“What’s with this?” Tracy frowned and her eyes appraised Jack from head to toe. “I just realized you’re in uniform. What gives?”
“A change of scenery. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Jack turned for the front door of the house as Caruso was coming from the backyard, Hero straining at the leash, nose in the air. Klein and a uniformed officer lifted the tape for Brinna and Hero, and Weldon followed.
Jack stepped aside as the dog came by, Brinna giving the order to find. Hero turned south and went down the street, past one house before he headed to the curb. There he stopped, still testing the air. The dog took a few steps into the street, then walked to Caruso and sat.
“Caruso! You’re here with your dog. What is going on?” Michaels pushed past the uniformed officer and shoved a digital recorder under Brinna’s chin. “You’re the object of a big lawsuit. Can you comment on the kid you killed and the kid you’re searching for?”
Before anyone else could react, Jack stepped forward and grabbed the recorder. “Now is not the time, Tracy. We’ll give you a statement later.”
The reporter turned on Jack. “Stop stonewalling. The public has a right to know about police brutality!”
“Not right this minute they don’t.” Klein stepped in and waved another officer over. “Escort Miss Michaels to her car.”
When Michaels erupted in protest, Klein silenced her. “Meet us at the station and you’ll get the first press release about the incident here at this house. Officer Caruso doesn’t have anything to say about anything else.”
The reporter protested for a few more minutes but eventually let herself be escorted to her car.
Caruso turned to Jack. “Thanks. I didn’t know I’d be such a lightning rod. Michaels forgot all about the kidnapping to go after me about the shooting.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jack gave a wave of his hand. “I’ve dealt with Tracy on many cases. She can be handled. Did the dog key on something?”
Brinna nodded. “My best guess is that the suspect’s car was parked there. He put the victim in the car and most likely took off southbound.”
“Did anyone see a car parked there?” Chuck asked.
Klein motioned to the uniformed officer. “Anything?”
The officer read his notes from a clipboard. “One neighbor mentioned seeing a van conversion, large and raised up as if it had four-wheel drive. No one else saw anything unusual.”
“A conversion van?” Klein frowned. “That’s not exactly a classic getaway car.”
Weldon turned to Caruso. “You sure about—?” He stopped and Jack saw that Brinna’s face was white. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Weldon asked.
“Hero’s right. The car was parked here and it was a conversion van. And I know where he’s gone. I know where he’s taken the girl.”
39
“WHAT?” Chuck stepped in front of Brinna. “How do you know?”
Brinna swallowed as the nasty taste of déjà vu rose in her throat like rancid food. “If this is a copycat, a conversion van makes sense. Pearce took me to a travel trailer. He had a four-wheel-drive truck hitched to a travel trailer. That’s what he drove me across the desert in. Chuck, you said it; he’s a traveler.” She felt sweat pop out on her forehead, as much from anticipation as disgust. “That’s one way to travel. We need to get a chopper up, contact the sheriff’s office.”
When Brinna took a breath, Klein stepped in. “Where do you think he’s gone?”
“Don’t you see?” She challenged the skeptical male faces watching her. “He’s taunting me. This is about me. He’s taken her to the desert where Pearce left me.”
Chuck and Klein exchanged glances. “That’s a long shot,” Chuck said.
“But it makes sense. His beef seems to be with me. He wants me to make the connection.” She jabbed her thumb toward her chest. “I’ve made it. Now I need to get out to the Mojave Desert.”
She started around Klein, but he grabbed her arm. “We’ll contact the sheriff. They can get personnel out there long before you can get there.”
“But this is my deal. He took her because of me.” Brinna jerked her arm from his grasp. “I want to find her.”
“You’re both right,” Chuck said. “But, Brinna, admit it—the deputies out in Palmdale can get to the scene a lot faster. Besides, this could be a trap.”
Klein agreed. “If he is after you, this could be his way to set you up. They’ll have a better knowledge of the area anyway. Have you been back to the site in twenty years?”
Brinna blew out a breath and stepped from one foot to the other, hating to admit they were right. “We’re just so close. This is so personal. I want to get this guy.”
“We all want to get him,” Klein said. “First we’re putting out a press release. I’ll drop a bone to Tracy on Jessica to get the media machine going. She’ll be on the radio right away and make the early morning news broadcasts. At the same time we’ll contact the sheriff.”
Brinna clenched a fist and hoped with all her might that this girl would be found in time.
* * *
Brinna gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The desire to direct her car to the desert rather than downtown was so strong it almost won out over common sense.
It had hit like a bullet when the officer mentioned a conversion van with four-wheel-drive capabilities being parked on the street. Memories flooded her thoughts—memories of being stowed in the travel trailer until it stopped in the desert. He told me he was invisible, that no one else could see him. The stale smell of unwashed blankets and the portable potty rose up in her nostrils. In her mind’s eye she saw Jessica inside the van, crying and frightened.
In spite of the emotions raging within, Brinna made the turn into the station parking lot.
Jack got out first, then bent down and peered in the window. “You coming?”
“Yes,” she grunted and opened her door. She leashed Hero and followed Jack to the station’s back door.
