by Mark Stone
“Clive is the idiot who overlooked a makeshift attic apartment in Charlotte’s house,” I reminded Boomer. “He’s a good guy, but he’s not up to snuff. He can’t do this.”
“I say he can,” Boomer answered. “And seeing as how I’m your boss, what I say goes. He made a mistake in not checking the attic. I’ll admit that, but he’s good at what he does. He’s cracked more cases than almost anyone at his experience level.”
“His experience level is going to be the reason Charlotte dies,” I answered, fuming. “Where is Ellen now?”
“She’s gone,” Boomer said. “She left as soon as she admitted to lying to you.”
“You let her go?” I asked, throwing my hands out at my sides. “What happened to your idea that she was behind all of this?”
“I didn’t say she was behind it. I said she might not have been telling you the truth, and I had no reason to hold her,” he said.
“You could have charged her with obstruction of justice,” I suggested.
“I could have if she’d have actually brought it to a cop on duty,” he said. “You’re not working right now, and you’re the one who forced her to come here. You told me that yourself.”
“You can hold anyone for seventy two hours before you have to charge them with anything,” I said.
“And what would the papers say about that?” Boomer asked. “She’s already been painted as a victim in the press and maybe with good reason. In any event, holding her in jail would only serve to cause a stir and tip our hats.” He shook his head. “I think she was trying to throw us off the scent of Dustin Reynolds. I think, somewhere in her sick mind, Ellen thinks she can prove herself as worthy to Dustin by sending us on a wild goose chase. I also think that having Ellen out and about isn’t a bad thing.”
“You think she’ll bring us to Dustin?” I asked.
“I think she’s been front page news for a few days now, and she hasn’t even attempted to call her son,” he said. “That doesn’t sound like the person she sold herself as, does it?”
“Not really,” I admitted, blinking hard. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“No, you won’t,” Boomer said. “What part of ‘desk job’ don’t you understand? You’re benched, Dil. No tailing, no chasing, no nothing. You can push papers and move files around. Anything other than that will earn you a complete suspension. You got that?”
“You think a suspension scares me?” I asked, furrowing my brow at my friend and superior officer.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “How about this? You wanted someone arrested for obstruction of justice? Keep at it, and it’ll be the person staring back at you from the mirror.”
“Fine,” I said, standing, nodding at Boomer, and heading toward the door. I had to imagine that, as someone who knew me as well as Boomer did, he had to know that I wasn’t going to stop. Suspension, arrest, none of it mattered if it meant getting Charlotte back safely.
Pushing my way through the door to Boomer’s office, I steadied myself. I was going to find Ellen, and I was going to use her to find Charlotte. Either that, or I was going to ruin myself trying.
30
“Hey there, Dillon,” Clive said with a smile as he walked toward me. It had been nearly an entire day since I started my desk work at the precinct, and I could already feel it starting to slowly kill me. I was used to doing the heavy lifting in terms of cases. I was used to beating the streets, following suspects, and chasing down leads; all the stuff Clive was doing right now. This sedentary existence, even if it had only been for a single day, was already starting to make me itch.
“Clive,” I said, careful not to look up at the man. He was a good guy, and like Boomer said, he was a decent detective. Still, that didn’t mean I wanted to talk to him about his good fortune in inheriting a case that should have rightfully still been mine.
As it turned out, I wasn’t quite distant enough, because the man stopped at my desk, settling in front of it with a big smile on his face. I took a deep breath and looked up at the man, plastering on my best polite expression. After all, this guy was my wife’s partner, at least for the time being.
“What’s up, Clive?” I asked, arching my eyebrows at the man. “Can I help you?”
“Just shooting the breeze, my man,” he said, plopping down on the chair on the other side of my desk. “You have a pretty amazing wife. Did you know that?”
Even brushing aside the fact that he had just called me ‘my man’, it was hard not to groan as I responded. “I had an inkling that she was pretty okay,” I said, smiling at him civilly. “It’s nice to hear it from another person, though.”
“Especially from someone who has as much in common with you as I do, right?” he asked, his smile broadening. “I mean, look at the two of us.” He shook his head. “It’s like staring into a mirror.”
I swallowed hard. I had almost forgot about the fact that Clive thought we looked a lot alike. More than that, he apparently thought we were pretty similar in other ways too.
“I’d say you could be my twin if I didn’t already have one,” he answered. “Well, had one.”
“Really?” I asked, looking up at the man. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah,” Clive said, shaking his head firmly. “He died a few months ago, actually. There was a boating accident.”
“I’m so sorry,” I answered.
“Thank you,” he answered. “Actually, looking at you makes me feel like he’s kind of back again. You just look so much like him. I mean, in a different life, it probably could have been me marrying her and you being her temporary partner.”
“I kind of doubt that, Clive,” I said quickly. Though, reading the hurt that flashed through his eyes, I immediately regretted my choice of words. Even if I believed them, they seemed to be a little harsh for the man. So, I decided to soften them a little. “It’s just that I like to think that what Rebecca and I have is special.”
