What We Found

by Kris Bock

  “Not to actually find the car,” Mom said. “To find places where it might be—back roads and so on.”

  I looked at Ricky. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Mom sniffed. “What did you expect?”

  Ricky got on the computer and brought up a map of our town and the surrounding area while Mom and I leaned over his shoulders. “Of course, her car could be in Mexico by now,” Mom said. “But we can’t do anything about that, so we might as well start with what’s possible for us.”

  “If I really wanted to hide a car, I’d drive way back into the mountains,” Ricky said. “I bet you could lose a car for years.”

  “How would you get home?” Mom asked. “You’d have to have somebody pick you up in another car, and if the murderer was working alone, he wouldn’t want that. Even hitchhiking would be dangerous, because someone might remember you.”

  “Right,” I said. I sometimes forgot how clever Mom was when she focused on solving problems rather than complaining about them. “More likely he’d drive the car someplace where he could walk back home.” All of our known suspects lived in or near town, so that narrowed down the area. We didn’t have local bus service, so that wasn’t an option. Still, the question remained—was the murderer working alone?

  I studied the map of the roads in and around town. “There are an awful lot of back roads and remote corners around here,” I said. “It will take forever to check them out.” I didn’t like the idea of driving out into those lonely places alone, or with Ricky and Mom. The murderer must have better things to do than keep an eye on a hidden car, but what if someone really were following me?

  “It’s definitely a needle in a haystack.” Mom took over the mouse and started sliding the map around. “Eight thousand people in town. You have to figure several thousand cars, plus tourists passing through. That’s a big haystack.”

  There had to be a couple dozen white Toyota Corollas, not to mention all the other similar white cars. I had a hard enough time picking my own small blue car out in a crowded parking lot, especially when parked between two larger cars.

  I straightened. “Wait a minute.” Maybe that was it!

  Mom and Ricky turned to look at me. I glanced at the computer screen again, at the streets and buildings and parking lots that looked vaguely familiar but so different from above. “If you wanted to hide a car, why not hide it among a bunch of other cars? Say, in a large parking lot?”

  Ricky’s eyes widened. “Like hiding the real jewels in a bunch of cheap fakes!”

  Mom nodded slowly. “Where then? A shopping center? There aren’t many places open overnight, though. A car would stand out if it was the last one left, and it was parked in the same place for a month.”

  I bent over the desk and shifted the map around some more. There had to be someplace in town. “There.”

  “The college?” Ricky said.

  “Yep.” I straightened. “Lots of cars, and with student housing, people are there twenty-four hours a day. Plus, I bet lots of students leave their cars in one spot for weeks and only drive if they’re going shopping or skiing or something. That’s how it was at UNM. Especially during the semester, I don’t think anyone would notice.”

  We looked at each other and the air tingled with excitement. Mom said, “Let’s go find out.”

  “Really?” Ricky grinned.

  Mom nodded. “I don’t like the idea of that murderer going free, and I really don’t like the fact that he’s harassing Audra by damaging our cars. I don’t see any danger in looking for Bethany’s car. And I don’t trust the police to follow up on our advice. So let’s see what we can find. Maybe we’ll help catch the bastard.”

  We scrambled for the door and piled into Mom’s car. Ricky chattered as we drove across town, comparing this idea to mystery stories he’d read. But the closer we got to the college, the more my idea seemed naïve. As we turned through the college campus gates, I said, “Do you really think it could be here? Wouldn’t the police have found it?”

  Mom said, “Depends on whether they were really looking for it, or only sort of looking for it. When the girl was reported missing, they might have assumed she left on her own, especially given her history. In that case, the police wouldn’t have driven all around town looking for a parked car. So the question is whether or not they’ve thought to do so since her body was discovered.”

  The detectives who’d interviewed me might think of something like that, but I wasn’t so sure about the local police. And the detectives had other cases and weren’t based here in town. Since they wouldn’t be familiar with the town, they might have simply asked the local police to look around. The college was on the opposite side of town from the resort and in no way associated with the case, so the local police might not have looked carefully there. It seemed that we had at least a chance of being a step ahead of them.

  And then what?

  Then we reported the car to the police and let them do their job. And hoped for an arrest soon, so I could get back to building my life. Finding the car wasn’t the answer to everything, but it was an answer to one of the questions. That was a start.

  We drove to the main parking area near the large school buildings. The lots were only about a quarter full, since daytime classes had ended, and that made our job easier as we drove up and down the rows. Every time I saw a white car my heart raced. None of them had Bethany’s license plate, which we knew from a news article. Most weren’t even Toyota Corollas.

  We finally found a Corolla and paused behind it, peering out our windows. “Wrong license plate,” I said. “But what if he changed it? We’d never find the right car.”

  Mom frowned over that for half a minute. “I was going to say that would suggest premeditation, but since it’s been a month since she disappeared, he could’ve come back any time since then. A bit risky, but not impossible. I don’t know how we can deal with that. Tell the police our idea, I guess, and let them check the vehicle identification numbers.”

