Sara

by Tony Hayden

  The closet door rolled aside to reveal several shirts on hangers, a pump action .22 rifle resting against the back wall, and an open box filled with family photos, utility bills, and old pay stubs. Mike thumbed through the photos looking for anything out of the ordinary. There were Polaroid’s of Jordan and a homely young woman on a carnival ride; some shots of a Christmas tree with bright red and green wrapping paper scattered about; more pictures of Jordan and what Mike assumed was his less than attractive girlfriend at a monster truck show; and a number of photos of deer and elk hanging from trees or laying on the ground. Mike recognized Sheriff Barnes and Duncan Winter in most of the hunting shots. None of the photographs seemed in the least bit suspicious.

  Mike stood and looked along a shelf that stretched across the top of the closet. There was an empty duffle bag, a portable AM/FM radio, a white leather bound bible, and a shoebox. He picked up the bible and flipped through the pages, looking for any loose items that might be hidden there. Nothing. Finally, he pulled down the shoebox and peered inside. Mike scowled deeply and walked over to a window to better see the contents. Half a dozen unlaundered panties were crumpled together in the bottom of the box. Mike shook the box lightly to move the panties around. Some were torn and others looked almost new. A pair of light-blue cotton panties on top were freshly stained with dirt. A cold chill crawled down Mike’s spine. His mind raced for an explanation of what this collection of women’s briefs could mean. Were they products of some odd fetish, or were they trophies, taken from the corpses of missing girls?

  eighteen

  Mike vibrated down the county road, cell phone to his ear, trying desperately not to let the wash boarded gravel road take control of his car.

  “Jean,” he said impatiently, “I was just hoping you would remember what type of panties Sara was wearing the morning she left home.”

  “How would I know that, Mike?” Jean replied tersely. “I stopped dressing Sara when she was three years old.”

  A sob came from the other end of the connection, “Tell me what you’ve found, Mike.”

  Jean drew in a deep breath, “Did you find a body?”

  Mike frowned deeply and shook his head, “No, honey. Nothing that terrible.”

  Mike applied his brakes to avoid being bounced from the road. His voice took on a more conciliatory tone.

  “Jean, we have to be more positive. Sara is alive, honey. And we are going to find her, okay?”

  Jean was quiet for a moment, causing Mike to check his phone to see if they were still connected.

  She finally sighed, “Sara had bought some plain cotton bikinis just before she left. I washed them for her and left them on her bed.”

  Mike perked up, “What color were they, Jean?”

  “Different colors; white, pink, blue, and black, I think. But I don’t know if she wore a pair of them or something she already had.”

  Mike jumped in quickly, sure that he was on to something.

  “If I send you a text message with a photo, do you think you could identify a pair of her panties?”

  Jean scoffed loudly, “Come on, Mike,” she said harshly. “They’re cotton panties, for God’s sake. You buy them in a pack of six for six dollars at Target. How the hell would I know if they were Sara’s or not?”

  Mike physically deflated as he pulled to a stop sign where the county road intersected a paved road that led to town.

  “You’re right, Jean,” he said. “I guess I’m grasping at straws.”

  “Well, I’m not grasping at straws,” she replied. “The people here in Laramie have been so helpful. The editor of the student paper offered to print up flyers with Sara’s picture on them, and she is meeting with the sorority that Sara had applied to, to organize a volunteer search in Ranch Springs for Sara on Sunday. I’ve asked Larry Jents to organize people from home to come help.”

  Mike thought that Larry Jents, the overly social Eagle County dispatcher, was an obvious choice to get the word out. He absently checked for traffic before pulling onto the paved road.

  “That’s great, honey,” he said. “What did the police there have to say?”

  “Well, Chief Saddler tried to be accommodating,” she said. “He and the chief of the university police promised to work together to come up with a plan. They both thought that I should concentrate my efforts in Colorado. I told them that you were handling that. I’m going to stay right here and help coordinate the search this weekend.”

