The tears flowed freely at first, and she let them. This ache was different from the ache she’d felt when she’d learned about Nick’s infidelity. Then, the burn was raw and open but diluted somewhat with anger. This was more like what she’d felt on the jetty—agonizing hurt and profound loss. I was so certain it was right to be back with Nick. I believed we were both changed for the better and that our life together would be blessed. What went so wrong?
When the tears stopped, Carly wiped her face, blew her nose, and opened the small book. Relatively new to the faith, she stumbled around at first. But after a bit, she settled down to read her favorite psalms. The verses she often referred to were Psalm 27:14, 52:8-9, and 91:2. She read all three passages, then focused on the verse from Psalm 91: “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.’”
She read and prayed a lot, closing the book after half an hour, feeling better, calmer, and somewhat stronger. She could hear her phone beeping from her locker and knew it was probably Nick wondering what happened to her. Well, I can deal with him now, she thought as she stood and stretched. After washing her face, she hooked her belt back on and took the elevator down to homicide.
“Everything okay?” Nick asked when she entered the office.
“Fine. I just needed to do some thinking. Sorry to leave you to do all the work alone. What have you got?”
For a second Nick studied her, and she wondered if he’d press the issue. He didn’t.
Nick held up the information he’d written on a yellow legal pad. “Learned a lot about Unique Imports from Agent Wiley. It’s not a working business right now, but it used to be owned and operated by Sperry’s son.”
“The rapist?”
“Yeah. Apparently he ran it out of his home. But it’s been idle since the kid went to prison and hasn’t been part of the federal investigation. Grant is using the house as his place of residence, says he rents. We have their blessing to go and arrest him. I notified the Riverside County sheriff that we’re coming out there, and someone will meet us. Pete is working on getting a warrant to search the place, which the feds have made easy. They’re fine with us taking down Grant since they don’t believe it will affect their case on the big boss. When it’s ready, Pete will fax the warrant to Riverside.”
“You’ve been busy.” Carly was impressed.
Nick smiled. “A lot is at stake. I hope this is the right track and we find A.J. . . . or at the very least a clue that will lead us to him. Ready to go?”
“Sure.” As ready as I’ll ever be.
21
CARLY WAS VAGUELY FAMILIAR with Riverside County. The area was largely rural, but portions had exploded with new housing developments in recent years. Cops like Harris moved out there to buy large, new, relatively inexpensive homes. In the past, she’d been out there many times for parties at different officers’ houses, often with Nick.
“I never understood how people could move so far away from work and then spend hours commuting on this freeway every day,” she said as she headed east on Highway 91. She was simply making conversation. By the time she and Nick hit the freeway, it was after noon. The drive would take an hour and a half at the very least. She wished something would make it go faster.
“We’re in agreement there,” Nick said. “I hate this stretch of road. Luckily, the address for Unique Imports is in the Wildomar/Menifee area. That’s a little closer than going all the way to Temecula. I’ll call as we get closer, but the deputy said someone would meet us on Bundy Canyon Road, which is off the 15 freeway. They’ll accompany us to the Unique Imports address.”
Carly nodded but said nothing. She was driving at Nick’s request. His hip tended to cramp if he had to sit for long periods of time and couldn’t move freely, so he’d chosen shotgun. Carly didn’t care for the 91 freeway any more than Nick and couldn’t help but remember the times they’d driven it in happy circumstances. They were almost to the transition for the 15 before Nick spoke up again.
“So do you want to tell me what you were thinking about when you left the homicide office?” he asked as traffic slowed to a crawl before they could take the ramp for the 15.
“I needed to get some things straight in my mind, that’s all. This hasn’t been a very good week.”
“Partly because of me, huh?”
She glanced sideways. “Well, Christy and A.J. are a big part of it, but yeah, you’ve caused a huge knot of angst. I’m not going to apologize for what I said earlier, either.”
“I’m not asking you to. You were right. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking myself.” He shifted in his seat. “I visited Jonah this morning hoping he could help me with my thinking.”
“Did he?”
“He pointed me to Scripture. What you said earlier, I wish you’d said it a month ago. For someone who tried to convince you to reconcile because I’m a Christian now, I haven’t been acting very Christian. I’ve been stupid and drowning in self-pity. What you said at coffee the other day also hit the mark.”
Carly quickly looked over at Nick. He was leaning against the door, turned her direction, watching her.
“Sounds as though your talk with Jonah was all about us.”
“Not 100 percent, but we did take up a huge chunk, in spite of the issue with his niece. He was able to offer me some good advice. At least I hope you’ll think it’s good advice.”
She swallowed and hit the brakes as the car in front of her came to a stop. “What kind of advice?” Traffic inched along.
“First, I do want to reconcile, even though I haven’t acted that way lately. I don’t have to tell you how very difficult it’s been, struggling with this hip. That’s no excuse to snap at you all the time, but it’s the best I can do.” He stopped and looked away. “I know it won’t be easy getting back together and putting the past behind us, and I didn’t want my immobility tossed into the mix. Would you agree to set up some counseling with Jonah? Something like premarital counseling?”
