Search for Her
Page 19
“We understand you made statements on a call about a demand for payment,” Elsen said.
Lack of sleep and anxiety delayed John’s coming to a conclusion but when he reached it, he knew.
“It’s about Claire, isn’t it, what she thought she heard me saying yesterday?”
“John, we can’t help you if you don’t help us. Think of Riley.”
His face strained, he rubbed his stubbled chin and shook his head.
“Brad Vardy. Two hundred thousand,” he said.
McDowell looked to Elsen who said: “Keep going.”
“He’s with legal for the RV rental company. He said their claims guy, the one I’d talked to after the accident who said the RV was a write-off, had been looking at news coverage and heard the police allegations, and that if, he stressed if, it was used in criminal activity, to transport illegal drugs, the insurance policy is voided and I have to pay the cost of replacement—two hundred thousand dollars.”
The detectives said nothing.
“He called to tell me that now, at this time. With all we’re facing,” John said. “I thought he was being a prick. I lost it with him on the phone. I shouted at him that I didn’t have that kind of money; that what he was suggesting was crazy and I was not going to pay. It was a rental, we have nothing to do with any drugs, but thanks to you guys, this is what I faced.”
The detectives said nothing.
“That’s when Claire overheard me. I’m sure it scared her but she misinterpreted it. I wanted to explain it to her but I never got the chance.”
“Brad Vardy?” McDowell said.
“Yes.”
“Do you have his spelling?” McDowell said.
“No. Do you want his number?”
“No. We’ll contact him. We have the rental policy.”
Elsen looked at John for a long moment. “You know, it’s a crime to lie to us,” he said.
John stared at him.
“John, have you got debts that are off the books? Do you owe someone? Does this have anything to do with the drugs? Or are you covering up another crime?”
John’s face tightened. “No.”
“Think of Riley, your family.”
“I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth.”
Elsen stared at John for a long moment before he slowly nodded. “All right, thank you. We’ll verify your account of the call with Vardy. I hope it’s true. For everyone’s sake.”
“It is,” John said.
“Good.” Elsen stared at John. “But if there’s anything else that you know and we don’t, it would be advisable for you to tell us now.”
John’s face reddened as he stared back. “There’s nothing.”
Forty-Nine
Nevada
After talking with John Marshall, Elsen and McDowell went inside the police command vehicle. They got coffee and muffins, then found a place to work.
McDowell searched their contact files. After a series of calls, and by the time he’d finished his pecan muffin, Elsen had reached Brad Vardy, a lawyer with American Unified Underwriters. Elsen put the call on speakerphone so McDowell could participate.
“Yes, the RV rented in John Marshall’s name is with Rolling Republic Rentals, one of our major clients,” Vardy told them from Hartford, Connecticut.
Elsen then asked Vardy to confirm a call with John.
“Yes, I spoke with John Marshall in Nevada. We’re following up on his claim.”
Vardy then recounted the nature and specifics of his conversation with John, relating as much detail as he could.
“Basically, I reviewed the terms of the policy with the aim of making sure he understood that if the allegations concerning the RV being a transport vehicle were true, we’d be seeking replacement and administrative costs for the unit. One moment, I have it all here.”
They heard a keyboard clicking.
“Mr. Marshall rented a late model, upscale luxury unit,” Vardy said. “Class C RV, with low mileage, so that cost with processing fees is upward of two hundred thousand dollars, maybe two twenty. We’re still finalizing estimates. I also offered to discuss a payment schedule with him, once a determination was made by law enforcement. Look, I didn’t want him to be hit with any unpleasant surprises so I alerted him to the possibility of replacement costs.”
“And how would you characterize his reaction?” Elsen asked.
“Oh, he was angry. Had a few choice words for me but quite understandable given his situation.”
“All right,” Elsen said. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful, Mr. Vardy.”
“A couple things while I have you, if you don’t mind?”
“What’s that?”
“You do believe the family used the RV in criminal activity, correct?”
“We don’t discuss such matters in an ongoing case,” Elsen said.
“I understand. Lastly, I’m curious, but I expect in the course of your investigation you’re going to take a look at the other tragedy Mr. Marshall experienced?”
“And what would that be?” Elsen said.
“The deaths of his wife and daughter while sailing near San Diego.”
“We’re aware,” Elsen said.
“Good.”
“Mr. Vardy,” McDowell said, “why do you ask?”
“Well, in our research we conduct due diligence to guard against fraudulent claims,” Vardy said. “From what I learned, it seems before a large payout was made to John Marshall on life insurance policies for his wife and daughter, questions were raised about their deaths.”
“What questions?” Elsen asked.
“It’s not for me to say. I had nothing to do with the case. It was another company and we have no affiliation with it. The benefit was paid, so it was resolved.”