“Good call,” Jack said, turning as he reached the door.
“What?”
“About the desert. I think you were right on about where he’d go. He picked you to torment. It makes sense he’d return to the scene of your victimization.”
“That’s what my instincts tell me.” She raised an eyebrow at Jack as she slid her entry card through the slot to unlock the door.
Jack pulled the door open and held it for her and Hero to go inside. “You have great instincts,” Jack said, a smile tugging at his lips.
Brinna turned away. “Umm” was all she said, wondering why it was always weird to see a smile from him.
They rode the elevator up to the homicide office. Homicide handled kidnappings, so detectives had been called from home. Brinna wondered who would respond.
“It’s not going to bother you being in the homicide office, is it?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. “Nope. I can hang. My partner talked a lot of sense to me a little while ago—about moving on and being a useful partner, I mean.”
“That’s me. I’m a regular Dear Abby.” She fidgeted, glancing away from Jack, suddenly more comfortable with the creepy, quiet Jack than the smiling, helpful one she now saw. This isn’t a permanent partnership, she told herself. I certainly don’t want to get attached to Jack O’Reilly.
Klein sat at a computer, putting the finishing touches on a press release and printing out flyers with Jessica’s picture on them. Weldon was on the phone with the LA County sheriff’s office requesting officers to respond to the location in the Mojave Desert where Brinna had been abandoned so many years ago. Most if not all of the desert communities contracted with the sheriff for law enforcement services.
To Brinna, the office was too small; the walls felt as though they were closing in. She felt caged and ready to burst with energy and anxiety, knowing the sergeant just wanted her to wait. Chafing at the knowledge that she was just supposed to sit and wait while she wanted to be the one in the f
ield hunting for this guy. Hero seemed to feel her restlessness; his eyes followed her every move.
“You want some coffee?” Jack asked. Brinna nodded and he left the room. She checked her watch; it was almost two in the morning. Debating whether or not Milo would mind being awakened, she got up, walked to a desk at the back of the room, and picked up the phone. Hero followed.
The phone rang several times and no machine picked up. Brinna was just about to hang up when an unfamiliar voice answered.
“Hello, Milo?” she asked while her face crinkled with confusion.
“Who is this?” the voice demanded.
“This is Officer Brinna Caruso. Where is Gregor Milovich?”
“Brinna.” Some of the sharpness left the voice. “Sorry, this is John Horn. I used to work with Milo. I met you once or twice. Remember me?”
Nonplussed, Brinna responded, “Yeah, I remember you, but where’s Milo?”
“Uh, just a minute.”
The line went quiet, and Brinna drummed on the desk. What is going on?
“Brinna.” John’s voice returned on the line. “I’m sorry. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Milo’s dead.”
“What?” Brinna went numb. Through a fog as thick as dark wool, she heard Horn explain to her that Milo had killed himself. He’d eaten his service revolver, despondent because he’d been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. His note said he didn’t want to be a burden to anyone and he didn’t want to live the remainder of his life doped up.
From far, far away, Horn ended the call by saying the coroner had arrived to take custody of the body.
She placed the phone in its cradle and felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs. Gregor Milovich, her idol, her strength, the man who had drummed into her to never give up, had given up in a final, shocking way.
40
“BRINNA, YOU OKAY?”
Jack’s voice cut through the haze and Brinna looked up, struggling to focus on his face.
“You okay?” he repeated, setting a cup of coffee in front of her. “Your face is white. Are you going to barf?”
She shook her head, not sure she could speak without breaking down. Grabbing the coffee, she took a gulp, letting the hot liquid scorch her throat.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.” Jack took a seat across the desk.
She could feel his worried gaze on her. The words were on her tongue to tell Jack to get lost, but Brinna couldn’t speak them. It took all of the strength in her body to ignore the dagger piercing her heart. It twisted every time she put Milo next to dead. Staring at the phone, Brinna wished the conversation she’d just had was a bad dream brought about by a lack of sleep. Then again, she thought, maybe it was a stupid prank. Maybe Milo will return my call and say it was all a mistake.
“Klein says deputies are on their way to check out the spot,” Jack said, the upbeat tone of his voice grating.
“What?”
“The spot—you know, where you were left.”
Brinna willed her thoughts to Jessica. “Then we should hear something soon.”
“What exactly happened to you? I mean, all those years ago?” Jack asked.
Fists clenched, fingernails biting into her palms, Brinna answered the familiar question. It was easy to answer without much effort because she’d been asked so many times. “He left me tied to the porch of an abandoned building and drove off.”
“Overnight?”
“Roughly forty-eight hours.” Until Milo found me. Why, Milo?
“They never caught him?”
She shook her head. “Not for what he did to me.” Brinna pushed the news about Milo down deep.
“But he was caught ten years later.”
“Yep, trying to take another girl.” She recognized Jack was trying to drag information out of her, and she worked not to be irritated. “The statute of limitations had run out for me.”
“How was he killed?”
Brinna sighed. “He escaped while being transported to the courthouse for the first day of his trial. This was out in San Bernardino. SB sheriff’s deputies found him holed up at a hotel in the mountains. When SWAT fired tear gas into the room they believed he was in, the whole place went up like a Roman candle.”
