Search for Her

by Rick Mofina

  Media crews and curious bystanders watched from the other side of yellow tape stretched across entrances. Some sharp-eyed news photographers moved around the street, finding angles in landscaped areas that afforded them a sliver view of room 149.

  They zoomed in tight to the activities, capturing Rykhirt’s blue Nissan Versa being loaded onto a flatbed and covered before it was transported off-site for further processing.

  The TV guys got video and the newspaper guys captured frame after frame of the crime scene van parked in front of 149. Analysts wearing moon suits came and went as they processed Rykhirt’s room.

  Inside, forensic experts took photos, made sketches and copious notes while methodically collecting and preserving physical evidence.

  Concentrating on her job, Lisa Faber, who’d been with the Crime Scene Detail for nearly ten years, was working in Rykhirt’s room with surgical care. She came to a grease-stained paper fast-food take-out bag. It had been flattened, but she noticed images and lettering that were apart from the chain’s logo.

  One side had a crude drawing made with blue ink, a jaggedly sketched stick person—a girl, her eyes huge with terror, a strip indicating her mouth was bound. Her arms were up over her head, suspended by a rope, her hands clasped with a strip indicating binding on her wrists.

  The drawing had been titled. Above the figure, something scrawled in a creepy, frenetic style as if done in a state of delirium.

  One word.

  “Riley”

  Thirty-Four

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Michelle McDowell felt the hot breath of a malignant force on the back of her neck.

  The case had taken a dark turn.

  After leaving the Dreamy Breeze motel, where the investigative work was winding down, she and Elsen had gone to headquarters and huddled with supervisors in preparing to interview Frayer Ront Rykhirt.

  McDowell studied her new notes, preliminary reports and images of the evidence collected. That chilling sketch. With each swipe and tap on her tablet, she felt the dawning dread that Rykhirt had killed Riley Jarrett.

  McDowell and Elsen stood with their sergeant and people from Homicide behind one-way glass watching an officer escort Rykhirt into the adjoining interview room.

  “Did he really waive his right to an attorney?” Gabe Delwood, a gravel-voiced homicide detective asked while at the glass staring at Rykhirt.

  “Got his signature, right here.” Elsen tapped a folder with the document.

  They watched as the escorting officer fastened a chain from Rykhirt’s wrists to the handcuff loop on the table.

  Delwood sucked air through his teeth. “Hope his waiver doesn’t come back to bite you. Seems a little off.”

  “We’ve connected dots,” Melody Reeves, Elsen’s sergeant, said. “But not all of them. Not yet. Let’s see how this goes. This is our first shot at him.”

  Reeves nodded to Elsen and McDowell.

  It was time.

  * * *

  The interview room was small, with white walls, black carpet and a light gray table where Rykhirt sat in one chair with his handcuffed hands clasped in front of him.

  Elsen and McDowell set their folders and tablets on the table before taking the two chairs across from him.

  The soft hum of the air-conditioning was the only sound as they assessed him.

  Forty-eight, five-ten, with a build on the slender side. He had long messy dark hair, streaked with gray. Cheerless eyes stared from a doleful, pasty face, drooping from his skull as if all the trouble in this world was pushing down on his shoulders.

  “Mr. Rykhirt,” McDowell began, “given your history, you’re aware our conversations in this room are videotaped and audiotaped?”

  Rykhirt stared at her.

  “I am aware.”

  Rykhirt’s voice was a rasping whisper. McDowell thought of those young girls he abused, and the words “gentle fiend” flicked like a snake’s tongue through her mind.

  “Frayer.” Elsen slid a sheet of paper from a folder to him. “You’re still Mirandized, but waived your right to an attorney.” Elsen tapped the signature line. “Keeping that in mind, do you wish to proceed without a lawyer?”

  “I understand. Yes, we can proceed.”

  Elsen collected the paper. “Let’s get to it, then. Where’s Riley Jarrett?”

  Rykhirt shut his eyes, sinking deep into thought as if remembering. Whether it was something pleasant, or something beyond comprehension, remained caged in his mind. He didn’t answer.

  “Mr. Rykhirt, she’s a missing minor,” McDowell said. “And you’re the last person to be seen with her. What do you say to that?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “She was missing from the Silver Sagebrush, a truck stop on Interstate 15, a few miles north of Primm.”

  Rykhirt was silent.

  “We have proof you were there, Frayer.” Elsen nodded to McDowell.

  She tapped her tablet to Margot Winton’s video showing Rykhirt with Riley, touching her shoulder and Riley recoiling.

  “Why did you approach her? What did you say to her? Why did you touch her?” Elsen asked.

  Rykhirt said nothing.

  “We know you also purchased duct tape and scissors at the Silverado store,” Elsen said. “Why?”

  When Rykhirt didn’t respond, McDowell produced more images.

  “We found these photos on your laptop that you took of Riley Jarrett at the truck stop,” Elsen said. “And we found this in your motel room.” Elsen nodded to the sketch. “What did you do with Riley Jarrett, Frayer?”