  That made sense, but I didn’t want to wait for the police or to wonder if they’d actually done anything, since they probably wouldn’t tell me. I swallowed hard and got out of the car. Across the parking lot, a young guy was getting in his car. A few people were walking along the sidewalk between the parking area and buildings. A car drove slowly past on the street. No one seemed to be paying attention to me.

  I ducked and looked through the window of the white Corolla. I heard a door close and Ricky moved around the other side of the car. After we’d studied it for a minute, I glanced across at him. “Okay, hotshot detective. What do you deduce?”

  “That’s a chemistry textbook on the front passenger seat. I don’t think Bethany ever went to college. And that gym bag in the back is partway open, I can see a pair of shoes. They look like men’s.”

  I moved around to his side of the car. “Good spot on the shoes, I couldn’t see them from my angle. I also noticed a crumpled bag from Sonic and a drink in the cup holder. The window’s cracked open and I can smell French fries. If the car had been sitting here in the sun for a month, the smell would have faded—or gotten a lot worse, I’m not sure which, but this smells pretty fresh. Conclusion?”

  “It’s not the right car.”

  “I agree. Nice work, detective.” I put my arm around him and we headed back to our car. Ricky grinned at me as we got in. I wished I could think of it as just an intellectual challenge, the way he seemed to. It would be fun to play detective together. But this was no game. I was torn between wanting Ricky to understand that, too, for his own safety, and wanting to protect his innocence a little longer.

  The best way to keep him safe and protect his innocence was to expose the killer and get him behind bars.

  Mom pulled out onto the road that circled through campus. Our headlights cut through the dusk. This would have been easier during the day, when we could easily see any cars parked down the side streets or in the few smaller lots.

  “We should look by student ho
using,” I said. “That’s the one place where parking will be as full at night.” I knew from my own experiences at UNM that many students liked to hold onto a parking spot once they’d gotten it. It wasn’t surprising to see a car in the same place for a week or more.

  We found the upperclassman apartments first and then the two-story dorms for underclassmen. We went through the parking lot on one side and moved around to the other. At a glance, I didn’t see any white cars at all.

  We pulled past a big SUV that seemed far too fancy for a community college student. Tucked in on the other side was a white car, and by now I was fairly certain I recognized a Corolla.

  It was backed in, the front facing us, so we couldn’t see the license plate. Before I could do or say anything, Ricky jumped out of the car and squeezed between the Corolla and the SUV. The car was backed close to a waist-high wall, so Ricky had to duck down to see the license plate. I held my breath while he studied it for about five seconds, looked at the article he was holding, and peered at the license plate again.

  He ran back to our car grinning. “That’s it!”

  I let out a gasp. We had actually done it!

  Ricky got in and leaned over the seat for a high five. I slapped his hand, but I was trembling. The relief, the joy at the success, was tempered by the knowledge that I was in this even deeper now. What would happen next? Would the car help break the case, or just complicate things further, or do nothing at all?

  “I could barely get a good look with it against the wall and the streetlight so far away,” Ricky said. “But that’s the right car.”

  “Whoever left it there isn’t dumb, backing it in like that,” Mom said. “If New Mexico used front license plates, it wouldn’t matter. But like this, I can see why no one noticed it.” Mom pulled forward and parked illegally at the end of the lot. She pulled out her phone and called the police.

  I glanced back toward Bethany’s car, which was almost hidden from this angle. A perfect hiding spot, really. But not quite perfect enough.

  Another car, a dark sedan, drove slowly past the entrance of the parking lot, maybe trying to spot empty parking spaces. The headlights pulled around the building and disappeared. I imagined some student going home for the night, with no idea that something strange was going on over here.

  The police arrived ten minutes later. We pointed out the car and explained how we found it. I let Mom and Ricky do most of the talking. The sight of police uniforms still made me breathless. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, so I turned away and rubbed my arms against the cooling night air.

  A dark car sped past the entrance to the parking lot with its headlights off. It could’ve been the same sedan I’d seen a few minutes earlier—or not. Maybe they couldn’t find a parking spot after all. Maybe they’d finished their business and left. But they shouldn’t drive without headlights, especially with the police right there. Or were they trying to go unnoticed?

  A hand clamped my arm. I gasped and jumped.

  “Miss Needham? I’d like to talk to you privately.” The officer led me away from his partner, Mom, and Ricky. “First you find the body and now her car. A pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 31

  “And they sounded suspicious of me!” I told Kyle the next morning. Somehow the whole story poured out minutes after we met up.

  I’d left my car at his place and rode with him into the valley, talking the whole time until he pulled off a back road and parked. He sat with his forearms resting on the steering wheel, frowning out the front window. “I guess I can see their point.”

  I gasped. He turned to me with a crooked smile. “Sorry, let me put that another way. They’re complete idiots. Anyone with an ounce of sense could tell you’re just an innocent bystander.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “I only meant I can see how it looks like an unlikely coincidence. It’s not a coincidence,” he quickly added. “You have a reason to be interested, to look, and you were smart and lucky to find the car. But I suppose criminals sometimes come to the police with evidence or information, trying to throw a false trail.”

