A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1)

by Pierce, Blake

  Hillman came over and said, “We’ve been spinning our wheels for nothing.”

  Keri frowned.

  “You think it’s legit? That Ashley ran away?”

  He nodded.

  “There’s nothing else to think,” he said. “I don’t know with who, or why, exactly, but I don’t really care at this point. As far as I’m concerned, it’s no longer an LAPD case.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s no longer in our jurisdiction. County has offered to coordinate with the FBI when they officially take over,” Hillman said. “We’re all going back to cases where people are actually missing. There’s no shortage of them.”

  “But—”

  Hillman cut her off.

  “No buts,” he said. “We’re off the case. Don’t defy me on this, Locke. You’re on thin ice as it is. By my count you’ve been in physical altercations with at least three people in just the last twelve hours. And that’s only the ones I know about. All this renegade stuff, it’s going to stop. I’m trying to make this as clear as I can because I’m deadly serious.”

  Ray put a hand on Keri’s shoulder.

  “I think Lieutenant Hillman may have a point on this one,” he said. “We pursued every lead. But nothing definitively shows that Ashley Penn was even abducted, Keri. Meanwhile, we have lots of stuff that suggests she ran away.”

  “That could have been planted.”

  “Anything’s possible, I guess. But if so, County and FBI will determine that. Let it go, Keri. Ashley Penn isn’t your daughter. She’s a troubled girl but she isn’t our problem anymore.”

  “If you’re wrong, then we’re wasting valuable time.”

  “I’ll take the heat for that,” Hillman said before walking off.

  Yeah, but you’re not the one who will be having nightmares.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Tuesday

  Dawn

  When Ashley woke up, she could tell right away that something was different. The inside of the silo was no longer pitch-black. Rather, faint rays of sunlight squeezed in at the edges of the hatch at the top. It was enough to allow her to make out things without using the flashlight.

  She bolted upright. After taking a moment to adjust, she noticed something else.

  A beam of daylight was also squirting through a hole in the wall of the silo. The hole was the size of a quarter, up the wall a bit above her head. When she jumped up, she could almost get an eye to it but not quite.

  She needed a stepstool. Rifling through the bin of food, she found some of the soup cans. She stacked them on the floor on either side of the hole and then laid the loose board across them, creating a plank. Gingerly climbing up and resting her hands on the inner wall of the silo, she was able to get an eye to the hole and look out. She saw an old dilapidated barn, a small farmhouse, and rutted dirt roads running through the fields that were long since abandoned and now choked with weeds. Rusty hulks of abandoned cars and distressed farm machinery littered the grounds.

  Looking down, she got a sense of how high she was. The silo was easily forty feet tall.

  She didn’t like heights and never had. She didn’t even like the high diving board at the pool.

  There were no signs of life outside—no people, no cars, no dogs, nothing. Her abductor was nowhere to be found.

  Taking another look down the chute, she spied a fair amount of light down below, almost as if it were coming through a door or window at the base of the silo. She hung the board straight down and jammed the end against the bones until they dropped through. With the chute now open, she could see to the bottom. It looked like a dirt floor below with a small pile of old grain. Based on how deep the bones had settled into the grain, she guessed it was two to three inches thick.

  Could I drop down?

  Taking another look down, she pictured the fall. It was a long way. She doubted the thin layer of grain would offer much of a cushion. And the chute—was it big enough for her to get through? It would be close. What would be the best position for her body? With her arms straight down at her sides or pointed up above her head? She pictured getting stuck with arms down and then with her arms up. What would be her preferred position if she was wedged in that hole for the rest of her life? She shook the thought from her mind.

  Not constructive.

  Right now, with only one board removed, she couldn’t drop down even if she wanted to. She’d have to remove another board. She debated her options.

  Screw it. I’m doing this.

  She could at least get another board out and have the option available.

  Ashley was more efficient this time, getting the board removed in two hours. Then she had an idea. Using the pull-off top from a can of soup, she cut the mattress apart and then wedged the foam padding and the outer cotton pieces down through the chute to the ground below. They all landed in the same general area, creating an additional six to eight inches of support. If she landed right on top of the pile, she might have as much as ten inches of cushion. It wasn’t much from that height but it was better than before. Plus, the padding covered most of the bones, so at least the chances of one of them jamming into her on impact were reduced. It was the little things.

  She looked at the bin of food, wondering if she should toss some of it down to take with her. It was an intriguing option. But she worried that doing so might mess up the padding or that something hard might get stuck in it. No point in doing all this hard work just to land on a soup can and break her back.

  Then a thought occurred to her that made her so proud she actually smiled for the first time since this nightmare started. She pulled off her skirt and top and tossed them down the chute as well. Now wearing only her bra and panties, she grabbed the peanut butter from the bin.

  She might be allergic to the stuff but maybe it could come in handy in another way. She opened it and began slathering the goop all over her body, paying extra attention to her outer thighs, butt, hips, stomach, and rib cage. When she dropped with her arms over her head, maybe being coated in the slick substance would help her get through the chute.

