The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 4-6

by Jonas Saul

  “Before your time,” Collins said.

  “How long have you two been partners?” Russell asked.

  “Six months,” Munro answered.

  “Then two of the photos were not before your time, including the banker. He died tragically five months ago. The hospital photo I mailed in a few weeks ago has not been dealt with, as far as I know.”

  Collins shot his partner a look. “I’ll talk to you about it later.” Then he stepped to the table and glared down at Russell. “How do you know about all this?”

  “A moment ago,” Russell said. “I assessed you and decided you were smart, street-smart. I might have to change that assessment.”

  Collins slapped the table with both hands. “Stop fucking around Anderson, and tell us what the hell you’re here to tell us. No more games.”

  Russell tried to collect himself. He ground his teeth together. “Say my name again and I will walk out that door and leave you two to clean up the mess.” He swallowed hard and twisted his neck to loosen the muscles. “I am so sick of this life, so please, say my name again. I want to leave.” He spoke through his teeth. “Try me. Just this once.”

  Collins visibly calmed down and stepped back. Something in his eyes told Russell he was ready to listen.

  “Fair enough,” Collins said. “You have the floor. Tell us what it is you’ve come to tell us.”

  Russell waited a moment, looked at both of them, and then decided to explain everything.

  “I am the man who sends you the pictures. We needed to get acquainted. It is important that you know it’s been me who has helped your career because it’ll add weight and credibility to what I am about to tell you.”

  Collins cleared his throat and snuck a glance at Munro. Russell wasn’t sure if Collins would engage his ego and get mad at the career comment. He could order Russell out of the police station or he could stay humble and listen to what Russell had to say. If he listened, he was the right man. If not, Russell would ask to see someone else.

  The tension between the two detectives felt like the moment before a boxing match started. The gloves were on, the sweat already running, but not a single punch had been thrown yet. But the hits were coming and they would keep on coming.

  “Okay, you know more about the letters than anyone in this department but me and the sheriff. Why don’t you start by telling me …” He stopped and gestured at his partner when she glared at him—evidently he hadn’t been keeping her in the loop. “I mean, us, how you know when to take the pictures and how you know all the other information you add in the envelopes.”

  Russell shrugged. “There is no easy answer for that.”

  Collins clapped his hands and then spread them wide. “That’s great. No easy answer. Terrific. Well, I don’t believe you. How do I know whether you’re involved in some way with each crime and missing kid that we’ve solved because of those pictures?” He stopped talking to pull out his cell phone.

  “Wait. What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the sheriff in here. He’s gonna want to meet the man who has mailed us anonymous letters and pictures. Don’t ya think?”

  “Set your phone down, Collins,” Russell said in a steely voice. “If you don’t, I walk and Jake might not make it.”

  Collins stopped his thumb over the buttons. For a moment he stood frozen, staring down at his phone. Without looking up, he asked, “Jake who?”

  “Put your phone away,” Russell said. “This meeting is for only the three of us. You can tell the others whatever you want when I leave, but for now, it’s just us.”

  Collins waited a heartbeat, then slowly put his phone away and glared at Russell.

  “There’s been two abductions,” Russell started. “One robbery, one hospital betting racket and two suicides that I’ve sent to you. How could I be involved with suicides, one of which you let happen? On the kidnapping, the news said the abductors gave up when you found the compound in the desert. I haven’t heard about the hospital one yet, but that was pretty recent—”

  “We’re working on it,” Collins cut in.

  “Are you clear now that it’s me sending you the photos?”

  “Yes, we are. I still don’t know why or how, but I would agree that it’s you. Is this visit because of another photo, another crime? A missing person? A suicide?”

  Detective Munro pushed back from the desk and got up from her chair. She was clearly lost and it was obvious that her partner hadn’t been candid with her.

  “I’ll be waiting at my desk since this has nothing to do with me.” She turned to Collins and glared. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.” Then she stomped out the door and slammed it closed.

  “Wow,” Russell said.

  “She’ll be okay. That’s my problem. Now tell me, what has happened that brought you here today?”

  “It’s not what’s happened this time. It’s what is going to happen.”

  “Huh? You’re always in the right place at the right time with your camera. Your photos have helped us forward those cases to conclusion. Now you’re saying that something is going to happen? That means no pictures, right? I mean, you can’t take a picture of the future, right?”

  Collins seemed to be coming undone. What had changed? Was this personal for him? Or was he concerned that Russell’s message was about him? Or his brother, Jake?

  Then he would be very close to the truth.

  Russell reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a plastic bag out. Inside the bag the picture was still dry. He unzipped the bag and retrieved the photo.