  He glanced toward the back of the truck, where the falcon was screeching like a rusty swing. “Junior’s restless.” We got out and met at the back of the truck. “Nobody could seriously consider you a suspect, though,” Kyle said. “You didn’t know Bethany. You have no reason to wish her harm. You weren’t even living here when she disappeared. The police are trained to sound suspicious so people get nervous and talk more, but I doubt they’re really focused on you.”

  I leaned my hip on the tailgate as he got out equipment. “I hope you’re right, but it’s insulting. I never had a problem with the police before, but I’m starting to hate the sight of them.”

  “Try to remember they’re doing their job. It can’t be easy for them, when people only see the police if they’re in trouble or getting bad news.” He pulled the leather glove over his arm. “I learned something interesting after Bethany disappeared, when I was prodding the police to find her. A lot of times people uncover crime scenes, even find bodies like you did, but they don’t report it.”

  I thought of Jay. “I should be shocked, but I’m not.”

  He opened the cage and the falcon hopped out and up onto his arm. “I was shocked at first. Why on earth wouldn’t someone report something like that? But then I thought of all the reasons people might not want to talk to the cops. People who were doing something wrong, even if it’s only teenagers drinking or cutting school. Illegal immigrants. Anyone with a police record could be afraid they’d be seen as a suspect. Lots of reasons someone might not want police attention.”

  “I guess so.” I tried to remember Jay’s reasons. That whole experience was a blur—except for the horribly vivid memory of the body itself—but I didn’t think he’d given any real reason. The joint, of course, but he could’ve hidden that. He’d said something about me not knowing what was going on. I’d almost forgotten that. Was Jay the kind of person who never wanted to get involved, or was his wariness more suspicious?

  Kyle turned to face me, the morning sun glowing golden on his skin and highlighting his hair. He looked healthier than when I’d met him a few days before. Maybe knowing for sure that Bethany was gone had lifted some burden. Or maybe it was the wide-open desert background, the vivid blue sky, and the gorgeous young falcon on his arm. Something about holding a bird of prey a foot from one’s face had to make anyone look rugged and manly.

  Of course, his grandmother also worked with the falcons and hawks, and I doubted she’d appreciate being called manly. Though given what I’d seen of Nancy, she might get a kick out of it.

  “You’re smiling,” Kyle said. “Good.” He removed the bird’s hood. It peered around with fierce eyes. The falcon had a lovely brown and white mottled pattern on the breast, a brown back, and a white and brown face. “Gran might have mentioned that we don’t hunt a lot of the birds at this time of year, because they’re molting and breeding. But this is one of the earliest of this year’s chicks, so we’ll get him started. The juveniles have tons of energy so it’s fun to get them out there and give them some confidence.”

  He hefted a small animal carrying case in his hand. Pigeons cooed inside. “Ready to go?”

  He led the way across a grassy field, sexy in the jeans that hung low on his hips. I was wearing jeans and hiking boots myself, with my work clothes in the car. I can learn.

  Kyle stopped and put the carrying case on the ground. He raised his other arm, holding the falcon above his head. The bird spread its wings and took off, and I got that same flutter in the chest at seeing a spectacular creature in action. It made a low loop and then kept circling higher. Within a couple of minutes, it was a speck in the sky.

  Kyle bent to the carrying case, opened the door, and a moment later stood up clutching a pigeon against his stomach. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  “I’m sure it’s prejudiced of me, but I find I can’t care t
hat much about a pigeon. Rabbits are cute; pigeons poop on park benches.”

  “Fair enough.” He checked the falcon’s progress and then tossed the pigeon into the air. It fluttered erratically before speeding away. “This isn’t really falconry,” Kyle said. “With real falconry, a trained bird hunts wild animals. Releasing pigeons is only a training technique, but it’ll give our guy some exercise.”

  I glanced up to find the falcon, and when I looked for the pigeon again, it had disappeared. The falcon must have spotted it, though. It arrowed down from the sky.

  My heart raced and I tensed, holding my breath. Would the pigeon escape or would the young falcon make a kill? This time I was rooting for the falcon.

  I couldn’t tell what happened at that distance, but Kyle said, “Nope. He got close, but the pigeon got away.” The falcon rose higher in the sky.

  “Will it try again?”

  “Not with that bird. Homing pigeons are a challenging quarry. We breed them for boldness, so they dodge and swoop and try to get up above the falcon. After a couple of tries, the falcon will say, all right, it’s easier to wait for another pigeon than to chase this one to the ends of the earth.”

  Kyle pulled something out of his shoulder bag, a crescent-shaped piece of leather eight or ten inches across. He started swinging it into the air by a long cord.

  As the falcon flew toward us, Kyle tossed the leather thing onto the ground. The bird landed beside it and plucked a piece of meat out of the bag.

  “So he gets rewarded for trying,” I said. “What happens to the pigeon?”

  “It goes back home, ready for another day.”

  “Why are you feeding the falcon, instead of releasing another pigeon?”

  “We don’t want him wandering off, getting interested in something else. I use the lure to get him in the habit of coming back.”

  “Food as a reward seems to work on my brother, too. I haven’t tried getting him to exercise that way, but maybe I’ll start.”