwater off his face. “She could just be walking around,” he said hopefully. “I gave her a list of addresses of people that knew the Joneses. The addresses aren’t far from each other.”

  Baldwin looked back at him. “And she left her purse on the pavement and walked in the rain?”

  Wilson looked down to the ground. “I’ll, uh, make those calls.”

  Baldwin finished searching the SUV, then stood back and stared at it. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the neighborhood.

  Where the hell are you, Jess?

  71

  Her entire face felt like it was on fire.

  She tried to open her eyes, but the eyelids wouldn’t respond. Then the pain began, slow and throbbing. It started in the back of her skull and emanated in every direction. The headache pounded hard enough to fully wake her, and she finally managed to open her eyes.

  She squinted until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The skin on her face burned from where the chemical-laden rag had pressed against her mouth and nose. She rubbed it with her fingers instinctively before realizing that whatever was on her face would rub off on her fingers.

  She noticed the exposed insulation in the ceiling and the wooden beams that ran from one wall to the other. The vents were bare as well. She was in a basement.

  A sound caught her attention. A muffled word. She briefly thought she might be gagged and that she had tried to speak and heard her own voice, but when she opened her mouth, there was no resistance. She turned her head and saw a man strapped to a metal gurney next to her.

  Tucker Pharr was nude. Thick leather straps bound his arms and thighs to the gurney, and his head had duct tape wrapped around it several times, covering his mouth entirely. His eyes were wide as he stared at her. He tried to say something as he struggled against the restraints.

  “I’m glad you’re up,” a voice said. “I wanted you to see this.”

  Jude Chance stepped out from the corner of the room, where he had been sitting in a chair. He went next to the gurney and placed his hand on it, watching Tucker. He wore a sweat suit and over that a butcher’s apron.

  “Don’t do this,” Yardley said.

  “Oh, it’s done. Everything’s here and ready, ain’t that right, Tuck?”

  Tucker screamed, but the duct tape only allowed out stifled moans. Chance put his hand on Tucker’s shoulder as though comforting him and then stabbed into the muscle with a scalpel. Causing him to scream and fight against the restraints.

  “It’s all right, buddy. I know you’re excited to start, and we’ll get going soon, don’t worry.”

  Yardley sat up. She was on a cot. Her head spun as she went upright, and she had to put her hand on the wall to support herself so she wouldn’t fall over. She had to close her eyes and take a few moments before she could open them again.

  “It won’t help, Jude. Whatever reason you’re doing this for, it won’t make up for it.”

  Chance watched her a second and then grinned. “I still think you and I would’ve been great together. It’d be pretty fun to get to know you, I imagine.” He let out a long breath. “I’m not a monster. Not like your ex-husband.”

  “Is Harmony dead?”

  He gave Tucker a hard stare. “I don’t know, Tuck, what do you think? Maybe I want to make you watch her die? It’ll be quick, though, and she’ll be unconscious. Much more mercy than you gave Sue Ellen and the others, ain’t that right?”

  “Jude, this isn’t the way. Whatever you think he’s done to you, it won’t bring you peace.”

  “Peace? Is that some sort of joke? You think he gave that family peace?” he nearly shouted. He looked down at Tucker. “Bobby Jones watched his sister taken from right in front of him, screaming his name, and then he watched his father drink himself to death, because of this human turd.”

  He slapped Tucker hard across the face, and Tucker fought again.

  “You found him, didn’t you?”

  Chance looked back at her. “Yeah, I did. Thought this story would make a good piece and then a good book, so I tracked Bobby down. I found him in a flophouse in San Francisco. So strung out he could barely remember his name. I spent a few weeks with him, getting to know him, hearing his story, and right when I really thought I could help him, he killed himself. Left a note saying goodbye to me.” Chance shook his head. “You know what this piece of shit did to young girls? Do you want to know what they went through before they died, J?”

  “This isn’t the way. Let me get the FBI down here. He’ll pay.”

  “How? With what? What evidence do you have that he’s hurt anyone?”

  Yardley quickly scanned the room for her purse, which held her Mace, but didn’t see it. Her head pounded again, and vomit rose in her throat. She had to lean forward and put her head in her hands. Her eyes felt so heavy she wasn’t sure she could keep them open. Like she was fighting against sleeping pills.

