“Okay,” said Maria, “we sleep for two hours, get up, and get on the road. We’ve got to make sure Rod is getting the help he needs. My gut tells me I need to talk with Rep. Lankin. He and Melissa seem to know each other well. Maybe I can get some information out of him.”
Beth eyes were closed, but she still managed to get out a cohesive thought. “Let’s divide and conquer. I’ll check on Rod tomorrow while you—”
“But—” interrupted Maria.
Beth opened her eyes and held up her hand, a no-nonsense expression on her face. “I know you want to see him. I know you’re worried. But I have no idea how to pump Rep. Lankin for info. I’m a mom and a hairdresser. Trust me, I will take care of Rod the best I can. But we need to hurry and solve this thing before Melissa does more damage. The last thing we want is for her to bury Rod so far under lies and false evidence that we can’t dig him out.”
Beth was right, of course.
Almost like someone had turned off Beth’s power switch, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.
Maria set her phone alarm for 6 a.m. in case she actually fell asleep.
Which, of course, she didn’t. Instead she stayed up doing Google searches on all of Rod’s ASU friends. When she went to see Rep. Lankin the next day, she wanted to be prepared.
Unlike most politicians, Rep Lankin kept early office hours. By the time Maria arrived at the government office building in Phoenix, he was already at work. However, after sitting in the waiting room for thirty minutes with a handful of Lankin’s constituents, with no clue as to how long it would take to actually see the representative, Maria decided she was done wasting time. In an obnoxiously loud voice, she initiated a conversation with the woman sitting on the other end of the plush velveteen couch.
“You know, a few days ago I was hiking in the Superstition Mountains with Representative Lankin. Did you know,” Maria’s voice raised several decibels, “he found the skeleton of a murdered woman from six years ago?”
“Are you serious?” The woman listening had a business haircut, full on top and tapered at the ends. She wore a tailored suit and thick, but well applied, makeup. “I didn’t read about that in the news.”
“The Thorton case?” questioned Maria.
“Oh, yes, I did see that on the internet. I’m surprised Representative Lankin is involved with that.”
“Yes, surprising to say the least.” Maria continued in an exaggerated tone. “He was in the mountains hiking with some of his former law students when he found the remains of the woman. So sad. Her head must have been cut off because the skull was ….”
“Miss Branson,” said the grandmotherly-looking secretary behind the desk at the front of the room, a forced smile on her face. “Representative Lankin can see you now.”
“Excellent.” Maria stood up and shook the hand of her unaware co-conspirator. In a normal voice Maria said, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
In the hallway to Rep. Lankin’s office hung several impressive Arizona wilderness prints, all signed by the same Christopher Mayfield, a name she recalled from her early morning online research.
“Christopher Mayfield.” Maria scooted over to get a closer look at the artwork. “That was Representative Lankin’s step-son? The one who died?”
A curt nod from the secretary. “Yes. He was quite a good artist.” The tight-lipped assistant opened an office door.
Inside, Rep. Lankin stood up to greet Maria. “Good morning.” Moving from behind the desk to shake her hand, he said, “Maria, it’s wonderful to see you. I don’t recall seeing your name on my appointment list.” As he spoke, he expertly led Maria to the cushioned chair on the opposite side of his desk.
“I didn’t have an appointment. Your secretary sneaked me into your schedule.”
“Fabulous. Glad she did. What a nice surprise.” Rep. Lankin had returned to his seat and with elbows propped on the beautiful antique wood desk, he leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking so much about Rod. Unbelievable, really. I loved him like a son.”
Instinctively, Maria’s non-verbal defense mechanisms kicked into gear, even after she told herself to say in control. “So, you think he did it?”
“What else is there to believe?”
The cell phone in Maria’s pocket buzzed. She slipped it out onto her lap, glancing down at the text. It was from Beth:
Rod is completely crazy. His brother Grant is here. I’m posing as his girlfriend so I can get visiting access.
If Maria hadn’t already been feeling massive stress, Beth’s message tipped her over the edge. But she was here to do a job.
Focus.
Maria leaned forward in her own chair, matching Rep. Lankin’s forceful body language. “Are you telling me that a smart man like you believes Rod killed his wife and got away with it for six years, only to come back for a reunion and agree to go hiking in the Superstitions right where he’d left her decaying corpse?”
“Well,” Rep. Lankin shifted in his chair, “maybe he was feeling guilty. Rod’s always had a strong sense of right and wrong. Maybe he came back to Phoenix and agreed to go on the hike because subconsciously he wanted to get caught. I mean, the evidence doesn’t lie.”
“Planted evidence lies all the time. And so do people. I think all of Rod’s so called friends are hiding things, including you.” All the skills she’d learned in her Criminal Interview and Interrogation Techniques class at Georgetown were emerging. It was one of the few college classes a person could actually use the rest of her life. Imagine having teenagers. Calculus or humanities would be of no help there. But interrogations? Now that would be useful.
Rep. Lankin recoiled in feigned offense from Maria’s accusation. “What exactly do you think I’m lying about? I didn’t even know Rod’s wife. I have nothing to do with any of this, except I was unfortunate enough to be present when the skeleton was found. Stories like that don’t sit well with people, but so far I’ve kept it out of the news.”