  He closed his eyes again, lifted his tired face to the ceiling and remained silent.

  “Frayer,” Elsen said, “you spent eight years in prison. How did that go for you? Did the other inmates hold you in high regard? We know they segregated you, but, well, it’s prison, and things happen.”

  “Mr. Rykhirt, you’re facing a harsh reality as a repeat offender,” McDowell said. “You’re going back inside.”

  His eyes remained closed as he lowered his head, shaking it slowly, his voice grating but eerily soft. “No, I can’t go back.”

  “You’re going back,” Elsen said.

  “You’re a registered offender who has made contact with a minor, is in possession of child pornography, and much worse,” McDowell said. “It’s time you unburdened yourself. Tell us where Riley Jarrett is. We know you need help. Help us help you.”

  “What did you do to her, Frayer?” Elsen said. “Did you leave her in the desert?”

  He remained silent.

  For nearly an hour, Elsen and McDowell questioned him about Riley Jarrett, going back and around, hammering at the same points without progress, until there was a knock on the door.

  Sergeant Reeves was there. She signaled for them to step out to the hall, closing the door behind them.

  Thirty-Five

  Nevada

  Grace’s fingers trembled while scrolling on her phone. Her attempts to reconnect with McDowell after the dropped call had failed.

  Nerves shredded, Grace looked out at the teams of searchers moving over the desert at a funereal pace, heads bowed like mourners. Seeing them spread around now as she scoured the desolate terrain for Riley drew Grace back to the day she’d stood at her husband’s grave.

  Her world had stopped. Trapped in a maelstrom as Tim’s casket was lowered into the ground. How could she go on living? While accepting condolences she battled her agony and culpability for his death, yet there were bursts of clarity in that raw, dark time.

  Tim was loved by everyone, and like the searchers today, people had come from all over for the service, to share her pain. A large group had come from the Chicago branch where Tim had been working, having accepted a temporary promotion, commuting back to San Diego whenever he could.

  Sherry had
come with the Chicago group. That’s when Grace first met her, at Tim’s funeral. She was so warm, so giving and so concerned for her and Riley. Soon after, Sherry was transferred to the San Diego branch. Not knowing many people in the city, she grew close to Grace, helping her and Riley struggle through their grief.

  It’s how they had become friends.

  Grace wiped her moist brow, drank from her water bottle and looked at Sherry in the distance, talking with John, at times placing her hand on his shoulder. Sherry then moved on to Blake, who was with some of Riley’s friends. Grace heard snippets of the girls’ conversations, unable to distinguish words but picking up on their worried tone. She suspected that, while upset, the girls also enjoyed being with Blake, given he was older, nice and a good-looking kid. Grace’s heart went out to Blake, knowing how he’d be more comfortable searching alone, like her. He likely welcomed Sherry when she took him aside from the girls to talk to him.

  That Sherry had left her sick aunt to fly here, to help her, was a testament to their friendship. Grace was blessed that Sherry and Jazmin Reyna were part of her life.

  There was Jazmin, far ahead with the others from San Diego.

  Jazmin was a beautiful strong woman, an excellent nurse with a caring heart. Her recent separation from her husband, Miguel, had saddened Grace. She and Jazmin had lived through some of the worst moments of their lives together. They’d supported each other through the pandemic, easing the pain of families then sobbing together in private later after losing friends, terrified of testing positive.

  When Jazmin got infected, she was unable to be in the hospital where her mother was on a ventilator losing her battle to the virus. Grace was there and held Jazmin’s mother’s hand when she died, something Jazmin would never forget.

  They were close in so many other ways.

  Tim and Jazmin’s husband, Miguel, had coached their daughter Cleo’s soccer team. Grace and Jazmin would sit in lawn chairs and talk on the sidelines while watching the games. Jazmin had been there for her too, when Tim died, helping her cope, taking phone calls in the middle of the night, helping her hang on through the darkness.

  Like Sherry, Jazmin had come to help find Riley and had brought everyone with her.

  Then there was their neighbors, Norm Hollister and his wife and all the other volunteers from San Diego.

  All of them here looking.

  Looking for what?

  Grace stopped in her tracks, feeling the heat and sudden confusion of her thoughts.

  What are we looking for? My daughter’s grave?

  Staring at the brush, the sandy rocks, the great lonely emptiness, Grace could not take another step.

  Her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Is this Grace Jarrett, Riley Jarrett’s mother?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “Elliott Downey, I’m a reporter with the Press-Enterprise in Riverside. I got your number from our stringer in Las Vegas. I think she was with the media who spoke to you a little while ago.”

  “I don’t know, there were a lot of reporters.”

  “Can I ask you a few more questions for the story we’re doing?”

  “What story?”

  “Frayer Rykhirt’s arrest. You know he’s from Riverside, California?”

  Grace changed her hold on her phone. “I’ll talk to you on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have your sources, police sources, there in Riverside?”

  “Yes.”

  “You tell me everything you know about this Rykhirt and my daughter.”

