Chapter Eleven
Hearing the voices, I yanked Molly toward me and held her securely. In total trust, she sat watching me, panting as if she needed a drink. I should have thought to bring water.
In slow motion, I peeked out along the side of the building.
A man with masses of tightly curled hair hurried through the doorway of the building housing the surveillance camera. His flowing robe reminded me of a Hawaiian muumuu, but not as colorful. The German shepherd yawned, stretched, and stood as if waiting for instructions.
Mr. Curly Hair twitched erratically. What chemical had he ingested? He read aloud from a paper he held in one hand, but from my vantage point the words sounded like a rapid-fire machine gun, fast and clipped, although I couldn’t tell what he said.
When the man arrived at the edge of the veranda, he stopped abruptly, jerking his head back toward the doorway. A shorter man dashed out, dark hair partially hidden under a ball cap. Attired more conventionally, his averageness made a peculiar contrast against Curly Hair’s weirdness.
The two conferred over the paper a moment before a third man burst from the door. A long dirty lab coat draped his tall frame with combat fatigues showing underneath. He wore an army hat atop his shaved head. They rushed out en masse. I guessed the building they exited must be an office of sorts. I watched while they crossed the quadrangle to enter one of the storage sheds with the German shepherd trotting behind.
Thank you, Lord!
As soon as the shed door shut, I bolted across the open space, pulling Molly after me. We darted between the cover of the parked trucks, pausing to scope out the quadrangle. With no one in sight, we raced for the double doors.
Old lady, indeed! How’s that for speed?
I tugged on one of the doors. It opened and we scooted inside. When we reached the safety of the inner darkness, I slid the door shut.
The darkness made visibility difficult at first. I waited a moment panting, pressed against the sliding door in case someone spotted our mad dash. When no one appeared and my eyes adjusted, I turned to examine the contents of the building.
Just as I surmised, rows of vehicles. Pickups, vans, and military jeeps made up the lot. Some were painted in camouflage pattern, some black or other dark colors. None were white or light colored. A few seemed old and beat up, several newer. I walked between the row closest to the door looking for the black van without success and wishing I’d brought a flashlight.
Turning the corner, I started down the second row with Molly trotting behind me.
Here we go. This must be the van section. Blue van, green van, camouflage van... black van. I stopped. A quick scan along the remainder of the row confirmed there was only one black van.
Given its sordid history, I expected to be greeted by some kind of evil machine, but the van seemed innocuous enough. Quiet and cold. I stepped to the back to look for the license plate, but didn’t find one.
How could I prove Baxter stopped this particular black van?
When I peeked in the driver’s side window, part of a license plate stuck out from under the seat. Sliding inside, I pulled it out so I could read the entire number. Why was it on the floor? Would this be the stolen plate or the one that belonged to this van? How would I know unless I had the sheriff’s department run the number? Have to take it with me, I guess. That’s not right. God just protected me from the German shepherd and kept me from being seen. The least I could do was to act honorably.
Did I have paper and a pen to record the license number? No, of course not. I’d have to rely on my often flawed memory.
U8LCW5, U8LCW5, U8LCW5. How would I remember that? LCW—little curly worm—you ate little curly worm—5—don’t know how to remember the 5. Well, I have five fingers.
Repeating my mnemonic like a mantra, I pulled Molly toward the door.
The deputies would have to impound this vehicle now. I’d see to that.
When I peered out a slit between the sliding doors, no one was in sight so I beat a hasty retreat from the compound under forest cover.
However, when I rounded the corner to the place I’d left the Jeep, two burly men in camouflage uniforms leaned against the front fender. I blinked at the sight of them, trying to catch my breath.
The tallest one straightened. “What’re you doing here, ma’am?”
“I…I…” Think fast, Christine.
“What he means is, where have y’all been?” The shorter man’s southern accent sounded as thick as his sunburned neck.
Still panting from my dash through the forest, I pointed to the north, away from the compound. “Just had to take my dog on a small walk. She’s been in the car for a while and... ”
The first man guffawed. “Why don’t I believe that? Do you believe her, Pete?”
“Nope.”
“So.” They stepped closer to where Molly and I stood. “You got about thirty seconds to spill the truth. What’re you really up to?”
The truth? How could I tell them that? Might as well stick to my fib. “We got out to take a walk. Honest.”
In my heart, I sent up fervent prayers for help, but God didn’t answer. Why would He help a liar anyhow?
The men took a couple more steps toward me until we stood toe to toe. My heart thumped so loudly I thought the noise would summon the entire army. Molly whined and cowered behind my legs.
“See, we been waiting for you a long time. Either you got lost out there or you were doing some snooping where you ought not go. And you never mentioned getting lost.” The biggest soldier lowered his voice to address his friend. “Which truth do you believe?”
I made one last attempt at bravery. “Look, if you don’t mind, I need to get on home now.” I gestured for them to step out of my way.
The two towered solidly in place.
A dribble of perspiration trickled down my backbone.
“My, uh, husband is expecting me. He knows I’ve come out this way. I’m sure he’s looking for me.” Why not pile a couple more lies on top of the one I’d already told?