“That’s a relief.” Maria’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on the politician. “Rod wasn’t quite so lucky.”
“Point noted.” Rep. Lankin took his elbows off the desk, rested them on the arms of his chair, and steepled his fingers under his chin. He looked the part of some conniving mastermind about to foil the hero’s plan to save the universe.
The phone in Maria’s lap vibrated and another text flashed across the screen:
They’re taking Rod to a high-security mental health facility. They’re saying it looks like a schizophrenic episode. I’m going with. I won’t leave him alone, promise.
Maria needed information, and she needed it now. “I’m happy to remedy the fact the press doesn’t know about your presence on the mountain the day we found Dakota’s skeleton. I’ll call them right now if needed.” She picked up her phone with Beth’s last text message still on the screen. The word “schizophrenic” popped out at her, and her heart raced.
“Wait.” Rep. Lankin deflated the tiniest bit. “I admit it. I think too much about my political career. That was callous and uncalled for. I really do like Rod. Always have. But honestly, I was in a bit of shock the day we found the skeleton. It brought back some memories I don’t like to think about.”
“Such as?” Now the conversation was going somewhere.
Rep. Lankin steadied himself. “I lost a son to the Superstition Mountains. The experience of finding Dakota’s remains brought back memories of the entire ordeal. I felt helpless. I didn’t see how my presence there would do anyone any good, including Rod. So I left and have tried not to get involved.”
“Do Rod’s friends know your son died in the Superstitions?”
Rep. Lankin’s façade faded. “Only Melissa does. She’s done some investigation into the situation for me.”
“Is that what you two were talking about the day she sent Tom into the Superstitions to follow me and Beth?”
“No. Well, sort of. I was asking her if she thought this new situation would dredge up the incident with my son. He was my step-son r
eally. Most don’t know about his death.” He fingered the corners of a stack of papers. “He was a good young man. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”
“What happened to him?” Maria had settled back into her chair, opened up her arms, and softened her expression. Everything about her said, You can trust me.
“He got obsessed with the treasure. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He got in with the wrong kind of people—drugs. I think he was on a massive high when he decided to go into the Superstitions alone. He had no provisions. No water. You’ve heard this kind of story before. He died stranded out there …” His voice drifted. We found his body picked apart by animals a few weeks after he went missing.
Maria waited to speak, letting the representative know she heard every word and was contemplating them. Above all, she couldn’t seem dismissive.
Rep. Lankin leaned back in his chair. “It’s a skeleton in my closet I don’t want the press to bring up in my political career. Is that too much to ask?”
Now was the time to attack. “Is that why you financially support the Keepers?” asked Maria. “Did they help you find your son’s body?”
Rep. Lankin’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know about the Keepers.”
“Derrick.”
“What did he tell you about them?”
“I actually met them. At least, the Materfamilias Sierra. She was very … interesting.”
“Yes, she is most definitely interesting. I met her right after Chris disappeared. She hasn’t gotten a day older since then.”
“Or younger,” Maria added with a smile. It was time for her to bring on the charm and win the man over to her side.
Despite the somber feeling in the room, Rep. Lankin chuckled. “No, she’s definitely not getting any younger.” He paused then spoke again, this time in a more subdued voice. “The woman offered to help me. We traded services. She funneled me information—she was much more in the know than any of the police were. Her crew of treasure hunters were the ones who found Chris’s body. In return, I stick my neck out for her in the political arena. Even though I wasn’t exactly in politics back then, I could still pull a few strings.”
“And you continue to pull strings for her?”
Rep. Lankin’s held Maria’s gaze. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Then you might be interested in this.” Maria took the photograph she’d stolen from the Keepers’ lodge and slid it across the desk to Rep. Lankin. At that moment another text came through from Beth:
We’re at the Phoenix State Mental Health Treatment facility. Come when you can.
Rep. Lankin picked up the photograph Maria handed him and put on his reading glasses. He peered closely at the images, studying both the front and back of it. At last he asked, “I assume this is Rod’s Dakota?”
“Yes.”
“And who is the woman in the photograph with her?”
“No idea. That picture was taken on the day Dakota was supposedly killed in the Superstitions six years ago.”
Rep. Lankin looked up and stared at Maria. “Where did you get this photograph?”
Maria purposely stalled her answer, letting him mull it over in his mind.
“The lodge?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
She broke the silence she’d created. “Yes, the lodge. Now, when I said I think Rod’s friends are hiding things, this is what I’m referring to. Derrick must know about this photograph. He’s so close to the organization. Why, in six years, did he never come forward with this information?”
Rep. Lankin shook his head.
“And, looking at it from my point of view, can you see how I find it suspicious that both your son and Rod’s wife died in the Superstitions. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
At that, Rep. Lankin bristled. “A lot of people die in those mountains. My son’s death had nothing to do with this case.”
“Perhaps,” Maria conceded, “but it would have been much more forthcoming of you to let someone know about it. From my perspective it looked like you were hiding something.”
