Missing, Presumed Dead

by Christiane France

  "It may take a few days."

  "I know that, too. So, while you're making breakfast, I'll find my cell and give the chief a call. See if he'll let me have the name of the woman who found Petra's things on the beach."

  While Tim made his call, I set about cooking breakfast. I'd finished and was about to let him know it was ready when he came into the kitchen, looking a tad irritated.

  "Wouldn't he give it to you?"

  "I got it just fine. No problem there. I spoke with the officer in charge of the case, and he gave me everything...name, phone number and address."

  "Just like that?"

  Tim grinned. "I said I wanted to thank her, and felt it would be more polite to do so in person."

  "And he bought it?"

  "Guess so. Anyway, I called the number he gave me to find out when it would be convenient, but her phone's not in service. I even dialed again to make sure I hadn't messed up the first time."

  "Maybe she didn't pay her bill. Maybe the cops screwed up when they wrote down the number. What's her name? We can always check the phone book."

  "Mary Smith. The officer said she gave her address as the trailer at the end of Bennett Road. If you ask me, all of it is phony--the phone number, the name, and the address, too. I guess you were right and it was a plant."

  "Maybe it was, but Mary's real enough and so is her address. She's a well-known character around the Cove, a beachcomber in the real sense of the word. She spends most of her time at the beach, collecting whatever gets washed up or people leave behind. Could be Petra left her stuff on the beach and Mary was the first to see it. It could also be someone put it there for Mary to find, knowing she'd take it to the cops."

  "How could they be sure someone like that wouldn't keep it for herself?"

  "Someone like what?" I found Tim's assumption offensive, but managed to divide the food I'd cooked between the two plates without dropping any on the floor. "Mary's not a bag lady or a street person, if that's what you're thinking. She's an intelligent, well-educated woman, somewhere in her late thirties, who's chosen to live a very simple life. I have no idea why, and I don't know anyone who does. But whenever Mary finds something she figures someone lost rather than threw away, like your sister's things, for example, she always takes it to the cops."

  "And the whole town knows this?"

  "I'd say it's fairly common knowledge." I hesitated. I couldn't speak for the whole town, but for sure everyone in the Amethyst Cove P.D., from the chief on down, knew Mary was as honest as the day was long.

  And suppose one of them used the knowledge for personal reasons? Like helping Petra orchestrate her own disappearance or covering up a crime by making it look like an accident.

  I handed Tim one of the filled plates."Let's eat before it gets cold."

  * * * *

  After I dressed for the day in my regular outfit of khaki cotton pants and a black golf shirt, I called Calista. I asked her to check out Lopez and Schultz' home addresses plus their current work schedules, then decided the most logical next step was to find Mary. Amethyst Cove is a small town where word gets around, fast. Meaning I had to take Tim with me so he could make good on the excuse he'd given the cops for wanting her address. I wanted to be there with him so I could get the scoop on her find, firsthand.

  With Tim beside me in the passenger seat, I drove my SUV straight downtown and parked on one of the side streets close to the public beach.

  It was a typical California day, hot, sunny, with the surf rolling in and screaming seagulls ducking and diving in their endless search for food.

  I didn't anticipate a problem finding Mary and, sure enough, as we crossed the street, I saw her wandering along the smooth, sandy beach, halfway between the street and the water's edge. With a collection of plastic bags in one hand and a garden-hoe-style object in the other, she was busy trolling for whatever treasures she could find. I'd never seen her anything but barefooted, and today's eclectic collection of garments included a pair of camouflage cargo pants, a man's blue terry bathrobe and a battered straw hat.

  "Hey, Mary," I greeted her. "This is my friend, Tim. He's come to thank you for finding his sister's sandals and purse and turning them in at the police station."

  "And also to give you a little present for your kindness," Tim added, trying unsuccessfully to push a bill into her hand.

  "Glad to be of help, but I didn't exactly find them," she said backing away out of Tim's reach. "A guy came by yesterday and told me there were things caught in the rocks. That I should go take a look in case there was anything I could use."

  "And when you saw what it was, you decided to take it to the cops," I prompted.

  Mary shot me what I can only describe as a disparaging look. "I went to the cops because I figured I was being played. I knew right away it was either him or someone else who'd just put them there. And I know that for an absolute fact."

  Hah, so I'd guessed correctly. "How do you know, Mary?"

  "For one thing, I'm not stupid. I can always smell a rat. For another, there's nothing wrong with my eyes. I check those rocks each and every time the tide's going out, so I know if it leaves anything behind. I'd checked about twenty minutes or so before he came along, and there was nothing there save a couple of dead fish and a plastic bottle.

  "When I went back, the sandals and the change purse were tucked between two small rocks, trying to make out like they'd been there for weeks. There's just no way that's possible. I'm not the only one who checks to see what the tide's brought in. Even if I'd missed them, and that's not too likely, someone else would have found them for sure."

  "So you assumed they were put there for you to find because whoever did it knew you'd take them to the cops," I said, voicing my thoughts out loud.

  "Exactly. But I didn't assume anything. As soon as I saw them, I knew it was a set up. It was all just a little too slick and staged. When I told the officer what I thought, he looked at me like I was crazy and said there was no way I could know they were deliberately dumped. Unless, of course, I saw the person do it, which I didn't."