Carly nearly choked when Nick said premarital. She watched the slowing traffic ahead of her and chewed on her bottom lip, emotions churning. Was he moving toward remarriage? The question he asked said a lot without saying a lot. Was Nick being sincere, or was this a way to let her down gently and end with “Let’s be friends”? She couldn’t ask, not now, because what if he said they were over?
Again the fear was there that this was the end for her and Nick. But she had to trust God that whatever this was, God’s best would be in the outcome. “I don’t mind counseling, but I’m tired of this roller coaster.” She glanced his way. “I want things resolved, one way or the other. Do you think that’s possible with counseling?”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, Carly. I think we can resolve things once and for all.”
Traffic opened up as they sailed down the transition and onto the southbound 15. The Bundy Canyon Road exit was several miles down the road.
“Okay then, as soon as this case is over, let’s call Jonah.” She warmed to the idea of counseling, knowing they both needed to get a lot of baggage out into the open.
“Agreed, and thanks,” Nick said as he pulled out his cell phone. “Thanks for sticking by me.”
“There’s no place else I’d rather be,” she said, and she meant it. The pain and ache of earlier was gone, and as Carly looked out at the freeway stretching ahead, it was somehow brighter.
Nick made the call to the Riverside County sheriff’s office, who said they were to turn right off the freeway and a patrol car would be waiting for them with hard copies of a search warrant for the business and an arrest warrant for Grant.
The area where they exited was tired and dirty. The gas station looked like one you’d see out in the middle of farm country on Interstate 5, worn and dusty from all the passing-through traffic. Past the station, on the other side of a vacant corner, there were some ramshackle houses on a street with no sidewalks. Carly saw the deputies’ car waiting in the station parking lot on the right as soon
as she made the turn from the freeway off-ramp. She pulled into the lot, and she and Nick got out to talk to the deputies, an older deputy with corporal stripes and a younger man with a shaved head whom Carly took to be a rookie.
“Hello.” The older man identified himself as Deputy Gordon Rivers. He introduced his partner as Deputy Timothy Quan, and they shook hands all the way around. Rivers pointed to Quan. “He’s got the warrants, so we’re good to go.”
Nick explained why they were there and what they were looking for. Carly knew he’d probably done this over the phone to the person who sent the deputies here, but most cops she knew always wanted to hear the information firsthand.
“I’m familiar with the area. I’ve worked it for about six years now.” Deputy Rivers pointed up the road. “That area is still very rural, lots of manufactured homes on big lots and areas that used to be ranches. We used to have a problem with meth labs, but not so much since that law passed restricting the amount of cold medicine a person can buy.”
Carly knew what he meant. A main component of meth was obtained by cooking down cold medication. But the cooker needed a large quantity of cold pills to make enough product. Severe limits on the sale of cold medication had slowed the home meth lab problem—at least temporarily. Crooks usually needed a little bit of time to discover how to circumvent new laws.
“What problems do you see most up here now?” Carly asked.
“Some pot farms, maybe meth coming up from Mexico, and illegal immigrant smuggling. An hour from the border, we see a lot of that.”
“Are you familiar with this particular property? Do you know Conrad Sperry?” Nick asked.
Rivers made a face. “Everyone out here knows that name, but I’ve never met the guy. I’ve had words with his attorney, Caswell. He handles anything that has to do with complaints against Sperry, cleans up all his messes. Sperry taunts us in subtle ways, makes sure we get the message that he’s the biggest and baddest who does what he pleases because we’re not smart enough to stop him. Please tell me you’re onto something that will put him out of commission.”
“Maybe. Does the name Isaac Grant mean anything to you?” Carly asked.
Rivers shook his head but hiked a thumb toward Quan.
The rook spoke up. “I know the name. I stopped him for speeding, wrote him a ticket. He told me five times he worked for Sperry. Said I’d lose my job because I wrote him a ticket.”
Rivers grinned. “He wrote the ticket anyway and got an excellent on that training day. Now you want Grant for a homicide?”
“Yeah. If he’s at Unique Imports, he goes to jail. But first and foremost we need to find out what he knows about a missing baby.”
“Fair enough.” Rivers nodded. “Follow us up. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
They followed Rivers and Quan down a residential road lined with manufactured homes—some with thin, sagging fences, some with no fences. No more traffic lights, only stop signs now and again at intersections. They crossed an intersection, and on the right, like a mirage, a brand-new housing development sprang up, houses shiny and clean. On the other side of the street, the small, older houses just looked that much shabbier.
The housing development ended as abruptly as it had started, and they began to pass bigger properties, some with horses. The houses stayed small and modest, but the lots got bigger and more spread out as they journeyed up a winding canyon road. Soon, the area could no longer be called semirural. It was definitely rural, and civilization was behind them. The blunt hills showed evidence of past wildfires. Carly knew from the news that the area had its share. She always thought of most of Riverside County as desert because temps in the hundreds were not uncommon here in the summer. The combination of dry brush and high temps spelled fires out here. Summer in this part of Southern California was often called the season of shake and bake—earthquakes and hot weather.
Shortly, it seemed as if they were the only two vehicles on the road. No traffic followed, and none passed traveling the other way.