  Mike bit his lip. Volunteer searches rarely turned up any significant evidence. He had always regarded them as “chicken soup” for civilians who felt powerless after a person was reported missing.

  “The search is a great idea, Jean. Please let me know what the final plans are so I can help.”

  Mike was jolted when a short burst of siren caught his attention. Looking in his rearview mirror, he spotted the Sheriff’s Chrysler 300 with emergency lights flashing.

  “Jean, I have to go,” he said quickly. “I’ll call you this evening and we’ll talk some more.”

  Without waiting for a “goodbye”, Mike snapped his phone shut and pulled to the narrow shoulder of the paved road. The Sheriff’s Chrysler pulled in behind him, blocking the entire lane for safety. The road was deserted, but Mike understood the logic for the precaution. What he didn’t understand was the purpose of the traffic stop.

  He watched in his side mirror as Sheriff Barnes stepped from the car and approached slowly. The purr of an electric motor filled the Taurus while the driver’s door window slipped into hiding. “Turn off the automobile,” the Sheriff’s voice boomed from behind.

  Mike was embarrassed. He had made more than enough traffic stops to know the procedure by rote. He turned the key in the ignition and was taken by the silence of the deserted road.

  “Remove the keys and place them on the dashboard, then place both hands on top of the steering wheel.”

  Mike tried to turn in his seat to look at Sheriff Barnes. He was becoming agitated at being handled like a common criminal.

  “Keep your eyes forward,” Barnes shouted. “Remove the keys and place them on the dashboard, then place both hands on the steering wheel. Do not make me ask you again.”

  “Fine,” Mike said, then followed the instructions to the letter.

  He couldn’t see Sheriff Barnes in his mirror, but he had a clear mental image of the man standing back, weapon in his hand pointed forward and down, legs spread shoulder width, right foot slightly forward.

  “Place both hands out the window where I can see them.”

  Anger flashed through Mike. He was a man who was accustomed to being in control. Sheriff Barnes was handling him like a felon and that put Mike in a position of little control. He did as he was told, but when he turned to place both hands out the window, the Insider holster and Ruger dug deeply into his right hip.

  Mike now had a decent view of Barnes and he was shocked that the Sheriff actually did have his sidearm pulled. A light sweat broke out across his brow.

  “I’m carrying a concealed weapon,” Mike said.

  “With your left hand, reach down and open the door. Do not reach for your weapon at any time. Do you understand me?”

  Mike was becoming pissed, “I’m familiar with the procedure, Barnes.”

  “Then do it now.”

  Mike opened the door with his left hand and pushed it open slowly, keeping both hands in plain sight.

  “Now, step from the car, turn and place both hands on top of the car, and spread your legs. I repeat, at no time are you to reach for your weapon.”

  Mike held his hands out in front of his chest and slowly stood from the car finally coming face-to-face with Sheriff Barnes. What he saw frightened him. The man showed no hint of recognition on his face, no sign of cockiness, or playfulness, or sense of ease, knowing that Deputy Mike Haller was not a threat. Sheriff Barnes seemed on edge and ready to use deadly force if he deemed it necessary.

  “Turn and place both hands on top of the car and spread
your legs. Now!”

  Mike did as he was told, “You’re being a little overly dramatic, aren’t you, Barnes?”

  The sheriff kicked Mike’s legs apart and pushed him hard into the side of the Taurus before removing Mike’s sidearm from its hidden holster.

  “You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said.

  Mike’s belly burned with an anger that quickly spread to his chest. He had never been an aggressive man and had always prided himself for a calm demeanor and respect for authority, but he also didn’t like being manhandled. The Sheriff was pushing him toward a black hole where reasoned thought might easily dissolve into animated fury.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Barnes?” Mike yelled.

  Sheriff Barnes responded by shoving Mike’s head hard against the roof of the car.