“Whatta ya say, Pete?” the tall one snarled. “Don’t think we want a nosy woman trespassin’ on our property. Think she oughta be taught a lesson, don’t you? Something she ain’t likely to forget.” Roughly, he snatched Molly’s purple leash out of my firm grip.
Through the swirl of struggling and confusion, the tether to my beloved dog slipped through my fingers. I heard myself scream.
When I shoved the gearshift into park outside our front porch and raced through the front door, my sobbing had reached epic proportions. “Oh, Jesse! Someone’s taken Molly and it’s all my fault!”
Jesse looked up from the kitchen island where he’d been hunkered over the newspaper I’d forgotten to bring in that morning. “What happened to you?”
“Jesse! They took her. We’ve got to get her back.” I tugged his shirtsleeve, hiccupping from forty-five minutes of hysterical wailing.
“Hey. Wait a minute. Slow down. What’s going on?”
The version I blubbered out was only slightly slanted so I wouldn’t give him extra reasons to berate me for deliberately disobeying his orders. When I finished, he shook his head. “This could only happen to you, Chris. See? I told you.”
“I know.” I grabbed a paper towel and blew my nose. “But they took Molly! Did you hear that? We have to rescue her before they hurt her. Please come with me.”
Jesse retreated a step. “Come with you? You think you’re going back to that place?” Shaking his head, he said, “No, no, no. We will not be going back. And you certainly will not. Those people are dangerous. Do you understand?”
To say he wasn’t pleased would be a gross understatement. He let me have it for a couple more minutes. I nodded and tried to look sorry, impatient for him to finish his tirade.
We had to get Molly back. How could I convince him? “Okay, okay,” I said when his verbal flogging finally ended. “You’re right, of course. But we were never in the slightest danger until the absolute
end. There were places to hide. And I found the license plate number. Look.” I grabbed a yellow legal pad and wrote out U8LCW5. “See?”
“The license number? Sorry, I’m not following. What does this have to do with Molly? Have you taken to collecting license plate numbers now?”
“This is the license number.” I sighed dramatically. “From the black van that is right there waiting for the deputies to impound it. Don’t you get that?”
“I get that you’ve put yourself in serious danger again without considering the consequences, possibly compromised evidence in the process, and lost our dog. Promise me you won’t do this anymore. I mean it, Christine.”
I threw my arms around his neck. “You know me, Jesse. I’ll try not to do it again. I’ll really try. From now on, I’ll include you in all my wild schemes.” Despite my attempt at lightening the mood, I felt time ticking in my chest. Every minute we delayed finding Molly, the greater the chance became that we would never get her back. “Please, Jesse. Help me rescue Molly.”
Jesse pried my desperate arms from his neck. “Maybe we should take this story to the news media.”
“Ha! Those idiots will just mix it up.”
The cogs of Jesse’s analytical process rolled. “We have to be careful about sharing this information.”
I followed his logic. “Right. Deputy Colter didn’t show any interest in the black van.”
“Deputy Oliver always seems to be Baxter’s friend, but
he doesn’t have direct access to the case. And I don’t think he has enough clout in the department to process this evidence properly.”
“Maybe not.”
“Then there’s Detective Rogers. He’s supposed to be heading the investigation. The fact that he refused Constance Boyd’s interview definitely swings the scales in his favor. But look what was in the paper today.” He tapped the front page.
The bold lettered headline proclaimed, “Official Findings Confirm Dunn’s Illegal Activity Contributed to Death.” I read the headline out loud. Tears bubbled into my eyes, taking my mind off Molly for the moment. “Who’s telling these crazy lies?”
According to the article, toxicology results confirmed the substance found in Baxter’s blood as the powerful drug PCP, originally developed for use as an anesthetic, but discontinued in medical applications due to the varied and unpredictable nature of its side effects. The state of the drug in his system indicated it had been ingested within an hour of his death.
Based on this report, Baxter’s death had been ruled an accident resulting either from his negligence or from actions he perpetrated. In the official version, Baxter went to The Owl to purchase the drug while off duty. Under the influence of the illegal substance, he instigated a brawl with several persons he met that night. Eyewitnesses supposedly corroborated this part of the story; however, these unknown people were simply called “unidentified eyewitnesses.” These supposed witnesses left the bar with Baxter in pursuit. Later, he radioed dispatch about chasing a black van with stolen plates.
A high-speed car chase ended near the site of the Star Mine where a foot race ensued, concluding on the ledge above the mine dump. Around midnight, after a brief, but violent scuffle, Baxter fell to his death in the ravine, impaled on a rusty
spike below. The person or persons Baxter had been fighting drove his patrol car into Rawlins Lake, hoping to divert attention away from the actual site of Baxter’s death. His body probably wouldn’t have been found for a long time, hidden in that remote ravine, except for the anonymous tip.
“This is packed with speculation,” I said with an emphatic slap to the counter. “Where’s the evidence? Who are these eyewitnesses? Why would anyone hide his patrol car in the lake? This garbage reads like Colter’s version. What’s going on at the sheriff’s office?”