Rep. Lankin lowered his defensive stance. “I can understand that. But truly, I was only thinking of my wife. Ex-wife now. She’s … well, she’s never been quite the same since our son’s death.”
“I understand.” Maria waited a minute before bringing up the next issue. “I also don’t trust Melissa. She might be Dakota’s companion in the photo. I think she’s hiding something as well.”
“I can’t imagine—” began the representative, his face turning pink. He leaned back in his swivel chair and inspected the ceiling, taking deep breaths. “I don’t know of anything suspicious with Melissa, but obviously I don’t know everything. I will, however, tell you that the woman in that photo could be number of people.”
“True. But my gut tells me we’ve all been gathered together for a reason. Someone wanted Rod here now, with his old friends. In my criminal justice classes I learned a few things about people. They kill for rather limited reasons—drugs, love, revenge, money—that sort of stuff. From what I understand, Rod was wealthy. Would any of Rod’s friends have killed Dakota to somehow get at his money?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Rep. Lankin exhaled slowly. “I truly don’t know. But I’m willing to do what it takes to find out. How about I get everyone together at my house tonight. No excuses.”
“What will we do there?” Maria glanced back down at her phone. No new texts.
“An intervention.”
Maria thought he was kidding. “An intervention? Oh, come on.”
The representative’s face remained serious “Yes, an intervention.”
Inwardly, Maria groaned. “Listen, I’m not looking for the next Dr. Phil episode; I want answers. I want to know which of Rod’s friends are doing this to him.”
Rep. Lankin held up his hand. “Hear me out. I’m going to have Brian bring every piece of paper Rod ever signed with his trust and will. He’s Rod’s probate lawyer. I’ll tell Derrick to bring everything the Keepers have on Dakota’s disappearance. I’ll tell Tom and Melissa to bring everything they have from when Rod was investigated six years ago. Tom is Melissa’s—”
“—private investigator. I know,” Maria finished the representative’s sentence for him.
“If you believe one of them did it, then let’s either prove you wrong or prove you right.”
The fact he’d left himself out of the potential suspects wasn’t lost on Maria.
“Guilty or not, let’s see what they bring to the table tonight.” With hardly a pause he continued, “These people may be your best resources. If we find glaring errors or holes in their stories, then we know someone is hiding something.”
Maria didn’t know what to think of Rep. Lankin’s plan, but at least it was something, and it meant she didn’t t have to track down all of them herself, which she’d planned on doing. “Okay. I’m game. What time?”
“Seven. Maria, from here on out I have an open door policy with you. We’re going to figure this out together.”
Maria stood up. The man had been much easier to work with than she’d expected. Maybe that meant something, like he was trying to throw her off his scent. “Thank you, Rep. Lank—”
“Call me Ted.”
“Well, thank you, Ted.” As she strode toward the door, she turned around one more time. Her interrogation skills put away. Her own façade fading for the moment. “Ted?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about your son, Chris. I really am.”
In a wispy voice, one that spoke of lost memories and should-haves, Rep. Lankin responded. “Thank you. I can tell we’ve both suffered loss.”
Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Maria nodded and left, glancing down one last time at her cell phone. She needed to see Rod right away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jacob Walz’s partner was pinned to the ground by an arrow through his chest—a clear sign that the atrocity had been committed a very short time ago. Walz instantly swung his h
orse around and galloped away as fast as he could. But poor old Weiser was not yet dead. He regained consciousness and somehow managed [to get] out of the mountains. He was picked up by the Pimas who took him to a ranch. The rancher’s wife did her best to treat his badly infected wound, but it was too late. Weiser died within a few days. Jacob Walz now became a total loner.
“MYSTERIES & MIRACLES OF ARIZONA” BY JACK KUTZ. RHOMBUS PUBLISHING COMPANY, 1992, PAGE 27.
It took Maria several hours to get clearance to enter the high security mental health facility where Rod had been taken. In the end, she pulled some strings with an old friend at the CIA to get approval. No wonder Beth had lied and told them she was Grant’s significant other.
As she was escorted through the hospital, the sterile, undecorated walls of the facility dredged up every awful memory from Tehran she’d tried so hard to forget.
The human brain was really a brilliantly annoying piece of machinery. At least twice a week Maria forgot where she put her keys, but she could remember entire conversations—word for word—that happened to her in Tehran. She could even recall what it had smelled like and the temperature in the room.
When she was in places like the hospital—which appeared to belong in an apocalyptic zombie movie—her memory worked all too well.
The halls echoed. Not with voices—there was no one speaking—but with the sound of shoe heels connecting with the hard, tiled floor. The noise bounced off of every surface. Somber faces passed her. Did all the employees hate their jobs, or was she projecting her own feelings onto everyone else?
If she were truly being honest with herself, Maria had to admit the psychiatric hospital was better than she’d envisioned it. There were no large cracks running in the wall with trails of ants walking into their depths. There were no creaking rocking chairs on dilapidated porches. No old ladies with Afghans over their laps mumbling to themselves and drooling.
What Maria really hated about the place was the feeling she couldn’t shake that she belonged within its walls.
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