  “I saw you turn off County Road 37 a few miles back, you little prick. That’s the road my boy lives on. Why do you persist in conducting an investigation in my jurisdiction?”

  Mike felt himself step from the edge of civility. Pushing back off the car, he gained enough room to turn and grab Barnes.

  “I’m trying to find my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch,” he yelled. “How many girls have to disappear in your county---”

  Mike never got a chance to finish. Sheriff Barnes thrust forward and drove his forehead into the bridge of Mike’s nose, shattering it. In one swift motion, he brought his arms up, breaking Mike’s grip on his jacket, and delivered three quick blows to Mike’s chest, forcing all air from his lungs.

  Mike knew he was beaten before the fight even started. The Sheriff continued his assault with two more punches to the jaw and Mike went to his knees. Unable to breathe, he swallowed hard to clear blood from his throat, then bent over on all fours and vomited onto the pavement. A hard kick to his ribs bulldozed Mike toward unconsciousness.

  The last thing he heard before slipping away was, “You’re under arrest…”

  nineteen

  Mike sat in the back seat of the Chrysler 300, hands cuffed behind, both nostrils plugged with wads of gauze. A blinding headache stood like a concrete wall, keeping full consciousness just beyond his reach. Mike had suffered a severe concussion four months earlier and had spent several hours in a drug induced coma after a run in with a hired assassin. He couldn’t help but wonder how many more blows to the head he could sustain before he was fitted for a permanent protective helmet.

  He felt the vehicle lurch as the sheriff put it into gear and pulled onto the paved road.

  “Is this how you treat all law abiding citizens in your county, Barnes?” he asked.

  Sheriff Barnes looked into his rearview mirror and replied sternly, “When a citizen resists arrest and commits an assault on a police officer in my county, they can expect to be handled forcefully.”

  Barnes responded to a radio call.

  “Ten seventy-six, code five.”

  Looking back in his mirror again, the sheriff continued, “I don’t know how you boys do it in Eagle County, but here, we don’t worry much about sensitivity training and the fragile self-esteems of the criminal element.”

  Barnes chuckled, “We don’t use bean bags and pepper spray to pacify a suspect. If you fail to obey a lawful order here, you need to prepare yourself to be taken to the woodshed.”

  Mike sat quietly for a moment before asking, “Are you in on this Barnes?” His heart froze at the thought. “My daughter quietly disappears in your county along with several other young girls over the years and somehow it escapes public scrutiny. I would guess it takes someone with lots of influence to keep that a secret.”

  He made eye contact with the sheriff in the mirror again and continued, “Your stepson is a legitimate suspect and you have refused to investigate this case. So, I am asking you, Sheriff, are you a party to these crimes? Did you and Jordan kidnap my daughter?”

  Sheriff Barnes held Mike’s gaze in the mirror and slowly pulled the Chrysler to the side of the road. With the engine idling, he turned in his seat and faced Mike.

  “Let me be perfectly clear with you, Deputy. When you are in my presence, you will show proper respect. Twenty years in law enforcement and I have never had my integrity questioned as you just did.”

  Barnes’ eyes burned into Mike for a full minute before he spoke again.

  “I have been actively investigating the disappearance of your daughter, Mike. I have been knocking on doors, talking to local farmers and businessmen. I am coordinating with other counties, rounding up and questioning perverts and rapists and residents of a dozen half-way houses who would jump at a chance to spend five minutes with a young college girl.”

  Mike looked away, noticeably skeptical of what he was hearing.

  Barnes softened a little.

  “I was heading back to town just now to question a witness who has come forward with news about your daughter. But now I am delayed because I have to worry about a fellow law enforcement officer who seems hell bent on becoming judge, jury, and executioner, with my stepson in his crosshairs.”

  Mike looked back at Barnes, “All my instincts as a police officer tell me that your stepson is a lead suspect in my daughter’s disappearance. And the simple fact that he is your stepson cries out for the State Attorney General to be involved in this investigation.”