“Mr. Vardy, what questions? What are you suggesting?”
“Well, from what I’d heard on the insurance grapevine, there was some question as to whether or not the deaths of John Marshall’s first wife and their daughter were accidental.”
Elsen and McDowell exchanged looks.
“It might be something to keep in mind, Detectives,” Vardy said.
Fifty
Nevada
John seemed frazzled after he’d finished with the detectives, giving Grace a sickening feeling that something dreadful was emerging.
Determined not to be left in the dark, she went to him. “Did they find her?”
John wearily shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”
“What did Elsen and McDowell say?”
John appeared to be looking for someone in the parking lot among the searchers who’d not yet been dispatched to the desert.
Grace grabbed his shoulders. “John! Why did they talk to you?”
“It’s about our insurance for the RV.”
“The insurance?”
John repeated what he’d told the detectives about his call from Brad Vardy and how they might have to pay two hundred thousand dollars for the RV.
“What? Why would he call about a thing like that now? You never told me about this call,” Grace said.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he said. “I told Vardy I wasn’t going to pay. Riley’s friend Claire must’ve overheard me, mistook it for a ransom call and told police. That’s what happened.”
Grace looked at him, trying to process what he was saying.
“Is that what really happened, Dad?” Blake said. He’d been standing near them unnoticed while listening. “Because Claire told me you sounded pretty freaked out. Was that call really about insurance?”
John looked at his son. “We’ve had this conversation, Blake. Is there something else we should talk about?”
“Was it really about insurance, Dad?”
“Yes, it was.”
Grace turned to John: “What was that? Why would he think the call was not about insurance?”
“Grace, I don’t know. Because he’s not sleeping, not eating, anguish, we’re all stressed out. You’re a nurse, you tell me.”
Concerned, Grace watched Blake.
Running his hand through his hair, John then stared at his phone, at the notice for the voice mail.
“I need to call Cynthia Litchfield in Pittsburgh,” he said. “She called me a little while ago.”
Unsettled, Grace looked at John for a tense moment, processing things, thinking.
“All right,” she said.
Then she turned to watch Blake as he moved farther away from them.
* * *
Claire, Dakota and Ashley were across the parking lot with other searchers waiting for the bus that would take them to the desert on the far west side of the interstate.
Blake joined them suddenly, seizing Claire’s wrist. “Come with me. I want to talk to you.”
He walked quickly with her well out of earshot of the others, stopping in the shade of a palm tree. “I told you not to tell,” Blake said.
Claire’s face whitened and she took a breath.
“I had to, Blake. Dakota and Ashley were going to tell.”
“My dad’s call was about insurance. The company wants us to pay for the RV.”
“What?”
“You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“What? I don’t understand. I wanted to help.”
He shook his head.
“Blake,” she pleaded, “there’s the creep, there’s Riley shoe. We’re so afraid. I had to tell.”
“I told you not to tell. You don’t know what you’ve done, sticking your nose in things, talking about ransom when you don’t know a damned thing.”
“Blake, you’re kind of scaring me.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve been through this before.”
Claire looked at Blake. He was trembling. Grasping to understand, to make sense of the way he was acting, Claire landed on a reason.
“You’ve been through this before with your sister, Courtney. Riley told us. Do you want to talk about it?”
Blake didn’t answer. His eyes were shiny, glazed over.
“Just go, Claire.”
“Blake, you’re so worn out, you need sleep.”
“Just go, Claire. I’ll be fine.”
A motor growled.
A yellow school bus had rolled into the lot. Its brakes creaked when it stopped to pick up the searchers. Claire’s friends were waving for her, then she looked to Blake.
“I can stay with you, if you want—”
“No, go.”
Reluctantly, Claire left.
When she was far enough away, Blake took out his burner phone and dialed the number he’d memorized. It rang and rang before the connection was made. “It’s me, Blake.”
After a long moment and muffled sounds, a male voice said: “Stop calling.”
“Did you demand money from my dad?”
A long silence without an answer.
“Why did you do that?”
Another silence.
“I told you it’s not my fault!” Blake said.
Another long, tense silence passed.
The voice said: “You fucked up.”
“No, I did everything you wanted. What happened is not my fault!”
“You fucked up and this is not over.”
The line went dead, leaving Blake to stare at his phone.
“Blake?”
He turned to see Grace approaching.
* * *
“Are you okay?” Grace said. “You were so upset with your dad. Want to talk?”
He shrugged. “It’s all right.”
“Who were you just talking to?” She indicated his phone. “What’s not your fault?”
He shoved his phone in his pocket. “One of my stupid friends—it’s stupid—I just—” Tears filled his eyes and he stared off. “I’m so sorry I lied to you about checking on her, Grace.”
“What’s done is done.”