  “Well, I might know some but I’m not sure—”

  “Don’t do this, Elliott. Don’t call me up like this and play games when my daughter’s life’s on the line—”

  “No, I’m not, I never would—”

  “You sound like a decent person, so just listen. I don’t care how much or how little you know or how bad it sounds. I want to hear it. I deserve to hear it. Give me your word you’ll tell everything you know.”

  Silence passed between them.

  “Do I hang up or do we have a deal, Elliott?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  Downey first went through a summary of Riley’s case with Grace pausing to breathe, to keep from crying as once more she recounted events leading up to the disappearance.

  Then she pressed Downey on Rykhirt.

  Reading from his paper’s older stories, Downey began telling her about Rykhirt. From coverage of Rykhirt’s trial—and from what he knew from police that had not been reported—Downey described in detail Rykhirt’s crimes against the two Riverside girls.

  Grace took a moment to steady herself, then she pressed him to tell her everything he knew concerning Riley.

  “Okay—” Downey dropped his voice a little “—but you can never say I told you this. I just got this from my sources who are working with Las Vegas police.”

  “Tell me, Elliott.”

  “They have video of Rykhirt approaching your daughter in the Silver Sagebrush.”

  “Go on.”

  “When they arrested him in Las Vegas, he had pictures of your daughter on his laptop.”

  Grace covered her mouth with her hand.

  “As I understand it, those pictures were taken when she was in the truck stop,” Downey said.

  “Go on.”

  Downey swallowed. “In his room, they also found a sketch of her, bound.”

  “A sketch? Bound? Like tied up?” She could barely get the words out.

  “Yes.”

  Grace took a shaky breath. She had to press on. “What else do you know?”

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Elliott, don’t hold back. Is she dead? Do they think he killed her?”

  He coughed, cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

  “Elliott, please!”

  “I really don’t know. What I can tell you is that they’re looking hard at him for the murder of a Riverside girl whose body was found in the desert near Primm, a year ago.”

  “Eva Marie Garcia?”

  “Yes. They suspect him of her murder.”

  Grace released a small, anguished groan. A moment passed.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jarrett, I told you all I know.”

  “Yes, Elliott, I needed to know.” Her voice weakened. “Thank you.”

  Ending the call, Grace lowered her phone.

  Rooted in place, she stood there gazing at her shadow on the ground as if gazing into a grave.

  Thirty-Six

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  An RV rolled up to the pumps at the Chevron station in Fontana, California.

  John Marshall got out and started fueling it.

  When John finished, he, Grace, Blake and Riley walked into the ExtraMile store.

  “This was put together for us by Fontana PD,” Sergeant Reeves said. “It just came in. Keep watching.”

  Elsen and McDowell stared at the security video playing on the laptop in the viewing room as the recording’s perspective shifted from the islands to inside the store. The family was now browsing, selecting drinks and food.

  “Watch the girl.”

  McDowell watched Riley, an everyday California teen living her life. For a heartbeat McDowell wasn’t a cop, but a mother, stabbed with the urge to reach into the screen and grab Riley, to keep her safe.

  The recording showed Riley moving away from her family and down an aisle where she picked up a granola bar and was reading the label. A man, who’d already paid for gas with his credit card, was on his way out when he glimpsed her. Instead of leaving the man began browsing shelves near her. The man had long dark hair. He turned his head, looking at Riley until she walked away with
the granola bar, not noticing him.

  “That’s Rykhirt,” McDowell said.

  “Fontana confirmed it with his credit card purchase of gas,” Reeves said.

  The family left the store and the perspective shifted to the pumps as they returned to the RV then drove off. The footage changed again showing Rykhirt exiting the store. Then it shifted to Rykhirt getting into a blue Nissan Versa, four-door hatchback and leaving the station in the same direction as the family.

  “They got this next sequence from city and commercial cameras,” Reeves said.

  New footage showed the RV turning onto the on-ramp for Interstate 15, north.

  A moment later, Rykhirt’s blue Versa turned onto the ramp for Interstate 15, north. He was not far behind.

  “He followed them to the Sagebrush,” Elsen said.

  “Bingo,” Reeves said.

  McDowell turned to the one-way window, looking at Rykhirt sitting there.

  “He was hunting,” she said.

  * * *

  Leaving Rykhirt alone in the interview room was also a tactical move, giving the detectives the chance to observe his reaction to their first round of questioning.

  Stock-still, eyes closed, he appeared placid.

  Elsen and McDowell also used the time to follow up with Fontana and Riverside PDs, and the Crime Scene Detail, securing new crucial elements.

  “Time to push,” Elsen said. “He’s got to tell us where she is.”

  An hour after they’d left Rykhirt, they returned to the interview room to resume questioning him.

  Rykhirt looked at them as they were seated.

  “I’m hungry. May I have something to eat?”

  Elsen stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure, we can get you something.” He tapped and scrolled on the tablet, turning it, showing Rykhirt a take-out and delivery menu, with tantalizing photos of cheeseburgers, salads, souvlaki, pizza, tacos, club sandwiches, chicken platters and more.