  “This is a pic of a woman. You may have heard of her in the news over the last few years. Her name is Sarah Roberts.”

  Collins took the photo and stared at it. “Seems to ring a bell. Didn’t she break up a FLDS compound a while back?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, she’s been in Europe or up in Canada for some time.” He met Russell’s eyes. “I read about her a few months back.”

  “She’ll be in Vegas tonight, or she already is.”

  “Has she committed a crime? Are you telling me she’s going to break the law?”

  Russell shook his head. “She’s in danger.”

  “How can I help with that? There’s a lot of people in danger at any given moment.”

  Russell waved at Collins. “Listen to me closely. Within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours, people will be murdered on the streets of Vegas. Sarah has arrived to try to stop it, but it’s only going to get worse. I understand that it’s the text she sends that starts everything in motion. That’s what gets the ball rolling. There will be no stopping the murder, possibly even hers …” he trailed off to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to ramble. He felt spent, exhausted.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I confirmed my identity with you at the beginning of this meeting so we could bypass that trivial question. I will not and cannot discuss where I get my information. All you need to know is that people are going to die, as early as tonight or tomorrow if Sarah sends that text. I will try to help her, but I’m not sure I can. Frankly, I’m not sure how.”

  “Why come to me? You know cops don’t work the way you want me to. I have to have a crime to investigate. I can’t work with things that might happen. What exactly do you want me to do with this information?” Collins stepped back, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the mirror.

  “I understand your position even better than you do,” Russell said as images of his daughter flashed into his mind and what little help he received from the police when he needed them. “I brought this to you because it involves you.”

  “Oh really? How so?”

  “When you meet Sarah, she will ask you to do something for her. I need you to do it. Even though you won’t want to.”

  “Are you serious?” Collins slapped his leg as if Russell had just said the best joke in a long time. “Okay, if that’s all I have to do—”

  “Take this serious. If you don’t, Jake
will be killed and Lana will be left without a father for her children. Do you understand me?”

  Collins stopped horsing around and stood rock still.

  “How do you know the names of my brother and his wife?” Collins asked. “Are you threatening his family?”

  Russell knew those names would help his plea and get Collins on board. Before this meeting, he had no idea that Jake and Lana were related to Collins.

  “Jake is your brother?” Russell asked.

  Collins slapped the table again. “How do you know his name?” he shouted.

  Anger surfaced in Russell. “I have no idea,” he shouted back. “It’s the same with the photos. You think I know why I take the pictures I do? Or what they mean when I’m taking them? Come on, you’re not a fool. Think about it. The only reason I’m still in Vegas is because I believe my natural father lives here.”

  “I’ll ask you again. Are you threatening my family?”

  “I’m leaving.” Russell got up and moved for the door. “This has been a waste of time.”

  Collins blocked his way. Russell didn’t stop until they were nose to nose.

  “Do what Sarah Roberts asks of you,” Russell said. “Or you hurt your family, not me. If you refuse to listen to Sarah, she will die. Of this I’m certain. Then the newspapers will pick up the story that the great Sarah Roberts is dead. If they don’t, I will tell them that I brought this to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, to Detective Bruce Collins and his partner, Detective Mara Munro, and they fumbled the case. Now, step aside. I’m fucking well leaving. I’ve committed no crime and I came here of my own volition. Try to stop me and Jake dies. Try to stop me and the photos stop coming. Are we clear?”

  Collins panted like he’d been running. Russell was close enough he could smell the sandwich Collins had for dinner and the coffee he’d washed it down with. He held his breath to keep his own stomach contents where they were.

  Collins waited another heartbeat and then stepped aside and opened the door.

  “What if you’re wrong?” Collins asked, his voice low and controlled.

  “What if I’m right?” Russell answered.

  He slipped through the door and started down the hall. Then he stopped and turned around.

  “Collins?”

  The detective stood in the doorframe of interrogation room four, but didn’t say anything.

  “I wasn’t here. Forget my name. Don’t say it out loud or whisper it to a colleague. I am anonymous. If I don’t get anonymity, I’m through. You will never see another photo from me again.” He pointed a finger at Collins. “I chose you because I was told you were the cop who would handle the information I mail with the photos in a manner befitting an officer of the law. So far, you’ve done a stellar job, except for that banker.” Russell paused for a moment. “Keep the picture of Sarah. I left it on the table. Do what she says when you meet her. That’s all you have to do.”

  “Why not mail it in like all the other photos?”

  “Sense of urgency. Sarah’s coming. You will meet her very soon. Then it all starts.” He extended his arm out and pulled back the damp sleeve to look at his watch. “Two hours.”

  “What starts?” Collins asked.