“I should’ve been—I could’ve been—more like a big brother to her, watching out for her. It’s just that—” His shoulders shook, he lowered his head and his voice broke. “When Courtney and Mom drowned—I just—I just don’t know how much more of this I can take. You know?”
Blake took a great gasping breath and Grace took him into her arms. They stood there alone for several minutes, a mother holding her son. A portrait of grief.
For one moment, before ending their embrace, Grace searched the distance and saw John on his phone. Then she lifted her face to the sky, believing that secrets were being kept from her.
Fifty-One
San Diego, California
That afternoon Felicia Keane was checking messages on her phone behind the wheel of her octane-red Dodge Durango when a marked San Diego police car pulled up behind her.
Looking up into her rearview mirror, Keane gave a little wave before stepping from her SUV to greet Patrol Officer Ron Holcomb from Western Division.
“Thanks for helping us out,” Holcomb said.
“Not a problem, anything we can do.”
The house was a single-level hacienda-style home in peach-coral stucco, with an orange clay tile roof, a two-car garage and queen palms in the yard. It sat on a quiet street where Mission Hills bordered Hillcrest.
“Did you receive your copy from us of permission from the owner?” Holcomb asked.
“I did, yes.”
“Okay, so this is like a welfare check. Ready?”
“I’ll just get my tablet, for any questions.” Keane retrieved it from her car, and they went to the front door. The handle was equipped with a lockbox.
“So your company looks after the house while the family’s in Africa?” Holcomb said.
“That’s right. Diamond Palm Property Management takes care of properties for absent owners including American expats abroad.”
The keypad on the lockbox beeped as Keane entered the code, and they entered.
The home was tastefully furnished. It had an open floor plan with hardwood floors, high ceilings and an abundance of natural light. They walked through the living room with Holcomb scrutinizing everything.
The house smelled of polish and cleaner.
Holcomb and Keane went to the kitchen where he opened the fridge. It was empty. He checked the ovens. The trash was empty. The place was spotless.
They moved on to the bathrooms. Again. Clean. Spotless. No toilet tissue, no indication the showers had been used, nothing unusual in the medicine cabinets. Nothing in the trash.
In the bedrooms, Holcomb inspected the beds, closets and dressers. Nothing out of order. Then they stepped out onto the rear deck. As they took in the private fenced yard, Keane asked a question.
“So, the son somehow missed his flight and the thinking is he might’ve come home here?”
“Something like that. Let’s check the garage then we’re done.”
Taking the steps from the deck along the side of the house, they came to the front of the double garage with the lockbox on the frame. Keane swiped her tablet. “I’ve got the code here.”
“They have two vehicles, correct?”
“Um, yes.” Keane concentrated on her tablet. “They have a BMW M3 and a new Ford Explorer SUV. Now, that door code. Ah, here it is.”
The keypad beeped as Keane tapped the sequence.
The automatic door came to life with an electronic rattle and slowly began ris
ing.
Holcomb saw tires and a rear bumper, but as the door rose he saw only one vehicle. The BMW.
He looked at Keane. “Where’s the SUV?”
“I don’t—that’s odd.” Keane consulted her tablet. “Our people were not scheduled to take them.”
“Check.”
Keane shifted the tablet, got out her phone and pressed a number.
“Mitch Cooper, our operations chief, will know,” she said, nodding. “Mitch? Hi. Felicia. I’m at the Clarke property with Officer Holcomb... Right. Did your people pick up one of their vehicles for any reason—the Ford Explorer?” A silence passed. “No?” Felicia shot Holcomb a worried look as she continued on the phone. “That’s what I have... Right. It’s gone, Mitch... Yes, I’m sure! We’re standing in the driveway looking in the garage and it’s gone.”
Holcomb reached for his phone.
Fifty-Two
Las Vegas, Nevada
Riley Jarrett’s phone sat on the counter of Officer Sue Watson’s workstation in the Digital Forensic Lab at Las Vegas police headquarters.
On a far corner, bearing evidence tags, sat the phone and laptop that had belonged to Frayer Ront Rykhirt.
Watson, along with her colleagues in the lab, analyzed computers, phones and other electronic devices, including drones, computerized systems in vehicles and videos to produce evidence for criminal investigations.
Their caseload was overwhelming.
In fact, Watson was not the only analyst on the Jarrett case. One of her unit’s forensic specialists had been dispatched to the Silver Sagebrush to help work on its security camera system for potential recovery of archived recordings.
And at headquarters, since receiving Riley Jarrett’s phone from Dan Elsen, Watson had been working on it steadily.
Watson embraced the challenge. As a kid growing up in Henderson, she’d had an aptitude for puzzles and problem solving. In her teens she tore apart computers and phones then reassembled them to study how they worked. She got a degree in computer science, passed the police exam, worked on patrol before getting her dream job in the Digital Forensic Lab.