  "This guy who said for you to check the rocks...what did he look like?"

  "Young and very good looking." She shrugged. "I'd say he's somewhere in his early twenties. Dark hair with blond streaks and cut very short. Tall, a few inches over six feet, and a nice body. Two silver earrings in his left ear, tats on both arms, and he was wearing tailored capris and one of those T-shirts with advertising on it. The only reason I noticed all that was because he was so handsome and so overdressed for the beach, he stood out like a beacon. The clothes were nice quality and looked new. I think it was a uniform of some kind."

  "What color were the capris?"

  "Dark. Either black or a very dark navy. The shirt was white with green writing and a logo showing a surfer riding a wave?"

  "Sounds like the new uniform the staff at The Riptide is wearing."

  Mary laughed. "I wouldn't know. I've never been there. Sorry, boys. I wish I could be of more help, but that's it. I don't know the guy's name and I have no idea if he was just being nice to me, or if he was playing some kind of game."

  As she made to move on, Tim said, "Please, I'd really like to give you something for your trouble."

  She stopped abruptly and turned around, then took off her hat and looked up at him with a puzzled frown. "Why? I only did what any decent person would do. And I certainly don't want to be rewarded for it. I'm not a beggar. I don't want your money and I don't need handouts. I'm quite capable of taking care of my needs myself, thank you."

  With that said, she crammed the straw hat back on her tousled dark blonde curls and continued on down the beach, the bathrobe tie trailing behind her like a long, fuzzy, blue tail.

  "What did you make of that?" Tim wanted to know as we headed back to my vehicle. "Do you think there's a chance he's the same guy who told the cops he saw Petra park her car and walk away?"

  I'd been wondering about the same thing myself. If he was, it was on
e helluva coincidence for him to have witnessed Petra's arrival in town and then, three weeks later, find evidence to suggest she drowned. Whether he had a hand in Petra's disappearance or simply knew more than what he told the cops, I knew it was an avenue that required exploring. "Maybe. Maybe not. I won't know until I find him and hear what he has to say."

  "And just how do you think you're going do that?" Tim demanded in a bossy tone that got right under my skin. "You don't know his name, and all the cops told us was he works at one of the restaurants near the marina. They didn't specify which one. And even supposing he did plant Petra's things for Mary to find, do you honestly think he's going to stick around and admit it to you or anyone else? If he has any sense, he's long gone by now."

  I stopped abruptly, reminded myself Tim was a client and plastered a smile on my unwilling features. "I thought we agreed you were going to let me do my job without any interference."

  He reddened and kicked at something buried in the sand. "We did, and I'm sorry. But I feel so fucking helpless. If that witness who says he saw her told the truth, the only thing we know for sure is that Petra came here to Amethyst Cove, parked her car and walked away. The chief figures she went swimming and got washed out to sea. Mary believes Petra's stuff was deliberately put on the rocks for her to find, presumably because someone wants us to believe the drowning story.

  "Who is this mysterious someone? The person who murdered her? Or the one who has her locked away in his basement? Hell, for all we know, a space ship swooped down and sucked her up. How can you possibly hope to find her when you have absolutely nothing to go on?"

  "The same way every other PI does when he takes a case where there are no leads. The cops, too, for that matter." Tim looked so frustrated and upset I put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief, but reassuring hug. If he thought I was sending him mixed messages, I guess I was in a way. "I just have to keep digging until I find something to follow up on."

  "You mean like on TV where the cops go through a process of elimination by asking a bunch of endless questions and double checking the answers?"

  "Yeah, something like that. Except those dudes make it look easy."

  Tim relaxed enough to smile. "You're saying it's not?"

  "Not unless you get lucky...and that doesn't happen too often."

  "Too bad we don't all come equipped with locator chips like the ones we put in our pets. It would make life a whole lot easier."

  "You think?" I found the idea beyond scary. "What about people who don't want to be found?"

  "Just a thought," Tim said with a sigh. "So where do we go from here? Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "Not that I can think of."

  "I'm not good at sitting around twiddling my thumbs."

  "You don't have to be. I'll drive you back to my place so you can collect your car, then it's up to you what you do. If you have a job you want to get back to, we can keep in touch by phone."

  "I don't. I can't concentrate on work as long as my sister is missing, so I've taken a temporary leave of absence. Petra's not just my sister; she's all the family I have left. I need to be here, even if I can't actually do anything to help find her." He gave vent to his frustration by dealing the buried object in the sand a couple more kicks. "I won't get in your way. I promise. I'll pick up my stuff from your place and check into one of the local hotels."

  I knew the only way to find Petra was by keeping my mind focused on the job. That meant avoiding any type of major distraction, such as Tim's sexy ass grabbing my attention every time I turned around. Problem was out of sight wasn't necessarily out of mind. It would be just as big a distraction if I thought about him all on his lonesome in a hotel room. I'd be wondering what he was doing and if he was alone, or if-- "You don't have to bother with a hotel. You're welcome to stay on at my place. I have plenty of room."