  Russell turned around and continued down the corridor.

  “Good luck, Collins. That woman might have killed my three-year-old little girl.” His voice broke and he had to swallow the emotional lump in his throat. “But the man who drove her to do it hasn’t paid for his crimes yet. We will all be meeting in due time.”

  Russell turned the corner and walked out of the police station. His hands were shaking, his stomach a mess. He walked on, hoping he didn’t collapse in the police parking lot.

  The rain had subsided. The night was warm again.

  If only it was a harbinger of things to come.

  Chapter 2

  Sarah Roberts broke open a bag of trail mix as she waited for the rain to stop. Riding her bike in the rain felt too much like tiny bullets smacking her. Being wet wasn’t the problem. It was the relentless pounding on the helmet that became tiresome.

  She leaned against the cement and stared at the underside of the Mojave Freeway as she chewed. The bridge offered ample shelter from the rain.

  She had her notes. She had a plan. All she had to do was drive into Vegas, find a random man with a cell phone and get him to text a number Vivian had supplied. The note was specific. It had to be a random male and the text had to read, Don’t do it—keep the money.

  It was Vegas after all. Maybe a gambler was about to bet too high and this text saved his bank account or his house. Or even better, his marriage.

  Sarah had received one other note. It offered instructions for her to go to a building on the outskirts of Vegas where she would stop a man from being tortured. She had no idea who the victim was or why she had to stop the torture. None of the reasons mattered. When her dead sister asked her to do anything, she did it. The messages were too important. They always had been.

  Ever since she began getting messages over five years ago, Sarah had tried her best to respond to each and every one of them. The people she helped had benefitted, but she had been beaten, whipped, and shot numerous times. She almost drowned in the Danube River in Europe and was kidnapped by a psychopath in Toronto.

  Another batch of crazies, The Rapturites in Toronto, last month were too much. It was then that she reached a new level of trust with her sister. After standing in the middle of an intersection in downtown Toronto and having cars race at her, then walking away without a scratch, it was clear that Vivian knew exactly what she was doing.

  The subtle din of the rain hitting the pavement subsided. She checked her cell phone. It was still early enough to get a good night’s sleep. She would ride into Vegas, probably stay near the strip, find her random man with a cell phone, send the text, and then check into a hotel. Saving a guy from torture wasn’t supposed to happen until after midnight. Maybe Vivian would say more later.

  She packed her trail mix away, stowed the novel she had planned to read if the rain had continued, and slipped her helmet over her head.

  It had been a long few months and fatigue seemed to be the norm. She needed a break.

  If only Vegas could be that break, she thought.

  With everything packed, she was ready. She whipped her leg over the seat and straddled the new bike, a present from her parents after they sold their old house and moved to Santa Rosa, California. She’d had no idea that riding a bike could feel so liberating.

  There were regrets though. One of them was Parkman. She missed him. They had worked so close together in the early days, but now he was starting his own private investigation service. The police force he worked for had denied his last leave of absence, but he’d gone anyway. Staying on in Toronto to help her had cost him his job, his pension. Yet he seemed happier than ever.

  Maybe one day his services would help her out and they would work together again. At least she knew where he was and could reach him at a moment’s notice.

  She swung the bike around, drove out from under the bridge and turned onto the ramp. The road was wet, but the rain had stopped. The lights of the Gold Strike Hotel lit up this corner of the road as she rode up the ramp to the freeway. With just over twenty miles to go, she would be in Vegas soon.

  Maybe a nice meal before she sent the text. Maybe a hot bath in a hotel room. She deserved it. She was tired. It had been a long few years and maybe now was the time to relax.

  Take it easy on me, Sis. I need a break.

  Something told her this wasn’t going to be easy. Send a random text. Stop a torture session.

  What the fuck does that mean?

  She still didn’t know exactly where the torture was supposed to happen.

  Oh, hell, such is my life.

  She opened up the bike and hit seventy-five miles an hour quickly. The faster she got to Vegas and got these tasks completed, the sooner she could relax and have that hot bath. With bubbles.
And wine. And twelve hours of sleep in one bed. Uninterrupted.

  I wish.

  She lowered her head and drove the bike harder along the wet freeway, the vibration of the strong machine between her legs energizing her for the coming days.

  Knowing Vivian, Vegas wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter 3

  Kristi Raine slipped out of her track pants and T-shirt and grabbed her black dress, the one she used to wear when she first hooked up with Tyrone. She touched the fabric, rubbed her fingers over it, remembering how he looked at her when she wore it. Lately, he was drunk, stoned, or angry when he looked at her. Ever since her dog was killed, their relationship hadn’t been the same.