  “Why would you do this? If you could find Bobby, surely you could find evidence—”

  “Tried. This jerkoff, believe it or not, did a pretty good job cleaning up after himself. My best guess is that he dumped the bodies in Crimson Lake and weighed them down, or maybe fried them in acid first. Nobody’s doing a dive down there, and even if they did, it’s too big to search the entire thing. Maybe we’ll get lucky and bring up a bone or two, but how you gonna connect that to him, hmm? You can’t. If I didn’t do something, he would’ve kept doing it.”

  “It’s not your place to kill because of him.”

  He chuckled. “At some point, J, you gotta make a choice. What he put those families through . . . I kept hearing story after story. Seeing families that could barely hold it together while they stared at pictures of their dead children . . . and I just decided I couldn’t sit on the sidelines anymore. I had to do something.”

  “So you killed his wife? How is that justice? What did she ever do to deserve that?”

  “Plenty. Trust me.”

  “And what did Zachary do to deserve almost going to prison for the rest of his life?”

  Chance checked his watch. “I’m afraid I’m in a little bit of a rush, J, otherwise I promise I’d try to get you to understand. I really think you’d see my side in all this.”

  Chance went across the basement to a wooden door and opened it. He reached in and pulled out a painting on a large canvas. He brought it out and placed it on a stand and then gently adjusted it to make sure Tucker could see it clearly. Then he brought out a toolbox and placed several sharp knives, cleavers, and a bone saw on the ground next to the gurney. When Tucker saw the bone saw, he fought again, and urine dripped off the gurney like raindrops.

  “Ha! He pissed himself.” Chance grabbed Tucker by the hair and bent over him. “Did Sue Ellen piss herself with fear, too?”

  Tucker started to cry.

  Chance put his hands on Tucker’s chest and then rested his chin on the back of his hands. He grinned as he watched the man cry and struggle. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, Tuck? How often I’ve fantasized about this very moment? How many families will be overjoyed when I send them a picture of your corpse and let them know their little girls can finally rest?”

  “Is Harmony alive, Jude?”

  “Maybe,” he said without looking at her.

  “She’s innocent in all this. You need to let her go.”

  “She isn’t innocent,” he said without looking away from Tucker.

  “She is. She’s as much a victim of his as Sue Ellen was. You’re going to do to her what he
did to those girls. How are you better?”

  Chance leapt at her, a knife in his hand. He thrust it in front of her face, and she instinctively jumped back, pushing herself against the wall. The tip of the blade touched the skin of her throat. He pressed it in just a little, enough that she felt a warm trickle of blood.

  “I am nothing like him,” he growled. “Nothing.”

  She swallowed. “You’re scaring me, Jude. Put the knife down.” He didn’t move. “Jude, put the knife down,” she said calmly.

  He lowered the knife and took a few steps away from her. “I had a sister, too. Ivy,” he said, his eyes glazing over as he retreated into a memory. “She disappeared one day walking to school. Just like that. Poof. As if the earth swallowed her alive.” He pointed to Tucker with his knife. “A piece of shit like him ended her life. Where’s the justice in that? My parents are dead. She never got the chance to have kids. After I’m gone, will anyone remember her? Is anyone going to cry for her, J?” He got a look of hard resolve on his face, his jaw muscles flexing as he stared at Tucker. “I can’t do anything for Ivy, but I can for all the girls he’s taken from their parents.”

  “Jude,” she said calmly, “please let Harmony go. She hasn’t done anything to deserve what you’re going to do to her.”

  He smiled as though he hadn’t heard anything she’d said. “I’m glad you’re here to see this. I really am. I thought I would be the only one to get to enjoy this, but having you here really just makes it.” He exhaled loudly while staring at Tucker. “All right, dipshit, we ready to get started or what?”

  Yardley looked at the fourth painting, the most violent of the series. No tunic or bandages on this one. Just a nude figure lying on their back, scars from their removed organs dotting their body like mountains on a topographical map. The figure’s eyes and mouth were sewn shut with thick leather or string. Both hands had been removed and the wounds stitched closed.

  Chance glanced around the basement. “Forgot the garbage bags. Got all excited. BRB, don’t go anywhere.”

  He left the basement through a wide wooden door, and Yardley heard a lock snapping into place. She immediately rose and then almost fell over. She closed her eyes, swallowed—though her throat felt like it had been scrubbed raw with sandpaper—and then pushed herself up using the wall behind her. When she was on her feet, another wave of dizziness hit her, and she put her hand against the wall to steady herself. Tucker was struggling again, staring at her with wide, wet eyes, eyes that were begging her not to leave him.