by T. R. Ragan
“The killer took it upon himself to send every local news station in the area a copy of the letter and video, including a statement letting the public know that DHI was not in the business of saving lives. He’s managed to spark outrage in the community in a very short time.”
“When did the news stations receive the package?”
“Late last night.”
“Were there security cameras in the area?” she asked.
“Yes. Our people are looking through the footage now.”
“Are you getting any closer to finding the maniac?” Jessie asked.
“Not close enough and time is running out.”
FORTY-ONE
Jessie entered the coffee shop on the corner of Sixteenth Street at exactly 7:50 a.m. the next day.
She approached the front counter, paid for her coffee, and then found a table near the entrance. By the time she’d taken a seat, the line at the counter had doubled. When Ashley entered the establishment, Jessie waved her over and offered to buy her a coffee.
“No, thanks,” Ashley said, taking a seat. “I don’t have long. The boys are only in school for a short time, and I have errands to run.” She looked around. “Is there a reason we met here instead of your office?”
“Yes. Your husband has been keeping track of me, and I was hoping to stay off his radar.”
Ashley appeared genuinely stunned. “Nick has been following you?”
Jessie nodded. “I’m not going to be able to work on your case for a few days, but I wanted you to know what was going on. And I didn’t want to talk over the phone or put anything in writing.”
With a pinched expression on her face, Ashley stiffened. “Okay. Go on.”
“Do you recall a woman named Rene Steele?”
“Yes. She was a nurse at Mercy General when Dakota was born.”
“You never mentioned her name, and she’s not anywhere in your notes.”
“That’s odd. I’m sure there was something in the binder I gave you.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what you remember.”
“Rene Steele refused to talk to me. In fact, her mother wouldn’t allow me inside their house.”
“If her mother were still alive,” Jessie said, “I don’t believe she would have agreed to talk to me, either.” Jessie didn’t know quite how to break the news, true or not, but she needed to get to it. “What Rene told me was quite shocking, actually, but I wanted you to know what she had to say.”
“Tell me, please.”
“She believes she saw the person who took Dakota.”
“What?” Ashley looked horrified and hopeful at the same time. “How can that be? Any sane person would have come forward with that kind of news.”
“According to Rene, her mother wouldn’t allow her to speak to the police. Years before, she’d been working as a nurse in Los Angeles when she was accused of negligence. A young boy died, and her reputation was destroyed.”
“But what does any of that have to do with being a witness to an abduction?” She shook her head in disgust. “That makes no sense.”
“She told me she was being threatened.”
“By who?”
“Your husband.”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she began to gather her purse. Her face paled.
“You’re leaving?”
Her gaze darted around the coffee shop. “I must. Nick didn’t want me to pursue this, and now I see why. Not only are you accusing my husband, an important businessman, of following you as if he has nothing better to do with his time, but you’re blaming him for the abduction of our little girl.” Ashley’s hands shook as she pulled her purse close to her chest. “I’m calling this whole thing off.”
“Ashley, please. I’m not blaming your husband for anything. I’m merely relaying what I’ve learned. We’ve come too far to stop now. You have to think about Dakota.”
Ashley was on her feet. Her expression softened, and for half a second Jessie thought she might actually break down and tell Jessie that her husband wasn’t the man she’d made him out to be. Maybe she wanted to tell someone the truth—that Nick was toxic. A bully who watched her every move and tried to isolate her from the outside world. “Is there something I should know about Nick?”
After a short pause, Ashley’s spine stiffened. “You should know that a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought of my daughter. I have to call the investigation off. Send me a bill.”
As Ashley walked out the door, Jessie could’ve sworn she saw a blue car speed by and then disappear farther down the road. It boggled the mind to think Ashley wouldn’t take two minutes to even consider what she had to say.
Was Ashley truly that blind, or maybe it was something else . . . maybe he was controlling and possessive, and she was scared to death of him.
FORTY-TWO
Back at her office, Jessie spread out all her notes on the Emily Shepard case as Emily’s video played on her computer. There were no DHI complaints filed by anyone with the initials MAH. There were thirteen complaints filed by people with the initials MH, but not one of the four grievances written by men had anything to do with experimental drugs or daughters.
She let out a long, ponderous breath as she looked at the list of names she, Olivia, and Zee had compiled. There were still over a hundred names left. The killer could be any one of them.
Shit.
It could take them days to narrow the list down further. This is like looking for a fucking needle in a haystack.
As she tried to think, the rumbling sound from the video sounded much more distinct. She played it again as her gaze fell on the piece of paper where she’d written the words dump, landfill, bad-smelling odor.
Chills scurried up her spine. “Oh my God! Trains, dumps, and . . .”
Looking back at the video, she zeroed in on the cinder blocks.
“And warehouses!”
Emily was trapped inside a warehouse near a dump site. Her foot began to bounce beneath her desk. She was onto something, and she could barely contain her excitement. Opening a new window on her computer, she began searching for dumps and waste management sites in the Sacramento area.