  Barnes looked sad for a moment, “Mike, the boy is not involved,” he said. “I know him inside and out. I raised him as my own son. He shelters stray kittens for God’s sake. I’ve watched him feed them with an eye dropper. I’ve watched him cry when he handed over a stray mutt to the rescue shelter. The boy is soft, he could never cause harm to your daughter.”

  Mike listened and shook his head, “Don’t you see, Sheriff? You can’t help but be prejudiced. Jordan may very well be the last person to see my daughter alive. A proper interrogation done by an impartial party can determine whether or not he is a suspect.”

  Sheriff Barnes’ face reddened. He turned in his seat and put the Chrysler into drive. “I am the law in this county, Deputy, not the State Attorney General.”

  Checking his side mirrors, Barnes pulled back onto the road to town. “And it can become very dangerous around these parts for any person who finds himself challenging my authority. Unlike my stepson, I make sport of cleansing this county of strays.”

  Mike made eye contact with Barnes in the rearview mirror again; the veiled threat received. The pain in his head wailed like a prairie siren, warning of an approaching tornado.

  The Red Feather County Sheriff’s Office hummed with the quiet business of paperwork, chirping telephones, and hushed conversations. Mike felt like an alien in an atmosphere where he usually found comfort. Deputy Ryan Watts entered through the front doors with a paramedic close on his heels.

  “Doug,” he said over his shoulder, “this is Deputy Mike Haller of the Eagle County Sheriff’s Department.”

  The paramedic nodded at Mike and lowered his first responder bag to the floor.

  Watts continued, “I want you to give this man a thorough examination and clean up his cuts and bruises.”

  The Deputy bent over and looked closely at Mike’s face. “Can you fix his nose, or will I need to transport him to Poudre Valley Hospital?”

  The paramedic squatted in front of Mike and took a close look at the bridge of his nose. “I can set it, it doesn’t look too bad. He’s gonna look like a raccoon for a few weeks though.”

  Mike scoffed, “I feel like a raccoon who’s been run over by a semi.”

  The paramedic was running his fingers over Mike’s ribs, watching his face closely for signs of pain.

  “Can you remove his handcuffs, Ryan?”

  Looking Mike in the eye, Doug asked, “Are you going to behave yourself so I can examine you?”

  Mike smiled and looked embarrassed. “I’m no threat to you, Doug. Believe it or not, I’m one of the good guys.”

  Deputy Watts chimed in as he unlocked and removed Mike’s restraints, “Mr. Haller is here looking for his daughter. He
r car broke down north of town and she hasn’t been seen since.”

  The paramedic ran both hands down Mike’s arms, checking for fractures.

  “That sucks,” he said. “If it’s your daughter who’s missing, why are you the one sitting here in cuffs looking like you tangled with a mountain lion?”

  Mike was about to answer when the paramedic pulled the wads of gauze from his nose then used his thumbs to set the small bones back into proper position. Before Mike knew it, more gauze was packed into his nostrils and tape was applied to the bridge of his nose to stabilize the fracture. His eyes poured water and all he could say was, “Ouch!”

  Doug stood, “I’ll leave you some ibuprofen for the swelling. If the bleeding doesn’t stop shortly, you’ll have to see a doctor.”

  Turning to Deputy Watts, he added, “He seems to be in good shape, other than a few bruises and abrasions. Blood pressure is fine; pupils are reactive so there’s no obvious brain injury. His breathing is clear, pulse is strong, no broken bones other than his schnoz.”

  Deputy Watts patted the paramedic on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Doug,” he said. “Would you please send me a copy of your report? Make sure that it’s addressed to me personally.”

  “Sure thing,” he answered before retrieving his bag and heading for the front door.

  Deputy Watts waited until the paramedic had left before pulling up a chair next to Mike.

  “The Sheriff says he is charging you with careless driving, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer, and brandishing a weapon.”