  When she was done, Ashley allowed herself a moment to focus quietly. She could feel herself starting to get herself psyched for the drop, like she would before a big surfing competition. Almost involuntarily, her breathing slowed. Everything seemed sharper. It was time.

  She stepped to the edge and looked down.

  Although she was in the right position, she didn’t like the idea of dropping into the chute from a standing position. There’d be less of a fall if she got in the hole, hung from one of the remaining boards and then let go. She positioned the flashlight to point into the chute so she’d have a good visual when she dropped. Then she climbed over the edge of the flooring and hung down, dangling above the chute.

  Okay, do it! Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Daddy! I love you both. I’m sorry about everything.

  I don’t want to die.

  Her breathing got rapid; in and out, in and out.

  She could feel herself freaking out.

  No! This is crazy!

  She tried frantically to get back up but couldn’t. The strength in her arms just wasn’t there anymore.

  She was stuck with no choice but to drop.

  At that realization, her breath slowed again. The inevitability gave her an unexpected feeling of calmness. She closed her eyes for a long second and opened them again, ready to focus on her task. She swayed back and forth slightly so that she could drop directly over the chute opening at the ideal time.

  When the moment was right, Ashley Penn released her grip and dropped into a freefall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Tuesday

  Early Morning

  Keri racked her brain all the way back to Venice. Everything pointed to Ashley having run away, just as Hillman and Ray believed. Factually, it fit all the evidence. Still, it didn’t feel right. Back in the city, she didn’t go to the station. She didn’t want to deal with the condescending looks an
d hushed whispers she knew would be waiting for her there.

  Instead, she drove aimlessly by all the spots she rushed to last night—Ashley’s school, the Blue Mist Lounge, through the art district where Walker Lee lived, anywhere familiar. An hour into it, she called Mia Penn and said, “Do you believe that Ashley ran away?”

  “I don’t want to. But I have to admit it’s possible.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Look, based on everything I’ve learned in the last day, it’s pretty obvious that I had no idea who my own daughter was,” she said. “How does something like that even happen?”

  “Kids hide things,” Keri said.

  “Yeah, I know, but this was like…I don’t know, so extreme, all the things she was doing. I thought I had a good relationship with her. In the end, though, it’s like she didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to alienate her…”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Keri said. “I’ve been there. I’m still there. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

  “Look,” Mia said. “I’m choosing to believe that Ashley left on her own. She’ll call us sooner or later and we’ll find out what we did wrong. I’m prepared to wait and give her space.”

  “I can come over—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not a good idea,” Mia said. “Between you and me, Stafford’s gone into a rage over that Amber Alert. He trashed our bedroom this morning. He thinks he’s going to lose his Senate seat over all the negative publicity, he’s convinced of it.”

  “He blames me?” Keri said.

  “Just stay away. It’ll pass, but for now, keep your distance.”

  “We could review the evidence,” Keri said.

  “Keri, nothing personal, but stop!”

  The connection died.

  Up the road, in a school zone, a black van was abruptly pulling away. Keri saw movement in the back window, what looked like blonde hair bouncing up and down.

  Ashley floored it and managed to get alongside. The driver was a pockmarked man in his mid-thirties with long greasy brown hair and a cigarette dangling from the hand resting on the window. Keri motioned for him to pull over. He gave her the finger and sped up.

  She pursued him, reaching over to put the siren on her roof. Just as she was about to turn it on, the light ahead of them turned red and the van screeched to a halt. Keri swerved to the right to avoid ramming him from behind. She hit the brakes hard and threw the car into park. Stepping out of the Prius, she held up her badge for the man to see through the open passenger side window.

  “When I give you an order to pull over, you comply!”

  The man nodded.

  “Now get out of the goddamn car and walk around to this side.”

  The man complied.

  Keeping him in one eye, Keri swung open the side door of the van. No one was inside. There were flowers, nothing else. She glanced at the sliding door and noticed something she’d missed before: a sign reading Brandy’s Floral Delivery.

  The man had come around the front of the vehicle and was standing in front of her.

  “Open the back door,” she demanded.

  He did. There were no children inside. Just more flowers. She realized that what she thought was blonde hair was most likely a bunch of sunflowers at the very back of the van.

  I am completely losing it.

  Keri looked at the driver and could tell he was deciding whether he should be confused, scared, or angry. She decided she had better make the choice for him.

  “Listen to me,” she growled. “You pulled out of that side street like a bat out of hell in the middle of a school zone. And then, when I order you to pull over, you flick me off? You’re lucky I don’t bring you in just on general principal.”

  “I’m sorry about pulling out like that. But I didn’t know you were a cop. Some lady in a Prius with a crazy look in her eyes wants me to pull over, I’m not automatically gonna do it. You gotta see it from my side.”

  “That’s the only reason I’m letting you go with a warning. I was this close to ramming your ass. Drive slow—got it?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Good. Now get out of here.”