“He was verified dead?”
Brinna ground her teeth, struggling with control, hands still clenched in fists under the desk. Hold it together; hold it together. “Him and four recovering drug addicts. They did blood typing at that time. One set of remains matched Pearce.”
Just then Sergeant Klein waved them to the front of the office. “Bad news,” he began as Jack and Brinna joined him. “Deputies are on scene, and they’ve got nothing. No van, no Jessica.”
Brinna groaned and bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.
“They’ll keep an eye on the area,” Klein added. He tapped on a desk with his knuckles and gave Brinna a we-tried expression.
“We’ll have Jessica’s picture on all the morning newscasts.” Chuck put a hand on Brinna’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”
Brinna could only nod. Emotions inside raged, tearing her apart.
Milo is dead. Is it too late for Jessica? Oh, how I need a Kevlar heart.
41
IT WAS FIVE THIRTY in the morning before Jack was ready to concede the investigation to the homicide detail and go home. Brinna had checked out a short time before—seemingly shell-shocked, he thought. She’s taking this thing with Jessica too hard. He hadn’t forgotten about the office at her house and the importance finding kids had in her life. It consumed her, made her a crusader.
At first glance it was a healthy obsession. But was any obsession really healthy? Jack wondered. One that did good for people was, he decided. At that point he realized that Brinna’s obsession had infected him to a large degree.
It was something Vicki would’ve liked—a crusade for kids. Jack’s mind whirred with ideas about how to help Brinna and maybe, in the process, Jessica, too.
“Here’s my follow-up.” Jack handed the paper to Klein. “Mind if I head home?”
Klein shook his head. “Go get some sleep. This is your Friday, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m ready for bed.” Jack turned to leave but Klein stopped him.
“Good job tonight. You’re getting back in the game.”
Jack nodded, wanting to tell the sergeant he was more right than he knew. Today, at this moment, he felt more normal than he had in a year. But a lingering feeling that he was still hanging on to life only by his fingernails stopped him.
Nothing in his life would be settled completely until the sentencing.
“I’ll do my job” was all he said as he left the office. Jack hurried to the locker room and changed. For the first time in a long time, his investigative instincts roared inside him. As a homicide investigator, he’d loved the hunt, the feeling of putting the right pieces together and closing in on prey. Brinna’s tale had stirred something in him. He wanted to find out all he could about Nigel Pearce and the police shoot-out ten years ago.
* * *
No van.
No Jessica.
Where has the kidnapper gone?
Brinna felt each minute ticking off the clock as if it were a knife jabbing her heart. On top of everything else, today was the day she had to meet her brother’s plane and brave a hospital visit to her father.
On the way to the airport, she stopped at a 7-Eleven and bought a roll of Tums, popping half of it into her mouth before she got back to the car. The whole roll was gone by the time she reached the airport. She parked her truck and flowed into the terminal with the crowds at LAX to await her brother’s plane.
An arrival screen told Brinna that Brian’s plane was delayed. She found a place to sit where she could watch arrivals stream out from customs and contemplated her morning up to that point.
After hearing about Jessica, irritated and antsy knowing she couldn’t
rush out to the desert and search for the girl on her own, Brinna did the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life: she drove out to Milo’s house.
It was the last place she wanted to be because she knew once she got there, the news she’d received from John Horn would be real. She wouldn’t be able to pretend she’d never had the phone conversation.
The pressure on her chest when she thought of Milo was unbearable. But she’d made the trip to Santa Clarita and survived.
Initially, good memories surfaced in Brinna’s mind. Her first visit to Milo’s house had happened when she was seven. They’d celebrated the one-year anniversary of her rescue. Milo’s first dog, Scout, was still alive then, and he had tumbled around on the lawn with Brinna. After that, every year they got together for friendly, fun barbecues.
The visits were more frequent when Brinna got her driver’s license. By that time she was firmly on her way to a career in law enforcement. She became a Police Explorer Scout for Long Beach PD, and she picked Milo’s brain constantly. He happily worked with her, answering questions, taking her on ride-alongs, being a mentor and friend.
The happy memories were drenched in a dark cloud by the cold truth of the reason for her visit that day.
John Horn met her on the front steps. “Don’t think you want to go in there, Brin. He was dead at least long enough for neighbors to call and complain about the smell.”
Brinna sighed, remembering her last visit. Was his moroseness a signal I missed? All that nonsense about God . . . Was Milo trying to tell me something I didn’t hear? She counted back the days, trying to determine when he pulled the trigger. She also tried not to imagine what several days in hundred-degree heat had done to Milo.
“How long did he know he had cancer?” she asked John as she plopped down next to him on the porch, a place she’d often sat with Milo on warm summer evenings. “I was just here; he never said a word.”
“Doctor said he was diagnosed a year ago. He wanted to operate then. Milo said no. And I guess by now the cancer was worse. I was on the fishing trip with him. He hacked and hacked. I thought it was a cold.” John spit tobacco juice into a paper cup.
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