“This place is out in the boonies,” Nick observed.
“Reminds me of terrain from an old spaghetti western. Did the feds say anything about how Grant might behave? Is he violent, cooperative?”
The deputies turned right onto a hard-packed dirt road, and Carly followed. Along the way they passed mounds of huge boulders.
“His rap sheet is full of nonviolent offenses—fraud, embezzlement, falsifying prescriptions, possession charges. They didn’t think Grant would give us any trouble. But we just saw him run down Harper, so expect anything.”
They bounced along the road for a few more minutes and passed a couple of places before they went through an area with nothing. Then they drove up a rise, and off to the right, Carly could see a structure.
“You know, the longer we drive out to the middle of nowhere, the more I’m thinking not only would this be a great place to hide just about anything; it would be the perfect place to hide a baby. No neighbors around to notice a new addition.” Carly tapped the steering wheel and shook her head.
“That must be the place, but it doesn’t look much like a business.” Nick pointed to a small, faded blue home. As they got closer, it looked to Carly like a double-wide trailer.
“You said Sperry’s son ran the business out of his house before his arrest.”
“Yeah, and they can see anyone approaching for a mile.” He looked at Carly and cocked an eyebrow. “Gives them plenty of time to hide or destroy evidence and prepare.”
The rise leveled out, and the patrol car turned onto a road that led to the trailer. In contrast to the shabby house, the property was fenced and gated with a shiny new and sturdy-looking chain-link fence. A hefty chain and lock hung from the gate, but it stood open. She didn’t miss the cameras mounted just inside the fence, apparently focused on who or what came up the drive. But still she thought it odd that nothing was locked. If they were hiding A.J., or anything for that matter, wouldn’t they want to be securely locked in and possibly guarded?
She followed the deputies up the road without slowing. They again ascended a slight grade that leveled out as they reached the front of the house. Three vehicles were parked around the front: a panel van, a sedan up on blocks, and a small pickup.
The deputy parked behind the van, and Carly pulled up next to him. She, Nick, and Rivers stepped out and met behind the van. Quan was on the car radio, and Carly guessed he was informing dispatch of their status.
“This is the place,” Rivers said.
“I wish we weren’t so exposed.” Carly pointed to the cars. “Counting the vehicles present, the chances are good Grant isn’t alone. And don’t you find it odd that the gate was wide open?”
Rivers arched a brow. “That looked like state-of-the-art video surveillance on those poles. Maybe the gate wasn’t locked because they can see who’s coming and prepare if need be. I’m more concerned about who’s here, waiting for us. Deputy Quan is running the vehicle plates. I want to know who they belong to before we go in.”
“How long has he been on?” Nick asked.
Rivers smiled. “Six months. You know you’re getting old when your trainee looks to you to be twelve. He’s sharp; I trust him. How do you want to work this?”
Nick looked at Carly.
“I’d like to take the front,” she said. “How about two in front, two to the back?”
Nick and Rivers both nodded.
Quan stepped out of the car. “No want or warrant on any of the vehicles. The van is registered to Unique Imports, the little pickup to Isaac Grant, and the one on blocks is application in process.”
Rivers said, “Be nice if the big man himself were here.” He pointed at Nick. “How about you and I take the back. Tim, you and Officer Edwards make contact.”
Carly would have rather been with Nick, but she knew what Rivers was doing. He wanted the rook to get some experience without taking things over himself. And each team would need a radio.
She nodded.
“We’ll give you a few minutes to get back there before we actually knock.”
Carly and Quan started for the front door while Nick and Rivers went right to go around to the back. Carly noted with a wince that Nick had left his cane in the car. He limped but kept up with Rivers. Biting her tongue, she concentrated on Quan and their mission.
They approached the porch cautiously. Carly watched the windows, which were all shaded. She saw no movement, no one pulling a shade open to look out at their approach.
They walked up the four steps to the front door. Deputy Quan took up a position on the right side while Carly stood to the left of the door. She counted to ten and was certain Nick and Rivers were in position, then nodded to Quan. He took his nightstick from his belt and rapped the door firmly.
Carly leaned close to the house, and after a minute, just as Quan was about to knock again, she heard shuffling.
“Who is it?”
“Police, Mr. Grant. Open the door.”
There was movement as the blinds were pulled back on Quan’s side of the door. Carly couldn’t tell if someone looked out, but if they did, they’d see Quan, and there was no mistaking the uniform. She waited a beat, but the door didn’t open.
“Open up—now,” Quan ordered.
Carly heard footsteps as if Grant was running away from the door.
“Get on the radio. Tell your partner—”
Boom! A loud blast from a shotgun cut her off midsentence. The shotgun round blew a hole in the front door. Carly was peppered with bits of wood. Instinctively she ducked and drew her weapon, while Quan hit the floor.
“I’m not going back to prison!” she heard a voice scream.
Boom! A second blast blew out the window where Quan had been standing a second ago and sent glass everywhere.
“You okay?” Carly yelled to Quan.
He held up a hand as he brushed glass away from his face. “I’m not hit.” He rolled to his side and drew his weapon.
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