The Only Suspect

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Bullshit, Hannah thought, shielding her eyes from the sun. But she certainly wasn’t going to beg Carla for her friendship. Hannah wasn’t even sure she liked the woman.

  “Any idea what’s up ahead?” There’d been a “no outlet” sign at the entrance, but Hannah knew it could be miles before the road ended.

  “There’s an old quarry up there,” Carla told her. “It hasn’t been used for years. I don’t think there’s much else.”

  “We’ll take a look when we’re finished here.”

  They stepped over strands of fallen barbed wire and followed the dirt drive toward the barn. Hannah’s eyes caught a pattern of tire tracks in the dust. “These look recent,” she said.

  Carla nodded. “Just one set though. If they’re Sam’s, I wonder where the kidnappers parked?’

  In her head, Hannah could hear Dallas taunting, What kidnappers? It’s just a story to send us on a wild-goose chase. “Let’s check inside.”

  The wide wooden door opened easily. The interior was dim despite the narrow rays of sunlight filtering through gaps in the roof and siding. Hannah pulled out her flashlight and made a sweep of the perimeter. The layout was what Sam had described. Except for some old machinery parts in the far corner, the place was empty. She turned the light to the hard-packed dirt floor. There were scuff marks and drag marks and occasional shoe treads. Impossible to tell how long they’d been there.

  “You take the right,” Hannah said. “I’ll start on the left. Let’s work in a vertical pattern, up and down, toward the center. We’re looking for anything that might connect to the kidnappers.”

  She braced herself for a caustic comeback, but Carla merely took out her own flashlight and moved to her side of the barn.

  For several minutes, they worked without speaking. Hannah bagged a few pieces of debris—a cellophane wrapper of some sort, a penny, a film canister—but nothing that looked like it had been dropped in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Come take a look at this,” Carla called.

  Hannah took the long way around the perimeter so as not to disturb Carla’s search area. “What is it?”

  “An opening to the outside. The boards are loose, just kind of lying against the wall. If you move them to the side like this”—Carla repositioned the siding panels—“you’ve got a rear exit.”

  It was narrow but large enough to allow access.

  Hannah stepped through into the daylight. Carla followed. The barn was on a knoll, sloping down at the rear toward a family of gnarled oaks. Hannah scrutinized the ground. The brown grass was bent in places, but she couldn’t be sure that human tromping was the cause.

  “Let’s see what’s down there.”

  They started down the gentle incline. Where it leveled off at the bottom, they came to a dry creek bed and beyond that a rutted path.

  Carla forged ahead down the path, nimble and sure-footed. “There’s a dirt road up ahead,” she called out. “Looks like a firebreak.”

  Hannah followed. Up close, she could see a pattern of overlapping tread marks in the soil.

  “Off-roading,” Carla announced. “Mostly motorcycles, I bet, but the road’s wide enough that any vehicle with decent clearance, four-wheel drive, all-terrain tires, and skid plate could handle it.”

  “Skid plate?” Hannah asked. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “My kid brother is a big devotee.”

  Kid brother. This was the first remotely personal remark Hannah could remember Carla making. “Are there just the two of you?” she asked.

  Carla shook her head. “There are three of us.” But she didn’t elaborate, and her tone didn’t invite further inquiry.

  Hannah turned to look back the way they’d come. “Relatively easy access to the barn.”

  “Yeah.” Carla didn’t seem much impressed. “I doubt this old fire road connects with El Dorado Avenue anywhere near where Sam was parked though. If the kidnapper took this way out, Sam wouldn’t have seen him.”

  “No, probably not.” But finding both a fire road and the obscured entrance at the rear of the barn raised questions in Hannah’s mind. “You ready to head back?”

  Carla nodded and once again took off in the lead, her long braid swishing rhythmically across her back with each step.

  Hannah’s mind was on Maureen Russell and the fast-approaching deadline for her ransom when something shiny in the dried grass caught her eye. She bent down to look more closely.