“Oh, of course,” Clive said, pepping up again and nodding firmly. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I would never step on your feet like that. It’s just always struck me as funny how one little decision can change everything.” He pointed at me. “Take you, for example. If you hadn’t left Naples when you did, you’d have probably married someone else. You’d have probably been with-”
“Charlotte,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s okay. You can say her name. You are the person trying to find her, after all.”
“Right,” Clive said, nodding again. “I didn’t mean anything by that, either. I guess my foot is planted firmly in my mouth today.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Really, it is. I’m just trying to acclimate to my new position. It’s not the easiest thing in the world.”
“I can imagine,” Clive said. “But don’t worry. I’m sure somebody like you will be back on the beat in no time.” He snapped his fingers hard. “You know. I can put in a good word for you with Boomer.”
Again, it was hard not to groan. “Would you?” I asked, trying not to sound sarcastic.
“For you, Dillon Storm, I would do anything. We’re a lot alike, you and me. Heck, sometimes, I think we might be two ends of the same person,” he said, extending a hand for me to shake. Once I had obliged him, he stood up and headed away from me. It was just in time for his partner (who also happened to be my wife) to walk up. Her arms were folded over her chest, but I could tell she had a piece of paper in her right hand.
“That didn’t look like a conversation you enjoyed,” she said, looking over at me with laughter in her eyes.
“It wasn’t as bad as all that,” I admitted. “I think I’m just taking some of my frustrations out on him. Other than that screw up with the attic, I don’t have anything against the guy, even if he does really like to milk the fact that he thinks we look alike.”
“You do look alike,” Rebecca said.
“Really?” I asked, smirking as I looked up at her.
“Well, I mean one of you is definitely cuter than the ot
her,” she added coyly.
“Which one?” I responded.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she winked.
“I really would,” I answered. “But I’d settle for an update on how the case is going. I know you went back to the Cooper house. Did you find anything?”
“And how would you know that?” Rebecca asked, narrowing her eyes at me. “Your cute little nose isn’t supposed to be in this case anymore.”
“What can I say?” I replied. “I’m got a strong sense of smell.”
My phone rang. Before I could get to it, the name Roscoe lit up across it. I slapped my hand over the screen, blocking the name from Rebecca, but it was too late.
“Is that James Roscoe?” she asked, her mouth dropping. “The same officer who is currently tailing Ellen?”
“If I said no, would you believe me?” I asked, biting my lower lip.
Rebecca quickly sat down, placing the paper in her hand on the desk. “You’re actually keeping tabs on the person who is keeping tabs on Ellen? You really don’t know how to follow directions, do you?”
“I like to think of them more as strong suggestions,” I answered.
“How did you convince Roscoe to keep you in the loop?” she asked, leering at me.
“This is Naples. I’ve known that guy since we had our baby teeth. I asked him for a favor, and he did it. Simple as that.” I shook my head. “He knows how important this is to me.”
“How important Charlotte is to you,” Rebecca answered.
“Yes,” I said without missing a beat. “She’s always been important to me. You know that, and you know how important you are too.”
“Of course, I do,” she answered, though I watched her eyes move to the paper on my desk, the one she brought in with her.
“What is that?” I asked, looking at the sheet, and seeing familiar handwriting.
“Nothing I can let you see,” she answered. “It’s evidence.”
“Evidence you found at the Cooper house?” I asked, reaching for it. I wasn’t quick enough, though, because Rebecca got to it first, placing her palm flatly across the paper. “You found it in the attic, didn’t you?”
“Dillon, I can’t talk to you about this,” Rebecca said. “It’s-”
“It’s my handwriting, isn’t it?” I asked, looking at the cursive words that were still visible in the spaces between her fingers. “I wrote that, didn’t I, Rebecca?”
“I can’t, Dillon,” she said.
“Come on, Rebecca,” I said, pleading now coloring my voice. “It’s my letter. Hell, it should be my case. I deserve to see this.”
Rebecca looked at me for a long moment. “Fine,” she muttered, pushing the letter toward me. “But this stays between us.”
“Of course,” I answered. Grabbing the letter and skimming its contents, I immediately recognized it. It was a love letter I wrote to Charlotte when we were kids, back when things were hot and heavy as well as simple between us. “You read this?” I asked, looking up at Rebecca as my heart skipped a beat.
“It’s fine, Dillon,” she said. “You were children back then. Besides, I know where your heart is now.”
Nodding, I read over the letter, remembering where I was when I wrote it. I was sitting in the front seat of an old car my grandfather helped me fix up, listening to the Eagles with a full heart and raging hormones. I wanted her more than anything back then, and those words were a testament to that fact.
My dearest love,
One day, I’ll take you away from all of this. I’ll take you up the coast, all the way to St. George Island, where we always said we’d go. We’ll lay in the sand. We’ll drink tequila- no matter what anyone says. We’ll make love on the sand, and we’ll live the life we’ve always wanted. We’ll be together. It’ll be perfect, just you and me forever, the way it always should be.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, looking up at Rebecca, awash in the memory.
“It was inside the makeshift mattress whoever was living in the attic slept on. There was a slit in the thing, and this letter had been stuffed inside,” Rebecca said.