  A look of what I interpreted as relief suddenly appeared on his face and just as quickly vanished. "You sure? I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

  "I'm quite sure. Don't worry about it."

  * * * *

  I took Tim back to the beach house, told him Mi casa es su casa, to make himself comfortable and gave him a key. I then returned to the SUV and checked my voice mail. Among the messages was one from Calista. She said both Lopez and Schultz were currently working the day shift, and at the end of the message gave me their last known home addresses.

  I was at the point where I needed an hour or two of quiet time to have an in-depth think about the possible reasons for Petra's disappearance I'd given Tim and consider all the angles. Given what we knew, or rather didn't, what was the most likely to have happened? What was the most unlikely? Rather than go to the office where quiet time was a rare commodity, I drove up the Coast Highway a few miles and parked at a secluded spot between an outcropping of rocks, where I had a panoramic view of the ocean.

  I rolled down the window and pushed back my seat. Up here, the heat of the sun was tempered by a cooling breeze. The ocean below was an unending expanse of dark green peppered with white foam thrown up by the waves, and the surfers were out in full force.

  I watched a guy catch a big wave and ride it almost to the shore. When he lost it, purely out of habit I waited for him to reappear and swim to safety, then I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  Tim didn't believe his sister would risk her budding career by taking off her clothes and going for a spur-of-the-moment swim. But what if she had? What if she tucked her sandals and purse out of sight either under or between the rocks, went for a dip, and for some reason never returned to claim them? Since then the rocks had somehow moved, revealing their existence, and, in the process, provided ample evidence for Foxy to close the case.

  As conclusions went in the case of any missing person where there was nothing in the way of leads or evidence to suggest otherwise, it was the most likely. I would have done the same thing.

  Swimming accidents happened all the time, and rock-solid didn't exactly apply to the scattering of rocks along a beach like the one here at the Cove. Between people climbing up and over them, the incessant pounding of the surf, and the tides shifting the sand in which they sat, they were under constant attack. Then there were the earth tremors experienced from time to time due to the San Andreas Fault Line. With so many different forces at play, it would be a miracle if some of the rocks didn't occasionally move or get dislodged and expose what they'd previously kept hidden.

  It was all so logical and made such perfect sense, if I hadn't heard what Mary had to say, I'd have bought the drowning theory and told Tim to go home.

  As it was, I was coming to a few new conclusions of my own. For starters, the witness who saw Petra park her car, and the young guy at the beach who pointed Mary in the direction of Petra's things had to be one and the same. Anything else was too much of a coincidence. As Mary said, it was all a little too slick and staged. And, going by her description of what he was wearing, it sounded as if the guy worked at The Riptide.

  Much as I wanted to find him and have a nice little heart-to-heart, as an ex-cop, I knew to take a step back and assess the situation first. People with something to hide said whatever popped into their heads, and I didn't intend to get jerked around with a bunch of half-truths or outright lies. Before confronting him, it would help if I could at least to try and figure out what in hell was going on and why. Why everything pointed to Petra having died by drowning. And why three weeks had elapsed between finding her car and finding her sandals and purse.

  Was it possible the cops had it right? She'd drowned, but her things hadn't come to light until Mother Nature took a hand by moving the rocks around? Or had they been put there more recently by the person who helped her disappear? Someone who knew enough about the area to figure the cops would assume it to be the reason for the delay?

  If Petra was in trouble and the witness was involved, the witness would have played dumb when the cops showed her photo around. No way would he admit to having seen her.
/>   So, why did he admit to it? Was it because he was a regular guy, doing his civic duty by reporting what he'd seen? Or was there some other reason? Such as did he actually see her do what he said or did someone ask him to pretend he had?

  Three weeks would have given the sandals and purse more than enough time soaking in seawater to support the drowning theory. But again, did the witness find them accidentally and point Mary in their direction out of the goodness of his heart? Or did he put them there deliberately and make sure she was the one who found them?

  Was it done because Petra wanted everyone to believe she was dead? Or was that what someone else wanted everyone to believe? If so, to what end?

  A life insurance scam? Was her life being threatened? Or was she already dead and someone was trying to make it appear accidental?

  I didn't have any of the answers, or even a single suspicion, and the police had given up. After Mary told them she believed the items were dumped, they should have followed it up. They should have found the guy and rattled his cage. That hadn't happened, and I wondered why. Was it because they didn't believe Mary or was there some other reason?

  With Foxy and Frank Bunson up for any and every dirty deal they could find, anything was possible. My partner, Ian, had good reason to be scared stiff of them. I wasn't exactly scared, but I knew enough to stay out of their line of vision.

  I had one small lead. The witness appeared to be playing a game of being all things to all people. If that meant her friend on the force arranged Petra's disappearance and he was pulling the strings, I needed to watch my back.

  There was also the tiniest outside chance just one guy was the victim of one big, fat coincidence--first, by witnessing Petra's arrival in town and then, by pure chance, finding her stuff hidden in the rocks three weeks later. I couldn't ignore it, but I wasn't buying that version on the grounds it pushed coincidence way too far. If it was the same guy on both occasions, there was an even better chance he was either paid off or persuaded to cooperate.