  “What is it?” Carla asked.

  “Looks like a decorative button. It’s probably nothing, but let’s bag it just in case. Doesn’t appear to have been sitting out in the elements for very long.” Hannah poked at the button with the tip of her pen. It was silver in color and stamped with some sort of geometric design. She slipped it into an evidence bag then passed it to Carla for inspection.

  “It’s not a button,” Carla said. “It’s more like a zipper pull from a jacket or purse.”

  Hannah looked more closely. “Or a gym bag, given the size of it.” She labeled the bag and added it to her satchel.

  Back at the car, Hannah waited until Carla pulled forward and out of the thick weeds before climbing in. They headed up the road toward the quarry.

  Hannah surveyed the countryside, appreciating the bucolic setting and open vistas. “It’s lovely out here.”

  “Won’t be long before some developer turns it into cul-de-sacs with tiny lots and huge houses.”

  Hannah feared she was right. Even in the short time she’d been in Monte Vista, she’d seen gentle, rolling hills bulldozed to make room for so-called progress.

  “Before you know it, we’ll be just like Los Angeles.” Carla’s words carried such venom, Hannah was sure they were meant to be personal. As if Hannah had single-handedly brought the evils of Los Angeles with her to Monte Vista.

  “Did you grow up here?” Hannah asked, determined to be pleasant.

  “Santa Rosa.”

  “So what brought you here?”

  “A job.” There was that tone again. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Pretty much.” But Hannah knew that in her case, and maybe Carla’s too, it was more complicated than that. She’d wanted out of Los Angeles, and she’d grabbed the first thing that came along. To say she’d been drawn to Monte Vista because of the job was misleading at best. Hannah simply didn’t think she could handle the memories—sweet or bitter—that LA kindled. And she knew she didn’t want to live anywhere near Claire. Ever again.

  The job wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped though. She and Dallas were like oil and water, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the only other woman on the force resented her. Hannah had earned the wrath of a segment of LAPD by speaking out about the misconduct she’d witnessed—officers who felt the badge exempted them from following the law—but she’d also had friends on the force. Here she felt so isolated she might as well be a Martian.

  “Must be quite a change coming from Los Angeles,” Carla said.

  “That was the plan.” It was Hannah’s standard response, one she hoped straddled the truth in such a way that she didn’t have to elaborate.

  They came to the end of the road and the abandoned quarry. Half the hillside had been cut away, exposing raw dirt and rock in place of rolling grassland. Hannah’s hand brushed her chest. It was, Hannah thought, a scar not unlike the ugly slash of purple where her left breast had been.

  “Guess nobody uses this place anymore,” she said.

  “Except kids who want a quiet place to drink and neck.”

  “One of the few good things about getting older.”

  Carla laughed. “Yeah, but it was sure fun at the time.”

  Fun wasn’t a word Hannah would have used about her own memories. Insecurity, anguish, and heartache were more like it. But it was nice to hear Carla laugh for a change.

  “Let’s see if we can find where the fire road connects to the main road,” Hannah suggested.

  They turned and headed
back past the barn and turned onto El Dorado.

  “How is it partnering with Dallas?” Carla asked casually.

  Hannah appreciated the friendly overture—it had been a long time coming—but she didn’t want to bad-mouth Dallas, so she had to skirt the truth.

  She shrugged. “We’re doing okay.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning we have different takes on things, different approaches, but it works.” Most of the time, she added silently.

  Carla nodded. “Dallas is one of the best.”

  Hannah looked to see if she was joking, but Carla appeared serious. She also appeared to redden slightly. So that’s it, Hannah thought. Carla harbored feelings for Dallas. She wondered if Dallas knew.

  Monte Vista’s “best” was waiting for Hannah when she returned to the station. He was on the phone at his desk, but he held up a hand and waved Hannah over.