The ringing of the phone broke into her thoughts.
“Ben! You need to get over here now.”
“Where are you?”
“At the office. I have something I want to share with you.”
“I’ll be there in less than twenty.”
As soon as Ben walked into her office, she explained her ideas regarding the book Emily had mentioned and the dump sites in the Sacramento area. “What do you think?”
“I like where you’re headed.”
“Remember the strange noise we heard on the video with Emily and what sounded like a horn or a siren?”
He nodded.
“Here. Listen. In the beginning, I think that’s the sound of a train in the distance. At the very end you can hear the rumbling of train tracks.”
She played the tape, watching Ben the entire time. When it was finished, he said, “I think you might be right.”
“If it’s a train we’re hearing, and if Emily was trying to let someone know where she was, then we need to concentrate on warehouses in cities close to a railroad track and a dump site.”
“I agree.” He sat down across from her, pulled out his laptop, and waited for it to boot up. “Did you see Ashley Bale this morning?”
Jessie nodded as she made notes.
“How did she take the news about her husband?”
“Not very well. She fired me.”
“Odd thing for her to do under the circumstances. What are you going to do?”
Jessie looked up at him. “Emily is more important at the moment. I’ll give Ashley Bale a few days. Hopefully she’ll come around. If not, I might pursue the case on my own.”
“Because you have an idea of what might have happened to Dakota Bale?”
“No, but I’ll bet you my life
savings that Nick Bale knows.”
Thirty minutes later they had a list of six waste sites. They’d used Google Maps to find sites near industrial areas that were also within two to five miles of the train tracks. It was the best they could do. Whether there were warehouses in the area, abandoned or not, was impossible to tell.
“I think we should divide and conquer,” Ben said. “I’ll go to one waste site while you go to another.”
Zee pulled up next to the curb outside. The moment she walked into the office, she looked from Ben to Jessie. “You both look as if you’ve drunk too much coffee or seen a ghost, or maybe both. What’s going on?”
“I’m going to get started,” Ben said. He held up his copy of the waste sites and said, “I’ll take the top two on the list.”
“Good luck,” Jessie said. “Keep in touch.” After he left, she printed off another copy for Zee and then explained the plan.
Zee frowned. “If I go to one of these places, it could take twenty-fours before I even hear a train.”
“Forget about hearing the train,” Jessie told her. “We’ve already narrowed the list of sites down to the ones close to the tracks. What we need to do now is find a warehouse that looks as if it isn’t being used much.”
“With the economy going down the toilet, my bet is that there are plenty of unused warehouses in the Sacramento area.” Her eyes widened. “According to Wikipedia, it’s the sixth largest city in California. Just covering the warehouses around these six waste sites could take days if not weeks.”
Jessie grabbed her bag and began stuffing it with files and notes.
“Emily could be anywhere,” Zee went on. “What if she’s not in Sacramento at all?”
“It’s all we’ve got to go on at this time.” Jessie stopped what she was doing and looked at her. “Do you have a better idea?”
“What about the list of grievances?”
Jessie shook her head. “Our list was whittled down from thousands to three hundred names.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “We don’t know where this guy is from. We don’t know his or his daughter’s names. Right now this is our best lead.”
“Okay,” Zee said with a sigh. “I guess we better get moving.”
FORTY-THREE
Apprehension slowed his pace as he entered the building.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Before he’d left the premises last night, Emily Shepard had been going in and out of consciousness. He saw her on the floor and wondered if she was dead. He didn’t move. His stomach quivered. He had to force himself to forge ahead, unlock the door, and step cautiously inside.
Chills crawled up his arms. He’d known she was dying. Of course he had. But he didn’t want her to die. “Emily?”
Nothing.
Kneeling down beside her, he felt for a pulse.
She was alive. Thank God! Adrenaline raced through him as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the futon in the middle of the warehouse. He then rushed outside to the trunk of his car, grabbed a washcloth, and dampened it using the hose outside the main door.
The other day he’d removed the antifreeze-laced Gatorade and yogurt from the cooler in Emily’s room. But every time she’d come to, she’d seemed confused, and her speech had been garbled. That was when he’d realized it was too late. She was dying.
That was the plan, he reminded himself.
That had always been the plan. To document her suffering and make sure the world, and especially Owen Shepard, experienced firsthand what it was like to watch an innocent child die a slow and tragic death.
But the pain and suffering was on him. Not Owen Shepard.
Racked with guilt, he brought a folding chair close to the futon, took a seat, and placed the cool washcloth on Emily’s forehead. She stirred, muttering a string of nonsensical words.
He’d left one last video for Owen Shepard. This time he’d left it at the neighbor’s house down the street, since reporters and protesters had begun to gather in front of Owen Shepard’s estate. The video was intended to thrust one last dagger into the man’s heart. That was, if he had a heart.
Watching Emily waste away through the lens of his digital video camera had begun to wear on him. After all he’d been through, he’d never thought this would be so difficult. The problem was he liked the girl. She reminded him of Hannah. She was young and feisty and unafraid to speak her mind. He hadn’t enjoyed watching Emily suffer. He’d thought it would bring him relief, but it only brought him more grief.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Jacob. Is that you?”