Jesse’s brow scrunched into furrows. “I agree it doesn’t make sense. If Baxter purchased illegal drugs from those people, why would he radio the license plate in? He wasn’t on duty. How would he explain the car chase? Also, whoever was with him on that ledge disposed of the patrol car for fear of getting caught. What’s that based on?”
“This is total rubbish. Come with me to get that license plate and we’ll keep going up the ladder at the sheriff’s office until we find someone who will know what to do with it.”
Somehow, I managed to convince Jesse to accompany me to Satori. Perhaps he wanted to get Molly back as badly as I did. Before he could change his mind, I ran to change my shoes. We collected Jesse’s telephoto lens and camera and set off in the Jeep.
Just after three o’clock, we parked near the place I’d hidden the car earlier.
Standing on the road to the compound, I pictured Molly’s pleading brown eyes as the men dragged her away. My eyes brimmed with tears. I’ve come back to get you, Mol. Hang on. Don’t be afraid.
If only it wasn’t already too late.
Afternoon shadows lengthened while we hiked. We retraced the route I’d taken in the morning, climbed the gate, and passed the rusty trucks and machinery. When we sighted the compound, we slipped into the woods away from the road. This time, we hiked through the trees at the right side of the road.
Instead of being deserted like before, the compound buzzed with activity. Men in army fatigues leaned against buildings or sat in groups on the ground. Most had rifles slung from straps on their shoulders and belts loaded with ammunition. They laughed and gestured wildly. Cigarette smoke swirled above their heads.
Jesse and I crouched behind a fallen tree to observe.
While Jesse snapped a few pictures, I counted fifty men in the compound. Shortly, another wave of at least that many marched between two of the buildings. Within minutes, a third group arrived. Apparently, the original unit had been waiting for the others because when they came into sight all smoking materials were extinguished and the soldiers on the ground stood. The disorganized crowd of soldiers packed the compound, but in short order they formed straight lines and waited quietly at attention.
Mr. Curly Head and the other two I’d seen earlier bustled out of the office. A short, dark-skinned man with a large head approached the group from the opposite direction. He wore a long robe similar to the one on the curly headed man. Remembering Mary’s description, I figured the short man must be Frank de la Peña. He unlocked the door to the building beside the office and the four filed in ceremoniously. The lines of soldiers marched after them. In no time, the compound was deserted again.
“Okay, let’s go,” I whispered, starting to rise.
“Christine!” Jesse pulled me back down. “We can’t go in there. That’s an army. Didn’t you see them? They have guns. We’ve got to get out of here!”
“But—”
After a quick glance toward the compound, Jesse yanked me away from our surveillance post and we took off on a run.
As soon as we got out of sight of the compound, I braked abruptly, forcing Jesse to pull up too. “Hold on a second. We came to find Molly. We need to do that. They’ll be busy for a while with their meeting. We could be in and out in a flash—”
“No.” Grim-faced, he wheeled away and plodded purposefully ahead.
I ran after him. “Come on, Jesse. It’ll be okay.”
“No!”
“Why not?” I grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face me.
“I’m afraid, that’s why. They have guns, Christine. This was a really stupid idea. I don’t know what I was thinking when I let you talk me into it. We’re in way over our heads. We are old people. There’s nothing we can do here. We’ll take the license plate number to the sheriff’s office and let them deal with it. We’re not going to sacrifice our health and freedom, maybe even our lives, for this investigation. We have no authority here. We don’t know what we’re doing and we’re no match for an army with guns. Besides, our dog is probably already dead. Drop it, Christine. Do you hear me?”
He whirled and lumbered toward the car.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse sh
oved me into the car a little rougher than necessary and slammed the passenger door. Then he jumped into the driver side and yanked his door shut. With both hands on the steering wheel, he lowered his head. I thought it best to leave him alone for a moment and continued sobbing as silently as possible so I wouldn’t disturb him.
When he straightened at last, his voice shook like his hands. “This was a very bad idea. If someone watched us go in and they find out who we are…”His voice trailed off, causing me to imagine a horrible, lingering, tortuous death. Not to mention what they might do to Molly. Had they already used her for target practice? We must get her out of here fast.
“Okay. Think.” His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “First off, we can’t stay here.”
“But we can’t leave Molly!” I tugged on his arm.
Too late. Jesse had already started the Jeep and swerved onto the dirt road.
“Jesse! You’re not going to leave her here. What if they…kill her?”
His expression stayed grim. “We have no choice, Christine. We don’t know where they’ve taken her. We are two unarmed people who actually were trespassing on private property. Don’t forget that. We had no right to spy on them. No right at all.” His voice trailed into a mumble. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”
Jaw set, he jammed his foot on the gas pedal and we lit out of there like a rocket in spite of the potholes.
By the time we reached the outskirts of Nevada City, my teeth had finally stopped chattering from our rapid flight over the bumpy dirt road. My heart beat more normally, too. The initial panic had waned, replaced by a huge pit of intense sorrow. Memories of my anguish when Molly went missing along with Lila Payne last year filled my mind. A wave of nausea crested in my stomach. How could our dog be gone again?
I couldn’t tell how Jesse fared. His face looked wooden, eyes staring straight ahead.
The Dunn Deal Page 11