  He did as he was told. Keri returned to her car and just sat in it for a minute, contemplating how close she’d come to assaulting another random person. And this wasn’t a drug dealer or a pimp or even a preening wannabe rock star. It was just a flower delivery guy. She needed to reel it in but couldn’t seem to figure out how. She still had an itch she needed to scratch. And until she’d gotten satisfaction, she knew she’d never be able to calm down.

  The moment she realized that, Keri knew there was only one place to go and it wasn’t home or the station. In fact, it was less than a five-minute drive from her current location.

  *

  As Keri parked her car on the narrow residential street overrun with news vans, reporters, paparazzi, and rubberneckers, she finished up her call. She’d been talking to the Child Protective Services officer assigned to Susan Granger’s case. The woman, Margaret Rondo, assured her that Susan would be sent to a secure women and children’s shelter. It was in Redondo Beach on a neighborhood street and looked like any other house from the outside, except that the exterior walls were a little high and there were a few unobtrusively placed cameras. Susan’s pimp, whom Keri had learned went by the name Crabby, would never be able to find her.

  And thanks to Detective Suarez, Crabby’s paperwork had mysteriously been misplaced and he’d be stuck down at the Twin Towers facility for another forty-eight hours, more than enough time for Keri to write a report that would ensure he didn’t get a reasonable bail.

  After some prodding, Rondo reluctantly let Keri speak to Susan briefly.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “Scared. I thought you would be here.”

  “I’m still looking for that missing girl I told you about. But when everything settles down, I promise to check in on you, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” Susan sounded deflated.

  “Susan—I bet a lot of people have made you promises and broken them, haven’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I can tell you think I’m going to do the same thing, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I’m not a lot of people. Have you ever seen anyone take care of Crabby like I did last night?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think someone like that, who had a huge, smelly guy on top of him and ended up with him on his stomach in cuffs, do you think someone who did that can’t find her way to visit you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Damn straight, forgive my language. I will be there when I can. And when I get there, I’ll show you some of the moves I used. Sound good?”

  “Yeah. Can you show me the thumb in the eyes thing?”

  “Of course. But we only use that one in emergencies, okay?”

  “I’ve been in a lot of emergencies.”

  “I know you have, sweetie,” Keri said, refusing to let her voice crack. “But that’s all over now. See you soon, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Keri hung up and sat quietly in the car for a moment. She allowed herself to imagine all the horrors Susan Granger had been through, but only for a few seconds. And when she felt thoughts of Evie in the same situation sneaking into her brain, she pushed them away. This wasn’t the time for wallowing. This was a time for action.

  She got out of the car and walked briskly toward the Penn residence. It was almost eight in the morning—late enough for a house call. Truthfully, she didn’t care what time it was. Something about her most recent phone conversation with Mia didn’t sit right. It had been eating at her ever since. And she was about to get some answers.

  The second she was spotted, a swarm of reporters surrounded her. She didn’t break stride and a few of them tripped over each other trying to keep up with her. She fought the smile at the co
rner of her lips. Once she passed through the mansion’s gate, the reporters stopped, as if there were some sort of force field preventing them from going any further.

  She banged on the door. The security guard from her first visit opened it. When she barreled past him into the house, he hesitated, obviously briefly considering stopping her. But one look in her eyes and he stopped himself.

  “They’re in the kitchen,” he said. “Please let me lead the way. If you just storm in, they’ll think I’m useless and fire me.”

  Keri did him that courtesy and slowed enough to let him take the lead. When they entered the kitchen, Keri saw Mia sitting at the breakfast table in her bathrobe, weakly sipping some coffee. Stafford Penn’s back was to her as he flipped from channel to channel on the kitchen television. Every station was covering Ashley.

  Mia looked up and the tired expression on her face vanished. Her eyes flashed with—not anger—something closer to fear. She started to speak.

  “I thought I told you—”

  Keri held up her hand, and something about her bearing made Mia stop mid-sentence. Senator Penn turned around to see what the commotion was. He opened his mouth, but seeing the look on Keri’s face, he too stopped himself.

  “First off, you should know that I’m going to be dispensing with the polite formalities. One, there isn’t time for it. And two, I don’t have the patience.”

  “What are you talking about?” Senator Penn demanded.

  Keri focused on Mia.

  “I know you don’t think Ashley ran away any more than I do. All yesterday and into the night, you pushed for us to investigate. You were certain she was abducted. Then I call you this morning and suddenly you think she left on her own? You want to give her space? I don’t buy it. Not for a second.”

  “Frankly, I don’t care what you believe,” Stafford Penn said. “I told you all along that this was a teenage girl sowing her oats. And now it turns out I was right. You just don’t want to look bad.”

  Keri studied him closely. The man was a politician, clearly a successful one to reach his current position. And he was adept at making people believe him, whether it be constituents or reporters or teenage girls he knocked up in his law office.