  “I appreciate it,” he said into the phone. “Thanks again,” and he hung up. He tore the wrapper off a Snickers bar and tossed it in the wastebasket.

  “You’ve got something?” Hannah asked.

  “Zippo so far on the licenses.” He swallowed a bite of Snickers. “A seventy-year-old man, a couple of families, some dyke who raises wolfhounds ...”

  “She told you that?”

  “Hell, yes. She’s got a special kennel for them, better than my first apartment.”

  “I mean about being a lesbian.”

  Dallas smirked. “You can tell.” He polished off the last bite of candy and wiped his hands on his pant legs. “But I’ve got two more to go. And I’ve just learned that one of them, Mitchell King, has a record.”

  Hannah felt a spark of excitement. “For what?”

  Dallas smiled. “Sexual assault.”

  The Department of Motor Vehicle records showed Mitchell King as thirty-six years old and single. He was listed at six-two and two hundred eighty pounds. The man who answered the door was frail, balding, and close to seventy.

  “We’re looking for Mitchell King,” Dallas said.

  “You found him,” the man said with a laugh.

  Hannah and Dallas exchanged glances. “Do you own a dark blue Explorer?”

  “Ah, you must be looking for my son. He’s Mitchell King too. He drives an Explorer.”

  Hannah could never understand why parents did this to their children. She remembered once in high school working up her courage to call a boy at home, only to end up mistakenly talking to his father. She’d been so humiliated, she’d avoided the boy the rest of the semester.

  “Is your son around?” Dallas asked.

  “Afraid not.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “Not for a month or so. He’s in South Carolina, spending some time with his sister. What’s this about?”

  “We’re looking for witnesses to an accident that happened last night. We have reason to believe a car like your son’s might have been in the area.”

  King shook his head. “Couldn’ta been Mitch. He’s been with his sister since February. He’s helping them remodel their house.”

  “And the Explorer?” Hannah asked.

  “It’s in South Carolina too. He drove there.”

  “Can you give us a number where we can reach him?”

  “Sure.” Mitchell King gave them both his daughter’s home number and his son’s cell.

  When they returned to the car, Dallas hit his hand against the steering wheel. “Well, that was a waste.”

  “Assuming the old man is telling the truth.” Hannah’s gut reaction was that he was, but they’d follow up on it just to be sure. “We’ve still got one more to check, right?”

  “Sandra Martin. I don’t think she’s going to be our kidnapper.” Dallas handed Hannah a sheet of paper. “There’s the address and DMV information.”

  Sandra Martin was a forty-four-year-old hazel-eyed blonde who lived in a nice part of town. Hannah didn’t hold out a lot of hope either.

  Their knock was answered by a girl who looked to be about fourteen. She was wearing short shorts and a skimpy T-shirt that stopped short of her midriff. A fat white cat was cradled in her arms. The sounds of a cartoon program emanated from somewhere inside the house.

  “Is your mom home?” Hannah asked.

  “She’s busy.” The girl spoke with a faint British accent.

  “We’re with the police,” Dallas said. “We need to speak to her.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. She backed away a few steps then yelled, “Mum, it’s the cops.”

  Seconds later a woman appeared behind the girl. She had a bandana over her head and her clothes were spattered with paint. “What is it?”

  “Sandra Martin?” Hannah said.

  “Yes.”

  “You drive a dark blue Ford Explorer?”

  She nodded, hesitant. “Why?”

  “We’re investigating an accident that happened yesterday. We’ve reason to believe a vehicle similar to yours may have been in the area and witnessed the event.”

  “Yesterday? Where?”

  “Along El Dorado Avenue.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think I was ...” She glanced at her daughter. “What did we do Saturday? We were shopping for shoes, weren’t we?”

  “The accident was at night,” Hannah said. “Around nine.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t me. I went to a movie with a friend. She drove.”

  “What’s the friend’s name?” Dallas asked.

  “Janet. Janet Langley.”

  “Where can we reach her?” Dallas wrote down the address and phone number.