“It had been kept, hadn’t it?” I asked, looking at the letter again. “This person, Dustin Reynolds, he was keeping this letter as some sort of trophy, some sort of keepsake, wasn’t he?”
“I’d bet on it,” Rebecca said, taking the letter from me again.
“Why would he do that?” I asked, my mind spinning.
“That’s what we’re going to figure out,” she said. “In the meantime-”
My phone rang again. Once again, the name Roscoe spread across the screen.
“Like I said, in the meantime, it looks like you have a call to take,” Rebecca said, standing, winking at me in lieu of the kiss we’d have shared if we weren’t in a professional setting, and walking away.
Grabbing the phone, I lowered my voice as I answered. I didn’t need anyone, especially Boomer, to know I was keeping tabs on Ellen through Roscoe.
“What’s up?” I asked in a near whisper.
“It’s Ellen,” he said. “I was keeping tabs on her, and she went into this truck stop, the one on exit 17. I thought she was getting gas or food. I just went to the bathroom for a second. It was only a second.”
“Roscoe, what happened?” I asked, my body tensing at my desk.
“Her car is still here, Dillon,” he said. “But she’s gone. Ellen isn’t anywhere to be found.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, hanging up the phone. Standing, I grabbed my coat, and swung it over my shoulder. “I’m taking a long lunch,” I said to no one in particular, and headed off to find out exactly what had happened to Ellen.
31
“What the hell happened, Roscoe?” I asked, screeching to a halt in the parking lot of the truck stop and glaring at my friend and fellow officer. James Roscoe and I had been close since we were children. We weren’t best friend or anything, but we’d definitely do each other a favor…even if we didn’t exactly do it in a stellar fashion. “How’d you lose her, man?”
Roscoe shook his head at me, his mouth thinning into half a line on his face.
“She had been in the damn store for twenty five minutes. I didn’t think she was ever going to stop browsing around the knick-knacks and three day old doughnuts. How was I supposed to know that she’d up and vanish the very second I decided to hit the head?”
I sighed and stepped out, looking at the car Ellen had left in its parking spot and narrowing my eyes. “But she left her car. Are you sure she’s not somewhere around this place. It’s a pretty big area.” I motioned to the sprawling truck area that stretched out large behind the store.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I figured I had already screwed up. When I realized she had disappeared from the convenience store, I decided to stick around the car. I figured the only thing worse than losing the girl would be losing the girl and the car.”
I nodded. Though it wasn’t the way I would have proceeded myself, I did understand his motives. Of course, none of that did me any good in terms of finding her.
“I don’t get it, Dillon,” he continued. “I thought this girl was a victim. I’m not one hundred percent sure why you would want me tailing her anyhow. Are you saying you don’t believe her statement?”
“Not particularly,” I admitted. “When I was listening to her, I believed her. I could see the fear in her eyes. Of course, there was a fire barreling down on us. So, fear probably wouldn’t be hard to come by. When she came by my house, I believed her too. She seemed genuine to me, and I should know a thing or two about that. I’ve interrogated more suspects than I could ever call to mind at the moment.”
“So what the hell am I doing here?” Roscoe asked. “You know, aside from screwing up.”
“She told them she lied to me, and if she wasn’t lying to me, then I have no earthly idea why she would say something like that.” I looked at the pavement. “Besides, she said she was hurting to see her son. She said he was the most importa
nt thing in the world to her.”
“And?” Roscoe asked, his brow furrowing.
“She’s still here, Roscoe,” I answered. “Days later, and she hasn’t made any moves to see her damn son. Something isn’t right, and I need to figure out what that is.”
“And I need to get fired doing it, I suppose?” Roscoe asked, shuffling where he stood. “You know I promised to keep an eye on the woman, but I never said anything about acting. If I don’t see her doing anything illegal, my hands are tied, Dillon. I won’t compromise my integrity to dive into some conspiracy theory.”
“It’s barely a theory at all,” I answered, nodding at the man. “It’s more of an idea, a hunch. I think Ellen has been through a lot. I think she was telling the truth when she told me what happened to her.”
“Then why would she tell the other officers that she lied?” Roscoe asked.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But I’m going to find out. I won’t ask you to make any moves on this. All I’m asking is that you stay by the car long enough for me to circle the perimeter and see if Ellen is even still here.”
“And if she is?” he asked.
“Then I’ll keep an eye on her myself,” I responded. “I’ll figure out why she’s still in town, why she’s at this truck stop specifically, and why she hasn’t been home since she was released from the hospital.” I pointed at Roscoe. “I’ll keep your name out of it, though. I promise you that.”
“Good enough,” Roscoe said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
A vison of Charlotte moved across my eyes. “Who,” I answered, correcting him. “Who I’m looking for.”
“Right,” Roscoe answered. Then he walked back to his car, settling in to keep an eye on Ellen’s seemingly abandoned automobile.
With both hands planted firmly on the wheel, I began to circle the truck stop. The place wasn’t very crowded today, which didn’t surprise me. A couple of years ago, a brand new truck stop opened on the other side of the interstate. Since then, this place had kind of dwindled in popularity until finally it didn’t see more than a handful or so of customers a day. The fact that it was still open was miracle.