Jacob was the older of her two brothers. During their time together, he’d learned a lot about Emily. She liked to talk about her brothers. More than once, she’d mentioned Jacob and how he’d been the strong sibling who had done everything he could to keep Emily’s spirits high when their parents had divorced. Jacob was her best friend, and when she was gone she wanted her brother to know that she hadn’t been afraid to die.
“Jacob isn’t here,” he told her.
Recognition came slowly. “It’s you,” she said, reaching for his hand. He pulled away, just out of reach.
“When your daughter was dying, was it like this?” She licked her dry lips, and he used the cloth to squeeze drops of water into her mouth.
“Isn’t it strange that I feel close to you?” she said, her voice gravelly and low. “Do you think I’ll be the catalyst for the change you’re looking for?”
He nodded even though he knew the odds were against that. He drizzled more water into her mouth, then folded the cloth in a neat square and set it on her brow. She was too weak to hold it there herself. His shoulders quaked, and he could see his fingers tremble as he held the cloth to her forehead. What have I done? he thought as a keening pain sliced through his middle.
“I hope after I’m gone, things are better and you find the peace you’re looking for. It might take some time.” More licking of the lips. “I’m really thirsty.”
He left her to get a bottle of water. The sick feeling inside him sat like a heavy brick in his gut. Returning to Emily’s side, he put the bottle to her mouth and let the water trickle slowly down her throat.
“That’s nice,” she said when she’d had enough.
For a moment it was quiet. The quiet scared him because her eyes had closed, and he could no longer see the rise and fall of her chest beneath her cotton shirt. Panic set in just before her eyes opened, startling him. “Don’t get angry with me,” she said, her voice as creaky as an old rocker, “but I don’t think your daughter”—she stopped to take a breath—“would want you to kill any more people. Let me be the last.”
He couldn’t do this—couldn’t watch her die, couldn’t bear to hear the hoarseness in her voice as she tried to make sense of what was happening to her. “What is wrong with you?” He set the water bottle aside. “You should be the one who is angry. You’re too young to die. You’re forgetting that I took advantage of your kindness. I did this to you to get revenge.”
“You lost your daughter. You weren’t thinking straight.” She had a difficult time catching her breath, but she finally managed. “After I’m gone, you should turn yourself in.”
He thought of Hannah then, and he realized she, too, would have helped an old crippled man. Hannah and Emily were so much alike. He jumped out of his seat, took the chair, and slammed it against the wall. The chair broke.
Hannah hadn’t deserved to die.
And neither had the men whose lives he’d taken. He rubbed his hands over his face, agonizing over what he’d done. How had it all come to this? He dropped to his knees and began to rock back and forth.
He’d lost everything, including his soul.
His insides twisted.
What have I done?
What have I become?
FORTY-FOUR
Jessie saw that Zee was calling, so she pulled to the side of the road and picked up. “Zee,” she said, “I’m going to call Ben and set up a three-way call so ever
yone can report their progress, if any.”
Once she had Ben on, Jessie said, “Go ahead, Zee.”
“There are no warehouses anywhere near this place,” she said. “I’ve been down every road I could find, but so far, I’ve got nothing. If it’s okay with you guys, I’m going to head over to the Roseville Refuse Collection in North Highlands.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie said. “We can also check off the Western Placer Waste Management Center in Roseville. I’m on my way to the landfill in Lincoln. What about you, Ben?”
“No luck so far. I’m in front of a warehouse right now that I’m going to check out, and then I’ve got to head back to the office for a few minutes. Call me if you find anything worth looking at.”
“Will do.”
They all disconnected.
A mile or so past Thunder Valley Casino in Lincoln, Jessie noticed an unpleasant odor. She’d been driving with her window down all afternoon, but this was the first time the smell of decay was overpowering. More than a mile down Athens Road she could see the landfill. The smell grew stronger.
It wasn’t until she turned onto Fiddyment Road that warehouses and storerooms began to pop up here and there. The few warehouses she passed so far were occupied. Trucks in the loading dock areas. Lots of cars in the parking lots. People coming and going.
From there she headed down Moore to Nelson Lane. She drove slowly, watching and listening. Almost immediately after driving over the railroad tracks and finding herself on Beacon Avenue, her skin prickled. There was no traffic in front of her or behind her. She pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car. She felt a low rumble beneath her feet. Retrieving her cell phone, she launched the camera app, swiped to video mode, and tapped the “Record” button. She wanted a video to compare the sounds with the ones in Emily’s.
It wasn’t long before a train passed by, its whistle blaring. Once the train could no longer be seen in the distance, she knew she was close even before she replayed the video she’d just made. Climbing in behind the wheel, she turned on the engine and merged back onto the road. There was nothing but dusty terrain and few trees on both sides. She turned onto an unpaved side road and drove for a mile before realizing it was a dead end.