  “Does anyone else drive your car?” Hannah asked. The girl with the cat didn’t look old enough, but Hannah had trouble judging. She’d seen fourteen-year-olds who looked to be twenty-one, and twenty-year-olds who could pass for twelve.

  “No, my daughters are both too young, and my ex-husband lives in London.”

  Out of habit, Hannah gave her a card, noting that the woman’s hand, like her clothes, was smeared with blue paint. “Looks like we got you in the middle of a project.”

  “One I’m beginning to think I never should have started. But two walls are done, so there’s no turning back. Not unless I want half-blue, half-beige.”

  Hannah smiled. “Good luck with it.” She thought of the wall in her own bedroom with the collage of paint samples she’d tried. She understood the part about no turning back.

  “That’s it for the cars registered locally?” Hannah asked as they left.

  “Yeah.”

  “Guess we need to broaden the search.”

  “Or forget it.”

  “Why would we do that? If we can identify the kidnappers before the second drop, we should do it.”

  “You really think some guy from out of town came all the way to Monte Vista to demand ransom money from Sam Russell?” Dallas shook his head in disbelief. “There are a lot of people with more money he could target.”

  “Unless it’s personal. Some guy who’s got it in for Sam and considers this payback.”

  “I still don’t buy it.”

  “You should have heard him last night, Dallas. He was distraught.”

  Dallas huffed. “So? He knew we were on to him, and he was scared. He may have been drunk on top of it.”

  Hannah couldn’t say if he’d been drinking, but Sam hadn’t been drunk. Of that, she was certain. “There’s a fire road that runs behind the barn,” Hannah told him. “Carla and I discovered it when we were out there today. And some loose boards at the back that could make for a rear exit.”

  Dallas looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you suggesting the kidnappers used the fire road?”

  “Not suggesting, just noting the possibility.”

  “Does it connect with the main road anywhere near where Sam was?”

  Hannah shook her head.

  “Then why would Sam tell us about the car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dallas let the
silence stretch. “I don’t understand why you want to be a cop, Hannah. You’re afraid to believe the worst about people.”

  Hannah tried hard to be a good cop. But this wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of being on the wrong side. “I am not. I just don’t want to rush to a judgment that may be wrong.”

  Dallas regarded her critically. “We’re a long way from rushing.”

  CHAPTER 24

  May was a wonderful month in Boston. A flower-filled interlude between the cruel cold of winter and the sticky heat of summer. People emerged from the grumpiness of short, dark days and began smiling again, nodding to their neighbors, wishing them well. They were kinder, happier, more gregarious. The air buzzed with an energy that the bleak blanket of snow and ice all but smothered. Frank Donahue felt the difference himself.

  That he was tilting at windmills by looking into a murder case the system had already chewed up and spit out didn’t dampen the bounce in his step. In fact, being back on the job gave his spirits an added boost. Not that he was actually back on the job. He wasn’t about to delude himself about that. He was a washed-up has-been of a detective who was still trying to feel important. Frank had seen it happen to other guys who retired. And he hadn’t been above making a nasty crack or two at their expense. Now here he was, following in their footsteps.

  Frank wasn’t actually sure why he’d agreed to poke around Lisa Russell’s murder again. Probably because it rankled him that his last big case had ended so badly. And maybe, on some level, he felt he owed it to the Pattersons. He’d been clear with them though that the odds were one in a million he’d ever find evidence to warrant a retrial, even if the DA were willing. The odds of him finding something that could help the Monte Vista police get Sam for his second wife’s murder were almost as bad. But there was always that slim chance he’d come up with something.

  He’d read through the case file—just obtaining permission and getting the thing released from storage had been a hurdle—and the trial transcript, but there was nothing that jumped out at him. Nothing he could use as leverage for getting the case against Sam reopened. And nothing that linked Lisa Russell’s murder to the disappearance of Maureen Russell. Except Sam, of course.